Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  The sight of him was too much to bear, every sense flaring at once, white-hot and blinding as my body found release, kneading his fingers, drawing him into me. My lungs pulled in a breath so deep, it singed my ribs, burned with my heart, burned with the pulsing center of me. I burned for him.

  His lips slowed as I found my way back to my body, testing first my fingers as my breasts heaved, then my neck as I turned my face and tried to open my eyes. Up my languid torso he moved, kissing a trail toward my breasts. But rather than settling back on top of me—even now in my sated state, I wanted to feel the weight of him against me—he lay at my side, pulled me into his arms, and brought his lips to mine.

  The tang of my body on his lips sent an echoing pulse of my waning orgasm through me. And when he pulled away, his lids were heavy, his eyes hot as coals, his smile warm with love.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, cupping my cheek like he was checking me for injury.

  My brow quirked with confusion. “Is that a real question?” I asked back, my voice smoky and satisfied and amused.

  Greg chuckled, taking that for the yes that it was, and kissed me again.

  “I don’t know how I can top that,” I said, curling into his chest, the self-consciousness of the next step, the real step, finding its way into my voice.

  His smile immediately soothed me. “Right now, you don’t need to know anything, except that I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I whispered before kissing him.

  I kissed him with thanks and adoration, my hands on his chest and his on my bare hip. But down my fingers roamed, across the curves and ripples of his chest and abs, to the waistband and under, to the inflexible, unsatisfied length of him. My fingertips curiously marveled at the simultaneous stony hardness and decadent silkiness of him, relishing in the feel of him in my palm, the weight of him in my hand. I touched him gently, exploring the ridge underneath his crown and the wet slit at the tip, not knowing any other way, only thinking that, if it felt good to me, it would feel good to him too. His pumping hips told me I was right.

  I tugged at the band, wanting to free him, wanting nothing left between us. The heat I thought I’d expended at the mercy of his mouth seemed to build again, starting in my heart and slipping down through me like a smoky fog.

  He helped me slide his remaining clothes away, and our bodies came together—the heat of his chest against my breasts, the feel of his strong thigh slipping between mine, the length of him pressed to my flesh. And that need caught fire in both of us.

  In a breath, I was under him, that glorious weight of him caging me, pinning me, leaving me unable to move and with no desire to. The kiss went unbroken as he spread my thighs with his legs, pressed his hips to mine, the length of his shaft shifting against my center, awake and tender and restless again. My body angled for him, my hips shifting and arching, the hollow in me aching to be filled by him. And he relinquished restraint, breaching me with only the very tip of his crown.

  He broke the kiss, held my face, whispered my name, and I whispered his.

  And when he flexed his hips, I was forever changed.

  The pain was different than I could have possibly imagined, a breathtaking sting that drew on and on, a searing stretching of my body to make room for him. He edged into me, kissing my quivering lips, slowly gaining ground before pulling out again. His trembling arms bracketed my head, his fingers in my hair, but my mind was occupied solely with the point where our bodies connected.

  He rolled his hips to press deeper, deeper still, and then he was fitted so completely inside of me, there was no space for anything but him. Not in my body, not in my heart.

  For a moment, we breathed, a ragged drawing of air through parted lips, our eyes tethered together, using that thrumming line of connection to transmit all that we felt, those things for which there were no words.

  Another flex of his hips, and the pain was less by miles, the utter bliss at the feeling of holding his length inside of me, of being filled by him so entirely, set my pulse hurtling. Again and again, first slow, cautious and gentle, but as my body relaxed under him, moved with him, opened up to him, his pace quickened. And with every thrust, each more demanding than before, his body tightened. His arms around me. His fingers in my hair. His sinewy neck and wide shoulders. His flexing ass. His straining cock in the sheath of my body. And I urged him with my hips and hands and lips to let go.

  With a gasp and a grunt so deeply satisfying, my core flexed around him, he came, shuddering with exertion from holding back the urge to slam into me like I knew he wanted to, his fingers making deep divots in my hip.

  He collapsed on top of me, burying his face in my neck, his breath fast and loud, the length of him still throbbing inside me.

  I held him like that until our heartbeats matched, my fingers skating circles across his back, my cheek pressed against his ear.

  He slipped his arms underneath me, and mine locked around his neck, bringing us as close together as two people could get. Twin tears slipped from my eyes.

  Greg rolled us over, pulling out of me gently. The tears standing in his eyes as he touched my face shocked me in their rightness and truth.

  “Tell me once more that you love me, Annie, and I’ll never want for another thing in life.”

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  And the kiss he bestowed on me sealed the promise of those three little words.

  Hours later, after a long, hot bath together, we lay awake in the dark, talking about nothing and everything, talking of the future and the past, of the moon and the stars and our place in the constellations. And I knew without a single doubt that we would have more perfect nights such as this, just as I knew that not all nights would be perfect.

  But I had a feeling they’d be pretty close.

  Epilogue

  Annie

  The lights were turned down just enough in my uncle’s penthouse, the hum of conversation hanging in the air of the room, punctuated by the occasional laughter.

