by Leslie North
At first, Carolina stared at him. A million thoughts swirled in her head, but not a single one was of doubt.
Carlita gurgled and clapped. “Yes!” she yelled.
Startled, Carolina stared at her toddler. Of all the times to learn a new word! Turning her attention back to Nathan, Carolina smiled. “What she said.”
Her kids burst into applause as Nathan stood and lifted her in the air. With her arms wrapped around her fiancé, she glanced over at Maria.
Her mother was smiling, and Carolina could swear that she was wiping a tear away.
“I asked for permission,” Nathan whispered in her ear. “I would never do this unless I knew that your whole family was behind us.”
He pulled away and slipped the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit.
Just like him.
EPILOGUE
Since this was Carolina’s fourth marriage, she was reluctant to make a big deal about it and Nathan readily agreed. So, together, they had decided on a small wedding with only his family, her family, and a few close friends.
Nathan stood at the altar with Gabe and Stephen. Between them, looking very serious, was Julio. They were all dressed in the same matching tuxedoes with different colored bowties.
Kneeling down in front of Julio, Nathan reached up and straightened his purple bowtie. “You’re looking sharp, Julio.”
“I know,” he said with a smile. “Best men are supposed to look sharp.”
Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle. Gabe and Stephen had graciously stepped aside so Nathan could make Julio his best man. The kid had been over the moon. Carolina had said that he could talk about nothing else since he had asked him.
It hadn’t been about scoring brownie points. Nathan had meant what he said about having the whole family’s support. Before proposing, he’d sat both Julio and Tamara down to discuss his desire to marry their mom and ask for their permission. He wasn’t only asking Carolina to join his family. Those kids were just as important to him.
He had been concerned that they would think he wanted to take Carlo’s place. Even though Carlo was husband number three, he was also the most important father figure to both of them and Nathan wanted to reassure them that he wouldn’t stand in his way.
For some reason, his desire to do right by them had upset both Tamara and Julio and it took considerable coaxing for Nathan to get them to calm down enough to tell him what was wrong. He’d been over the moon, when they told him how excited they were that he was going to be their dad too and that had launched a discussion on what to call him.
They’d settled on Nathan for the time being and he had promised them that they would discuss it again after everyone had a “breaking in” period and the newness of him in their lives seemed more natural.
Nathan couldn’t hold back what he was feeling when they both whole-heartedly gave him their blessing before launching into his arms for a group hug. Everything seemed to be working out for the best and he couldn’t be happier.
Straightening, Nathan began to pace at the altar. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was making the right decision, but he had a bundle of energy inside him. “Calm down,” Stephen whispered. “You’re going to wear the carpet down.”
“The priest keeps checking his watch,” Nathan muttered. “What time is it?”
“She’ll be here,” Gabe checked the time and shrugged. “It seems that Carolina can’t be on time even to her own wedding,” he teased.
“Late?” Nathan snapped his head around. “I bet I know what the hold up is.” With a smile, he left his brothers standing at the altar and jogged down the aisle smiling at the concerned looks he received from the guests shifting in the pews. Opening the church doors into the foyer, he found his sisters-in-law staring at Carolina.
She was dressed in a simple ivory satin dress. The sheen cupped her cleavage and fell softly over the curves of her body. She was stunning.
And she was being yelled at by her mother.
“How can you be late to your own wedding?” Maria hissed. “This is ridiculous. You can’t be on time for anything! I swear, you’re going to be late for your own funeral.”
“I wouldn’t be so late if you’d quit yelling at me,” Carolina snapped back as she stared into the mirror and smoothed a hand over her hair.
Nathan leaned against the door and shook his head. “I don’t think she can be late if she’s the main event,” he said softly.
The girls gasped and turned around. “What are you doing here?” Maria snapped. “It is bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding. Don’t you know anything?”
“It never helped her out before,” Angie said with a smirk.
Carolina glared at her. “I wanted everything to be perfect,” she fussed. “It’s my last wedding.”
“Are you sure about that?” Bonita teased.
“Don’t even!” Maria waved her finger threateningly. She whirled around in her wheelchair and glared at Carolina. “This is the last time that I do this. It better stick.”
His bride met his gaze, and she smiled softly. “I don’t care if we’re minutes late or hours late,” Nathan murmured. “So long as she’s mine.”
The girls sighed, and even Maria smiled.
