She thwacked the solid wall of muscle he called a chest. “Ian, I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I. Look, they know. They know how we met, where you’re from, how you got your start. Everything. They also know I love you, and you love me. That’s really all they care about.”
“I hope you’re right because they’re probably stuck with me.”
The hand at her back stilled again. “You figure?”
Now her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “If you still want to try…if you’ll still have me…I’d love to move in with you.”
He frowned and shook his head. Her heart did a belly flop straight into her stomach. “I’m sorry, but after everything we’ve been through, the move-in offer is no longer on the table.”
Tears threatened again, but she blinked them back. Okay, understandable. You’ll just have to change his mind. She firmed her chin. “I’m ready for the next step. How can I prove it to you?”
He gave her a funny look and then cocked an eyebrow. “You really think you’re ready for the next step?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” she replied without hesitation. “Bring it on.”
“Okay, then.” He drew away from her and eased off the bed until he knelt beside it, facing her. “Remember, you asked for this.”
“Ian, what are you…” Her words died away when he pulled a small square box out of his pocket and held it out to her.
“Stacy Roberts, former Two Trout troublemaker, ex-stripper, and the woman I love, will you marry me?” He opened the box to reveal a gorgeous, radiant blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
The gasp escaped before she could help herself.
He shrugged, but the quirk of his lips told her he appreciated rendering her speechless. “I wanted something as unique as the woman who’ll wear it. The color reminded me of your eyes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful. And I’m waiting for an answer,” he prompted.
She shifted her attention to him and watched the slow, sexy grin she’d been dreaming of for six lonely weeks spread over his face. “This is the next step?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure?”
His unwavering gaze locked on hers, making her head spin a little. “I am dead positive.”
“Then, my answer is yes.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, climbed onto the bed, and swept her into a kiss. By the time he was done, her head spun more than a little, and there was a strange clapping sound assaulting her ears. “Ignore them,” he whispered, cupped her jaw, and lowered his head for another kiss.
Confused, she looked beyond him, toward the door. Vern, Ginger, Ari, Lee Ann, Kylie, and Trevor gathered just beyond the threshold, clapping.
“About time, Snowflake,” Ginger called.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Ian called, never taking his eyes off her. His smile held wicked intent.
The door whooshed closed.
“I’m injured,” she warned as he moved in.
“I’m careful.” He traced the front opening of her hospital gown, barely grazing her flesh.
“I guess you are,” she managed, as his fingers parted the gown.
“And creative.” As proof he tapped the bed-adjust button and eased her into a more reclined position.
She raised a brow at him. “A nurse could walk in here at any moment to check on me.”
He leaned in and brushed his mouth over hers. “Then she’ll get an eyeful of you being kissed by the man who loves you.”
The enormity of everything she’d almost lost dropped on her like a falling sky. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him closer. He let her, but lingered on her lips, kissing her tenderly when she would have gone for the heat and the rush. He tipped her head back and kissed her again. And again, with a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes even as her body trembled. If she didn’t watch it, she’d start to feel…cherished.
“Missed you, Stace,” he murmured when they broke for air. “So damn much. Promise me—” She moaned and tried to draw him in. He evaded. “Promise you’ll never walk away from us again.”
“I promise—” Two words were all she managed, because he sent his lips trailing down her throat, her chest, stopping to bestow one slow, deliberate kiss directly over her heart. The sweetness of the gesture had her blinking back tears. Then his mouth was on the move again, placing soft kisses along the edge of the shockingly white bandage affixed to her side. When he finished, he looked up at her, and she saw all the raw fear and pain of the last twenty-four hours reflected in his unguarded expression.
“Ian—”
He shook his head and straightened her gown. “I could have lost you last night. When I saw you dangling from the light rig, I was so fucking scared. You can’t possibly imagine.”
Judging by the look on his face, she couldn’t. “I’m fine,” she whispered, and sank her fingers into his hair, “thanks to you.” To lighten the mood, she fluttered her lashes and sighed. “You’re my Halloween hero.”
His eyes didn’t quite lose their haunted look, but he flashed the cocky smile that had hooked her right from the start.
She gave his hair a quick tug. “Come here. I have to kiss that grin off your face.”
He hit the remote control for the bed and raised her up until their lips were tantalizingly close. “Only if you say the magic words.”
“Magic words?” She tried to lean in and close the distance, but he tapped the bed control and sent her sinking backward.
“Ian!”
“Magic words,” he prompted, and stopped the bed.
She made a grab for the remote, but he pulled it out of her reach.
“You can do it. Just repeat after me. I.”
“You really like that remote control, don’t you?”
“It’s a guy thing. I,” he said again, his clear green eyes blazing with triumph.
She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, “I.”
He hit the button and raised her a third of the way. “Love.”
“Love.”
The bed whirred again and she sat straighter.
“You,” he said quietly.
“I love you. Ian, I love you.” A dam broke inside her and she reached for him as the words poured out. He wrapped his arm around her and brought her the rest of the way home. And then she was there, snug against him, kissing his mouth, his chin, his jaw, anywhere she could reach while saying “I love you” over and over again.
“Every day,” he said between kisses. “I need to hear you say it every damn day for the rest of our lives. Think you can handle me?”
She eased back, put her hands on his cheeks, and stared into his eyes. “I can handle you, Ian. It’s being without you that I can’t handle.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Good, because you’re never going to get rid of me again.”
Epilogue
“You sure you’re ready to do this?”
Stacy met Kylie’s eyes in the mirror. “Hell yes. We’ve rehearsed and everything. Aren’t you?”
“Me? Yes. I can’t wait. But I know this whole thing was kind of my idea.” She bit her lip and gave Stacy the big, blue-eyed Bambi stare. “Now I’m worried I’ve rushed you. Maybe you need more time.”
