by Harloe Rae
I’m blubbering incoherently as we exchange rings. Landon’s grin only spreads the more jumbled my convictions become. The clouds part, making room for the sunshine to bathe us. Those warm rays soak into my skin as Landon’s commitments caress my soul. Once I’ve sucked in a shuttering breath to end my solemn pledge of forever, he swipes at my wet cheeks.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“And I love you.”
Then we’re pronounced as husband and wife. Landon wastes no time kissing his bride, bending me backward in a steep dip. I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, earning me a low rumble. Another burst of heat gathers in my belly as he deepens our connection. After a final swipe, he pulls us back up as I clutch onto his lapels. I break apart with a groan. He’s too damn tempting. The roaring applause drowns my momentary upset.
Landon threads his fingers with mine, thrusting our hands in the air. He hoists me into his arms and saunters down the aisle like a cocky superhero holding the distressed damsel.
“The honeymoon doesn’t start until later,” someone calls from the cheering throng.
My husband snorts. “Little does he know that we’re living in endless marital bliss.”
I nuzzle against his throat. “It seems like I’m already reaping the benefits of that.”
“And I’ve only been practicing until now. Just you wait, Mrs. Winters.” He seals the promise with another scorching kiss.
Bubbles float in our path as our family and friends celebrate our union. We pose for what seems like an endless stream of pictures. Dinner is served and devoured, but I barely taste a morsel. My concentration is too focused on Landon. I’d feel a tad obsessive if his attention wasn’t stalking me with the same ferocity. Nonstop clinking against glass provides an unnecessary excuse to maul him. I shed more tears when Clea, Audria, and Presley recite a three-way maid of honor speech.
There’s a slight intermission between cutting the cake and our first dance. My friends hover close as we take goofy selfies. I grab a fresh glass of champagne as Audria and Presley wander off, leaving Clea glued to my side.
“Well, well, well.” Her drawl is laced with humor. “Looks like someone found her happily ever after.”
“I sure did.” A giddy zip rushes under my skin. “And with the least likely man.”
“Is he really, though?”
“That depends on who you’re asking.”
“He’s good for you,” she muses. “It takes a certain someone to claim a jaded heart.”
“As it turns out.” I send her a wink.
She takes a bow. “I totally called this ending. Feel free to lavish me with praise whenever the mood strikes.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can take credit.” I giggle, scattering the bubbles in my glass.
Her brow arches high. “That was easier than it should’ve been.”
A lazy shrug meets her suspicion. “What’s there to argue about? I’m stupid in love.”
“Is it better than your imagination?”
“Leaps and bounds. I can’t even compare the two.”
Clea whistles, attempting to mask the watery sheen in her eyes. “Must be nice.”
I feel my grin droop. “No, don’t be sad. You’re going to meet the one any second. Maybe he’s here tonight.”
“He’s not. I can guarantee that.”
With a heavy sigh, I wrap her in a hug. “Well, he’s missing out. Not only is my wedding the greatest event of the year, but he could’ve been on your arm all night. His loss, Clea.”
Her shoulders sag inward. “If only that were the case. I’m turning into a non-believer.”
“Don’t you dare.” I give her a gentle shake. “I’ll be sure you’re eating those words soon enough. There are billions of eggplants in the garden. You just need to choose who’s ripe for the picking.”
“Coming from the girl who thought she was cursed,” she deadpans.
I wince against the rim of my champagne flute. “That was a slight exaggeration on my part.”
“Just a tad, but we love you for it. All right”—she shoos me away—“I’m done being a downer. Go find your hubby and make babies.”
I choke on my drink, doubling over from the impact. “Please don’t put that pressure on me. I’ve been married for two point five seconds.”
“Get used to it. That’s what everyone will be asking you until there’s a bun in the oven.” She pats my back before strutting her stuff toward the bar.
