SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  I frown, my knees going tight when I hear music coming from behind me and twist around to see a violin player ambling up, playing what I think sounds like a violin rendition of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” I start to giggle, immediately thinking about the time that he took me and all the security guys out on his yacht. At one point, he was standing on the deck, grinding his hips to that song while I laughed so hard that I almost fell out of my bikini. One of the things that I have always adored about Chilli is his sense of humor, and his uncaring attitude about making a fool of himself. We both danced our asses off that day, to the delight of the crew and the security guys, and then Chilli, being Chilli, slipped, toppled backward, and fell off the yacht.

  It’s my favorite memory of us, but as I twist around and look back at him, it becomes my second favorite, because I see him beside me, down on one knee, with a ring held out towards me. I’m so stunned that I can hardly breathe, and, despite the confusion and fear that wants to fill me, I find myself gaping and grinning at the same time, nearly breathless with a sense of disbelief that quickly turns to joy.

  “The last time that we listened to this song, I fell for you. It wasn’t graceful or cool, and it may not have been the romance that I should have given you even then, but here I am again, Al, falling for you. On my knees. Asking you if you would please be mine,” he says softly, a vulnerable, almost terrified look shining back at me amidst the romance and tenderness in his eyes.

  My first word is yes. Hell, yes! Of course I will, but on the heels of those screams are questions that are still burning to be asked. They involve the words, “why,” “are you sure,” and, more importantly, “what changed.” I don’t say them, though, and like the fool that I am, I deny every bad thing that jumps out at me and find myself crying even as I nod and cup his face.

  “Of course I will.”

  “Sweet!”

  The restaurant erupts in applause, feminine sighs, and male groans that turn into congratulations, all while I try to wrap my head around this. It’s come out of nowhere and completely blindsided me, and honestly, I don’t know how to feel as Chilli smiles at me all the way through the rest of dinner and regales me with memories of our time together.

  I smile, or try to, and also try to ignore the niggle that dogs me as we leave the restaurant and make our way to his car, where Grange, Heath, and the other security guys all congratulate us, and Grange threatens Chilli with death if he hurts me. By the time I’m done laughing—because Grange means it—I’m feeling happy enough to shake off my misgivings.

  That’s probably how I end up staring at Chilli like a lovesick fool while he drives us back to my place, his smile so wide that I almost believe that he’s excited. I want to be excited, too, and so I do what I always do and remind myself that I can’t be a pessimist forever. Chilli isn’t the kind of guy who’d propose if he didn’t want to. I can trust him.

  “You look happy, Mrs. soon-to-be Hart,” he murmurs, lifting my hand from his thigh to kiss my fingers and throw me a soft smile.

  “Of course I’m happy. This rock is large enough to buy a small island if I pawn it,” I quip, giggling when he mock-growls and nips at my fingers.

  “Ha ha.”

  “And I believe the correct term is ‘soon-to-be Mrs. Hart,’” I tease, giggling harder when he growls again and then grins, giving me a rueful grimace.

  “Not even married yet, and you’re already silently calling me an idiot,” he muses, turning my giggles into snorts.

  “There was nothing silent about it, Hart—your grammar is as appalling as mine is. These poor kids,” I groan, shaking with laughter when he goes into what he considers an English accent, using words like “blimey” and “economic establishment” in a sentence that makes absolutely no sense.

  “These poor children, my dear,” he continues in that accent, making me laugh so hard that I feel tears leak out onto my cheeks, “will be properly educated in the finest establishments that this country has to offer.”

  He throws in a supercilious mustache twirl that looks ridiculous because he has no mustache. And then I laugh a little harder, because he once gave me a three-hour lecture—at least, it felt that long—about the travesty of covering up his beautiful face with a mustache, back when I had the gall to suggest that he let some stubble grow out. Now, I imagine that same ranting lecture delivered in this accent, and I find myself laughing harder still at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a man who’s got enough of a sense of humor to make an idiot of himself.

  We’ll do just fine, I think, as I wind down, my giggles turning into sighs of mirth when Chilli’s lip twitches and he takes my hand back.

