by Evans, Katy
She puts her hand on my heartbeat. As if it grounds her. Then she leans up for a kiss. I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and feast on her temptress mouth.
I want to take it slow. I want to make love to her. But I want to fuck her at the same time.
Instead, my Penny has other plans. She pushes me to my back. I let her and watch her straddle me. Cold sober now as she mounts me. Moves, finding the perfect spot.
I skim my hand up her sides. “First for you too?”
She smiles sheepishly. “I seem to like trying all kinds of new things with you.”
She rocks her hips, and I bite back a groan. “That’s okay. I like it. I love you. You’re doing great.”
Hell, more than great. If she keeps doing that teasing circular move with her hips, I’m not going to last.
She leans over, pressing her lips to mine, her sweet breath misting across my face. “Luke, you’re so hot. You make me so hot.”
I can barely talk, I’m so turned on. “You’re gorgeous, Mrs. Cross. You can’t possibly be hotter than I am right now watching you.”
I cup her breasts and tease her nipples with my thumbs as I pepper her neck and jaw with kisses, hardly believing she’s here as she lowers herself down on me and I sink into her, deeper and harder, like she likes it. Like I need it.
We start going at it harder, increasing our tempo.
Every cry she gives out, I suck into my body. Every sound I relish. Every lick of that sweet little tongue as she bends down and gives some love to my jaw, my neck, my shoulders.
“Fuck, Penny, tell me you missed it, you missed me.”
“I missed you. I love you.” She sits up and looks down at me, all sweaty and gorgeous.
I groan and cup her gorgeous tits, watching her ride me. Salivating as she rides me like a goddamn rodeo star. She’s like a fucking beautiful dream, hovering over me. “I love you,” I hear myself rasp. I can’t say it enough. It’s like I need to brand it into her. Any way I can. I skim my hands up and down her sides. Never wanting to come down from this.
“Me . . . too . . .”
She’s breathless now, ready to go off for me. Tossing her head back, moving her hips faster. I help her with my hands on her waist, lifting and lowering her, my muscles straining as I try to wait for her to come first.
When she comes, I watch her. Awed. Awed by how gorgeous she is. Awed that I can feel this close to another human being. That I can feel this fucking whole even when I know myself to be a man who’s been in pieces. I watch her for merely two seconds, and then I come with her.
When we sleep, we sleep pressed together.
In the middle of the night, I wake with a hard-on, courtesy of her sweet rear pressing up against my shaft. I smile when I smell her hair beneath my nose. Tilting my head to the side, I slide my hand down her arm and lift her hand to me, feeling with the pad of my thumb in the dark for her fingers. And yeah. Didn’t dream her. Didn’t conjure her up out of desperation. Hell, I wouldn’t ever have come up with such a perfect Mrs. Cross even if I’d been asked to write down a wish list.
But it’s true. Penny’s wearing the ring that will tell the entire world that she is mine.
Nell
It’s Christmas morning, and it really feels like it when I wake up to Luke Cross’s kisses. I turn my head toward the warmth of his body and find his neck, burying my head in it as I wrap my hands around him and hold tight. I slept like a baby. Better than I have in a long time.
“Mornin’, killer,” he whispers softly.
“Morning.” I’m smiling. I can’t help it.
Even though the annulment was nearly instant—I suppose the show had that pre-prepared—we’re getting married again. For real. My voice is groggy with sleep as I lift my hand and set it on the stubble of Luke’s jaw. I’m just making sure that I am not imagining this or him, that I’m really here in his arms.
“Hi,” I say when I touch his warm flesh.
“Hi.” He chuckles.
“I didn’t imagine last night. Or . . .” I lift my hand and gasp delightedly, staring at my engagement ring. “Or this!” I squee, throwing my arms around him again.
He chuckles and draws me to him, propping his back up against the pillow as he drags me to his lap. I’m peppering him with kisses the whole time he maneuvers. “Yes! A thousand times yes,” I say.
“One’s enough. One for a lifetime.” He sounds sleepy too. Sleepy and sexy as he pops a slow, sweet kiss on my lips.
