Rating: R
Pairing: B/A
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Category: AU, Romance, a little Angst, Humor
Summary: Angel pops the question … but it doesn't go quite as planned.
Sequel to: The Pretender (find the story at the babble-board, http://clik.to/buffyrant)
Feedback: please send it to mariavlelasquez1945@hotmail.com
Dedication: to all those whose feedback encouraged me to post the sequel! Thanks so very much.

Dating the perfect man was hell.

When we were kids, we all – well, most of us anyway – had dreams of meeting someone wonderful, someone perfect, someone so irresistibly bright, shiny and sweet that we'd want to take him home and keep him happy for the rest of our lives. Happily ever after. The real-life white knight of our dreams. The perfect Prince Charming of suburbia who'd charge up to our doorstep in his white limo, sweep us off our feet and offer us his unlimited credit, snazzy car and beach house in Malibu.

Evil materialistic little me did cherish that dream as I cherished my Barbie doll and her Ken in my cabinet who frequently got married for no other reason than to fulfil my innermost fantasies. As the two dolls got dressed up for the most beautiful marriage the world had ever seen, it certainly never occurred to me that getting my wish was going to be hell!

It wasn't Angel's fault. How could it possibly be? No one could lay the blame on his faultless self, from the top of his exquisitely coiffed dark hair to his perfectly polished shoes. Tall, dark, handsome, Angel O'Rourke was the man who gazed out dreamily from the covers of magazines and scintillating bodice-rippers, the kind of man everyone dreams of. Close to cherubic looking when he was a kid and on to the adolescence years, he admitted once that he'd often wished for the deep, manly lines that age would bring him. As it was, his face didn't quite get the rugged looks that he wanted but settled into the dreamy, handsome look that cameras adore.

High forehead, strong cheekbones, the square jaw prerequisite in a hero, thick lips which tended towards a pout when he didn't get his way – which wasn't all that often since he managed to charm people into seeing his way. The only thing that saved him from being a perfect model close – or made him even more alluring to my way of thinking – were his eyes. Soft, puppy-dog eyes with lashes thick and sinfully long – eyes the color of mud brown, he'd said with his boyish grin.

The amazing thing was he was mine. For the past six months, four days and 18 hours, he'd been mine. Ever since He'd declared his love for me after charming my parents into submission. He'd been my friend before that and helping me out that evening, because I wanted my parents to believe that I was living with my boyfriend to get them off my back. Ever since I'd moved to New York, they wouldn't stop throwing single men at me, and I wanted it to end. Suffice to say, Angel did a kick-ass job. After that evening and the following days, my parents were convinced I had the most loving, most perfect boyfriend.

And I agreed. Angel was perfect. Too perfect sometimes. Even after a night's sleep, he looked wonderful. Apparently free from the effects of bad-hair days, his hair looked adorably mussed at worst. There was this one night when he slipped in a puddle of mud after running down the stairs of his office building. It was probably the only time I ever saw him dishevelled – and even then the mud happened to splatter him in a very fetching way, dripping carefully down his dark hair and leaving neat, avant-garde designs on his tan overcoat.

Sometimes I wished he were a slick male bimbo, all big muscles and no substance. If he were, I certainly would have dropped him like a hot potato – after a week of enjoying all the attention and making the most out of that athletic, agile physique of course. I was a full blooded female after all, still in my prime. But as usual the man had to be impossibly perfect. Not only was he physically gorgeous, he was also sweet, funny, intelligent, adorable, and endlessly patient with my foibles. He had even learned to cook, and made now a mean wine- chicken in rice, a recipe my mother had once given him, helped with my household chores at times and kept my car in tip-top condition.

My very own Ken doll with other nice … assets. Aside from that he was what I would call a sex god, I might add.

It was with that thought that I sneaked furtively into the romantically lit alcove of the finest Italian restaurant in town. In a secluded corner of the quiet piazza, shaded by heavy boughs of wisteria and weeping willows, a table was set aside beneath the moon and the stars. The soft sigh of the violin came from the interiors of the restaurant. Trust Angel to find the perfect place.

