I bust out laughing. “First, you’re worried about not finishing, and now you’re complaining you came first?”
He smacks my ass, pulling me into a kiss. “Kinky little thing, aren’t you?”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” I tease.
“Me, too,” he says, slipping his now wet finger between my booty cheeks.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I’m your rose.
A. Rose
RHETT
“Oh God,” she cries.
I’ve missed being buried between her legs. I thought she might want a break after our chair fun, but we moved to my bed, and I’ve had her straddling my face ever since.
“Don’t come yet,” I order, holding onto her perfect ass.
Her muscles clench over and over again, desperate to come, but I’m not ready for this to be over. Working her over with my mouth, she grabs the headboard, thrusting against me. My greed for her gets the best of me, and I won’t finish her.
“I love you. All of you,” I say, giving her a long, slow lick.
Tiny goosebumps cover her skin as she begs, “Please.”
“More,” I beg back, devouring her.
I’ve missed the taste of her. I’ve been craving her for months, and now I have her again, finally. Her body starts to tremble, and I slow down just a bit, planting sweet little kisses along her folds. She releases a little frustrated groan, and it’s my undoing. I can’t deny her any longer, no matter how much I don’t want to stop. Her whole body tightens before she comes, screaming out my name.
I pull her beside me, resting her head on my chest, and stroke her hair just like I used to. I have her back in my arms, where she should always have been. How could I have been so stupid, pushing her away, letting her go?
Never again.
She looks up at me and smiles. “We’re going to be late for the party.”
“Their parties are lucky for us,” I tease.
She giggles, getting to her feet and raising an eyebrow at me. “Let’s shower together. It will save time.”
I laugh, using my arms to push myself up until I’m braced against my headboard. I capture Ainsley’s hand, looking at her, stark naked in the middle of my bedroom. I’m so lucky. I haven’t felt lucky in a long time, but I am. To be the man that gets to see her this way. To be the man in her life—the one she chooses. I’m not sure what I did to deserve her, but I’m damn thankful.
After my accident, I had a serious case of “why me?” I wanted to know why this happened to me, when I had the girl of my dreams, when everything was going so well. What did I do to deserve it? Why did this have to happen? Months and months of self-pity, and I didn’t get any answers to those questions.
I can still ask the same question. Why me? Why did Ainsley fall in love with me? Why do I get to be the man in her life? So in a weird way, the questions are kind of the same, but the answers are different. I really don’t have the answers, but the bottom line is, I’m damn lucky. I’d much rather spend my life focusing on that.
When most people meet me, lucky probably isn’t the word that comes to mind. As soon as they take a look at the woman beside me, I’m sure that changes.
It’s great having her back in my bed. I’m not going to lie—it’s also a relief. That this part of our relationship still works. Yes, it’s different, but Ainsley was right. Different doesn’t mean worse. Of course, I miss banging her up against the wall, but I’m not going to spend my life focusing on all the things we can’t do anymore, missing out on all the things we can still do. I just wish I’d realized that sooner.
This afternoon with her has been better than I could’ve imagined, but it’s not quite complete. There’s still a missing piece. I reach for my shirt, lifting it over my head. I hope this is the right move. I reach for the clasp of the chain that hangs around my neck, unhooking it.
“My ring,” she whispers.
“I carry this with me every day.”
“You kept it?”
“When I start to feel angry or depressed, I reach for it,” I say and hold the ring out to her. “Reminds me what anger cost me.”
“Oh, God.”
“I can’t get down on one knee this time,” I say, smiling.
When we got to the party, Ainsley pulled Brody and Skye aside to tell them our news. She wanted to do it in private, not wanting to steal their moment, even offering to take her engagement ring off. But they told her she was crazy, both of them thrilled for us. Ainsley then floated around the party, showing her ring to anyone and everyone.
Turns out, Brody and Skye had a big surprise announcement of their own to make. Looks like Ainsley will be an aunt in the coming months. Of course, Ainsley already knew. I can’t believe she kept that from me. I’ll make sure to give her a smack on her ass for that later.
Brody and Skye certainly know how to throw a party. This one is at a farm just outside Charleston, a barn the site of the reception. White roses cover everything in sight. Everyone’s dressed casually except Brody and Skye, who donned the traditional wedding attire and are posing for photographs. This day is a long time coming for them. I’m glad they are finally getting what they deserve, and I’m happy to be here to celebrate with them.
“You might want to save your bride-to-be,” my dad says, walking up beside me. “Your mother has her cornered, going over wedding plans already.”
