Well, except for one teeny tiny detail.
“Did you bring the planner I gave you?”
“Yes?” She sounds a little breathless. I slide her down my body, making sure I touch every smoking-hot inch of her.
“Take it out.”
She gives me a look. I’m gonna become really familiar with that look over the coming years if I’m lucky. That look says we’re in public and I just said something filthy. Still, she fishes the hot-pink planner out of her purse and hands it to me.
“Did you read my plans for us?” I drop down onto a bench. The fountain show is wrapping up, and my friend is probably getting all kinds of shit for his off-script performance. I’ll make it up to him later.
Harper flushes. “I read through October. You have a filthy imagination and no one could possibly have that much sex.”
I look forward to proving her wrong.
“We wouldn’t work,” she says, shaking her head. “I like rules and plans and sticking to one path. You may want me right now, but at some point—”
“We can argue over which direction we go or what road we take. We’ll be like those old couples fighting in the parking lot, and we’ll do it with love. I can be your Mr. Right. I can be whoever you need, Harper. You just gotta let me try.”
I flip the planner open to the spot I’ve bookmarked with a hot-pink ribbon. Guys don’t hot-glue-gun shit ever. Not unless they’re MacGyver and they’re building a nuclear reactor out of spare crap in their garage. The lady at the crafts store showed me how to do it, though. Wouldn’t let her touch it because it had to come from me. Especially since there’s a big-ass diamond ring hanging off the end of the ribbon.
“I love you,” I say.
And then I haul my T-shirt up and show her my new ink. Pink, black and right over my heart, Harper’s face is inked into my skin. The words beneath it read Property of Harper. It’s my very own property patch. You have to be strong to partner with a man who belongs to an MC. Harper’s got that strength. She’s always had it. But if I want her to throw in with me, I’ll have to be there for her, too.
And I really fucking want to.
“You mean it?” She blinks and for a moment I think she’s about to cry, but then a blinding smile breaks through, lighting up her own face. “I love you, too.”
“You be mine, I’ll be yours and we’ll live happily fucking ever after.” I gesture toward my bike. “And if that doesn’t work, we can at least ride off into the sunset every night.”
“Together.” She sighs.
And that’s it. That’s my perfect answer, my second shot at happiness, my whole world, because she throws her arms around me and there’s nothing better than this.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE MARRIAGE CLAUSE by Alexx Andria.
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The Marriage Clause
by Alexx Andria
CHAPTER ONE
Luca
MY NAME IS Luca Donato. You may have seen my mug on the cover and in the pages of Forbes, Fortune and the Robb Report, because my family is ridiculously, obscenely rich.
I’m talking Saudi prince–level money.
I could wipe my ass with hundreds for several lifetimes and still not make a dent in the family trust.
My family descends from Italian aristocracy—some royal connections if you go back far enough—and we’ve done well enough with our investments in Donato Inc. to never have to work again if that were our choice.
But unlike some in similar positions, the Donatos haven’t grown soft with privilege. If anything, our wealth has made us harder, hungrier—all about the victory.
We decimate our opponents, and the word no really isn’t part of our vernacular.
In fact, I can’t remember the last time someone refused to cave to my demands.
Until a certain redhead
