Page 43 of Between Her Pages
"You remember the date?"
"You think I'd ever forget the day I decided I was marrying you, no matter what it took?" I cock a brow at her. "Hell no, I didn't forget."
She blinks wide, startled eyes at me. "What? That's when you decided you were going to marry me?"
"Yep. I mean, I was already falling for you, but when the cops knocked on my door, I knew I wouldn't rest until you were mine." I tip her head back. "It's not every day your hot-as-fuck neighbor decides you're a serial killer and still looks at you like she desperately wants you to kiss her, you know."
"I did not have my priorities right," she mumbles.
"Oh, yeah? What would you do differently now?"
"I'd agree to the date, kiss you, then call the police."
I throw my head back, laughing loudly.
"Sorry, but the police are still coming." She grins at me. "I was trying to be a hero."
"You are a hero, Olive." I brush my lips against hers in a sweet kiss. "You're a hero to me, to our little girl, to my unhinged bird, and to the savage little dog you rescued from a dumpster. You're also going to be a hero to the little girl in your belly."
"That's a boy, Mason."
"She's a girl."
"God, I hope you're wrong. One daughter is more than enough for you," she mutters.
"I'm an excellent girl dad."
"You threatened to homeschool her forever because she smiled at a little boy, Mason!"
"It was a valid complaint," I protest.
"She's in day care!" Olive cries through laughter.
"Still a valid complaint."
She just shakes her head at me, looping her arms around my neck. "Don't ever change, Mason Hudson."
"Don't plan on it, Rebel." I palm her ass, squeezing. "I fully intend to be this obsessed about you, and this overprotective of our daughters for the rest of my goddamn life."
Her lips curve into my favorite smile—the one that lets me know I'm doing my job right because she's happier than ever. The one that says I'm giving her the world, just like I planned. "I like this plan."
"Thought you might." I kiss her softly, gently pushing her up against the wall again.
"Mason," she moans. "I'm going to be late."
"Blame traffic," I growl, my hand slipping between her legs.
"What traffic?"
"Fine, blame the husband who can't keep his hands off you."
"Deal," she moans.