Shaking my head, I spot Ainsley with my mom. “Ainsley doesn’t want a big wedding,” I tell my dad.
“Good luck telling your mother that,” he says.
I laugh, knowing my mother is impossible. On our drive to the party, Ainsley told me she wants something small, the exact opposite of what she wanted before. I don’t care either way. She just wants the people who are closest to us. Her dress is made, and she will wear it even though I’ve seen her in it. We’re not giving stock to the bad luck theory.
I hear my cell phone ring. It’s Jay. I’d left him a message about Ainsley and me. My dad motions for me to answer it, nodding his head toward the door, away from the noise of the party.
I go outside just in time to hear Jay say, “So you put a ring on it?”
Chuckling, I say, “Is that your way of saying congratulations?”
“That’s my way of asking if you knocked her up.”
“Not yet,” I say.
“I like that,” he says. “There’s hope in that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AINSLEY
Strolling around the party, I can’t stop smiling. Hopefully, this time next month I’ll be Mrs. Ainsley Bennett. I don’t want to wait to marry him. We’ve waited long enough. I just want to start my life with him. That’s what I’ve always wanted—a life with Rhett.
I truly can’t wait to exchange our vows. For most people, the wedding vows you take about sickness and health are abstract, something you don’t really think about. At most, it’s something far off in the future that might happen when you reach old age. But for Rhett and me, it’s our present. When we take our wedding vows, it won’t be with some vague notion of growing old together. We know our life can turn on a dime.
And I don’t want a big wedding. I may be the only wedding dress designer in the history of the universe that doesn’t want a big wedding. I will wear the dress I made. But everything else I thought I wanted the first time around, it just doesn’t seem important now. A simple bouquet, some photos, surrounded by our family and dear friends in his parents’ backyard—that sounds totally perfect.
As long as I’m Ainsley Rose Bennett at the end of it, I don’t care about the details. I love the way that full name sounds. I feel like a schoolgirl doodling my new name in her notebook.
Resting my elbows on a bistro table, I run my fingers over the petals of some long stem roses in the center of the table, admiring them, how fragile they are. I think to myself how we cherish the petals—even when they fall of the stem. And even when they crumble and break apart, they’re still beautiful.
“I s
ee you’re learning to love them again,” a man says.
I look up, finding the doctor from Skye’s office, the one I had a five-minute date with, smiling at me.
“I am,” I say, knowing we are talking about more than flowers.
“Good news about Skye,” he says.
“Very,” I say, glancing around and looking for Rhett.
“And congratulations to you,” he says, motioning toward the ring on my hand. “I saw you with your fiancé earlier.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Guess my breakdown makes a little more sense to you now.”
He smiles, saying, “I hope this isn’t out of line, but I have a friend. A doctor friend of mine. We went to school together. He specializes in helping couples with different levels of paralysis. If you and your fiancé ever need help when you start to think about having a family, I can put you in touch.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I say.
“I wish you the best of luck,” he says. “It’s admirable what you’re doing.”
I hate that people assume I’m some sort of saint by being with Rhett—that his being in a wheelchair makes me special in some way.
“No, it’s not,” I say. “It’s just love.”
EPILOGUE
THREE YEARS LATER
RHETT
“I think I finally found it!” my mom screams so loud I have to hold the phone out from my ear.
After we got married, Ainsley moved into my condo, and we’re still here, mostly because neither one of us wants to give up our easy commute to work. We want to build our own home, design it specifically for our needs, but finding land in Charleston close to work has proven difficult. Space is at a premium.
Since my mom is in the real estate game, she’s been helping us look, knowing we are quickly outgrowing condo life. I listen to my mom rattle off details of the property she found, the square footage of the lot. Apparently, there’s an abandoned house that could be torn down. I zone out when she starts talking about some tree ordinance.
I pick up a wedding photo that sits on the nightstand by our bed. Our anniversary is coming up. I can’t believe it’s been three years. This is my favorite one of all our wedding photos. It was taken right after we said, “I do.” Ainsley’s in my lap, and I’m rolling us down the aisle. Her dress is so big you can barely see our faces. It looks like we’re lost in a sea of lace roses, but the photographer managed to capture her smile.
The smile that captured me.
“Text me the address, and Ainsley and I will go check it out,” I say, ending the call with my mother.
Placing the photo down, I go into the den to tell Ainsley about the latest prospect, finding her parked on our sofa, mesmerized by her laptop. Her little baby bump is finally noticeable. She’s five months along now. We had some medical help to make it happen, but seeing her like this—all glowing and happy, growing our child—it was worth every penny, every trip to the doctor, every embarrassing question and procedure.
