She stared at him sitting there, only an inch away from panic, and decided to put him out of his misery. She got up from her seat and fell to her knees in front of him. She lifted her eyes to his and gripped her hands over his. “I’ve loved you forever, Marco—and I don’t want you to be stressed.” She smiled softly. “So yes, I’ll marry you.”
His sigh of relief was palpable but she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because he began kissing her as if he’d never let her go.
Epilogue
Seven years later
“I think it’s time.” Marco tried to make his voice sound stern and determined, because by God and all that was Holy, he was going to get his way this time.
Natalie shifted the baby from one hip to the next and stirred the sauce on the stove. “Do you now?”
He paced back and forth. “You need help, Natalie. Three kids and one on the way—”
“What do I need help with?” She put the spoon down and picked up a pink stuffed whale and handed it back to her four-year-old who played with plastic utensils at her feet. Their six-year-old daughter played quietly on the kitchen computer.
“You don’t need to be standing on your feet all day for one thing. It’s too dangerous. For you and the baby. The doctor said you need to rest. This doesn’t look like rest to me.” His eyes glanced around the room that somehow, she always managed to keep semi-tidy.
“I feel good,” she said as she walked in front of him on her way to get the plates from the cabinet.
He grabbed her elbow and stopped her. “I know, baby, and we want to keep it that way.” His words sounded agonized, even to himself, but damn. She needed to stay healthy. Not just for herself. For the new baby she carried. For the kids. For him.
He’d fall down and die if anything happened to her.
Natalie turned and gave her husband her attention. He looked pained, and she knew he’d finally hit his breaking point with this. “Is this one of those times when I’m supposed to do as you say?” she asked him lightly.
He clenched his mouth tightly. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And what is it you want?” she asked.
“A cleaning service—supper delivered every night until at least six months after the birth. And groceries delivered again, for a while. And you. Sitting on your butt.”
“That’s it? That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“That easy?”
“I want to make you happy, Marco. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her and the baby close to him in relief. He kissed one forehead and then the other. “You do, Natalie. God knows you do.” He leaned his forehead against the top of her head and rocked her in his arms. “You always have.”
The End
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Also available, the newest from Lynda Chance:
Rule’s Addiction
The House of Rule
Book Three: Garrett and Maria’s story
Copyright 2014 Lynda Chance ‘All Rights Reserved’
Unedited excerpt
About to round the corner of the landing leading to the fourth floor, Maria’s nerves jolted when she heard the sound of the door above her opening and then closing with the loud, echoing slam of steel against steel.
She came to an abrupt halt and listened, knowing for a fact that someone was in the stairwell above her, just out of her sight.
Silence.
The only sound she heard was her heart beating loudly in her ears, but she knew she wasn’t alone.
If she took two steps forward she’d be able to look up and see whoever was there. Two steps back might give her time to escape.
Unable to slow the raging pulse that was telling her that Garrett had found her, she took two steps backwards toward the wall, preparing to turn and run down, her stiletto heels clicking loudly against the bare concrete.
She never had a chance.
He sprinted down the half flight of stairs before she could even grab the railing that would balance her on the way down.
Damn stilettos. Damn her vanity for wearing them.
His hands reached out and he caught her, dragging her backwards, and she found her back against the wall in the corner of the landing before she could even blink.
Breathing unsteadily, she looked up into the eyes of a madman as she fought for oxygen.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he raged, indomitable fury in every line of his body.
Breathe, Maria. Just take one breath and then let it out. For some reason, she had no idea why, it never occurred to her to lie to him. “Avoiding you.”
The look on his face seemed to say that he wanted nothing more than to shake her, but he didn’t. His fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arms, and his brows came down in a thunderous scowl of rage that was not scaring her. Hell no, the dude did not scare her. If she could just remember to breathe, then maybe she could convince herself of that truth.
He looked down at her, his height and breadth dominating her where she stood, as a small buzzing in the back of her brain told her that it probably wasn’t wise to take on a guy who was at least a foot taller and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds of pure muscle. And that was without considering the pissed-off river of testosterone that seemed to be flowing through his bloodstream at the moment.
Her eyes stayed glued to his, and as he moved several inches closer, her chin lifted and her neck arched at an uncomfortable angle to keep him in her sights as he loomed closer. All the while her heart was beating so rapidly that her head was spinning, and she was sucking in oxygen so quickly that she was beginning to hyperventilate.
“The goddamn stairwell, Maria?” he questioned in a yell, biting the words out.
“What . . . what?” she asked, confusion setting in.
Lines of ice-cold fury bracketed his mouth. “Do you not have a clue? Do you not have a single working brain cell in that head of yours?”
She jerked her head back, not caring for that question one damn bit. She felt her blood pressure rise as her eyes narrowed, a returning anger filling her bloodstream. Fuck him. Fuck his arrogance. “Watch it, Mr. Rule. You’re beginning to piss me off.”
