“So, what were you up to this afternoon?” she asks.

I’d skipped out of work early to take care of a couple of things, telling Olivia I’d meet her at home.

“I had some business to take care of. I actually met Camryn for happy hour.”

“Camryn? What for? Work stuff?”

I shake my head. “Personal stuff. I’ve been thinking about planning a do-over for our wedding. A real reception, all of it. Wanted to get her perspective on some things you might like.”

She smiles tenderly, her gaze meeting mine. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Mr. Tate.”

“So you’d be game?” I trace my thumb over her jawline, and Olivia leans in to my touch.

“Of course.” She presses a small kiss to my lips. “Did Camryn give you any ideas?”

I smirk. “Nope. She basically said I needed to figure it out on my own.”

She chuckles. “That sounds like Camryn.”

I pull Olivia closer on the couch. Lately every evening has ended with us making love, but for the last several nights, she’s been distracted by thoughts of her dad and work, not one hundred percent in the mood. Tonight, I need to show her what a good stress relief fucking can bring.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, curling against my side.

“About?”

“I have an idea for replacement assistant.”

“You do?”

I’m surprised to hear that Olivia’s put more thought into it. The control freak in her has been busy turning down every applicant who’s walked through the door. Not that I’ve minded too much . . . it’s cute to see her territorial side come out.

She lifts her head from my chest and nods. “Rosita would be perfect, Noah.”

“Rosie?” My eyebrows dart up. “I love Rosie, but I doubt she’s qualified.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “Babe, you honestly have nothing to worry about. Even if I hired the world’s hottest supermodel as my assistant, I’d still only have eyes for you.”

“A supermodel wouldn’t be qualified, either,” she jokes. Then her smile softens, genuinely soothing. “I know. I mean, deep down, I do know that. And I trust you. It’s just, I don’t know . . . it’s annoying to think that there are women out there who are only interested in sleeping their way to the top, who seduce the men they work for to get ahead.”

I get what she’s saying. Olivia has worked her ass off for every promotion she was awarded. It was due to skill and merit, not because of how short her skirt was or how low-cut her blouse. I can see that her anti-bimbo hiring practices have nothing to do with not trusting me and everything to do with her own personal code of ethics.

The significance of this conversation has taken a turn. I hadn’t planned on showing her now, but what the hell—I need to prove to her that she owns me in every way possible. I start to unbutton my pants.

“I guess I shouldn’t have gotten this, then . . .” I pull down the zipper and push down my boxers.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What is with you and whipping out your . . . whoa!” Olivia slides from the couch and drops to her knees in front of me, inspecting my crotch with wide eyes. “What in the hell is that?”

The warning of the tattoo artist, the gun already buzzing in her hand, rings through my head. Are you sure about this, buddy? You realize it’s permanent. Shit, maybe I have made a mistake . . .

Olivia plants her hands on my thighs and leans closer.

With her head practically in my lap, my dick starts to appreciate the attention, hardening and readying himself for action.

“What did you do?” she repeats.

The ink is still tender on my skin, and I probably shouldn’t have removed that bandage, but I wanted her to be able to see.

Low on my groin, just above my junk, is written Olivia Quinn Cane.

I got it to cement my love for my wife, but since she’s looking at me like I’m crazy, I’m not sure she appreciates the gesture. I scratch my head sheepishly.

“I know that was one of the things that bothered you when we first got together. You said I’d slept with half of Manhattan.”

Olivia’s eyes dart up to mine. “The female half, yes.”

“And while that’s not true, I got something today that I hope will show you I’m yours now. In every sense of the word.”

She traces the gracefully lettered script. I bite my lip at her feather-light caress—the tattoo is still fresh enough to sting like a mofo, but my flesh also tingles at the gentle touch, so near my dick . . .

“I can’t believe you put my name here,” she murmurs.

I swallow hard, my voice husky with emotion as well as desire. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

She climbs into my lap and kisses me deeply. “You’re incredible. Crazy . . .” She chuckles. “But incredible.”

“I love you.”

“Love you more,” she murmurs against my lips.

“Not possible.”

I rise to my feet and carry her to the bedroom.

Chapter Thirteen

Olivia

We waited to schedule our vow renewal until after Dad was released from the hospital into home hospice care. We also decided to hold it at the Cane family estate, where I grew up, so that he wouldn’t have to travel anywhere. But Noah wouldn’t let me do any of the planning beyond that, because he wanted everything to be a surprise.

Whatever he’s concocting, I’m sure it’ll be a far cry from the day we were legally married. That barely qualified as a wedding ceremony; it was only a legal union, just signing some papers. There was certainly nothing romantic about it. Today we’ll be surrounded by a crowd of family and friends, all laughing, congratulating us, and toasting our happiness.