Page 185 of His Good Girl

His jaw flexed.

I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Come here.”

I did not move right away and his eyes narrowed.

“Careful,” he warned in a low rumble.

I lifted my hand, letting the ring catch the candlelight. “You just proposed to me. I feel like I have room for a little attitude.”

His expression darkened and my core fluttered with desire.

“Do you?”

“Yes?”

The door opened and waiter stepped inside carrying a silver tray with the chocolate tart. He froze in the doorway. Callum did not even look at him.

“Leave it,” he ordered.

The waiter set the tray down with the care of a man suddenly aware he had walked into the third act of someone else’s life.

“Sir, would you like?—”

“No.” Callum’s gaze stayed on me. “Go.”

The waiter blinked. “Of course.”

“We are not to be disturbed.”

The waiter vanished with the speed of a man who valued both employment and survival. For three seconds, the room was quiet.

Then I tutted him, “That was very bossy.”

“I am very engaged.”

I laughed, and it came out breathless. “That’s not a category.”

“It is now.”

He crossed the room toward me, unhurried and inexorable, the way he had moved that first morning in his office. I stood my ground because that was what had changed. Callum stopped in front of me and touched the ring with one finger.

“My fiancée,” he said.

The word moved through me with a palpable sensation.

“Yes.”

“My wife, soon.”

“Yes.”

“My equal,” he said.

I swallowed, then his hand slid to my waist.

“And still,” he murmured, lowering his mouth toward mine, “my good girl.”