“Nope.” For emphasis, she shook her head. “I’m good. Completely healed.”
“Physically, yes,” Kylie quickly agreed. “And you’ve never looked more beautiful.” Stacy watched in the mirror as Kylie smoothed nervous fingers along the short, silky skirt of Stacy’s dress. “But are you mentally prepared?”
Was she? She frowned. “I think I am. I mean, how hard can it be? One little strut down the line. All eyes on us. Give ’em a show when we get to the end, then we’re outta here. Easy.”
“Okaaaay. Just so you know, I think the plans leaked to the press. Doing this outdoors was probably a mistake. I can’t promise some paparazzi won’t get a shot. This could be splattered all ov
er the tabloids come tomorrow.”
Now she did feel some hesitation, only because that kind of publicity might not be what Kylie wanted. “I’m sorry. If you want to pull out, I completely understand.”
“No, no. I want to go for it. I don’t care who sees.”
What a sister. “If you’re good to go, I’m good to go.”
Kylie smiled, and happiness radiated off her in waves. “All right. I’ll stop stressing.”
“About time. You also look amazing, by the way. Sweet, classy, and hot as hell, all at the same time.” It was true.
Kylie blushed. “Thanks.”
A rap sounded on the opposite side of the door, and then Vern came into the small room. “You”—he pointed at Kylie—“and you.” He swung the finger toward Stacy. “Let’s go. The other girls got the crowd warmed up. It’s showtime.”
Stacy glanced at Kylie and lifted a brow. “Ready?”
Kylie nodded.
Vern offered them each an arm. They linked up and walked through the door, down a short, marble-floored hall and along a vine-covered pergola. She heard the music now and tried to pace herself accordingly. They reached the lawn. Sunlight streamed over a runner of white carpet. The pristine path bisected the assembly of guests standing in front of their white-slipcovered folding chairs, and ended at a rose-covered lattice arbor where several people waited. Beyond the arbor stretched a breathtaking view of the gleaming Pacific, but gorgeous as the ocean view was from the bluff-top perch of the Malibu estate they’d rented for this particular event, Stacy found her attention drawn to the people gathered in front of the arbor.
Ginger, Ari, and Lee Ann stood on the left, uncharacteristically elegant in shimmering silver sheaths. Opposite them stood the younger McCade brothers, two dark-haired, dangerously hot specimens molded from the same formidable clay as Trevor—Michael, the rough, tough, US Marine, and Logan, the MBA, which Stacy thought in his case ought to stand for Major Bad-Ass.
Then came Trevor, all restrained ruggedness in his black tuxedo, standing next to the placid-faced minister. Her eyes cut right, landed on Ian, and her heart did a little flutter. God, he looked so handsome. Tall and tanned and cover-model polished, but the civilized tux couldn’t conceal the energy coiled in his lean, hard body, or his innate, alpha-male assurance. That insanely gorgeous, sexy man right there loves you, a little voice whispered.
The music swelled, and then subsided when they reached the arbor. Vern snuffled loudly, cleared his throat, and said, “Thought you girls were smarter than this,” in a gruff stage whisper that sent a ripple of laughter through the audience. He kissed Kylie’s cheek, then turned to Stacy, swept her into a theatrically dramatic embrace, and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her. She raised a hand to her head to keep her hair from spilling out of its sleek twist, and used the other hand to feign some damsel-in-distress beating on Vern’s back.
He hauled her upright, tapped her chin lightly with his knuckles and said, “Best move you ever made, kid.” Then he was gone and the minister turned to Kylie and Trevor. Stacy watched, teary-eyed, as they pledged their love, their futures, their everything, to each other, and exchanged I-dos.
Then it was Ian’s turn. She watched his face as he repeated the minister’s words. No hesitation. Not a single stutter. He topped it all off with a slow smile delivered straight to her.
The minister turned to her. “And do you, Stacy, take—”
“I do!” she shouted. Oh, hell yes, she did. She wrapped her arm around Ian’s neck, fused her mouth to his and kissed him with everything she had. And kissed him…and kissed him…and kept right on kissing him.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the guests cheering and clapping. She heard the minister saying, “Wait. Wait…not yet!” and then rushing through the “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife” part.
When she broke away for air, Ian looked down at her with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Wanna cut out early and get started on the honeymoon?”
Her laugh turned into a squeal when he hauled her up against him and brought his mouth down to hers. “I do,” she whispered when she could speak again, and sealed it with a kiss.
Did you love this Brazen? Check out more of our steamy titles here!
Acknowledgments
You learn who your friends are when you turn to them and say, “I need to do research for a story. Want to go pole dancing?”
I’m not naming names, or calling anyone double-jointed, but I do want to thank:
Heather Howland, editor and masochist, for allowing me to be part of the anthology, and my anthology-mates, Cari, Katee, and Tessa, for inspiring me with your authorly awesomeness.
Fellow Entangled authors Robin Bielman and Hayson Manning, for all your encouragement, (i.e. listening to me whine when my characters won’t behave).
The whole Kentucky crew, for not disowning me, and especially Peggy Tucker, for saying what you said, and also for the pole dancing lessons.
To my family, for everything.
About the Author
Award winning author Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her husband, their son, Kitty the furry Ninja, and Bebe the trash talkin’ Chihuahua. When not writing fun and sexy contemporary romance, or napping on her beach towel with her face snuggled to her Kindle, she searches for the perfect ten dollar wine to pair with Lunchables.
Connect with Sam via Facebook, Twitter, or through her website at www.samanthebeck.com to check her progress on that never-ending quest, or to get the latest on her upcoming Brazens!
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