Mike grinned at them and closed his eyes. He was so fucking happy it hurt. It was official. He’d gone soft. He couldn’t help it. Morgan kissed Mike’s shoulder and he considered the idea of a little bit of PDA. He gripped her thigh and squeezed tight when she nibbled on his skin. “Watch yourself, woman.”
“Make me.” She bit harder. “If you can.”
He caressed her hip, peeking out of his closed lids to make sure no one was watching, and traced the line of her bikini. At her indrawn breath, he dipped his fingers even lower.
The kids all came over, plopping at their parents’ feet or chairs or towels. The only ones without anyone surrounding them were Mike and Morgan. He stole a quick glance at her, wondering if she noticed the same absence he did. She nibbled on her lip and looked back at him. Her blue eyes sparkled up at him.
He kissed her nose. “Whatcha thinking?”
“I’m thirsty.”
Okay. Not what he’d hoped for, but whatever. “I’ll get you a margarita.”
“Uh…” He started to lift his hand for the waitress to come over but Morgan shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll have a lemonade.”
Mike’s niece, Katelyn, stood up, stumbling in her haste, and held her iPhone in front of her. “I need a picture of us all.”
“Not so fast, princess.” Thomas stood. “You need to be in it, too. Let’s get someone to take the picture.” As he headed toward a waitress, who walked around in a skimpy bikini, Brianna smiled and watched. Thomas gestured toward their group, and then came back. He eyed Zach and Chris. “Boys, get over here.”
Nineteen-year-old Zach said something to the blond girl next to him, then strode over. Chris followed more slowly but did the same. They all settled into their places and smiled.
The waitress held the phone up. “Okay. On three. One…Two…”
Everyone perked up. Thomas gave Brianna bunny ears, Jeremy hugged Erica closer, Kiersten stuck her tongue out at Garrett, and Morgan leaned closer to Mike. Mike hugged her tight, never wanting to let go.
“Three.” The flash went off.
Kiersten stood up and rubbed her belly. “I think I need a nap.” She gestured for her kids to come over, then turned to Garrett. “You coming?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Garrett leapt to his feet. “If you’re going, I’m following.”
Mike swung his phone. He’d downloaded a whipping app that made the noise when he shook his iPhone. Wah-peeshe.
“Seriously?” Garrett asked, shaking his towel and sending sand flying every which way. “I can’t believe you downloaded an app just so you could make fun of me.”
“And it was worth every penny.” Mike swung his phone again. Wah-peeshe.
“And you’re not whipped?” Garrett asked, laughing.
“Never said that,” Mike said.
“You’re not whipped.” Morgan said, patting his shoulder. “You’re just…obedient.”
Mike cocked a brow. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.”
After a few more minutes, and plans to meet up later for dinner, one by one, the couples all drifted apart, heading in various directions. Once he and Morgan were alone, Mike grabbed Morgan’s hand and led her toward the bar. She covered a yawn with her hand and leaned against him. He hesitated. He hadn’t actually been planning on napping but she looked exhausted. “Do you want to actually take a nap?”
“Actually, I’d love a nap. But I need a drink first.”
“Still want a virgin lemonade?”
“Yeah. I’m tired.” Morgan looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to throw booze in the mix, too.”
“Lightweight,” he teased. As he ordered two lemonades, he leaned against the bar and looked out at the water. “I could get used to this place. Got any good theaters out here for you to work at? I could find a job here, I bet.”
Morgan laughed uneasily. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I never looked.”
Mike watched her, his curiosity piqued. She was hiding something. He could tell by the way she laughed just now. What was it? He paid for their drinks and led her to their hotel room. Outside the door, a swing sat waiting for them behind a fence. Once they sat down, he studied her. She kept taking small sips and avoiding his eyes. Yeah. Something was definitely up. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Morgan startled and turned to him, the straw between her lips. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“You’re hiding something.” He leaned closer and played with the brim of her hat. “I know it, and so do you. Spit it out and get it over with. You’ll feel better.”
She took a deep breath and set down her half empty glass. “Fine. But don’t get all worked up. Let me finish talking first.”
He gripped his cup tight. Shit. He wasn’t going to like this. “All right.”
“Remember how I said I would be home for a year and wouldn’t be taking another role for a while?” She toyed with the strings on the side of her bikini bottom and ducked her head.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“Well, something came up.” She peeked up at him, then lowered her head again. “Something changed, that is.”
