by Bromberg, K.
I look at him like he’s crazy and yet every single thing he says is gold. So damn true I can’t argue a single point.
“But then there are those moments, Colton, when you watch your child do something and are so damn proud of them you are left speechless. And those moments take every single doubt and fear and heartache and moment of insanity you’ve ever had and wipe the slate clean. That’s how I felt watching you go to see your dad. That’s how I feel knowing you and Ry are going to adopt Zander. That’s how I feel watching you be a father. Hell, son, when you stepped up to the plate after Rylee got sick and swung it out of the goddamn park by taking care of Ace? I’ve never been prouder.”
My eyes sting with tears I don’t want to shed from the praise I never like to receive. Yet at the same time understand completely now that I’m a father.
“I’ve never been more proud to be your father than I am right now. That man,” he says, pointing over his shoulder to tell me he’s referring to my biological father, “doesn’t deserve to get to know the incredible person you are.”
The lump in my throat feels like it is the size of a football. “Thank you.” I feel like a shy little kid, unworthy of the no-holds-barred love he’s given me my whole life when I haven’t always been easy. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I’ve been a nightmare. And yet the quip that’s on my tongue dies when I look back to his eyes. I see love and approval and pride and shit that makes me uncomfortable to see. I know Ace needs to see it every day of his life so he can know exactly what I feel right now.
“No need to thank me, son.” We stare at each other for a moment, years of unspoken words traded in the span of silence. “Now . . . I’m sure you didn’t stop by to hear me blather on. What can I do for you?”
Just like him to lay down the law and then act like we’re not even in court.
“Believe it or not, you gave me the answer anyway.”
And he did. Tons of answers, in fact. He turned wounds into wisdom.
The most important thing is that he let me be who I needed to be, guided me when I needed it, and let me figure shit out on my own when I was too stubborn to ask for help. Regardless, he let me grow, let me experience, let me chase the goddamn wind as I raced, and the fact he was by my side without judgment the whole time, made me the man I am today.
Now I can’t wait to be that exact same man for Ace.
I STARTLE AWAKE.
Colton’s arms have fallen off me in sleep, and I struggle to remember the last time I slept this deeply. The last thing I remember was memory number who knows what that had to do with zip-lining through the forests of Costa Rica.
Naked.
I seem to think every one of his memories had to do with me being naked. It’s kind of funny. Kind of not.
I sit up and look at Ace asleep in the bassinet. His hands are up over his head, lips are suckling even in his sleep. I stare and wonder what type of person he’ll be. What will his future hold? Images that are so crystal clear slide through my head: first smiles, first steps, first day of school, first date. So many of them have this little boy with dark hair and green eyes and freckles over the bridge of his nose it’s almost as if I’ve seen a picture of what he’s going to look like before.
But the one thing I don’t expect, don’t even notice until it hits me like a lightning strike, is that the oppressive weight of dread and doom doesn’t come. It doesn’t drop one single time to darken my thoughts or steal my calm.
I wait for it. Hope for the best, expect the worst for a while. But the panic, the sweat, the fingers clawing at my throat and squeezing my heart, don’t come.
All that does is a soft smile on my lips. Not one forced or laced with guilt that comes because I need to show I’m improving, but rather because I really feel it.
Tears well. Big fat tears slide down my cheeks. And the funny thing is the taste of the salt as it hits my lips is like a smelling salt waking me up from passing out. And I’m not sure how long this is going to last but for the first time in the six weeks since Ace’s birth, I feel optimistic, hopeful . . . like me.
So I sit in this mass of a bed with my sweet baby boy beside me—who I desperately want to pick up but was fussy and difficult for Colton to put down tonight. I want to pull him tight to my chest and tell him he’s been my heartbeat throughout this mess. Apologize to him. Say words about events he’s never going to even know or remember but that will make me feel a little better.
I’m transfixed by him, feeling like I’m looking at him for the first time and in a sense I am, because he’s already grown and changed so much. I feel like I have to make up for lost time, although I know I have a whole lifetime to do that with him. Hesitantly, I reach out to touch him and then pull back when he squirms, smelling the milk on me.
And even though I shift back onto the bed, I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s so beautiful. Everything I’ve ever wanted. My ace in a loaded deck of cards.
The thought makes me smile. Memories colliding of that first encounter between Colton and me—jammed closets and first kisses and fear over how strong the chemistry was between the player and this good girl—when I first called him Ace.
A chance encounter that lead to this moment. Right here. Right now. Where so much love fills me that I’m swamped by it. And I’ll take being swamped by love because I’ve been drowning in sadness for what feels like forever.
I look at him now. My achingly handsome husband. His dark hair is a little longer than normal, falling over his forehead. Dark lashes fan on bronze skin. That perfectly imperfect nose of his. And those lips that have murmured memories he wants to make with me every single night over the past five-plus weeks.
Rogue, rebel, reckless. Those words still apply to him. As do so many others that would make him blush, roll his eyes, and play them off because they make this stoic man uncomfortable. My rock is the one I can’t seem to get out of my head. Because that’s exactly what he has been to me.
My everything.
