“But you didn’t,” he says. “Because you’re tenacious, ferocious, and you’ve got killer instincts.”
“And I had a little help in the electronic snooping department.”
Jack lifts a brow. “More friends in high places?”
“Something like that. I just hope everything we’ve got is enough.”
“I’m sure the lawyers and the feds will take it from here.” Jack blows out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wow. I still feel like a fucking idiot.”
“You’re not.” I lean in to kiss his cheek. “You’re drop-dead sexy. And smart. And brave. And a knockout as a man or a woman, which is pretty impressive.”
His lips curve. “Flattery is appreciated, but I’m still mad as hell.”
I nod, watching him carefully. “But you’re not mad at me, right? That I kept digging after you wanted me to stop?”
“No, I’m not. Like I said, you’ve got killer instincts, El. And from now on I’m going to do my best to trust them.”
I link my wrists behind his neck with a grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His smile goes naughty around the edges. “How about we forget the drink and head up to your place? I want to see if you’re as good at getting bras off as I am.”
I giggle. “I’ve had over a decade of practice. I’m an expert.”
“Ah, but not at getting them off of other people.” He takes my hand, drawing me across the room. “And not while I’m doing my best to get you out of your bra first.”
“Are we betting again? High-stakes orgasms?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Sounds like a win-win,” I murmur.
“It’s all winning, baby,” he promises as we swing outside into the warm summer afternoon, “from here on out.”
Later—as I’m laughing so hard tears stream down my face as I help Jack wrestle out of a pair of control-top pantyhose, which turn out to be far more challenging than the bra—I make a mental note to start journaling again, the way I did when I was a kid.
I don’t want to forget a moment of my life with this magical man. I want to wrap every memory up with a bow and tuck it away for safekeeping.
* * *
But as the months pass, Jack and I growing closer than I’ve ever been to another person, I find I’m too busy living—and loving—to write everything down. I’m also too busy studying for my Series 7 and 63 exams. Turns out, I actually enjoy working in finance, especially for a company that truly isn’t your mother’s Wall Street—not since Jack and Ian began charting a new course. Every day brings a new, exciting challenge, stretching my mind in creative directions that I never could’ve predicted. Hannah, Lulu, and the rest of my karaoke ladies welcome me back with open arms, and even Rictor and I bury the hatchet. He’s the first to congratulate me when I kick his ass in fantasy baseball, and even asks my advice on emerging tech before expanding his portfolio to include stocks in a smart-home startup company.
I love my new job, but I haven’t given up writing.
I’m working on a memoir I sold to a major publishing house not long after my article went viral, and my new agent is pitching a how-to guide for women in the workplace. I’m also writing a romance novel. Turns out I’ve got a lot to say about love. About how amazing and inspiring and life-changing it is.
And how my boyfriend’s penis is the best penis on the entire planet.
“You can’t put that in your novel,” Jack says, kissing my cheek on his way into the kitchen to grab Sunday morning coffee.
“About your penis?” I cock my head, studying the line. “Why? It’s factual.”
“But this is for your novel, not the memoir, correct?”
“Truth lends verisimilitude to fiction.” I grin at him as I wiggle my fingers toward the coffeepot. “Bring me more coffee, please?”
“Only if you take out the part about my dick.”
My lips turn down in an exaggerated frown. “Don’t be selfish.”
“It’s my dick,” he says, plucking the pot from the warmer with a wicked grin. “And I don’t think I’ve been the least bit selfish with it.”
I sigh, skin heating as I remember how not-selfish he was with every inch of his sexy-as-hell body last night.
“I can arrange to be equally unselfish this morning.” He gives the liquid in the pot a swirl. “Assuming you play your cards right.”
“In that case, your dick shall remain our closely guarded secret.” I highlight the last paragraph and hit delete. “The offensive sentence is gone. Meet you in bed in ten seconds?”
“Five, baby.” He sets the pot down and makes a break for his bedroom, slapping me on the bottom on the way by. “Get that fine ass in gear.”
I do, and his generosity is as sexy and blissful as ever.
Afterward, I bring us both fresh coffee in bed and we snuggle under the covers to make plans for Thanksgiving at my dad’s place and Christmas in the Rockies and all the adventures we can’t wait to have together—me and this man who is my partner, my true love, my best friend, my Nuclear Fab-Gasm giver, and everything in between.
Epilogue
Jack
Four months later…
“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to leave you behind on the last run. I guess I just didn’t realize I was built for speed.”
Standing inside Breckenridge Ski and Board Rental, Ellie grins as she steps back into her regular snow boots, victory written all over her pink-cheeked face.
She’s wearing a pair of blissfully tight white ski pants and a fitted jacket that hugs every curve, and when she bends over to tie her boots, I let my eyes drift to the twin snow globes of her perfect ass.
