“Well?” He was growing impatient. So was I.

My Christian Louboutin black pump ricocheted off the lid when I lobbed it at my suitcase. I was so riled I’d resorted to mistreating the thousand-dollar shoes that Ryan had purchased for me. “All I wanted to do was look at a jacket and even that turned into a disaster.”

He looked around the room. “Did you buy it? I don’t see any bags.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You went shopping and didn’t buy anything?”

“I lost my shopping bags when I fell. I bought some gifts, but everything I bought disappeared in the mêlée.”

Ryan sat up. “How much did you lose?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“I used my charge card so it’s my loss,” I muttered contritely.

“Jesus Christ, Tar.” He got up and stalked around the room. “Where’s your purse?” he growled, shoving things around to look for it.

“What do you want it for?” I moved my coat to get it.

“Because now you’ve pissed me off.” He grabbed the small bag from my hand and yanked on the zipper. Then he slipped my credit card out and examined it.

“This,” he said, holding it up, “is mine now. It doesn’t exist.” He looked at the other card, which was our joint card, and shoved it back in its slot.

“Wait, stop—”

He grabbed his wallet out of his jeans pocket and confiscated my card. “I don’t give a shit if you need it to put gas in your fucking car; you use our card from now on.”

He was being ridiculous. I held out my hand. “Come on. Just give it back.”

He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and glared at me. “Do you want to wear that ring?”

“What?” I looked at my hand.

“Do you want to be my wife, yes or no?”

Now he was scaring me. “Of course I want to be your wife, but th—”

“No buts. It’s a yes-or-no question, Taryn.”

I squared my shoulders. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Gah. “Yes, I want to be your wife.”

“Good. Then get over your shit. Got me?”

“Ryan, you know I—”

“Got me?” he yelled louder. “I’m not playing this game anymore, Tar. All this bullshit provides for one hell of a lifestyle so deal with it. I provide. I take care of what’s mine. And if you even so much as breathe on my wallet to get your card so help me God I will tie your ass up, lock you in a fucking room, and play Guns N’ Roses on endless loop.”

I gasped. Now he was fighting dirty. “You wouldn’t . . .”

“Oh no? Try me.”

“You can’t take my cr—”

“Oh no? ‘Welcome to the jungle, baby.’ Over and over again. That what you want?”

I rubbed a fingertip over my cracked lip, cringing. “No.”

“Good, now that we have that settled, why don’t you tell me how this other bullshit got started.”

“I woke up?”

He frowned at me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “There wasn’t a huge crowd outside when I left the hotel.”

“And?”

“And . . . when I came back there were hundreds. The police wouldn’t let me enter the hotel without proof of stay. I tried to get closer to the entrance and then I accidentally stepped on some girl’s toe.”

Ryan stared at my incredulously. “A toe. This”—he waved his hand up and down—“all started because you accidentally stepped on some girl’s foot?”

I nodded again, hating how ridiculous this all sounded. “I tried to call you but I forgot about having to put in the country code first.” I hoped my sheepish look was enough to indicate how remorseful I was. “I was trying to squeeze past them and it just happened. Some girls recognized me and asked for my autograph and then someone wanted to take pictures and then I stepped on someone’s foot. I tried to apologize but another girl shoved me and I bumped the girl behind me and . . . well, they shoved me and I shoved back.”

This apparently amused him.

“It’s not funny.”

He wiped his hand over his lips. “I’m not laughing. But I’m glad you defended yourself.”

I chose not to reply. Defending myself was my downfall.

“So are you going to explain how I put up with you or should we just throw more shoes around instead?”

I turned back to him and grumbled, “You threw the first shoe.”

He was unruffled. “I did. And you’re avoiding answering me.”

“Okay, fine. You want to know? Your publicist, your manager—hard to hide the fact that they both despise me. The only one who’s nice is Aaron and I suppose it’s only to keep you happy. I know they all think I got pregnant on purpose.”

I tossed the other black stiletto into my open suitcase, gentler this time. “Taryn, the evil little temptress, out to trap you and steal your millions.” I took a deep breath.

“We both know how you got pregnant, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It may have been an accident instead of something we planned for but it certainly wasn’t intentional. And it was a risk we took together. Besides, if I didn’t want to have kids with you someday I would have been wearing condoms from day one.”

That stopped me dead in my tracks. “I’ve always wondered about that, actually.”

His brow rose. “About?”

“The unprotected day-one part.”

He laughed shyly as if he had his own private joke. His eyes locked on mine. “Tar, I knew that very first day I stumbled into your pub that you were the one. I think I fell in love with you when you were rubbing that shit on my cuts.”

I gasped, shocked by his admission.

Another private thought wisped through him, causing a sly grin to form. “I started to have naughty fantasies about you being the mother of my kids when you were kicking my ass playing pool. By the time we finally hooked up, I honestly didn’t care one way or the other if I knocked you up. Feeling your skin on mine was worth taking the risk. And if getting you pregnant meant that you were tied to me somehow permanently, even better.”

I instantly softened at that. Melted, died, and floated to heaven actually.

He held his arms open, welcoming me. I curled up in his lap and snuggled into his neck, never wanting to let go.

His nose drifted over mine. “You know I want kids, so I couldn’t give two shits about what Marla or anyone else thinks. All I care about are the decisions we make as a couple.”

I brushed my lips on his for a kiss, loving him even more than I thought was possible.

Ryan lounged back and I rested my head on his shoulder. “But,” he said conspiratorially, “back to the Marla thing. I found out earlier today that on the day I proposed to you, Marla caught her husband screwing one of the bartenders from the Chateau in her shower.”

My head popped off his bare chest. “No kidding?”

“I think that explains some things, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

He combed my long hair back. “Trish wanted to tell you about the email she got this morning but I guess I spoiled all her fun now.”

I envisioned Marla walking into her palatial estate, catching her husband’s wet, naked ass in mid-thrust. Oh to have been a fly on the wall for that one. Still, part of me could relate all too well to that scenario and I actually pitied her.

“Bartender, huh? She probably thinks we’re all sluts.”

“Well, that’s her problem, not ours, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Ryan gently rubbed his hand up and down my back, lulling me into a stupor.

“I just wish David didn’t hate me, too,” I said.

Ryan huffed. “David sees you as a distraction.”

The way he spoke, I could tell that wasn’t all there was to it.

“And?”

“Annnd . . . I really don’t care what he thinks.”

“He’s had it in for me ever since we had that dinner meeting with Follweiler.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like you influencing my career decisions.”

“Maybe I should keep my opinions to myself then.”

Ryan stirred. “No way. Screw that. I want to know what you think. Your views aren’t jaded like his are.

Besides, I know what’s temporary and what’s permanent in my life.”