Page 39 of The Marriage Deal
She nods matter of fact. “Yes. A dog.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrow. She pouts. “Then I’m not marrying you.”
“I’ve already paid your debts,” I remind her coolly. Calmly.
“Fine. I’ll marry you.” She rolls her eyes like there couldn’t be a worse fate. Then she threatens, “But I’ll make sure your life is anything but sweet.”
“Why the dog?” I push. “What purpose will it serve?”
“Happy wife, darling.” She slides from the stool to dance her way closer to me. Up on her tiptoes, she says huskily, “Happy life. That’s the purpose.”
Fucking woman.
I bite back a groan, both at her closeness and her audacity. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She pats my chest, but says sweetly, “I’ll make the arrangements for his arrival.”
She makes to twist away from me, but I catch her around the wrist of the hand that had patted my chest only moments before. With her wrist locked in my grip, I guide her back into the fridge with my free hand on her hip. Then I move my body in close—not close enough to touch—but close enough to feel the heat of her through the clothes we wear. Close enough to crowd her.
She tugs a sharp breath into her lungs, her breasts brushing my chest on the rise. A little shudder escapes her on the release, and she whispers, “What are you doing?”
“Your little deal isn’t done, little lunatic.” I dip my head to pin her wide eyes with mine. “You make arrangements for that dog to come here, then your ass is here, too. Got it?”
“Myass?”
“Yeah. If there’s a dog living here—your dog—then you’re living here, too.”
“He needs a home, Briggs.” The spitfire of her deal-making-self has been knocked down a peg or two by my more levelheaded return demand.
“That’s the deal, Lilah. If you’re bringing a dog here, then you’re here.”
“I can’t live with you,” she sputters. “We’re not married yet.”
“Don’t tempt me, Lilah. I can get a justice of the peace out here by morning.”
She shakes her head in bewilderment. I wonder if she knows I’m not one to be bested. Not ever. If she wants to play hard ball, I’m game. And I play to win. Always.
“Briggs—”
“Lilah.”
“We’re not evenengaged!”
“That, too, can be changed.” I release her wrist to tug open the drawer beside the fridge. A little box sits inside, and the moment I pluck it out and she catches sight of it, she gasps.
“Ohmygod.” The words are blended and high-pitched. She’s freaking out.
I like it.
I pull the ring from the box. It’s just like her. Sharply beautiful and so bright it can’t be missed.
I picked it out with her in mind only yesterday.
I reach for the hand I’d released moments before, sliding the diamond onto her ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.
Something swells in my chest. Something unexpected.