If only the man didn't have to be so damned punctual. Which I never was. Sure, I was always on time for my deadlines. But I'm a writer – yes, I actually published a novel – and I have the artistic, flaky temperament which gives me a reasonably good excuse to be late and … Damn, he was already waiting.

It was hard to stay mad at a man who could turn to you and smile so sweetly – even when you've left him waiting for the past half hour. Immaculately dressed up in a sleek Italian suit, he looked scrumptious and ready to be peeled open. It made me feel like a heel when his puppy-dog brown eyes lit up in welcome and he called out to me. "Buffy. You're here!"

As usual with Mr. Punctuality, I had my litany of excuses prepared and was all ready to lie like a rug. At times, I didn't know why I bothered since Angel always saw through my lies. "I'm sorry, I'm late. I was going to call since I was caught up in some things and I- " Which was actually catching up on my afternoon nap but I certainly couldn't tell him that I'd been catching forty winks while he was busy leaving messages on my recording machine.

But the man actually waved my excuses away and just gestured patiently at the other seat. His sensuous lips parted to reveal double rows of perfect white teeth. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. You're worth waiting for."

As he signalled the waiter, I stared at him for a beat. Was this guy for real? Where did he learn such lines? The old-black-white-movie- hero school of smooth, slick lines? "Damn, do you work for Hallmark these days?"

For a moment he looked confused. "Huh?"

The look of puzzlement on that dark face had me grinning. Leaning over, I gave him a quick brush on the lips. "You know just the right words to say at the right time. Did you go for classes?"

"No." Running a finger fondly across his lips, he smiled in return. "With the right woman, the words aren't that difficult."

"There you go again! Makes me wanna reach over and take a bit out of you."

Throwing his arms wide, he laughed and threw me a challenge. "You're welcome to it!"

That earned him another kiss. Falling back into my seat, I acted surprised. "Ooops. You're a respected business tycoon. I hope you don't mind public displays of affection." As a habit, I tended to ramble when I was nervous. And this man made me plenty nervous.

He frowned as if deep in thought. "Hmmm … I don't know. Do it again and we'll see."

I laughed. "In your dreams O'Rourke."

He smiled and looked at me, love written in his eyes. I felt all gooey inside.

Which wasn't what I came for tonight. The waiter appeared, handed us the menu and quietly slipped away at Angel's insistence. Picking up my menu, I held it up to shade the brilliance of his smile from my susceptible eyes. "Okay. Stop that mushy business. Time to eat and refuel."

Those googly eyes didn't waver but remained on my face. "You do ramble on when you get nervous," he commented as he reached out for the other menu.

Tell me something I don't know, hunk with bucks. Nevertheless, I made a quick recovery. That's me, quick on my feet, a quip a day. "Me, nervous?"

Tugging down the menu I held to look at me, he grinned again. "You're blushing. I'm surprised. But I like it."

"Stop." Slapping his hands away and shoving the menu back up, I growled in reply. "It's not a blush. It's embarrassment – for you. And stop staring with those googly eyes."

I could feel the warmth of his smile through the menu. "Sorry, Buffy, but you're so beautiful, I can't help it."

Ignoring the flutter of my heart, I glared at him. "Well, help it. There are people here," I said curtly. Keeping my gaze on the menu, I tried concentrating on the spaghetti marinara and not on Angel's brilliant smile. It wasn't working.

My mean reply only served to make him laugh even harder. The rich, deep laughter that sent a thrill down my spine. Trying to calm myself, I took a quick sip from the glass filled with water in front of me … and froze. The menu fell from my suddenly trembling hands. "Wh-what is that?" I asked, staring at the shiny object at the bottom of my glass.

"Don't pretend this is a surprise for you, Buffy," he said calmly, keeping his gaze intent on mine. "You already know that I love you."

I stared. Alright, we had been dating for six months. But there had never been a mention of this all the while. We dated, we had dinner, we had sex, we had fun. But this?