  “Ahhh, that’s much better. I thought that I was going to have to shave my head bald in order to get you to give me a real smile tonight,” he muses, shaking his head when I open my mouth to argue. “Don’t argue with me, Al. you always lose.”

  “Do not!”

  “Do, too. On account of how I use my inestimable charms to win.”

  That makes me snort, because if he’s calling his dick an “inestimable charm”…

  “You’re a lousy, cheating sex gigolo who doesn’t know the meaning of the words, ‘You lose.’ And I really was smiling, idiot. There’s nothing fake about any of this,” I mutter, waving down at myself with another snort because I look like I’ve swallowed a fully grown human with the belly that I’m starting to sport.

  Damn giant kids are going to rip me apart—

  “You were looking a little peaky there for a minute—not that I blame you. I also don’t wanna tell your Aunt Honey that we’re engaged. She throws too much tongue into her kisses when she’s happy,” Chilli shudders, making me laugh and shudder, too.

  It’s true that Honey does get really…giving when she kisses a person, and it’s ten times worse when she’s excited. And getting some tongue action from your eight-hundred-year-old aunt isn’t cool. I just thank God that she’s a little afraid of me ever since I stabbed Durant Jones in the hand with a fork a few months ago at a church picnic.

  Jesus, you get one cold sore, and suddenly people are calling you Harping Herpes. I should kill Tee for starting that rumor.

  “She throws in tongue just for you, hot stuff,” I muse, giggling when he shudders again. “And I am happy. I’m just thinking about everything…else,” I sigh, waving at my belly.

  It’s as good an excuse as any, seeing as how I recently read two lines of a book about deliveries and promptly passed out. It’s not my fault. The word “placenta” just makes me woozy.

  “Well, that’s my job now, soon-to-be Mrs. Hart. Tonight, you’re getting the sex of your life, and if you’re really good, I’ll give you a bubble bath and rub your feet, too,” Chilli croons suggestively.

  I don’t wanna ruin the mood by telling him that I’d orgasm from the foot rub alone, and find myself being pawed in the elevator while he holds me up against the wall, taking the pressure off my feet.

  Two minutes later, I am definitely rethinking the sex versus foot rub argument as I bunch the duvet beneath me and cry out when Chilli drops to his knees and licks into my sex with a sexy growl of enjoyment. Being with him is like stepping onto a runaway train. It’s fast, exhilarating, and overwhelming.

  “Mmmm. I could stay here forever just tasting you, Alex,” he murmurs into my flesh, the vibrations of his words against me adding another element to the pleasure when he sucks my clit into his mouth.

  I gasp, shove my fingers into his hair, and hold on for dear life as he sets about sucking me to one and then two orgasms that leave me gasping for breath beneath him.

  “I—” I start to tell him that I want him, badly, the empty ache inside me a pulsing throb that is only worsened by the climax that he just gave me, but I stop speaking when he scoots me up the bed and comes to rest over me.

  He’s careful to keep his weight to the side and off my stomach, but he completely cages me in as he smiles down at me, his expression soft and filled wit
h affection. We don’t usually do this. Sex happens immediately, and then either we’re back at each other after we catch our breaths, or we snuggle up and fall asleep. Hell, we’ve even done the whole TV-after-sex thing once or twice. But this? I haven’t ever had this afterglow with Chilli, where I get off and then…

  I don’t know what to call this, but what I can say is that I feel a little unsettled when he doesn’t immediately come in for the main event.

  “You’re beautiful, you know that, Alexandria Sweet, soon-to-be Hart?” he asks, sounding serious enough that I start to squirm beneath him.

  Gulping, I try to laugh it off and end up falling silent when he shakes his head and loses the smile, getting more serious than I think Chilli and I have ever been with each other. Part of me is thrilled by the emotional openness that we’re sharing here, while another part, the terrified part, demands that I initiate sex now to escape…whatever this is.

  Breathing deeply, I try to shrug it off and lighten the mood.

