“I’m sorry,” she grates, and I mentally dance in celebration. She craves me. Even when she’s mad with me, she craves me. I feel like it’s my only defense in the battles, and yet rather than accept her apology, I just can’t help pushing my limits, my ego swelling.

“Now, if you’re going to apologize, at least sound sorry,” I say quietly, and she audibly breathes in some patience.

“I’m sorry.”

I look at her reflection. “Are you?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

She’s not sorry. She’s giving me lip service, but that’s how much she wants me all over her skin. “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

I move in and crush her body against the wall. Breathless, she stares up at me. “You’re beginning to understand, aren’t you?”

“I understand,” she agrees on a wheeze.

I kiss her hard, feeling her short nails sinking into my flesh, and I make up for the many kisses I deprived her of this morning. “Happy?” I ask, and she sighs, relaxing against the wall.

“Yes.”

“Me too.” I drop a gentle peck on her forehead and take her hand as the doors slide open. “Let’s go.” I slip my shades back on, looking over my shoulder as we pass through the foyer. She’s grinning. Fuck, I love that grin. I need to keep that smile on her face all day. Make this a date she’ll never forget. I feel like I’m winning already.

I open the door of my Aston, sweep my arm out in gesture for her to get in, and bend to pull her seatbelt across. She doesn’t murmur a word of protest, letting me do my thing. The clip locks in place, and I pull back, my face close to hers. She smiles demurely, and I return it, running my tongue across my bottom lip. She hears my silent demand, pushing her mouth onto mine. Another kiss. Slow, soft, calm, but full of purpose.

“You’re a good kisser,” she mumbles.

“I know.” I move my mouth to her cheek and playfully bite, and she laughs, the sound dreamy.

My day is planned out meticulously. Breakfast at a place that serves the best of Ava’s favorite, a stroll holding hands, and then home to make mad sweet love. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down, the breeze mild, and I’m with my favorite person. I glance across the car at her when I’ve pulled up outside the bistro, and she gives me another smile. She’s full of them since we made friends in the elevator. I never want to be the person who takes those smiles away.

I swallow and eject myself from my Aston, collecting her and guiding her toward the bistro. “You’ll love it here,” I say, offering her a chair. “We’ll sit outside.”

“Why will I love it?”