Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1)

by Christina Hovland

  Dean’s wedding was coming along. Dress was done. Flowers, catering, country club—everything was on track. Still, he’d braced for something to go wrong.

  It hadn’t.

  Velma made him consider changing the way he had always lived. Made him rethink a lot of things. Made him want to stay in Denver and keep their fling alive. Together they would figure something out when he had to take off. They should discuss shit like that. Lately, though, their time spent together was either working or…not talking, that’s for sure. Probably why they were getting along better than ever.

  He came out of the bedroom and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. No shirt, since Velma had stolen the faded blue Dimefront tee he’d tossed on that morning.

  She glanced up from some slick magazine she was reading while sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Brek tugged the magazine from her grip. Some chick magazine about losing inches while still eating the things you love.

  She snatched it back and smoothed the pages. “I was reading that.”

  His bare toes sunk into one of her foam mats as he opened the refrigerator, absently searching for a post-sex snack. He glanced to her.

  She ran a fingertip over the glossy cover of the magazine.

  He grabbed the half-full jug of milk and a tall cup because he didn’t particularly want to piss off Velma.

  She smiled at something on the page, and it hit him in the gut.

  Brek stared at her nipples poking against the front of his tee. It wasn’t particularly cold in the apartment. But you wouldn’t know that with the headlights flashing toward hi—

  “You want your shirt back?” she asked, interrupting him from gawking at her tits.

  He took a gulp of the milk and set it on the counter. “Nope. Looks better on you.”

  “That’s debatable.” She flipped open the magazine again and skimmed a page.

  He came behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders. She had pinned her hair up into a mess on top of her head. Little pieces fell down against her back. She leaned into him as he ran his hands down her sides to the hem of his tee.

  “There’s some stuff I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about.” He traced the collar of the tee with his fingertip.

  “Yeah? What’s up?” She set the magazine down, her fingertips digging slightly into his forearms where he hugged her.

  “You’re not wearin’ panties,” he muttered to her hair.

  “So?” She craned her neck to meet his stare.

  “So, how do you feel about counter sex?” He turned her and was already pulling up the soft fabric covering her chest, his hand grazing her belly button.

  “Already?” She scrunched her nose. With a teasing glint in her eye, she glanced pointedly to his fly. The button on his jeans wasn’t fastened, and the bulge her presence created made itself apparent.

  “I’m gonna need that shirt back after all.” He raised an eyebrow before kissing her until she squeaked.

  “Counter sex sounds messy. Back to the bedroom sex instead?” she asked, eyes wide. “Maybe even sofa sex?”

  “Aren’t you even the least bit curious?” He nuzzled her neck, right next to the red hickey he had placed there days ago, and stepped between her parted legs. “Cool countertop, bare ass. My coc—”

  “Don’t call it that.” She cupped her palm against the stubble of his jaw.

  “What? My coc—”

  “Bit’s o’ glory.” She placed an index finger to silence him.

  Fuck. She was adorable. “Bit’s o’ glory?”

  “Or dangly bits. Just not the c-word.” She nodded.

  He dropped his hands to his hips but didn’t step back. “You are not calling my dick dangly bits. He takes offense.”

  She pursed her lips, clearly biting back a grin. “Your…it…can’t take offense. It’s not sentient.”

  “See? Now you’ve done it. He is out to prove you wrong about that.” A smile tugged at Brek’s lips. He hooked his thumbs at his waistband and dropped his pants to the hardwood.

  Her eyes sparkled as he pinned her on the stool, leaning over, an arm on each side of her shoulders. A laugh escaped her throat as he lifted her gently onto the hard slab of granite counter and crawled up after her. He shoved aside her not-so-subtle pamphlets about individual retirement accounts and grabbed the magazine. He rolled it into a tube, tapping it against his palm.

  “You’re going to break my kitchen.” She scooted backward, her hands searching behind her as she went.

  He pulled her legs open and tugged her back to him, kneeling there. “Nah. It’s solid. I break it? I buy it. And, V? I’d have a damn good amount of fun breaking your counter.”