  Uncle John had decided to throw the cocktail party the minute I received my acceptance letter to Juilliard, and immediately following, Susan had thrown herself into planning.

  I barely knew anyone on the guest list, but the invitation had also been extended to my friends at Wasted Words. They’d all shown up. Tyler and Cam stood near Rose and her boyfriend, Patrick. And Ruby, Harrison, Beau, Jett, and a few others were clustered near the windows overlooking Central Park.

  It was overwhelming and humbling to have so many people had there to celebrate me, offering their congratulations and well wishes. Even Fanny had offered words of kindness, though nothing about her tone could have been considered warmhearted or affectionate.

  My eyes wandered to Elle where she stood across from Ward, just outside of the crowd. The air between them was charged, but their faces betrayed little—until he said something that sent a flash of emotion through her, gone as soon as it had appeared.

  She spoke again and walked away, leaving him watching after her.

  I moved in her direction, reaching for her hand the moment I was able to. “Are you all right?”

  She offered a smile that would have fooled anyone but me. “I’m fine.”

  Fine—the greatest lie ever told.

  Before I could press her for more, Susan appeared at my elbow.

  “Oh, Annie.” She beamed, pulling me in for a hug. “I am just so proud of you. I hate that word, the implication that I did anything to earn the right to feel pride for your achievement, but it’s the best I can do. I’m so happy for you, I could just fly away.”

  I leaned into her, breathed her in, letting the peace I’d found in my life settle into my heart. “Thank you, Susan.”

  She squeezed once and let me go, her eyes teeming with tears. “You’re so very welcome. Are you girls having fun?”

  “It’s been incredible,” I said with a smile I felt in my bones. “The food, the company—all of it. I can’t thank you enough for putting thi
s together for me.”

  “Well, we had to celebrate. Everyone wanted to come and wish you well.” She leaned in, glancing around. “Even your grandparents.”

  A little shock shot down my back, and Elle and I exchanged a look.

  “They didn’t,” I said.

  “They did, but John refused. This isn’t the time or place. I don’t know when there ever will be a time or place.”

  Elle’s face held worry. “I think we’re going to have to deal with them at some point.”

  The three of us glanced at Mama, who was laughing at something Meg had said.

  “But how?” I asked, knowing there was no answer.

  Movement caught my eye, and I looked toward the bar to find my uncle leaning in to speak to Greg. With a nod, Greg picked up a flute of champagne and turned to meet my eyes, smiling.

  That smile lit me up like a campfire, warm and crackling and comforting.

  Uncle John picked up a champagne flute of his own and pinged the glass to get everyone’s attention.

  When Greg reached me, he pressed a kiss to my flaming cheek, placing the champagne in my hand just as John began to speak.

  “There are few things in this world so uplifting as art. Music, in particular, has been a joy of mine, even back to the days when my sister, Emily, and I made our loved ones suffer concerts wherein we butchered such greats as Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan.”

  A chuckle rolled through the room.

  “But Annie possesses a talent for music that her mother and I never did. And after hearing her play, as we did earlier tonight, I think we can all understand why Juilliard would have been mad not to want her.”

  A few people called, Hear, hear!

  “And so, tonight, we celebrate Annie. Tonight, we wish her luck, though her talent stands on its own. We drink to her success, knowing it is at her fingertips. We raise our glasses and congratulate her with all of our encouragement behind her.” He raised his glass and met my eyes. “Here’s to you, Annie, and to the joy your music brings to the world. May it bring you the happiness that you bring to each and every one of us.”

  The sting of my nose and the tears in my eyes accompanied my smile as we all raised our glasses, and the room turned to me with cheers on their lips to precede the champagne.

  Greg stayed by my side as a line of people made their way over to shake my hand and speak with me. And when the crowd ebbed, he took my hand and stole me away, pulling me into the music room.

  The lights had been dimmed, the noise of the party far away. The moment we were in the room, he pulled me into him for a kiss.

  His lips transcribed the words of his heart, telling me how much he loved me and how proud he was of my success, of my future. And I told him without speaking, through my own lips and the tips of my fingers on his face, that I wanted nothing more in the world than him.

  When he broke away, I was breathless and smiling, caught happily in his arms.

  He smiled back. “How do you feel?”

  I didn’t even have to consider my answer. “Like I could do anything. Like all possibilities are mine for the taking. Like my whole future is laid out in front of me, and I’m about to step into it.”

  “You can, and you will.”

  “And I’ll step into it with you.”

  He looked into my eyes, his smile shifting, coloring his face with adoration and reverence. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me, as long as you love me.”

  “Forever, then?” I asked quietly.

  He pulled me closer. “If I’m lucky.”

  “Oh,” I said with a smile, “luck has nothing to do with it.”

  And the dizzying depth of his kiss served to secure his everlasting place at the very top of my list.

  Part IV

  Wasted Words Novella

  Funny Business

  Cam

  “Stop, or I’ll pee!”

  The words squeaked out of me around my laughter, my hand pressing my belly where, once upon a time, my bladder rested. Now there was a solid eighteen inches between my hand and the organ, which was constantly full to bursting, only in part for the tiny foot jammed in its side.

