The same way she’d showed him they deserved a chance, she’d make Dina see it, too. And if people didn’t approve of their relationship, well, tough luck.
“How are you, darlin’?” he asked, scooping her in his arms, bringing her to his side.
“Never been better.” She lifted her head to look at him, opening her eyes to admire the strong, handsome man next to her.
“Me too,” he said, tracing a finger down her nose, then caressing her cheek. “Guess what? This is just the beginning.”
A wave of warmth fluttered in her chest, and she smiled at him. She’d waited long enough to begin again, and it’d been all worth it.
Epilogue
Three years later…
“Anyone home?” Vincent asked, when he walked into the nice, cozy home he’d built near the woods. He almost tripped over a stuffed animal, and figured it must belong to Annabelle, his thirteen month-old daughter.
She usually greeted him at the door with Natalie.
Vincent skimmed the large living room, but found it empty. “Natalie?” he said, walking into her pottery studio, where she created the beautiful pieces she sold to several stores in the state of New York and online.
“Here,” she said, and he registered her voice coming from the patio.
He dashed to the area, enjoying the nice autumn weather.
Natalie wore a beige and brown dress, the waves of her hair cascading down her back. She also held a glass of red wine. She’d always be a beer girl, but the harsh NY winters had taught her to appreciate a glass of red once in a while.
“Where’s Annabelle?” he asked, knowing it was way too quiet for their girl. Besides, he knew she had to be up because she summoned him to put her to sleep every night. “Is she asleep?”
“Better. Dina and Bob arrived one day early, and they took her with them for a sleepover at the hotel,” she said, then took one more sip of wine before setting the glass on the round table.
“Do you think Annabelle will sleep through the night?”
She shook her head, skeptical. “I doubt it. I’m waiting for that phone call at three in the morning. But until then…” she started, flashing him a look full of promises.
“Until then…”
“Until then, we can be as loud as we want.”
“I love when Dina comes into town.”
“Me too.”
They’d offered for Dina and Bob, Annabelle’s godparents, to stay at their house whenever they visited. But they always insisted on staying at a quaint bed-and-breakfast not too far from them, and Vincent understood. Thankfully, through time, they had worked out their differences, and Dina had a heart bigger than the state of Texas—she forgave him and Natalie, and gave them her blessing for marriage.
Not that Vincent needed her or anyone else’s permission… but he’d seen how happy Natalie had been when the whole issue moved past them. That was one of the things he appreciated about his wife: she cared about people, and always wanted to make it better for everyone.
Right now, she definitely made it better for him, as she shortened the gap between them with that sexy ass smile on her face and the twinkle in her eyes. She pushed him into the oversized chair, and pulled at the hem of her dress.
“I like where you’re going with this,” he said, kissing her cheek.
“Oh trust me, you’ll like it a lot better.”
She quickly unbuckled his pants and undid his zipper. His cock throbbed, hardening in her palm. He hissed, desire bolting through him like a thunderstorm. He brought his lips to hers, and kissed her hard, as she positioned herself on top of him. Soon, she began moving, buckling back and forth, clenching her muscles around his rod.
Air sucked out of his lungs, and he gripped both sides of her waist to make sure he could drill into her deeper. Her whimpering told him she was on board with his idea, and he intensified his thrusts. Soon, his chest burned, and she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that raised his arousal a few notches. Her tongue teased him, meshed with his, driving him insane—taking him to a place whose secret location only she knew.
“I love you, Natalie,” he said, in between kisses, knowing he’d never been so damn sure of something in his whole life before.
Are you ready for more smexy? Enjoy the first chapter of Accidentally Hooked.
Bonus Read!
Accidentally Hooked by Carmen Falcone
Where the hell is she?
Kika Martinez sucked in her breath and lifted the square, vodka-filled glass. She scanned the bar area where she’d been sitting like an idiot for the past hour. The laugh from a couple of decked out drag queens filled the air. A group of loud men, wearing leather jackets and aged denim, occupied most of the round tables. Suggesting to Luna they meet at this sketchy joint located on a gloomy side street off The Strip hadn’t been her best moment.
