“Maybe I should do that more often, spend a night away from you,” I say.

“What? But why?” Brock grabs my waist tighter and pulls me closer against his broad, sturdy chest. He smells amazing—I should spray some of his cologne on my pillow if I’m really going to be spending more nights without him.

“You’re extra affectionate tonight. It’s kind of nice.”

Brock chuckles. He leans down as we walk toward the restaurant, pressing his forehead against my temple. When he speaks, his breath caresses my neck, sending tingles straight to my core. “Any time you want my hands on you, all you have to do is say it. Your wish is my command.”

“Hmm . . . My personal genie.” I giggle.

“That’s right. I’d do anything for you.” Brock plants a light kiss on the top of my head.

I can’t help but smile. I’m not one to fall for stupid lines. But coming from Brock, I feel like he means what he says.

Be careful. Dean’s advice echoes in my mind.

I shake my head. No. I trust Brock. He said he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, and I believe him.

“Are you cold?” Brock wraps a strong arm around my shoulders. “We’re almost there. It should be warmer inside.”

“No. Are you kidding me? The weather’s perfect. I was just . . . stretching my neck.”

“You’re perfect,” he says. Before I can tell him how cheesy he’s being, we’re inside the restaurant, and Brock’s telling the maître d' we have a reservation.

As soon as we’re seated, Brock orders some wine then reaches across the table and takes my hand.

“Uh, I’m going to need my hand to flip the pages,” I inform him, gesturing at the fancy menu with the gold lettering on the leather cover.

“But I need it more.” Brock lifts my hand up and kisses my knuckles.

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs the corners of my lips up. With one hand, I open the menu. “Fine.”

“I spent an entire night wishing you were in bed with me, plus an entire day at the office stopping myself from touching you. How long has that menu waited for you? Obviously, I deserve you more,” he says.

I laugh. “See, as far as I remember, you kept calling me into your office to touch me and distract me from taking care of all the filing that needed to be done.”

“I’m concerned about your memory,” he says, putting on a worried face. “I didn’t get nearly enough of you.”

“Okay.” I laugh and scan the menu, my hand reaching for the wine glass.

“I’ve got to make sure I get to touch you any time I need to. It’s time to set a wedding date, don’t you think? We’ve been engaged long enough.”

I almost choke on the wine. I cough, my throat burning. “Oh my God, Brock. Don’t do that!”

“What? My parents have been asking.”

“Yeah, your parents also have no idea that we’re not really engaged.”

“Maybe we should be.” Brock cocks me a crooked smile, the kind that makes me wonder if he’s just teasing me. He is. He must be . . . right?

“You’re not going to propose to me while I’m choking on wine,” I say.

“Well, you’re not choking on wine right now . . . so what do you say?”

I laugh nervously, my heart pounding in my chest. I narrow my eyes at Brock. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I can be,” he answers quickly. “I already have a ring, remember?”

“Yeah. The ring you bought specifically to fool your ex and your entire family into thinking you had a fiancée. It’s a ring of lies.”

Brock smiles. “So what you’re saying is, you want a new ring. Got it.”

I get the distinct feeling that if I were to say, right now, that I’d marry him, Brock would literally grab the arm of the next waiter who walks past and book this restaurant for our wedding venue.

I can’t just decide something like that right now. I’ve barely recovered from having Dean walk in on us.

I clear my throat. “Are you ready to order?”

“Sure.”

So we order our dinner, eat delicious food, drink fancy wine without choking on it, and the conversation flows. We’re flirting and laughing like we normally do. Business as usual.

Still, in the back of my mind, I can’t help over-thinking and over-analyzing what Brock said about us getting engaged—for real, this time.

The idea of growing old with Brock . . . It’s wonderful. I can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of my life. But at the same time, the casual way he brought it up makes me uneasy.

Are we moving too fast?

Was Brock just teasing me?

Is this whole thing simply a joke to him?

Am I letting Dean get inside my head? I probably am.

I should forget about the whole engagement thing and enjoy this nice, fancy dinner.

