Page 62 of A Billion Dollar Romance
His thumb swept across the back of my knuckles.
“Say it, Edie. Say it again.”
“I’m yours, James, if you want me.”
“Fuck, Edie,” he said. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
* * *
“I should have had the chauffeur drive us,” James gritted out from between clenched teeth, en route back to his penthouse after dinner. He took a turn a bit too fast as I leaned out of my seat to kiss along his jaw, and I giggled against his stubble. “Or picked a closer restaurant.”
“We’ll be back at yours soon,” I whispered. “And then you can take all the time you want.”
“Or I could pull over here, and fuck you in the back seat,” he said, glancing over to me with a grimace. “You wouldn’t happen to want that, would you?”
I laughed again. “Maybe next time. But tonight…” I sat back into my seat after one last kiss. “Tonight, I want to savor you. This.”
“Yes, Edie,” he groaned, his hand finding mine in my lap, squeezing it. “We have all the time in the world. Tonight, and…”
“Tomorrow, and the next day,” I said, the lightness in my chest making it almost hard to breathe.
“That’s right.” He turned to look at me. “You know, I enjoyed having you as my fiancée, Edie Taylor, but I like having you as my girlfriend even more.”
“Is that what we are? Girlfriend and boyfriend?” It sounded silly–James was a grown man.
“I think so, don’t you?” he asked. “Exclusive, although that hasn’t changed.”Faithful.“Unless you want to skip it and go straight to fiancée…”
He stared ahead at the road.
“Are you…proposingto me right now?” I asked, my heart turning over in my chest. “I–”
“No,” he said, and I noticed the smile flickering around the edges of his mouth. “I’m not. You’re not ready, I know.” I stared down at our clasped hands, my lips pressed together tightly to keep the words back. I knew he was right–I wasn’t ready, much as I wanted to be. As much as I wanted to say yes to him. “When I propose to you, you’ll know it.”
When.
The diamond glinted in the passing streetlights, gold then violet then gold again.
“It’s Maddie’s birthday next week,” he said, stirring me from my contemplation of the ring, his not-quite proposal.
“The daughter from the Ballet Silent Auction.”
He nodded. “She asked you to come to her party. I didn’t want to tell her you would, not when…”
I squeezed his hand softly.
“But if you aren’t busy…”
“I’d love to,” I said, and it was true.
“Good,” he said, “I want you to meet my friends.”
“I already met them.”
“Sure, at agala.” He said the word like it was poisoned. “As my fiancée.Fakefiancée. But I want them to meet you for real.”
“As your girlfriend,” I said, and he nodded.
“As my girlfriend,” he agreed softly.