Since when was his Morgan so damn worried about how he would react? He’d been thrilled for every role she’d gotten. Hell, he’d even traveled around most of the country watching her perform when he could. “Why are you acting so skittish? I’ve never been pissed at you for taking a part before, and I won’t be starting now.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed tight, ignoring the surge of disappointment threatening to choke him. He’d known what he signed on for when he married her and he wouldn’t let her see how much he would miss her. It was part of their life. Besides, it was almost the end of the school year. He would be able to travel with her all through the summer months.
“It’s not that. You’ve been nothing but supportive.” She finally met his eyes. “But this role is a bit more permanent.”
“Okay…” He scooted closer and set his glass down next to hers. “Is it in Vegas? Or what?”
“Yeah.” She licked her lips. “And the rehearsal period is about nine months.”
“That’s a long time.” He cocked his head. “What’s the show?”
“It doesn’t have a name yet.” She tugged his hand to her stomach and laid it flat. “But we can pick one together, once we know more.”
His entire world spun around him, crashed to the ground, then floated back up to the fucking sky. “You mean—uh, are you saying…?”
She bit down on her lip and nodded, looking pale. “I’m pregnant. I know you didn’t want any kids, so I know it’ll be hard to accept at first, but I hope—”
He leapt to his feet and lifted her in his arms, slamming his lips down on hers. She clung to him, making a little moaning sound. By the time he pulled back, she was starry eyed and her lips were swollen. He grinned down at her and lowered her carefully to her feet. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know. Me either.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I think it’s from when I was on antibiotics last month. It messed with the pill.”
“Are you okay with this?” He gripped her shoulders, trying to swallow back his own excitement until he could make sure she was okay. “I know you didn’t want kids until your career was over.”
“I’m actually really happy.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “I didn’t think I would be but I’m ready. I want to be a mom. Want to see what our baby will look like. Are you happy?”
“Happy doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling,” he said, spinning her in his arms one more time. “I’m fucking ecstatic.”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “You’ll have to cut back on that. Garrett’s right.”
“I will. If I can keep my language clean at school then I’m sure I can keep it clean at home,
too.” He nibbled on her finger. “But I have nine months to worry about that. Until then…”
She tugged him back toward the bedroom, her eyes smoky and dark with promise. “Yeah?”
“Until then, I can say…” He picked her up, carried her inside the hotel room, and gently tossed her on the soft bed. Crawling between her legs, he dropped a kiss on her belly. “I fucking love you, babe.”
“I fucking love you, too,” she murmured, love shining in her eyes. “But I’m not becoming a dance mom. And I’m not quitting dancing altogether.”
He grinned and undid her bikini bottom. “Of course not.”
“As long as we’re on the same page…keep doing what you’re doing,” she said, her voice breathless.
“Gladly.”
He grinned, knowing that life couldn’t get any better than this.
About the Author
Diane Alberts is a multi-published, bestselling author with Entangled Publishing, Swoon Romance, and Decadent Publishing. ON ONE CONDITION hit #18 on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list, and TRY ME hit #76 on Amazon. CAPTIVATED BY YOU hit #31 on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list. She also writes New Adult books under the name Jen McLaughlin. Diane is represented by Louise Fury from the L. Perkins Agency.
Additional titles from Entangled Ever After…
Risky Surrender
He lifted her wrist. “What’s this?” He twisted the ring around.
Lucy tried to wiggle free, but it was no use. His eyes widened when he saw the one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry.
Her heart rate kicked into double time. “It’s my grandmother’s.” She yanked free of his hold and stood confidently. If she made a quick getaway now, he’d definitely suspect something and follow her.
He eyed her cautiously. “You weren’t wearing it before. When I helped you pick up the appetizers I knocked over.”
He’d checked out her hand for a ring? “Sure I was.”
“Did you steal it?” His voice was void of all tenderness now and she gulped.
Not because she was afraid she’d be caught, but because he’d drawn that conclusion so quickly and easily. And while he was at it, she could see the attraction he’d felt for her vanish.
“I don’t steal things.” She took them within the confines of the law—she just needed to bypass the red tape and rules so that she could complete Malcolm’s jobs as quickly as possible. She always worked with care and tried to leave minimal disruption to every site.
She ignored the tight bundle of nerves at the base of her spine. One more time, then I’m through.
“McCall. Jesus, where have you been?” A good-looking guy with wavy hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt collar approached them.
McCall took his attention off her for a split second and that was all the distraction she needed. She wove her way through the guests to make her way to the starboard side of the ship.
Once there, she got into one of the motorboats used to transport guests to and from the party and fired up the engine.
