I let my hands glide up his torso to his freshly shaven face and then I take a step back on my knees toward our palatial mattress on the floor. He grins, then pounces, softly tackling me onto my back.
“A take-down from your knees, too. You’re so strong,” I say, clinging to his biceps. He responds by smashing his lips against mine and grinding his massive cock between my legs. I’m wet and ready. My desire finally matching the insane love I have for Steven. Now, there’s nothing left to do but sit back and enjoy the ride.
Thrusting against me softly, he asks, “Are you sure? I know better than to question your decisions, but I have to ask.”
How to tell him that I’ve never been surer of anything?
“I’m positively sure of two things right now. One being that marrying you is exactly what I want, and the second being you need to remove your pants so we can get down to business.” He unfastens my bra easily with one hand while unbuttoning his pants with the other. Reaching down I feel him, long and thick. He slides out of his pants and rests on top of me, the tip of his dick nestled at my wet entrance.
Cradling my face in his hands, he says, “You know I’ll never get used to this. You. Being mine.” His right hand strays from my face and grazes the side of my body until his fingertips rest on top of my tattoo. It was a huge leap of faith, a chance I wouldn’t usually take—especially because I’m conservative with my skin. For the approval reflecting in Steven’s eyes, it was worth every additional letter. I would do it a million times over.
“I wasn’t sure it would be enough,” I admit. “It took me such a long time to come around—to actually open my eyes and see what’s always been in front of me. You have more patience than anyone gives you credit for.”
He bites his lip and sucks in a long breath. “My patience isn’t that strong,” he growls, nudging me with his erection. I open my legs a little, in invitation, and he slides in, just barely entering. My muscles contract around him, drawing him in further, wanting every inch to fill me completely. Moaning with pleasure, I relish the sensation of having his ridges rubbing the insides of my sex. “You feel so good, Morg. So good,” he says against my neck.
“Nothing feels as good as this,” I return, lifting my hips, forcing him to sink all the way inside. Steven’s eyes slam shut as he hisses out a long breath. Grabbing his firm ass, I guide him to thrust into me again and again. I feel his hands grasp my waist and then he’s rolling us over, but he doesn’t release me. Using those biceps I was just complimenting, he lifts me and lowers me without breaking a sweat. I use the tops of my feet on the bed to keep balance as he fucks me. I brace myself by gripping his wrists. I can see his face, the smirk, as he penetrates me. He turns me on top into something of his own variety.
“What about this? How does this feel?” he asks, white teeth peeking out from his lips. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”
Readjusting my grip, I try to lower myself, but he doesn’t let me. “It feels like you’re fucking me. Let me,” I beg.
His smile widens. He loves it when I curse. It’s the most erotic grin I’ve ever seen and I tighten around him in response. Steven loosens his grip and I ride his wet cock, rocking my hips as I slide up and down. He groans and closes his eyes at the same time that every muscle on his sculpted stomach flexes. With two rough fingers, he rubs and presses my clit in perfect small circles.
Leaning over his chest, my hair cascading over his pecs, I explode around him, flexing as much as his hard girth will let me. Turning me over with ease, he places me on my back as the tingles taking over my body subside. He continues thrusting into me, his chest sliding my breasts up and down as he eases in and out of my body.
His pace slows and his lips find mine. “I fucking love you, Morga-liscious,” he says against my mouth, before he buries his face in my neck. I feel him nibbling the chain of my necklace.
A small smile creeps onto my face as I relish the connection, of being filled and whole in all ways.
“I’m coming inside you,” Steven growls, pounding into me a few more times before sheathing himself entirely, his dick throbbing as he releases deep inside me. I wrap my legs around him to keep him buried inside me as his body jerks with the force of his orgasm.
Taking his ear between my teeth, I whisper, “I love you, too…fiancé.” His chest reverberates laughter. He leans up, brushes several strands of my hair out of my face, and shakes his head at me.
“You are unpredictable in the best kind of way. Has anyone ever told you that?” he asks, eyes chock full of love.
Smiling wide, I tell a white lie. “Just you.”
“Forever, then?” Steven asks.
“I’m pretty sure it’s set. Till death do us part.”
In the end, when all artificial light is gone and only the moon glints through our bare bedroom windows, we’re nothing but indistinguishable silhouettes anyways. Just a man and a woman in love.
Into the dark I whisper, “All I’ve ever needed is the S word.”
_______________
The spur of the moment living room dinner party turns out to be the best decision we could have made. Windsor is holding her sweet baby daughter on her hip as she makes polite conversation with Toni, my newest apprentice. I owe her in more ways than I can quantify. If it weren’t for her, Alex’s charade could have continued on for longer than it did. I shiver with that thought. I’m still endlessly disappointed in myself for that disaster.
Maverick has his screaming son slung over one shoulder when he approaches me. “Horse shit,” he deadpans. “What bathroom can I use to hose this magical ogre off?” Putting a hand over my mouth and nose, I point to the hallway, trying to control my laughter.
“Did he roll in some fresh patties?” Steven asks, wafting a hand in front of his face. Windsor passes off the baby to me as she follows her men down the hallway.