Like the businessman he was, he started laying out his plans on the table. "We've dated for six months. We know each other more than a year. I want to make this permanent, Buffy."

Good grief, freight trains move slower than this man. Trying to hedge, I gave a flippant answer instead, pretending to misunderstand him. "Baby, in public? Just think about the headlines of tomorrow."

As usual, he called me on that one. "Don't, Buffy. I don't give a shit about newspapers. And you understand exactly what this is about."

"Angel-" I started, then gasped when he suddenly slipped from his chair and fell on one knee in front of me. I quickly looked around me, but none of the other guests seemed to take notice of what was going on at our table.

"I love you, Buffy. And I want to marry you. Be my wife?"

I stared. I was afraid that my face probably had that deer-in- headlights look.

Seeing that I hadn't run screaming from the restaurant, he bravely continued oblivious to the panic alarms ringing in my head. His hand reached out and took mine in a warm, confident grasp. "As it is, I want us to be together. To share a home. A life together. I want to wake up each morning to your smile. I want to go sleep with you beside me every night."

I stared. Didn't he realize that I was clearly incapably of any reasonable thought right now? After several moments of staring at his eyes and feeling dizzy, I finally got my voice out and it came out in a croak. "Damn it, are you crazy?"

Any other man would have been daunted by my answer, but this man was as cool and calm as a cucumber. I doubted that even an earthquake would shake his composure. How does he do that? "Not exactly the answer I was looking for. Why do you think it's crazy. I love you, you love me …"

"I-I … I-I…"

He leaned forward and kissed me.

Pushing him away, I sputtered. "It's been six months and I'm … I'm. Don't you even dare to come close," I warned when he leaned towards me again.

Slowly scooting backwards, he slipped back on his chair and flashed me a knowing smile. "The nervous thing?"

"Yes!" I nodded. His intent, fond gaze had me fumbling at my next words and I looked around for help. Since my throat suddenly felt parched, I took a deep gulp of cold water, chugging it down for courage. "I didn't see this coming. Honestly."

"Really?" Steepling his hands on the table, he gave me a surprised look. "I don't think I've been hiding the fact that I'm in love with you."

Which was true. But I'd thought that maybe in the next six months, maybe I'd give him my key … or maybe the next year. "Yeah, and it was good the way it was. I mean, it is. Isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed, smiling. Did nothing ever faze him? "But I want more."

"More? Okay, I can do more. I mean …" I hesitated, then sighed. "We could … exchange keys or something. But happily ever after?"

"You sure you're not thinking that way?" he asked.

"Yes." I paused and sighed again. "No. But … this is sudden."

"Yes, it is. Well, technically it isn't, but I can accept that you see it that way."

Agreeing with everything I'd said after I'd blurted out all that crap wasn't what I'd expected. Right now, I didn't even know what I was thinking. "You can?"

His lips quirked up in a grin and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "I'd have preferred that you'd leap into my strong arms and swear undying love but I don't really expect an answer right now."

His words were understanding, sweet even but there was no doubt that disappointment lay deep in his puppy-dog eyes and I leaned across the table to catch his hand. "I do love you," I said, feeling it was necessary.

It wasn't the first time I'd said it. In fact, I'd said it time and again during the last six months, but, strangely, it had never felt so right before. Evidently, he thought so too. Gripping my hand tightly, he gave it a fond squeeze and linked our fingers together. His eyes lit up with warmth. "I know."

"So you keep saying."

"Well," he smiled again. "I do."

"Then you also know I'm confused?"

"Yes. I kinda sprung it on you."

It was obviously difficult getting to Angel O'Rourke. Being so sweet and agreeable wasn't what I wanted. Couldn't he jump, yell and force me to stay with him? It would stop me from having the difficulty of making a decision which was something that I'd never actually done well in the first place. Giving him a hot glare, I said as much. "Can you be any less understanding?"

Seeing my disgruntled look, he chuckled. "Why? You expect me to yell, beat my chest, throw you onto my shoulder and drag you back home?"

