Had To Make You Mine

by Kat Long

The face of the pocket-watch finally tells a time, the exact time he proposed, or close enough to it. And one of the feathers is complete and colored in with different shades of blue. She traces the ink up his arm to the back of his neck and pulls him back down for a kiss.

  “That day at the beach a year ago, Max, it felt like my heart started beating.”

  “Mine too, Blue,” he said, reaching out to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And this is just the beginning. You ready to get out of here?”

  “Yeah, I am. Take me home, Broody.”

  He presses a sweet kiss to her temple, then pats me on the back and takes Baxter’s leash. The only thing that would make this moment better would be if they were walking off into the sunset with Bryan Adams playing in the background or if Taylor was here.

  I check my watch and give them a final wave, taking my phone out of my pocket to send him a heart emoji. He returns it a second later, and all of a sudden, with all this love in the air, I need to hightail it back to him. Because if this crazy love story has shown me anything, it’s that actions speak louder than words, and sometimes, love really is all you need.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are so many people who helped this book become a reality, and I’d like to take a few moments to thank them for making Max and Anna’s Happily Ever Always possible.

  For Sheri. You were the first person I shared this crazy idea with. Thank you for listening.

  For Jen and April, my amazing alphas. Thank you for letting me obsess over every detail and for reading a very, very rough draft. We will forever be: the three best friends that anyone could have!

  For Jessica Snyder. Thank you for reading the first few chapters and giving me invaluable guidance. You gave me the confidence to keep writing, and I am forever grateful.

  For my sister Meghan. Thank you for your unending support and for always having my back. You helped me power through writer’s block and gave Max and Anna the ending they deserved. You always know how to make life brighter.

  For Traci, my aunt, and amazing beta reader. Thank you for not getting weirded out reading the sexy stuff, and for emotionally supporting me through every freak-out and every a-ha moment. You have always been my biggest cheerleader, and you make my heart smile.

  For Meghan and Amber. Your developmental edits were on point! You are both detail oriented bad asses and I can’t wait to work with you again!

  For Rebecca Colvin of Just Ask Her Productions. Thank you for being there, for supporting me, and for teaching me all the things. Our friendship is something I treasure, and I would not be where I am without your guidance. You are truly an amazing soul.

  For Kris Guiao. Thank you for the amazing cover, beautiful formatting, and for working with me and my million questions and overthinking brain.

  For Brett and Danielle. Thank for you for proofreading a book that is way out of your usual genre. And Brett, I’m sorry about almost making you crash when Danielle got to *that* plot-twist!

  For my ARC Readers. Thank you for being patient and for your worthwhile comments. I am humbled and grateful for each and every one of you.

  For my husband, and my parents. Thank you for believing in me, supporting me, and for not letting me give up when things got sticky. And a special shout out to my marvelous mom for reading the first chapter and immediately shoving a laptop in my hands!

  For my Reader’s Writing Romance FB Group. Thank you for the fantastic advice and all the helpful suggestions.

  For Erica Walsh. Your graphics are on point! Thank you for helping to make the release the best it could be!

  And finally, to my Mormor. You are the voice in my head when I want to give up, and the woman I strive to one day become. I love you.

  DID YOU LOVE THIS BOOK?

  Thank you for reading Had To Make You Mine! I hope you enjoyed Max and Anna’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

  If you loved this book, please consider leaving a review. Even just a few words can help Indie Authors reach a wider audience! As an author, your feedback is vital to our success and will help other readers decide what their next favorite book will be.

  If you’d like to get notifications of new releases, sneak-peeks, and special offers, please join my Facebook Group, Kat Long’s Between the Covers, and sign up for my (non-spammy) Newsletter at www.katlongromance.com.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kat lives at the beach with her Happily Ever After, a daughter, and two irritating but lovable cats.

  Before she started writing contemporary romance, she graduated with a Master’s Degree in School Psychology from The University of West Alabama. Now, by day she works in Commercial Banking and by night she’s a Writer.

