by Dani Wyatt
“You’ve given me everything.”
He’s up and out of bed, grabs a rolled up scroll of paper tied with a light blue, satin ribbon and is back next to me, setting it in my hand.
“What is it?”
“Why do people always ask that before they open a gift? Just open it.”
I slip off the ribbon and slowly uncurl the thick, sketch paper.
“Oh God, Beck . . . Thank you.”
My eyes are wide. It’s my face again, my sketched silhouette with my hair pulled on top of my head, the lace collar of my dress from yesterday showing at my neck.
There are words coloring my face as in all his other drawings. I slowly make them out.
My love dwells in every part of you.
But it is bound tightest to those parts of you find most shameful.
Because those are the parts where I love you the most.
I spend the next minute kissing him in every place possible until I take him in my mouth and show him how much I love him.
I curl next to him while he catches his breath, and his hand strokes my hair.
He turns his head to look at me with a smile, and I see that front tooth with the chip.
“Hey, what happened there?” I tap it with my forefinger.
It seems strange that I’ve been obsessing about that tooth since the day he walked into his father’s room at Windfield, and I’ve never asked.
“This tooth?” He screws up his face and smiles, touching his fingertip to the tooth in question.
“Yes, dummy.”
His other hand smooths my hair back from my face.
“Well, I was on a very dangerous mission.” He lowers his voice and draws his dark brow tight. “I probably shouldn’t tell you; it’s classified. Or, I could tell you, but then I’d have to marry you.”
“Just tell me, jeez.”
“Oh wait,” He looks up at the ceiling and taps the tooth in thought. “I already married you. Okay, I’ll tell you on one condition.”
“What?” He is exasperating sometimes, but he’s got other assets that make up for it. And, the fact that he made me cum four times in the last hour is helping his case.
“You make a baby for me.” He drops his finger from his tooth and lays his hand on my belly with a grin.
I shake my head and try to look annoyed but fail.
“I imagine that won’t take long with the effort you’ve been putting in. I think we’d make beautiful babies. I’ve never even thought about it much before now. Being a mom. But, it feels like I’ve been waiting and now I get it. I want that.”
“Okay, well, I’ll give you prepayment on that then. Okay, this tooth . . .”
Beckett
After a nice shower session, we scoot out of the hotel and head back to the loft to grab some things before the limo is scheduled to show up.
I pull up my jeans with nothing under them and leave the top button open because I’m planning one more sneak attack on her ass before we leave for the airport.
“Seriously, you need one carry-on, Promise. You will be naked the entire time. Stop shoving balls of clothes into that crate of a suitcase. You’re killing me.”
The small, resort-run bungalow I booked for us is set out over the water on stilts. There is no one else in sight, no other huts or houses, and that was the plan. I don’t want clothes on her for two weeks. That’s just how beautiful she is. She sticks her tongue out at me and continues to rummage through the drawers of the dresser.
“I give up.”
I settle at the kitchen counter and start thumbing through the stack of mail that’s gathered in the last week. Staying at Louis’s has been great, but life doesn’t stop.
There’s some paperwork I need to finish to wrap up what will be the end of my Navy career. It’s the right decision, especially with Jordan. I want to be here for him in whatever capacity he'll allow. I won’t risk the life I’ve been given. That meant I had to choose, and Promise and Jordan were my choices.
There for me yet again, Louis offered me a job with his security company. Head of the private service department. It’s a godsend. I’ve got some decent scratch saved up, but I need to think about the future and how to make sure my new little family has anything and everything they need or want. Louis hooked me up with a salary I’m sure if far above market, but as I’ve said before, dude’s always had my back.
So, as soon as we finish our love-fest in Fiji, I’ll be a fully employed civilian. Louis said we would finish up the necessary paperwork to make my employment official when we both get back from our trips.
I pull out a large manila envelope at the bottom of the stack. The return address is from 5 District Probate Court. I filed my Dad’s death certificate and the forms required showing he had no will, no assets and there was no property, so I imagine it is just the registered copy of the death certificate and final disposition from the court.
I wiggle my finger under the flap and tear it open. I pull out a copy of a letter with another page stapled behind. I scan it, something about unclaimed property, and then there is an attorney’s name and address. A second page is a form from the court, showing me as next of kin and the certified death certificate.
I don’t have time for this shit today; it will have to wait until after the honeymoon. What could it be anyway? Dad had nothing, so I dismiss it for now. There are too many more important, happy plans on my agenda than to get caught up in something I might lose my mojo over.
I look up when I hear Promise start chattering away. She’s talking to no one, but I listen because her voice is my own personal music.