“Hey!”
She looked up. McCall had his hands braced on the railing, ready to jump overboard to catch her. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Lucy gunned it. And she couldn’t help it—she waved goodbye, twisting her hand at the wrist like they do on parade floats, so that he’d be sure to see the emerald ring on her finger.
One Night in the Spa
“I could start listing the muscles of the scalp,” he said as he worked, “but you’d be bored to tears. Let me just tell you what you need to know: you’ve got a headache. You probably always have a headache, but you’re so used to it, you don’t even notice.”
She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that if she didn’t notice the pain, then it wasn’t important. But apparently it was important because the moment his fingers started easing the tension, everything in her world started to get better. Suddenly she didn’t feel so beaten down. She breathed easier, and she even felt taller. Stupid when she was lying down, but what he did was like water to a dying plant. All of a sudden, she was beginning to perk up. And she never wanted it to stop.
“Do all your clients melt into a puddle on your table?”
“Only the best ones.”
Then he started moving lower, slipping his hands beneath her and using her body weight to produce the pressure. He went from her scalp to the base of her skull, then to her neck and shoulders. Every push of his fingers, every deep circle had her opening up to him. Not just in body, but in mind. She began to trust him in a deeper way than ever before. Which was strange because over the past three years, he’d been an integral part of every day. He knew more about her than anyone. And yet, at this moment, he became more to her. He could probably ask her to give over state secrets and she’d whisper them without a second thought. And if he asked her anything more personal—like if she’d fantasized about the two of them together—then she’d tell him that too. Thank God he wasn’t asking.
The Countess’s Groom
OCTOBER 2, 1762
Will Fenmore, horses’ groom to Rose Quayle, Countess of Malmstoke, watched his mistress as Creed Hall came into view on the hilltop. It jutted from the dark trees, a grim building of gray stone.
The Countess’s horse halted as its rider’s hands tightened on the reins. Will stopped, too. He saw tension in the Countess’s shoulders, in the stiffness of her jaw. One more night, he told her silently. You can do it.
The Countess didn’t move. The seconds lengthened into a minute.
Will wanted to reach out and touch her arm, to give reassurance. He curled his hands into fists to stop himself.
Another minute passed, and still the Countess sat motionless, staring at Creed Hall.
Is this it? Will she break today? The gelding he rode shifted restlessly, sensing his disquiet.
“He’ll be gone tomorrow,” Will blurted.
The Countess turned her head to stare at him.
Will didn’t look away, as a servant should. Instead, he met her gaze. You can do it, Countess.
“Yes,” she said. “He will be gone.” She urged the mare into a trot.
At the great iron-studded door he dismounted and helped the Countess to alight. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and entered Creed Hall.
Will watched the heavy door swing shut. Someone needs to rescue you, my lady.
Eat Play Lust
“Paul Hammond?” She blinked a few more times to see if the broad-shouldered, desperately hot lumberjack would morph into the tubby, balding, middle-aged man she’d pictured on the phone. “You’re the guy from my Thursday group yoga class.”
She flushed as soon as the words left her mouth. It was the biggest class she taught—at least 30 students—and the fact that she’d noticed him probably revealed too much.
But she had noticed him. A lot. She was just surprised to see him here now for one of her private yoga lessons on a standup paddleboard. Cami cleared her throat and tried again. “So you’re the gourmet chef whose doctor prescribed a fitness program?”
He laughed, a warm, jubilant sound that made her toes curl. His well-trimmed beard and massive biceps completed the lumberjack image, assuming lumberjacks sported orange floral swim trunks and bare feet.
“Technically, my doctor didn’t prescribe a fitness program. It was my brother—who happens to be a doctor—harassing me to change up my exercise routine.” He grinned, and Cami felt her spleen do a somersault. “You thought I’d be wheeled here on a stretcher with a heart monitor on my chest and a leg of lamb dangling from my lips?”
Cami swallowed, pretty sure it was the lamb and not the mention of his chest and lips making her mouth water.
You’ve never eaten lamb, she reminded herself.
Cami tucked a flyaway chestnut curl behind her ear and surrep
titiously swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. Good, she wasn’t drooling in front of a client. Always a plus.
“Of course I didn’t expect that,” she lied, trying hard not to fixate on the intense grass-green color of his eyes. “You filled out my online intake form with your height and weight so I’d know which paddleboard to bring for your lesson.”
She just hadn’t made the connection between that online registration form and the student she’d been admiring in the back of her group yoga class for two months.
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