I shake off the visual of my stomach round with Landon’s baby. Eventually, but not yet. Practicing is most definitely in our near future. I find my mister across the room in a blink. As if feeling my stare, Landon lifts his head and gives me the smolder. My knees get a little weak from the force. While accentuating the swing in my hips, I sashay like a freshly crowned pageant queen. The sea of people blocking my path might as well be invisible. The bounce in my stilettos gives me a floating sensation. Anyone standing in my direct trajectory shuffles out of the way. Being the bride definitely has its perks.
Landon watches me approach with a feral hunger I can almost hear rumbling. A shiver skates down my spine, sending a prickling trail of goosebumps to follow. I prop myself against the wall he’s leaning on, discovering a sense of déjà vu in our position. He swirls the bourdon in his tumbler without taking a sip. His familiar woodsy scent assaults me. I can only hope he’s getting dizzy off me as well. We remain quiet while deciding who breaks first. There’s no real suspense in this showdown. It’s always me filling the silence.
“Hey, handsome.”
A throaty groan reverberates from deep within him. “You look sweeter than sugar.”
I flip my hair behind me with a laugh. “My husband can assure you I’m not. Speaking of, do you know the bride or groom?”
He loops an arm around my waist, hauling me against him. “The bride is all mine. Forever.”
I twirl his tie between my fingers. “Good, because I’m growing rather fond of the groom.”
“Then we’re both getting lucky in this deal.”
“Careful, Lannie. A woman might call you romantic.”
“I’m good with that, so long as she’s you.”
I rest a palm to my forehead. “Oh, the swoon.”
He nips at my tilted chin. “Don’t act surprised. I’ve been charming your pants off for almost a year.”
“Too bad for you that I normally wear skirts.”
His chuckle is rich and saucy and goes straight to my lady bits. “No, sugar. That’s not to my detriment in the slightest.”
“You’re right. The easy access has been mutually beneficial.” I hum and tap my lips.
Landon plants a kiss on the spot, nibbling on my fingertip. “And I expect you to continue providing it.”
“Well, you’ll have to put in some extra effort this evening.” I motion to the excessive volume surrounding my lower half while twisting back and forth, swishing the numerous layers against the floor.
He lifts a handful of lace and silk at my hip. “I’ll just bury myself underneath.”
I widen my legs, testing the width, and glance down. “That could probably work.”
With a growl, he yanks me closer. “Ravishing as always.”
“You’re responsible for making me a fiend.” I bump our noses together, teasing his mouth with mine.
He takes the bait, sealing us in a chaste peck. “Does this mean you like me?”
“Maybe a little bit.” I hold up a pinch between two fingers.
“Well, Mrs. Winters, I better improve my odds.”
“There’s no rush when we have eternity.”
“Consider me an overachiever. Now,” he slips my palm into his, “I have to christen the dancefloor with my wife.”
As Landon spins me around in a cyclone of tulle and pattering heartbeats, our fairytale really sinks in. This man—my once sworn enemy and cofounder of The Haters Club—gave me his last name as my own. For keeps.
**FOR EBOOK ONLY**
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of Landon and Vannah? I have an additional epilogue plus a deleted scene that you can read for free. Grab them HERE! (insert link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3g8b4cyet6
There’s a short story—I’m Calling Dibs—about one of Vannah’s college friends that’s available to read for free HERE! (insert link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/81mf6x10jz)
Remember hearing about Vannah’s friend who moved to the country? Audria and Reeve are from Leave Him Loved, which is available to read now! Enjoy this excerpt from their meet cute.
A laundry list of yummy goodness forms in my mind as I wander to the cart corral. It’s never wise to go shopping on an empty stomach. The meal plans stack up faster than I can track ingredients. I absently tug at a cart sticking out on the end. Nothing happens. That gets my attention, knocking me from my food stupor. I put in more effort but struggle to remove one from the bunch. They’re all wedged together in tight formation. Kudos to the attendant for shoving them in with such precision. I giggle to myself, thinking about Vannah cackling over that last comment.
