Vance pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe…just a little.” Katie pressed her smiling lips to the thudding pulse on his neck, inhaling his essence. “But I promise you’re gonna like it,” she murmured, loving the sound of his groan.
“As long as I’m with you, I’ll survive anything.”
Lifting her head, she should’ve been warned by his wicked smile. She gasped as Vance bent and hauled her over his shoulder. She gripped his waist and squealed. “Where are you taking me?”
Vance ate up the ground with his long strides. “The loft. To have my way with you. Something I should’ve done weeks ago. It’s past time I claimed my booty.”
Upside down and bouncing, Katie laughed in delight, so full of love for the pirate of her heart.
Epilogue
Katie blinked back happy tears as she glanced at Vance next to her, wearing a custom-tailored black tux, a sexy smile on his face, and looking so handsome he stole her breath. Vance pressed a kiss to the back of her hand and shot her a teasing wink, making Katie’s heart soar at the sheer magnitude of her luck. Yeah, getting lost seven months ago put an end to her crazy, crappy luck when she landed in Harmony. Her new home. With the love of her life.
“You okay?” he asked in a low voice.
Katie nodded, smiling. “Never been better.”
“Because we can get out of here, if you want. No one will miss us.” His expression bordered on wicked. Katie looked out over the crowded backyard filled with all their friends and most of the residents of Harmony. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and now everyone was milling around, drinking champagne and nibbling on stuffed mushrooms before the start of the sit-down dinner. The heavy scent of deep purple roses filled the cool November air.
“Of course we’ll be missed. We can’t ruin this perfect day. Now behave.” Katie kissed her pirate’s clean-shaven jaw.
Vance grumbled something not for public consumption under his breath as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
Katie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Vance had been almost civilized the last seven months, all things considered. Imagination Station had opened on time with huge fanfare at the start of the summer with Bertie’s help and Lucy’s amazing ability at getting the word out. Katie’s hard work and meticulous business plan had paid off. Kids loved her new and innovative computer games—thanks to her friend Inslee—and they eagerly rallied around Chuck and his kiddie boot camp, where workouts were disguised as games. Donald, Dover, and Danny had returned for a week so they could attend one of the summer camp sessions. Vance kept busy with edits on his book and developing his next series about a small-town cop caught in the middle of a big-time drug heist. He gladly left all the wedding plans and logistics to her.
“You ready with a toast?” Brogan Reese clapped Vance on the back. “It’s not every day you get to witness your dad getting hitched.”
“It was a beautiful wedding, and the general looked so proud in his uniform.”
“What little you could see of it. He was practically drowning in the mountain of ruffles covering Dottie. Where in the hell did she get that dress?” Vance said out of the corner of his mouth.
Katie gave his ribs a hard nudge with her elbow. “Vance Kerner, stop. You know how much Dottie loves ruffles. She had that dress made to her specifications.” Along with all the ruffled tablecloths and swags of fabric draping the tent covering her backyard. She even had a special ruffled bandana made for Sweet Tea. And poor Bertie had the honor of walking him down the aisle.
“All I’m saying is it’s hard to see anything past all this…this…”—he gestured with his big hand in her direction—“…fabric. I almost couldn’t find you.” Vance’s gaze raked her from the top of her purple ruffled headpiece to the bottom of her purple ruffled gown.
“Couldn’t any of you talk her out of this theme?” Keith Morgan asked, smirking at the electric-blue version Bertie wore.
“We tried, but you know how she is when she gets an idea in her head,” Bertie said on an exasperated sigh.
“Like a dog with a bone. At least you don’t look like Kermit the Frog or the Incredible Hulk,” Lucy said, looking down at her bright green number.
“I think you all look beautiful. So beautiful, that I’m thinking of asking you to wear them for my wedding.” Five pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction and bugged out in shock.
“You can’t be serious—”
“Wedding?”
“When is the wedding?”
“Yeah, when is the wedding?” Vance pierced her with his intense dark gaze.