  Books have always made her heart beat faster, and she started writing her first novel after dreaming up an Alpha-Marshmallow!

  Her characters are sexy and clever, but in real life Kat’s the ultimate over-thinker. Let’s face it, her inner monologues would not make good reading!

  She flips for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s HEAT.

  When she’s not reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably researching her next book, watching Animal Planet in yoga pants, trying not to over-water her succulents, drinking too much coffee, and wondering if the real meaning of life is forty-two.

  Readers make her world go round!

  Keep in touch with Kat Via the Web:

  www.KatLongRomance.com

  https://linktr.ee/KatLongRomance

  SNEAK PEEK

  Here’s a Sneak Peek of Love Under Construction: A Love Falls Novella

  Free with Kindle Unlimited

  I have a secret—a secret so scandalous, so outrageous, and so down-right dirty that the mere mention of it sends grown men cowering into the shadows—a secret so diabolical, so shocking, that the fact I even consider saying the words out loud should leave you feeling lucky.

  And afraid. Very afraid.

  Are you ready?

  Are you sure?

  Take a moment. Have a seat. Get a drink; maybe two. Prepare yourself for the bamboozlement, the shock, the bewilderment—what? That is too a real word; my word-a-day calendar in the bathroom says so. It’s not like my cactus and I have a lot to say to each other when I’m in there.

  My reputation is on the line for even daring to allow the words to cross my lips. The core of my very being could be disrupted, destroyed, burned beyond recognition.

  Have I drawn it out enough?

  Is everybody paying attention?

  This is your last warning to turn and run away.

  No?

  Okay. Here it is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  It was a dark and stormy night…

  Just kidding: I’m hilarious.

  I, Maddox Hart (nickname Mads), owner of Hart Construction, owner of a reputation that will make your toes curl: for being a badass, a hardass, a pain in the ass, and any other ass words you want to add, I’m a (sigh)—I’m a (bigger sigh), oh for fuck’s sake! I’m a hopeless romantic—I love, love.

  There (deep breath), I said it. It’s out in the open for the world to see.

  Fuck. I feel better.

  By day, I run the most successful business in this town. I run my company with ruthless effectiveness and unyielding perfectionism. Construction is a tough business, with lots of room for error. When we started offering Handy-Man services, general repair, and upkeep to the books, my standards got even higher. Go ahead, judge. I didn’t get where I am by being a pushover. I hold myself and my crew to the highest standards and have no issue with making the world bend to my will if they fail. But at night, it’s a different story. A softer story.

  At night, I like nothing more than watching HGTV under a quilted blanket, with hot tea and chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. And yes, before you ask, I made the cookies. And
the quilted blanket. I knitted the shit out of it. The bubble stitch pattern will knock your socks off.

  It’s my downtime, my happy place, my peace. Do I still burp too loud when drinking beer with the guys and laugh when I fart in the shower? Abso-fucking-lutely.

  But when I’m at home, after I sign the invoices and check the sites, I can finally drop the facade like a wet blanket. Drop the facade, and just enjoy the peace and solitude. Well, the peace? Yes. The solitude? No. That’s the real issue. The root of the problem. The stone in my Timberlands. I’m lonely.

  After I hit the big three-zero, I did some soul searching. The kind of serious soul searching that resulted in matching sweaters for half the local nursing home residents and a hat for every baby in the nursery—sent anonymously, of course. I didn’t get the nickname Mads because I walked them in myself. I’m not a fucking idiot.

  The problem is, my accomplishments don’t mean shit if there’s no one to share them with when I get home. Yeah, I have an oversized apartment, but it’s too damn big for just me. I should have a house by now and a family with a dog and matching Christmas sweaters, all made by yours truly. And yes, before you ask, the dog has a matching sweater too, duh.