“You were supposed to watch him, Mav,” I hear Windsor mutter.
Maverick looks at her, his dimples appearing. “I watched him. Watched him learn a lesson about farm life.” She shakes her head and takes the crying boy from his father. She coos and promises dessert to halt his tears, but Maverick is still laughing as he holds open the bathroom door.
I switch the baby Carolina from one hip to the other, smiling at her sweet, drool covered face. “Never fall for a man like your daddy, Caro. Never. Nothing but trouble…”
“And horse shit,” Steven cuts in, kissing the baby’s fat, pink cheek. “We’re trouble and horse shit, I’ll tell ya!”
“Don’t swear at her!” I command, widening my eyes at Steven.
“That doesn’t count. She can’t even talk yet,” he explains in a baby voice, like it’s a rational explanation. Carolina is looking at Steven with a huge baby grin that melts my heart. “We’ll find you a good, strong team guy one day, won’t we baby? He’ll have big muscles and a big…” Steven says, glancing at me.
“Heart,” I finish for him. He laughs, the lines around his eyes brightening his whole face.
“Heart. Of course, heart,” he says, taking the baby from me. “Big and tough on the outside, and warm and gooey on the inside. Like a cookie. That’s what you want in a man.” I look to the ceiling and pray that we don’t have impressionable females in our house for a long time. At least until Steven knows not to compare men to cookies.
Phillipe brings me a glass of champagne. “I’m so happy for you and Steven,” he says.
Our engagement was exciting for Steven and me. For everyone else, you would have thought it was the eighth wonder of the world. Our friends and family were ecstatic. There were squeals of delight, tears, shock, and finally acceptance. No one thought I’d want to remarry again…including Steven. It was a happy shock for everyone. And why would I not want to marry the man who has loved me through every season of my life? He’s holding the baby over his head and spinning in slow circles. He’s laughing loudly and everyone who is in a mile radius is smiling at his antics. When Maverick and Windsor come back with a
soaking wet, sulking child, I watch them watch Steven.
“Thanks, Phillipe. How are you getting on with Toni?” I have a multitude of extra office space at the farmhouse, so we’ve all taken to working together on cases.
He eyes the room to make sure she’s not around. “It’s good. It’s different having someone else in the mix, but she’s thorough and dependable. I think someone you want in your corner.” I hug my assistant/best friend.
“You’re so awesome,” I compliment. He pulls out of the hug, one brow raised.
“You’re going soft. That’s what’s happening, isn’t it?” He looks like he may be half joking.
I shrug, glancing at Steven playing with Carolina. “It’s about time the ice thawed a touch, I think.”
Phillipe smiles, shakes his head, and sashays away. So many people surround me with love and they always have, but I never understood until recently how important it is. I embrace my life and my friends and career. When you slow down long enough to stop taking the small things for granted, life gets sweet—priceless. I don’t compare anything anymore.
When I packed to move to the farmhouse, I found Stone’s framed tattoos. I went through them one by one, trying to glean information from the smartest person I’d ever know. I’d forgotten about one tattoo. It was a quote by Mark Twain that I now remember wrapped around his left ankle. “Comparison is the death of joy.”
Sitting in an empty hallway, I read it at least one hundred times, letting the six words infiltrate every part of my body and soak into my brain…and heart.
My joy came from letting go of the comparisons and allowing the new life I cultivated to thrive. It doesn’t matter if Steven and Stone have the same job. Or that sometimes when Steven says something, and I’m wrapped up in something else, I hear Stone’s voice instead. I take it as a sign that I found the person I’m supposed to be with for the rest of my life. My heart isn’t torn in half, no. There aren’t any pieces left that only belong to Stone. The sections blended—melted together creating a fierce, strong, burning love for my new life.
Steven hands the baby over to Windsor when he sees me staring from across the room. As he approaches me, my heart wells with joy. Those familiar eyes and sweet lips call to me.
“You make me so happy,” I say.
“Because I look like the hottest nanny alive with Carolina?”
I shake my head and try to staunch the flow of tears. “No, just because.”
With one finger under my chin, he tips my head up. “Kiss me, you black haired seductress,” he whispers, smiling.
Butterflies invade my stomach as he kisses me passionately in front of our clapping, shouting friends.
Joy can’t die when there is even the smallest spark to thrive. If you’re lucky, the spark will turn into a flame and that fire will burn for as long as you allow it.
“Forever,” I promise.
EPILOGUE
Steve
One year later
IT’S BEEN YEARS—too many to count—since my brother, Thomas Stone Sterns, died protecting his best friend. I think about him often and I wonder how frequently she thinks of him. Sometimes I see a shadow cross her face, her lips curl at the corner, and just as quickly the look vanishes. A memory? Something I’d be jealous of? I don’t let myself think it. What it comes down to is I’m alive and Morganna Sterns Warner is mine. She’s all mine. I creep down the hallway when I hear her sweet southern accent pierce the air.
