They kissed themselves into a state of not caring where they were as long as they didn’t have to stop. Or let each other go.
Bobby Jack came to his senses first. Stepping back just far enough that he could look at her through passion-hazed eyes. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“The same thing you do to me?”
“How did I live so long without you?”
She put a hand to his face, leaned up and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I don’t want to live another day without you in my life.”
“You don’t have to.” He paused, and then, “I want to marry you, Grier. I don’t want—”
She pressed a finger to his lips and stopped him. “Yes.”
“Yes?” he said, the question carrying enough uncertainty that she realized he hadn’t expected her to say yes.
“Absolutely, yes.”
He smiled then, that smile that transformed his face from good-looking to downright beautiful. “The logistics we’ll figure out as we go?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning in to kiss him with all the love she felt for him.
A sudden noise made her pull back and peer into the shadowed corner of the terrace. “What is that?” she asked.
Bobby Jack looked over his shoulder. “Unless my eyes are fooling me, a very large bird.”
Grier could just make out the hooked beak, and then it lifted off the wall, wings widespread, soaring off into the night. “That was an eagle,” she said, a little shocked, but somehow knowing she was right, even as she found it hard to believe.
“In the city?” Bobby Jack sounded doubtful.
Grier thought of her mother then, of the eagle they had once seen together so long ago. Had she sent it here tonight? Somehow, there was a warm comfort in the thought.
“I’m learning not to question the unexpected,” she said. “I’m just going to take it as a sign that I’m finally on the right track.”
“I’ll go with that,” Bobby Jack said.
“And I’ll go with this,” she said, pulling him back to her with a promise of never letting him go.
EPILOGUE
Somewhere in the South of France
The enormous white hotel sat like the premier jewel at the cusp of a Mediterranean crown of royal blue.
Morning number three, and Grier and Bobby Jack had yet to venture out of the luxurious room on an upper floor that looked across a white silky-sand beach.
The sun had just tiptoed in between the sheer curtains. Grier always woke to the light, and despite some lingering jet lag, today was no exception. In that moment before complete awareness took hold, she paniced a little at the unfamiliar surroundings. But then she slipped an arm to the other side of the bed, and there was Bobby Jack.
She turned onto her side and explored the lean muscle of his nicely rippled abs. She loved his body, and now, one year into their marriage, she knew every delicious inch of him.
Just the thought of all the explorations that had led to such familiarity sent a little twist of heat through her.
“I’m not even fully awake and I’m wanting you again, woman.” His voice was deep and still edged with sleep.
She smiled. “Excellent.”
He flipped over, snagged her waist with one arm and sealed her to him, providing her with immediate proof of the accuracy of his statement.
“Are you aware, ma’am,” he said, “that you aren’t wearing any clothes?”
“I am, sir. Is there something you would like to do about it?”
“I might have to write you a citation. A French citation.”
“Ooh, that sounds interesting. Is there a fine with my citation?”
“There is,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck and then the dip of her throat. He kissed upward and nipped her chin with his teeth. “Another day in bed, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, no, not that,” she said in mock distress. “But what if I can’t think of any way to please you for all that time?”
He raised up enough to slip her under him, his beautiful body fully covering hers. “Just do what comes naturally,” he said.
“And if I fail?”
He moved against her, and every part of her came awake to him. “Oh, you won’t fail. Not if you practice some more.”
“Ah,” she said. “Want to practice then?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
A GOOD BIT LATER, when they lay staring up at the ceiling, their breathing still quick and uneven, he lifted up on one elbow to look down at her with love-hazed eyes. “Happy One Year anniversary, Mrs. Randall.”
“Happy One Year anniversary, Mr. Randall,” she said, running the backs of her fingers across his cheek. “You give nice presents.”
“Are you trying to make me blush?”
“Is that possible?”
He nuzzled her neck and said, “Speaking of presents. I’m supposed to deliver a few.”
“From?”
He got up from the bed and walked, fully naked, to the closet where he pulled a large shopping bag from the top shelf. He walked back and set it in the center of the bed, slipping under the sheet beside her. “Well, let’s see.”
She sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Where did you get this?” she asked, peering into the bag.
“I snuck it along in my suitcase.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“I did.” He reached in and handed her a box wrapped in beautiful pink paper with a huge snowy white ribbon on top. “This is from Andy and Kyle. She made me promise you would open hers first.”
Grier felt a little tug of love for the teenage girl she had come to think of as the daughter she had never had. She tore away the wrapping to find a simple white box with the name of her favorite jewelry store on the lid. She opened it up and inside was a sterling silver charm bracelet with two charms: a Hound and a small fluffy dog. “Flo and Sebbie,” she said.
“I think Andy was pretty proud of herself for having found their look-alikes.”