  But Greg, that bastard, didn’t stop. His face was stern, hands on his hips and eyes narrowed. “I ken why all the men love ye so, Sassenach, but if I never hafta bury me dirk in another fool Redcoat so ye don’t get raped, it’d be too soon.” His brogue was perfect.

  Annie was face-down on the bar next to me with her arm curled around her head and her shoulders shaking with laughter. I pressed that spot on my belly like it’d do any good, my stretched-out abs sore from giggling.

  “If only ye’d keep her pretty little mouth closed, Claire, we’d get in far less trouble. I can give it something to keep it occupied if ye’d like,” he said with a salacious waggle of his brows.

  Annie barked a muffled laugh into the bartop before raising her head. She was smiling so hard, the space under her eyes held little pools of tears. “Yeah, you do.”

  Greg smirked.

  I leaned on the bar, trying to catch my breath. “Man, I love it when you do your Jamie Fraser.”

  He bowed. “I canna help but oblige, Lady Knight.”

  “He does this at home,” Annie added. “All the time. You’ve created a monster, Cam. You know that?”

  He shrugged. “Listen, I love that show and I’m not afraid to admit that I’m just as in love with Jamie Fraser as Annie is.”

  “More,” she insisted. “And I’m a superfan.”

  “I’d switch teams for him. No bullshit.”

  Annie rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re a mess,” she said before turning to me. “How are you feeling?”

  I sighed, but I couldn’t help smiling. “Like an elephant—I weigh three tons and feel like I’ve been pregnant for two years. My esophagus burns eighty percent of the time and I’m constantly on the verge of peeing my pants, especially during a JAMMF/Greg run. But despite all that, I’m good.”

  “Really?” she asked, her eyes big and blue and full of concern. “Are you okay?”

  I gave her a smile, a genuine smile. “It’s been so long coming. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful for anything in my whole life, especially after…” I paused, my hand moving to my belly. “After everything.”

  Annie smiled, though her eyes were sad. She reached for my hand. “I’m just so happy for you, Cam. I’m so glad this has been easier on you.”

  I barked a laugh. “I envy those glowing girls who have magical pregnancies. Growing a person is hard.”

  “She’d be better if she’d go on maternity leave already,” Greg said, giving me a look as he washed pint glasses in the tub under the bar.

  I gave him a look right back. “Listen, mister—you guys can’t function without me, and if I have to sit at home for weeks waiting for this baby, I’ll go crazy. Like, bonkers. I’ve cleaned out the fridge twice this week already.”

  “But did you put the crib together?” he asked knowing damn well I hadn’t.

  “God, you’re worse than Tyler,” I said.

  Annie frowned. “How come Tyler hasn’t put it together?”

  Greg chuffed a laugh. “Because Cam’s too much of a control freak to let him.”

  “I just want to do it myself,” I argued. “Otherwise, how will I know all the screws are where they’re supposed to be? One wrong move and the whole thing could fold in on itself in the middle of the night and crush my sleeping newborn.”

  “Pretty sure Tyler can handle it.”

  “Oh, I know he can, and probably better than me. I’ll need him there to make sure the screws are tight enough, anyway. But still, it makes me feel better to see every screw safely into its allotted hole.” I sighed again, hand resting on my belly. “I’m lucky he loves my crazy.”

  Annie smiled. “We all love your crazy.”

  Greg jerked his chin toward the romance half of Wasted Words, lowering his voice. “How’s the new girl doing?”

  I glanced over
my shoulder and smiled in the direction of Abbey, our newest employee. She was shadowing Jett—the manager of our romance department—who was at that moment walking her through the rows of bookshelves gesticulating. I think he was more enthusiastic about the genre than any of us, which was a feat of skill and devotion.

  They were adorable together. Jett was tall and dark, with eyes so bright and blue and a smile meant for billboards. He looked like hero material, and God bless his mother for that. Abbey nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose when they slipped, her cheeks flushed sweetly. She nodded at something he said, then laughed.

  They were really adorable together.

  “Cam,” Greg warned.

  “Hmm?” I hummed absently.

  “I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  He glared at me. “That one,” he said, circling his finger in the air toward me. “The sneaky, schemey face. Leave Jett alone.”

  “I’ve been trying to hook Jett up for years. Years! And look at him and Abbey.”

  We all did that just as Abbey pulled her Joy Division shirt taught from the hem so Jett could inspect it. He gesticulated some more, then grabbed her hand and pulled her down the aisle to stop in front of one of the historical sections. He snatched a book off the shelf and handed it to her, and the second it hit her hands, she started gesticulating too, book flailing.

  It looked like the mating ritual for a couple of howler monkeys.

  I smiled.

  “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Annie asked cautiously.

  I waved a hand at her without looking away from Jett and Abbey. “He lives in Canada. And anyway, I’m not even sure he’s real. Definitely not serious. How could he let something that cute get away?”

  “That’s right,” Annie said with a snap. “Etienne. She was telling me she thinks he’s going to break up with her.”

  “She deserves better than that,” I said, not knowing if it was true, but believing it wholeheartedly.