Halfway through the cartoon, the tantalizing aroma of pancakes and sausage drifted in the air. I was famished.
Just as the episode wrapped up, Jen called out, “Guys, breakfast is ready.”
I set my little man on the floor. “C’mon, I’ll race you to the kitchen.”
Leo’s eyes lit up. It was another one of our rituals. I always let him win. I was raising him—or should I say, we were raising him to be a winner just the way my parents raised me. And instilling in him the value of going after what you want in life. So far, that was a lot of toys, cookies, and goodnight stories.
“Mommy, I beat Daddy again,” boasted Leo as he ran into the large kitchen on his little pajama-clad legs.
A big smile beamed on Jen’s animated face as I feigned exhaustion with pants. What an actor I was! The one thing I never had to act out was climaxing with my tiger. Fortunately, Leo’s room was far away enough from ours so my tiger could still roar my name. And man, did she.
With breakfast already on the table, Jen swept Leo into her arms and smothered him with kisses. “That’s awesome, my sweetness.”
I eyed them proudly. Happiness filled every crevice of my body. I always knew my Jen would make a great mother and she was. And soon, there would be another cub to add to our den.
Joining them at the kitchen table, I couldn’t wait to dig into breakfast. I was ravenous. I reached for the bottle of maple syrup on the lazy Susan, and as I doused my pancakes with it, my eyes met Jen’s. Ever since that breakfast over five years ago at Jaime and Gloria’s beach house, maple syrup made me horny as hell. It had the same effect on Jen. We read each other’s eyes. Yup, she was thinking what I was thinking. Right after breakfast, we’d have our live-in nanny take Leo for a ride in his new Wombatmobile down the street while we fucked our brains out and sent each other orbiting.
As Jen poured coffee from the French press into my mug, her cell phone, charging on the counter, rang. Her signature ringtone—the melody of Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face”—played. Setting the glass vestibule down, she leapt up from her seat and sprinted to the phone. My gaze stayed riveted on her great ass and taut legs that had become shapelier and more muscular from doing the Santa Monica Stairs with me regularly. Her ponytail bounced with her sprite gait.
Putting the phone to her ear, her eyes grew round as saucers. “Oh my God,” I overheard her say. “I’ll be right there.” She ended the call.
“Baby, what’s going on?”
“Marcy’s at Cedars.”
“Holy shit!” Fuck. I didn’t mean to curse in front of my son. I just couldn’t help it.
“I’m heading over. Get there as soon as you can.”
Not bothering to change out of her sweats, Jen grabbed her car keys. She brushed by the table, giving Leo and me each a big kiss, and dashed out the door.
It was time to break out another expensive box of Cuban cigars.
Jennifer
Libby wasn’t supposed to give birth for another two weeks. Her water had broken early, and when I arrived at Cedars, she was already in the delivery room. Marcy was hovering over her, in green scrubs and a facemask, similar to the ones I was forced to put on. A team of nurses surrounded them.
Libby was plopped up against a mountain of pillows, clad in a pink hospital gown, her knees bent and splayed.
“Lib!” I shouted out, running up to her side.
My bestie smiled faintly and managed to wave to me.
“Breathe,” Marcy commanded.
“How’s she doing?” I asked Blake’s sister, my voice laden with worry.
“Great.”
Libby blew out short, sharp breaths. Pants.
I squeezed her hand. Her fiery red curls were matted to her sweat-laced face.
“Push,” ordered Marcy.
“Fuck,” grunted Libby as she did as asked. Her freckled face turned as red as her hair.
“Are you in pain?” My voice was shaky.
Breathing as instructed, she shook her head. Her extended belly rose up and down.
Libby was giving birth to our second child.
Yes, my best friend in the world, now happily married to a great guy and the mother of twins (another story!), had offered to be our surrogate after I told her Marcy, our first surrogate, felt our chances for a successful pregnancy would be better with a younger woman.
