Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3

by Christina Hovland

She gnawed at her lip like she did when she got nervous. “Can I kiss you?”

  All innocence. All Velma. All his.

  “Fuck yes.” He leaned over her, catching her lips with his in an indecent kiss that involved liberal use of tongue. When he pulled away, they both were panting hard.

  “I’m not wearin’ a tux, and we’re not having a big wedding. I’m thinking close family and friends. And chocolate cake with dark-chocolate frosting. I know white is supposed to mean purity, but I think we established in the coat closet of the country club that purity isn’t exactly our thing.” He ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek, his mouth close to hers.

  “Are you going to be a total bridezilla?”

  He thought for a long moment. “Fuck yeah. I think I’ve earned that right.”

  She grinned against his lips. “I can live with that.”

  Epilogue

  Seven Months After Claire & Dean’s Wedding

  “Brek?” Velma called, panic settling in her belly because there wasn’t a shoehorn in the world that would squeeze her swollen feet into the satin flats that matched her wedding gown. Her specially made, six-months-pregnant, maternity wedding gown.

  She had been so upset when Brek had left, she’d forgot to take her birth control pills a few times. Whoops.

  “What’s wrong?” Brek took three strides into their bedroom, lickety-split. He was already dressed for the ceremony—black jeans and a white button-up shirt. He stood firm on the no-tuxedo ultimatum. The truth was, as long as he stood at the end of the aisle, she didn’t care what he wore.

  “My shoes won’t fit.” She fell backward onto their bed and rolled to her side. She could just stay here today and lounge in her bathrobe. No need for shoes or wedding gowns. “I knew we should’ve gotten married right away.”

  “Waiting was your idea.” A half grin flashed across his lips. He smiled all the time, ever since the little line on the pregnancy test had turned into a plus sign in the stall of a Target bathroom.

  Like she could have waited to get home to pee on the darn stick. But he was right, pushing pause on the wedding until after his tour had been her idea. One she now regretted.

  The baby remained absolutely perfect and on schedule. Aside from an intense craving for green apple suckers at three a.m. and ankles that swelled to the size of softballs, Velma was fine, too.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten potato chips last night.” Salt was not her friend anymore.

  Brek knelt at the end of the bed and compared the shoe to her foot. She already knew the laws of physics weren’t on her side today, because no way would she be wearing those darn things.

  “Go barefoot. Your dress is long enough. No one will know.” His hands began doing magnificent massage things to the ball of her right foot.

  Velma moaned and smacked the comforter. “I cannot get married barefoot in a bar. I have standards.”

  Not as many as she used to have, but growth and all that nonsense.

  Funny thing: Brek had bought Hank’s Bar when they’d gotten back to Denver. The acquisition was part of his plan to stay put and not have to travel so much. Though she really didn’t worry if he had to go on the road with his band. He’d already gotten his compass tattoo, and she never doubted he would find his way home.

  “I’ll call Aspen. She’ll fix this.” He snagged Velma’s other foot and went to work on her toes. “She’ll send Ma to the store or something.”

  Claire had agreed to stand up as witness for Velma today. Heather and Aspen, too. They’d spent loads of time together after Brek had returned to Denver. Velma had even helped a few times at events when Aspen was in a pinch. The Rosette article had done everything Aspen had hoped. She had a client waiting list three pages long.

  Baby Montgomery took that moment to do a loop the loop in Velma’s belly. She pressed against her ribs, trying to extract the kid’s foot from her lungs.

  “Martin’s practicing to be an acrobat.” If his antics inside were any indication, when he said hello to the world, he would be off and running. The kiddo never stopped.

  Brek put his lips to Velma’s belly button. “Trixie, be nice to your mama.”

  They had decided to go for the surprise at birth. Brek insisted she carried a girl while she remained certain the baby was a boy. When Velma was a little girl, she had decided her son’s name would be Martin—a nice, normal name that wouldn’t invoke teasing from the other kids.

  Brek wasn’t on board at all. He said it was a sissy name, and he would use his veto power. This only prompted her to call the baby Martin more often. Whatever. Brek said if she was a girl, he wanted to call her Trixie. Velma had veto power, too, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “He’s not listening to you.” Velma propped herself on her elbows.

  Brek grinned his lopsided grin. “Just like her mama.”

  “Do you want to put on your dress here or there?” Brek climbed onto the bed beside her and kissed her forehead.

  “There. You’re not supposed to see the dress before the wedding.” She leaned against him and tossed her arm over her forehead.

  “Thought we established the rules don’t apply to us?” He nibbled on her earlobe. Her breasts felt a little heavier with each nip. “What about just a quick roll in the sheets before we head over?”

  He worked his hand lower down her thigh and lifted the corner of her robe.

  “People will be there soon, we should go.” With great effort, Velma rolled over and planted a kiss on her almost-husband.

  “Waiting’s gonna kill me.” He took her hand and pulled her up, stopping to hold her shoulders until she got her balance. “You good?”

  She nodded. “I’ll call Aspen and ask her about shoes.”

