“Darlin’, it wasn’t meant to be.” I run my fingers through her hair. “He didn’t stand a chance. It was always us.”

She shakes her head into my shoulder, bawling even harder. “It’s not just that. I mean, I’m horrified by what I’ve done to Callum, and I’m ashamed of what we did…” Hiccup. “I’ve tried to fight what we have for so long, Mal. I no longer remember what it feels like to let go and allow you to pull me down the rabbit hole.”

I take her face in my hands, move her away so she can look me in the eye. “Newsflash, Rory: you’re already there. There wasn’t one moment in time, from the second we met, that you weren’t mine. Just like I’ve always been yours.”

She stares at me with emotions floating in and out of her pupils, like passengers on a train. I can see all of them.

Shame. Anger. Fear. Elation. Excitement.

“I kept the napkin, didn’t I?” I twist a lock of her hair between my fingertips.

Marry me, Rory.

Then she does something so unexpected, I nearly swallow my tongue.

She drops to her knees and unbuckles my belt with frantic movements. I say nothing, because I’m not above getting an emotional blow job, and because a weird, fucked-up, highly convenient part of me thinks she needs to suck my dick to prove something to herself.

When she pulls my briefs down, I’m hard as a baseball bat. My cock pops out with comic enthusiasm. She fists it and groans, closing her eyes and shoving it into her mouth. My eyes roll back in their sockets, and I thrust a hand into her hair, tugging for moral support. I feel her tongue swirling against my tip and forget what planet I’m on.

“Aurora Belle Jenkins,” I growl, “one day, you’ll be the death of me. But what a fecking way to go.”

Twenty minutes later (okay, six), I come hard inside her mouth—after asking for permission—and yank her up by her hair. I know that’s what she wanted all along when she gives me that glossed-over, may-I-be-fucked-now? look—to be manhandled like that Richards’ assistant lass.

Sometimes the dissonance between the way I act to win her over and my real self makes me wonder if I’m a sociopath.

“This was the part where we were supposed to make sweet love.” She laughs, her lips red and swollen.

She dives into my bed. I’m still standing, propping a shoulder against the wall and watching her.

“You were the one who got on your knees, Princess.”

“I missed it, and I’m single now.” She shrugs, tying her arms over her chest like a rebellious teenager.

“No, you’re not.”

She blushes. “Did you enjoy kissing Brandy?”

“Yes,” I answer her honestly.

Her gaze shoots to me, thunderstorms brewing.