“It’s a quote. You know. Pride and Prejudice.”
His eyes start dancing mischievously. “Tell me one in French.”
I laugh. “Je te’aime.”
“Je te’aime aussi.”
“Oh! You are learning French!”
I can’t take my hands off him or stop dropping kisses on him. We didn’t just win the game. We won the fucking soulmate jackpot. We found the kind of soulmate that everyone most wants.
“One day,” I say when I finally ease out of bed and head over to investigate his small, messy kitchen, “I want you to show me how to pour a glass. Make a killer drink. Like a real bartender.” I slide behind the kitchen counter and rummage through the fridge. Everything in there looks really old. I scrunch my nose as I try to find something edible. “Can I make you something?”
I lift my gaze across the room to the bed. He is slowly shaking his head. And then he wags his finger at me. Oh gosh. He is so hot. In bed, all rumpled from having sex with me. I can’t believe I almost threw him away, threw us away out of fear and insecurity. I’m never going to be apart from him again. If the world doesn’t get it, then okay. But I get it and I get him, and he gets me. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Massachusetts anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do about anything anymore except that I’m marrying him and I hope we don’t wait too long.
Leaving the food for now, I head back to bed. Obeying his sexy summons. My fiancé/ex-husband/future husband is more edible anyway. He draws the covers back and pats his naked lap. He’s so hard for me already that my mouth waters a little bit as I climb up there and twine my arms around his neck once more.
We kiss for a bit. Actually, for a lot. With no rush, easily. Without any cameras on us. Without any checkpoint waiting. Just Luke and me. His hot tongue and warm, caressing hands. And breathless little me. Eating all of it right up.
“So, when are you thinking,” I prod softly, easing back to catch my breath. Wiggling the ring in front of his eyes.
“Now. Tomorrow. Soon.” He doesn’t hesitate when he answers, but then he frowns. “But not so soon that it feels fake like last time. I want you to have the wedding you always wanted.”
“I will have what I want—you.” I skim my gaze around his place, which, although messy, is quite charming. Even his bar downstairs is somehow so . . . him. And I can’t help remembering his financial situation. Soon to be ours. “I also don’t want us to throw away any money . . .” I keep visually skimming the place methodically, noticing there are absolutely no bookshelves or books at all except for a single book about learning French on his nightstand. My toes curl as I spot it. “This place isn’t as bad as you said. It’s cute. Will we live here?”
“For a while, yes. Until I can get shit sorted and we can get a bigger place for when the kids come. Hey.” Seeing me distracted, he turns me by the chin to face him and look into his beautiful eyes. “Don’t worry—I’ll tidy up.”
“I’m not worried.” I exhale, press my head down to his chest, and hug myself to him again. “I can’t wait.”
Still. I think of all the money we lost—he lost—because of me, and I want to apologize again. “Luke, if it weren’t for me, you’d be—”
He sets a finger on my lips, smiling as if he knows what I’m thinking. “I ain’t sorry, Penny. Neither should you be. Okay?” He sounds stern until I nod. Then, more gently, he nods. “We’ll figure something out. Together. Teamwork. Right? And there ain’t a better team I know than us. Hell, we got first place.�
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I nod. “Yes. We did.”
His smile is about a million watts in force. “Then we’ll figure something out. Together. But for now”—he holds me against him and tips my chin up a little more—“tell me about this dream wedding of yours.”
For the next hour, we talk about my dream wedding and his. He says that his dream wedding is anywhere and anytime, as long as it’s with me. He’s so adorable, I could eat him up by spoonfuls. Once we’re finally decided on what we’re going to do, he asks me something I didn’t expect but am thrilled to do.
He wants me to meet his grandmother.
He’s so excited when he sees my anticipation for meeting her that we head over to the nursing home before noon.
“Gran,” Luke says as we arrive.
I spot a beautiful old woman in a wheelchair, with a book on her lap and her gaze out the window, her profile pensive as Luke’s voice registers and the nurse wheels her around to see him.