Katie lifted her chin. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re acting as if I never planned to get married.”
“It’s been seven long months. Do not toy with me,” Vance growled.
“Yeah, he’s a desperate man,” Brogan said.
Katie fiddled with the clasp to the matching ruffled clutch she carried. “Well, he’s going to have to be patient a little longer.” She pulled an engraved, off-white card threaded with charcoal satin ribbon at the top from her bag. “Everyone will be getting one of these in the mail.”
Vance plucked the card from her fingers and quickly read the invitation. Both brows hiked up as he blinked in confusion at Katie. “There’s a whole week of activities here.”
“Yes. I’m aware of that. Be glad it’s only a week. While you’ve been buried in your work, I’ve been battling my parents for months.”
“Let me see that.” Bertie snatched the card from Vance’s loose fingers. “Sweet sassy molassy! We get to spend a night at the Pier in Santa Monica, with cocktails and dinner.”
“We’ve hired a live band, and you’ll have fun riding all the carnival rides. It’s really beautiful at night,” Katie added.
“And a tour of McKnight Studios—” Bertie gaped.
“Let me see that.” Lucy reached for the invitation and started reading, with Brogan and Keith looking over her shoulder. “Spa day and shopping on Rodeo Drive and the bridesmaid luncheon at Spago!” Lucy and Bertie both squealed, gripping each other’s hands.
“You haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Keith interjected, pointing at the card waving like a flag in Lucy’s hand. “You’re going down the red carpet at the Golden Globe awards.”
“What?” Bertie and Lucy scanned the invitation until their eyes widened and their jaws dropped.
“Man, did you see the round of golf at the Los Angeles Country Club?” Brogan asked Keith.
“The red carpet?”
“I don’t have a thing to wear—”
“Rodeo Drive, baby!”
Everyone talked excitedly at once, taking turns reading the invitation. Katie pressed her hands together in a silent clap as the happiness she felt warmed her. She wanted her friends and anyone who could attend from Harmony to have a wonderful, star-filled, Hollywood experience. She would enjoy the festivities so much more through their eyes, knowing she never had to live there again.
“Excuse me.” Vance cleared his throat. “But is there a wedding anywhere on that invitation?”
“Oh! Almost forgot…” Katie pulled another card from her bag, this one thick, ivory card stock with elegant charcoal engraving, displaying the McKnight family crest at the top. “Mr. and Mrs. Walter Douglas McKnight request the honor of your presence—” She read the first line and then stopped, looking up into Vance’s expectant face. The face she never tired of. The last seven months had been the best of her life. She was working with children again, taking pictures, and becoming an active, respected citizen of a quirky, small Southern town. She’d carved a niche for herself and had grown a backbone. She loved everything. But most of all, she loved him. Katie wondered at the tremor she still felt in her belly as Vance stared at her. She pressed her hand against his warm cheek.
“Vance Kerner…will you marry me?” she whispered.
He turned into her hand, kissing her palm. “Absolutely. I’m yours, and you’re mine…forever,” he said without hesitation.
With misting eyes, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and he staggered her with his smile before his lips covered hers in one of his spectacular kisses.
“Hey, Kerner…looks like we’re gonna be movie stars after all.” Vance slowly lifted his head and glowered at Clancy Perry standing at the edge of the patio, wearing creased jeans and red-and-white tuxedo T-shirt tucked in at the waist.
“What the hell are you talking about, Clancy?” Vance said between clenched teeth. Katie started to tremble, unable to control her laughter. Shaking his head, he turned to her. “Oh no, you didn’t…” Vance scowled, and Katie clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her unladylike snort.
Grinning like he’d just won the lottery, Clancy Perry waved one of Katie’s invitations in the air. “Me and Clinton and heck, the whole dang town are showing up for your wedding in Hooollly-woood!” Clancy crowed.
