For the rest of the day, my sole focus is Maggie. The way she looked this morning, dark hair clinging to her bare, golden skin and chest heaving as she spoke to me. The flash of irritation in those green eyes when I pointed out, again, that I wasn’t trying to pull one over on her the night we met. And then the way her lips parted in surprise when we touched. She can lie all she wants, but I know she felt it—the electricity between us. Just as palpable as the night we met, before she found out who I was.

The more I think of her, the more I realize how fucking brilliant my idea is. I want Maggie Kinsella. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman. She’s beautiful, that’s for damn sure, but she’s also ballsy. She’s got no problem giving me a piece of her mind. That’s why I’m useless all day, doing something I’ve never done in my thirty years on earth: worrying over a date. For all I know, the woman’s convinced herself she hates me so much that she won’t show up.

And that she’ll leave me looking like a fool.

I’m relieved that I must have piqued her curiosity because at eight on the dot, she’s in the Elite lobby. She’s dressed in a sexy black sundress that hugs the curves I’ve been desperate to touch ever since she teased me that night on the beach. It grants me a flash of her tan thighs as she walks, and the effect is powerful enough to stop me in my tracks when I step off the elevator. I’ve never been the jealous type—women come and go, and I’m fine with that—but I can’t help but hate every man who’s touched her up until this moment.

“Look at the tits on the bitch in the black dress.”

I swivel my glare to the motherfucker who came off the elevator with me, hoping like hell he’s not talking about Maggie. He’s with a group of shitheads, and sure enough, they’re all ogling her. “Plenty of titty bars nearby. I’m sure the front desk—or your Uber driver—will be happy to point you in the right direction,” I respond, putting space between us before I grab him by the preppy collar of his Abercrombie polo and stuff him into the nearest trashcan. “The woman in the black dress is my future wife.”

He’s smart enough to look down at his feet as he mumbles a hasty apology, but I don’t even bother with him.

My attention is reserved for Maggie in that dress. She’s paired it with a look that makes me think she’s close to vomiting all over the concierge clerk who’s pointing at me and smiling.

She drags her shoulders up to her ears, takes a few seconds, and then turns. Her eyes lock with mine as I cross the lobby. “You came,” I say once I get close enough for her to hear me.

A deep scowl yanks at her features when she picks up on the suggestive lilt behind my tone. “And if we’re going to start this evening off with you trying to get into my pants, maybe I should go.”

I grin and shake my head. “You’re not wearing pants, Maggie.” I rest my hand on the base of her spine, and her lips part open in surprise. Her back arches and she closes her eyes to gather her bearings before she glances up at me. She licks her lips and some of the steel behind her green irises fades away.

“Look, I only came because you said you have a business proposition. I was hoping you were going to say you’ve decided to move your hotel elsewhere like Maui or—”

I throw my head back and laugh and her nostrils flare. Shit, she’s sexy when she’s mad. “I’m not going anywhere, beautiful, but I love that you dream big.” Her spine stiffens beneath my touch, but she doesn’t try to pull away as I guide her from the lobby and through the double doors of what will someday be a five-star, eat-in restaurant.

It’s not much to look at. After I bought this place at the auction, I closed the ballroom off because there wasn’t enough money in my budget to launch the restaurant and spa like I’d hoped. I had cleared out all the antiquated furniture and had the walls primed, but that was the extent of my repairs. Not that my guests have ever complained. The room service at the Elite is the best on this side of the island.

Maggie stands at the curved balcony, her feet crossed at the ankles and her hands gripping the railing. She peers down at the single table in the center of the giant room.

“Fancy,” she points out, her voice echoing. She throws a look over her shoulder like she’s just won the upper hand. “Are we eating in here or—”

“Is that sarcasm, beautiful?” I counter, hiking an eyebrow. She spins around to face me and rests her back against the railing. Crosses her feet again, drawing my attention to her strappy, high-heeled black sandals and pale pink toenails. It’s not hard to picture them resting over my shoulders. “Are you too good to eat in here?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lifting her small chin, she curls her lips into a condescending smile. She’s even sexier when she does that. When she shakes her head and her loose, dark brown waves tumble over her breasts. “I figured you’d be too good for it, MVP. I took you for the dinner on a fancy yacht type of guy, you know.”

I laugh. “I’m more of a sailboat kind of guy, but no. I’m definitely not too good to eat in here.” I inch forward, my eyes caressing her. She’s close enough to touch. Breathing distance, and when I inhale, I fucking swear I can taste her subtle perfume. It’s citrusy. Perfect for a woman who shifts from tart to sweet in the blink of an eye. I dip my forehead until it’s a couple of centimeters from hers. She swallows hard.

“Next time, Maggie,” I promise. “Next time I’ll give you that fancy boat dinner.”

“Next time, huh?” Her voice is husky. I move my head up and down, slowly. Confidently. Letting out a throaty chuckle, she pushes away from the banister and sashays past me, her body brushing the front of mine. “You really are full of yourself.”

I’m half-tempted to tell her she could be full of me, too, but I’m left drooling over the twitch of her ass while she walks to the staircase. She knows what she’s doing. Fuck, she knows, and she’s enjoying teasing me.

“I never knew how huge this place was!” she calls behind her as she saunters down the steps. She stops at the bottom, craning her neck to look up at me. “Are you coming, Carter?”

I fucking hope I will and soon.

I’d ordered a meal of sea bass and fingerling potatoes for us, and she’s quiet for the first part of dinner. “I missed food like this,” she finally says, closing her eyes as she savors what she’s chewing. A shiver ripples through her and I imagine what it would be like to get that same reaction out of her after I’ve wrapped her legs around my shoulders for the first time.