Choosing not to remarry though she was contently involved with an older, respected doctor, Marcy was now close to forty-five. She was the best sister-in-law in the world. That day in her office two months after my surgery, she gave Blake and me a priceless wedding present. The gift of life. A family. As I watched Libby labor, I flashed back to that moment and then to the epic birth of Leo. After a long struggle, he came out roaring like a lion.
A shriek from Libby pierced the air and cut into my thoughts. My already frenetic heartbeat sped up.
“One more push!” urged Marcy.
My unblinking eyes stayed glued on my best friend as she grunted a loud breath, tears streaming down her scrunched up face, and then they widened as a tiny dark-haired head emerged between her bent legs. I bit down hard on my bottom lip as she continued to grunt and push out the tiny life form with Marcy’s gloved hands gently guiding it into the world.
The next thing I knew, the unmistakable wails of a newborn were filling my ears.
With a heavy sigh of relief, Libby fell back against the pillows. I hugged her.
“Lib, you did it!”
“We did it!” Libby beamed, her voice strong for a woman who’d just given birth.
Oh, my Lib! Always there for me! My eyes shifted to Marcy.
Smiling beneath her mask, she cradled the tiny baby in her arms while two of the nurses cleaned her up and then swaddled her in a soft pink blanket.
“Congratulations!” they said in unison as they transferred her into my arms.
Breathless and wordless, I gazed down at our little girl. Our miracle. Our beautiful miracle. I couldn’t wait for Blake to meet her.
Blake
It took all I had not to drive like a madman. Thank God, the streets were empty. A rarity for LA but typical for Christmas Day. Jen’s father was seated beside me in the Range Rover (our family car), and in the backseat, Leo was strapped into his car seat with Mrs. McCoy planted on the adjacent cream leather seat. My heart was in my throat and beating a mile a minute. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was blasting on the radio, and Leo was singing along in his adorable pitch-perfect voice. Oh, yeah, Santa had come. That’s for sure. But I just didn’t expect this present today of all days. The plans we had for later were scrapped—to see an animated movie and then go to Chinatown with my parents, Grandma, and Luigi. I tried calling Jen. No answer. Clenching the steering wheel and my teeth, I could hear my palpitating heart in my ear and feel it beat in my throat. Libby was way early and I was totally freaking.
Arriving at Cedars, I left the car with the VIP valet, and with Leo riding me piggyback, I dashed into the hospital. The McCoys trailed close behind us, fit enough to keep up with me.
“Daddy, why we go to the hospital?” Leo breathed into my ear. “I no fall down.”
Besides being born here, he’d been to Cedars once before—the emergency room—when he’d fallen off our backyard jungle gym and cut open his chin. My poor little man needed three stitches. While he was as brave as the lion he was, yours truly, Mr. Cowardly, almost needed smelling salts to get through the ordeal.
“Why, Daddy?” my son asked again.
“It’s a surprise,” I said breathlessly. And it better be a good one.
“Tell me, Daddy, what it is,” Leo begged.
Before I could respond, my cell phone rang. My breath hitched as I picked it up on the first ring. Jen!
Thank you, Jesus. Now, I just had to find Room 3020.
Jennifer
“Oh honey, she looks just like you!” said my teary-eyed mother, who was gathered around me along with my elated father, Blake, and Leo.
I was seated in a comfortable armchair, our newborn in my arms. Libby, believe it or not, had already rebounded from the record-fast delivery and was taking a stroll through the maternity ward to give us some alone time with the new addition to our family.
“An Irish beauty!” chimed in my proud dad.
I glanced down at her. Indeed, she was with her milky skin, tuft of ebony hair, and long-lashed blue-green eyes. Just fed, her rosebud lips pursed with contentment. I gently kissed the top of her silky scalp and inhaled her intoxicating newborn scent. Lifting my head, my eyes met Blake’s glistening blue orbs. Standing motionless, he was a cross between a zombie and a god.
“Here, Blake. Hold her.” I stood up and carefully transferred our little bundle of love into his strong manly arms.
“Hi, princess,” he said softly, the awed expression on his face melting my heart.
Never taking his eyes off her, he slowly lowered himself to the armchair. Leo was eye-level with the baby.