The image did have its pleasant points. Especially my visions of Angel in a loincloth, bronzed, beautiful and covered in sweat. Shrugging, I pondered it for a moment before nodding vehemently. "With some variation, but yeah."

Pulling his hands away from mine, he pushed back in his chair, his face set. "I can do that."

"Don't you dare!"

Looking back at me, he smiled.

The thought of being carted away from the finest restaurant in town didn't sound that appetizing after all. "I'll think about it. Give me time."

"Sure," he agreed. "Let's eat."

Being rejected by me obviously hadn't affected his voracious appetite at all. Although I certainly didn't purport to be the all and everything in his life, I certainly thought of myself as being worth more than the pasta. Was he not going to cry, beg and plead for me to change my mind. "You can still eat after that?"

"Yeah." His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I missed lunch."

The very fact that he'd missed the point struck a nerve. "I rejected you," I told him hotly.

My temper failed to spark his and he calmly answered me. "That wasn't a rejection. You asked for time."

"But … but …"

"Babe, shut up and eat."

It was an hour later after I did the most stupid thing in my life that I called my best pal, Willow, over. Instead of commiserating, getting me a mushy movie and agreeing that the man in my life was a scoundrel, she lit into me. "That perfect hunk of meat asked you to be his… lover, wife or partner or whatever you want to call it and you left him high and dry?"

"Yes," I moaned piteously. I was wearing my oldest pair of sweatpants, an oversized shirt, I'd downed way too much of the whiskey a friend had given to me almost a year ago, and I was depressed. My best friend certainly wasn't impressed with my abandoned and suffering look.

"Were you drunk?" she pointed out mercilessly, her finger wagging dangerously in front of my face. I wondered if it was the way she usually intimidated her clients. She was on her way to become a successful lawyer, the practice she and her lover had founded two years ago was on its way up to the top.

I hung my head and groaned. "God, I wish I was."

"The man just told you some of the most beautiful things a man can say!" She glared at me and then – unexpectedly – hit me over the head with her flat palm. "And after all that, you just ran screaming out of the restaurant – leaving him with his ravioli. What were you thinking?"

"I didn't scream," I tried to point out but it only earned me another light smack. Ouch. Taking another swig from my glass, I felt courageous enough to continue. "And I was thinking of him. How fast we're going … of how inadequate I feel around him. He deserves someone better. I am nuts."

My reasoning didn't impress her at all. "What the hell do you mean by that? You're not inadequate. Buffy, you're doing it again."

Pointing at myself with my thumb, I told her. "I am … a bitch. In comparison, he's perfect."

"And what's wrong with that?" she shrugged and rolled her eyes. "A perfect guy and she complains. Buffy, call me when you have a real problem."

"A real problem? He's just too perfect. What do I have to offer?"

Another impressive eye-roll followed. "You know what, girlfriend? You are nuts. You still think all guys are assholes. Just because Spike was one-"

"Hey!" I exclaimed indignantly. "I'm so over the whole Spike fiasco."

"Am not." Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared me down. "Admit it, Buffy. He hurt you. And it's still painful."

Under her red cap of hair, her stern eyes bored into me and I was about to confess to anything she wanted. "Is that how you interrogate in court?"

"Buffy!"

"Okay!"

A wide smile broke into her stern expression. "But then once in a while, a man who isn't an asshole comes along. And when you do meet one who isn't, you go haywire. Because you have problems with commitment. Therefore you date assholes rather than the few who aren't so that you can bitch and whine when they don't come even close to commitment."

I gave her a disgruntled look. "You think so?"

She sighed and patted my head, "Buffy, I know so. Remember, it's me, Willow. You can't hide anything from me."

"I know."

"So-"

I sighed this time. "So, what? I ran out on him. He has to hate me. I practically humiliated him in front of the whole restaurant."

"So?" Willow raised her brows. "The guy loves you. He'll forgive you."

"You think?"

Again she patted my head. "I know. Believe me, he'll be back."