“Built for speed and for that outfit,” I say. “Frankly, I’m glad I fell behind. I had an amazing time watching your ass swish down the slope. And feel free to stay in that position for as long as possible. Or we can head back out…”
Laughing, she stands up and turns around, admonishing me with a faux-warning glare. “Enough winter sports for one day, Holt. Take me back to the cabin and thaw me out, or you’ll be stuck with a popsicle for Christmas.”
“But that works out perfectly. I was just telling Santa all I really want for Christmas is to lick your—”
“Jack Edward, there are children around!”
“You know you love me,” I whisper. “Dirty jokes and all.” I press a family-friendly kiss to her lips, then we hop on the shuttle back to our home away from home—a charming A-frame cabin nestled in the woods outside town, our very own winter wonderland.
Since she was the conquering hero of the slopes today, I leave her to warm up in front of the fireplace with a glass of Malbec while I cook Christmas Eve dinner—and by “cook,” I mean warm up the roast turkey and fixings we picked up at Whole Foods on the drive from the airport.
After we’ve stuffed ourselves silly, I make hot chocolate with Bailey’s and we settle in on the couch to stare at the crackling flames, the perfect wind-down to another perfect day with Ellie.
Ellie…
I look at her now, curled up in yoga pants and a blue fleece at the end of the couch, her lips pursed as she blows on her hot chocolate, the fire popping, and I’m nearly overcome with gratitude. Everything I’ve endured in my life—the successes and failures, the hardships as well as the triumphs—it was all worth it. Because it all led me right here. To the woman I love. The woman I’m meant to honor and cherish and adore for the rest of my life.
I’ve never been more certain of that than right now.
“Be right back, baby.” Swallowing the knot of emotion in my throat, I slide off the couch and duck out before she catches me getting misty-eyed. In the kitchen, I dig into the back of the pantry, unearthing the gift from where I so carefully hid it.
“Merry Christmas, El.” Back in the living room, I present it with a flourish, loving the way she laughs in response.
“A bag of Cheetos?” She shakes her head with a grin. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t
have. You’re too good to me.”
“Never. I’m just good enough. And it reminds me of the last Christmas we spent together, hiding out in your dad’s basement.”
Her gaze softens. “Me, too. But please tell me you didn’t bring a joint this time.”
“No, but now that you mention it…” I wriggle my eyebrows. “It’s legal here. I could make a midnight run.”
“No thanks, stoner boy. I’m content with Cheetos. And the good news is, I’m no longer wearing white snow pants.” Ellie sits up straight on the couch, reaching for the bag and popping it open in with a well-practiced yank. “I’m going in.”
She peeks into the bag, her smile melting into a confused frown.
“Is there a problem with your gift, Eleanor?” I ask.
“They’re all white. No, they’re…” She reaches inside and pulls out a handful of Styrofoam packing peanuts. Casting a narrow glance my way, she asks, “What are you up to, Jack Holt?”
“Looks like Santa screwed up my order. It’s like I always say, El. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” I blow out a mock sigh of frustration then crouch on my knee in front of her, my hands sliding up her thighs. “Did he leave a note or anything?”
“Let me check.” Grinning like—well, the proverbial kid on Christmas, Ellie digs deeper into the bag, retrieving a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper and tied with a silky white ribbon.
Her eyes sparkle in the firelight, wonder lighting up her pretty face. God, she’s beautiful. Inside and out. Some days I still can’t even believe it’s real—that she picked me. That she’s here, right now, smiling at me like I’m all the man she’ll ever need.
There was a time in my life—not that long ago—when that thought would’ve sent me running for the hills, too scared of losing something so precious to let myself believe I could keep it.
But those days are over. Every moment with Ellie is a gift—one that takes up so much room in my heart there’s no longer a place for fear.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says softly, leaning in to wrap her slim fingers around the back of my neck. She presses her lips to mine before pulling away, her eyes glazing with emotion. “This whole trip… everything has been so perfect… I don’t know how to thank you. I’m—”
“Ellie, please open the box.”
“Okay, okay,” she says with a sniff and a laugh as she sits back and daintily removes the bow, taking her sweet time peeling off the tape, unfolding every corner, then finally sliding out the black velvet box.
Ellie gasps, pressing a hand to her chest.
“You’re already my Capital P,” I say, taking the box from her hand and opening it. “Now I want you to be my Capital F.”
“Fiancée,” she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes as I remove the ring from the velvet insert.
“No, my Forever.” I slide it over her finger and look into her beautiful blue eyes, my entire body humming with excitement and love and a rush of emotion I can’t even name, but that makes my heart soar. “Eleanor Victoria Seyfried, will you marry me?”
Ellie lets out a squeak, but she doesn’t hesitate, sliding off the couch and tackling me in a fierce hug. “Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Jack Edward Holt. I will be your Capital P, Capital F, Capital everything.”
Fighting my own tears, I pull her into a deep, Bailey’s-and-cocoa kiss, committing everything about this moment to memory. The sweet taste of her mouth, the hot brush of her fingers as she tugs my shirt over my head, the love in her eyes as I stroke her wet heat.