“You know what, Momma?” Carolina said with a wink, never taking her eyes off Nathan. “I have a feeling he’s the one. Now go, so I can meet you at the altar.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Nathan winked back at her before slipping back through the door. Jogging back to the altar, he took his place, nodding to the priest.
Julio tapped him on the hip. “Is everything okay?” he whispered loudly as those in the front rows looked on.
Whispering just as loudly back, “Everything is perfect.”
At that moment, both doors in the back of the church opened and the priest signaled for the music to begin. As everyone stood up to turn and face the back of the church, Nathan could see the bride’s maids lining up with Tamara at the front. As they slowly made their way up the aisle to the alter, Nathan smiled at all the happy comments the guests were making as his future step-daughter and sisters-in-law proceeded toward him.
When they reached the front, Tamara crooked her finger at him. Curious, he bent down closer to her and she went up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek followed by a whispered, “Good luck.”
Before he could respond, the priest cleared his throat and Tamara quickly took her place next to her smiling aunts.
Looking up, Nathan caught his breath as Carolina walked slowly up the aisle next to her mother. Maria’s normally dour face had been replaced with smiles as she rolled next to her daughter.
Shifting his gaze back to Carolina, he felt the butterflies in his stomach finally calm down. Expecting to be more nervous than he was giving a toast at Stephen and Angie’s reception, he was surprised at how calm he felt.
Like the building blocks of the designs he creates, all the pieces of his life were finally fitting into place. It had taken him this long to realize that he needed Carolina and her family to be complete and now that it was happening, he was more than ready.
When Maria handed Carolina over to him, he smiled his thanks before taking Carolina’s hand. Pulling her to him, he gave her a surprise kiss as the priest chuckled.
“Normally, the groom waits until after I pronounce you husband and wife,” he chided lightly, as the wedding party laughed lightly.
Smiling at Carolina, he squeezed her hand, knowing that she could see the tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t help myself, Father. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me and I intend to remind her how much I love and appreciate her for the rest of my life.”
Clearing his throat again, the priest stepped forward. “Well, let’s get started, then.”
Standing next to Carolina, they held hands as the priest spoke.
“Dearly beloved. We gather here today as family and friends to unite Nathan Maxfield and Carolina Valdez in holy matrimony. Their decision to
marry has not been entered into lightly and today they publicly declare their love and commitment to one another.”
As the priest spoke, Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off Carolina as she stared back at him in turn. It was as though the entire church blurred into nothing more than white noise, as they stared into each other’s eyes.
Nathan knew he should pay more attention to what was going on but the world paled in comparison to the beautiful woman who had consented to be his wife. He snapped out of the daze he had fallen into when the priest announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Before Nathan could respond, Carolina turned to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Jerking him against her, she kissed him. Laughing into her mouth, he wrapped his arms around her and bent her back, deepening the kiss. He vaguely heard applause and cheering, as he thoroughly kissed his wife.
THE END
OF
THE BILLIONAIRE’S STUBBORN LOVER
BOOK THREE OF THE MAXFIELD BROTHERS SERIES.
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Book One in the Solomon Brothers Series
Blurb
Star quarterback Marcus Kingston lives and breathes football. He’s trusted his abilities and instincts to get him this far, but an injury last season nearly ended his career. When his coaches want him to wear biofeedback technology to analyze his game, Marcus thinks the idea is ridiculous. Plus, the mousy scientist behind the project knows nothing about sports, and she quickly gets under his skin. But with another QB waiting on the sidelines, Marcus can either agree to participate, or be benched—permanently.
Scientist Clare Wynifred values intellect above most things. With her brain constantly working, she has little interest in her appearance and zero interest in sports. She never imagined her wearable tech being used to improve someone’s game, but its success with the team could get her a military contract. Clare may be too late to save her brother, but her technology could save the lives of countless soldiers. She just has to make it work with the stubborn quarterback, and she’ll be one step closer to her goal.
Marcus and Clare butt heads at first, but their mutual attraction quickly grows. And yet, with everything to lose, it’s easy to ignore that together they might be able to go the distance.
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Solomon Brothers Series: Book One coming
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Excerpt
Marcus Kingston, so poised on the field, so calm during media interviews, left the conference room and promptly lost his shit. In the darkened hallway, Claire felt like an intruder in the private depths of someone’s psyche. She had followed him to bridge the gap, to explain that they were on the same side of this technology, that the software would do amazing things if he would allow it, that together they could make it perfect, but she stalled in this isolated space, unable to pull her eyes away from the mesmerizing display of testosterone and raw physical release.