“Say hi to your sister, Maeve, my little man.”
Maeve. Blake and I had chosen that name together. An homage to my late grandmother, it meant “the cause of great joy” and indeed she was. The best Christmas present ever.
Staring at his sister, Leo asked, “Where did she come from, Daddy? Don’t babies come from mommies’ tummies?”
A smile lit Blake’s lips. “She’s magic. Just like you.”
Puzzled, adorable Leo cocked his head. “Me abracadabra?”
Blake chuckled. “One day when you’re a big boy, I’ll teach you the trick.”
Leo reciprocated with a big dimpled smile and then unexpectedly, he kissed our newborn on her forehead. My beaming parents hovered over them.
I quickly snapped a photo with my iPhone. And then I blinked my eyes like the shutter of a camera lens and took a mental snapshot of this magnificent moment that would stay in my mind forever. The album of life.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I continued to gaze at Blake—that man with whom I’d shared this incredible journey. Life, I’d learned, is not a fait accompli. A simple dare can change the course of everything…take you down a miraculous road you thought you’d never travel. A road to happiness and true love.
As Blake lovingly held our little girl with our precious little boy beside him, my heart exploded. My body tingled from my head to my toes. And tears welled up in my eyes. Blake had given me more than happiness. He’d given me joy. An emotion so powerful it couldn’t be put into words.
I looked forward to the next leg of our journey. To raising our children and growing old together. In my heart, I knew Leo would one day grow up to be that special man to a wonderful woman and our little princess would find her own that man to love and protect her. Like I had with Blake Burns.
My husband. My lover. The father of our children. My hero.
Oh, how I love that man.
THE END
…well, almost…
A LETTER FROM BLAKE
Hey there, all you beautiful and sexy readers~
Come on. You know me by now. There’s no way I was going to let my tiger get the last word in as much as I love her. I am, after all, that good-looking guy on the cover, the one who inspired this story.
I just want to thank you for sharing our adventure. It was some rollercoaster ride, huh? A couple of times we almost fell off. And no way could I have saved her. But there’s something mightier than a superhero. Another four-letter F-word. Fate. They say fate’s a bitch, but I’m glad she is because Jen and I ended up together.
My sister told me Jen’s made me a better person. She’s right. My tiger has. Remember that guy at the beginning who thought with his cock? Well, I’ve got to admit I still do, but like my pal, Jaime Zander, said at our wedding, I learned my cock is connected to my heart. My cock has an appetite but my heart hungers too. I fuck hard. I love harder.
It’s sometimes hard to believe the player you once knew is now the family guy. Man, if I’d only known what it’s like to hold a newborn in my arms, I would have had kids a lot sooner, but I had to wait for the right woman. Jen will tell you I went to heaven and back. And the first time my little cubs smiled at me, my heart melted like an M&M in my mouth.
Just like my father, I’m damn good at my new job though I’ll confess Mr. Gift Who Keeps Giving spoils those two beautiful kids. I’m also a little over protective. Okay, so I’m over the top in that department. Being a parent brings out the superhero in me. Trust me, God help the man who lays hands on my princess—even worse, who lays her. He’d better have a safe place to hide.
Yup, Jen turned me into a man I can be proud of. A loving, loyal husband, father, friend, and lover. And she turned me into a poet too. I’ve come a long way since copying Hallmark cards and writing those dumbass limericks. Okay, so my poetry isn’t going to win a Pulitzer, but I’ve got to say it’s pretty darn good.
They say the third time’s a charm. And it is. After our third wedding, we got our happily every after. We still have our little ups and downs—what marriage doesn’t?—but it’s perfectly imperfect. I will love Jen for richer, for poorer (fat chance), in sickness and in health until death do us part. My tiger’s stuck with me forever. I will always be that man.
Thank you for rooting for us. Putting up with us. (Yeah, I know you wanted to slap us more than a couple of times.) And sharing our story. I Totally Always Love You!