Luke motions to me at his side, his face breaking into a smile. “This is her, Gran.”
His grandmother cracks the widest smile I’ve ever seen. “Come here, Nell,” she says, as if we’ve met before and have known each other forever. Which happens when you take part in a reality show, I guess.
She crooks her finger at me, and I walk over. “It’s so nice to meet you, Gran,” I say, kneeling before her and taking her hand as she ducks her head.
“This boy loves you very, very much. And I know you love him too. So when my time comes, I’ll be at peace to leave my Luke, knowing he won’t be alone. Far from it.” She winks at me and my throat closes, but I nod and straighten.
“What are you two whispering about?” Luke shoots us a scowl as he shuffles through Gran’s things. “So what do you want to do? How about a board game?”
We end up staying two more hours, until the nurse asks us to leave so Gran can rest. I exhale happily as we head out of the home, Luke’s arm around my shoulder, my cheek on his chest while I hold him by that strong, lean waist of his.
“She’s wonderful, Luke. I love her. Thank you for bringing me.”
He remains silent, setting a kiss on the top of my head. He doesn’t need to tell me how grateful he is that I came. I caught him watching Gran and me as we talked and played Life. I filled my car with babies, and Gran got to the end before we did, and we all laughed.
He had a great time tonight too.
And it only makes me wonder if I can somehow bridge the gap that I, myself, have with my own family.
“Would you be okay if you met my parents?” I ask hesitantly, tipping my face back. “I mean, if you want to. I know they’re not winning any awards this year, but recently they reached out and . . .”
“I’d love to meet your parents, Penny.” He cuts me off with this sexy little smirk, and I exhale, taking his hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “I know they might find it difficult to attend the wedding, what with the crazy plans we have.” I grin. “But I’d love for them to meet you beforehand.”
EPILOGUE
REALITY STARS
Nell
Everyone in the country is clamoring for the release of the tell-all book from Million Dollar Marriage winners Penelope Carpenter and Luke Cross. We’re all hoping to get some juicy insight into what was reality and what was envisioned by the producers, how they fell in love, and how he finally proposed—for real! Look for it on sale next week!
—TV Buzz Daily
Paris.
We are in the most romantic city in the world, posing for pictures with the Eiffel Tower glittering in the night sky behind us.
I’m wearing white. Luke is wearing a tux.
We are surrounded by those who truly care about us. Courtney—my maid of honor—and Joe. Jimmy—Luke’s best man—and Lizzy. It’s a small destination wedding on the terrace of the Shangri-La, overlooking the Eiffel Tower.
No, my parents definitely weren’t up to flying all the way here. But when we visited them at my childhood home, I was surprised to feel their warmth toward me when greeting me, and even their warmth (and curiosity, yes) toward Luke.
We had pot roast for dinner. We told them about our plans. They congratulated us and wished us well, asked a lot about the show with genuine interest and almost in a fanlike way, and before we left, they made me promise I’d come back after the honeymoon for another visit.
It was . . . good.
I feel hopeful about that—and about finally having the courage to live my life, rather than plan it from a safe distance. I’ve found a more stable tutoring job, and I also plan to be helping Luke at the bar. It’s all so . . . exciting.
We’re doing it right this time. The wedding, everything. We’re doing it our own way and not letting anyone tell us anything different.
Today is exactly what I envisioned in my dreams. Romantic locale, beautiful dress, giant cake, real diamond and gold rings, and the most dashing man in the world, who also happens to be in love with me.
When the photographer finishes taking the pictures, all six of us go onto the terrace so that Luke and I can exchange our vows. This time, there is no lime Jell-O. No harsh lighting or video cameras or cheering crowds or cheese. It’s just us and our best friends, a full moon, and so much love. I’m wearing contacts for the first time ever, and I keep dabbing at my eyes with the handkerchief Luke’s sweet grandmother gave me as my “something old.”
