His muscular thighs shifted as his feet found new footing on the bed. My thighs strained farther apart to accept him. I felt his length top out inside me, surging the most intense of pleasures. Filling me like no one else could. Marking me as his from the inside with everything he has. His hands slid my arms above my head and he twined our fingers together.

Somewhat breathlessly but with much conviction, he said, “Je t’adore means I adore you.”

Ripples of emotion coursed through my chest as he gazed directly into my eyes, me feeling so completely loved by this man, in complete awe of his presence, his gentle ways, his undeniable claim that he staked in my heart. Tears of joy blurred my eyes and dripped to the pillow.

“I adore you, too. You are my forever, mon amour.”

Ryan’s mouth sealed on top of mine; his hips curled and surged like the unrelenting tide. Pressure was building up inside me, aching for another release.

As if a moment of deep contemplation struck him, his hips completely stilled and he cleared his throat —several times.

“Veux-tu m’épouser means will you—” His thumbs tenderly brushed the wet streaks left behind from my weeping eyes, taking careful measure to soothe it all. “It means will you marry me.”

Air stuttered down my throat as the magnitude of his words aligned with their meaning. New tears welled and spilled from the edges of my eyes while the burning sensation of intense emotions gathered up in my chest, my throat. I felt as if I could burst at the seams.

I reached up and gently caressed his face. His eyes shimmered like two watery blue pools, glistening as magnificently as the diamond engagement ring on my left hand.

He slammed into me, deep. “Marry me, Taryn. I want to hear you say yes again. Tell me you want me.”

My lips quaked, trying to form the ability of speech. “I want you.” I ran my fingertips down the sides of his neck. “I need you to breathe. Yes. Forever. Till death takes my last breath.”

His lips locked on mine, tying his question and my answer into an unbreakable knot.

Ryan’s strong hand gripped my hip. “Mon amour,” he said in my mouth. “You are home for me. You’ll always be my home, Taryn.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck, kissing every inch of him uncontrollably. What started out as a private challenge to make love in every country we visited turned

into something profoundly deeper. This was solidifying a union, consummating a promise to each other far beyond the intimate boundaries of physical love.

I said the only words that seemed fitting, but somehow they felt so inadequate. “I love you so much.”

His hips stirred with more vigor; the bed steadily bumped into the wall. The look of painful pleasure creased his eyes. “I love you more.”

I smiled and dug my fingertips into his rear, holding on, wanting him to climb deeper inside of my soul.

His arms wrapped underneath me, lifting me from the warmth of the bed into a warmer embrace. I straddled up over him; my thighs provided the lift as his hand guided my rear to rock back and forth.

He lay all the way back, helping me adjust my legs. “Take me,” he breathed. “All of me.”

His length pummeled inside me. My hands wrapped at the base of his skull, holding his face steady so he’d look me in the eyes.

I sealed my words on his lips. “Till the day I die. Yours. Forever.”

Ryan’s hand locked into my hair, holding my mouth to his. “Come with me, baby,” he whispered his plea, grinding me down on his pubic bone and the tip of his thumb. He kept at it, at an unrelenting, punishing pace. I felt as though I were being ripped apart and slammed back together all at once.

My head fell to his shoulder as the rolling burn of sensations, the shock-wave overload, coursed through my body.

With a deep groan, his body trembled and convulsed. I felt his warm release pulse inside of me, binding us together forever.

While Ryan was busy shaving in the bathroom, I called Marie. “He proposed to me again—in French.”

“While making love to you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my God, Taryn. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Holy shit. Wait until I tell Tammy.”

I moved my cell to my other ear so she could yell excitedly into that one. “No! Please don’t tell anyone, Marie. Not even Tammy. This is so private. I shouldn’t even be telling . . . I’m just . . . blown away. It was so amazing. I’ve never . . .” Moisture gathered at the corner of my eye again from thinking about it. “Ah. We have to change the subject. Tell me something else. So how are things going there?

How’s our pub?”

“Screw that. I want to hear more about sex in foreign countries.”

“Marie . . . ,” I groaned.

“The bar is still in one piece, Tar. Busy, although you’ll be glad to know that the influx of obsessive fangirls has died down. Oh, and the five-foot cooler is shot. I can’t believe he proposed to you again in French! God, I really hate you right now. Ryan Freakin’ Christensen, naked in Paris, whispering French I-love-yous in your ear while doing you. Grr. So not fair. Man, why couldn’t I have been the one to open the pub that day?”

I snickered lightly. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You’re married, remember?”

Marie snorted but not with humor. “Yeah, well. Not for long.”

I grabbed my backpack to get my laptop, wishing I would have kept my big mouth shut. “Oh, Marie, come on. Listen, you know I didn’t call to brag. Did we, um . . . did we get the tax bill in the mail yet? And what did you say about the cooler not working?”

“You are so determined to be a buzzkill, aren’t you?” She sighed loudly. “Tar, I truly am happy for you.

I hope you believe me when I say that.”

“I know.”

“Good. Then tell me more about your trip. I’d much rather talk about that than what’s happening here.

Please tell me Ryan is walking around naked.”

I dug through my bag for my power cord adapter, laughing at her enthusiasm. “Towel.”

“Damn. You suck.”

“Very well, so he says. I just wish we had more time in each city. Two or three days is nothing. I can’t believe it. In less than thirty-six hours we’ll be in Barcelona. Time is flying by so fast.”

“Ooh. Maybe he’ll fuck you in Spanish. Can you call me while it’s happening? God, I want to hear that.

He should put that in his next movie—”

“Marie!”

“What? Come on, Tar! If I can’t live vicariously through you, I’m gonna have to kill myself. I need to join you on your world tour. Can’t I carry your luggage or something? Toss rose petals when Ryan walks?”

“What’s wrong with the cooler?”

Marie let out a huff. “Someone needs to get laid on top of it. Maybe that will fix it.”

“Call Gary. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

I heard the familiar noise of the cash register tape cycling, grinding like the decrepit old-timer that it was. One more thing in the bar that needs to be replaced.

“Yeah, right. He hasn’t talked to me since we got back from L.A. and to be honest, I couldn’t care less if he ever does. I’m sick of him.”

“Why? What happened?” I heard Ryan drop something in the bathroom and it made me flinch.

Sounded like the can of shaving cream hitting the tiled floor.

“Ah, remember that guy from the Reparation after-party who thought I was a casting agent? Nate—the hottie with the incredible ass?”

I drew a vivid picture in my mind. Tall, dark brown hair. Wide shoulders with a narrow waist. Total GQ

material. “Yeah. So what? Is Gary mad because you were talking to some guy?”

“Yep. When we got back to our room we got into a huge fight. He completely flipped out on me, told me I was flirting like a whore and stuff. It got . . . it got pretty ugly.”

I swallowed hard, picturing Gary’s anger potential at its worst. I’ll kill him if he laid a hand on her.