  You see, most women take one look at me and think I’m their walk on the wild side. I get it. I’m a dominating force, always have been. That’s one part of my life that’s not a facade. I demand complete control, and in return, will spend tortuous hours giving nothing but pleasure. But on the two occasions I let down my stonewall facade, it backfired. Badly.

  So I’m done—done with casual dating. Am I complaining about my past affairs? No. But I’m sick of it—sick of not having a connection, sick of not having someone to spoil, sick of not having someone to love.

  I want someone I can spend hours worshipping in the bedroom and then wake up next to in the morning. They say, “True love is your soul’s recognition of its counterpoint in another.” It’s time I find her. It’s time to find a girl I can knit socks for because she has cold feet. It’s time to find a girl I can laugh with, a girl I can draw a bath for, maybe even a girl that would make me chicken soup if I was under the weather. Oddly specific, right? But hey, a guy can dream. I guess if dreaming about knitted socks and chicken noodle soup is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

  I’m ready to settle down. In all honesty, I’ve been ready for a while, but no one seems to hold my interest. Well, that’s not entirely true.

  One woman sure as hell holds my interest, but she’s as tight as a tick and doesn’t even give me a second glance. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried more times than I’ll ever admit.

  When you grow up here in Love Falls, you get to know everyone. Except her. She’s been a mystery since she first moved here. The bits and pieces I’ve gathered have done nothing to bank the inferno in my stomach when I’m in her presence.

  And once again, before you ask, I know there’s a shit-ton of irony when a guy with the last name Hart lives in Love Falls.

  Want to know what her last name is? Ha! Not yet. There’s a reason my family doesn’t call me Mads. They prefer Drama King on account that I sometimes, maybe, occasionally, draw things out and overreact. Might as well live up to the nickname.

  Anyway, I think I’m finally ready to tell you where my story begins. Ugh, maybe my family isn’t as off-base as I thought with the nickname. Whatever, it’s not like I’d ever admit that to them.

  Now, it’s time to sit back, relax, have that drink, and enjoy the ride.

  My story began as I rushed through my routine, the same as every other morning. There was nothing special about the bitter January day as I poured my cold-brew in a thermos and pulled my apartment door shut. Before I could help myself, I glanced across the hall at her door, and saw it was still closed.

  Shaking my head, I checked my watch. I knew she was probably a minute or two behind me, just like every other morning, but I couldn’t linger. There were three sites I needed to check today, and then I needed to process payroll and reconcile the books.

  Wanting to see her, I walked a step or two slower than normal, but her door never opened, and the exit door mocked me like a joke I didn’t understand. When I reached my mud-splattered truck, I stepped up and started it before looking back one more time, willing that damn door to open.

  When it was obvious I was out of luck, again, I reached over the console to grab my phone for my appointments, but it wasn’t there. I groaned loudly, closed my eyes, and hit my head on the headrest. My phone, like my life apparently, was in on the joke. I knew it was lying upstairs on my counter on top of my lunch, homemade chicken-cordon-bleu over wild rice and mixed vegetables.

  I got out of the truck and slammed the door, stalking over to the apartment entrance. I tried to wrench the door open, but it had more resistance than normal. So I yanked harder, and was rewarded with a high-pitch squeal on the other side.

  No. Please no. Don’t tell me it’s her—come on! And please don’t tell me I hit her with the damn door. I peeked around the door, and yep, there she was on the floor.

  “I’m so sorry! Here, let me help,” I said, reaching out to lift her up and feeling glad it didn’t look like I did any serious damage. She pushed my hand aside and stood up, running her hands down her skirt and giving me a look that could melt steel.

  “Not necessary. Excuse me,” she said, her tone as cold as the ice colored dress she was wearing. White-blonde soft waves framed her face, and once again, I was drawn in by her full red lips, and those eyes. The first time I met her, it was her eyes that made me stop and stare. She had such soft, kind eyes buried under a harsh, unforgiving personality. She had the kind of eyes a man could get lost in. The kind of eyes a man could stare into forever.