Then again, had there been any great moments for the past six years for her and her identical twin sister? She gulped down a shot of vodka. The alcohol burned the back of her throat and loosened her limbs. Doubtful. Since she’d left Nevada six years ago—only returning once a year for the anniversary of Freddy’s death—she and Luna’s interactions had been strained and superficial.
Her fingers drummed on the cheap vinyl counter. She drank the remaining alcohol, lifted the glass, and gestured to the middle age bartender rocking a mini skirt for another drink. Luna wasn’t coming. Kika had been in Vegas for a couple of days, and whenever her sister wasn’t working, she was apologizing for not having met her after work. What the hell?
A string of catcalls and whistles turned her attention to the sofa in the corner. Damn. She counted at least five people on that couch, all in stages of undress, rubbing against one another. Wow. A couple of topless women kissed each other while the males touched them and licked their necks.
Her sex clenched. Lord, when had she last had sex? Too long ago.
“How much?” The smoker’s voice from the large fellow to her right yanked her back to the present. He shuffled in front of the blonde woman sitting next to her.
“Three hundred an hour.” Blondie’s voice was much fresher than the heavy makeup on her square face. Impossibly long, corn-colored locks swept down her body, almost the same length of the gold sequin dress that hugged her slim frame. A hooker.
The bartender put another glass in front of her, and Kika grabbed a couple bills from her handbag and handed them to the bartender.
The man snickered. “Two hundred.”
Blondie threw her head back, with a soft laugh. “Three hundred.”
Kika gave her a sideways glance and couldn’t help but notice the confidence that cloaked the woman just as her snug outfit. Like she knew exactly what her time was worth. Like she didn’t give a damn if that John agreed or not. There would be others, wouldn’t there? Other men. Other opportunities to make it right. Or, in her case, wrong.
It’s not my business. Not really—though she had fantasized about it, hadn’t she? Shifting in her seat, Kika toyed with the multi-layered necklace she’d made.
For years, she wondered what it would be like to throw caution to the wind and act on it. Just once. A crazy idea, of course. One she never had the guts or lack of common sense to indulge. And now, her secret fantasy was unfolding right in front of her. Warm moisture simmered between her legs.
Except the woman was a real prostitute.
Except the woman wasn’t her.
He licked his lips and groaned. “Deal.”
As Blondie slurped the rest of her colorful cocktail, the man whispered something in her ear. Blondie let out a joyful laugh, and touched his chest. Kika shuffled on her stool, and clenched her legs tighter till the space between them hummed. Burned. Pulsed.
She watched them stride out of the bar, taking her fantasy with them. Playing a prostitute. A woman who didn’t experience guilt or any other useless emotion. A woman in control.
She’d tried to convince Patrick, the Irish guy she dated for six months, to act i
t out with her. His response had been a mocking laugh, leaving her embarrassed and unfulfilled. She should have known. Patrick wasn’t that kind of man.
Hell, I’m not that kind of woman. Not really. She wanted to be…just once. She ran her finger over the edge of the glass and sighed. Jeez. I need therapy.
“Waiting for someone?” The deep voice made her almost jump from her seat. Phew. The man who slid on the stool next to her raked his fingers through his military buzz. She caught a whiff of his clean, fresh cologne. A thrill of excitement rippled through her. Damn was he sexy. The black polo shirt hugged his athletic frame, and dark blue denim hinted at muscular thighs and legs. His turquoise-blue eyes took her away from the hustle and bustle of the crazy bar and led her to serene, sandy beaches with gorgeous sunsets and a cold bottle of Mexican beer.
“A no-show.” She pushed through the resentment lumping her throat. Did she even have the right to be mad at Luna for leaving her on the night they should have remembered the anniversary of Freddy’s death, when Kika had been the one who abandoned what was left of their family?