Just like with Ace, I reach out my hand and pull it back. He deserves a good night’s sleep. Some peace and quiet since he has been the one handling all of my noise. And yet I can’t resist. Never can when it comes to him.
I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips, wanting nothing more than this connection with him. My body is still recovering, and the thought of sex is the furthest thing from my battered mind, and yet this simple touch, lips to lips, completes the sensation that something is still missing.
It’s probably bogus, my mind still playing tricks on me, and yet the spark that hits when I kiss him jumpstarts every part of my body drugged by the postpartum depression back to life.
My hands frame his cheeks as I brush my lips to his again, need becoming want, want becoming all-consuming. The desire to feel his touch in a way that’s not to soothe but rather to sate a need.
A gasp of breath. A flash open of startled eyes. A reach of his hands to grab onto mine holding him.
“Rylee.” His voice. That sexy, sleep-drugged voice that calls to me as he says my name and owns my soul.
“Yeah. It’s me.” And I mean it in every sense of the word. His emerald eyes widen and lips part in shock as he pulls me into him. One arm wraps around my back and the other cradles the back of my head as he presses me into his chest.
Our hearts connect. His feels like it wants to jump out of his chest and collide with mine as it beats an erratic yet familiar rhythm that is one hundred percent ours.
His hands hold me tight and don’t let go. He’s already lost me once, and I love the knowledge he’s going to make damn sure I’m not going to leave again.
The scrape of his stubble as he rubs his cheek against mine, a subtle sting of coarse to soft tells me this is real, this is him, and I am loved. Irrevocably.
The scent of soap and shampoo still lingers from his shower. The smell of home, of comfort . . . of safety as I breathe him in.
Everything seems so new and yet so familiar all at the same time. Whoever said the on
ly way to find yourself is to get completely lost, knew exactly what they were talking about.
His hand fists my hair and pulls my head back. Emerald eyes own my soul when they meet mine. They ask if this is a dream, if I’m really here, and I do the only thing I can. I lean forward and take a sip from his lips—the taste of his kiss is seared into my soul, one I’ll never forget—and it reawakens my senses the minute it hits my tongue.
We move in the darkness.
Two soulmates reuniting.
Two best friends grateful to have their other half.
Two lovers rediscovering each other in an intimate dance of tongues and the slide of fingertips over thirst-starved flesh.
Two parts of a puzzle finally realizing their piece of peace they’ve been missing has been found.
Once again.
PART 1
Eight months later
THE TURBULENCE JOLTS ME AWAKE.
Well, that’s what I’ll tell the twenty or so people on the other side of the door. Because it sure as shit isn’t the turbulence that wakes me up. No. It’s Ry’s hand sliding into my pants, fingernails tickling my nuts, and soft-as-fuck lips, kissing the underside of my jaw.
“Ry . . .” I sigh.
“Be quiet,” she warns against my skin, my body already fully alert at this unexpected wake-up call. Her other hand slides up beneath my shirt. Nails against bare skin. Teeth nipping my earlobe. Hot breath against my neck. “Your mom has Ace. You were asleep. And I was horny.”
Well, damn.
I glance at the cabin door, visually make sure the latch is set to lock before I lay my head back and close my eyes. Her tongue then does something to me that sends a jolt of electricity straight down my spine connecting to where her fingers are slowly stroking me.
“Horny is good.” Her lips meet mine as she climbs astride me. Tongues and teeth. Greed and need. Wet against hard. Goddamn she’s hot. Sexy fucking hot. “But it’s going to take a whole helluva lot more to get me to tell you where we are going.”
The stutter in her movement tells me I’m right, know her angle: confession by orgasm. Not a bad way to be tortured but my lips are sealed.
Maybe I’ll wait to tell her though. I’ve been to a lot of places with her, but the mile-high club isn’t one of them.
Maybe it’s time to venture there.
She sits up, a taunt in her eye and determination on her face. But that pout on her lips tells me she’s game to change my mind.
Change away, Ryles.
“Guess I’ll just have to take care of myself then.”
Don’t you dare. My eyes say it but lips don’t. I’m too goddamn focused on her hands traveling over her tits, hard nipples visible through the thin cotton, down to where her fingers pull up her loose skirt inch by fucking inch. And then they disappear beneath the flowy fabric so I can’t see shit.
But I sure as fuck see her head fall back, lips fall open, and hear the sigh fall from her lips as her hands begin to move in a motion I know all too well. Quick strokes of her finger to add friction to her clit.
Motherfucker.
Another quiet moan. Her back arches. Tits push forward. Hands move quicker, harder. Her skirt inches up farther so I can see the slick arousal on her fingers.
She’s playing me and I don’t even have a ball in her court. Playing with fire when I want to be the only one striking the goddamn matchstick.
My stick’s out all right. Now I just need to light the flame.
Within a beat I have Rylee flipped over, hands cuffed beside her head, and our faces inches apart. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” I tease between teeth gritted in restraint.
The scent of her arousal on her fingers fills my nose. Temptation at its fucking finest. Two can play this game, sweetheart. I lower my mouth, take the tips of her fingers between my lips and suck. Tongue laving over them, savoring her addictive taste. Her body squirms beneath me. A moan hums in the back of her throat.