  “Sure,” I said, attempting to redeem myself by holding the door open for her.

  She was pinching her eyebrows as if the last thing she wanted to do was look my way. And she didn’t, not even making eye contact as she breezed past in ridiculously high-heels. Like how was she even able to stand up by herself in those things? Damnit! She was walking away, again. Maybe this time I could make her say more than three words to me.

  “Wait a minute!” I said.

  She stopped and turned around, cocking her hip my way and oblivious to the way my hungry eyes took in every inch of her body.

  “I’m so sorry, Maddox,” she replied, finally looking at me with both rage and boredom. “I’ve checked my schedule and can’t possibly give a damn until next Monday.”

  Foot—meet mouth: jaw—meet floor. I had nothing. Not a comeback or witty response. Just a blank expression as I watched her throw those hips around before climbing into her car and peeling out of the parking lot.

  Taking the steps two at a time, I threw my apartment door open and grabbed my lunch and phone before cramming a hat on my head to keep me from pulling my hair out in frustration. Getting back in my truck, I followed her lead and peeled out of the parking lot in the opposite direction, just as pissed as she seemed to be.

  I sped to work, hating that I probably wouldn’t be the first one there. Yep, the universe took another sucker punch, right at my kidneys. There was a beat-up Chevy already in the lot and a light on in the front office. I cracked each knuckle as I walked inside, my mood worsening by the minute.

  “Hey, Mads. ‘Bout time you showed up, man.”

  “The hell’s that mean, Rob?”

  “Damn, Boss. Nothing. I’ve, uh, never beaten you here before.”

  “It won’t be a habit,” I said, throwing my hat on my desk.

  I snagged my lunch and shoved it in the employee fridge. Rob followed and didn’t flinch. He’s used to my moods by now. It still wasn’t a reason to rub my lateness in my face. Being late wasn’t an option, no matter how distracted I was.

  “Where will you be today?” I asked him, scrolling through the appointments on my phone.

  �
��I need to check on the progress the guys are making at The Tasty Freeze and do a final walkthrough at Pop’s General Store. We also got a request to fix the drive-through at First Bank. If you’re going to check it out first, take the deposit with you.”

  “What?” I said, looking up and glaring at him, “Why didn’t you go last night?”

  “I got caught up talking with Pops. By the time I got away, the bank was closed,” he said with a shrug.

  “What the hell, Rob? Why are you my foreman if you don’t do the damn job?”

  I towered over him, and he stepped back, crossing his arms and staring back just as hard.

  “Christ, Mads. I’m here early to take it first thing. And you’re welcome, by the way. Not only has Pops already paid in full, but he finally convinced Buster to let us fix his well and re-shingle his roof.”

  “What? Really?” We’d been after Buster for years to do some much-needed upkeep on his house. Huh, Rob came through, not that I’d admit that to him, but the bank deposit still happened to be his damn job.

  “See what being personable can do?”

  “Why would I need to be personable when you handle it so well?” I pointed out, taking my hat off and running a hand through my hair. Ugh, I needed to get it cut soon.

  “Damn. That’s pretty close to a compliment, Mads.”

  “Don’t be a dick, Rob. Give me the check, and I’ll take it to the bank since you didn’t do your damn job.”

  “Again. You’re welcome,” Rob said, doing stupid ass finger guns before turning to walk out of the office.

  “Fuck off,” I said that last part with a smile, knowing I’m damn lucky to have Rob. But I still was not going to give him a big head.

  With a two-finger salute, he left the check on top of the bank bag and grabbed his keys. I needed to knock out the reconciliation of the books before licking my wounds and going to the bank. Maybe I’ll go at lunchtime, and she’ll be out, even the Bank Manager has to eat, after all. But knowing her, all the sustenance she needed was the tears of men she had rejected. But enough of these damn distractions. I flopped down, taking a big gulp of coffee as the chair creaked ominously underneath my 225-pound frame, and started working.