Pausing outside the nursery door, I merely listen. Morganna is singing a sweet, yet strong lullaby to our newborn son, her country accent punctuating the chorus. I peer around the door and find her in the rocker in the corner. She has Rocco, wrapped in a white blanket as she rocks him back and forth. The way she looks at the tiny person that we both created pierces my heart and soul. She notices me, her gray eyes flicking up to meet mine. I smile. She smiles. My heart thumps jaggedly along, unsure how much more love can fit inside. Morganna continues her song, but her eyes don’t stray from mine. Like she’s singing the sweet southern lullaby to me, instead of the baby. I have to hold onto the doorframe to keep myself standing.
I press a finger against my lips, promising to be quiet, and I enter the room. I kiss her on the lips lightly and then carefully bend down to kiss Rocco’s forehead. He smells of Morganna’s sweet lotion and fresh baby—an intoxicating scent. I want them in eye shot anytime I’m home. It’s my new addiction.
Exiting the room just as quietly as I entered, I head for my office at the end of the hallway. Something has been nagging me. Maverick gave me an envelope a few weeks ago. He only said, “It’s time” when he handed it to me. I recognized the handwriting immediately and that made me hesitant to even touch it.
The room down the hall contains everything I’ll ever need. There isn’t room for fear or questioning anymore. Sitting down at my desk, Gunner puts his muzzle in my lap. “Hey, buddy. You got my back, yeah?”
I pet his soft head and ears with one hand as I sort through a messy drawer at my desk. My hand lands on the thin envelope that I’ve looked at several times within the past few days. The front merely says “You’ll know when it’s time.” I swallow the lump down and stare at closed door in front of me. I rip it open and unfold a piece of college ruled notebook paper.
Stevey
You hot headed motherfucker. Guess I one-upped your hot head if I’m the one dead and you’re the one reading a grave letter. When my photo makes it up onto the wall in the highbay, it should be the one with the gloriously huge, fucking mafia style mustache. I can’t leave decisions like this to Maverick. He’ll have his hands full, but I suspect he’ll bounce back quickly. If he doesn’t, you have my permission to beat him with the Windsor stick.
There’s a reason this letter to you is time sensitive. Unlike the others, I need something from you. It’s imperative.
You make me laugh. You make everyone laugh. It’s not conceited if I say that humor is the best quality to have, because if I’m gone, you’re the one who wears that fucking beautiful, first-place crown. We both know who needs humor and happiness the most: Morganna, that beautiful fucking, tigress of a woman.
Make her laugh as much as you can. Make her happy. Put that huge smile on her face any chance you can. Give her everything I failed to give her. Strip away the layers of ice and find the woman who is buried in there—the person who is soft, emotional, the person who hides from the rest of the world for fear of failing.
Give her a life, Stevey. She’s my heart. My whole heart. But I realized somewhere along the way that maybe she’s your heart, too. Maybe I just borrowed her from you because I needed her more. There’s no denying I need her more than oxygen. There’s also no denying that she loved you first. That should piss me off, but given these circumstances nothing makes me happier. She’s told me how much of a presence you were in her life—how you befriended her when no one else took a chance on her. Morganna doesn’t belong to anyone. She owns herself. She owns the world and everything that she touches.
I won’t say she’s yours, because that wouldn’t make much sense.
You’re hers now.
Love her even when it hurts—even when she pushes you away. Love her more than I did. Love her forever. It breaks my heart to write this while I’m still breathing, but you need to hear it from me. It was always you.
Keep smiling, bro. Keep on smiling.
Stone
TIME AND SPACE
I shut my eyes. It fades to black
A wilted flower never coming back
A jaded heart torn in two
A life with him, a life with you
Sorrow stalks on windswept trees
A troubled whisper finds the breeze
A dirty window looking out
Hear me, see me, it’s a silent shout
A hint of promise never made true
A life with him, a life with you
-Lainey Rosemont
CHAPTER ONE
Prologue
Cody
IF YOU WERE to open my mind and look inside you’d find binary code, formulas, and endless lines of script—things that make the average human’s brain twitch away in protest. Inside my skull also resides knowledge, practicality, and wisdom. If you were to crack apart any of my two hundred and six bones, you’d find her. That’s how deeply she’s rooted inside. She’s hidden away, tucked neatly in a place where not even time can touch her. Dementia and other human ailments are capable of stealing the confines of the mind. Bones? They protect everything. You get to take them with you to your grave.
Lainey Rosemont is the woman who owns my bones. When I met her she had this peculiar way about weaving herself into my life: a life that no one else could penetrate, but still she coiled herself around me all the same. Her wild blue eyes and soft demeanor challenged my good side. My bad side merely wanted to devour her whole just to make her mine forever. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that my life would forever be changed—complicated, contented.
I met her during the time in my life when I walked the straight and narrow. I did what I was supposed to do—what was expected of me as an upstanding Naval Officer. I’ve long since left that life behind. The Navy SEAL ethos is too strong for a decent man to break. Good men are SEALs. I was a good man for a long time—a leader of some of the best men in the world. And then I got out of the Navy because I simply wasn’t meant to be good and moral anymore. My talents were merely more desirable elsewhere. I still hunt down high value targets, mind you, and my aim with all firearms is just as lethal, but now I don’t answer to anyone. That strong ethos I used to live by had to die a slow death for me to fulfill my new purpose in life. The people who now answer to me are usually seconds away from death.
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