Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “Wait? What did you say?” Grant interrupts.

  “Not now. Do you see what this meddling old bitty just did?” I shake my finger in Aunt Dottie’s direction.

  “Hey, the blackout was just a bonus in my favor.” Dottie smiles and starts to walk out. “Darla, our plan worked.” Dottie’s voice is a little lower and a tad scratchier than normal. “Team Cupid in da house.” Dottie kisses her hand and taps the door. “Rest in peace, my friend.” She walks out, leaving the two of us standing there, confused.

  “Are you saying you love me?” Grant doesn’t give up.

  “What?” I swing my head around. “Did you hear what she just admitted? What she said?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “It. Was. A. Plan…”

  Grant waves it off. “I think you kind of said you love me.” He stands there with a growing smile on his face.

  “No, I didn’t.” I roll my eyes.

  “You kind of did.” He pulls me from the entrance. “I think you do.” He smirks.

  “You do?” I sigh.

  “I think you feel the same way about me as I do you.” He wraps a hand around my waist, and then the other, pulling me in tight. I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to. “You love me,” he admits.

  “I do? We do?”

  “Yes, we do.” Grant brings his hand up to cup my face. “I do.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Grant Foster is saying he loves me.

  I jot down a little mental list. This isn’t real. It’s the situation.

  The blackout.

  Trapped in a room.

  The sex.

  Lots and lots of sex.

  Lots and lots of great sex.

  “I know what you’re doing.” Grant taps the side of my head. “Add this to the list.” He pulls back as he looks me in the eyes. “I loved you before I even met you.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s just say where my grandmother is involved, I never stood a chance.” He smiles as he reaches inside his back pocket, pulling out all the lists.

  “You can get rid of those now.” I try to reach for them, but he yanks his hand back, pulling one of the notes free. “My grandmother loved to make lists, just like you.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I smile at the memory. She’s the reason I started making them.

  “This one was hers. My grandfather mailed it to me after she had her stroke.” He turns it around and places it in my hand. “Read it.”

  Juju + Vegas = Forever

  Set up fake casting call.

  Hire Vegas.

  Give her an apartment.

  Make her manager to stay.

  Send Juju pictures.

  Tell Juju stories.

  Get Juju home.

  Lock them in a suite.

  Ring.

  Plan the biggest wedding.

  Great-grand babies…lots of ’em.

  “I don’t understand.” A tear rolls down my cheek as Grant catches it.

  “I got this too late.” He takes my hand and folds it over the note. “They were already gone, but feelings were already there.” He brings that same hand to his mouth and places a gentle kiss. “This note brought me to you. It’s why I came.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I came here to find out why my grandparents loved you so much. I didn’t come here to sell it. I came here to give it to you. Those papers, that signature—it’s yours.”

  “You did what?” I stand there dumbfounded.

  “The One Stop Wedding Shop—it’s yours, if you want it.” He smiles at me and waits for the realization to kick in.

  “Oh, Grant! I thought…” I step back. “The way I treated you…”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize.” He follows me, stepping forward. “I should have told you from the beginning, but when I met you…” He shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You got to me, Grant Foster.” I poke him in the chest.

  “I did, and I knew it.” He reaches between us and laces our fingers together. “It was the only way to keep you coming back—to get under that beautiful skin of yours.”

  “Well, that you did.” I lift my chin and stick out my tongue.

  He tries to nip it.

  “Hey!” I giggle.

  “See? It was a list that brought me to you, and it was the lists that kept me here, and it was the lists that got us stuck in here.”

  I roll my head back and let out a laugh. “I bet you’ve had your fill of them now.”

  “Nope.” He says the one word that gets my attention. “I’m ready to make more.”

  “You are?”

  “Yup.”

  “What should we call this one?” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss the bottom of his chin that now has a little morning shadow.

  He narrows his eyes. “Hmm? How about—Honeymoon Hideaway.”

  I raise my brow. “Sounds interesting. What’s first on that list?”

  “You!” He reaches for my hand, yanks me into the room, and slams the door.

  “The door!” I shout.

  “It’s on the list.” He winks.

  CHAPTER 17

  Vegas

  6 months later…

  If you would have told me two months ago I would be here, standing at the altar, in the One Stop Wedding Shop, I would have told you you were crazy.

  Yet, here I am, standing across the aisle, smiling at the man who made this all possible. A man that is equal parts business and pleasure. A suit and a savage. Although I appreciate his clean-shaven face, I’ve also learned to love the feel of his scruff on my sensitive skin.

  “I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds,” Aunt Dottie, the minister for this unusual special occasion, announces. “You may kiss your bride.” And then hollers, “Cake and Cube-N’s are on me!”

  Yup, never saw myself here. Burt Reynolds, a smokin’ goat, getting married to Honey, a hen who found herself abandoned and alone after the blackout six months ago. She sashayed into the back alley and clucked her way right into Burt’s lonely heart.