Oblivious to the thoughts running through my head, she sighs. “You know, I’d gotten so used to MREs and beef jerky that I forgot what real food tastes like. Even when I got back this time, there wasn’t anything like this. This is amazing, by the way. A thousand times better than an MRE.”

She opens her eyes to find me staring back at her. Making a face, she lifts one shoulder and says, “MREs are—”

“I know what they are,” I interrupt and a pretty flush tinges her cheeks. She dips her head to her plate. “Why did you leave the Army?”

“I completed my contract and it was time to come home. I missed my family. I felt like...” She trails off, working her teeth over the edge of her lip. From my chat with my business manager, I know enough of her story. She joined the military to get away from her cheating ex. While she was away, her dad’s illness had gotten worse, right along with their hotel’s business. I start to tell her that I understand. That I remember what happened to my grandparents’ hotel, and health, after they talked me into going off to college in California to play baseball.

I nod instead. “I see.”

“Sure you do.” She avoids looking at me, playing with a strand of her brown hair. “Why did you leave baseball?”

“I hurt my shoulder.”

“All the articles say you could have eventually gone back to work.” The corners of my mouth tighten as the memories assault me. I had gone from a first draft pick to a concussion and busted up shoulder—all thanks to a drunken bar brawl. The press had a field day, calling it the finale of my downward spiral.

“I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to open this place. My own business, you know?”

“Trust me, I get it, I—” Her phone goes off in her bag, and she cringes. I watch her, amused, as she fishes around for it. She glances at the screen for a second, irritation pinching her features. She ignores the call and tosses the phone back where she found it. “Ugh, fuck off Ryan,” she growls.

The ex again. The quicker I can get that dick out of her head, the better. “Good song.” I take a drink of champagne when she gives me a startled look. “Your ringtone. “Ball-Busting Bitch,” right?”

“Funny story, really.” She darts her tongue over her teeth and her shoulders relax. Good, she’s temporarily forgotten the bastard ex. “One of the guys in my platoon sent me the link to the music video after I freaked out at him over some missing hand receipts. I’ve been a Black Falcon fan ever since. Damn near broke my heart when I read Riff had gotten married and my chances with him were shot.”

Since she’s going to marry me, I ignore the last part, focusing on the little glimpse into her past. “You? Freak out?” I drawl. “I don’t believe it. But you’ve got good taste in music.”

“I’m going to ignore the sarcasm and just take the compliment.” She lifts her eyes to the chandelier over our heads then scans her gaze around the room. “So, I never asked—why have dinner in here? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Because it’s my next big goal.” Her brows shoot up, so I tell her about the plan for my restaurant and spa. By the time I finish, she’s anxiously pinching her lip between her thumb and index finger.

“So … what’s the price tag on all that?”

I give her an eight figure number that leaves her choking on her champagne. At least it’s not in my face this time.

“Must be nice to be able to add a ten-million-dollar expansion to your hotel.” She fidgets with the corners of the white cloth napkin. I can tell she wants to add something—My family can barely afford a ten-thousand-dollar addition—but she keeps it to herself.

This is my opportunity, the one I’ve rehearsed in my head since I spoke to Milo about the investors, so I slide my chair closer to the table. “I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I can’t seem to get investors or banks to go for my ideas.”

She lets off a raspy chuckle. “If you can’t get investors, I’m doomed.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe not.”

She laughs again. It’s low and sexy and confirmation that what I’m about to say is a good idea. I could get used to hearing that sound. I could get used to every single thing about her. “Thought you said you weren’t going to fuck off and go to Maui.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but my idea might help us both.”

She rests one elbow on the table, then the other, and raps her fingertips against her chin. “All right, I’m listening.”

“I have money,” I say, and she yawns and rolls her eyes and mutters a “good for you.” Gritting my teeth, I continue, “I have money, but not the kind of cash I need to launch my idea. Investors are hesitant to help me because I have a reputation of being…”

When I take too long searching for the right word, she chimes in, “A party animal? A man-whore with anger issues? A cocky asshole? At least … that’s what it said about you on the Internet.”

I bite the tip of my tongue and force a smile at her. Shit, I wish she hadn’t researched me so thoroughly. “Yeah, something like that. My attorney seems to think I’d get more done if I prove to the investors that I can behave. That I’m not the asshole pitcher people know me as but a business man who’s dedicated to my new life. To my new area.”

“And let me guess, you want me to go on film praising your flawless character after you’ve buried our bookings for the last couple of years.” Before I can say a word, she snorts and shakes her head. She starts to scoot away from the table, but I hook one foot under the leg of her chair to stop her. She fists her hands by her plate and sneers at me. “That’s not going to happen, Gabe. You can eat a bag of dicks if you think I’m going to help you score more money to screw us over. My parents are good people and they’re struggling. You asking me for help when we can’t afford to do a ninety-thousand dollar renovation is a slap in the face.”

“Who said anything about you going on camera praising my character?” Even though that’s a damn good idea. “Like I told you this morning, my idea is mutually beneficial.”

She lowers her ass to her seat. “What exactly is it you want from me?”

“I’m prepared to offer you a deal that will repair your family’s hotel. Enough to rebuild your brand. A hundred thousand dollars just for helping me.”

She chokes on her champagne again. This time, she taps her palm to the center of her chest several times to catch her breath. “I’m sorry,” she wheezes, her face turning red. “I could have sworn you just offered me a hundred grand.”

I toss back my champagne, wishing it were a shot of something strong instead. “I did.”

“And for what exactly? Sleeping with one of your investors?” When I shake my head to her question, she sucks in her bottom lip. “What is it you want me to do, Gabe?” she demands softly.

I study her reaction when I speak the three words. Watch the way her green eyes expand and her mouth goes slack as the muscles in her body tighten.

“Marry me, Maggie.”