The Love Interest

by Kayley Loring

  Who’s got two thumbs, a hit movie franchise, and will never let you forget it? This badass guy.

  EPILOGUE TWO – William Dexter

  You Can Viscount on Me by Fiona Walker – Epilogue

  William Dexter had been Earl of Camden for nearly one year by the time Lucy had given birth to his heir. By then, William and Lucy had weathered the storm of society scandal. Things had shifted so that each other’s well-being had become the axis around which their world revolved. And they had learned to never flee a marital fight. As William had hoped, every argument with his wife was now fought to the bitter, damp, and disheveled end.

  Since their initial retreat from London, Lucy—also known as Harriet Sedgewick—had published ten more romance novels. They were even more salacious than the first. Each publication sold more copies than the last.

  William had gotten used to the time Lucy spent in her study writing. He had gotten used to the attention she received from and gave to fans. But he was having a great deal of trouble growing accustomed to the amount of time and attention she and everyone else in the manor was lavishing upon baby Freddie. It was relentless and seemingly without end.

  The baby was cute—that was undeniable. He had William’s stunning blue eyes. William was fond of him and very proud to be a father. But William was the earl. William was the husband. William could form words and dress and eat all by himself and walk. And walk, he did. Or stomped around, rather. He stomped around the library after dinner and stomped up the staircase and around the corridor outside the nursery. When it was clear to him that his wife would not stop fussing over Freddie until he was asleep for the night, he decided to stomp through the hedge maze.

  Alone.

  The last ten times he’d tread through here, he was with Lucy.

  He always wanted her by his side.

  He always wanted her beneath him, on top of him, in front of him, below him, straddling him, hanging upside-down with her ankles behind his neck—standing bent over before him while he sat on the floor, with her mouth on his…ahem …with his face in her…ahem. That was an anniversary to remember!

  Simply put: she was his wife—she should always be with him.

  He had come to terms with the fact that he would always get lost trying to navigate the labyrinth of Lucy’s mind, but he’d been confident that he would always be the lord of her body, heart, and soul.

  Lately, he was not so certain.

  By the time William reached the center of the maze, he realized how petulant he was being. It amused him. He only wished he could share his amusement with his wife.

  “Are you here, dear husband?” came his wife’s voice from beyond the hedge, farther down the path.

  William was so happy to hear her calling out to him, but he could tell from her tone that this was a rhetorical question. “You always know where to find me, dear wife.” He took a seat on the stone bench and began the tedious task of disrobing. The nurse would be tending to their child, but they were always in a rush to spend time together now—when they spent time together at all.

  Lucy found her husband already partially undressed and fully aroused when she reached him. She appeared amused as well as touched by his enthusiasm. “What’s the rush, Lord Camden? Do you have somewhere else to be in the near future?”

  “I must find myself deep inside Lady Camden forthwith. Come along now.”

  “Oh, I shall. As will you. But let’s not make haste.” She hiked up her skirts. Normally, she would allow her husband the honor of relieving her of her undergarments, but tonight she came prepared. She wore nothing underneath, and so she positioned herself over his lap and slowly lowered herself down.

  “You are…excruciatingly good to me sometimes, dear wife.”

  “And you are always the king of my heart, body, and soul, dear husband. Even when I’m attending to your heir.”

  Here was the only woman who could ever satisfy William with words, and yet she also managed to do it with her face and her physique. He thought this to himself every day, but he decided now was as good a time as any to tell her out loud: “If I had my life to live over, Lucy, I would choose you—every time.”

  “Mmmm” was all she said.

  And that was enough.

  She was always enough.

  Good on ya. Sweet and sexy ending befittin’ of the thesis of a soon-to-be MFA holder. Well done, you.

  Soon-to-be bride of a New York Times best-sellin’ author and about to become one her own self. Yeah, I got a good feelin’ about this. Also got a few ideas ’bout who should play me in the series. To be discussed at a later date, as they say.

  Time for a holiday, eh? Mini-break at least. You earned it. I know I’ve earned it. Tits out, and off ya go for that well-earned HEA, then.

  Say ’ello to jolly old England for me on your honeymoon, luv.

  Cheers.

  EPILOGUE THREE – Goliath the Cock

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday, dear Jackson.

  Happy birthday tooooo yoooouuuu.

  Aaaaand many mooooorrrrre.

  God, I’m an amazing singer. It’s a crying shame these people can’t hear me. I get up at the crack of dawn out here every morning to cock-a-doodle-doo, even though it doesn’t wake up anyone inside that house. As far as they know, I’m just a huge, beautiful rooster. But there’s a lot more to this big, beautiful cock than meets the eye.

  I may be big and hard and made of iron. I may be a proud, virile alpha male who rules the roost and vigilantly stands guard in this backyard. But I’m from California, man—I have a gentle soul, and my soul loves these people. Well, not the pretty boy—but Fiona and Jackson.