He gave her a once over as if wanting to engrave her every feature in his memory. She drew in a breath.
“His loss.” His lips thinned into a sexy smile. “My gain.”
She was about to ask why he’d just assume she’d been waiting for a man, when the curiosity over his strong accent derailed her. “Let me guess…Australian?”
He leaned forward, hands in surrender. “Yeah. Vegas?”
She sat up straighter, trying to wrestle the rumbling of her body. The hot Australian searched her eyes with his, and their gazes held. His turquoise irises darkened. The promise of the paradisiacal beach remained, though by the way he inhaled—the sharp sound slicing the silence—she doubted her visit to the beach would be serene. Or uneventful. “Where in Australia are you from?”
“Sydney. Ever been?”
She shook her head. “I visited Cairns once.”
“Business or pleasure?” He drawled the last word, and her pulse raced in response.
Business or pleasure? Hadn’t it been a bit of both? Sure, having jobs around the world was more fun than sticking with one place. Even though just recently she started to consider settling down, especially if she wanted to turn her passion of jewelry making into a profitable business. She had dozens of sample pieces in her suitcase—handmade necklaces and earrings all inspired by places she visited—that she hoped to show a couple department stores in New York City after leaving Vegas.
“What can I get you?” the female bartender asked him, the platinum blonde chewing on her lower lip. Kika crossed her arms over her chest. The bartender ignored the other patrons who’d called her or darted inquiring glances her way. She turned her attention to him as he ordered a club soda. Did he know the reach of the sexual charisma oozing from him?
The lazy smile tipping his lips told her he did. Hell yeah. “You still haven’t told me where you’re from.”
“I was born in Mexico.” The words fled her parted lips without her consent. “Moved to California with my mom when I was three. Then Nevada.”
“Was she looking for better opportunities?”
She shrugged. “Getting away from my deadbeat father was a nice incentive…so, yeah.” The nonchalance in her voice hid the pain her mother had endured as the wife of a reckless husband, then the illegal immigrant who compensated her little English with tons of labor. Every time her mother returned to the small apartment they shared with their aunt Rosa, Kika still smelled the intoxicating lemony scent from Pine-Sol on her tattered clothes.
He brought his drink to his lips and she watched his full bottom lip caress the glass.
“What brings you to Vegas, Aussie boy?”
“I’m hardly a boy.” The hearty chuckle left little to the imagination. She sucked in her breath. The image of that lazy beach, with white sand and Polynesian flair, captured her mind again with the nostalgia of a vintage record player. “I’m here for a wedding.”
“A wedding?” she asked in a low voice. Well, of course Mr. Australia had a catch. A fine ass man like that wouldn’t be single for long.
“My sister is getting married. I couldn’t miss it.” The assurance in his voice wrapped her like a beach towel.
She bit back a smile. “Sucks to be you… What’s your name again?”
“Ryan Winters.”
“I’m Kika.”
“Nice to meet to you, Kika.” He stretched his hand to hers, and the firm touch sent a ripple of excitement up her arm. His skin was hot and his grip, commanding.
She smothered a soft moan. Moan? Get real, chica. She glanced down at their hands, speechless, then at him. With a wicked grin, he brushed his thumb on her palm. The gentle caress upped her body temperature. If his handshake alone unsettled her nerves, what else could he do? She withdrew her hand from his and leaned back on the stool. “So, what do you do for a living?”
Ryan’s eyes flicked with amusement. “I buy homes in okay areas but with significant foundation and cosmetic problems, renovate them, and put them back on the market for a profit.”
Her gaze strayed to his large hands, and fingers. The planes of his strong hands spoke of outdoor labor, although during their brief brush there’d been no roughness. A shot of pure adrenaline spilled into her bloodstream. “Do you ever lose money from picking the wrong property to flip?”
He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I never pick the wrong property.”
