Page 189 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

She laughs softly, but there’s heat in it.

“You just said you loved it.”

“I do,” I agree. “And I want to remember exactly how it looked when I peel it off you.”

She doesn’t retreat anymore.

She steps forward.

Close enough that the yellow fabric brushes against my bare chest.

“You’re very sure of yourself for a man who almost forgot to propose before announcing your intentions to marry me to my own father,” she teases.

I grin.

“I adapted.”

Her fingers slide up my torso, slow and curious.

“And what happens now, Mr. Cole?”

I cup her jaw gently, thumb brushing over the curve of her mouth.

“Now,” I say quietly, “we celebrate.”

She lifts her hand between us, admiring the ring again.

“You know,” she says softly, “this is the part where most women say they’ve dreamed about this their whole lives.”

“And you?” I ask.

“I dreamed about being chosen,” she says honestly. “But not like a trophy. Like a partner.”

I press my forehead to hers.

“That’s what this is,” I tell her. “You and me. Choosing each other.”

The gown slides down her shoulders slowly under my hands, silk whispering against skin.

Not rushed.

Reverent.

But my gaze? It’s earnest. Hungry.

I want her so damn badly.

She laughs—and it’s like bells—then she’s helping me with the buttons I missed in my haste, her fingers brushing my chest like she’s memorizing it.

The city glows beyond the windows.

The mousse waits.

The future waits.

But right now—it’s just us.

Her gown pooling at her feet.