by Snow, Nicole
“I do.”
I look at Hunter and shake my head. He already gave me a dozen last night. Besides that ticket to anywhere in the world, I got some amazing new kitchen appliances and chocolates from a gourmet brand that charges a fortune for a few truffles.
He nods, standing up.
I’m wondering where he’s going.
We drove together. There's nothing else out in the Yukon. Did he plant something under my parents' tree ahead of time?
But he steps in front of me, slowly dropping to one knee. Then I see Mom smiling, all eyes on us, and my heart nearly stops.
Oh, God. This is really happening?
It is. I'm a flustered mess of nerves, one hand pressed against my stomach, and the other over my mouth. It's incredible I can even make out what he says next.
“Wendy, Sugar, Spice...from the first second you crashed into our lives, you made us better people, me and Ben both. You helped us. You taught us how to live, how to love, and how to remember. Not just the truth, but how to smile.”
Yep, I'm dead. RIP. Gone. Slayed.
And he isn't even done.
Hunter must sense how I'm about to fall over because he slips a hand into mine and squeezes so hard, it hurts in the best way.
“I know it’s only been a month, but...but hell, it’s been the best month of my life. And I want to repeat that month the next month, and the month after that, again and again with you by my side.”
I can’t help how a burst of happy laughter flies out of my mouth. It's half cry, half laugh. The last thing I ever expect. The last-last thing, I should say, next to what he holds out a second later.
A neat little box the same silver-blue shade as Jingles. The lid opens, exposing a big square diamond set in a wide gold band.
“Marry me, Wendy?” he asks. “I promise I won’t say the word month again.”
Does he even have to ask?
Happiness fills me as I become a laughing, blubbering mess. I throw my arms around his neck and shout it. “Yes! Yes! I’ll marry you, Hunter!”
He bolts up, shoving the ring on my finger, lifting me off the couch as he rises. The whole room applauds as we spin, lost in this beautiful moment that's tailored just for us. Maybe because I just agreed to marry the best craftsman in the world.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you!” I wrap my legs around him, holding on tight as he buries me in kisses.
“Believe, Sugar. Believe that I love you, and I'm never, ever letting you go,” he tells me, fighting to get the words out for the five brief seconds our lips part.
“I love you, too,” I whimper. Then laugh. “It feels so good to say that. I love you, Hunter.”
Then we're too lost for words. Adrift, dizzy in our own sweet kisses.
Holy hell, are they still clapping? Nope, now they're shouting congratulations.
That's my family.
But Hunter kisses me again, saving me from an early death by embarrassment.
When he lowers me to the floor, and I catch my breath, I start laughing again.
I can’t help it. I don't think I ever understood the meaning of the word 'euphoric,' but now...
“Well, let’s see the ring!” Aunt Charlotte says.
I look up at Hunter and wink. “Think it slipped off and rolled under the couch in all that commotion.”
“I knocked it off?” He gives me a confused look.
I nod, giving him another kiss. “Accidentally. But we know how that turns out.”
We do. His bright-blue eyes say it like two smiling moons.
It was pure coincidence we even met, much less fell in love. If something this good can come from a haphazard mistake, what do I have to fear? With anything?
Just then, Rochelle, in her brand new white pants suit, dives across the room, one arm shooting beneath the couch. A second later, she holds her hand up. “Got it! Here. I have to say, I'm actually enjoying the show. Congratulations.”
We share a smile. We'll never see eye-to-eye, but we're finally sorting things out as sisters.
Both Hunter and I laugh as he takes the ring from her. “Thanks, Rochelle.”
Then he looks at me with those drop-dead gorgeous eyes shining brighter than ever and takes ahold of my left hand, lifting it up. “Let's keep it where it belongs this time, babe. I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”
“I can’t wait to become your wife,” I say as he slides the ring on my finger. It's a neat, snug fit.
I clutch it to my chest protectively, promising I won't let anything happen to it again.
Glancing around him, I see Ben sitting on the floor. There's lightning in his eyes, too. “And I can’t wait for you to call me 'mom,'” I tell him, tearing up all over again. “Whenever you're ready to.”
Dad pats Ben’s shoulder.
“Glad it's finally official. I get to be your grandpa for real now, kiddo,” he says. “We’ll show those Cheesehead fans where the bear shits in the woods.”
The room explodes with laughter.
I look up at Hunter, a weird fit of doubt scratching at my belly. “You're sure? About all this?”
“Very, Sugar. More sure than I'll ever be.”