She shifted on the stool and raised her chin. “Even if it was way more work than you anticipated? If it costs more than you imagined?”
“Even then.”
She struggled to keep her spine locked, as if otherwise she would dissolve into a river of hot lava. His eyes continued to stare into hers, with the kind of intimacy they weren’t allowed to share. She wasn’t allowed to. Still, yanking her gaze was almost impossible. A lingering glance into his baby blues, and she slipped into a trance.
“Since we’re talking about costs…I’m interested in you.” He stroked her cheek, and she clung to her last thread of control not to soak into his touch. “Let’s get out of here. If you’re available, of course.”
This is just investigating. Ryan’s pulse raced as he stared into her coffee-colored eyes and yearned for an answer. Kika parted her scarlet-stained lips, a trace of surprise crossing her face, and clamped them shut. Did she think he didn’t know she was a hooker? Did she recognize him from the hotel?
A day ago, he’d arrived in Vegas and stayed at his sister’s fiancé’s hotel, The Spot. To family and friends he’d said he’d wanted to come to the US early for some much deserved R&R. Truth was, he wanted to discover if the rumor he heard from a friend was true… If The Spot was a part of a highly-organized prostitution ring, with his future brother-in-law Blake Spot linked to it. Maybe even the mastermind. He couldn’t stand Blake, who was ten years older than Charlotte. Especially after all his sister had done for Ryan while in rehab. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let her marry the man if Blake was in fact involved. I have five days to discover.
The woman in front of him could be the key to the truth. He’d noticed her a couple of times, working as a waitress in the casino of the hotel. He’d been unable to take his eyes off of her as she zipped between tables in screw-me shoes, a shimmering short dress that showed off unbelievably long legs, and his mouth had watered at the ass under the skirt. She’d sauntered back to the kitchen or bar area and vanished for hours at a time. Something was off. Tonight, he’d seen her off duty, crossing the Strip. He followed her into the sketchy bar, all the while wondering why someone who served drinks all day would chose to be in this hell hole?
He’d caught her salivating when a hooker closed a deal with a client. Maybe Kika needed more clients. Maybe the woman had a huge debt. Didn’t matter. Ryan had to get to the bottom of this.
Apprehension punched him in the gut, and his stomach tightened. Could he do it? Pay a woman for sex?
She c
hewed on her lower plump lip, and his libido stirred. Hard. Ever since his stint at rehab three years ago, his counselor advised him to focus on his recovery and avoid romantic relationships. Not like he had been eager for one, anyway. After screwing up things badly with Lynn, straightening up was a must.
Still… Damn twelve steps.
He basked in her beauty. A grey fedora hid her hair. A white tank top clung to her curvy frame. Black hip-hugging slacks cupped her delicious ass. The woman had slightly slanted cat eyes, enhanced by eyeliner and bright silver eye shadow. Her nose was a tad long, giving her profile more character.
Shit. A hot wave of blood rushed to the part of his body he least trusted. Up close, the task was a lot harder than he’d imagined. He knew he had to keep going. If he told Charlotte about his suspicions, she’d tell Blake and the sleaze ball would find a way to explain—the same way Blake did when he cheated on Charlotte in the beginning of the relationship. And his sister, the fool, forgave him.
She turned her face to him, and a glint of interest sparked in the depths of her big black irises, surrounded by shimmers of silver.
“This is the first time I’ve done this. Do we discuss payment now?” He gave a quick glance around them, and lowered his voice just in case. Doubtful the kind of crowd around them would care, but still. He cracked his knuckles and willed the tension away.
“Not to worry, I’m new at this too.”
Sure you are. He took a sip of his club soda. “How new?”
A few strands of rich, textured chestnut-colored hair strayed from her fedora. She tucked them behind her ear and fixed the hat. “This is only my third week. So yeah, I guess you can still call me an apprentice in sex worker hardship. No pun intended.”
Third week? He frowned. “How do I know you don’t say that to every guy?”
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