Page 47 of Beach House Beauty

“Is this you asking to move in with me?” I ask, amused. Hopeful. Praying.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ll cook and clean. And I have a job now.” She scrunches up her nose. “At least I think I still have a job.”

“Oh, you definitely have a job,” I growl.

“You talked to Tawnie?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know I still have a job?”

“Because I’m not talking about the bar.”

“Oh. Then what?”

“Being my wife, songbird.”

She gapes at me, her mouth open in an adorable little O.

“If you’re moving in, you’re marrying me,” I say, laying her out on the couch beneath me and crawling over her. “Don’t care if it’s tomorrow or next year, but you’re going to be my wife.”

“Do I get a say?” she asks.

“Depends on if you’re saying yes.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her. “Yes,” she whispers in my ear. “Yes, Rhys.”

“Fuck,” I breathe, every muscle in my body relaxing at once. I tilt my head to the side, sealing her vow the only way I know how. With my lips on hers and my hands on her body. By the time I let her up for air, we’re both naked and she’s writhing beneath me.

“Rhys,” she whispers, staring up at me with that look I’ve missed so much. The one that says she’s mine in every way. “I love you.”

“Songbird,” I groan, sheathing myself inside her. “Sing us to heaven.”

She does. As sweetly as ever.