“Oh my. Chuck and I will have to cut our three-month honeymoon short. ’Cause I’m not about to miss my favorite stepson’s wedding.” The newlywed, Dottie Duncan Kerner, rustled toward them, holding up wads of satin ruffles in her fists. Her lifted gown revealed dazzling white cowboy boots.
Brogan barked with laughter, and Vance slid him an evil look.
“Uncle Pance, I be the flower girl. Right, Kay-tee?” Danny barreled toward them, missing one shoe and the pink satin ribbon to her dress. Dover and Donald followed, their wedding outfits already sporting dirt and grass stains. Vance scooped Danny up in his arms, shifting her to his hip; he wrapped his other arm around Katie and pulled her in tight to his side.
Chuck smiled and reached for his granddaughter, freeing Vance’s arm, and clasped Dottie’s hand with his other. With half of Harmony laughing, toasting, and talking Hollywood, Vance tucked Katie behind a ruffled pink drape at the corner of the tent, blocking her view of the party. All she saw was him.
“You sure this is what you want?”
Throat tight, tears threatening, she nodded. “More than anything.”
He held her gaze and then he grinned. “Me too.”
Katie swallowed her laugh as Vance swept her off her feet and kissed her to the hoots and hollers of her new hometown.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Michele Summers’s next book
Available Spring 2017 from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Marabelle didn’t suck at everything. She made a mouthwatering orange pound cake with chocolate ganache. She made the Wicked Witch come to life when she read aloud to her students. And she had a mean slice backhand that gave her opponents trouble on the tennis court. But when it came to biting her tongue and taking direction, she sucked.
“Marabelle, are you listening?”
Marabelle blinked several times to keep from dozing off as Mrs. Crow droned on and on at the tedious gala meeting. She forced her tired eyes to focus on the blue-and-gold-bound agenda in front of her. Marabelle’s cell phone beeped, indicating a text.
“Marabelle!”
Marabelle straightened her posture, grappling to turn off her phone.
“Mrs. Evans is suggesting that you help with the auction as well as the coordination of the golf and tennis tournaments.” Mrs. Crow enunciated as if Marabelle had comprehension problems.
Oh brother. Another project to add to her ever-growing list.
Marabelle shifted her attention to the bleached-blonde Mrs. Evans, head of the gala committee, and then to the other members seated around the conference table, all staring back as if a third eye had grown on her forehead.
“Why me?”
But Marabelle Fairchild already knew the answer to her own question. Brandon Aldridge. A five-year-old in her kindergarten class. Well, not him exactly, but rather his uncle, Nick Frasier, the famous NFL quarterback-turned-head-coach of the North Carolina Cherokees. Besides his impressive football career, Nick Frasier held the distinguished title of most eligible bachelor in the Raleigh-Durham area and the most smokin’ hot and sexy. And Trinity Academy for Boys and Girls wanted this particular available hunk helping out with their fund-raiser. To be specific, the women across the polished mahogany conference table with undisguised lust in their eyes wanted him in ways that Marabelle did not care to contemplate.
“Marabelle, honey, you need to use your connections and…assets to convince Coach Frasier to participate.” Carol Evans stumbled over the word “assets” as she clasped her yellow-diamond-encrusted fingers together.
Assets, my left toe. Compared to these perfectly coiffed women who looked as if they stepped out of the pages of Vogue on steroids, Marabelle felt like the poster child for unwanted orphans. Her wardrobe didn’t help. She wore a navy-blue cardigan over a white button-down blouse, and could’ve passed for one of her kindergartners rather than a thirty-year-old with a master’s degree in elementary education.
“We need to raise a considerable amount of money if we want to improve any of the playing facilities and add a permanent teaching position to the staff.” Carol Evans spoke with a Yankeefied southern twang that grated on Marabelle’s true-blue southern ears. It was a well-known fact that Carol Evans hailed from Trenton, New Jersey. But she’d married a native North Carolinian and had taken to her new identity faster than you could say, “Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina.”
At the mention of the teaching position, Marabelle’s attention ratcheted up. She’d been barely eeking by on a teacher’s assistant salary for the last three years, and she wanted nothing more than to be hired as a certified, permanent teacher.
