Her head bobs up and down in an understanding nod and her lips slide up on one side in a grin that isn't fully committed.
"That's when I opened all your messages," she says, "and realized I'm a total idiot."
Rachel
Saying it out loud makes me feel even dumber.
"It's just that I was so focused on getting my life back. I was trying to go back to where I was before everything fell apart. Before I met you."
I'm about to put it all on the line here and suddenly I feel really exposed.
"I didn't account for everything that's changed since you came into my life, Colter. I'm not used to being part of a team. I've never had a partner that wanted to make my life easier, let alone had the means to do it.
"To me, it looked a lot like you didn't want me to get my independence back. I thought you were scared you were going to lose me so you were trying to make sure I was stuck with you."
The look on Colter's face is part shock, part understanding, and something softer that I hope is part forgiveness.
"I was scared of losing you, but I swear I never wanted to hold you back--"
"I know, I read that email too."
"I should have been more excited for you but I was bummed about you not working with me anymore.
"You know, you're not the only one who's used to being in charge," He grins and I'm pretty sure we're headed in the right direction.
"It's going to take me some time to get used to a woman that doesn't let me make decisions for her, but I think that's why I love you."
My heart leaps.
"You love me?" He'd said it that night at the restaurant, but I hadn't taken him seriously. I was too into my insecurities to believe him then.
"Of course I love you," he laughs as he says it again. "I'd slap my last name on you in a heartbeat if I thought you'd let me get away with it. If you wouldn't accuse me of trying to project some macho right of ownership on you."
He narrows his eyes and looks at me with an odd combination of humor and smoldering seriousness that reminds me that sometimes macho ownership is a good thing.
Squirming slightly for reasons beyond trying to get a better position on the bench in a pencil skirt that was never meant to ride a park bench side saddle, I do what I can to ignore the tingle of arousal that's suddenly coursing through my veins and make the decision to open my purse.
"After I read all those messages, I realized that I'm the one who hasn't been giving you the credit you deserve. Of course, I could have just called but then I thought if I could see your reaction when you saw me without expecting it then I'd know for sure. That's why I was at the coffee cart this morning-- you Tweeted that you've been getting coffee from them for the team every week so I knew you'd be there."
His eyes have been so focused on mine that he hasn't seen me taking the box out of my purse till I open it.
Suddenly my hands have his attention and he watches them with one eyebrow raised curiously.
"But then you were there with that blonde," I go on.
"Dionne," he says cautiously. "Her name's Dionne and she's the marketing team lead...and nothing more," he adds firmly.
"But I thought that was it. I'd waited too long to open your messages. As soon as I saw her I just knew the reason you'd stopped trying to contact me was because you'd decided to move on and then, I don't know, I just ended up out here."
"What were you planning on doing with that?" His chin dips toward my hands and a suspicious grin teases the corners of his lips.
"Well, when I bought it, I had this crazy fantasy about how cute it would be since, you know, apparently I have control issues," I explain. "But then it seemed obvious that that wasn't really going to go over so well so I ended up out here. I was going to toss it in the desert, out here where we always came to get away from everything. I thought I'd say goodbye to you and everything we were and call it closure."
Now his hand slips across the bench and rests against my knee lightly. The way I've been waiting for it to.
"So are you going to let me have it or not?"
He's teasing me, but I think he really wants it.
"It's not Cartier or anything," I suddenly feel self conscious. "It was really only supposed to be kind of a joke, so it's nothing expensive or anything."
"Uh huh." At some point, he's managed to scoot closer to me on the bench and now our knees are touching and his fingers are intertwining with mine,"Were you going to get down on one knee?"
I shift my eyes to the desert floor under the bench. I think of my shoes and my skirt and how I'd even go about that.
In for a penny, in for a pound: With a little effort, I stand up and hitch my skirt up high enough so that I can kneel on the dirt and I know my stockings aren't going to make it out of this alive as soon as I feel the sharp pebbles biting into my knee.
"Colter Meyers," I begin, finding it surprisingly easy to keep a straight face, "would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?"
Actually, I'm not just keeping a straight face, I'm choking back a wave of emotion that I hadn't expected to experience over a proposal that I'd meant to be just a silly antic.
My fingers shake uncontrollably as I hold the size 13 ring so that he can slip it over his finger.
He hesitates and I swear the world stops turning.
Colter stares at the simple, tungsten ring I have in my fingers and reaches into his pocket.
He pulls out something that looks like a wadded up receipt or maybe a gum wrapper, I can't quite tell.
What I do know is that he hasn't answered my question.
Instead, he gets to his feet, leaving me feeling like a fool with sore knees.
"Come here," he tells me softly, reaching for my hand and pulling me back to my feet.
Obviously, he's going to make this hard on me.
While I try to keep my nerves from turning me into a blubbering mess, I watch as his fingers slowly unwrap the small bit of tissue paper that he pulled from his pocket.