  “You would say that during sex—”

  “I’m saying it after I just made you come, while my dick is so hard that I could blow my load if you blew on the tip,” he says softly, cutting me off again with a frown. “You’re beautiful.”

  Why that makes me feel vulnerable, I don’t know. I guess…I guess it’s because I’ve never had this with a man before. All my other, ahem, “relationships” have been easygoing and unemotional. I don’t think that I’ve ever heard a guy call me beautiful unless he was referring to my boobs right before he got to third base. I don’t know how to deal with this, and yet I think that I need to take some of my own advice, advice that I give my own patients, and accept the moment for what it is. Intimacy.

  Shit! Darn it. How do I deal with this?

  “Thanks?” I squeak, squirming beneath him again when he starts to enter me and then stops, keeping completely still while looking into my eyes.

  It’s the connection that grabs hold of me and won’t let me go, even when my stupid mind starts yelling at me to close my eyes and focus on the sex.

  “You’re beautiful and smart and so sexy that I sometimes get so wrapped up in it that I don’t take the time to show or tell you what I should.”

  “I—that’s really sweet,” I breathe, swallowing loudly when he smiles again and shakes his head.

  “Not sweet. It’s the truth. You’re gorgeous and smart and funny and sexy. I think about you all the time, and I appreciate that you’re good enough to want me despite all my bullshit.”

  “Bullshit? Chilli,” I sigh, wiggling a little because he’s inside me, and feeling him there is revving me up slowly but surely. “You’re a great guy, and I’m glad to be with you.”

  “Even when I screw up?” he asks softly, his throat moving on a hard swallow when I tighten around him and press closer.

  He wants to move—needs to move soon, if the throbbing of his cock is any indication—and God, I want him to start moving, too. But this moment is important, and I want to tell him how much it means to me that he’s opening himself up to me like this.

  “Even then. Maybe mostly then. Because then I don’t feel like I have to be perfect all the time, and I guess that that makes me feel safe. Let’s make a deal, then, you and I—you trust me, I trust you, and we make this work.”

  “Deal,” he says, smiling broadly before he groans and closes his eyes.

  “You can totally move now,” I giggle, my mirth turning into a moan when he hisses and slams into me, going so deeply that I feel him in places that I didn’t know existed.

  Now, he’s the Chilli I know, thrusting and twisting his hips so that he builds my pleasure up quickly. It’s sweaty, and I’m so wet by now that I can hear him entering me, but it feels perfect and right and—

  “Oh, fuck! Fuck. Tell me you’re close,” Chilli groans against my breast, his tongue coming out to swipe and tease at my sensitive nipple.

  I’m so close. I just need a little more.

  “Touch me,” I plead, straining beneath him, my belly grazing his hard, flat stomach when I rear closer to get friction against my clit.

  He obeys and lifts himself back to rest on his knees, pulling my thighs wide and over his own thick muscular legs so that I’m open and practically resting on his lap. When his fingers glance over my clit while he continues to slam into me, his tempo hard, fast, and yet still careful, I almost explode into orgasm.

  What takes me all the way there is the way that he looks down at where we’re joined while licking his lips, his eyes glowing with appreciation. It’s not easy to feel sexy while heavily pregnant, but Chilli makes me feel that way. One more swipe and pinch of his fingers over my swollen, slick clit sends me over, and I watch him as I convulse around him, taking in the way that his nose flares while he bites his lip and throws his head back.

  I feel him go tight and hard inside me, and then I feel his hot ejaculations as he erupts, throwing my waning spasm into renewed contractions when another smaller orgasm hits me.

  This wasn’t just sex, I think, when Chilli finally goes still and falls down beside me, somehow keeping us connected even as he lies spent, his face against my neck.

  Sex is fast, hot, and messy, and I know that because we’re always going at it, what with my hormones turning me into a nympho. This was…more.

  The question I have to ask myself now is—am I ready for what “more” is with Chilli? And the bigger question after that is—is Chilli ready for “more” with me?

