Knowing she’s undressed on just the other side of that door is sweet torture. But she’s told me she’s ready for sex, and that means I need to do the right thing—tell her about the heir clause in the contract.

While she bathes, primps, and dresses, I wait in the living room, trying to get my thoughts in order. Tonight might be the most important conversation I’ve ever had. The future of Tate & Cane depends on how carefully I can break this news to her.

But then she steps out from the bedroom and I forget how to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences.

“Wow. You look . . .”

“Is this okay?” She spins, treating me to the 360-degree view.

The knee-length dress is modestly cut in the front, not showing too much leg, or really any cleavage. But the back plunges all the way down to just above her ass. And the deep wine color contrasts with her milky skin beautifully.

Sweet Jesus.

“You look edible,” I stammer out.

A sly grin spreads across her berry-stained lips. “Edible?”

So much for being smooth and playing it cool. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later,” I say, recovering only slightly from the sight of her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, but you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

My cell phone chimes and I check the notification. “The car’s here. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

I take her hand and guide her to the door, where she picks up a little silver purse and a tube of lipstick.

When we reach the street in front of the penthouse, Olivia pauses on the sidewalk. “You got a limo?”

I open the door to the sleek black town car and nod. “It’s a special occasion.” Olivia slips inside and I lean down to meet her eyes. “Plus I’ll be able to feel you up without crashing the car.” I grin.

Olivia chuckles, warm and deep, and the sound goes straight to my head. I love putting a smile on her face. Honestly though, not driving means I can focus one hundred percent on Olivia.

Tonight will be more than just the first time we have sex. Tonight is the first time I’m going to be intimate with my wife. My wife. Shit, I’m still not used to that—both the idea of having a wife and the idea that it’s Olivia. But I take this shit seriously. Tonight means much more than just some random hookup. I really like Olivia. I want us to work. Plus, I haven’t fucked anyone in months. My body is more than ready for this.

She slips inside the car and I climb in behind her. Since I’ve already given the driver tonight’s agenda, he whisks us away without a word.

After dinner at a nice seafood restaurant where we enjoyed lobster and wine and shared the lemon cheesecake for dessert, Olivia and I visit one of the city’s best jazz clubs, seated at a tiny round table for two with a perfect view of the stage.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand while the band warms up. “Thank you. I can’t believe you planned all this.”

I shrug. “It’s nothing.”

She frowns. “It’s not nothing. Believe me when I say that no man has ever planned a date this extravagant.”

Never? That simultaneously relieves me and pisses me off a little. I’m glad that she’s impressed, but it’s a damn tragedy that she’s never been romanced properly. Of course Olivia deserves all this—and more.

“Well, you’re stuck with me now, babe.”

She chews on her lower lip, and for the briefest flash of a moment, I read the hesitation on her features. I might not have been who she’d choose as a husband, but that didn’t change the outcome. Whatever happens next, wherever we go in life, I will always be her first husband. Part of me hopes I’ll be her one-and-only husband, as crazy as that sounds.

During dinner, the conversation flowed well. True, we did talk mostly about work, but it was the type of gossipy small talk that kept us both laughing. And now, we’re each on our third glass of wine, and the soft jazz music floating through the air has created an undeniably romantic atmosphere.

Olivia has a subtle smile painted across her lips as she looks out over the stage. But despite the perfect evening, I can’t escape the thoughts that have lingered in the back of my head all evening. The guilt stewing inside me has reached a boiling point. As much as I want to just enjoy our date, I can’t put it off any longer. I need to tell Olivia about the baby-making that’s supposed to happen. Like, now.

“Olivia, I . . .”

She reaches over and touches my hand. “Dance with me?” Her eyes are filled with a hopeful longing that I never thought I’d see her direct at me. I find myself nodding and rising to my feet.

Then we’re swaying on the dance floor—her fingertips on the back of my neck, her sweet honeysuckle scent surrounding me, my hands molded to the curve of her hips like they were made to fit there. And I . . . just can’t. Not right now. This moment is too perfect to ruin.

It seems like she’s finally starting to warm to me, to the idea of us. I promise myself that I’ll tell her as soon as we get home. For now, I push the words I need to say down my throat, and I just hold her.

• • •

The instant the penthouse door closes behind us, Olivia’s lips are on my throat and her hand is on my cock.

Hello there, instant hard-on.

“Whoa. Slow down, baby. We have all night.” I grip her wrist, drawing her hand away from my cock. Plus, we still need to talk. We have to.

“Fuck going slow. I’ve gone slow my entire life. I overthink every decision to death. I haven’t had sex in . . .” She pauses and looks down. “Years.”