“But,” he gritted out. “Wanna do things different with you. Wanna take you on a date. Give you what you deserve. Show this whole town you’re mine.” He lifted his hand to brush my cheek. “And then, I want to show you you’re mine.”

My stomach flipped as I sucked an unsteady breath through my mouth.

Rowan was regarding me intently. “If that’s what you want.” It wasn’t exactly a question. More like him verbalizing a forgone conclusion.

I couldn’t speak. I was too busy trying not to melt into a puddle at his feet. Or try to climb him like a tree.

“I’m pretty good at reading people, Nora,” Rowan murmured. “Really fucking good at it. And I’ve made it my business to read the subtleties of your expressions over the years.”

Another stomach flip. My heartbeats stuttered.

“In addition to that, you were pretty fucking enthusiastic this mornin’ and a few minutes ago,” he continued. “So, I’m rather confident that you want this too. Us,” he clarified. “But I’m gonna need to hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.”

“People d-don’t talk like this in real life,” I stuttered. “Men especially don’t talk like this in real life.”

Rowan’s lip quirked. “This is real life, cupcake.”

I digested his words. He was right. This was real life. Everything was much too stark for it not to be. And my pounding heart, the throbbing in between my legs, the tingle of my fingertips (that made me worry I was having some kind of stroke), confirmed that yes, this was indeed reality.

“Need to hear you say you want to be mine,” he requested gently.

I tilted my head, eyes roving over him. His angular jaw covered in stubble. Those lips that were perfectly full and masculine. The dark brows framing his smoldering gaze. Inky hair that brushed his forehead. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms. Sinewy forearms exposed from the way he’d pushed up the sleeves of his flannel. Large hands covered in calluses, proof of the work he did every day.

I’d cataloged all of this before, of course. But from a distance. Or with fleeting glances when I was brave enough to actually engage with him.

“Do you want to be mine?” I asked him instead of heeding his command.

I was forcing the staunch feminist in me to the forefront. Because I was embarrassed at how much I wanted to be his. Even though, two nights ago, I’d been cursing another man for thinking I was something to own.

But Rowan was saying it was like I’d be something to worship.

Still, I was pushing back. Because how was I to know that he truly wanted to be mine? It was one thing to have a woman, but it was quite another to be had by a woman, belong to her in the same way you expected her to belong to you. A lot of men didn’t think like that. Thought the rules were different.

“Cupcake, I was yours the second my steel-toed boot set foot in this pink fuckin’ bakery,” he said without hesitation.