Page 36 of Sweet Surrender

I pull the ring box from the bag and her startled gasp is about how I felt when I bought the damn thing. “It’s not a wedding without a ring, right?” Why am I suddenly nervous? “I tried to pick something practical for you since you’re always using your hands in the bakery. Something that didn’t have a high profile and wouldn’t get dough and icing stuck in it or snag gloves if you wear them—”

“You thought of all that?”

“Of course. I want my wife to wear her ring,” I tease but damn if those words don’t have my stomach flipping as I open the box and hand it to her.

She gasps, her eyes flying up to meet mine and then back to the cushion-cut oval diamond centered in the middle of an infinity band of other diamonds. “Jase. It’s—”

“Understated.”

“Far from it. It’s stunning. Gorgeous . . . whoa.”

She reaches out to run a finger over the band where it’s nestled in the box. The ring is spectacular but small in comparison to other celebrity wives’ standards and yet . . . something about it called to me, much like Hendrix did. It’s understated—possibly normally overlooked—but is elegant and classy. It screamed unique and genuine, and from the short time I’ve known Hendrix, it seems to fit her.

I’m not sure why it was so important for me to get it for her when I could’ve simply bought a solitaire something or other, but it was.

“Here. Let’s put it on you,” I say and take the ring out of the box. We both inhale shaky breaths as I slide it on her finger and it fits perfectly.

“Oh,” she says, but I have a feeling that oh stands for oh shit. Oh my God. What the hell are we about to do? How do we stop this train?

Truth be told, I didn’t know how to give her the ring. Just like the same situation with a formal ceremony—I probably won’t, but just in case I do plan to lower to my knee one day—I didn’t want to think of this moment here. The pretend engagement. So I decided to just hand it to her to put on herself but right now it feels ridiculously inadequate and callous.

Maybe that’s why I bought her the present—to make up for it. It has to be.

“I also got you something else to go with your dress.”

“Jase. The dress, the pampering, is more than enough.” She keeps staring at her hand and the ring now on her finger.

“Shush.” I tear my eyes off the ring and up to the discord dancing in hers. “But I saw it and thought you’d like it. That it would go with whatever dress you picked out.” I pull a second jewelry box out. “Turn around for me.”

She holds my gaze for a second but then does as I ask. I’m hard-pressed not to notice how delicate her shoulders and the curve of her neck are as she does so. How smooth her skin is or how incredible her light flowery scent smells.

I lift the multi-stoned diamond tennis necklace over her head, until it rests on her neck, and then fasten it at her nape. Goosebumps chase over her skin and fuck if the sight of them doesn’t tell me everything I need to know.

My touch does to her what everything about her does to me. Affected.

Hands off, Jase. Don’t fuck this up. You made promises to Nathaniel. Promises to yourself.

She reaches up to run her fingers over the stones of the necklace. “This is completely unnecessary,” she says as she turns to face me. “This is too . . . much.” Her voice fades as we come face-to-face and well within each other’s personal space.

I never noticed the flecks of gold in the hazel of her eyes or the subtle scar just below the hairline of her forehead. And I sure as hell never thought a hitch in someone’s breath could sound sexy and yet here we are.

I smile and reach out to run my fingertip over the necklace much like she did. “It looks good on you.” My finger trails off the necklace to her skin.

“Thank you.” She’s breathless.

Fuck.

And close.

“And there’s only one way to see about that other what if of yours.” I lean in closer, my hand moving to rest on the side of her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath my hand as I brush my thumb back and forth over her jawline.

“Which one is that?”

“If we can pull off the kiss.”

“Oh.” Her throat jumps beneath my hand as she swallows. “I took a theater class in high school. We had to—I can do the pretend way.”

“Pretend way?”