The moment she left, the phone rang and I hesitantly approached it. Since I'd impulsively dumped Angel in the restaurant, he'd been jamming up my lines. As always, he was as patient and nice as he could be, pleading with me to think it over and that he'll call back. A similar message repeated itself over the phone. His deep, sexy voice filled out the silence in my living room. "Buffy. Listen, pick up the phone. I know you're standing there listening. Call me back. I'm not mad that you left me there. Just call me. I love you, I-"

Before he could finish, I steeled myself and picked up the phone. "Angel?"

"Buffy!" His voice held surprise and some relief.

"Hey, Angel, I-"

"You left me at the restaurant."

His voice held a touch of impatience and I smiled to myself. When the man was seriously pissed, he actually sounded even sexier. "Ooops. Sorry."

"People were staring."

"I'm sorry." And I truly was! But that didn't help when I kept on thinking of poor Angel left behind.

"I felt like an idiot. Especially after that kneeling thing I did."

Imagining the distressing scene, I snickered and tried to hide it behind a muffled cough. "Yeah."

"You're lying." Like I said, the man was quick.

"I'm not. I-" I sighed. "Okay, it's funny."

"Okay, it was." When he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice. "You know what. Hold that thought, babe. I'm coming over."

"No, don't. I-"

The phone clicked shut just a heartbeat before the doorbell rang. Drat the man! He couldn't have been standing outside my apartment since dinner, could he? Although he could eat fast, I doubt he could have finished that ravioli that fast.

Peeking through the door, I came to the consideration that I was wrong. Sucking in my breath, I wondered whether I should stall and pretend I wasn't home. Just as I was about to tiptoe away, his voice boomed out, giving me the scare of my life. "Buffy! I heard your voice, Buffy."

It was time to face the truth. Planting a wide smile on my face, I flung the door open with aplomb. "Angel."

Leaning with one arm against the doorjamb, he grinned at me. Dangling from his other hand was the culprit – his mobile. For a man who'd just been left high and dry in an Italian piazza, he looked remarkably fit, incredibly happy and meltingly handsome. "Buffy."

"Come in. I really think we need to talk."

"We don't have to. I was wrong."

While I was certainly glad that he was starting to look my way, I didn't want him agreeing all that fast either. "No, come in first and- "

As I stepped away from the door to let him in, he caught my hand and tugged me into his strong arms. Starting to mount a protest, he silenced me with one of his shut-me-up-with-lust kisses. His lips, his hands were hot and they were everywhere. Just when I got into the groove with my libido revving, he pulled away. "Okay, listen, let's not get married. It's said and boring anyway. Let's just have wild, mindless sex all day long. I can live with that."

Still stuck with the incredible taste of his lips, I stared at him uncomprehending. "That's not what you want."

His smile turned wolfish and the predator glint flashed into his eyes. "Believe me, baby, I always want wild, mindless sex with you." It was his best fuck-me voice and I melted.

As he put those clever hands on me, I was about to leap on the nearest sofa, push everything away and accept that perverted offer of his. But then again, I am the most contrary nut in the world. Stupid as I was, moments away from the best orgasm I'd ever had, I held him away, though my fingers managed to find his hard nipples on that amazing chest. "No, Angel."

He murmured into my ear while his lips did something incredible to my neck. "Baby, it's too fast. You're right. I accept that. We'll take it slow. Real slow. As long as you want it."

Snaking underneath my old shirt, his hands flicked across my nipples and I let out a moan. "That certainly wasn't the tune you were playing last night."

"Blame it on the moonlight. It makes me do crazy things." Pulling me away from the doorway, he kicked the door shut. "Come here and give me a kiss."

The brief moment he took to close the door shocked me back to reality and I took a step back from Mr. Irresistible. "Stop it."

The sex maniac look on his face faded away. "You don't want commitment from me earlier on. You don't want sex from me now. Okay, what exactly do you want?" Exasperation filled his handsome features and he shook his head. "Look, is there something wrong with a committed relationship? Are we moving too fast? Talk to me!"