  She gulped and laid back, her legs spread, her perky rack practically staring him in the face. He ran the rolled-up magazine over her parted lips, down over the valley between her breasts, stopping just under her navel. She raised her eyebrows at him. He smiled his best attempt at a menacing grin, but she giggled. He tossed the glossy paper aside and did a push-up over the top of her, holding there until she squirmed. Lack of contact did that to her. He had noticed that.

  “Am I going to like this lesson?” She covered her eyes with her hand, peeking out between two fingers.

  “Oh. You’re gonna like it. Then you’re gonna owe him an apology.” He glanced down to where his bits o’ glory stood at attention, ready to fight the good fight for honor and bravery.

  She giggled, gripping the edge of the counter above her head so her belly arched to touch his. “Is that right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” His mouth found hers again as he lowered his body over her.

  He’d talk to her later…about something important. At the moment, he couldn’t think straight about anything other than the little noises she made when he moved inside her.

  Velma had grown to admire the way Brek plowed through life without hesitation or apology. Worry tugged at her, though, that his luck wouldn’t last. He would plow too far, go too fast. She preferred safety…security. And, presently, scarves to cover the hickey Brek had left on her neck.

  She toyed with a ballpoint pen and the yellow legal pad she’d brought along to Aspen’s office at Montgomery Events near Cherry Creek.

  “We should meet in the conference room,” Velma suggested, changing the subject.

  “Works for me.” Brek followed her down the hall.

  Aspen had decked out the meeting space in everything bridal—from the long white conference table with matching chairs and the fuzzy peach carpet, to the faux flower arrangements decorating one wall next to thick catalogs hawking everything from wedding stationary to veils. She had added wickless candles scented with essential lavender and vanilla oils, so the place smelled like a fancy spa.

  “Sophie really didn’t say what she wanted?” Velma straightened the chairs. Neither of them had heard a word from Sophie or Troy following the disastrous almost-wedding, until she’d called Brek yesterday to ask for a meeting.

  He’d asked Velma to come along.

  “Nope.” Brek sat and leaned his chair back so the top of it touched the wall, his fingers linked behind his scalp, elbows wide. He was so going to crack his head and need stitches.

  Velma dropped the pen on the notepad. Her stomach turned at the thought of how Sophie and Troy’s wedding had gone sour. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for her part in it. She hadn’t been vindictive, but she also hadn’t thought about the effect her words would have on a skittish bride on her wedding day.

  “Is everything ready for the Rosette photo shoot?” Velma asked.

  “Yup.” A full day of scruff peppered his face since he hadn’t taken time to shave before they’d left the apartment. Scruffy-sexy suited him.

  His phone buzzed. He glanced to it, frowned, and tapped out a message.

  “Everything okay?” Velma asked.

  “Ma’s having a rough day. It’s the anniversary of my dad’s car accident. Doesn’t get easier for her.”


  The knots in Velma’s stomach multiplied. “What happened?”

  “I was seven. Aspen was three. Dad had a heart attack driving me to baseball practice. He swerved. The other car didn’t. Aspen and I made it. He...” He shook his head.

  Velma suspected something had happened to his father, but it had never been her place to ask. Men ran off all the time. She figured that was what had happened. Death had never crossed her mind. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Me, too.” Muscles in Brek’s jaw skipped; his teeth ground together.

  She crossed her legs toward him, her heart breaking for the boy he had been. A kid whose life had changed on the way to a baseball game. “Were you guys okay?”

  “I was.” He dropped his elbows to his thighs. “Aspen shattered her pelvis and broke her leg.” His words held a raw edge she had never heard from him before. “This day always brings up stuff that shouldn’t be brought up.”

  “By stuff, you mean feelings?”

  He grunted.

  “Is that why you run?” She figured a guy didn’t run from a family he loved as much as Brek cared for his unless something had spooked him.

  “I don’t run,” he huffed.