Claire froze, unsure of her next move.
He paced the hallway, intermittently bracing and pushing against the walls like an old-school pong game. His chest rose and fell in exaggerated exhales, the only noise to fill the space until Claire’s ringtone bleated from her pocket.
Crap.
Marcus snapped his attention in her direction. His expression fell into shadow, but she’d watched him enough on the two-story-tall media screen after a bad play to know that his mouth pinched in sharp angles and his eyes frosted over when plays backfired.
She pressed the mute button on her cell, plunging them once again into quiet.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Am I going to get a read out on that tomorrow? Blood pressure spike?”
“Had you been wired, you might have broken the algorithm.”
Her joke stalled faster than her ability to relate to someone who didn’t reside in the cerebral. Square one. Start at square one.
“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Claire.”
“Wynifred. Nothing wrong with my hearing.”
Nothing wrong with much else, either. Stripped of pads, his muscles were curved, stacked, taut. She didn’t appreciate much about the game—didn’t understand the intelligence coma American audiences entered each Sunday, gathered around their televisions, investing their emotions in an allegiance that mattered little in the bigger picture of life. But no one could deny that an elite athlete in second-skin pants spoke to the baser pleasures of the hypothalamus.
Marcus Kingston was no exception—mixed race, hair shaved close, eyes a watery blue, everything white on him brilliant against the warm tone of his skin. Not that she would be on the receiving end of that smile. Ever, she guessed.
“You should get some fluids. Dehydration can have a profound impact on cognition and anxiety levels.”
He shook his head and gave a caustic laugh.
“What else you know about me?”
She didn’t have her results in front of her, but she had earned a doctorate in record time thanks to an eidetic memory. Everything she needed was always in her brain.
“I know you audibled eleven times, eight of which resulted in a loss of five yards or more. I know the optimum angle of your throwing arm averages forty-two degrees based on distance and accuracy results. Your default scan of the field is close right, far left, then far right, leaving a blind spot close left. And you grind you back molars when you’re assessing the opposing team’s line up on defense.”
“Mouth guard?”
“Jumbotron.”
Marcus nodded, as if allowing the impressive array of statistics to sink in. He scooped up his pads and cleats and helmet.
“And my hometown? The neighborhood where I grew up?”
The question threw her. Not once had she come across that information.
“I don’t know.”
“How about the age when I got my first beating? Or how much government assistance my dad believed he missed out on from my mother before he turned me out on the streets? Or the age I finally learned to read?”
Claire’s chest burned in a slow ache. Suddenly her stats didn’t seem so impressive.
“See, not everything I leave out on that field can be measured in heart rates or blood pressure or the goddamned oxygen level in my blood. You cannot quantify drive. You cannot know that I change plays at the line of scrimmage so that Rungnir, who has blindness in his left peripheral vision, doesn’t get creamed, or so that Garrick might be considered for the Pro Bowl this year because his father has never once said he was proud of him. Nothing you do will ever inform the choices I make out on that field.”
“Maybe not. But you’re standing in my way just as much as I’m standing in yours. We work toward the same goal, we both get what we want.”
“And what is it you want, Miss Wynifred? A fat bank account? A title at some Ivy League school? People to notice you for something other than your ugly green skirt?”
Had she been wired, body temperature tracked at her forehead would have spiked, her palms would have registered perspiration, and sensors might have picked up increased activity in her occipital lobe, where she imagined herself giving the walking ego of the Portland Rogues a swift kick between the goal posts.
Also, her skirt was red.
“You were right about one thing. I know zip—less than zip—about this game. But
you, King? You know even less about people.” Claire reversed course down the long hallway, mindful that he watched every nuance of her retreat. “Training facility, tomorrow. Eight a.m. sharp.”
“Tomorrow’s my day off.”
“Take Monday off, and you can count on a day off Sunday, too.”
Five steps. Six. Seven. Damn, she didn’t remember the hallway being this long.
“Nice to meet you, ClaireBear.”
Without breaking stride, Claire fired back, “Call me that again and all the other insignificant data I lifted from the sensors in your pants become common knowledge.”
Claire rounded the corner to the elevators, broke into a smile, and hi-fived the troll-like Rogue mascot painted on the wall.
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Table of Contents
The Billionaire’s Stubborn Lover
Blurb
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
The End
Thank You!
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