A group of pelicans flew past. One broke from the flock, veered toward him, and left his calling card on the railing in front of him. Logan jumped back. “Son of a bitch, Evan, always with the jokes.” Logan stared down at the gray and white wet pile and grinned.
His heart might not survive the day. Everyone was there but his soon-to-be wife and her mother. His sister sat on the sand next to Buchanan, Regan on her lap and Luke leaning on the baby. His new daughter gave the Doberman a smack on his head. “Uke,” she said. Logan would swear the dog’s eyes blissfully crossed.
Jared and Scott, smiling at Regan’s antics, sat next to Mrs. Jankowski. He’d flown the two men in the day before as a surprise for Dani. Dani’s father stood near the stairs waiting to escort his daughter to Logan.
They had dinner the night before on the beach with all their family and friends around a roaring fire, sharing in their joy. The numerous toasts had been embarrassing in their insinuations, and he couldn’t wait for them to come true.
Dani had, for reasons he still didn’t understand, put a hold on sex of any kind until they were married. “So you’ll be really horny on our wedding night,” she’d said. He snorted. As if he didn’t always have a hard-on any time he was in her general vicinity.
Spread out on blankets, Barbie, Ken, Turner, and the rest of his employees chatted while they waited for the ceremony to begin.
Logan stood ankle deep in the gulf and waited for his bride. Movement at the top of the stairs leading down to the beach caught his eye. Lifting his gaze, he let out a sigh. She hadn’t run away. Why that had worried him, he wasn’t sure, but until she appeared, he hadn’t been able to believe he could be this blessed.
With her father on one side and her mother on the other, Dani held his gaze as she approached, a beautiful smile on her face. Logan’s heart did a merry dance. In a matter of minutes, she would be his.
On seeing her mother, Regan pushed away from Maria and crawled toward Dani. Dani’s father picked her up and brought mother and child to Logan.
“I believe these two belong to you,” he said.
Logan glanced down at Dani’s toes and smiled. “Yes, they do.”
He married the woman of his heart with Evan’s daughter in his arms and Eli’s dog pressed against his leg.
The three-quarter moon was high in the sky, the fall night warmer than normal. Logan walked up behind Dani and pressed himself against her back. He put his arms around her and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I love you, Mrs. Kincaid.”
She turned and in her hand was a yellow rose. “Ditto, Mr. Kincaid. Friends forever?”
“I prefer friends and lovers forever.” He took the flower and traced the swell of his wife’s breasts with the petals. His wife. He’d never believed he would have one. Yet, there she was, his ring on her finger, and looking up at him with soft, warm eyes.
Well, hell, what a lucky bastard he’d turned out to be.
Since one of the benefits of having a wife was that he could kiss her any time he wanted, and God above, he wanted, he lowered his mouth to hers. He tasted the spicy berries of the wine she’d been drinking, felt the warm wet of her tongue on his, and heard her soft sigh.
He lifted his hand and slid his fingers through her hair. The fragrance of her shampoo drifted to his nose, and he breathed deep, drawing in her scent. Trailing kisses across her cheek to her neck, he nipped her earlobe.
“Apple pie. You do know I’m going to have to lick you from here,” he said, tapping the rose against her forehead, “all the way down to your yellow toes?”
“Technically, it’s not my toes that are yellow.”
“Technically, I don’t give a damn.” He broke off a large part of the rose’s stem, dug the thorns off with his thumb, and then slid it into her hair, over her ear. Leaning back, he admired his handiwork. “Perfect,” he said before lifting her to sit on the railing.
“Whoa.” She grabbed ahold of his shoulders and looked down.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pushed between her legs. “I won’t let you fall. Ever. I have something I want to tell you, wife, so listen. Last night, I told Buchanan I wouldn’t be going on any more operations. I’ll still train with the men, help plan their missions, and run the business, but when we were in Arkansas, I realized something.”
“I never—”
He put his finger on her lips. “Let me finish. We both know there are no guarantees in life. Something unforeseen could happen to either one of us tomorrow, but missions are dangerous, high-risk business. You’ve lost one man you loved, and I love you too much to put you through that again.”
Her eyes searched his. “I’m not sure you can possibly know how much that means to me, but I came to terms with what you do and would never ask it of you.”
Her tears and trembling smile went straight to his gut. He’d just given her a gift she would never ask for, but wanted more than anything. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. When they took you, I couldn’t think straight, and that made me a danger to you and my teams. That’s never happened to me before, but I’ve come to the conclusion that if I did participate in an operation, all that’d be on my mind would be getting home safely to you.”
“That wouldn’t be good for your men, would it?”
Logan pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead. “My wife is a smart woman.” It still amazed him he could call her wife. He silently promised she would never be sorry she married a man such as him.
She slipped her hands under his shirt, down the back of his loose trousers, spreading her fingers over his ass. “Are you going to talk all night, or are you going to make love to your bride on her wedding night?”
He hissed when her fingers found his balls. “The second thing you said.”
“Jeez, husband, you’re so easy.”
“You’ve no idea.” Logan scooped up Mrs. Kincaid and carried her to their bed, where she had spread yellow rose petals over the sheets. He planned to keep her there until it was time to leave for their first Christmas in Asheville.
His last thought as he slid deep inside her was that he was one lucky son of a bitch. Then, he stopped thinking.
Acknowledgments
A writer spends long hours alone . . . well, that’s not really true. There are people talking to us, whispering their stories in our ears so we can make them come alive on a page. As for living, breathing people—at different stages in our work, we reach out to friends, critique partners (who end up being some of our best friends), other authors on social media, wherever we can find the support we so desperately need.
Above all, I want to thank those who read my books, and the ones who take the time to send an email because they want me to know how much they loved my story, or my hero or heroine. To the ones who make the extra effort to write a review, you have my deepest gratitude.
There is always someone different to thank with each book, but some stay the same. As ever (and I hope always) the first two people I must thank for keeping me on track, for sometimes being brutally honest, and for giving me endless encouragement, Jenny Holiday and Erika Olbricht, I thank you. You two are amazing and I love you.
Then there’s the edits, almost as important as the writing of the story. My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, is, thank God, an editing agent and her suggestions on how I could improve my manuscript were spot on. My Montlake Romance editor, Melody Guy, was the best. She put a shovel in my hands and told me to dig deep, showing me where I needed to flesh out a scene or delve deeper into the head of Logan or Dani. Thank you both for making the process as painless as possible.
Finally, I wish I could list all the names of those who have touched me or this book in some way from the day the idea was just a bubble in my head. My Golden Heart sisters, the Lucky 13s, y’all are just so much fun, and your cheerleading k
eeps me going. There are friends I’ve never met, but have shared late night chats with, arguing or sighing over books and heroes. Those conversations recharged me, made me want to give you a book you would label a keeper, a hero worthy of your sighs. Thank you all. I am truly blessed.
About the Author
Photo © 2013 JCP
A native of Florida, Sandra Owens once managed a Harley-Davidson dealership, before switching from a bike to an RV for roaming the open road (though she’s also chased thrills from sky-diving to upside-down stunt-plane flying). In addition to Crazy For Her—a 2013 Golden Heart Finalist for Romantic Suspense—her works include the Regency Romance novels The Letter and The Training of a Marquess, winner of the Golden Claddagh Award. A member of Romance Writers of America, and potential cat owner, she lives with her husband in Asheville, North Carolina.
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