"Sign here," Landon said, sliding the pen toward me with a smile—then kissed me before I could react. I blinked, the tip of the pen pressing into my thumb, ink smudging my pad. His mouth was cool and deliberate. The kiss lasted long enough to steal my composure and short enough to be perfectly controlled. "You can't just—" I started, and he cut me off with a hand at the small of my back, moving me closer like a thought he didn't want to lose. "Paper first," he said. "Promises later." "Promises?" I echoed, because calling what we were doing a promise felt like calling a stunt a marriage. "Yes," he said. "Sign." The registrar sat three feet away, glancing between us with a practiced smile as if this scene were line work in a soap. She kept her pen idle, letting us do the theater. "I need to know what to call you," I said, more to myself than to her. "Professional boundaries." He made a small sound. "Call me Landon." "Mr. Bradley is more accurate for the job," I said, and tried to make my voice plain. The pen hovered in my hand. "Mr. Bradley is for the boardroom," he said. "This is the registry. We can try something more honest there." He leaned in and whispered, "Besides, it sounds ridiculous when you say it." "My name sounds fine," I said. My cheeks warmed. "Annika Cox." "Annika," he repeated, tasting the syllables like a new