I.T.A.L.Y.~ xo Blake
P.S. And our story’s not over! Be prepared to laugh, cry, and swoon all over again!
The Anniversary Story
ONE-CLICK the Cover Below!
Scorchin’ hot Blake Burns and his tiger Jennifer are back in this page-turner sequel to Nelle L’Amour’s USA Today bestselling THAT MAN series!
And things are hotter than ever when they fly to the Maldives to celebrate their tenth anniversary. What can go wrong does go wrong. Beginning with a death-defying emergency landing.
Will they survive being alone on a deserted island? Without food, sex toys, or Wi-Fi in the middle of a monsoon? Be prepared to laugh, cry, and swoon as your favorite book boyfriend goes into superhero mode—That Man!—and battles the life-threatening forces of nature to protect his tiger and save their marriage.
Chapter 1
Jennifer
DAY ONE
“Blake, are we there yet?”
My gorgeous husband chortles. “Jeez, tiger, you sound like one of our kids.” Wearing aviator sunglasses and a headset, he turns to give me a saucy grin.
“Oh my God, Blake! Get your eyes back on the dashboard.”
“Instrument panel,” he corrects. Whatever it’s called, it’s a dizzying array of monitors and dials. Thank goodness, he does as I’ve asked.
“Chill, baby. I’ve got this. According to the GPS, we’ll be landing in two hours.”
What! Two hours! I don’t think I can take more of this. Besides being somewhat claustrophobic, I’m not a great flyer. Trust me, being in this small, one-engine plane hasn’t been a picnic. Not for a minute! Butterflies flit around my stomach. A swarm. The sooner we get there the better.
I don’t know what possessed my husband to take up flying and become a certified pilot. Wasn’t flying me into the stratosphere with his insatiable cock enough? The bigger question is what possessed me to let him fly us to the Maldives for our tenth anniversary and agree to be his co-pilot? The answer to the first question: he was out of his mind. The answer to the second: I was out of my mind!
To celebrate our special anniversary, Blake wanted to go to a place where we could relax and get away from our everyday craziness. We don’t live an ordinary life. It’s one of glamour, glitz, and hard work. Every minute is scheduled. He’s the high-powered head of Conquest Broadcasting while I’m in charge of their children’s network, Peanuts. Besides our all-consuming jobs, which require long hours, countless meetings, black-tie events, and out-of-town business trips, we’re the parents of two rambunctious children—Leo, age 8, and Maeve, almost 5. We’re constantly juggling our
careers and parenthood. Somehow, we’ve found the time to take the kids to school, go to all of Leo’s little league games and Maeve’s ballet recitals, as well as spend quality time together as a family that includes Friday night Shabbat dinners with his entire family and my parents, weekends at local attractions like the zoo and museums, plus fun-filled vacations to Disneyworld, New York City, Sun Valley, and Europe. Blake and I have also managed one other thing: to spend quality time in our bedroom. While we have a fantastic marriage that’s rooted in equality, mutual respect, and our deep-seated love for one another, it’s where Blake exerts his control and I totally lose it. And love every minute.
To be honest, I would have been totally happy staying home—there’s no place else I’d rather be than with my two amazing kids—but Blake wanted to fly to an island. To have some special alone time together just for us. He came up with the bright idea while fucking me over his desk. It’s nice that we work in the same building and that he runs the company and makes the rules. Or bends them.
There’s a boatload of islands he could have flown us to. Some almost in our backyard like Catalina or those outside San Diego. But, no, Mr. Adventurer had to choose one that was almost 10,000 miles away from our house in Santa Monica. Twenty hours of flying time. You can do the math—we’ve been in the air for eighteen long hours. An eternity!
It’s actually been a two-fold trip. On the first leg, we flew in a glamorous chartered Gulfstream 650 that felt much like being in the presidential suite of The Four Seasons with its sleek leather and teak furnishings, marble floor, state-of-the art kitchen, and steam-shower bathroom. Blake co-piloted the plane for several hours while I slept under the covers of a yummy Egyptian cotton comforter in a comfy bed.
THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5 Page 64