  Early on, Velma had asked Brek if he wanted a theme for their wedding. He said the only thing he wanted was her naked in the limo afterward.

  She ran her hands over her swollen belly. Limo sex would be interesting at her size, that was for sure. “Are you going to tell me what your big surprise is?”

  He kissed her nose. “No.”

  “When will I find out?” she asked.

  “Soon. You get your things. I’ll get the car.” He headed for the garage, and Velma glanced down to the socks he had tossed to the hamper.

  They hadn’t quite made it in.

  And it was wonderful.

  Hank’s Bar had gone through a transformation after Brek had bought it a couple of months ago. Next week it would reopen as Brek’s Bar. He had upgraded the space with a better kitchen, a stage, and a sound system. Eli had helped create the menu and agreed to consult as needed. Staying in Denver had become a priority, and who knew how long Dimefront would stick together, so Brek needed a plan. Hans had agreed to handle most of the on-the-road management. They had already hashed out the details.

  Aspen had decked out the bar in sunflowers and candles for the wedding. She moved out the tables and arranged the chairs in a makeshift aisle. The guest list was small—close friends and family only. Brek didn’t particularly care who attended, as long as he had Velma.

  Jase nudged Brek in the ribs as Tucker McKay played the bridal chorus on his guitar and Claire sashayed toward them.

  “Can’t believe you got Tucker McKay to play at your wedding. Bad-fucking-ass,” Jase said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Pops cleared his throat and tossed Jase a look. He liked cussing about as much as Velma did.

  “You have the ring, right?” Brek asked Jase. The guy had one job to do. Well, two: show up and have the ring ready.

  Jase tapped his pocket. “Yup.”

  Brek had added to Pops’s inscription. Now it read, To Velma, Forever My Ten.

  “And, seriously, could you tell your mom to lay off on the matchmaking?” Jase spoke from the side of his mouth. “She’s been parading women through the shop like they’re walking a catwalk. It’s distracting as fuck.”

  Pops cleared his throat louder.

  “Now’s a good time to sh
ut it,” Dean mumbled beside Jase as Velma emerged from the hallway on her dad’s arm. Brek’s breath caught at his collarbone. Her grandmother’s lace covered her gown, and she held a simple bouquet of red roses. His almost-wife was beautiful every day, but today he couldn’t peel his eyes from her.

  Pregnancy seemed to agree with Velma. He’d never seen her happier than she had been over the past months.

  She winked, and he felt warmth in his gut.

  He forced his gaze to Tucker and nodded.

  Tuck cleared his throat. “Brek, uh, asked me to sing something special for Velma. So, this is for her.”

  Velma narrowed her eyes slightly and raised a questioning brow. Tucker was a rocker, but he had a cowboy soul. Brek had convinced him to let it shine today.

  Tuck dropped his voice low and sang directly to Velma—one of those sappy-ass country songs she loved. She smiled huge, stepping toward Brek and their future. The toes of her white satin slippers peeked from under her grandmother’s lace—Aspen had come through on the shoes—and her face went soft, her eyes bright.

  Everything in the world was right.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  Three. Little. Words. Only three. And they meant everything.

  There’s more Brek and Velma!

  * * *

  A special bonus scene Christina created

  especially for newsletter subscribers!

  * * *

  Sign up for the bonus scene at:

  ChristinaHovland.com/goingdown-bonus

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my husband, Steve, who supported, encouraged, and held my hand through this dream of mine to write books. My kids—all four of them—for being patient as I, “Just finished this chapter.” Over and over and over.

  My mom, Shirley, and my sister, Sereneti. You both are such a huge part of why I’m able to do what I do.

  My best friend, Karie, who knows me better than I know myself and doesn’t hesitate to come rescue me at midnight whenever I need it. (Which—let’s be honest—recently, it’s been a lot!)

  Kiele, thank you for always keeping me grounded. You are my person.

  Courtney, Dallas, Leeann, Lindsay, Sarah, Shasta, Stephanie for supporting me, always.

  Courtney, thank you for being one of my first beta readers and my reading buddy.

  Shasta, you are Queen of the Comma. Thank you for always being willing to answer my grammar questions.

  Sarah, thank you for helping me unravel plot tangles and encouraging me.

  Lindsay, I’m so blessed to have you as my cheerleader.

  Thank you to A.Y. Chao, Cheryl Pitones Rider, Colette Dixon, Sara Dahmen, Wendi Sotis, and Shannon Patterson for your advice and notes.

  Todd for answering random questions about the legal needs of fictional characters.

  Beth for being the best author assistant ever.

  L.A. Mitchell for making me believe this dream is possible.

  My agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who made this book happen on so many levels. Thank you! Thank you! You are, quite simply, amazing.

  Kristi Yanta, for helping me make this story the best it can be—and for always being supportive and awesome.

  Holly Ingraham for being my editor, mentor, and part-time counselor on this project. I am so grateful to you!

  Michelle Hope for being the eagle eyes I needed on this manuscript. Thank you so much.

  Laura for the care you always take with my manuscripts in the final stages. Making them shine is your superpower.