“Don’t make a sound,” I whisper around her fingers.
One final suck. One last taste. One last hit. I look down at her beneath me. Her lips are parted, cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are heavy with desire. Goddamn sex personified.
And thank fuck for that because I’m digging in and taking what’s mine. Her orgasm. Her moans. Her scratch marks. And every damn thing in between.
“Burn, baby, burn,” she taunts with a gleam in her eyes as I release her hands so I can free my dick. And before I can pull my pants down far enough to free my thighs, her hand is pulling up her skirt, and bringing herself back to the brink of climax.
It’s such a turn-on. Watching her own her sexuality. Getting herself off. But it’s too damn much—the need to have, to take, to claim—and so I do just that.
With one hand on her throat and my dick in her pussy, I dive head first into the addiction that is everything about her. And at thirty-eight thousand feet above the middle of nowhere, she comes quickly—legs tensed, eyes locked on mine, and lips pulled tight—with my hand over her mouth to muffle her moans. The look on her face and her pussy pulsing around my dick pulls me over the edge so I can chase her.
When I catch my breath and look down at her all I can do is shake my head. “That’s one hell of an effort,” I whisper, leaning down to press my lips to hers, “but even your voodoo pussy isn’t magic enough to get me to tell you.”
She laughs. That’s all she can do.
Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.
PART 2
THE AIRPORT WAS A THATCH hut. We walked straight from the private jet to the awaiting cars, and the road we’re on is rutted dirt that requires serious suspension. Ben Montague plays on the radio as I take in the foliage, thick and green around us, causing my curiosity to grow with each passing bump along the road.
Where in the hell is he taking me?
I think back to the look on our boys’ faces when we deplaned on the tarmac. Their incessant chatter filled the air. My parents’ laughter as they became caught up in Colton’s mysterious family vacation. The knowing glance between Becks and Colton, and Haddie’s squeeze of my hand before we all loaded into our waiting vehicles. The shower of kisses rained down upon Ace by his adopted brother and his six other brothers—who claim him simply because we unceremoniously claim them—before we separate in three separate car arrangements. The happiness in my heart when Zander looked up and met my eyes. Unspoken words passed between us. Thank yous to Colton and I for saving him and at the same time allowing him to still be a part of the family he’d made with the boys. The slight smile on his lips and lift of his head to ask if it’s okay to ride with them instead of us was all I needed to know we made the right choice. That we didn’t harm the others by saving Zander.
And off we went.
Two vans: one driven by Becks and Haddie with the boys, and the other driven by Andy with the rest of our family. A whole lot of smiles as the doors closed and not much explanation by Colton on the two-way radios other than “we’re almost there.”
And then there’s the three of us in our Jeep. The SUV jostles in the terrain and pulls me back to the sights around us, all the while reminding me how fortunate I am to have everyone here. My boys. My family. My husband.
My everything.
Well, everything except for not knowing where we are, why we’ve been divided, or where we’re headed.
I glance over to Colton. I know it’s useless to ask again because he’s not going to give me an answer.
Live dangerously with me, Ry.
His words to me flicker through my memory, and I can’t help but smile. I want to tell him I’ll live dangerously a million times over so long as he never gives up on me. But I know I don’t have to worry about that happening. He’s already proven he won’t. So I do the only thing I can. I shake my head in disbelief and accept how full of love my heart is for him.
We’ve been through so much in the last year. Things I never thought we’d have to face hit us head-on, blindsided us, and knocked us fla
t on our asses. Yet here we are, stronger because of it. And I’m not oblivious to the fact we survived when so many other couples wouldn’t have.
How could we not have? It’s permanent, right?
And I glance back to check on Ace, the reason we fought so hard to find our piece of peace again. He seems completely unfazed by this rough ride. I take in his dark hair with a bit of a wave at the ends—the perfect combination of Colton’s color and my texture—and my smile is automatic. Green eyes look up and steal my heart like they do every single time they meet mine. Just like his father’s.
He babbles something incoherently, chubby cheeks bulging and hands waving in emphasis. I may have no idea where we are going, but I know he’s going to be in heaven having all of his brothers, his grandparents, and aunts and uncles here to play with and give him nonstop attention.
“We’ve lost them,” I say, as alarm moves through me when I glance up from Ace and notice the vans aren’t behind us.
“Becks knows where he’s going. They’re fine.” It’s all he says. Nothing else. I’d love to wrap my hands around that sexy neck of his and force him to tell me where we are and where he’s taking me.
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
Gah! I tried sex on the plane, sweet-talking, and just about anything else I could imagine but nope, the man won’t budge. I just hope wherever the hell we are, my clothes are suitable, because it’s not like he gave me a chance to pack. Who knew Colton would surprise us all after the first race of the season by flying us from St. Petersburg to wherever we are now?
Definitely not me.
I look back at Ace to see his eyes closing. The rocking of the car has lulled him to sleep. When I turn around, the view out the windshield hijacks my breath: white sand, palm trees swaying in the breeze, and a small hut on stilts stretched out over the crystal clear water.