Offering sex and good advice. Was this man some weird product of Oprah's – some kinda sensitive Stepford Hunk? I was living a nightmare. "It's not you. It's me. I'm the bloody screw-up, the nutcase, the rabid maniac." After that short, meaningless rant, I made my escape to my sofa and folded myself into it.

My rants only had him laughing. Moments after his laughter subsided, he moved slowly towards the sofa and took the seat next to me. Eyeing me nervously, he approached me with caution, reaching out with his hands. "No, you're not."

Determined to let him see what a bad bargain he'd gotten, I tried to drum my faults into his head. "I am. I am irresponsible, selfish, lazy, messy, nasty … and always late for my dates. And you – you … you're perfect."

Even he balked at that. "No, I'm not."

"Don't argue with me, Angel. You are perfect."

With his charming smile, he tried pulling me back into his arms, but I resisted. "Come on, you're exaggerating. I have plenty of flaws."

"Yeah? Name one!"

"I am very bossy," he pointed out. "Or so my employees say."

That was an easy one and I easily gave him a rejoinder. "They threw you a party and made you boss of the year. And you're bossy mainly because you are right all the time."

Obviously rifling through his mental files, he started rattling off his faults almost as if he'd done it before. "I'm boring, staid, overly serious. I sing off-key in the shower. I do snore when I'm tired. I have a … nasty little habit of playing with my hair when I'm thinking."

I remembered it. When he was thinking deep thoughts, Angel frequently dragged his hand through his dark hair. "I like it."

Seeing my thoughtful expression, he let out a laugh. "You make me sound like some…"

"Perfect guy," I said in a sneering voice.

My words failed to have an effect on him and he just gave me a helpless shrug. "Look, I'm not. It's great to be looked at as such a wonderful person, but sorry to disappoint you but I'm not. You are."

Alright, I'd been a bad girl but he certainly didn't have to get nasty as well. That was my province and he couldn't stomp it. "Don't be snide, mister. I can still belt you one," I warned him.

"I'm not. You are wonderful, Buffy. And beautiful. God, you are so beautiful." That googly eyed look came into his face again and his eyes turned all sinfully chocolaty again.

"You are totally nuts."

Tilting his head to look at me, he narrowed his dark eyes. "Is this some kind of contest?"

"Yes."

It took only a second for him to answer. "You make me laugh," he said simply.

It wasn't the answer I wanted and I glared at him. "Hire a clown."

"Stubborn woman." He took my hand in his, holding it tightly even as I tried to pull away. "Yes, you do make me laugh. I love that about you. I'm not perfect. Without you, I'd be a stolid stick in the mud, dull, boring and stuff. I'd live my life by the damned clock, do my work, fuck some women, but I'd never dance in the rain, or have sex on my roof out in the open. You bring excitement, a sense of fun and adventure into my life. You bring me to life."

His words were just perfect as usual and I had to smile. "There you go again. Perfect words."

"It's a gift." He shrugged easily and gave me an impish smile. "And stop with that perfect stuff."

Letting him tug me close, I rested my head on his muscular chest – made a nice pillow. His strong arms came around and held me close. "With that pretty boy face, you'll never be dull. Before me met, you were the proverbial stud."

He let out a gusty sigh. "Maybe. And yeah, it could be exciting – kind of anyway. But it's all so shallow. With you … I'm me."

Giving him a light punch, I told him sternly. "Don't put yourself down. No boyfriend of mine is allowed to do that."

"Boyfriend, huh?" he raised a dark brow.

"Yes."

"Well, it sounds nice. Still," he paused, then pushed on, "husband would sound mighty good."

Even as he said it, I realized I was really insane. I always hated it when Willow was right. Why was I pushing away such a great guy just because of my insane insecurities? Had I been watching to much Sex in the City after all? Was being deliriously happy and in love simply an alien concept to me? I decided it was time to jump from the cliff. "Husband, then."

He became very still, and for a moment I was wondering if he was still breathing. "You mean it?"

I smiled. God, I loved this man. "Yeah."

