I moved off him—or tried to—to give him a little privacy, but his big palm settled on my hips, keeping me there. The one-sided conversation didn’t reveal much.
Max answered with monosyllabic responses, his thumb drawing distracting little circles on my hips. “Yes…yes…hmm…it’s not necessary…” His gaze settled on me. “She’s my life, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy.”
Then I knew. My father was on the line. Setting my glass on the table, I rose to my feet, my stomach roiling, and rubbed my arms.
Ending the call, Max dropped his cell on the end table and looked up at me.
“Why?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because I love you, and I want you to be happy. I want you to pursue your dreams, not give them up. And becauseyoumade mine come true.” He tugged me back onto his lap. “Marry me, Logan, so I know you’ll always be mine.”
My mouth opened and shut in shock. “Max—”
“Marry me, so we can spend our nights drinking terrible red wine while watching oldies or slow dancing beneath the stars. I want to spend my life with you, because this heart,”—he tapped his chest—“will always be yours.”
My eyes stung. I could barely see him at the tears crowding them. “I love you, Max, so much,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “but ask me again in two years.”
“Fine.” He said it as if he’d expected my answer. His gaze holding mine, he slid his fingers into his pocket and fished around. Palm closed, he took my hand and slid something on my finger.
“What the—?” I stared at gleaming teardrop-shaped emerald and diamond engagement ring. “Max, I said two years.”
“I know, but this way, the world knows you belong to me now.”
“Then I should get you something, too,” I teased.
He frowned. “I don’t do jewelry, well, except for the ones that bring you pleasure—” My face heated at his smile. “But…” He unbuttoned his dress shirt and shrugged it aside, then grasped the hem of the white t-shirt beneath and hauled it off.
“Max,” I laughed, “I meant something like a ring, which you vetoed—” Then I saw it. The words dried up in my throat.
On his left pec, over his heart, my name was done in dark ink.
My own clocking like a racing horse, I gently traced the old English letters that spelledLoganand included a red heart—the only bit of color on his chest. The skin appeared a little puffy and red around the new tattoo, so I traced it gently.
“It’s beautiful. You never do anything the expected way, do you?”
“Why follow social norm?”
Wasn’t that the truth when it came to him? “When did you get this done?”
“Yesterday. No, you didn’t see it because I made love to you with the lights off against the bedroom window.”
Heat flooded my face. “You deliberately did that, knowing I’d insist the lights be off?”
“Absolutely.” There was no apology in his tone. “Besides, it was better, wasn’t it, at the thought that just maybe someone could see us?”
My face hot, I wrinkled my nose, refusing to say yes, though that edge of danger—of discovery, had heightened my pleasure. And with Max, I was willing to go wherever he took me.
Epilogue
Ila
Max pushed open the bar door to Mulligan’s. A cacophony of sounds—laughter, chatter, along with the soft background music—spilled over me, and I stumbled to a halt.
“You plan on playing doorkeeper?” he teased from behind me, his hands sliding to my waist to move me along.
Inhaling deeply, the aroma of grilled meat and malty beer assaulting my nose, I huffed out a laugh. “It just took me by surprise how full this place is so early in the evening.”
“Guess everyone must be real thirsty.”