Mrs. Crow said, “The board will seriously consider allocating monies we raise from the gala toward creating another teaching position if—”
“If I do what…exactly.” Marabelle leaned forward in her chair and waited. She hated the age-old twisted plot of high society women out to one-up each other in the name of charity. She recognized the competitive gleam in their eyes and the tension around their mouths. Her own mother had worn that exact “game on” expression more times than Marabelle cared to remember. But she knew how the game was played and she was ready to deal.
“Clearly you don’t understand what’s at stake here,” Mrs. Burrows, a native Tarheel, interjected as she played with a strand of perfect South Sea pearls around her neck. She and Mrs. Evans gave each other “we’re doomed” looks with the rise of their perfectly waxed eyebrows.
Marabelle definitely knew what was at stake…a significant increase in salary so she could continue to pay her mortgage without her mother bailing her out. A stand she took very seriously three years ago when she said no to her inheritance from her mother in order to be free. Marabelle put on her best schoolteacher face and said, “I know exactly what’s at stake. You want to raise huge funds and you want Brandon Aldridge’s famous uncle to participate by calling in a bunch of favors to all his celebrity friends and pro athletes who will donate sports memorabilia and money.” This wasn’t Marabelle’s first rodeo.
“Well, yes, that’s precisely what we want,” Mrs. Evans said, sounding a bit startled at Marabelle’s acumen. “Marabelle, honey, what we’re all trying to say is you that don’t exactly have the best track record. You remember last year’s carnival?” Carol Evans sounded sympathetic while looking anything but.
Reaching for her water bottle, Marabelle took a huge gulp before addressing the committee. She needed to make a good impression. These women may have thought she had nothing in common with them, but they’d be dead wrong. Marabelle had lived in their world for years and had learned from the master. “Once again, I’m sorry about the mishaps at the carnival last year. But in my defense, the minute I noticed the clown was drunk, I had him escorted off the grounds. And the carny apologized for setting the Tilt-a-Whirl at warp speed.” She omitted the pa
rt where he proceeded to proposition her.
“Three of our first graders were thrown into the holly bushes.” Beak-Face Crow scowled. “Thanks to Mrs. Evans’s husband, our school attorney”—she fluttered her hand in Carol’s direction—“we avoided a costly law suit.”
Marabelle had been thrust into taking over the volunteer job at the last minute, from a faculty member who’d suffered a broken foot. For the past three years, she’d been forced to “volunteer” a lot. Even though she hadn’t booked the carnival company, her reputation had been on shaky ground ever since.
“So the committee, faculty, and I thought we would offer you another chance to…you know…shine, so to speak, if you acquire Coach Frasier’s sponsorship…” Mrs. Crow’s voice trailed off.
So, that was the catch. They planned to hold a teaching position hostage until she had hooked Coach Frasier for their cause. Brilliant! But her parents, Edna and Ed Fairchild, hadn’t raised an idiot. Sarcastically, she blurted, “Why don’t we raise some real money and have all the eligible bachelors auction themselves off to the highest bidder?”
The school conference room grew so quiet Marabelle could hear the sweep of the second hand on the oversized black-and-white clock hanging above the closed door. Mr. Turner, the only male member of the committee, stopped swiveling in his high-back leather chair. All eyes fixed on her. Marabelle twisted her hands in her lap to keep from clapping them over her mouth. She’d just catapulted herself from the frying pan into the fryer.
Beak-Face Crow cleared her throat, appearing very interested in the papers she shuffled between her bony fingers while the Blondie Twins, Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Burrows, grinned like the Grinch contemplating diabolical ways to steal Christmas.
Mrs. Cartwright, the eldest member of the committee, continued to needlepoint and without looking up from her stitches, said in her gravelly voice, “You’ve just come up with the only idea that might work. A live auction with the best-looking bachelors we can find.”
Sweet Southern Bad Boy Page 30