“Oh. I see how it is.” She shakes her head, pulling Mariana into a hug, and gives her a motherly pat her on the back. “It’s a wonder you can still walk at all, girlfriend.”
The color is high in Mariana’s cheeks when they break apart. She sends me a sour glance, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “When I can’t, he carries me.”
“Lawd,” Darcy says, fanning herself. She eyes my crotch, and I have to laugh.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Darcy.” I give her a hug, then hold out the bottle of wine I picked out for the occasion. “I hope this goes okay with schnitzel. And may I say, you look especially beautiful today.”
She’s in a flowing gown with a zigzag pattern of yellow, red, and hot-pink stripes that I’m certain will give me a seizure if I stare at it too long. So I look at her turban, instead, a white pouf of silk wrapped around her head featuring a big, glittering fake ruby pinned into the center of a spray of peacock feathers.
“Aw, that’s so sweet! C’mon in, everybody’s waiting on you.”
She waves us inside and closes the door behind us. It’s the first time we’ve been to Darcy and Kai’s place, a bright, airy loft in a funky neighborhood in SoHo, and their taste is reflected in every eclectic, colorful piece of furniture and artwork. I admire an interesting bronze sculpture on a pedestal in the entryway, which Darcy informs me was crafted by Kai himself.
“It represents man’s struggle to survive in a chaotic, meaningless universe.”
“Huh,” I say, inspecting it. “Looks like a big comma to me.”
Darcy snorts. “Don’t tell my baby that,” she says, voice lowered. “He thinks he’s the next Michelangelo. You should see his paintings.”
“That bad?” Mariana asks.
“They look like somebody gave a hyperactive five-year-old child a box of crayons and told him to draw the contents of his stomach.”
I look at Mariana. “Forget about the rolls, now I’m worried about the turkey.”
“There they are!”
Kai’s happy greeting—zere zey are!—comes from across the loft. He’s in the kitchen, wearing an orange apron and one of those tall chef’s hats. Also orange, because it’s Kai.
“Come in! Come in!” He waves at us with a spatula. “You’re just in time for the schnitzel!”
“Goody,” I say under my breath.
Darcy laughs. “Don’t worry, Ryan, he’s not much of an artist, but he actually can cook!”
I help Mariana remove her coat and drape it over a nearby chair, then scold, “Wait for me!” as she turns and starts to follow Darcy toward the kitchen. I take her elbow, wind my arm around her waist, and usher her inside, all the while listening to her grouse about overprotective cavemen.
“Get used to it, Angel, ’cause it’s only gonna get worse once the bean gets here.”
“Hmm. I almost feel sorry for this kid. He has no idea how many GPS trackers he’ll have attached to his body the minute he pops out.”
“Her body,” I say with utmost confidence. “Don’t gimme that look, woman. The bean is a girl!”
“Oh, really? And how do you know that?”
“Same way I know everything else.” I wink at her and tap my temple.
“Is he bragging about his big brain again?” Connor asks from the purple sofa in the living room.
He’s sitting with his arm slung around Tabby’s shoulders. Juanita’s sitting cross-legged on the floor at their feet with a bunch of open schoolbooks strewn around, chewing a pencil and absentmindedly scratching the belly of Elvis the rat, who’s sleeping on his back between the pages of a textbook. On the wall across from them, a flat-screen TV is turned to a news channel.
“I don’t need to brag. My big brain speaks for itself.”
Connor and I grin at each other. He and Tabby stand up, and we all share hugs.
“Careful, brother!” I bark when Connor squeezes Mariana, his biceps bulging.
He pulls away with a sigh and looks into Mariana’s eyes. “He’s gonna be like this for the next five months, isn’t he?”
“Oh no,” Mariana says with a straight face. “He’s going to be like this forever.”
“Heya, short stuff.” I nod at Juanita, who’s looked up from her books. “Whatcha’ doin’?”
She pushes a lock of curly brown hair away from her face. “Just finishing up some extra credit for a class.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the class?”
“Topological spaces and the fundamental group.”
I blink. Is that like…gardening?
When she sees my blank look, she explains. “It’s the advanced geometry and topology stream of the one-hundred-level math curriculum at the new school I’m transferring to in the spring.”
I try to look like I have a clue about what she just said. “Cool. So no more Catholic school?”
