“These,” Gabriel said, holding up the paper again, “are the terms.”
She scowled at him and took the folded piece of paper. “I have nothing against signing a prenup, but that was the least romantic non-proposal in the universe.” Opening up the single sheet of paper, she found a handwritten list.
Prenuptial Agreement between Gabriel Bishop and Charlotte Baird
You (Charlotte) will wear your engagement ring and/or your wedding ring at all times so other men do not hit on you.
If a man hits on you regardless, you are to tell your husband so your husband can kick his ass.
You will change your last name to Bishop.
You will agree with everything your husband says and never argue with him.
You must never wear anything but black lace underwear.
You agree to take dictation half-naked at least once so as to fulfill one of your husband’s office fantasies.
In return, your husband will fulfill one or more of your own dirty fantasies—all of which you promise to share with him in intricate detail.
Charlotte looked up without reading the rest of the list. “This is a ridiculous list.”
“We can negotiate.”
Putting her fisted hands on her hips, the paper crumpled in one, she said, “Don’t you try that with me, Gabriel Bishop.” He had a sneaky tendency of inserting clauses into contracts that he didn’t really care about—his opponents were usually so infuriated about negotiating them out that they gave him what he actually wanted.
What he actually wanted right now was for her to marry him, and likely, terms one and two. And okay, probably six and seven. “I am not marrying you.” She tugged off the ring and put it back in his jeans pocket when he wouldn’t take it.
He bared his teeth. “Yes, you are.”
“No, not until I can sleep the night through with you.” Folding her own arms, she stood toe to toe with him. “Husbands and wives do not sleep in different rooms in my world.” It was hard enough now, but if she took vows, if she became his partner in every way, it would cut at her each night she slept alone.
“Fine,” he said. “You agree to marry me the minute you sleep the entire night through in my bed.”
Having the vague feeling she’d been outmaneuvered after all, she nodded. “After you ask me properly.”
A shark smile that made her skin prickle, her blood hot. “Done.”
38
DON’T EVER NEGOTIATE WITH A DETERMINED CHARLIE-MOUSE
“I’M STAYING,” CHARLOTTE TOLD Gabriel that night. His smell, the feel of him, everything was familiar, made her feel utterly safe. It was time her subconscious got with the program.
And damn it, she wanted to marry him.
“Okay,” he said suspiciously agreeably.
Eyes slitted, she watched him, but when he yawned and closed his eyes, she snuggled close and let her own lashes grow heavy. She was almost asleep when it clicked. Her eyes flicked open. Sitting up, her butt on her heels, she poked at his pretend-sleeping body. “You sneak!” He’d made her agree to marry him if she slept the entire night through in his bed, conveniently forgetting the words with him.
An unrepentant grin as he opened his eyes. “You knew who you were negotiating with. Now”—a pat on her butt as he rose up onto his elbow—“I’m going to your room.”
“You do that and I’ll follow.”
“I’m bigger than you,” he said smugly. “I can pick you up and put you right back here.”
“I have legs. I’ll come back.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Snuggling down against his shoulder, one leg thrown over the deliciously hair-roughened skin of his, she closed her eyes. “Try to make me leave.”
A distinct snarl of a sound as he curved his arm around her, his hand on her bare butt. “You need a goddamn spanking.”
It was her grin that was smug this time. “I love you too.”
Yawning, she closed her eyes. They snapped open what felt like a heartbeat later, her pulse in her mouth. She was frozen, her muscles so stiff they felt as if they’d snap. She drew in a breath when her lungs protested, and the scent of Gabriel filled her lungs.
Gabriel.
Shuddering, she felt her muscles ease, her body aching. It took her a minute to realize what had wakened her. She was still on top of Gabriel, but he had his hand around her nape. Warm and strong and heavy and Gabriel. That’s all she had to remember. This was Gabriel. Breathing in and out, in and out, she closed her eyes.
It took conscious focus, but she eventually fell back asleep.
There were two more panic attacks, and Gabriel woke both times. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled the first time and went to take his hand from her nape.
“Leave it,” she ordered, bad-tempered from lack of sleep. “I’m dealing.”
He massaged the back of her thigh. “You’re all tense.”
“I’ll get untense. Leave it.”
More massaging, and then he began to do that to her nape too. Gentle and firm, the rhythm eventually lulled her exhausted mind into slumber.
The next time she woke it was because she’d ended up under Gabriel and he had her pinned down with his leg and thigh.
“I know,” he mumbled. “Leave it.”
She just made an incoherent sound, her eyes gritty.
THE NEXT NIGHT, SHE woke them four times.
The night after that, it was twice.
The one after that, it was five times.