Slowly a sweet smile crept up his face and he held the ring in his hand all of a sudden. "May I put it on?"

I held out my hand and nodded. The smile on his face was blinding. "My place."

"Mine."

"Mine's bigger," he countered easily.

He was right, but somehow marrying him and simply moving into his apartment held little appeal. "We'll see."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "I have a Jacuzzi."

There was time to talk about it and I refused to argue over the point right now. Gazing down at our linked hands, I smiled to myself. "We'll talk about it."

"Okay. Great." Nodding happily, he pulled me close again and nuzzled the back of my neck. "That was easier than I thought. I had my stock portfolio and my trust funds all ready to impress you."

Looking at him, I laughed. "Yeah? Well, I like to know that I'm getting a financially solvent guy."

"You're nice today," he commented. A thought came to him. "You were going to say yes already when you opened the door, didn't you?"

"Yeah." It wasn't really a lie. Actually, ever since running from that restaurant, I had been thinking about turning around and throwing myself into his arms. But it had been Willow who'd given me the right perspective.

"What made you change your mind? Apart from my endless sex appeal and masculine charm." Preening playfully, he saw my bland look and winked at me.

"Can it, Angel. It was Willow."

"Oh." He sounded almost disappointed. "Should the fact that a lesbian made you say yes worry me?"

"She said I only dated assholes."

"Tell her I'm eternally grateful."

My eyes narrowed. "Not you. Before."

"Oh, them. Do I get to beat them up?"

"No. I already punched Spike myself." Proving my point, I cracked my knuckles in what I hoped was a menacing manner.

Running his hands down my solid arms, he gave a light gasp. "Ooh, now I am afraid."

"Stop it, O'Rourke."

Trying to avoid my slap, he laughed, caught my hand and gave it a quick kiss. "Okay, so we've established you've dated assholes." He paused and then added, "Yeah, I have to agree with Willow."

"Well, you're not one of them and I'm confused."

The light of understanding came into his eyes and he gave a wise nod. "Ah, so you dated assholes previously because you were actually afraid of commitment."

It was exactly as Willow had put it earlier. Though it shouldn't surprise me that he'd already guessed it, it actually did. It was spooky. Angel seemed to know me even better than I knew myself. Was there a manual out on me somewhere? "Yes. And how do you know this, scary man?"

With one of his big hands, he tilted my face to his. "Told you before. I don't know what makes me so certain about you but I just … I know you."

"Hmmm…" Something to ponder about. "Since you know me so well, then you'll understand that I'll have to kill anyone else who looks at you with googly eyes."

"No one does that."

Was the man that blind? For the last two months, I'd stopped going to his office as it made me too damned jealous. As he walked down the corridor to meet me, it was obvious that most of the office stopped their work to drool over him. And I wasn't even going to mention Cordelia Chase almost draped over him when one day I came into his private room unexpectedly. He peeled her off of him with a smile, and looked completely cool and unaffected. It was the only thing that stopped me from ripping her apart. But didn't the man realize he was totally babe-material? Obviously disillusioning the poor guy was a job left to me. "Baby, half your office want to land in your lap. Even some of the guys are eyeing your ass. The other half is either married or lesbian. Not that it stops them."

Tilting my head up with his hand to look at me, he seemed seriously shocked. "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

It took a moment for that idea to register but then he smiled. A lascivious look came into his face and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Hmmm … Greg, my assistant was looking pretty cute the other day. And Melinda, the new girl in the art division ..." He trailed off.

I stared.

"Kidding, I swear." He laughed. "Don't hurt me!"

"Try it again and there'll be severe punishment." Fondly, I ran my hand, now displaying a brand-new engagement ring, over his firm jaw. Sweet, handsome, intelligent – and all mine.

Nuzzling my neck, he murmured into my ear. "Oh, well. Okay. Jealous wife. I can live with that."

"Fine."

We cuddled for a minute before he spoke again. "About that punishment bit."

"Yeah?"

"Ummm … Do I get a preview?"

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