  He totally ran. “I’ll rephrase. Is that why you avoid Denver?”

  “Is this the part where you turn into a shrink?” he muttered.

  The jingle of the front door signaled the start of their meeting.

  He wiped a hand down his face. “Showtime.” He stood.

  “Why am I so nervous about this?” Velma’s voice shook.

  “’Cause last time we saw ’em, you were wearin’ my shirt as a dress,” he replied, heading for the reception area.

  Velma rose and smoothed her pink wool skirt, adjusting the high waistband where she had tucked a cream blouse. Brek, ever the creature of habit, wore his uniform of ripped jeans and a worn T-shirt that showcased his biceps and stretched across his pecs.

  She hurried after him to find Sophie and Troy. They held hands. Hope that they could salvage their relationship bloomed in Velma’s chest.

  Sophie immediately dropped Troy’s grasp. She moved quickly to Velma, enfolding her in a hug. Velma awkwardly hugged her, patting her on the back, because what else was she supposed to do with a runaway bride?

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Sophie whispered, pulling away. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Brek raised an eyebrow at Velma. She shrugged. What the hell-o was she being blamed for now?

  “Thank you for what you did,” Sophie continued.

  “What, exactly, did I do?” Velma asked cautiously.

  “You gave Troy my note.” Sophie stepped back to Troy, and now the tears streamed freely down her cheeks. He smiled at her like she held the meaning to all that was real and good.

  A jealous twinge in the vicinity of her heart stopped Velma’s breath. What would she give to have a man look at her that way? The way Brek looked at her like she was dinner and he was starving was nice, but it wasn’t the same.

  “We’ve spent some time figuring things out. Thanks to the note, I knew she still loved me.” Troy’s gaze never left Sophie. “Things just got away from us with the wedding plans. That’s, uh, actually why we’re here. We’d like you to help us plan a new wedding. A better one.”

  “Shall we move to the conference room?” Velma asked, herding them along.

  “We can meet here. Troy? Sophie?” Brek gestured to the tight love seat and pulled up a chair from the reception desk for Velma. He grabbed one for himself from along the wall and straddled it.

  Um. No. They had agreed to meet in the conference room. Velma had even turned on the scented-candle things. That’s where she left her notepad. Brek didn’t even have a writing utensil out here.

  “Are you sure? We’re uh…all set up in the other room.” Velma tried to telepathically encourage Brek to follow her lead. He wasn’t having it.

  “We’re good. I’m good. You good?” he asked the couple on the couch.

  They nodded. Fudge. Velma reluctantly sat in the chair Brek offered. She leaned over to him. “My notepad is in the other room,” she whispered.

  He grinned at her. “You can go get it if you want. We won’t need notes, though.”

  What event planner didn’t need notes?

  “Okay, then,” Velma started. “What were you thinking for this wedding?”

  “Simple,” Sophie replied. “But special.”

  Simple was good. Simple wasn’t tens of thousands of dollars on exotic orchids shipped in from the tropics.

  “How’d you two meet?” Brek asked, his arms dangling over the top of his chair like a hooligan. A really hot hooligan, but still.

  “At the Reach the Peak Marathon. Sophie handed out water bottles at the end of the course. I took one look as I ran by and knew she was the one for me. Corner of Broadway and Fourteenth Street, my life changed forever.” Troy visibly squeezed Sophie’s hand and pulled it to his knee.

  “He was thirsty, that’s all.” Sophie bumped her shoulder against his and then cuddled closer. They were really sweet together, now that she wasn’t so caught up in the whole bride-on-a-rampage thing.

  Troy looked at Sophie with intensity. Velma and Brek should probably excuse themselves. “Asked her out on the spot,” Troy continued.

  Except. “I thought you worked for her father?” Velma asked.

  Brek shot her a look. Crud. She had interrupted their moment.