“I love it,” Grier said. “Will you hook it for me?”
He draped it across her wrist and secured the hook. “Perfect.”
“And speaking of those two, here’s a little something from the ones who rule our house.” He pulled out another box, this one wrapped in paw print paper, and handed it to her.
Grier felt a knot begin to form in her throat and tears well in her eyes. “You do know how to make me love you more every day.”
He watched while she opened the box. Inside she found two matching collars and leashes, one in Flo’s size and one in Sebbie’s. They were New York City fancy, dark leather with jewel insets. “Did they pick these out or did you?” she said, her voice raspy with emotion.
“I confess. I did.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Did Flo approve?”
“If Sebbie’s for it, you know she’s for it.”
“They are a pair, aren’t they?”
“Not sure how they ever lived without each other.” He reached back in the bag and pulled out another package. “This is from Hatcher.”
She pulled the paper from the present and found a beautiful Mediterranean cookbook inside. She opened the cover, and in the older man’s less than steady handwriting, read:
To my friends, Grier and Bobby Jack. When you get home, I’ll use this book to cook up memories of your trip. May it be as wonderful as the two of you.
“Lucky for us, he lives in our house,” Bobby Jack said. “Although if we keep letting him do the cooking, I’m going to have to take up distance running.”
Grier smiled and felt an instant lump in her throat. Hatcher’s gratitude humbled her. But the truth was she felt indebted to him. Through Hatcher, she had come to learn a great deal about her mother. He spoke of her with such fondness that his recollections had softened the edges of Grier’s own memories. She was grateful to him for that.
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“It’s like he has a new life,” she said softly, running her hand across the book’s cover. “I’m not sure you realize how much it means to him when you take him out to job sites with you.”
“I enjoy having him with me,” he said. “He knows a lot of stuff.”
She looped her arm around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. “Thank you for being you. And for bringing these presents.”
“You’re welcome. But there’s something else in the bag.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching in and pulling out a small box wrapped in silver paper with a red bow. “For you, my love.”
“What have you done?”
“Open it and see.”
She pulled the ribbon and untied the bow. The paper came next, and then she lifted the lid. A small black box sat nestled inside. She opened it, carefully, and then stared at the beautiful diamond earrings inside. “Bobby Jack. You shouldn’t have done this.”
“You like?”
She carefully loosened one and took it out. “I love.”
“Good,” he said, looking pleased.
She put one in and then the other.
She sat up and then slid onto his lap, the white sheet dropping away from her.
“Stunning,” he said.
He reached up and smoothed his thumbs across the diamonds in her ears, then traced a path down each side of her neck and the curve of her breasts. “You. Are. So. Incredibly. Lovely.”
She leaned down. Kissed him with an instant igniting of desire. His hands anchored at her waist and then in one fluid motion, slipped her under him. He held her wrists above her head, waking her body to his once more.
“We should probably see something of the town today. In case anyone asks us what we thought of it,” she said.
“We probably should,” he said, kissing her then, a slow, lengthy, purposeful kiss.
“Later?” she said.
“Much,” he said.
Dear Reader,
I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my story. There are so many wonderful books to choose from these days, and I am hugely appreciative that you chose mine.
If you’d like to try another of my books – Good Guys Love Dogs - for FREE, please go to http://www.inglathcooper.com/good-guys-love-dogs-free-gift
Please join my mailing list for updates on new releases and giveaways! Just go to http://www.inglathcooper.com - come check out my Facebook page for postings on books, dogs and things that make life good!
Wishing you many, many happy afternoons of reading pleasure.
All best,
Inglath
ABOUT INGLATH COOPER
RITA® Award-winning author Inglath Cooper was born in Virginia. She is a graduate of Virginia Tech with a degree in English. She fell in love with books as soon as she learned how to read. “My mom read to us before bed, and I think that’s how I started to love stories. It was like a little mini-vacation we looked forward to every night before going to sleep. I think I eventually read most of the books in my elementary school library.”
That love for books translated into a natural love for writing and a desire to create stories that other readers could get lost in, just as she had gotten lost in her favorite books. Her stories focus on the dynamics of relationships, those between a man and a woman, mother and daughter, sisters, friends. They most often take place in small Virginia towns very much like the one where she grew up and are peopled with characters who reflect those values and traditions.
“There’s something about small-town life that’s just part of who I am. I’ve had the desire to live in other places, wondered what it would be like to be a true Manhattanite, but the thing I know I would miss is the familiarity of faces everywhere I go. There’s a lot to be said for going in the grocery store and seeing ten people you know!”
