Rowan wasn’t kidding when he’d said these galas were stuffy and obnoxious. They were necessary though. I figured that out after the second conversation I had with a woman about the curtains in her house and how she couldn’t find the right fabric for them. Rowan’s attention was on me the entire time. Even as we spoke to different groups of people, he let me know he was right there, his fingers brushing against mine, his gaze catching mine briefly. He was wearing a tuxedo that I’d been dying to rip off him since the moment he put it on.

“You okay?” Rowan asked as he pulled me away from the bankers we’d been talking to.

“I’m fine.” I smiled, linking my fingers through his. “Do you think I didn’t go to events like this in Paris?”

“I don’t want to think about you in Paris at all.” He leaned down and kissed my jaw, his breath tickling my neck. “The only thing I’ve thought about all night is tearing that dress off you.”

“Hm. We’re having the same thoughts then.”

He pulled back, his eyes smoldering. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Have you given my proposal any thought?”

“You haven’t proposed,” I said, arching an eyebrow.

“I seem to remember many proposals.” He mimicked my expression. I felt a blush creep up on my neck and face.

“The shower doesn’t count. Nor the bed.”

“Hm.” He made a little growly sound at the back of his throat that threatened to make me cave right on the spot. He pulled me away from the people beside us and pushed me against the column, leaning into me and sucking on my exposed neck. My breath hitched.

“What about the kitchen counter? Does that count?”

“Nuh-uh.” I tried to shake my head, but I could barely breathe.

“Against your office window?” he rasped against me. “On my balcony? In the elevator?”

“Rowan.” My voice was a pant as need built between my legs.

The proposals were all tests to see if I’d say yes when he really asked me. I knew that. Of course, I’d said no every single time, even in the throes of passion, which drove him absolutely crazy. The butterflies in my stomach lit up at the thought of just how crazy. His divorce was officially finalized, but I liked the pace in which things had been moving. I didn’t want to ruin it with a proposal. Truth was, I was pretty sure I was scaring him by saying no.

“Well, isn’t this a picture.”

I closed my eyes as Rowan pulled away from me and we faced Camryn. Of course, she’d be there.

“What do you want?” Rowan asked.

Camryn smiled as she looked at me. “I heard the kid is yours after all.”

I was glad we were standing behind a column and out of sight from the crowd, because I felt my blood drain and then shoot back into me with fierceness. I let go of Rowan’s hand and took a step toward her. Whatever she saw on my face made her take a step back, directly into the marble column. Her eyes widened.

“You know, your pathetic, sorry existence never bothered me,” I seethed, adrenaline rushing through my veins. “But if you come anywhere near my son again, I will fucking kill you.” I must have lifted my hand and gripped her throat in my rage, because when Rowan grabbed me by the shoulders, that was where it was.

Camryn panted, grabbing her neck with both hands. “She’s attacking me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rowan said. “I suggest you take her advice and leave us the fuck alone.”

I was shaking as Rowan escorted me out of the gala and into the first taxi we found. When we got to his house, he helped me out, making sure the short train of my dress didn’t get caught in anything, and when we got inside, he pushed me against the door.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, his lips crashing against mine. His tongue swept into my mouth in one swift motion, rattling my pulse. I pulled his jacket off, the vest under it, tugged at his pants. He tore at my dress, ripping the zipper as he tried to tug it down. When it pooled at my feet, he took a step back, his gaze smoldering as he dragged it over every inch of my naked body.

“You weren’t wearing any underwear?”

I smiled, shaking my head a split second before his body was pressed against mine again. He devoured my mouth as his hands touched every inch of my skin and dipped between my legs, spreading them slightly. I complied, letting him slip his fingers through my folds, arching my back off the door when he pushed his fingers inside me. I gasped, grappling for his dress shirt, the waistband of his pants. I needed it off. I needed him inside me. He let out a low chuckle when I pleaded for this, his eyes on mine, his nose just inches from mine.

“Please,” I said again.

“I love you,” he said against my lips, his other hand working on his pants as he continued to push his fingers in and out of me, making me wetter and wetter with each motion.

“I love you, now please,” I whined.

“Marry me.”

“Rowan, shut uppppppp.” The desperate cry ripped from the back of my throat.

“Marry me.”

“Ask me again tomorrow,” I panted. He took his fingers out of me, and I whined again. “What the—”

His hands grabbed my ass, hauling me up against the door as he thrust into me hard. Shit. My head fell back with a loud thump.

“Oh my god,” I said again and again until I climaxed around him and he pulsed deep and hard inside me.

He exhaled heavily, dropping his forehead onto my shoulder, still holding me up. “You are the most badass woman I know.”

I laughed, unfolding my legs from his waist and finding my footing again. “You ripped my dress.”

“You can sew it back together.” He winked as he picked up the rest of our discarded clothes. “Maybe you can start sketching your wedding dress.”

I laughed. “Probably not.”

It was a lie. I’d sketched more than just one wedding dress in the last couple of months, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.