"I'm a rancher. These are working hands." He holds one up as if to prove his point. "It's perfectly reasonable that I don't wear a ring for that reason alone. Beyond the safety aspect, there's the cost of losing it, riding, mucking stalls, feeding, the list is endless."
Of course he has an answer for everything.My grip tightens on the ring.
I shrug, forcing casualness I don't feel. "Well, I'm a rancher's wife and a vet at that, so..." I set the ring on his thigh. "We can be untraditional together."
The ring sits there on the dark fabric of his pants, catching the light. Neither of us moves to touch it. The backseat of our car is humming with tension so thick it almost feels tangible.
There’s a tick in his jaw before he says, "Put this back on and don't take it off again."
His voice is low, controlled, but there's something dangerous underneath it, something that makes heat coil in my stomach even as irritation flares in my chest.
He doesn't get to just order me around.
"Make me," I say before I can stop myself.
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch his eyes flash with surprise before something darker moves in. His gaze drops to my lips for just a fraction of a second before snapping back to my eyes.
Oh God, what did I just say?
The tension is suffocating now, the space between us charged with something that has nothing to do with business deals or fake marriages. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. He leans forward slightly, and I force myself not to retreat. Hishand moves toward the ring on his thigh, fingers closing around it.
"Don't test me, Asha," he says quietly, his voice rough. "I always win."
But instead of handing it back, he reaches for my left hand. His fingers are warm, firm, as he takes my wrist, gentler than I expected given his tone, but with enough pressure that I feel trapped. Claimed.Breathe. Just breathe.
"Wear this, and I'll meet your terms." His eyes search mine as he waits for another objection. When I don’t stop him, he takes my hand and slides the ring back on himself. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, lingering a beat too long to be casual. "Was that so difficult?"
I should pull away. I should say something cutting. Instead, I'm frozen, hyperaware of every point of contact between us and the way his eyes haven't left mine.
"Your turn," I manage, but my voice lacks conviction.
His thumb traces another slow circle on my wrist, right over my pulse. "As you wish," he says before his eyes flash outside the window. "Manuel, change of plans. Pull over; we have to make a stop."
He pulls away, and I straighten in my seat, my eyes darting out the window. There's no jewelry shop, just a few tiendas. That's when my eye catches the wordtatuajes.My Spanish is rough, but I'm pretty sure that translates to tattoo.
My head snaps back toward him. "Have you lost your mind?"
"In more ways than you know," he answers somewhat cryptically.
"Trigger, this is—" I start, but I don't even know how to finish. Insane… Extreme… Permanent!
That last word echoes in my head like a warning bell. This is a temporary marriage. A business arrangement with an expirationdate. You don't get permanent marks for temporary things. He's already out of the car, heading toward the parlor.
By the time I catch up to him, he's already inside. The tattoo parlor is exactly what you'd expect: dark walls covered in flash art, the buzzing hum of machines in the back, the sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with ink. A woman with sleeve tattoos and a nose ring looks up from the counter.
"Can I help you?" she asks with a thick accent.
"Yes, wedding band," Trigger says, holding up his left hand.
Her eyes dart between us. "One or two?" she questions.
He glances over his shoulder like he's waiting to see if I'll take the same reckless leap. "I didn't ask you to do this."
He doesn't argue. Instead, he turns back and replies, "Just one. Will there be a wait?"
"No, not for a band. Easy tattoo," she confirms before adding, "Follow me."
Once he's seated in the chair, I can't help but point out the obvious under my breath as she prepares her tray. "This is permanent. We aren't."
