Page 183 of The Christmas Wife

"Only you, babe." He rises to his feet—the water pours off of those sculpted abs, his concave stomach, drips off of that spectacular cock.Oh, my God!I swallow, take a step back, stumble, drop the ring, let go of the pieces that formerly constituted the egg timer, swoop down, catch the ring. I straighten the ring, slip it onto my left ring finger. I blink, open my eyes in surprise. "It fits."

"Of course, it does," he snaps.

"Presumptuous, much?" I huff, turn my hand this way and that. The heart of the ring glows with silver sparks. Wow. Mypulse thuds at my temples; my stomach bottoms out. OMFG, does this mean, what I think it does?

"You're marrying me," he growls. "What's so presumptuous about that?"

"I haven't said yes."

He looks at my hand then back at my face. "You’re wearing the ring. Are you saying no?"

"You haven't asked...you...you...ass!” I yell.

He blows out a breath, stalks his way across the length of the sunken pool to where I stand. He glances into my eyes. Despite the fact that I am standing on a higher level, we are at the same height... That's how fucking big my alphahole is. I gulp; he frowns. His chest rises and falls, then he reaches out and takes my left hand.

58

Weston

"I won't take no for an answer," I tell her.

She scowls, tugs at her hand. I hold on.Fuck, get a grip, asshole. Stop thinking about yourself. Get rid of the fear that she'll refuse you and leave... Nope, not this time. I’m not going to fuck this up, nope. I've conducted quadruple bypass surgeries... This...this should be a cakewalk... Not.

I shake my head, bring my other hand up, and enclose her slim palm between my much larger ones.

I clear my throat. She glances at me, and suddenly, my scalp feels too tight. My heart hammers and my muscles tense. I rotate my shoulders, bend my knee and press it into the side of the pool.

"Amelie," I peer up into her face, "will you be the chocolate to my whiskey, the caramel to my bourbon?—?"

She blinks.

"—the spice to my tea, the fruit filling to my pie?—"

Her lower lip trembles...Huh? Is that a good sign?

"—the butterscotch to my toffee,” I raise one eyebrow, “the cookie to my coffee?"

She giggles, then slaps a hand over her mouth.

I allow a smirk to curl my lips, lower my head and brush my mouth over her knuckles, "Well?" I tilt my head up at her, “Amelie, will you marry me?"

"Not good enough," she replies.

"What?" I blink.

"You can do better than that."

"What the fuck?" I growl.

She shakes her hair from her face, "Go on, Mr, Alphahole. Why should I marry you?"

"Because I'll make you happy?"

"So can others."

"Because you can cook in that bloody kitchen with the oven I had installed specifically for you?"

"You...you did?" Her gaze widens. Damn, if I don't see heart-shaped little icons in place of her irises.

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