by Maria Luis
“Then why is it different for my sister?”
Gage’s head jerked toward Danvers. “What?”
Dark brows lowered as the dude’s creepy gray eyes watched him. “I said, why is it different for Lizzie? Let’s be honest, Owen has to put up with your ass. Lizzie does not, which if we listen to reason—that’s me, by the way—then Lizzie doesn’t have to stick around. So, if we go with that, then that means she cares more about you than Owen does. He’s blood, she’s not.” He looked to Owen. “No offense, man.”
Owen held up his hands. “None taken.”
Gage’s head felt ready to burst. “That is straight up the most convoluted, shittiest reasoning I’ve ever heard.”
“This is coming to you free of charge, Harvey. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
The hand that fed him? “Do you hear yourself?”
Danvers folded his hands behind his head, clasping his neck. “My wife says that to me at least four times per week.”
Gage clenched his hands to keep from throwing them up in the air.
“You might not know this, Harvey, but my wife works for Crime Lab—or rather she did until a few weeks ago. We’re about to have a baby girl named Elizabeth, officially. Anyway, she worked Crime Lab and I worked in homicide. Her dad was the police chief of Miami until he retired last year.” As if sensing his owner needed him, Rocky dropped his chin to Danvers’ thigh. In a low voice, Lizzie’s brother said, “You don’t think my wife worried about me every day? You don’t think I didn’t freak out when I’d call and she wouldn’t pick up? Hell, she nearly died—” He broke off, eyes slamming shut. “I worry every goddamn day, and you know what? I wouldn’t trade my life with her for anything else. She’s my best friend, my lover, the mother of our future baby girl. I would lay down my life for that woman, even if I knew something might cut my life short. Because any years with her are better than none.”
It was suddenly hard to breathe. Gage opened his mouth, seeking air, life, and yet he could only hear Danvers’ words: any years with her are better than none.
“Do you feel that way about my sister?”
Yes.
The word reverberated in his chest, pounding at his ribs as though demanding freedom, demanding exit.
It wasn’t until he heard Danvers say, “damn right you do,” that Gage realized he’d spoken at all.
“I don’t want to let her down,” he rasped, “that’s my biggest fear. That I’ll drop the ball and she’ll wake up one day and realize that she’s lived a life she’s hated. That would . . . that would kill me.”
“Easy, then don’t let her down.”
Easy. I choose to be happy.
A rough laugh broke free from his chest. Maybe he needed to take his girl’s advice—finally.
“What do I do?”
“Well, you’re in luck, Harvey, because you just so happen to know a guy who’s pulled off some epic couple reunions in the last few years.”
Gage dropped his eyes to the dog. “You talkin’ about Rocky?”
Danvers rolled his eyes. “Me, asshole. You have me.”
God help them all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lizzie knew she was exhausted when staring at images of hot guys just didn’t cut it for her anymore.
Leaning back in her desk chair, she stared at the photos she’d planned to edit earlier in the week for New Orleans’s new version of the Chippendales. Ripped abs. Muscled thighs. Shaved chests.
Yawn.
The photoshoot had been equally as boring. Nothing against the guys, of course. They’d all been pleasant and respectful, but none of them were him, Gage Harvey.
“Stop thinking about him, Liz,” she whispered to herself, even as her traitorous fingers clicked the mouse over her photo catalog and brought up the set from the NOPD cop calendar.
She flicked through photos of Timms, Luke O’Connor, Cardeaux. Felt her heart flutter when she finally reached the batch with Gage.
Dark eyes.
Dark hair.
Sexy, inked body.
Yum.
It wasn’t healthy to constantly think about him, but Lizzie never claimed to be a health nut who refused coffee, donuts, and cheese. Nope, she was the girl who enjoyed every last dessert, and Gage was the most satisfying—when he wasn’t being an idiot.