“Why do none of my socks ever match? Ugggg, it’s so annoying. Oh, wait—” Her hair is flying back and forth as her head practically spins around, frantically looking over the chaos on the bed. “Where’s my phone? Beckett, have you seen my phone? I just had it . . .”
She proceeds to start throwing everything out of the suitcase.
“Okay, that’s enough. Stop. I’ll call your phone . . . Stop throwing stuff on the floor.” I can’t help that I want to lay her out on top of all the little heaps of clothes and put my tongue inside her so deep that it makes her forget all about this packing bullshit.
I dial her number, and her phone starts to ring.
“Oh, here it is.” She reaches around toward the back pocket of her jeans, grinning at me with feigned surprise.
“Oh my god, you are killing me.” I break into a run and grab her around the waist, lifting her up and flopping her down onto the bed, pinning her wrists above her head.
“Hey! I need to finish packing; we don’t have time . . .”
“Sure we do.” I’m on her neck in a second.
“How many times can—”
She’s cut short by a loud banging on the thick, metal, loft door.
“What the fuck . . .” I groan and roll off of her. “Put that shit back in the suitcase, Promise.” I point from the mess to the open bag. “The limo will be here in ten minutes. And, you’re not going to need all that bullshit anyway, I told you—naked. That’s the deal. If you need to wear anything, it will be provided by me.”
She’s muttering to herself, completely ignoring me, and I see she’s going to need a few more turns over my knee in the next fifty years. Thank Christ, because I love that shit.
I slam back the security bar and jerk the door open. I immediately recognize the face, but it takes me a moment to place the forty-something comb-over wearing a black, leather jacket and polyester pants.
“Mr. Fitzgerald?”
My spidey sense is prickling.
“Yeah.”
Fuck, it’s the detective from Jeremy’s case. This is not the face I want to see right now.
“Can I come in? I’m looking for Promise Henderson.” He’s straining to look over my shoulder because her voice is clearly bouncing around behind me.
“It’s Promise Fitzgerald. Why? What’s this about? We’re getting ready to leave.”
“We’ve le
t Jeremy Rendall go.”
My world explodes, and he said it plenty loud enough that I can hear Promise’s childlike chatter stop dead. The silence is a vacuum.
Then I hear her. “Beck?”
“The surveillance footage was tampered with. That wasn’t Jeremy entering the apartment the night of the fire. He didn’t have an alibi, and forensics had gone off the footage. But, it’s not him. It’s not even from that night. The fire might have been an accident after all. We’re not sure.”
Promise steps next to me, and I pull her under my arm.
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“Well, I’m saying Mr. Rendall may be an asshole, but he’s not a killer.” Detective Northrup chuckles. I’m not fucking laughing.
“Who doctored it?” I don’t want the answer.
“We are looking into that.”
He’s gone professional on me, but Louis provided them the tape which started the investigation. That’s when they searched Jeremy’s house and found all the other notebooks, his logs about Promise, detailing all the years he’s obsessed about her. Plus there was proof he showed her how to start the fires.
“There’s more.” He looks at Promise, and I want to tear his fucking throat out. “Jordan’s mother is at the station.” He nods toward Promise. “Your mother, ma’am.”
I hear Promise gasp, and I have to reach out to grab her before she falls.
“What? That can’t be; she’s dead. I thought she was dead . . .”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. She showed up at CPS this morning, demanding to stop the adoption. Apparently, the court tried to contact her one last time before the final adoption to Mr. Spicer went through. She didn’t get the notice in time. She doesn’t seem to have a permanent address. But, when she found out who was adopting her son, she showed up trying to stop it.”
Nothing is making sense. Promise is shivering, and I want to hurt a lot of people.
“Why?”
“She alleges Mr. Spicer raped her. There was no consensual relationship. She made some other allegations. We are looking into them.”
The detective clears his throat.
Promise is staring straight ahead.
“Beck? You told me I could trust him. You told me to sign.” Her eyes well and run over, and I hear the crack in her voice. She looks at the detective. “Where’s my brother?”
The detective takes a deep breath. “On a plane.”
“To Florida? Right?” Promise’s voice holds onto the shred of hope that this is all some sort of crazy misunderstanding because it has to be.
“No, ma’am. Their plane took off an hour ago.” His eyes meet mine. “To Cairo.”
She pushes away from me, her ice-blue eyes coming up slowly to mine.
“Beck . . .”
And if you like your sexy times a little rough, your romance in abundance and your Alphas over the top
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Dani Wyatt used to feel bad about having such dirty thoughts. Luckily, one day she decided to starting writing them down. Her uber alpha heros have a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Her heroines are intelligent, quirky and worry about having too much muffin top. With her books, you can count on a heaping helping of HOT, a dash of rough and always a happily ever after.
When she's not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can't have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.