"Yes, Rachel Lewin, I'd be thrilled to marry you," he answers finally as he reaches for my left hand.
Instead of slipping a ring on his finger, he surprises me by sliding one over mine.
"What the--?" I look up at him, completely confused.
"I've been carrying it around since the night you left," he explains, "I had to take it out of the box though, it didn't fit in my pocket very well."
Stunned, I stare at the diamond sparkling in the afternoon desert sun.
When I stopped by a downtown pawn shop to pick out a ring to present to Colter, it was really meant to be a cute way to apologize.
The ring on my finger now was never meant to be anyone's "cute" anything. This thing is serious and, when I look dumbly up at Colter, I realize he is too.
"Rachel," he says, holding my hands in his, "If you love your new job, I can accept not being a team at the Foundation, but I can't accept not being a team in our lives.
"I hope you're serious about putting that ring on my finger, because once it goes on, I'll never take it off."
I turn my hand over and hold out the ring and we both look at the dull, gray metal band.
"Maybe we should go shopping for something a little fancier then," I mention hesitantly.
"It's not about the ring, Rache," he says with a smile as he takes it from me, "it's about what it symbolizes. You should know I'm an all-in kinda guy. Marrying me is a life long commitment, for better and worse. You'll be stuck with me. And I'm gonna buy you stuff-- like maybe a car that'll be easy to get a child's seat in an out of?"
Kids. Now that's something I'd given up on. I like the idea of being "stuck" with Colt. I like the idea of starting a family with Colt.
I'm very serious about putting this ring on his finger.
"Well, the Buick probably still has some trade in value," I muse as I turn the ring in my fingers, "As long as I'm in charge of decorating the nursery."
"Deal," he agrees, holding out his hand so I can slip the ring
on for him.
"Damn woman," he exclaims, holding our left hands up side by side to admire our rings against the desert backdrop,"we look good married. Let's go make it official!"
With a laugh, I turn to follow him as he starts toward the cars, "Where are we going?"
"It's Vegas, baby! We're getting hitched!" He announces just before turning back, catching me off guard.
Before I have a chance to protest I'm up-side-down over his shoulder, being carried toward his car.
"Colt!" I shout as I try to wiggle free of his grip, "Put me down!"
"No way, baby," he says as his hand lands with a smack against my ass, "you don't get to be in charge of everything."
His hand slides up between my thighs under my skirt to make his point.
"Now it's my turn."
His voice has taken on that husky sound that he gets when he's thinking of filthy things to do to me and I feel the wetness between my thighs as his fingers find my center.
I hear him open the door of his SUV and it's not until I'm on my back in the back seat that I realize he doesn't plan to wait till we get back home.
"I thought we were getting married?" I ask with a giggle as he pushes my skirt all the way up to my waist and rips the remnants of the ruined hose off of me.
"I want to fuck my girl-friend one more time," he tells me, "and then I'm making one stop on my way home to fuck my wife."
His mouth finds mine and he convinces me that giving up control is definitely something I should do more often.
From the Author
Thank you for reading
Ankle Deep in Sugar: A Taste of Sugar Book 2
from Rocklyn Ryder
I hope you enjoyed Colter and Rachel's journey to happily ever after.
Not all my heroines are based on myself. I've had the good fortune to know a lot of women over the years and hear their own stories of successes and failures in the search for a happy ending. Those stories have been great inspiration for me as a romance writer and all my characters contain bits and pieces of the characters that populate my real life.
Every once in a while, though, I find myself writing a heroine that feels just a little more familiar than the others-- Rachel is definitely one of them. As is her experience of coming to terms with just how bad things have gotten as she finds herself picking through loose change to buy a bottle of knock off cold medication from the dollar store...and yes, it really did taste like cheap men's aftershave.
The great thing about being a romance writer is that my characters always manage to get over themselves and make that leap of faith into happily ever after.
And it always pays off for them.
In real life? Well, at least I can always live vicariously through my characters, right?
If this was your first book from Rocklyn, you'll be glad to know that all her books follow one couple to their own happily ever after without any cliff-hanger endings and can be read in any order.
There are always more great stories in the works so keep in touch so you don't miss a new release.
Rocklyn's Newsletter
Also by Rocklyn Ryder:
Modern Match-Maker Romance
(Raven Swann's client files:)
A Perfect Gentleman (sample included)
A Nice Boy
A Smart Choice
A Great Catch
A Real Keeper
A Good Move
A Wise Investment
An Elegant Solution
A Total Sweetheart
A Lucky Break
A Sensible Arrangement
A New Resolution
Coming Soon: A Sure Bet
A Taste of Sugar Romance:
Dipping a Toe in Sugar
Ankle Deep in Sugar
Coming Soon: Knee Deep in Sugar
Full Length Stand Alone Romances
The WILD Romance Collection:
BUSH
WOOD
ROUGH
BONE
Who would you trust to pick your mate?