* * *
A little over three months later, it's not just three of us boarding a private jet for spring break.
There are thirty of us flying to Hawaii for a destination wedding. Mine and this amazing man sitting next to me. We’ll be married on a Lanai island beach by sunset.
We picked a Hawaiian vista so Mom and Dad and the extended family didn't have to rush around getting passports. I told them I didn’t care where. Or when. Or how.
As long as I’m marrying Hunter Forsythe, I truly don’t care about anything else.
I lift up my foot rest and lean back in the luxurious chair, rolling my head to look at him.
“You look happy,” he says, lifting my hand to plant a kiss.
“I am. Are you?”
“Damn straight.” He kisses my forehead and slides a hand over my stomach. “It’s a nine-hour flight, Sugar. That's the only torture.”
“I know.”
He rubs my belly, leaning in. “Don’t think we’ve gone nine hours without having sex in months.”
I laugh, then lean closer to him. “How big is the bathroom?”
He laughs. “I so love you.”
“I’m serious,” I say, giving him a pointed look. “How big is the bathroom on this thing? Don't tell me all the money it takes to keep this going can't buy more than the closet you get on a commercial jet?”
He eyes me slowly for a moment, then says. “Your Aunt Charlotte would probably have a heart attack.”
“I think she already did stepping onto a private freaking jet!” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “And I suppose there’s not a doctor on board.”
“No, there’s not, but I could tell the pilot we need a two-hour layover in California for refueling.” He lifts a brow. “You don’t need a passport there, either.”
I laugh until my face heats. “We're awful.”
“We are. Together. Don’t you love it?”
“Maybe.” I think the vigorous head nod gives me away.
* * *
He was actually serious. Thank God we got the quickie in after all on a California runway yesterday.
Well, technically in the conference room of the Centurion lounge he blocked off for us by showing his black card. Then Hunter Forsythe led me hand-in-hand, threw me on the table, and took everything that'd be his forever in just a few blissful hours.
I came so hard, hands arched around his neck, biting his shoulder.
He took me there without a condom for the first time. Sent me crashing over the edge with sweet, feral strokes of his naked cock, all heat and skin and fire at the end. The slurred growl in his throat as he thrust in, pinned me down, and filled me drove me over a second time.
Then it was cleanup time, back on the plane, and everybody to our final destination for the spectacle the following day.
I thought I did, too, but that was before I imagined marrying a blue-eyed beast who's able to marry me with a private villa, an ivory white limo, and more family and friends than I could ever count strewn between the palm trees.
It's an old USMC chaplain who marries us, a man he served with overseas. There's Landon at his side as best man, cool as the clear blue waters lapping at the shore. A funny contrast because I know I couldn't stop screaming when I finally met his famous author wife, Kenna, a kind woman not much older than me with glasses. She gave me a sneak peek at her latest work-in-progress as a wedding present.
They say romance authors are some of the sweetest people ever.
But not half as sweet or gorgeous or perfect as the Adonis standing next to me. Hunter's blue eyes shine brighter in the Pacific sun, the white light dancing on his white suit. I'm so glued to him I barely have a free second to awww when I notice Ben's look is practically identical as he brings us the rings.
Then there's a few hushed questions from the chaplain. Two solemn vows. One rhythm in our veins as we lock hands, say the magic phrase, and then kiss like no tomorrow.
I do.
I did.
And I always, always will.
The reception is blissfully short. It's a good thing, too, because even with our quickie in California, we can't wait to tear our clothes off like famished beasts.
There's one more surprise from Rochelle. Goldfish crackers strategically hidden in my champagne when we're served, and a flash of her tongue, while a smiling Marco rubs her back. He's already holding one of the Cuban cigars he had discreetly delivered as a wedding present.
“There, sis,” she says. “Even-Steven. Let's call truce and have some fun.”
Oh, do we ever.
After several hours laughing, tearing up, and making the rounds with our guests, we say goodbye to Ben and my parents and ride back to the huge villa.
Our room is gorgeous – what else? At least what little I can appreciate from lying on my back, naked on the bed, waiting for Hunter to join me. It's a sad, but sweet relief to shed the wedding dress. They never tell you even the simple ones are like untangling a maze just to wriggle in and out of.
“Damn,” he says, letting out a sharp whistle before climbing onto the foot of the bed, “Will you look at that view?”
“Um, kinda hard to do that when I'm preoccupied.” I smile, wiggling shyly, knowing he’s talking about me. “You like it?”
“Love it, Sugar.”