With a little sigh, she clicked out of the catalog and pulled up her calendar. In the last few weeks, her schedule had skyrocketed. Between setting aside time for new photoshoots, and also uploading videos regularly to YouTube, her energy level was at an all-time low—and yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Her read-aloud letter had taken YouTube by storm, and within days Lizzie had found her face plastered on the local newspapers as well as on national ones online. Everyone wanted to voice their own take on the encouraging words she’d given young girls and boys everywhere.
And every single one of them wanted to know the status update on her relationship with Gage.
Currently: nonexistent.
Lizzie pulled up YouTube, intending to check yesterday’s video on a Halloween makeup tutorial she’d posted.
A notification bubble in the right-hand screen of her dashboard popped up.
Hold on . . . her upload was processing?
She pushed down the initial panic. Sometimes social media sites behaved wonky. It was part of the business, and not much could be done about it. But she definitely hadn’t uploaded anything new since yesterday.
Her computer dinged and a bubble popped up: Congratulations, your upload is complete!
What. The. Hell.
She clicked the icon to view the video, and . . .
“O-oh my God.”
There was Gage, sitting in what looked to be the living room at Jade’s house. She’d recognize that photo of St. Louis Cathedral behind his head anywhere. What was he doing?
“Are we rollin’?” he said in that west Louisiana accent of his. A piece of paper crinkled in his hands as he looked to someone standing behind the camera. “Danvers, dude, are we—oh shit, does that red light mean we’re on?”
“Does it look like I know what I’m doing?”
A foot hit the stand, and the camera wobbled.
But Lizzie couldn’t look away from Gage’s handsome face. Her heart thudded rapidly, a loud ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum that proved selective hearing was real, because her dratted heart drowned out every sound but his voice.
The chords of Halestorm ripping through a guitar solo faded and left only him.
Him, him, him.
“S-shut up, heart.”
Black eyes blinked back at the camera and a sweep of red covered his cheeks. “Hi, uh, dolls, I apologize for the way we signed on. I’d like to pretend that we’ll know how to edit this video but that’s unfortunately above our pay grade.”
“I’m not even getting paid for this.”
There was a thud and a grunt, and then she heard Owen say, “Pro bono, man, pro bono.”
“Anyway,” Gage growled, “I’m sure many of you watched Lizzie read her letter out loud. I have my own letter to read”—the paper rose in view—“and I’d like to think of it as the other half of her speech.” He coughed into a closed fist. “Okay, here we go. Dear Dolls—”
“I think it’s just one,” muttered Danny off camera, “dear doll.”
“Dude, let him talk.”
Gage turned crimson. “Dear, um, Doll, I’d like to start by introducing myself. You might recognize my face as the guy who got roped into the bad boy irredemption challenge. I should probably start by sayin’ that rope wasn’t needed. Lizzie came into my brother’s tattoo parlor like a burst of color. Gorgeous, was my first thought, and then there was something about wanting to get her into bed.”
The camera wavered again. “Fuck, now I know how Lizzie feels when me and Jade talk about sex.”
Another male grunt from the peanut gallery, and Lizzie couldn’t stop the grin forming on her face. She shouldn’t smile; she really
shouldn’t even watch this video.
But Lizzie didn’t always do what she should, and so she raised the volume, kicked up her feet on the desk, and watched her man grovel.
Just like in every romance novel and rom-com there ever was.
“I’ll be honest with y’all—I mean, doll.” Grimacing, Gage scrubbed a hand over his mouth, a curse escaping under his breath that the camera still picked up. “I wasn’t ready for Lizzie. She waltzed in with her stilettos and her sunny smile and her wry sense of humor, and I fell hard. So hard. It wasn’t in the plans—no relationship was. I was good with casual, good with temporary, and then Lizzie blew that out of the water. Suddenly, I wanted to be the one to make her smile, laugh, make those blue eyes of hers fucking shine.”
This time it was Owen who cut in: “Gage, man, I think cursing is off limits. Aren’t there kids watching this?”
“Shit.” His eyes went wide. “Dammit.”