We don’t even make it to the bedroom.
As the snow covers Breckenridge, Colorado, in a heavy white blanket, and our fire pops and crackles behind us, I make love to my fiancée, my forever, the fierce and amazing woman who marched into my office one day with a fake mustache and a hunch, and walked out with my heart.
Later, after we’ve celebrated more times than we can count, when the fire has burned down to embers and Christmas morning dawns with a pale pink sunrise over the treetops, Ellie snuggles against my chest, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “But you still have the Cheetos from the bag somewhere in this cabin, right?”
Truly, I couldn’t love her more.
* * *
Keep reading to meet Jack’s
hot-as-hell hockey clients,
Justin Cruise in HOT AS PUCK by Lili Valente and
Walker Dunn in NAUGHTY OR ICE by Sylvia Pierce!
* * *
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Sneak Peek of Naughty or Ice!
By Sylvia Pierce
The pain was damn near crippling.
Walker Dunn sucked in a breath of cold air and clenched his teeth, his skate trembling against the ice as he waited for the white-hot agony in his knee to subside. He hoped McKellen hadn’t noticed.
Fuck.
That one had been bad. Stomach-churning bad. Seeing-stars bad.
But not bad enough for the once unstoppable Buffalo Tempest starting center to call it a day. Not until he’d nailed McKellen’s agility drills. Walker had been working with the hockey trainer for over two months now—ever since the team doc had given the all-clear for practice again—and his times still weren’t anywhere near where they’d been at the end of last season.
Shaking off the pain, Walker skated back to the goal line, signaled to McKellen to restart the stopwatch.
Three, two, one… and he was off, barreling toward McKellen and the orange cones at the other end of the rink. He’d ditched the stick and puck earlier, but he was otherwise geared up, the weight of his pads and helmet solid and familiar. The pain had finally dulled to a tolerable ache, and Walker pushed himself harder, faster, blades slashing across the ice, cold air whipping his face. He felt like a freight train, picking up speed with every powerful stroke.
Fuck yeah.
He was past center ice and closing in on the cones.
Fifty feet, forty.
The knee would hold up this time.
Twenty-five feet.
Had to.
Ten. Five. Two, and boom.
The cones were an orange blur as Walker cut his blades and swizzled around the first set, his turns tight, muscles limber as he plowed through the course.
“That’s it, forty-six,” McKellen called out. “Keep it going!”
Whipping around behind the net, Walker tore down the rink to his starting position, then looped back to the cones for another go. Again. Again. Each time feeling stronger, faster, more powerful. The ache in his knee was a distant memory as his muscles and bones and heart and fucking soul all lined up to do what they did best.
After Walker’s fifth time through the course, McKellen blew the whistle and waved him over. “Bring it in, forty-six.”
Panting, Walker came to a hard stop in front of the trainer, eager for the news. “What are we looking at?”
“Not too bad.” McKellen’s tone was neutral as he glanced up from his stopwatch, but the look in his eyes said it all.
Walker’s gut clenched.
Doug “Mac” McKellen was a decent guy, helped train and rehab hockey players all over the country, NHL and college alike. Head Coach Gallagher had brought him in from Saint Paul to work with some of the injured guys on the team, but mostly for Walker, hoping they could get him back on the ice before the season ended. The dude was smart and straightforward, didn’t pull any punches. So Walker knew before the man uttered an
other word that his damn times—while better than they’d been two months ago—still weren’t strong enough to get him back into the starting lineup.
“Tell me what I need to do,” Walker said.
“You need to tighten up your turns. Shave another twenty, thirty seconds off these times, minimum.” McKellen glanced at the cones and shook his head. “And you need to do it again and again, bang on, every day, every time.”
“Thirty seconds?” Swallowing his despair, Walker nodded brusquely. “Alright, Mac. Line ‘em up. Let’s go again.”
Coach Gallagher, who’d been sitting quiet as a statue on the players’ bench until now, folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Your edges are a mess, Dunn,” he called out. “Turns are loose. Leg is dragging. You’re hurtin’ today, boy.”
Yeah? You get your ass crushed in a rollover wreck, see how great your legs work.
Walker pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to shake the foul attitude. The medics who’d dragged him out of that wreck said he was damn lucky to be alive, and most days, he believed them. But damn, the crash happened in June, and it was already the end of November. After six months of suffering nearly unbearable pain—and almost losing the ability to play entirely—he was truly starting to resent his own body.
“He’s right, Walker,” McKellen said, keeping his voice low, just between them. “I can see the pain in your face clear across the rink.”
If there was one thing Walker hated more than being injured, it was people feeling sorry for him for being injured. And right now, McKellen’s eyes were full of sympathy, voice thick as cough syrup. He’d take the coach’s hard edges over that weepy bullshit any day.
“No pain, no gain, right?” he said, forcing a tight smile.
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