Inglath Cooper is an avid supporter of companion animal rescue and is a volunteer and donor for the Franklin County Humane Society. She and her family have fostered many dogs and cats that have gone on to be adopted by other families. “The rewards are endless. It’s an eye-opening moment to realize that what one person throws away can fill another person’s life with love and joy.”
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AN EXCERPT FROM GOOD GUYS LOVE DOGS
BY
INGLATH COOPER
PROLOGUE
Ian McKinley had finally made it. Reached the pinnacle. The top rung of the ladder. Tonight represented the crown jewel in the career he’d spent seventeen years of his life building. Thirty-nine, and, by most definitions, he had everything. Money. Success. A teenage son. A beautiful fiancée.
Not to mention having just brought on board the biggest client ever for CCI Investments of Manhattan, he was a hero to his partners. This party at the Waldorf-Astoria had been thrown for him, the invitation list a who’s who of New York City high rollers.
Standing here now among trays of Champagne and tables loaded with exotic-looking foods, he should have been nothing but exhilarated. Somehow, he merely felt tired. Bone weary with the routine of his life, the predictability of it.
Every morning he bought his breakfast at the same bagel shop on Sixtieth Street, ate it at his desk with exactly two cups of coffee, no cream, no sugar. Every day he ran six miles at noon. He couldn’t remember when he’d done anything remotely spontaneous.
But this was the life he had wanted. This was what he’d worked so hard for ̶ to prove a poor boy from the wrong side of Manhattan could make it to Park and Sixty-first. He only regretted that neither Sherry nor his mother had lived to see his success. He’d promised them both he would make something of himself one day. He wondered if they would have been proud of him. But then, if Sherry had lived, maybe he wouldn’t have been quite so driven. Wouldn’t have buried himself in his work. Life would have been more about family. More normal for him and for Luke.
Did he even know what normal was anymore?
For the past three weeks, he’d gotten no more than five hours of sleep a night. That might explain his fatigue, except that part of him felt as if he’d been tired for years. He needed a vacation. Away from the city. When was the last time he’d taken one? The last time he’d spent more than an hour alone with his son? Guilt gnawed at him. He would plan something for them to do together. Soon. And he would make sure he kept his word.
“Why is it you look like a man headed for the gas chamber instead of the man of the hour?”
Ian swung around to find Rachel looking up at him with inquisitive eyes and a smile on her lips. “Hey,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “A pillow and a bed sound pretty good about now.”
“I could go for that. Especially since I’ve been getting just a little jealous of the stares half the women in the room have been sending you all night.” She leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, her right breast pressing into his chest. He waited for the surge of attraction that should have followed her deliberate provocation and decided, when it did not come, that he was more tired than he’d realized.
“Hey, we can’t have any of that.” Curtis Morgan clapped a hand on Ian’s shoulder. A short man with a receding hairline and an expanding waistline, Curtis was one of Ian’s partners at CCI. “Not until after the wedding, at least. Ms. Montgomery, you’ll have our guest of honor ducking out before I’ve had a chance to make my toast to him.”
“I suggest you hurry up and do it,” Rachel said with a raised brow. “I’m afraid he’s nearly dead on his feet.”
“No wonder. You really gave this one everything, Ian,” Curtis said. “Our firm will see the benefit of it. We’re all very appreciative.”
“Yes. I’m so proud of him,” Rachel said. “Now, if I could just get him to agree on a wedding date.”
She looked up at Ian with wide e
yes that attempted to convey innocence, but Ian suspected Rachel knew exactly what she was doing.
As methodical about her personal life as she was about attaining senior partnership status at the law firm of Brown, Brown and Fitzgerald, Rachel made no secret of the fact that she thought a marriage between them would be mutually beneficial. She’d continued pressing her case for the past couple of years until she’d finally convinced him she was right.
Two weeks ago, when Ian asked her to marry him, it had been with the understanding that there was no rush. Both their lives were full, and a piece of paper wouldn’t change things drastically. Or so he had told himself.
When Sherry died right after Luke was born, he said he would never marry again. Unexpectedly losing his wife at the age of twenty-three was the most painful, life-altering thing he’d ever known. Something inside him simply shut down. For the first five years after her death, he didn’t date at all. When he did start seeing someone, he made sure it never lasted for any length of time, never long enough to let things get serious.
With Luke almost grown now, he didn’t relish the idea of spending the rest of his life alone. His relationship with Rachel was a comfortable one. It made no demands or even hinted at happily-ever-after and white picket fences. At one point, he’d believed in destiny and people who were meant for each other. A young man’s dreams. He no longer believed in any of that. If what he had with Rachel met the definition of compatibility more than love, he still appreciated her. She was smart and beautiful and he personally knew of a dozen men who envied him.
“So what’s the holdup, Ian?” Curtis asked with a punch to his left shoulder. “You need a reason to leave the office before midnight.”
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