As we finish our food, and Brock orders more wine, I protest, “Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes gleaming with obvious desire. He’s leaning forward in his chair now, our hands intertwined on the soft, white tablecloth.

I laugh as the waiter refills our glasses. When I try to reach for the drink, Brock doesn’t let go of my hands.

“I kind of need at least one of my hands if you want me to drink more,” I say.

“Sure,” he says, “but you’ll have to take off your panties.”

“What?” I cast a glance around us. “Here?”

Brock nods. Raising an eyebrow, he says, “I dare you.”

It’s a busy night at the restaurant, and there’s a bunch of people dining around us, but that means all the staff is busy. As for the diners, they’re absorbed in their own food and conversations to pay us any attention. The tablecloth is long enough to cover my legs.

“What do you say?” Brock asks, smiling. He’s obviously noticed me giving his little dare some serious consideration.

“Sure,” I say, shooting him a flirty smile. “Why not? You only live once, right?”

Brock’s eyes flash with excitement. “Exactly.”

Slowly, he lets go of my right hand, his gaze riveted on me. The lust in his eyes is so obvious I worry it’s going to give us away, but it also spurs me on.

I reach my hand under the table and thank my lucky stars I’m wearing the flared skirt instead of the pencil skirt tonight. My heart hammers as I hook my fingers under the waistband of my lace panties and pull them down to my knees. Once they’re there, I rub my legs together until they’re bunched up around one ankle.

“Done,” I declare.

“Really?” Brock’s smile widens into a grin. He’s holding my left hand tighter, looking like he’s about to bend me over the table and take me right here, right now.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Give them to me. Your panties,” he demands.

Slipping off my shoe, I drag my foot up Brock’s leg, resting it on his chair between his knees. A deep sound comes from the back of Brock’s throat when he sees the panties wrapped around my ankle and takes them off.

The excitement of doing this in the middle of a busy restaurant makes my core clench. I can’t wait to get home and get Brock into bed.

Apparently, he can’t wait either. Because when I’m in the restroom, there’s a knock on the door. And when I inform whoever’s knocking that the restroom is occupied, I hear Brock’s voice.

“I know,” he says in a low, urgent voice. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

“Brock?” I ask, turning off the tap.

“Yeah. Quick, open up,” he repeats. “Before someone comes.”

As soon as I crack the door open, Brock rushes in and shuts it behind him. He stares intensely into my eyes as he locks the door with a click.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask, even though I know exactly why he’s here. My whole body is already reacting to his presence, my heart beating rapidly and my breaths growing deeper.

“We don’t have much time,” Brock says, ignoring my question.

He grabs my ass and lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him instinctively. I can feel him under his pants. He’s already hard.

Brock kisses me, hard, as he puts me down on the vanity, the cold marble penetrating through my skirt. He pulls back just enough to say, “I need you. Now.”

My hands are already working on his zipper. Electricity runs through my whole body, my need for him driving me forward despite how crazy this is.

“You’re wet,” Brock growls when his fingers find my slick, eager pussy.

“I need you too,” I whisper.

I guide Brock inside me, letting him fill me up with his thick cock—it’s already pulsing with desire for me. Wrapping my arms around him, tangling my fingers in his hair, I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning as Brock fucks me right there on the vanity—hard, fast, and desperate. His hands grab my ass, pulling me against him as he thrusts into me, again and again.

“Oh, Brock. Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Brock presses the pad of his finger against my clit, rubbing me furiously, making me explode around his cock. And then he lets go, pumping inside me one last time with a low grunt, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks.

Brock cleans himself up and slips out of the restroom, telling me to wait one minute before leaving, myself. “And we’ll do it again tonight, properly.”

I catch my breath and fix my makeup, grinning from ear to ear as I realize my whole face is flushed red.

Yes, Brock and I get along like a house on fire, and our bodies burn for each other too. It’s almost unbelievable how good we are together.

I don’t care what anybody thinks. Sure, it’s early days, but they say when you know, you know . . . right?

Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, or maybe it’s the wine, but if Brock comes to me with another proposal, ring or no ring, I’m saying yes. Yes, yes, yes.