I go up on my tiptoes, wrap my arms around his neck, and smile up at him. “I can’t wait to be in your bed. Maybe I can beg for your autograph,” I tease.

“You want to role play, Ladybug?” His husky voice gets my pulse going. “I’ll write my name on every inch of you and then make you scream it when I’m pounding into you.”

“Ooh.”

He picks me up in his arms like a new groom on his honeymoon and carries me down the hall to the last bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

“This one is mine. Now that you’ve teased me, I don’t think I’m letting you out anytime soon.”

I tighten my arms around his neck. “I never tease you.”

He throws me onto the bed and falls on top of me, pushing my legs apart with his and pinning my hands above my head with one of his.

“Tell me about the tattoo,” I ask as he moves his lips across the skin revealed in the V-neck of my T-shirt.

He lifts his head and shakes his hair out of his face. “Which one?”

“The ladybug on your hand.”

A grin graces his lips. “When did you see that?”

“Years ago. At the hotel. I just never remembered to ask you about it.”

Lifting his hand, he turns his wrist so I can see the tiny tattoo again. It’s almost exactly like my own, only his is surrounded by the rest of his sleeve design. I’m not even sure how I noticed it that day.

“I got it a few months after I left. I wanted something to remind me of you. I told you the myth was true, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Do you believe it now?”

“I’ve always believed it.”

He dips his head down again and presses his warm lips against my neck. “We should get married.”

My breath catches in my throat, right beneath that sensitive spot his mouth is covering.

“Wh-what?”

“Me and you,” he whispers, nudging the fabric of my shirt away with his face and dragging his lips to my collarbone.

I am utterly, without any doubt, shocked speechless. I raise my hand and touch his head, threading my fingers in his hair as he continues kissing me like he didn’t just drop a huge bomb on me.

My brain fights through the tremors spreading through my body from his touch.

“Blue…do you have any idea what you just said?”

“Mmm,” he hums, lifting my shirt and kissing my breast through the thin white lace of my bra.

“Evan?” This is a conversation that might require his real name.

Finally he looks up at me, his blue eyes smoldering. “I fucked this all up, didn’t I?”

“I guess it depends on what this is.”

“This is me trying to tell you I want to be with you forever.”

I sift his hair through my fingers and search his face. “You used to be afraid of forever.”

“You’re right. I’m not anymore. Now I’m afraid of not having it.”

“So am I. You kinda kept taking my hopes for a happily ever after away.”

His jaw muscles twitch. “I’m trying to give it back.”

“I know,” I say softly. “And I love it so much. I just think we have to take things slow.”

I hate saying those words. The last thing I want to do is take things slow. I want everything now—Him. Happiness. A wedding. My own family, together. I want it now before he changes his mind or something happens to take it all away.

He nods but says nothing. Just moves his fingers lightly up and down my ribcage and the curve of my waist.

“And I think you’re not supposed to make any real big life decisions during your first year or so of being clean. Right?”

“Someone’s been reading,” he accuses, then moves his attention to the dip between my breasts. He slides his tongue over my goose-bump pebbled flesh.

“I have,” I admit. “I want to understand, and help you, that’s all.”

“I know you do, babe. That’s why I’m gonna be chasing you down with a ring in a few months.” He leans up on his elbows, looking down at me with his notorious sexy smirk. “So you better take off running, or be prepared to get caught and have a diamond as big as an ice cube on your hand.”

I laugh and he covers my mouth with his, capturing my laughter. Swallowing it. He grinds his hips into mine as he slowly pulls my clothes off. When I’m naked and lying in the middle of his bed on the slate gray comforter, he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a pen. He twirls it in his fingers like an expert drummer.

“About that autograph…” he chides.

Staring up at him, I reach for his shirt, seductively undo the remaining buttons, then run my fingertips over his abs.

“I’m your biggest fan,” I coo. “I know the words to all your songs.”