I shake my head and get back on track. With more force than I probably needed, I yank backward. Not even a single squeak of metal. The damn things don’t budge. I exhale harshly, blowing stray hair off my forehead. Next comes a little mental stretch to prepare for war. I grip the handle and wrench with all my might. There’s barely a wiggle.
On my next futile attempt, I ram an elbow into an unforgiving surface. Since I don’t have a wall behind me, it’s safe to assume someone just got jabbed in the gut. My innocent victim releases a muffled grunt, confirming the worst. I hang my head as a wash of humiliation singes my cheeks. My hopes of making a good impression are dashing off faster than the power-walking supermoms in aisle four.
“Whoa, easy there.”
I spin on my heel at the gritty timbre, feeling like a spooked horse. Is he trying to soothe me? Make sure I don’t trigger a stampede? Those thoughts vanish as I take my first decent glance at the man.
When I picture a hunk of farm-raised hotness, Scott Eastwood from The Longest Ride pops into my brain. This guy couldn’t be farther from that stereotype. He’s dark and broody without leather chaps or a Western shirt in sight. Broad shoulders, toned muscles, and a trim waist fill my vision. His white T-shirt is tight enough to hint at a set of defined abs. It’s no wonder my arm is still vibrating from the impact. Without shame, I admit my mouth waters at the idea of tracing those washboard lines. I would gladly volunteer to scale him faster than a hayloft ladder.
The logo on his hat is familiar. Carhartt has a recognizable enough stamp, even to someone detached from country style. I’m pretty sure their apparel is made with heavy-duty labor in mind. Back home, the brand is popular with the hipster crowd. I have a feeling this guy didn’t choose the label to be trendy. Maybe he’s more purposeful about his fashion statements than I’m giving him credit for. He makes a ball cap look ultra-sexy, regardless of his purpose. As if hearing my thoughts, his stare bores into me from the shadows under the curled brim.
The chance to offer a polite apology and salvage my manners is vanishing with each stilted breath. I nearly choke on the buckets of sand lodged in my throat. “Shit… I mean, shoot. I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”
Painful silence is all that greets me. It seems the stranger is too busy giving my body a full scan. I shift my weight from the blatant perusal. The need to fidget needles at me. Is he sizing me up because I’m seriously lacking in the height department? A tiny nudge from me certainly wouldn’t result in serious damage—to his flexing physique or otherwise. To be fair, anyone over six feet makes me look like a shrimp. I wait several seconds for a response, but he remains disturbingly quiet.
Taking the hint, I creep toward a stack of small baskets and prepare to sulk off without causing further injury. “Um, okay then. I’ll just be moving along.”
He blinks at me, drawing attention to his alluring gaze.
“Wow, are you wearing contacts?” I squint at him like some sort of stage-five creeper.
If possible, his frown dips lower. “No.”
“I’m aware that it’s super weird for a stranger to randomly ask. Your eyes are just really blue.”
“And yours are brown,” he deadpans.
Speaking of, I’m not scoring any brownie points with this guy. “Solid observation. Isn’t it rare to have light eyes with dark hair?”
“Can I question the same for your blond hair and dark eyes? Unless you use dye.”
I gasp, twirling a loose strand around my finger, holding it out for inspection. “This color is natural, thank you very much. And I’m really leaving now. Sorry again for the bang.”
There goes the remainder of my dignity. I press my lips together to trap more nonsense from spewing out, futile as it might seem. The damage is already wreaking havoc on my pride.
The man’s harsh mask cracks, a slice of amusement twitching his lips. I catch a twinkle in his eyes while that slight humor grows into a crooked grin. My earlier assessment is no longer valid. He isn’t the hardcore, surly sort, other than his resting dick face—also known as RDF, for future reference. It’s almost a relief to see the expression I came across so often in high school and college. Without having to mutter a word, these guys would receive a wide berth from most. That skill is essential in chasing off unwanted attention, for themselves and others.
A dimple dents his cheek as he graces me with a full smile. The oxygen meant for my brain fizzles into a puff of smoke. As if this fella needs more ammunition to reel in the ladies.
“You’re not from here.”