You might also like Rocklyn's Modern Match-Maker series.
Short, cute, and a little dirty, the Modern Match-Maker series features the uncanny talents of professional marriage broker, Raven Swann as she helps her clients' closest friends and family find the best match in a modern twist on an old-fashioned arranged marriage.
The first story from the client files of Raven Swann can be enjoyed on Amazon.
Get started on the Modern Match-Maker series with
A Perfect Gentleman
From a Perfect Gentleman
Brooke
"I'm serious!"
I know I'm being dramatic but fuck it. I deserve to be over the top at a time like this.
I fling myself back on the bed and throw my arm over my head. The tears threatening at the corners of my eyes are real. I'm over acting so I can keep my sense of humor but the truth of the matter is-- everything sucks and I really am going to start crying any minute.
"Brooke," Paige isn't buying it for a minute, "there's nothing wrong with you. Or your picker."
Paige might be my bestie, but she's so not helping right now.
"My picker is broken, how else can you explain how I manage to keep ending up with assholes like Damian?"
Paige laughs, "Well first of all, you could stop falling for guys with names like Damian! I mean really, how did that not tip you off right off the bat?"
I throw my arm over my face and groan.
"Seriously, Brookie, if you want to meet a good guy you're going to have to change your patterns."
"I don't even know what that means," I moan into the crook of my elbow.
"It means stop picking up guys based on their tattoos. Stop shopping in bars where all the guys are wearing leather jackets and ride motorcycles. Try a book club or maybe volunteer somewhere, that's how I met Jace."
Her voice gets all lilty and high pitched when she says his name. It makes her sound like she's 15 again. I've been listening to her "I'm in love and this is The One" voice for ten years. I've only heard it about a hundred times, I'm really good at recognizing it by now.
And really, "Jace," how can she even try to tell me that Damian's name should have given him away? But there's no point pointing that out to her, she and Jace just made it past their second anniversary. Their second month, that is, but that's half way to happily ever after for Paige so there's no way she's going to hear anything I have to say about the newest love of her life.
"I'm going to sign up to be a mail order bride."
When I say it I'm joking but Paige doesn't laugh at me right away and the few seconds of silence let me marinate in my words.
"You are not." Paige's voice lacks the conviction that I'm used to.
I expected her to immediately scold me for giving up on finding love the old-fashioned way. I expected her to tell me to stop talking crazy and launch into a list of ways to find a great guy.
She tells me no, but she doesn't sound like she means it. I pull my arm off my eyes and look at her.
She's got her phone in her hand and she's looking at the screen with an intense interest. She's Googling something.
"On second thought..."
Oh shit! She's looking up mail order bride sites?
I sit up and give her my best deer-in-the-headlights look, "You are not looking that shit up!"
I can't believe she's taking me seriously.
Her face scrunches up. I watch her thumb work its way across the screen, clicking on links and then going scrolling through the sites she's opened. Her face scrunches, she frowns, then her eyebrows shoot up, she smiles, she frowns again.
"What?!" The suspense is killing me.
OK. It's not like I'm really serious about becoming a mail order bride. I mean, I didn't even think it was a real thing, but Paige looks like she's having no trouble finding sites.
"Well," she starts off hesitantly while she's still browsing, "the good news is you can totally be a mail order bride if yo
u're serious?" She looks up me with a curious look on her face.
"What's the bad news?" I have to admit, this is getting my mind off Damian. I almost even crack a smile.
Paige looks back down at the site she has open and shakes her head like she can't believe what she's reading, "The bad news is that you can totally be a mail order bride if you're serious."
"That bad?" I finally laugh.
"Depends on your idea of bad," she grins, "Apparently mountain men needs brides, as do truck drivers, fisherman, and prison inmates."
"No lighthouse keepers?" I tease, but seriously, mountain men? I crane my neck to see what site she's on.
"I don't see anything for lighthouse keepers, but if you're willing to relocate to Bolivia, this guy's only missing a few teeth," she holds her phone for me to see a picture of smiling man that appears to be 300 years old with only 2 visible teeth. Only two teeth are visible because that's all he has. The empty spaces along his gumline are obvious.
I shiver.
So much for mail order matrimony.
"Hmm," Paige has switched to a different site, she sounds intrigued. Always dangerous, but still, I'm curious.
"What?"
"Arranged marriage," she reads.
"Arranged?" I mimic her curious tone.
Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind. As does Bobby Jenkins. That's probably what I'd end up with if I let my dad pick a husband for me. There's a reason I wouldn't let Dad pick for me.
I'm ready to pull the whole "forget I said anything" routine but Paige is downright into this site now. She jumps up and fires up the lap top on my desk.
Oh shit. She's serious if she needs to see the site on a real computer!
"Arranged," she's explaining to me, "it's a modern day matchmaking service that focuses on marriage as the end game."
She's scrolling through the full site now, concentrating on the fine print.
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