  “That was after we’d been dating for a while.” Sophie glanced to Velma, breaking Troy’s spell. “And Daddy was going to make him partner anyway, even if we didn’t get married. I didn’t know that. Troy wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “What budget are we looking at?” Brek asked, still entirely too relaxed. They were supposed to be planning a wedding, for goodness’ sake. Weddings were serious.

  “About a quarter of the previous.” Troy looked sheepishly at Sophie. “We’ll be paying for this one on our own.”

  “We were hoping that you two might come up with something. We can just show up and get married.” Sophie gestured her French-manicured fingernails between Velma and Brek.

  Velma squinted at Sophie. “You want us to pick it all?”

  “We just want it to be memorable.” Sophie smiled enthusiastically.

  If it went anything like the previous version, it would definitely be memorable.

  Brek glanced to Velma and raised his eyebrows. “How many guests?”

  “No guests. No bridal party, either. Something special for just us.” Troy wrapped his arm around Sophie.

  “Do you have a date in mind?” Brek’s phone buzzed, and he reached to his back pocket to silence it.

  “We were thinking the middle of next week. Troy’s got some time off, and we don’t need it to be on the weekend since it’s just us.”

  Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Less than a week to plan a wedding. Impossible. Brek had to tell them it wasn’t possible.

  “Got it. Do you need a dress?” Brek asked, not telling them it was impossible.

  “I still have my dress. It just needs to be cleaned. From the, ah…tree house,” Sophie replied.

  “We’ll have it picked up. Troy, you good with your tux? We can send it for cleaning with the dress.” Brek could not be serious. So, they had a dress and a tux. They still needed flowers, and a minister, and a freaking location.

  “Perfect,” Sophie replied.

  “Great.” Brek clapped his hands together. “I’ll let you know where to be and when.”

  Velma sat still, lips parted in shock. How could they plan a wedding with just that? They needed ideas for flowers and location. With less than a week, there wouldn’t be many options.

  “I’m going to run and get my notepad.” Velma hopped up, scooted down the hallway, snatched her stuff, and turned on her heel to hurry back to the reception area, wobbling only slightly on her heels.

  No one was there. She glanced out the window.

  Sophie and Troy were already at t
heir car in the parking lot, chatting it up with Brek. He leaned against the passenger door of a black sedan, arms folded across his chest, a huge smile on his face.

  Velma let out a long breath. She hugged the notepad to her chest and stepped out into Denver’s latest heat wave. Beads of sweat immediately formed along her tense neck. The scent of French fries from a fast-food place nearby permeated the air. A delivery truck on the street blared its horn when the car in front of it slowed to turn into the pay-by-the-hour parking garage across the street.

  “See you next week, Velma,” Sophie hollered as she climbed into the black Lincoln sedan.

  Velma gave a small, shocked wave. Brek shook Troy’s hand before heading in Velma’s direction. He tipped his sunglasses and smiled at her. He had no right to be that attractive when she was annoyed with him. Troy turned on the car and pulled out of the lot.

  “How are you going to plan a wedding without any information?” Velma looked up to Brek, who towered over her even when she wore heels.

  “Got an idea,” he replied, holding the door.

  The phone in his back pocket rang again. This time, he answered, leaning against the handle of the glass door as she passed through to the air-conditioned building.

  “Eli, just the one I needed to talk to. I’ve got a wedding with a tight timetable. Thinkin’ we’ll do it like that time on Colfax… Nothing yet… About a week… Gonna need a bread truck, some of those orange cones you use in your parking lot, and…right...hold on.” He covered the phone with his hand and glanced to Velma. “You think you can get your grandpa to perform the ceremony without any of that counseling bullshit?”

  Pops was a retired minister, and he was thrilled to perform Claire’s wedding. He probably wouldn’t like premarital counseling referred to in that way. But he loved performing weddings, so he would probably do it. “I can ask. I’m sure he will, but, Brek—”

  “Got the minister, dress. Will talk to Jase about flowers. Still gotta figure out the photographer. We’ll need to be fast. In and out. You’ll handle the transportation? Yup. No police. I really don’t think anyone’s gonna call them this time.”