Our little mixed breed stray, Josie, thinks Ainsley’s pregnant belly is the perfect place to rest her head. After Sadie, I wasn’t sure I’d get another dog for a while, but a patient brought Josie in, having found her on the side of the road with a broken leg. I fixed her up, but then she had nowhere to go. We couldn’t just abandon her. What was supposed to be a night or two recovering with me and Ainsley happened to turn into several years.
“What are you doing?” I ask Ainsley.
“Shopping for your anniversary gift,” she says, lowering her computer screen so I can’t sneak a peek.
Tradition says that for the third wedding anniversary, you should give a gift of leather, to symbolize durability in a relationship. I looked it up. Ainsley thought a leather flogger sounded like the perfect gift. I knew there was a reason I fell in love with her. So she came up with this idea that every year for our anniversary we should purchase a new sex toy. That was my crazy wife’s suggestion, and frankly, maybe the best idea she’s ever had.
“I thought we said we were only exchanging sex toys?” I laugh.
“A little extra something,” she says, giving me a naughty smile.
Reaching out, I pat her pregnant belly. “I think you’re already doing enough.”
Not only is she pregnant, but she works insane hours at her shop. Word has spread through Charleston, the entire Southern United States, and up the Eastern Seaboard about her one-of-a-kind dresses. Currently, she has a yearlong waiting list just to get a design consultation. My A. Rose is a regular mogul.
She has plans to slow down once the baby is born, having watched Skye struggle to manage working full-time and raising two kids. Once Brody and Skye got started, they had two boys back-to-back, and she’s currently pregnant with their third.
Ainsley won’t do it alone. I’m shortening my work week to four days, so I’ll have our baby girl all to myself one day a week. Of course, my parents are itching to help, too. We don’t have all the details worked out yet, but we still have a little time.
“How’s my little rose petal?” I ask, talking to her belly.
“Rose petal?” she asks.
“Yeah, you’re my rose so she’s my rose petal. A little mini part of you.”
She leans over and kisses me tenderly on the lips. “Did we just name our daughter?” she asks. “Rose Petal Bennett.”
I’d only meant it as a nickname, but damn if it’s not perfect. “I think we did.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book . . . This book is deeply personal to me. I have never cried writing a book before, but this one gutted me more than once. Honestly, I was scared to write it. A romance hero who’s in a wheelchair? I was frightened I wouldn’t get the medical stuff right. I was scared I wouldn’t get his daily routine right. Basically, I stared at my computer for a month, knowing what I wanted to do, but scared to do it. Could I pull this off? In a believable and honest way?
I believe there are things that tie us together as people. Things that, no matter where you come from, we all have in common. These are the strands that bind us. Even if language or culture separates us, certain things are core to every human being. Love is one of those things. It is the reason I write romance. But more than love, it’s the desire to be loved and accepted for who we are.
Everyone wants to have someone love their broken parts, the parts we often try to hide. Not so they can fix us, but so we’re not alone. The hunger for love and acceptance is universal. Of course, Rhett is literally broken, but the concept is the same.
To my family and friends, thank you for loving the broken, crazy, and insecure parts of me. Thank you for letting me share the parts I try to hide with you.
To my book family—Nina Grinstead, Nikki Rushbrook, Michelle Rodriguez, Michele Catalano—thank you for always having my back in this crazy industry. Your belief in me keeps me going when I doubt I can write another word, let alone a good one.
To my bloggers, thank you so much for pimping my books, yelling from the rooftops about my stories, daily posts, inviting me to takeovers. I know you could be doing so many other things, but you choose to help little old me. I’m so blessed and grateful. There aren’t enough thank you’s.
To my readers, thank you for reading. Thank you for coming to see me at signings when I’ve convinced myself no one will. Thank you for your messages—you always seem to know when I need them. Thank you for taking my words into your hearts.
Happily Ever After,
Prescott Lane
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PRESCOTT LANE is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College in 1997 with a degree in sociology. She went on to Tulane University to receive her MSW in 1998, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She currently lives in New Orleans with her husband, two children, and two dogs.
Contact her at any of the following:
www.authorprescottlane.com
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scottlane1
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Also by Prescott Lane
Layers of Her
The Reason For Me
Stripped Raw
First Position
Wrapped in Lace
Quiet Angel
Perfectly Broken
Toying with Her
The Sex Bucket List
To the Fall
All My Life
A Gentleman for Christmas
Just Love (Coming Soon)
Just Love Page 24