“He’s fucked,” muttered her brother.
And Lizzie laughed. She laughed so hard that her feet lifted off the desk, and her hands dug into her belly because this was so them. Not a single one of them, especially Gage, was particularly fit to be on stage for millions around the world.
Gage was rough around the edges, with a dirty (and morbid) sense of humor, and a smile that could drop panties in an instant. He was comfortable hiding in the shadows and was determined to keep his city safe, above all else.
The fact that he was doing this for her? Sitting in Jade’s living room in a black button-down shirt, his tattoos all covered up, and his face clean shaven for once . . . Lizzie understood that sometimes you had to play hard to get. Sometimes it was necessary to make someone grovel for days on end just to push your point.
Not everyone had lived her life, or Gage’s, however. Not everyone understood that life could be gone in a second and everything could disappear.
She could choose to cry into her wine every day or she could choose happiness, love, Gage Harvey, because she didn’t have to watch the entirety of the video to know where he was going with this.
Lizzie reached for her phone, pulled up his contact information, and briefly stared at the very last text he’d sent her on the night of the EOCC meeting: I’m sorry, princess. I wish . . . sometimes I wish I were different.
She didn’t.
She loved him as he was, and considering that he was sweating on YouTube, she had a feeling he felt the same way.
Her fingers flew across the phone’s small keyboard, and she hit SEND before she could convince herself otherwise.
I see you’ve hacked my channel. Someone deserves punishment, Officer.
His response came in less than five seconds later, as though he’d been waiting for her: It’s just Mr. Harvey for the next six days, but I’ve brought the leather belt in case you’re up for it.
And then a follow-up: I’m outside.
Lizzie cast one last glance to the Gage on her computer screen. “There are a few things I want to say,” he read from his written speech, “the first being that I love you, Lizzie Danvers. I love that you’re my adventure girl. I love that you dance like no one’s watching. I love that you’re the first up for a good time, but you’re just as content to watch the stars and wander through the cane fields. I love that you’re you, brown hair and all, makeup and all, stutter and all. I would never ask you to change, but I will ask you this: is there any way I can tempt you into forever?”
Yes, her heart sang, as she launched from her chair and hurried for the front door. Yes.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lizzie didn’t bother to put on shoes.
Barefoot, she high-stepped it to the front door of her studio, her eyes on the prize.
Or rather, they would be on the prize the moment she swung that bad boy open. Gage was here and he loved her . . .
Her hand went to the doorknob, palms slick with excitement.
The first thing she noticed was his handsome face. The Midnight Passion dark eyes staring down at her. The stubble already grown in along the lower half of his face. The quiet intensity ticking away in his clenched jaw, as though he worried she might slam the door back in his face.
And then her gaze wandered down, over his strong chest sheathed in a nice shirt and to the jar he held awkwardly in his hands.
A clear fishbowl stuffed with makeup brushes designed like a rose with a green, intricate stem and red hair bristles.
Her hand lifted to the beautiful array, brushing her thumb across the soft tips. “What in the world?”
Gage shifted his weight. “Real flowers don’t really seem your thing.”
Oh man, he was delicious when he was nervous. She watched him carefully and reminded her heart to stand down and be patient. “They’re not,” she said, “I’m way too practical.”
Mouth lifting in that sexy grin of his, he said, “I know. That’s why when Owen suggested roses, I went in a different direction.”
“You know me.”
“I know you.”
They grinned at each other, and Lizzie fell back a step. He entered the studio, all big male and hot swagger. Dressed in the same shirt as his video, the sleeves were cuffed to his elbows, and to her surprise he wore a pair of basketball shorts on his lower half.
Paired with his button-down, the shorts looked all wrong.
“Did you forget pants?” she asked, closing the door and slipping the deadbolt into place.
“Hmm?” He set the bowl of brushes on the counter and turned back to her. “These things?” He swatted at the leg with N-O-P-D emblazoned down the side. “No, but I’d heard from a little birdie that this is how it’s done on YouTube. Class on the top, party on the bottom.”