“I got accepted into Harvard,” she says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.
“At fifteen?”
Tabby laughs at the expression on my face. “How’s your big brain feeling now, jarhead?”
“Shriveled,” I admit.
“And how are you feeling, Mariana?” Tabby gestures to the bump under Mariana’s pretty red dress.
Mariana looks down at her belly, smiles, and rests her hand on top of the bean. “Good,” she murmurs. “Other than the morning sickness, which should really be called all-day sickness, I feel great.” She glances at me, and her smile grows deeper. “It helps that I’m not allowed to lift a finger to do even the smallest bit of housework. I went out for a few hours yesterday afternoon to do some shopping, but mainly I spend my days napping and eating.”
“There’s a few other things you spend time doing, too.” I grin down at her and pinch her ass.
“TMI, bitches,” Juanita says, and goes back to her books.
“Got a call from Karpov this morning,” Connor drawls, looking at me.
“Karpov!” I say, surprised. “I know it wasn’t about the Hope, ’cause he got that back weeks ago.”
“It was about another job he needs us for.”
My brow creases. “Another job? What’s wrong this time? Don’t tell me his daughter was kidnapped again!”
Connor chuckles. “Nope. Now his son’s gone missing from his rich-kid prep school in London.”
A little chill runs down my spine. Maybe there’s something to the curse on that diamond after all. Mariana must sense what I’m thinking, because she squeezes my fingers and sends me a reassuring smile.
“Everybody to the table! Dinner’s on!” Darcy hollers at her normal, eardrum-shattering level.
We walk into the dining room, everyone oohing and aahing over the extravagant place settings and crystal, and take our seats while Darcy and Kai proceed to bring out enough food to feed an army. I’m happy when I see the turkey, golden brown and traditional, and even happier when I see fluffy white dinner rolls appear, wrapped up snug in a linen napkin in a basket.
“Oh, baby, turn off the TV, would you?” Darcy says to Kai.
His hands are full, so I offer to get it. I rise and amble into the living room, pick up the remote from the coffee table, and am about to hit the power button when something the perky blonde newscaster is saying stops me cold.
“—haven’t yet apprehended the perpetrators who broke into the store yesterday afternoon after it had closed early for the Thanksgiving holiday, but the theft is being called ‘incredibly well planned and executed’ by the police, who wouldn’t answer many of our specific questions, citing the ongoing investigation. One thing of interest they did share with the press, however, was the unusual method the thieves used to gain entrance to the flagship Harry Winston store on Fifth Avenue. Apparently, they came in through the air-conditioning vents.”
I turn slowly, the remote control in a death grip in my hand, and look at Mariana. “Angel?”
Radiant, she glances up at me with an expectant smile. “Yes?”
I gaze at the diamond studs glittering in her earlobes
. “Are those new earrings?”
“These? she asks innocently. “Oh, they’re just a little something I picked up in my travels.”
“Your travels,” I repeat flatly. I fold my arms across my chest. “You got somethin’ you wanna confess?” I growl.
Her smile glows as brilliant as the sun. “Only that I love you, sweetie!”
When I growl again, she bursts into laughter. She pushes her chair back from the table and comes to me, her eyes shining, that brilliant smile lighting up her whole face. She puts her arms around my shoulders and rises up on her toes to give me a kiss.
“You’re too easy to wind up, honey. I wouldn’t risk the bean or my future with you for a pair of earrings.” Then she whispers into my ear. “By the way, the answer to the other question you haven’t asked yet is yes.”
“Other question?” I say gruffly, holding her tight and inhaling her scent, pepper and clover and something sweet that’s all her. “What other question?”
She presses another kiss to my lips. Then she lifts her left hand next to her face and wiggles her fingers.
The big diamond on her ring finger sparkles with rainbow prisms that catch the light.
Shocked, I shove my hand into the pocket where I’d put the ring box before we left the house, and find the little velvet box gone.
“I can spot jewelry hidden in clothing at fifty paces, cowboy,” says my love, smiling that heartbreaker smile.
My heart going a million miles per hour, I say gruffly, “The answer is yes?”
“The thought of you having any other woman in your abnormally large bed makes me want to break every bone in your body, so I figure that’s a pretty good indicator that I should keep you around.”
I take her face in my hands. “The answer is yes?”
