Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)
Page 65
Lauren gave birth to a baby boy about eighteen months ago. They named him Hayden. When their baby was about three months old, Lauren demanded they hire a full-time nanny plus a night nanny and Nathan demanded they split up. They never made it to the altar. I try not to ask the boys about them too much anymore, but I know they share split custody, and every time I see Nathan lately, he looks nothing but all kinds of exhausted.
“I love her so much,” Dante says, cupping her perfectly round head with the palm of his hand. “How can something so small be so perfect?”
“I love her too,” I say. “I never thought I’d have a daughter. Kind of feels like she’s been waiting in the wings this whole time.”
Dante leans down, kissing the top of her head, and she stirs slightly, eyes opening and then closing as she settles back into her deep slumber wrapped in a blanket the color of ballet slippers.
My husband’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He yanks it out quickly before it has a chance to wake our sleeping baby.
“Mom’s flight just landed,” he says. “I’m going to go pick her up now. We’ll be back soon.”
“Can I come with?” Beck asks, popping up. I can imagine how cooped up he’s been feeling these last couple days with us at the hospital and Grandma and Grandpa running the show.
“Sure, buddy,” Dante says. “Grab your shoes.”
My husband rises, checks his pockets for his keys and wallet, and then lowers himself to kiss my lips one last time before he dashes out the door.
“I love you, Mrs. Amato,” says the man who gave me my second chance at a happily ever after.”
“I love you too.”
Books By Winter Renshaw
All books are standalones
The Never Series
Never Kiss a Stranger
Never Is a Promise
Never Say Never
Bitter Rivals: a novella
The Arrogant Series
Arrogant Bastard
Arrogant Master
Arrogant Playboy
The Rixton Falls Series
Royal
Bachelor
Filthy
The Amato Brothers Series
Heartless
Reckless
The Montgomeries of Washington Series
Dark Paradise
Dark Promises (December 2016)
Standalones
Vegas Baby
Preview of DARK PROMISES
*Unedited and subject to change*
Rowan
He has a dangerous glint in his eyes, and finding myself in the center of his attention is exactly what I need right now. Spinning my glass between my thumb and forefinger, I glance away, removing my stare from his broad, suited-up shoulders and facing the bartender instead. From the corner of my eye, I observe as he moves closer to me, my intentional disregard working as a sort of magnet to draw him in.
That’s right, Keir Montgomery. Keep coming . . .
A moment later, his presence fills my periphery as he stands beside the empty bar stool on my left. I lift my crystal tumbler to my lips, pretending I don’t notice him when every fiber of my body is reeling. I’m practically sending out shockwaves here, though my exterior is a carefully crafted shade of calm tonight.
“Excuse me,” his voice is carried through pulsing lounge music and followed by the invasion of his old-moneyed cologne into my lungs.
Glancing up, I meet his gaze, blinking once as I stare at him through long, dark lashes. “Yes?”
I pretend not to notice the swarm of Secret Service Agents flanking his side. And now mine. I pretend his familiar face doesn’t register and that I’ve never seen his midnight-black hair or crystalline blues in hundreds of photos before. I pretend he’s just any other guy in any other bar in any other city.
And I pretend I didn’t come here looking for him.
“Is this seat taken?” He asks the question as if the answer doesn’t matter, as if he has no problem taking exactly what he wants even if it belongs to someone else.
My heart flutters for a fraction of a second, and my eyes flick from his handsome smirk to the seat and back.
“It’s free,” I say, taking my time and swiveling my stool until I’m no longer facing him. Fighting a smile, I brace myself for the inevitable tap I’m going to feel on my shoulder any moment now.
Drawing in three breaths, I wait for a tap that never comes. The bartender hunches over, resting on his elbows as he yells above the music. Keir orders a drink. Whiskey. Neat. The restless stir of impatience floods my center, but I refuse to let it ruin my strategy.
All I need is one night with him. One night to feel alive. One night to feel desired again. One night to rebel against everything I ever thought I was.
I observe from the corner of my eye as the man fixes Keir’s drink at warp speed, delivers it on the house, and then stops short in front of me.
“Would you like another?” he asks, thick brows lifted as he points to my empty glass.
“Please.” I slide it his way, and he swipes it from the counter and shuffles down a few spots.
Drawing in a cool breath, I wait for my refill, finish half, and deliberate on Plan B. If Keir didn’t infiltrate my space for the sake of hitting on me, I’ll have to take a different approach. Gathering my black satin clutch, I unsnap the top and pretend to check my phone. Forcing a fake smile on my face, I slide my bag under my left arm and gracefully slide off the stool.
I feel him watching.
Striding across the dark-as-midnight lounge, I duck into the ladies’ room to buy some time. Touching up my lipstick and powdering my nose and dabbing some perfume onto the backs of my wrists and behind my ears, I check the time on my phone and wait an extra minute before reemerging.
Keir Montgomery has a reputation. He’s a womanizer with a healthy appetite for casual liaisons. I’ve done my research. I know where he frequents. I know how his modus operandi. I know what turns him on, and I know what makes him run for the hills.
It’s now or never.
Either this is going to happen. Or it isn’t.
And I really, really want this to happen. I need this to happen for reasons no one could possibly begin to understand. I need his hands in my hair. His lips pressed hard against mine. My body pinned beneath his. I need him driving himself into me again and again, so hard I forget my name. Forget where I am. Forget why it hurts . . .
Giving myself a final once-over in the mirror, I tuck a strand of blonde waves over my right shoulder and pull the door wide.
Almost instantaneously, my lips draw up in the corners and our eyes meet. “I was wondering when you were going to make your move.”
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About the Author
Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American Dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.
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