The justice speaks French, so I told Luke not to worry, that he could simply say the vows in English. He insisted that I say them to him in French. (I wonder why?) When he takes my hand, I peer into his beautiful green eyes and say:
Moi, Penelope, je te prend, Luke,
pour être mon mari,
pour avoir et tenir de ce jour vers l’avant,
pour meilleur ou pour le pire,
pour la prospérité et la pauvreté,
dans la maladie et dans la santé,
pour aimer et chérir;
jusqu’à la mort nous sépare.
Luke takes my hand, his eyes shining. “I’ve prepared my own vows for you.”
I blink. We’ve gone over the plans a thousand times to allow for no surprises, but this catches me completely unaware. “You did?”
I watch, expecting him to pull a piece of paper from his tuxedo pocket, but he doesn’t. It turns out, he has them all memorized.
And then he tells me that he is so in love with me and he will live his entire life to do nothing but make me happy. He tells me that I am his greatest adventure. That he’s never wanted anything as much as he wants me to be his wife. He tells me that I’ve gotten so under his skin that I’m a part of him. And that he can’t wait to spend forever with me.
And he tells me all that . . . in perfect French.
If there’s anything sexier than the French language, it’s French coming from my sexy husband’s wicked mouth while he gazes at me with intense, wet eyes.
The handkerchief is really coming in useful right about now, because I start to sob. I gather myself together, fanning my face, and manage to get through the rest of the ceremony.
When we’re pronounced husband and wife, he doesn’t wait to be told to kiss me. Pushing my veil behind my shoulders, he gazes at me like it’s Christmas morning and I’m the best present he’s ever gotten. He frames my face in his hands for a sweet, ceremonial peck, which is nice and all, but it’s definitely not what I had in mind.
“You can do better than that,” I challenge. After all, we’re pros at the wedding thing right now, and we need to make up for our lack of a kiss during our first wedding. “We had thirteen million strangers watch our first kiss, so I don’t think we need to be shy for this one.”
“Yeah, I can. But I was trying to be respectful.”
“Fuck respect,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around him. “Give me the heat, husband.”
And he does. Oh god, he does. He fucks my mouth long and hard, cupping and squeezing my ass until I’m completely breathless and weak in the knees. I sque
ak out, “All I can say is, Mon dieu. How did you do that?”
He smiles. “Vous n’avez encore rien vu.”
You ain’t seen nothing yet.
I know. And I can’t wait. I clutch my heart, which can’t take much more of this. If it’s possible to die of happiness, I’m in trouble. “Stop. You’re killing me.”
We hug our friends when it’s over. When we are finally married—forever, this time—Luke offers me his arm, and we go to the edge of the terrace, where a table is set for a lavish meal. We sit down, and Jimmy raises his champagne glass for a toast. “To Penny and Luke. You may not have gotten the million dollars out of that goddamn show, but I think you guys got somethin’ a hell of a lot better.”
We toast and sip champagne, and Courtney and Lizzy and I are giggling like schoolgirls from the excitement of the night. There’s a buzz of romance in the air, and I can’t stop looking across the table at my incredible husband.
And then there’s dancing. A lot of dancing, though I’m not much better at that than I am at swimming. But we’ve danced before under the eye of the cameras, so this is nothing. Luke guides me onto the floor and engulfs me in his arms and says, “Hi, wife.”
I’m grinning like a fool. “Hi, husband.”
He whirls me around, his hands drifting down to my ass. “I seem to remember a dance floor in Boston where you got pretty crazy.”
“That was someone else,” I say, batting my eyelashes innocently. “I don’t do such things.”
“Damn. Are you telling me I married the wrong girl? Because I was really looking forward to getting her shitfaced. Makes her easy.”
I laugh. “So I hear. But shitfaced or not, I think the girl you married will be pretty easy for you tonight.”
He pumps a fist. “Yessss,” he hisses. “Come on, let’s go get you a drink. Just in case.”
He goes behind the bar, surveys the ingredients, and starts to sugar the rims of cocktail glasses. Then he fills a shaker with cognac and lemon juice.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“One of the first drinks my granddad showed me how to make was a sidecar. Born in Paris.”