  I fucking love them, and they don’t even know it.

  This is the second time I’ve sung happy birthday to Jackson. The three of them live here half the time now—Jackson and Fiona and Pretty Boy. The whole family’s out here now to celebrate with cake and nondairy ice cream. The little one is so cute. He has Fiona’s quirky lovable energy and Pretty Boy’s blue eyes. But he also has my confidence and lust for life. He’s masculine—like me. I honestly don’t see much of Pretty Boy in him, aside from the blue eyes.

  But I have no complaints about Pretty Boy. If Fiona hadn’t married him four years ago, then Sissy wouldn’t have brought her a stunning and absolutely beguiling four-foot hen as a wedding present. Sure, she made her for the bride and groom. But Titania the Hen is mine. She loves to stick her chest out, and she’s got a heart-shaped tail that just won’t quit. Fuuuuuck. So hot. She’s exotic and sweet, and I don’t want to brag or anything but she thinks I’m awesome. My girl knows a fancy comb when she sees one. She’s as hot for my wattle now as she was the first time she saw it, and I always keep her satisfied.

  It was about fucking time someone brought me a mate.

  First, I had to stand around Sissy and Rick’s backyard, watching them crazy-love on each other for years. Then I had to watch Fiona and Pretty Boy make out on a bench by some river and bone all over that living room in there—right in front of me. That guy thinks he’s got moves—he doesn’t have moves. I’ve got moves. He thinks he’s hot shit, and sure, he makes Fiona happy. But this is my house. Yeah, he’s the guy who had an extension built for Fiona’s office so she can write her best-selling romance novels in there. Yes, he threw her some big fancy costume party out here a few years ago to celebrate her publishing deal. He also had a guest house built for Sissy and Rick to stay in when they come to visit. He’s always talking about how he needs to spend all that money he’s made from the Jack Irons movies.

  But I’m the one out here protecting them and everything on this property all night and day—while also keeping my woman fulfilled in every way.

  Fiona and Pretty Boy come out here really late at night sometimes in the summer. The hanging white lights twinkle, and it’s so peaceful and quiet. They just sit together under the stars, drinking wine and talking about the books they’re writing. The
y joke around and tease each other. Sometimes they don’t talk at all. Occasionally, they get it on. Or they just hold hands. They’re comfortable with each other now—in a good way. Like Titania and me.

  But sometimes, Pretty Boy comes out here in the evenings and sits by himself. He turns the lawn chair to face the house so he can watch Fiona and the baby inside, and he looks so damn happy. Like he can’t believe his luck. Sometimes I forget how frustrated Fiona was with him for a while there. But I saw it in those sad blue eyes of his, that very first night. I saw how he looked at Fiona. He didn’t even flinch when she carried me out of the apartment. He just took me from her and brought me over to the cab. That told me a lot, right there. You can learn a lot about a man from how he treats a lady’s cock.

  I mean, it was a little weird that he was on that date with us, but whatever.

  They were falling in love.

  They didn’t know it then.

  Or they did, but they didn’t want to admit it for some reason.

  But I knew. I knew how their story would unfold.

  It was just a subplot in the epic tale of how I met Titania—but it’s an important part of the story. I’m glad they got to be a part of our happily ever after; however, the cock always gets the last word.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Jen Mirabelli—for the everything.

  Thank you to Chelsea George and and and and Royal Reads for the beta reads ;)

  Thanks to Kerri Wallace for the four-foot cock inspo, and for suggesting I insert a four-foot metal cock into one of my books. Done. Are you happy now?!

  Thank you to Shanetia Clark for the academic insights!

  Thanks again to Louise Brown, my bloody great Britspeak consultant—this time for helping me to cock up the Cockney.

  I don’t even know how to thank the good citizens of Kayleyville (my Facebook group) anymore. I did that whole Nice and Grateful Author thing, because I love you and I’m so grateful for you. Then I tried calling you all a bunch of assholes because you won’t leave me alone and you want me to publish a book every four days—but you also don’t want me to write novellas. You just laughed and embraced being assholes. I tried to convince you that I’m a hack writer and a terrible person, but you refuse to believe me. I guess this is love or something and you’re the best HEA a hack author who’s a terrible person could ever ask for.

  P.S. HEA stands for Horrible Exhausting Assholes ;) xoxo

  I cannot wait to hear the audiobook for this one, because Teddy Hamilton, Mackenzie Cartwright, Connor Crais and Shane East sounded so amazing in my head while I wrote this! Thanks for having sexy voices—even though I know you guys won’t read this because narrators never read anything they aren’t paid to read.

  Finally, thank you to my Arc Team and the Bookstagrammers, Facebookers and fellow authors who have been so supportive of my books. I’m not good about being loud about my work, so thank you for doing that for me. Without you, I’m nothing (but a girl who writes steamy rom-coms that nobody talks about).

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