I don't know where to find Rebecca, the woman Sarah called to decorate the magenta cabin, but I should probably find out, because I owe her a major thank-you. Rose petals litter the floor, while flameless candles flicker by the bed. External Mia Benson, the one wearing the mask, hates rose petals and cute candles, but internal Mia kind of thinks they're sweet. Not that she would ever admit it. Maybe just to Rebecca.

And Max. I might admit it to him.

Speaking of Max, he looks handsome as hell. His hair is starting to need a trim, and it's at that sexy, run-my-fingers-through-it length. A few locks broke free between the stylists' trailer and the cabin. He hasn't bothered to brush them aside, and I never want him to. He's the perfect combination of neat and messy.

Did I just say perfect?

I guess there's something about getting engaged that makes me feel sappy. Who would have guessed?!

I run my fingers down his face, letting his scruff tickle my skin. "You look handsome," I murmur into his chest.

What's he wearing, Mia? I know, you're dying for me to tell you. Clearly, you're just as invested in Max's appearance as I am. Wait no longer. Baby blue button-down, navy-blue shorts. Not cargo shorts. I'd have to decline his proposal if he tried to rock cargo shorts, though the pockets would make for an excellent ring hiding spot.

Anyway, he's looking kind of preppy, and I kind of love it.

Like-like it?

"You're breathtaking as always, Mia Benson," he murmurs back.

I shiver.

This is crazy. I'm doing a crazy thing. I don't know if being aware of how absolutely reckless and insane my actions are makes this situation better or worse. Probably worse.

I'm getting engaged to a guy who got to know me by hacking into a reality show's servers. We met (for real, not via forged audition tapes) less than a month ago. We've been together for less than an eighth—I repeat, an eighth—of that.

Also, he's infuriating. He doesn't have a fixed address.

All that, and I'm going to say yes.

Does that mean I love him? Mom would say no. She'd say it's infatuation (and then she'd ask if I'm pregnant). Noelle would say yes. She believes in love at first sight, that time doesn't matter when two people are right for each other.

I don't know.

Regardless, I'll say yes. That I do know. I want off this show. I also kind of really want Max.

The first course is Caesar salad—the fancy kind with shaved parmesan—and light bickering. Max thinks he has blue eyes. I think they're gray.

"So, Max," I say as we dig into the entrée, "after Amsterdam, where's your next digital nomad stop?"

"Where would you like to go?"

"Oh, am I invited?" I'm keeping a teasing expression on my face, but my heart is pounding. Is this the leadup to the proposal? How do people handle these things when they're actual surprises?

"You're invited."

"Alright. If I can squeeze you into my busy schedule, I'd like to visit somewhere warm. I've always wanted to go to Thailand."

"Thailand it is."

"If I can squeeze you in."

"Something tells me you will."

"Is something named Max Vau—what are you doing?"

There's something cold on my finger.

"Look."

Slowly, I lift my hand from my lap. Which hand, you ask? My left hand. My left hand is the one with something cool and metal and kind of heavy.

The center stone is a pearl. It's flanked by two brilliant diamonds set onto a delicate gold band.

"Marry me."

He did it. I knew the proposal was coming, and he managed to completely catch me off guard.

"Yes," I breathe.

He leans in slowly and, lips pressed against my ear, whispers so quietly the cameras won't pick his words up, "Don't worry. I'll get down on my knees later."

I don't know how to classify the sound that escapes my mouth. Something between a moan and a hum with a little bit of a gasp thrown in there.

"I love it, Max," I murmur, staring at the ring in disbelief.

I've never been a huge fan of traditional engagement rings. No particular reason. I just don't love them. I've never told anyone that. I definitely didn't say so on my "audition" tapes. I don't know how Max knew. He just did. He knew before the show, before we even spoke for the first time.

We know each other. On some weird, deep level.

He doesn't have to explain the meaning behind the proposal. I know about his childhood. I know he can pilfer—or put on—jewelry without drawing attention. Maybe I'm reading too much into it—I don't know, there's a lot going on in my head right now—but I think it's his way of telling me that he knows that I understand all of him.

"I knew you would," he replies with a smirk.

I swallow the impulse to call him a cocky bastard. "And you," I whisper. "Max, I love you."

