and ordered, “Wait here.”
I did as he said, enjoying the view as he climbed out in all his naked glory. He grabbed my towel from the lounger and dried himself as he returned. “Out.”
My gaze lingered on his cut, tattooed body. “You know—”
“Now, Juliet.”
“Fine,” I said, but only because I was curious where we were going. I climbed the ladder and took the towel, wrapping it around myself as Maximo tugged on his joggers.
I ran through what I knew of his schedule but came up empty. There were no events at the resorts. No warehouse fights.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he started for the door.
“To get married.”
That was it.
That was all he said.
He didn’t ask.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t even pause.
Simple as that.
“What?” I shouted, my heart freezing before pounding frantically in my chest as butterflies created a mosh pit in my belly.
He reached the door before turning around. “You better hurry or you’re getting married in that towel. We leave in an hour.”
“What?” I repeated, both because of the bombshell and the time crunch.
“I tried to give you more time.” He opened the door and closed it behind him.
I stood and stared, completely stunned.
Married.
He wants to get married?
Married!
Remembering the limited timeframe, I rushed after him, but he was nowhere to be found. I clutched the towel and ran upstairs.
When I opened the bedroom door, there was still no sign of Maximo. There was, however, a gray dress and shoes on the bed. It may not have been the traditional white, but there was no mistaking what it was.
Holy shit, a wedding dress.
Hurrying to shower off the chlorine, my thoughts raced like crazy, but none of it was bad. No panic. No terror. And not even the tiniest hint of doubt.
Just excitement.
Okay, confusion at the abrupt sneak attack and a hefty bit of shock, but mostly excitement.
After my shower, I blew out my hair. Knowing how much he loved my hair in a high ponytail, I pulled the bulk of it up but made it stylish by wrapping the remaining pieces around the elastic and sliding some gemmed bobby pins into place. I added loose curls to the ends and the pieces framing my face.
Once I was done with my makeup, I hurried into the bedroom. Skipping a bra, I tugged on a pair of minuscule lace panties before carefully sliding on the thick strapped dress over my head. It was understated but stunning, with a deep V between my breasts and a high slit up my thigh. Sitting carefully, I secured the matching strappy heels into place and moved to stand in front of the mirror.
I’m wearing a wedding dress.
Because I’m getting married.
To Maximo.
But not if I don’t hurry up.
After a few quick touch-ups, I rushed from the room. I expected to find Maximo in his office, but it was empty. As was the rest of the hall.
Nearing the stairs, voices traveled up from the foyer. I clutched the banister so I didn’t tumble down the steps on my trembling legs. I was grateful for my tight hold when I caught sight of Maximo. He must’ve showered in one of the other bathrooms because his hair was still damp. He wore the black suit and shirt combo I loved so much, but with the surprising addition of a gray tie that matched my dress.
When I dragged my eyes up his body to meet his, I lost my breath. There was so much intensity, fire, and love burning unrestrained in them. He stared as if watching me walk was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.
He moved, reaching the bottom of the stairs as I did before taking me in his arms. I got the distinct impression—based on the desire in his brooding eyes and his hardness pressed against my belly—that he liked what he saw.
“You look so damn beautiful,” he whispered roughly, “and I’m so damn lucky you’re mine.”
My heart squeezed at his sweetly possessive words. I didn’t fight to block them out in a feeble effort to protect my heart.
He already owned my heart.
And I knew he’d die to protect it for me.
Before I could speak, he said, “We have to go.”
But he didn’t release me or move.
After a long moment, Ash cleared his throat. “Boss.”
“Right.” Maximo took my hand and walked to the waiting Lincoln. Once we were in the backseat, Ash began driving.
Unable to hold it in, I asked the question that kept ricocheting through my head and dancing on my tongue. “Are we actually getting married?”
“Yes,”