At the mention of the video, Lizzie wrapped her arms around herself—it was either that or leap at him with a hug, and she wasn’t quite sure they were there yet. “You did a good job,” she murmured, “I mean, for your first time.”
His dark eyes warmed. “Admit it, princess, it was horrendous.”
“Nooo . . .” She batted a hand at him. “Not horrendous at all.”
“Your brother knocked over the camera.”
Shocked laughter bubbled up, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “No, he didn’t.”
“You didn’t watch till the end?”
“I-I—” Breathe, don’t get nervous. “I didn’t, no. I’d heard enough, honestly.”
His face fell, lips turning down, and one hand came up to rub the back of his neck.
Wait, did he think that—?
Lizzie jumped to his side, her hands going to his tattooed arms. “No, no, I mean that . . . I didn’t need to hear anything more because I’d heard the most important part, when you said that you loved me.”
“Love,” he corrected, one big hand cupping the back of her head. “I love you, Lizzie Danvers, and I’ll admit that I’ve been a first-class idiot. Fears held me back, fears that have gripped my heart like a vice for over a decade.”
She felt the tremble in his hand, and Lizzie gave in to her need to comfort him. Wrapping one hand around his wrist, she tugged his hand over to her mouth and kissed the center of his palm.
His dark lashes fell shut, and his Adam’s apple rode down the length of his neck. “When I met you, I held on to the fear because it was easier than admitting that every moment I spent with you, you cracked open my layers, peeling them back, refusing to let me stand in a prison of my own making. You were right—I’m a self-sabatoger.”
Heart in her throat, Lizzie whispered, “That’s not a word.”
“It is now,” he said. “You made it one.”
“You’re doing really well at this kiss-and-make-up thing.”
“We haven’t even gotten to the kissing part yet.” He smiled and Lizzie’s body positively tingled it was so warm. With a single step, he closed the distance between them, forcing her to lift her chin if she wanted to keep her eyes on his face. “You were right about a lot of things, princess, but most importantly you were rig
ht to call me out. You loved me and I threw that back in your face, as though you didn’t even know your mind. I made a decision for the both of us, fully believing that one day you’d thank me.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but that’s just not happening.”
Another hard swallow. “I’d like to show you something, if you’d let me.”
Wanting to bring back the smile on his face, she teased, “Is it your genie lamp?”
It worked.
He threw back his head, rich laughter spilling from his firm lips. “Fuck, I love you. C’mere.” Snagging her hand in his, he brought her over to the antique sofa and patted the cushions. “Take a seat.”
Lizzie did as he said, drawing her legs under her so she could get comfortable. “Please tell me you’re about to strip for me.”
“This has got to be the craziest make-up session in the history of couples everywhere.”
Her gaze locked on his fingers slipping each hole through their individual slots. Breathlessly, she murmured, “But we’re crazy.”
“Touché, princess, touché.”
The last button came loose, and he shrugged out of the material, letting it fall to the floor at his feet. Standing only in an old pair of basketball shorts, he was every girl’s fantasy man. Strong arms, carved abdomen, thick neck, and the sweetest vulnerability in his expression that she’d ever seen.
“You once asked me about the names on my chest.”
“I-I did, yes.”
One big hand lifted to his chest, over the list—over his heart. His voice emerged as a rumble: “I joined the force in 2003, and less than a year later my parents were dead. It made me hyperaware of the effects that the stress of being a first responder could have on an officer, and these names represent each person who has lost their life since then while working for the NOPD. My father and grandfather are here”—he tapped the space just above his pec—“and I included my mom, too. I know it’s weird, I know it’s really fucking odd to see that . . .”
Her fingers covered his, then traced the scrollwork Owen had inked into him forever. “It’s not weird,” she told him softly, “it’s your way of keeping their memories alive, Gage. There’s no shame in that.”