The camera crew takes their sweet time leaving the cabin. One of the associate producers tells Max to redo the proposal, getting down on one knee this time, and we both yell, "No!" simultaneously. It's very romantic. We compromise by letting a camera guy squat under the table so Max can reenact sliding the ring onto my finger.

Finally, they're gone.

"That was incredible," I murmur. "I wasn't... I wasn't expecting..."

"Are you speechless, Mia?"

"Maybe." I can't tear my eyes away from the—my!—ring.

"Does this mean you'll squeeze Thailand into your schedule?"

"I think that can be arranged."

"You think?" Max stands and pulls me from my chair. "Or, do you know?" he whispers into my ear.

"I—" I lose the ability to speak when his lips glide down my neck.

"I think you know," he breathes.

"I know," I whisper back. The downside of Max knowing me so well is that he can get me to admit anything. Granted, I'm not that difficult to figure out. Just kiss my neck for a couple seconds, and I'm putty in your hands.

"Good. You'd miss me too much."

"So full of yourself," I murmur.

"You love it."

Before I can retort, he bites my lower lip. Gently, don't worry. Just hard enough to make me lose my horny mind. I shudder when he releases it, retorts far from my thoughts.

"We have two hours," he whispers.

I nod. It's all I can manage.

"I'm going to make you come, I'm going to make love to you, and I'm going to learn every last thing about Mia Benson."

"You already..."

Max is unbuttoning my blouse, fingers light as feathers, and I've forgotten the entire English language.

"I already what?" he murmurs, lips brushing against the valley between my breasts.

"You already—mmm!—know everything."

"Not everything." He kisses the tops of my breasts and pulls the high-waisted skirt down my hips. It flutters to the floor. "I want to know your fantasies, Mia."

I'm going to explode in a ball of arousal. Holy effing shit. I'm not even capable of responding while he continues unbuttoning my top. Words form in my head, but they get lost somewhere on their way to my mouth, distracted by the things Max is doing with his.

To say he's kissing my chest wouldn't do it justice. He's not exactly sucking the skin, either. No, he's caressing me with his lips. Whatever he's doing, it's new for me, and I love it. I'm drenched.

He slips his fingers beneath my panties. I can barely stand. No, that's a lie. I can't stand. I sway on my feet and lean against Max, whimpering and moaning while he plays with me.

"Guess them," I breathe.

"What do you want me to guess, Mia?"

"My fan—oh!—fantasies." I take in a ragged breath. "Tell me my fantasies, Max."

"Not until you come," he growls.

With the way he's fingering me, I'm not that far off. I hum, letting him know that I'm entirely on board with his plan.

"Lie down," he commands softly.

I obey, collapsing onto the cloudlike bed. Strong fingers wrap around one ankle, then the other, and they pull my legs apart. Max climbs over me, a predator ready to devour his prey, moving his hands up my legs until they reach my center.

I expect him to tease me, but he doesn't. He doesn't so much as hesitate. One moment he's moving my legs, the next his mouth is on me, sucking and licking.

My legs tremble. My toes curl. My fists clench the sheets detaching from the bed, loose around us. My hips try to buck, but Max holds them down, pressing me firmly into the mattress. Sparks ignite in my core. I love the way my body responds to him, the way I lose control when he touches me.

I'm at the mercy of his lips and tongue. They find the rhythm I love, and I'm reduced to a quivering, moaning mass as the pressure builds inside of me. All I hear is the moans escaping my mouth and the sound of Max's at my center. The room fades. Intensity continues expanding inside my core, and just when I think no other sensations could beat what I feel, I come.

My legs spasm, and I hear a scream that must be mine. My climax comes in a wave crashing down. I feel it in every part of my body. As euphoria spreads to my extremities, I slowly descend from the high.

"Max," I whimper. "Max, I..." I'm a loss for words. All I know is that I want him, and I want him now.

"Yes, Mia?"

"I want..." I shake my head, trying to snap out of my daze. "I want you."

I lift my arms, and Max falls into them, careful to avoid the bruises on my face. I tug impatiently at his shirt, then his shorts. No begging this time, either. He follows my silent instructions, but he pulls me back up his body when I trail kisses down to his erection.

