I’m headed to the elevator when my phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and glance at the screen. It’s my mother—again.

I shove it back into my pocket as I reach the elevator. I jab the up button and wait. My mother had been trying to reach me all day, but I had finally gotten around to flipping through my father’s list of potential partners and had lost track of time.

The elevator doors swing open, and I step in. My mother will have to wait a little longer. I have Quinn on my mind.

After Holly’s wedding, Quinn broke her lease at her old apartment, moved in the rest of her stuff, and went wild decorating. My apartment looks like an art explosion: color, textures, and patterns are everywhere. It’s Quinn, through and through, and I love every inch of it.

We can’t keep our hands off each other. Quinn is intoxicating; everything she does drives me wild. Grocery shopping, cooking dinner, watching her paint. We hate being apart and eagerly made up for it the second we got home. At times like that, it’s rare if we make it to the bedroom. Wall, counter, floor, shower; we’ve christened every room and surface in my place. I have to drag myself out of bed each morning, but I’m not about to sacrifice a moment between Quinn’s thighs for something as insignificant as sleep.

My heart rate speeds up as the elevator begins its ascent. The thought of her waiting for me, in our apartment, sends my head—and pants—reeling.

I step out, stop, and take a deep breath. Whoa.

“You cooking again, East?” I ask, tossing my briefcase on the landing table and heading for the kitchen. Quinn’s been cooking up a storm since she’s moved in, and I can’t say I mind. I don’t even mind the mandatory shopping trips because, apparently, everything is fun with Quinn.

Quinn glances up from her perch at the kitchen counter. Her laptop and a pile of spreadsheets are spread out in front of her. “Yup! Shepherd’s pie, then bread pudding for dessert.”

I make a face.

“What?” she demands. “I grew up surrounded by a bunch of Celts. You’re going to love it, so quit being picky.” She gives me a playful look and goes back to her spreadsheets.

“Work?”

Quinn nods. “I’m trying to get ahead before these last five weeks of the campaign. We have a ton of events to attend, and then there’s our engagement party…” She rubs her temples. “It’s just a lot.”

I move behind her and start massaging her shoulders. She groans with pleasure.

“Haven’t asked for that title change yet?” I ask. It’s been a source of contention between us since Quinn moved in. She works so hard, and The Met still hadn’t made her promotion official.

“No, but I will. I’ll simply point out that they have your first two payments.” She glances up at me. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I’m a man of my word,” I say, kneading my fingers between her shoulder blades.

Quinn sighs and leans into my palms. “There’s still so much to do, and I don’t trust Valerie to—”

She sucks in her breath as I lean down and kiss her neck. I slide my lips up to her ear and tug on her earlobe with my teeth.

“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.

“Enjoying my fiancée,” I murmur into her ear. “What are we doing tonight?”

“I had planned on watching Netflix with you on the couch.”

“I like the couch part…”

Quinn giggles. “Sounds like you have our night all planned out.”

I wrap my arms around Quinn and tug her out of her chair.

“Wait,” she cries out as I move toward the couch, “what about my work?”

“It can wait,” I say.

“What about dinner?”

“We’ll eat after.”

“Crap, the oven! Archer—”

“That enough out of you,” I mutter, pushing aside Quinn’s protests and tossing her down on the couch.

“But the pie will burn! I slaved over that—”

I silence her with my lips as I press my body down onto hers. Her eyes widen, then flutter closed as I kiss her hard and passionately. I release her lips and kiss her neck, taking a little nip at her soft skin. Her body shudders with pleasure.

“I think this is more important than dinner,” I growl, slipping my hand under her bra and taking her breast in my palm.

“Archer…” she breathes, her voice growing husky with want.

I massage her breast, squeezing and pulling at her nipple, before dragging my lips back to hers. I tease them open, exploring her warm tongue with my own. Quinn moans into my mouth, and I lose my remaining willpower.

I have to have her—now.

I’m inching down her panties when I’m rudely interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. Quinn’s eyes flutter open, and she tries to pull away. “Ignore it,” I say, pressing her to me again. Quinn melts back into me, and I get back to those panties.

The buzzing starts back up again. I yank my head up and scowl.

“I think you should get that,” Quinn suggests. “It might be urgent.”

“It better be,” I grumble, launching myself off the couch. I march into the foyer and snatch my phone off the table. I answer without even checking the screen. “Hello?”

“Archie!” my mother squeals. “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes, it is—”

“Well I’ll be quick, then. You have to make time for this.”

I roll my eyes and stroll back to Quinn.

“Who is it?” she mouths.

“My mother,” I whisper, holding the phone away.

Quinn nods, walks into the kitchen, and turns off the stove. She turns and winks at me.

Yup, this is going to be one hell of a quick call.

“Mother?” I say, interrupting something about her grandchild being about the size of a cantaloupe by now. Why did everyone always compare a growing baby to fruit? “I need to be quick. Quinn’s made dinner for us, and we’re about to sit down.”

“Well, I didn’t want to call at dinner time, but you haven’t returned any of my calls.”

