Page 11 of If the Ring Fits

“But, Rowena, we’d still lead completely separate lives.” I hope this sounds as reassuring as I intend it to be.

“Ah,” she jokes dryly, her tone lightly mocking. “That sounds like all my Cinderella dreams coming true.”

A smile tugs at my lips. Her wry humor is contagious,despite the circumstances. “I understand I’m asking a lot. You might not want to do this at all.”

She sighs. “I’ve no idea what I want.”

“You don’t have to answer right away. But if you’re open to considering the proposal, we can iron out the details later.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, broken only by the muffled sounds of the busy lobby beyond the door. When Rowena speaks again, her voice quivers. “Shouldn’t we, um, come out of these stalls first? Meet face to face? This is starting to sound like an episode ofLove Is Blindon steroids.” She gasps. “Not that I was implying love is involved; you know what I mean, right?”

My lips pull into a grin. “I do. And you’re right, we should meet.” My pulse quickens at the suggestion, an inexplicable excitement buzzing through my veins.

I rise to my feet, smoothing down my suit and adjusting my sleeves. I push open the stall door, anticipation coiling in my gut as I step out to stand before the woman I’ve just asked to marry.

7

ROWENA

I slowly rise from the tiled bathroom floor, my legs wobbly beneath me like a newborn foal taking its first steps. The nausea seems to have subsided for now, but I gingerly place a hand on my stomach just in case. I want to make sure I’m 100 per cent in control before I get out. Puking again in front of Adrian is not on the list of humiliations I strive to add to this day.

A swarm of bees buzzes in my belly at the thought of meeting him face to face. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, excited even. He’s just some random—albeit kind and sexy-voiced—stranger I happened to vomit next to. And who asked me to marry him. Nothing to get worked up over. Right?

I glance down, scanning my black trousers and top for any rogue flecks of upchuck. The last thing I need is to walk out there with puke on my clothes. Thankfully everything appears clean, just a bit rumpled. I tug at the hem of my blouse to smooth out the wrinkles.

Clothes set, I clasp and unclasp my hands at my sides,wiping my palms on my pants before I reach for the stall door and open it.

My vision narrows on Adrian standing just a few feet away from me but taking up a lot of space.

Holy hot damn.

I’m unprepared for how devastatingly handsome he is. Easily over six-foot tall with a lean, muscular build that his impeccably tailored charcoal suit does nothing to hide. Thick, raven-black hair with a hint of a curl at the nape. Chiseled jaw dusted with just the right amount of scruff. Full, sensual lips quirked in a slight smile.

But it’s his eyes that draw me in more than anything else and make my knees go weak—two pools of fall twilight, both mysterious and inviting, fringed by obscenely long lashes. Those bedroom eyes meet mine and it’s as if an electric current zings through my body, making every nerve ending tingle.

He emanates this raw, primal sort of sex appeal that pulses down to my very core. It’s not just that he’s classically handsome, there’s an allure to him, an edge of danger and dominance cloaked in a crisp, polished veneer. I have the sudden urge to muss up his perfect hair and tear off that expensive tie with my teeth.

I’m staring slack-jawed, probably with drool gathering at the corner of my mouth. Fantastic. Way to play it cool. I snap my gaping pie-hole shut and pray my cheeks aren’t as flaming red as they feel.

Aside from being panties-dropping handsome, Adrian looks pallid, no doubt from being sick, but he’s still a hundred times more attractive than any man I’ve ever dated. Not that he wants to date me. Adrian is promising only minimal interactions and completely separate lives.

If looking a little ashen is what a single hurl did to him, I’mafraid to so much as glance in the mirror, certain I’ll find a hot mess of tangled hair, smudged mascara, and green-tinged complexion staring back at me.

But then his lips curve into a full-blown smile and I swear I hear a chorus of angels singing.

“Hello, Rowena,” he says in that honey-rich baritone, smooth and sweet, yet with a rasp of sandpaper grit. Hearing him say my name in that sinful voice makes the skin of my upper back prickle. Like a thousand tiny pins are being stabbed across my shoulder blades.

“H-hi,” I stammer, hating how breathy and shy I sound.

I step forward, arm extended for a handshake, but then snatch it back hastily as it occurs to me where that hand has recently been. “I should um, wash up first,” I say with a queasy grimace.

“Good thinking. I’d better do the same.” He flashes me another knee-buckling grin.

We head over to the sparkling chrome sinks side by side. Hyperaware of Adrian’s towering figure next to me, I fumble with the dispenser, pumping foamy soap into my palm. As I lather up, I can’t resist peeking at him in the full-wall mirror, trying to be surreptitious. But then his deep-set eyes snag mine in the glass and hold. Busted. Heat floods my cheeks.

Quickly ducking my gaze, I rinse the suds away, the water feeling icy against my flushed skin. When I’m done, I tear off a length of rough brown paper towel, the sound as loud as a thunderclap in the quiet of the public restroom. My fingers tremble as I pat my damp hands dry.

We turn to face each other again, a weird tension pulling between us. Mustering my courage, I thrust out my arm. “Nice to officially meet you.”

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