He understood liking a woman enough to want to hang out with her exclusively—his future sisters-in-law were awesome—but now he understood what his brothers had given up just to put a ring on it.

Because there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to watch Rosie take her clothes off. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to be with more than her.

He wanted to watch her bruise petals. Snowboard with her and figure out the logistics of a triathlon.

He wanted to kiss her, and he needed to fuck her into next week.

He wanted everything with Princess Rosalina Anais Isabella Villeneuve.

He reached for her, gentler, his feelings more tender, but when he leaned in for a kiss, she playfully dashed away, heading around the back of the couch. “Take me from behind.” Excitement shone in her eyes.

Reality hit him, as jolting as landing on hard-packed snow. This was fun for her. She was getting it out of her system, before she had to head back home and marry out of duty.

And using him to do it.

Of course. He’d known that. She’d just told him a few hours ago.

Even though he’d said he’d take what he could get, he’d gotten carried away. Reaching behind his neck, he pulled his shirt over his head, but his arms felt stiff, heavy. Uncooperative.

This is what she wants. So, give it to her.

Right. He popped the button on his jeans, shoved them down along with his boxers, and stepped out of them. Weird how his bones felt like jelly. Come on. Give it to her from behind.

He could give her a few weeks of fun.

Better me than some random guy she meets in a bar.

He headed over to her, but his legs resisted, like trying to fight his way across a river.

She turned around, resting her pink lace-clad ass on the back of the couch. Her hands cupped his jaw. “You okay? Still with me?”

“You bet.” Except his voice sounded like he’d dragged it across asphalt. He loved the scent rising off her skin, the strangely pale green eyes that saw him. That soft, expressive mouth that had taken his cock with so much enthusiasm.

He had such great discipline, why couldn’t he marshal it right now? Give her what she wanted?

“Come here.” Standing up, she reached behind his neck. Her fingers sifted through his hair, as she got up on her toes and kissed him. And, oh, fuck, did she kiss him. Sexy, sweet, a slow tangle of tongues.

When her fingers curled into his hair, she moaned into his mouth, and he knew he needed to tell her.

What she meant to him.

What he wanted.

He wanted more kisses that transported him, that made his knees buckle, his heart pound, and his skin burn.