I slap on a grin of my own to cover the undeniable scent of lust wafting off me. “Why is that so obvious?”
“Any lifer could sniff you out in an instant,” he drawls. “We don’t get a lot of visitors in our small section of paradise.”
“No?”
“Not that look like you.”
I almost recoil. “That’s not very gentlemanly. Do you make a habit of being rude to women in the entryway of the supermarket?”
My word vomit erases any progress I managed to make, not that he doesn’t deserve it. But the stranger surprises me with a raspy chuckle.
“Nah, you’re proving to be a special case.”
“Should I be offended?”
“Not in the slightest, darling. I meant that as a compliment. You’re so… shiny.”
I glance down at my outfit, noticing an obvious lack of sparkle. “Like a new toy?”
He scrubs a hand over his mouth, hiding a smirk. “Not sure I’m bold enough to cross that line just yet.”
“I’m not following.”
He smooths a thumb over the bill of his hat. “You have a certain something that we don’t see too often. We usually get truckers, farmers, and the occasional business suit eager to make deals. Crops of ladies looking to let loose pass through every now and then, but that’s fairly rare.”
I drop my gaze, taking a sudden interest in the checkered floor. “Well, all right.”
“So, what brings you to Bam?”
“Bam?”
He motions around us. “The great Bampton Valley.”
I track his gesture, still regaining my footing after receiving the heat of his focus aiming at me. “It definitely has some luster to enjoy.”
“Only some? You wound me, woman.” He clutches his chest, showing off the outline of an impressive pec.
“I take it you’re a lifer?”
“Born and raised.”
“Well.” I offer him an outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Audria.”
His loud whistle turns more than a few heads. “I should’ve known the fancy lady has a name to match. Reeve Colton, at your service.”
I raise a brow at that. “It’s a pleasure.”
A low sound rumbles from the depths of him. “I would hope so after you rammed into me.”
“Oh, please. It was a light tap at worst.”
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Brance Stone? He’s from my bestselling novel, Ask Me Why. His little boy, Ollie, is a fan favorite. Here’s an excerpt where Brance and Braelyn meet for the first time, buffered by little Ollie.
As if hearing my silent plea, the door swings open. The bell calls out, and a familiar little figure zooms inside. I peer around the display case that’s obstructing my view. Ollie sends me a beaming smile and my hunger pains are instantly forgotten.
Oh, this kid is going to break so many hearts when he’s older.
“Hi, Miss Braelyn.” Ollie strides up to me like we’re the best of pals. Maybe we already are.
My depleted energy seems to spring back. I give him a wave. “Hey, Ollie. Glad to see you again.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
I shake my head. “Nonsense. You’re right on time. Is Mary with you?”
His forehead creases. “Uh, no. She went home. We would’ve been here sooner, but my dad was working.” Ollie hitches a small thumb over his shoulder.
That’s when the door opens with a bang. A tall man stomps in with the power of a hurricane. Is the ground shaking? If it is, I barely notice.
Holy. Hotness.
Who ordered the sex in a suit?
The guy’s laser focus is on the boy beside me so he doesn’t notice my slack jaw. He’s tall, but not overly bulky. His thick hair is styled in a messy sort of way, and I want to smooth the unruly flyaways. A five-o’clock shadow dusts his jaw, the first signs of stubble barely visible. The contrast between his light eyes and dark features is hypnotic. An impeccable suit covers his broad frame, cut to fit his wide shoulders and trim waist perfectly. He could easily sell this look. Hell, after one glance I’m ready to buy it off him.
He’s fucking lickable.
“Ollie, I told you to wait. Selective listening isn’t cute anymore. Why do you insist on running ahead of me?” The stranger’s boom ricochets around us.
I blink, and the haze evaporates. What the actual eff was that? I look down at the child in question and wait for him to answer. He’s squirming all about. Ollie barely gives his father a second glance, too busy studying the assortment of candy on display. But no worries. I’m giving this man more attention than he needs anyway. I can hardly take my peepers off him.