  Diane Holiday for being my first line critique partner on this story and for always being available to help me.

  C.R. Grissom for always being there for me with a ready ear and a shot of infused vodka.

  Scarlett Peckham, Catherine Stuart, Susannah Erwin, Deb Smolha, LeAnne Bristow, Sarah Morgenthaler, Miguella T. Twosias, Laura Harris, and Anne Morgan for the critiques, beta reads, and friendship.

  The amazing Rebelles. I am so blessed to be part of your group.

  And, finally, thank you to the Romance Chicks: Dylann Crush, Jody Holford, and Renee Ann Miller.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright 2019 by Christina Hovland. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  * * *

  For rights information, please contact:

  Prospect Agency

  551 Valley Road, PMB 377

  Upper Montclair, NJ 07043

  (718) 788-3217

  * * *

  Holly Ingraham, Development Editor

  Michelle Hope, Copy Editor

  Shasta Schafer, Proofreader

  First Edition February 2019

  For my mom.

  Who taught me how to read.

  How to write.

  And how to love.

  1

  Chapter One

  The Beginning

  Jase Dvornakov’s abs made Heather Reese seriously reconsider swearing off men.

  Almost.

  Gawking at the smokin’-hot florist while he had his own private dance party for one wasn’t Heather’s thing. She was a woman in control of her own destiny. That’s what she tried to tell herself, anyway. Still, she stared through his storefront window in the posh Cherry Creek neighborhood of Denver, Colorado. Her feet remained cemented on the sidewalk, a burst of her breath fogged against his window, and she memorized every move shirtless Jase made—instead of opening the stupid door to step inside.

  His hips thrust, shoulders rolled, and…who was she kidding? She couldn’t look away. If he was going to put it all out there, she might as well appreciate the view. The man had moves. She’d give him that.

  It was like watching one of her favorite game shows: Which door was she going to pick?

  Shops along their street were barely starting to open; it was too early for a dance party at her friendly neighborhood flower shop. Apparently, Jase—her neighbor—didn’t agree.

  She shook the foamy haze from her brain.

  Sweet Goddess of Gold’s Gym, this man distracted her. She opened door number one and stepped through, stumbling over her feet only a little.

  “Hey, Jase.” As soon as the words slipped past her lips, she knew they couldn’t be heard over the music blaring through the shop.

  She cleared her throat and shifted in her pink Heather’s Cookie & Co. embroidered polo shirt, hopeful the man dancing across the concrete floor would pause long enough to toss a glance her way.

  Not because she wanted him to glance her way but because she needed his attention. So she could give him his poster.

  Advertising the senior “senior” prom for the nursing home where she volunteered.

  Nothing more.

  He didn’t. Instead, he continued gyrating his hips and stuffing lilies into a wreath with a gold banner that read, In Loving Memory, Phyllis.

  “Jase?” she called, raising her voice over the music.

  Okay, that got his attention. He finally glanced her way, paused mid–posy thrust, and a wicked smile crept across his lips. “Heather. Hey.”

  Her blood heated from his gaze, tingling as it swished through her veins.

  Oh, for pity’s sake. Her body begged her to grin back, say hey to him, and get her out of the drought that had become her dating life.

  She told her body to hush. She had spent months detoxing from men and their unkept promises. Men and their unwillingness to fit her into their lives.

  Okay, maybe not all men, just the ones she’d dated.

  There was absolutely no need to jump back in and take another hit just because Jase said, “Heather. Hey.” All sexy-like.

  Two quick strides brought Jase to the cash register. He flicked a switch and the music zipped to a stop.

  Heather gri
pped the stack of posters in her hands. Her brainchild. A prom for the senior citizens at a nearby retirement home. Something to get them up and moving and having a good time. Also, another distraction to prevent her from breaking her no-men rule. “Sorry. I can come back later, if you’d rather.”

  She inhaled a long breath of floral-scented air and tacked on a smile.

  “Don’t be sorry.” He scrawled something on a notepad. “Now’s good. I just lost track of time. Didn’t hear you come in.”

  “That would explain the dancing, and the lack of clothing.” She gestured to his bare pecs and quickly glanced away to the assortment of potted cactus plants dotted along the windowsill.

  “Oh, ah, right. I got distracted. I work best when I’m in the zone.” He yanked a thin white T-shirt from under the counter and tugged it over his head.

  There, much better. Sort of.

  “So…” She set the stack of posters on the countertop and tapped her fingertip against the top one. “I brought you a poster for your window.”

  He studied her handiwork and flicked the end of a pen against his palm in time with the beat of the now turned-off music.

  “Prom, huh? Fun.” He dropped the pen, rubbed his hands together, and locked his gaze to hers in a way that made her insides purr in anticipation.

  What are “things you shouldn’t do” for five hundred, Alex.

  No men for you, Heather. Eye on the…well, the poster, in this instance.

  “This is at the retirement home up the street?” he asked.

  “You know it?” Of course he knew it, it’s not like their street was that big.

  “Yeah, I know it.” He lifted a corner of his lips, just the one corner. Damn, that was sexy. Elvis sexy.