My eyes follow Quinn as she sits back on the couch. She spreads her legs apart and inches her fingers up her thighs.

Christ. “I got busy at work,” I answer, trying not to pant.

“It’s about the menu for next Saturday.”

“For what?” I ask.

“Your engagement party!”

“Oh, right.” Quinn’s fingers disappear underneath her skirt. “What about it?” I ask, my voice tightening in my throat.

“It needs to be finalized by tomorrow so the caterers can order the food.”

“Are caterers really necessary?” I ask. Quinn closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting me imagine what she’s doing under that skirt.

“There’ll be over eighty people there. We have to feed them.”

“Eighty people?” I repeat. “That’s a lot for an engagement party, Mother.”

Quinn’s eyes flutter open and meet mine. Her fingers resurface from underneath her skirt, and she closes her legs.

Dammit.

“Okay,” I say quickly, “email me the menu and Quinn and I will go over it. Good?”

“Thanks, sweetie,” my mother says, “and say hi to Quinn for me!”

I click off and toss down the phone. I shake my head at Quinn as I move toward her. “You sexy little vixen,” I growl.

“What was that about?” Quinn asks.

I reach the couch and take her in my arms. “My mother wants to finalize the menu. It seems she’s invited a ton of people and there are caterers and—well, you get the idea.”

I begin kissing her neck, but she pulls away. “Is it still at the country club?” she asks.

I draw myself up on my elbows. “I think so. Why, is that okay?” Something in her face tells me it’s not. “My mother would move it if you asked. It’s a little late now, but…”

Quinn shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not my ideal location,” she admits. “Country clubs aren’t my style.”

“You had me fooled.”

Quinn bats my arm. “But it does fit our fake engagement and your family’s image.”

I frown down at her. “Fake?”

“We’re not, but this whole shindig is fake,” she says, fiddling with her ring. She started wearing it again after Holly’s wedding. “I hate having to play two people at once. It’s like I’m stepping into another role when I have to play your fiancée.”

“East…” I brush a soft lock of hair from her forehead. “You’re the most genuine person I know.”

She gives a half-hearted smile. “I don’t feel that way.”

“You’re strong and brave and a saint to put up with me.”

“That’s true,” she says.

“I swear my father’s going to win this election because of you.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Everyone loves you,” I press, “and you’ve made the black sheep of the family into an upstanding gentleman.”

Quinn cups my cheek with her hand. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“What, a gentleman?” I ask, leaning into her palm.

“No,” she giggles, then grows serious again. “You’re sweet to say all that, but I don’t feel strong when I lie to your family and my friends and colleagues—”

I stifle her worries with my mouth, hoping to drown out her fears with my love and thanks and longing. She groans when I pull away. My cock throbs as I gaze down at her flushed cheeks and tender lips. I know what she wants. What she needs.

I leave a tender trail of kisses on Quinn’s collarbone before exploring lower, pulling her blouse over her head as I go. My hand tugs down her lacy white bra, and I lean down to kiss her cupped breast. I take her hardened nipple in my lips and flick it with my hot tongue.

“Stratton!” Quinn calls out.

I dip lower and head south.

Quinn gasps as my lips caress her soft belly. “What you are doing?” she asks.

“Giving my woman what she wants,” I murmur, edging closer to that sweet mound between her thighs.

She pushes herself up onto her elbows and stares at me with hazy eyes. “Your woman?”

I pause, my mouth hovering above her wet center. “I thought I made that much clear, East.” I gaze into her wide eyes. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not—”

She gasps as I kiss her between her thighs. I circle her wetness with my lips—kissing, licking, panting—until she’s begging me to give her more.

“That’s what I thought,” I growl, before bringing my mouth to her clit. Her breath hitches as I pleasure her, my tongue flicking and sucking her until she’s seconds away from coming.

“Archer…” she pants.

I pull my mouth back. “Say it.”

Her eyes shut, then flutter open. They’re drunk and cloudy with want. “I…”

“Say it!” I order. I plunge my fingers into her slit and pump.

She arches her back into me and moans with pleasure. “I’m yours!”

I watch as she bucks against the orgasm crashing over her, panting and gasping as her body burns with bliss. This woman’s under my skin, in my blood, imprinted on my mind. I can never let this incredible woman get away.

And I won’t.

* * *

One and half hours—and a few episodes of Friends—later, I look down at Quinn snuggled tightly in my arms. She’s fast asleep, her hand tucked under her cheek as she curls into my shoulder. I watch her for a moment, and then slowly lift her up and slip my arm out from under her. I get to my feet and pad down the hall. I have a few things I need to take care of.

I flick on my bedroom light and head for my desk. I lean over my laptop, tap the spacebar, and watch the screen come to life. I open up two new emails, addressing the first to my father, and the second to my mother. I type out my messages, reread each carefully, and then hit send.

I stand and stretch, letting out a satisfied sigh.

In four short months, Quinn turned my world upside down, and in one long week, she’ll become my world. I love my fiancée with my heart, body, and soul. I’m hers, and she’s mine. Now it’s time to make it official.