"Later," he whispers.

Oh, no he doesn't. Not reciprocating after the incredible oral he just gave me would be a criminal offense. "Let me taste you," I breathe.

"Mia." There's a hint of a laugh in his voice. "Half your face is bruised."

Oh. Yeah, the logistics of giving a blowjob with my injuries are frightening. What a gentleman my fiancé is.

"Later," I agree.

"I guessed one," he murmurs.

I'm confused, but blurting out, "What?" will probably kill the mood, so I just blink.

"One of your fantasies."

I gasp and shiver involuntarily. This might be the sexiest moment of my life.

Fantasies are weird. I guess I have them. I mean, there are things I want to try in the bedroom, but I don't exactly sit around daydreaming about what they'd be like. One will pop into my head, and I'll think, That sounds fun, and then I'll either get myself off or push away the thought.

So I'm very, very curious as to what Max thinks I'm fantasizing about.

"Bondage," he growls into my ear. "You want me to tie you up, and you want to tie me up after. You want to be submissive and dominant."

I shiver again.

"Maybe," I whisper coyly.

"Will you let me tie you up, Mia?"

"Yes," I breathe.

"What if I used a blindfold?"

"Yes." I'm practically moaning now.

"And handcuffs?"

I'm going to come again, and he's not even touching me. "Yes," I whimper.

"Tell me what you want to do to me."

I'm lost in a haze of lust. "I... I want... I want to tie you to my bed," I confess.

"And do what?"

"Ride you," I answer.

"Will you ride me now, Mia?"

"Yes."

I don't hesitate. I straddle him and massage my clit with his tip. When Max tilts his head back, groaning, I sink onto his length. I love the sound of his sharp inhale, the one that means his body is at my mercy. As I roll my hips, his hands find my breasts. I lean forward, letting him take my nipples in his mouth.

A slapping sound rings out, followed immediately by my loud moan.

"Spanking," he growls. "You want me to spank you."

He's a fucking mind reader.

The sharp sting feels incredible. I can't describe why, but it sends my body into a frenzy. I move my hips faster, and Max grips them with both hands to guide me to his perfect rhythm, all while slamming into me from below.

Another slap echoes, and I feel the familiar tug in my core. "Oh! Oh, Max," I moan. "I'm..."

His fingers grip my hips tightly, and then they take hold of my ass, digging into the soft flesh. I swell with the intense pleasure inside me, and I fall over the edge, moaning Max's name. As I shudder and catch my breath, Max pushes himself into a sitting position and growls into my ear, "Turn around."

When Max takes me from behind, I see stars. I think he does, too. Animalistic grunts and groans leave his mouth while I gasp and moan and bite back screams. He holds my hips steady and slams into me. I can barely breathe. I'm overwhelmed by the feeling of his thick, hard length pushing past my limits.

"Lean into me," Max groans.

I've never done this before, but I trust him. He continues pumping into me while I prop myself up on my elbows and slowly push backwards, finally settling on his lap. One of his hands holds my hips at the angle he wants them. The other explores my breasts, pausing the caresses to pinch my nipples.

His groan nearly deafens me. A second later, he fills me with his hot release.

We remain tangled together, panting heavily, until I force myself off his lap. I immediately flop face-first onto the pillows. My eyebrow just about explodes in pain, and I yank my head back into the air and turn around.

Max is running a hand through his messy hair. "You like it rough as much as you like making love," he murmurs.

"Right again, Mr. Vaughn," I say between pants.

"Was that too much?" His voice is softer now. Hard to believe this is the guy who left a handprint on my ass five minutes ago.

"No." I shake my head for emphasis. "No, that was... That was what I wanted."

"Are you hurt?"

I can't feel anything except my aching brow. "No. I liked it." Then, because I can't help myself, I add, "But don't commit any crimes. I have your fingerprints embedded in my ass, and I'm not afraid to bring this booty down to the station."

He tilts his head back, roaring with laughter. "I was wondering when the sarcasm would return," he says when he finally catches his breath.

I smirk. He's rubbing off on me (literally and figuratively). "You can fuck my brains out, but you can't fuck my sarcasm out."

He chuckles and pulls me to his chest. "One of many reasons I love you, Mia."