  Much like the way Grant Foster eased his way into mine. Little by little, list by ignored list, he won me over. I can’t contain the smile that is plastered on my face as I feel his gaze on me.

  “Goat your ass over here, Mr. Foster.” I wave him over.

  “What the cluck?” Grant smiles, pointing at Honey, who is now riding on the back of Burt as he struts his way over to me, mimicking a rooster.

  “I always knew you were a cock.” I wink, then pull him in for a kiss.

  “Mmm,” he moans, smiling against my lips. “I was thinking…what if we did something like this?”

  “Well, if that’s your kink…” I reach up and run my fingers over his freshly shaven face. “I’m into cocks, but hens?” I raise my shoulders. “Not my thing.”

  “My funny girl.” Grant smiles as he turns into my palm, kissing the inside of my wrist. “I got something for you.”

  “You do?” My ears perk up. “I love presents.”

  “Come here.” Grant pulls us from prying eyes into the connecting room flooded with candles—real ones this time.

  “Did you approve this?” My eyes go wide thinking of the disaster that could strike.

  He scans the room, nodding. “I did.”

  “So? You’re wanting my approval?” I’m confused.

  “I love it when you do that.” He taps my nose.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Because you don’t need my approval. We’re partners, remember—”

  “But what if…?” Grant’s voice hitches.

  “What are you saying?” I back up. “Are you wanting to buy me out, because, Grant—I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were in this together. Partners.”

  “Baby, we are partners, but I’ve been thinking about—”

  “You’re making me nervous.” I shift from foot to foot, wringing my hands together. Everything has been perfect. The business, life—us.

  “Fuck it,” he mumbl
es, turning around and pulling something from his jacket pocket.

  “Grant?” I place my hand on his back. “Is everything okay?”

  Watching his body rise, then fall, he takes a deep breath before turning back around and flashing me a shaky smile. “It’s perfect,” he says as he drops to his knee, his nervous smile fading and confidence shining through.

  “Grant—”

  “Baby, I’ve been running around my whole life, searching for something I didn’t even know was missing, but then that list—you were there, and all it took was for me to see it—to see you,” Grant confesses.

  “Lists are life, Grant.” I smile.

  “I’m beginning to see that.” He winks as he pulls a bag from his suit jacket.

  A bag of quarters.

  “Grant…” I gasp.

  “You don’t need these anymore. What you’ve been looking for is right here.” He sets the bag down and pulls out a little plastic container with a bright pink lid.

  Words. I have no words as happy tears stream down my face.

  “Baby, don’t cry.” He stands and catches every single one. “You are my love, my life, my partner, but will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Grant opens the little plastic container that resembles the one from my childhood, takes out a ring, and slides it onto my ring finger. “Marry me.”

  “Grant…” I can’t seem to say the words. This moment is everything.

  “I thought this would happen.” He winks as he pulls a little piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “This may help.”

  It’s a list!

  Marry Me:

  Burt’s wedding.

  Buy candles.

  Don’t forget matches.

  Grandmother’s ring.

  Propose to the love of my life.

  She says yes.

  Get married.

  Start a family.

  “You forgot to mark off a few things.” I turn it around and smile.

  “I was hoping you could help me with them.” Grant takes a step forward and wraps his arms around my waist. “Vegas Manilow, I love you and all your lists. Marry me.”

  I look between the paper and his beautiful ocean blue eyes that shine with so much love.

  “Who needs a list.” I wad up the paper and toss it over my shoulder. “Yes, Grant Foster. I’ll be honored to become your wife.” I lean in, offering not only my lips, but my heart.

  “Now what?” I smile against his lips.

  “Thought you would never ask.” He takes me by the hand and zig-zags his way through the chapel.

  We sneak away, snickering like a couple of teens as Grant snags a chilling bottle from a holder on the way out.

  “Where are we going?” I giggle, breathless from being pulled through the crowded chapel by the man of my dreams. My fiancé!

  Swinging me around, he wraps me in his arms as we slowly rock back and forth. “To Honeymoon Hideaway—where it all began.”

  Perfect.

  ***

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  ABOUT CARY HART

  Cary Hart hails from the Midwest. A sassy, coffee drinking, sometimes sailor swearing, Spotify addict, lover of all things books!

  When not pushing women down the stairs in the fictional world, Cary has her hands full. Soccer mom in all sense of the word to two wild and crazy, spoiled kiddos, and wife to the most supportive husband. In addition to writing full time, she enjoys binge watching Netflix, laying around in her hammock and baking up cookies for her family and friends.

  Cary writes real, raw romance! In her stories the characters deal with life’s everyday struggles and unwanted drama, they talk about the ugly and they become the broken. Everyone deserves a happy ending, but sometimes before you can appreciate the light, there has to be darkness.