He leaned into her another intimidating inch. “Piss. You. Off?”
“I promise, you don’t want to piss me off,” she challenged, ignoring the warning bells in her head.
A yellow spiral of heat began blending with the brown of his irises, surrounding the growing black circle of his pupils, telling of his anger. “Yeah? We’ll get back to that shit in a minute,” he stated, as if her own anger was no more irritating than a fly buzzing around. “Why the fuck would you take the stairway?”
“Why . . . why shouldn’t I?”
He rolled his eyes heavenward and then looked back down. “Do you not give a shit about your own safety?”
“You think I’m going to trip and fall?” she asked sarcastically, beginning to get a glimmer as to where he was really going with this.
“Smart-ass,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re going to get assaulted, that’s what I think.”
“You think it’s dangerous in here?” she snapped, seeing no threat except the one standing in front of her.
One brawny hand released her arm and moved unerringly, forcibly, to the hem of her dress. “I don’t know, what do you think?” Without so much as a pause, he pushed the skirt of her dress up, out of his way, the palm of his hand seizing her mound, covered only by a triangle of silk fabric. She sucked in a startled breath as an arrow of heat shot through her, immobilizing her. He squeezed threateningly as he stared down at her, the lines of his face showing both scalding anger and a growing, imposing arousal.
Lig
hts and whistles began going off in her head. Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t good. Even now, she could feel her body begin to release a wet heat. Damn, he’d feel it through her panties any second now. Four, three, two, one—
The expression on his face transformed as fire exploded in his eyes. “Son-of-a-bitch, Maria.” Lightning fast, he pushed the crotch of her panties aside and his finger landed on her clit. He began rubbing, massaging her, and shock at the sudden situation held her momentarily in place. Although aroused, his anger was still there. “What if it had been someone else? Someone who wanted to hurt you?”
Despite her growing arousal, because of her growing arousal, Maria made a grab for his wrist to try to stop him as she struggled for words. “It’s completely safe. Only employees and guests—”
He didn’t release her. “Bullshit, it’s not safe. I get that you trust the employees here. But goddammit, you’d have no fucking clue if a psycho checked in. Anybody could follow you in here, overpower you, hurt you. You’re going to quit taking the stairs, understand me? You want to take the fucking stairs, you take the open staircase in the lobby, not this back stairwell, you got me?”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” she spat out, meeting his gaze straight on.
“I’m sorry, what?” The impatient words ripped from his throat. “What the fuck just came out of your mouth?”
“You don’t tell me what to do!” she plunged on defiantly.
He didn’t bother to answer. His head swooped down, he nipped at her bottom lip and then forced his tongue inside her mouth, just as he began swirling his finger around her clit again. A low growl of vibration started coming from deep in his chest as he crowded her back against the wall, spreading her legs apart, pushing his lower body between them.
Maria’s head began swimming again just as a new burst of damp heat flooded the juncture of her legs. How could he piss her off so badly and make her feel like this all at the same time? She was beyond excited, if this went on for much longer, she’d be in danger of climaxing, right here in the stairwell.
Abruptly, he lifted his head, his mouth coming off hers. She opened her eyes and found him staring down at her, his nostrils flaring. “And what about this goddamn dress?”
“What?” she asked, disoriented.
“I’ve never seen it before,” he stated with a stroke of censure before switching gears on her. “Who the fuck was the dude, Maria?”
Dress? Dude? What was he talking about? “What dude?”
At her question, he growled in warning and his finger slid down and found her wet opening. Her heart went haywire and she tried with everything she had not to push forward, her traitorous body searching for some degree of satisfaction.
He plunged inside without warning. She let out a semi-startled moan and heard him groan at the same time. His forehead fell to hers as he swirled his finger inside. She gave up; she pushed against him, adjusting her leg just a tiny bit. Ahh. . . there. Oh, God, that was it, that was the place.
But he wasn’t through interrogating her yet. “The dude in the ballroom. The motherfucker who had his arm around you.”
“No. . . nobody,” she panted, unable to think of anything but the magic his fingers were creating.
“Don’t give me that shit. You feel me inside, baby?” He pushed harder, swirled in a larger circle around her inner walls, making her entire body short-circuit. “Let me explain it to you,” he growled. “Nobody puts their fucking hands on you again, understand me?”
Christ. The guy was a maniac. “You . . . no. . . you can’t tell me what to do.”
“No? I think I fucking can. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. You’re not going to have much of a goddamn choice.” With that, his lips fell back to hers and anything else she might have said was silenced by his mouth on hers.
