Page 94 of Offside Angel

I want him forever.

The thirsty little voice in my head is begging me to accept and fuck him until we’re both too old and gray to care about such things, if that’s even possible. I can’t imagine ever not needing him the way I do now. I love him.

Which is exactly why I bind and gag that little voice and try to let cooler, less horny heads prevail.

I look away, staring at my shivering legs beneath the cooling water. “I know the accident was scary, but I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to rush into anything you aren’t ready for.”

“You think I’m not ready?” He has his boxers back on, so it’s a little safer for me to take a peek over at him. But he’s still too gorgeous for words. I’d have to be the dumbest woman alive to refuse him.

I lift my shoulder in a shrug.

Before I can lower it, Zane is at the edge of the tub, plunging his hands into the water to wrap around me.

“What are you doing?” I try to fight, but I’m wet and slippery, and he’s, well, him. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and plants my feet on the cushy bath mat.

Without a word, he dries me with a towel, making sure to be gentle with the bruises on my side and my hip where I smashed against the center console as the SUV spun through the intersection.

“I can dry myself,” I mumble, but the words come out so softly I’m not sure he can even hear me.

I’m glad.

I don’t want him to stop.

Zane dries every inch of my skin with the same meticulous attention to detail and tenderness he used to set me on fire just a few minutes ago. He does everything in his life with a singular, driven focus.

Which is why I don’t want him to jump into marriage with me on a whim. I don’t ever want to be something Zane Whitaker might regret.

When he’s done drying me off, he tosses the towel away like we’re beyond clothes and scoops me back into his arms.

“Are you mad?” I ask, trying to understand the slant to his brows and the flex of his jaw. “I really do love you, but—What are you doing?”

Zane places me on the bed and then crawls over me. His broad body stretches above me, and we should be talking this out.

Then again, he is strong and warm, and maybe we can afford another round before we make any big decisions.

The dirty voice in my head wins out. I press my palms to his bare chest and drag them lower, smoothing over his still-damp skin.

I hear his bedside drawer open and close. “I’m showing you how ready I am.”

I look between our bodies at the bulge in his boxers and bite my lower lip. “I can see that.”

But before my hands can make their way there, Zane pulls away. I sit up, instinctively following him. I’m about to protest—maybe even beg for him to come back if things get desperate enough—when he slides off the end of the bed and holds out a black velvet box.

I stare at it.

And stare.

And stare some more.

All I seem to be capable of is staring and blinking and breathing.

“You don’t think I’m ready,” he says, flicking the box open. I catch a glimpse of something large and shimmery inside, but I can’t focus on it. I can’t look away from the slow smile spreading across Zane’s face. “But I already have the ring I’m going to put on your finger.”

“When?” I croak.

He knows exactly what I’m asking. “Two weeks ago. I bought it a few days before Gallagher’s birthday party.”

“Before the birthday party. Before… before the accident.”

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