“Yes,” she replies, staring deep into my eyes. “I love you with every cell of my heart and soul, and I’ll be so proud to be your wife.”
I throw my arms around her and squeeze her tight, my laugh part groan, my hands shaking. Then I kiss her with everything I have until we’re both breathless.
From behind us comes a teasing shout. “Get a room!”
I flip Connor the bird over Mariana’s shoulder, not even bothering to open my eyes.
Acknowledgments
When I was five years old, I told my first story.
It was short and succinct, about a little girl who was sad because everyone forgot her birthday. I told this story to my neighbor, a lovely Vietnamese woman with big black hair, long red fingernails, and a core of steel. Her name was Fong, and she lived across the street from my family in Gering, Nebraska.
Fong promptly went out and bought me a plastic child’s tea set from Woolworth’s and left it wrapped with a bow on my front porch with a card that said how sorry she was that no one had remembered my birthday.
There was a very good reason, however, that no one had remembered my birthday: it wasn’t for another six months.
When my mother discovered I’d told this story (she called it a “lie”) to her friend Fong, she was horrified. She made me return the tea set and apologize. I did, with copious tears, not quite understanding the difference between a story and a lie, except that a good story would get me nice toys, while a lie would get me a spanking that made sitting uncomfortable for days.
I never forgot the difference, or Fong, who I still think of as my first fan.
Thank you to my mentor and amazing publisher, Marie Force and Jack’s House Publishing, for the incredible enthusiasm, advice, and support of my storytelling. I’m so thankful for the opportunity to work together, and I’m thrilled with the results of our collaboration.
As always, my deepest gratitude to Jay, without whom nothing I do is possible. Being married to my best friend is so much more fun than any fairy tale could promise.
Finally, thanks to my readers and fans, who send me such wonderful words of appreciation for all the fanciful lies I tell.
During research for Mariana’s character, I read many heartbreaking tales from victims of human trafficking. UNICEF estimates more than twenty million people are trafficked around the world, the majority of them women and children who are forced into prostitution. These victims suffer unimaginable violence, exploitation, and abuse. To learn more, please visit the US Department of State’s Office to Monitor and Combat Trafficking in Persons at www.state.gov.
About the Author
J.T. Geissinger is the author of more than a dozen novels in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense.
She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. Her work has also finaled in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.
She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, on whom all of her heroes are based.
She loves to interact with readers, so please join her private Facebook reader’s group, Geissinger’s Gang, to find out more information about works in progress and get access to exclusive excerpts and contests, as well as a chance to get advance reader copies of her new releases.
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About Jack’s House Publishing
Jack’s House Publishing, Inc. is New York Times bestselling author Marie Force’s publishing endeavor. Since 2010, Marie has been a leader in the self-publishing movement, particularly within the romance genre. She wants to put her expertise, knowledge and experience to work for authors who are struggling to be seen by readers in this increasingly competitive marketplace. Since 2012, Marie has owned and operated the Formatting Fairies to help authors prepare their books for self-publication. Her team has helped hundreds of authors get started on their publishing journey. Now she wants to put her team to work on helping the authors we acquire to rise above the sea of books currently on sale and connect with readers. When Marie gives workshops on topics ranging from Self-Publishing 101 to Preparing for Success, her message is consistent—success in this business is all about writing a great book—and then doing it over and over again. If you’ve written a great book that no one has read, we want to help you find your readers.
We’re Looking for the Next Great Contemporary Romance Novel!
Have you written a book that absolutely rocks? Is it edgy and sexy and provocative? If so, we want to be your publisher! Over the last six years, New York Times bestselling author Marie Force has built an eight-figure business mostly through independent publishing. With more than 30 indie-published books to her name, Marie knows how to elevate your book from obscurity to visibility. After four years of running the Formatting Fairies business, Marie and her team are ready to work for you. Would you like to skip over the hurdles of discoverability that all new authors face? Would you rather write than deal with figuring out how to format for all the major retailers? Would you like to have one of today’s top contemporary romance authors personally endorse your book? Would you like to be mentored every step of the way, from developing your website and social media presence to choosing your cover to setting your price? If so, we want to hear from you.
Find out more at jackshousepublishing.com or email us at [email protected].
Wicked Intentions: The Wicked Games Series, Book 3 Page 29