  “Remind me to give you that bubble bath and foot rub,” he groans into my neck, chuckling when I squeal and try to squirm away.

  I snort, so past bathing and a foot rub that I’m almost ashamed that I thought that I would want those things over sex with Chilli Hart.

  “Remind me to want them,” I answer back, my smile growing when he settles closer, palms my breast, and sighs happily.

  “You thought that a foot rub would be better, didn’t you?”

  “Did not.”

  “You did. I saw it on your face when I offered,” he laughs, pinching my nipple until I scream and slap at his hand.

  Now, I could admit to that, and I would, shamelessly, but I’m not a dummy. I like sex with my guy, and I want a lot more sex. Soon. Maybe in twenty minutes or so.

  “You saw nothing.”

  “Alex. Honesty,” he chides, the bed shaking with his silent laughter when I huff and chew on my lip, trying to think of a good lie to tell him.

  When I can’t, I settle for tightening myself around his soft cock and giggle when he groans and starts to grow inside me, his erect flesh twitching against my inner walls.

  “I honestly think that I want to do that again. This time, though, I get to be on top,” I purr, my smile turning wicked when he curses, pulls out of me, and miraculously wrangles me over him.

  When he presses back in, smiling up at me like the cat that ate the canary, I feel as beautiful as he told me I was moments ago. More than that, I kinda like the way it feels to hold the power that he’s so freely giving me. Who knows? Maybe this marriage thing will work out between us after all.

  Maybe I’ll be lucky, and things will just…happen for me. The truth? As I look down at Chilli, I realize that I’m not just in love with this man, but that I need him as well. And that scares me more than anything that I have ever had to face before.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex

  “You look great,” Cleo assures me, a hunted look filling her eyes even as she tries to pull off a sense of calm, happy joy on my behalf.

  I would believe her more if she weren’t eyeing the window and giving it a look that screams, “I wanna run.” It would be less amusing if this were her wedding, but since I’m the one wearing the white dress and tiara—you’d better believe it; I’m a princess, after all—we’ve all been laughing our asses off and making fun of her wedding-phobic ass.

  “I know.”

  Of course I know. I just spent twelve grand on this dress, and Uncle Jack and my d
ad bought me this tiara. I look like Belle from the old fairy tale, and I feel like a million bucks, even if my stomach is leading the charge wherever I go. After Chilli proposed and we announced it to the family, my aunts and mom all informed me that the wedding was already arranged and ready to go. Having had only three weeks between my engagement and wedding still has my head spinning, but I feel awesome. Even more so because I got to wake up next to my guy this morning, see his smiling face, and know for certain that this is happening.

  I am getting married, and soon I’ll have our babies, and it will be perfect. It’s like every girlhood dream that I have ever had is coming to life, and it’s even better because I don’t get the Beast part of the fairy tale at all, just my perfect prince who has gone above and beyond to make it all happen.

  Contrary to what my mind has kept screaming at me, he’s been really great over the past three weeks. He scaled back his trips out to Utah, even with the critical parts of the build happening, and has hardly left my side at all. In fact, he’s been around so much that at one point I had to tell him to get lost so that I could work.

  “I can’t believe that this is happening,” Rosetta sighs, her eyes soft as she takes in my smiling face and the joy that I can’t hide.

  “Me neither. I really thought he’d bail,” Sin snorts, whining when Tee punches her in the side and hisses a few curses under her breath, her eyes going hard as I grimace.

  “Shut up, you unromantic idiot! That isn’t a nice thing to say.”

  “What? It’s true. I mean, I thought that Chilli was worse than Cleo, but apparently I owe the man an apology. It’s only this freak who can’t get down the aisle.”

  “Hey! I’m in therapy, and Adonis loves me enough to understand,” Cleo hisses, restarting the jokes and off-color comments that have been flowing ever since Adonis dragged her in here, bodily throwing her at Rosetta because the poor idiot was having a mild heart attack just from walking into the church.

  What her problem is, I will never know, but it seems that poor Cleo has deep-seated issues that extend even to other people’s weddings.