* * *
Rule’s Addiction
Available now
* * *
Other Works by Lynda Chance
The House of Rule Series:
Rule’s Obsession, Book One (Damian and Angie)
Rule’s Property, Book Two (Nick and Courtney)
Rule’s Addiction, Book 3 (Garrett and Maria)
Stand alone Stories:
Pursuit
The Mistress Mistake
Marco’s Redemption
Under the Cowboy’s Control
His Indecent Proposal
Ranchers of Chatum County Series:
Staking His Claim
Sarah’s Surrender
The Redwood Falls Series:
Josh and Hannah (Redwood Falls, Book One)
An Eye for an Eye (Redwood Falls, Book Two)
Historical Westerns:
The Sheriff and the Innocent Housekeeper
The Rancher’s Virgin Acquisition
Temptation in Texas:
The Thrill of the Chase
Mike and Megan
Logan and Lauren
Logan and Lauren: A Christmas Special 2014
The Louisiana Liaisons Series:
Seduced by the American Millionaire
Blackmailed Into Bed
Bedded by the Boss
Deliver
New York Times Bestselling Author
Pam Godwin
Chapter One
Tonight was the night. Nervousness might have been a natural response in her position, but bending to it wouldn’t change a damned thing. Liv sucked in hard. A lungful of smoke pushed past her unsteady smile and tumbled into a halfhearted cloud against the glare of stadium lights. Force of will pinned her bowed lips in place.
Another drag. Exhale. She stretched her neck and rotated her shoulders.
Whistles and cheers roared from the stands. Green and gold banners rippled to the stomp of thousands of feet on metal bleachers. Wedged between a trash barrel and a concrete wall, she smashed the cigarette on the No Smoking sign bolted to the railing at her hip.
To blend in as a Baylor University Bears fan, she wore a green t-shirt and dark jeans. Her alcove was field level, out of the path of foot traffic, and the best vantage to observe her mark. The boy. A goddamned saint. He likely hadn’t known a night similar to the one he was about to have. Her stomach quivered in a war of dread and anticipation.
The scoreboard counted down the final five minutes of the game. Le Male aftershave wafted from the nearby huddle of guys. The scent of store-bought pheromones mingled with their sweaty excitement and the nachos clutched in their hands. Smelled like fucking team spirit. Right now she hated Nirvana and everything musical expression had once meant to her.
She shouldn’t begrudge the college boys their thrills. To be fair, a number of them, with their athletic frames and juvenile energy, could have been her next delivery. But she’d already chosen. A fucking holier-than-thou virgin boy.
The tone of cheers exploded in volume and urgency, drawing her attention to the field. Green jerseys descended upon the turf, cleats kicking up mud, the rush of testosterone led by number fifty-four, the Bears’ star linebacker.
He jogged to midfield in long-legged strides, the seams of his sleeves straining to contain his biceps. She leaned over the railing, eyes glued to his gait. Self-assured and powered by trained muscles, he covered the field like he owned it. Given the whoops of his fans, he did.
His helmet, rib protectors, and shoulder pads concealed his pale green eyes and black hair while enhancing all six-foot-two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of masculinity and sexual innocence that met the client’s conditions. But she knew everything about the twenty-one year old. She had been watching Joshua Carter for weeks.
Daily surveillance had put her in the woods surrounding his parents’ farm at five every morning, stalking the campus halls during his classes and football practices until four, and back in the cotton fields until dusk.
In his four-year college career as a linebacker, he had caught a record twenty-three interceptions. As a trained sex slave, he would catch seven digits in an offshore account.
> While his predictable schedule made him an easy capture, his notoriety on the team magnified the risk. But it was the raw beauty in his seductive eyes and honed physique that passed a whisper between her ears, the kind that couldn’t be unheard once acknowledged. He was the one.
A stolen password gave her access to his university records. As the only child of poor farmers, he would’ve needed every bit of financial aid offered had he not received a football scholarship. His scholarship essay supported his pursuit in earning a degree in Religion, stating it would equip him with the tenet and fortitude to effectively fill a professional ministry role.
His righteousness chafed her heathen ass, but it avowed his virginity. Not an easy find these days, especially not in one so potently masculine and easy on the eyes. Which was why she’d sought this particular job on Baylor’s Christian-centric campus rather than her usual hunting grounds in the slums of Brownsville and Killeen. Besides, he would forget all about his godly endeavors by day two in chains. Just like all the others.
The visiting crowd moaned. Their quarterback lay on his back, the football wobbling beside his grass-stained helmet. Beside him, number fifty-four stretched out a hand to help the guy to his feet.
“A terrific defensive play by number fifty-four, the Bears.” The announcer’s enthusiasm reverberated above the hoots of Bears fans. “Results in a sack.”
Anticipation twitched her shoulders. She came to watch him steal the spotlight. He didn’t know it would be the last game in his career, but she would remember the high points for him. She would remind him of his glory right before she peeled it away and rebuilt him into the sum of the buyer’s requirements.
Sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds were her forte. Not too young to make her stomach roll with pedophiliac queasiness and not too old to resist her methods. Though, with enough time, she could find the chink no matter the age. The buyer for this job demanded a boy in his twenties, virtuous in his relations with women, and a body disciplined to accept and please a man.