Chapter 2
GAGE
I’ve never paced in my life. Not in boardrooms where reputations bled out quietly across the table. Not while outplaying men too arrogant to see the trap. But I’m pacing now. Her living room. Rings in my pocket. Seven minutes past the five she promised, and I know better than to be surprised.
Still, every second without her stretches, daring me to breathe through it.
Then I hear the soft click of her door opening. And I stop moving.
She steps out. Barefoot and flushed.
Her hair’s pinned up like it begged to fall back down.
Her dress clings to her like it knows who she’s coming to.
And her eyes—fuck, her eyes—there’s no panic. No hesitation. Just fire and surrender and certainty.
It hits my chest before my brain catches up: she’s going to undo me.
She walks slowly toward me, looking at me as if she’s waiting for me to speak. But words? They’re fucking gone. Because this woman—this wild, brilliant, chaotic force of a woman—just walked into the room looking like a goddess who forgot her shoes but remembered how to ruin me.
And I am wrecked.
Utterly.
Permanently.
Willingly.
I am hers.
I finally move, stopping inches from her. She looks up at me with eyes that say she already knows she owns me.
“That was longer than five minutes,” I murmur.
She shrugs, lips curving. “Told you not to count.”
She shrugs like I’m overreacting. And fuck me, I have never wanted anything more in my life than to marry a woman who shrugs at me like that.
I never stood a chance with her.
That glint in her eye? I’m being dared to chase her even now. And I would. In a heartbeat. No hesitation. Drop everything. Burn everything. Just to chase her one more time.
The part of me that plans four moves ahead? Gone when it comes to her.
The part that thought I’d never fall this hard? Delusional.
The part that thought I could survive her? Dead and buried.
I wrap one arm around her waist while bringing my other hand to her jaw. And I take my time looking at her face. Every beautiful inch of it.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Princess,” I say roughly, thumb grazing over her bottom lip. “And I’ll fucking thank you for it.”
Then I kiss her. Not hard. Not rushed. I kiss her deeply. I take my time memorizing the shape of forever.
My hands stay right where they are, at her waist and jaw. This moment isn’t about heat or hunger or urgency. It’s about love.
This isn’t a kiss. It’s a vow. And I never make vows I don’t intend to keep.
When I end the kiss, Amelia doesn’t move at first. She just blinks, tries to breathe. Surrenders herself. Wrecked too.
She looks up at me like I hold the answer to every question she’s ever asked, and those she still hasn’t.
I’ve seen her brilliant. Composed. Defiant. But this? This is my favorite version of her.
Undone by me. Because of me. For me.
“Gage,” she whispers, and I feel it like a yes. Like permission to ruin her forever.
“You with me?” I ask because she just fell apart in my hands, and I need to know she’s made it back to herself. That her body’s caught up with her heart. That she’s steady on the inside, not just the outside.
If she needs a second, I’ll give her forever. If she needs my arms before my vows, she already has them.
She nods. Eyes clear now. Then she laces her fingers with mine.
“Yes, I’m with you.”
And goddamn, the certainty in her voice goes straight to my blood.
My woman is ready to marry me.
I hear the soft shuffle of movement to my right. The sound breaks through the cocoon we’ve just built around ourselves with that kiss.
The officiant clears her throat politely. “We . . . um, we can begin when you’re ready.”
I glance at her. Then at Lucy standing just behind her. My assistant, and today, our witness. Lucy gives me an arch of her brows that says, we’re running late here boss, hurry your shit along.
“We’re ready.”