“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about my massive to-do list.”
I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t buy it. But I am a bride, and like most grooms, he knows innately that “handle with care” is standard operating procedure. “In case it escaped your notice, we have the cash to pay someone to help you. Use it if you need it.”
“What? Like a wedding planner?” I shake my head. “For one thing, the wedding’s too close for that. For another, as I keep telling you, I want to do this myself. I want it to reflect us, not the latest fad in weddings.”
“I get that,” he says, “but you’ve taken on a hell of a lot.”
“You’ve helped,” I respond.
He chuckles. “As much as you’ve let me.”
I lift a shoulder. “You have a universe to run.”
It’s a simple fact that I have more time than Damien. I’m juggling only one small business, which has exactly one employee—me. He’s running Stark International, which has about as many people as an emerging country. Maybe more. And, yes, I have been busy, but that’s partly because Damien didn’t want a long engagement. And since I didn’t think I could stand waiting, either, I was happy to agree.
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.