  Growing up, if someone would have told her she would become a writer, she wouldn’t have believed them. It wasn’t until she got her hands on her first romance novel, that the passion grew. Now she couldn’t imagine her life any other way - she’s living her dream.

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  BOOKS BY CARY HART

  Battlefield of Love Series

  Love War

  Love Divide

  Love Conquer

  Spotlight Collection

  Play Me

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  Make Me

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  The Forever Series

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  Saving Forever

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  For more information on any of these titles and upcoming releases, please visit Cary’s website:

  www.authorcaryhart.com

  FREE BIRD

  By Leddy Harper

  PROLOGUE

  Jen

  My nights were spent in a cage.

  While wearing practically nothing and dancing for strangers.

  That was what I’d given up everything for—the fiancé most women would kill for, the life every woman fantasized about, and a family. I’d lost it all to chase a dream that, in the end, led me here. On a stage. Locked in a cage. Dressed in a satin corset and matching panties.

  In all honesty, it wasn’t that bad. The money was more than enough, and it ensured I wouldn’t lack interesting stories to tell when I got old and grey, my body no longer exhibiting any sign of once being a Vegas showgirl. But that didn’t stop me from acknowledging what could’ve been from time to time.

  Such as now…as I counted down to the start of a new number.

  As the first note of a dark remix of “Died in Your Arms” came through the speakers, the lights flickered. And at the first note of the singer’s voice, the cage began to lower me to the stage in time to join the other dancers—the ones who weren’t confined by golden bars.

  Every night, I fought against the instinct to hyperventilate while waiting for the moment I could step out and stretch my wings—literally. My costume consisted of feathers attached to my arms. I was supposed to represent an angel. A fallen angel. A trapped, angry, resentful angel. Okay, that last part was my own take on the character I played while dancing for men who felt they were too classy to visit a real strip club, so they came here instead. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  Regardless of their bank account, they looked at me and saw a broken angel.

  The strobe lights moved and blinked to the beat of the song while the other ladies danced in tandem—the same as every other night. The cage I was currently locked in swung from the rafters as the cables lowered me to my spot on the side of the stage. That’s when everything went from normal to utter pandemonium.

  As if the cable gave out at the last second and just dropped me the last foot or so, I landed abruptly and at an angle, clearly missing the mark. At this point in the show, the pyrotechnics were supposed to fill the room with bursts of fire, in sync with the heavy beats of the song.

  Except they didn’t.

  Even the lights in the ceiling that illuminated the club had gone out. The music had cut off, like someone had pulled the plug. And for a split second, there was complete silence. I couldn’t see anything, the room too dark to make out a hand in front of my face let alone a packed room, but it was as though everyone had vanished.

  It would’ve been one thing if it were only the lights. Shit happens—though, not with this crew. We were a highly popular show, listed on almost all the brochures for what to see while in Vegas. So the fact that all the ele
ctricity seemed to have gone out made this a whole different situation. One I didn’t care to be stuck in…especially in a cage.

  I’d managed to keep my composure for approximately three seconds. That’s how long it took for the hysteria to begin. And to make matters worse, it didn’t start slow. It went from dead silence to stomping feet, panicked chatter, glass breaking, and the sound of my heart trying to escape from my chest as it pounded against my sternum.

  There was a good chance I’d pass out before the power came back on.

  CHAPTER 1

  Beckett

  Even my trusted old friend, Jack Daniels, couldn’t keep me entertained on my last night in Vegas.

  My mind had a tendency to wander without the constant distraction of my mates. And while I polished off my second glass of whiskey, I questioned my decision to stay another day instead of heading home with the rest of the guys.

  At the time, I’d thought I could use the extra night to sort through the fog in my mind and get my shit straight. But after ten minutes of being alone in my room, I soon realized what a horrible idea that was. The silence made the fog denser, and the loneliness only served to jumble all the shit into an even worse mess than it originally was. Which was how I ended up on the top floor of the hotel, sitting alone in a round, cushioned booth while watching women dance provocatively without actually taking off their clothes.

  Such a waste of time.

  I rolled the bottom of the empty glass on the table, waiting for someone to refill it, but immediately stopped as soon as the next song came on. To be fair, it wasn’t the song that ended my fidgeting, but rather the petite blonde in the cage that hung from the ceiling.

  I’d only glanced up to see what was descending from above. However, as soon as I caught a glimpse of her face, my entire body stilled—including my hand, which tightened around the glass. She was the epitome of temptation disguised as an angel.

  The way her hips swayed spoke to parts of me that had been deaf for a year. The way she held the bars in front of her while bowing her head gave me visuals that I’d been blind to for what felt like an eternity. And the way she closed her eyes right before pulling in enough air to cause her breasts to swell within the confines of her top awoke something in me that had been asleep for too long.