It’s been three months since he proposed, two months and twenty-nine days since I started diving into planning and prep, balancing my software development business against the business of my wedding. I’m proud of what’s come together, and I’m even more proud that I’ve done so much of it on my own. Hell, I’ve actually been getting some use out of all those etiquette classes my mother forced me to sit through. Imagine that.

I aim an impish smile at him. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, it is a bit stressful doing everything so fast, but I’m actually having a lot of fun working out the details of decorating the beach and organizing the caterer and pulling all the pieces together. I suppose we could push the wedding back a few months to make things even easier on me.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t even joke about that. Not unless you want me to scoop you up, toss you on the helicopter, and elope to Mexico. Which, for the record, I still think is a fantastic idea.”

“Vegas would be easier,” I tease.

“There’s no beach in Vegas,” he says, his expression going soft. “Even if I’m kidnapping you, I won’t deny you the surf or the sunset.”

I sigh and fold myself into his arms. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“Enough to marry me,” he says.

“And then some.”

He hooks his arm around my waist and tugs me close, then brushes his lips over mine. The kiss starts softly, a feather-touch, a tease. But there’s no denying the heat between us, and soon I am moaning, my mouth open to him, his lips hard against mine, taking and tasting. He pulls me closer to him, my name like a whisper on his lips, and the embers that are always burning between us burst into white-hot flames.

His hand slides along my back, then under my tank top at its base. The sensation of skin upon skin is delicious, and I sigh with pleasure, then gasp with longing as those clever fingers slip beneath the waistband of my yoga pants and curve over my rear. He tugs me closer, his erection hot and hard between us, as his fingers slip inside me. I’m liquid heat, and I want nothing more than to strip us both bare and let him take me right here, on the hardwood floor.

Passion thrums through me, and I swear I can feel the house vibrating around us.

It takes me a moment to realize that the thrum isn’t entirely the result of my lust for my fiancé—it’s the arrival of his ride, the helicopter approaching from the north to settle on the helipad that Damien installed on the property.

I pull away, breathless. “You’re going to be late, Mr. Stark.”

“Sadly, you have a point.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, and the pressure of his tongue at that sensitive juncture is almost as enticing as the feel of his erection hard against me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me today?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you in the helicopter.”

I laugh. “It’s on my bucket list,” I assure him. “But today’s not the day. I’m meeting with the cake lady.” Rather than a regular wedding cake, I’d decided to go with tiers of cupcakes, with only the top layer being the traditional cake with fondant icing. The baker, a celebrity chef named Sally Love, came up with an exceptional design for the icing on each individual cake, and she’s going to incorporate real flowers on the tiers, making the overall design both elegant and fun. Not to mention tasty. Damien and I went together to pick out the flavor for the top layer, and also selected ten possible flavors for the cupcakes. Today, I’m going back to narrow the ten finalists to the final five.

“Do you need me?” he asks.

“Always,” I say. “But not at the bakery. You did your part, I’m just finalizing the cupcake choices.”

“Don’t ditch my tiny cheesecakes,” he says.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Is Jamie going with you?”

“Not today,” I say. My best friend and former roommate recently moved back home to Texas for the express purpose of getting her shit together. She’d come back three days ago determined to be the best maid of honor ever—which meant that I’d had to field a full hour of apology when she explained to me why she might not make it to the bakery today. “She drove up to Oxnard last night, and she’s not sure when she’ll get back today. She did a play there a few years ago, and the director’s a friend who now does commercials, and . . .” I trail off with a shrug, but I’m sure Damien understands. Jamie’s still trying to land a gig.

“And if she gets a job?” he asks.

I shrug again. I’m torn between wanting her to be cast and wanting her to take as much time as she needs to get her head back on straight. I miss Jamie, but Hollywood pretty much ate her up and spat her out, and although my best friend likes to pretend like she’s tough enough to take it, underneath the careless sex kitten veneer is the heart of a fragile woman. And it’s a heart I don’t want to see broken.

Damien kisses my forehead. “Whatever happens, she has you. That makes her one step ahead of the game already.”

I smile up at him. “Will you be back tonight?”

“Late,” he says, then trails a fingertip over my bare shoulder. “If you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you.”

“I look forward to it,” I say, then tilt my head up for a quick kiss on my lips. “You better go get dressed, Mr. Stark,” I say, then push him off toward the bedroom. He’s back remarkably fast, securing his cuffs as he walks toward me, then taking my hand as he tugs me onto the balcony with him. I follow him down the staircase and along the path toward the helipad.

We pause at the edge, and he kisses me gently one last time. “Soon, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, but what I hear is I love you.

I watch as he bends over and hurries under the spinning blades to board the helicopter, which has SI emblazoned on the side. Stark International. I grin, thinking that SU would be more appropriate—Stark Universe. Or Stark World. Damien is, after all, my whole world.

I shield my face from the wind, then watch as the bird rises, taking Damien away from me. I know he’ll be back tonight, but already I feel hollow.

I consider going inside to get dressed, but instead I follow the flagstone path that cuts through the property until it reaches the beach. I walk along the sandy shore, imagining my wedding. We’ve planned it for sunset, with a party to follow. Considering who Damien is, the guest list is relatively small. We’ve invited our mutual friends as well as a number of key employees of Stark International, Stark Applied Technology, and the rest of Damien’s subsidiaries. Also, some of the recipients of grants from Damien’s various charitable organizations.