Famous last words before he does a slow, seductive strip for me and then moves between my legs. His tongue goes straight to my core. I adore how the same tongue that said such sweet things earlier devastates me now, licking and parting and thrusting deep. So deep.
I press against his mouth, moaning, and bury my hands in his thick, dark hair as he finds my clit and sucks it. It’s so sexy, watching him love every inch of me in all the myriad ways.
“You're right,” I say between gasps. “This view, Hunter, it's pretty dang nice after – ohhhh. Aw, yeah. There, baby.”
There. He pins my thighs to his face, grazing my skin with his stubble, and brings me off so hard I nearly break.
It can't get more perfect.
Except, somehow, it does when he's settled between my legs again, cock raging, dipping into me. “Face to face, Sugar. Let me see your face, your eyes, when you come for me again.”
I spread my legs wider, holding tight. “Yes!”
What starts like a slow, sugary wave becomes an inferno toward the end. My husband takes my mouth. He takes my legs, my hands, my everything. He takes me over, and I won't have it any other way because this brilliant, kind mountain of a man is finally mine.
I'm his, too. If there was ever any doubt, he reminds me with every rough stroke, forehead pressed to mine, bringing me off for the second time on his hard, deep thrusts.
The next time, we come together. I know it's on when that growl in his throat hitches just a little higher, and his ass bobs between my legs like a bull in rut.
“With me, Sugar. I'm gonna –”
“Hunter!” I open my eyes just long enough to look into his beautiful blue eyes.
It's like seeing the calm before the storm. His baby blue eyes disappear a second later behind pinched lids, and his body goes berserk, one full, moving thrust on mine.
Oh, hell. Coming!
My pussy squeezes his cock like a silk vise, draining every bit of him, taking and never, ever wanting to let go. His seed sets me off all over again. Hunter's hips buck wild, burying himself in my depths, finding his relief, his release, his eternity.
He comes. He convulses. He owns.
Soon there's just raw ecstasy and the steady strum of my own heart in a white, blurry mess of what the hell just happened?
But it shouldn't be a question. Not anymore.
Because by the time I open my eyes again, it's Hunter looking at me again, and I've never seen his eyes like this. So big, so bright, so happy.
“Love you so much, woman. More than that, even, and you'd better believe I loved the fuck out of every second.”
I want to talk back. Say some sassy, stupid, combative thing just to get him riled, but I know who's in control.
The same Adonis who brings a fiery new kiss to my lips.
The same man who's had a gift for pushing all my buttons – especially the right ones – from day number one.
The same beast who says so much without a word, his tongue on mine, every gentle movement reminding me our love is no accident. Not anymore.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
* * *
Thanks for reading Accidental Romeo!
Curious what happens to Hunter, Wendy, and Ben years later?
See how their lives are shaping up after the Happily Ever After in this special flash forward read. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3vjqvvb3lg
Then read on for a preview of another great marriage mistake romance, Accidental Protector.
Accidental Protector Preview
Mornin', Hercules (Mindy)
The unnerving sensation of not knowing where I am hits before I've even opened my eyes.
Plus, the hellacious pounding in my head tells me I'm not ready for this yet. Not ready to look. It’ll hurt, guaranteed.
I groan, pushing my cheek into the pillow, piercing pain rippling up my jaw like lightning. Then I pry my eyes open one at a time, instantly regretting it.
Should've listened. Shouldn't invite this stabby, invisible dagger into my brain, but the unease growling in my belly gets the best of me.
I have to know where the hell I am.
White walls. Stark white. Painful, priestly white.
Nothing’s familiar.
I close my eyes. Bask in sweet relief.
Then I try to think. Try to remember.
Try to fight through this angry nothingness fogging up my mind.
My heart starts racing and I try to dispel it. The strange desire to freak out.
I take a deep breath and hold it.
What do I know? What do I remember?
I’m in Reno. And I went out last night to a casino. Hit it big on a slot machine. Dancing cartoon cats on the screen everywhere, throwing dollar bills, the entire machine going siren red and green with flashing lights.
A woman with bright purple lipstick and oversized shades insisted on a victory round of margaritas for us both. So, I indulged her, just like anybody in great spirits and instantly flush with cash.
But I wasn't done yet. Oh, mama, no.
Then I'd played blackjack. My almost-friend with the purple lips steered me toward the tables before she'd disappeared.
That's where I'd found that handsome sip of sin. Hercules.
The utterly ripped, silver-tongued beast who gives me a shaky smile even now. The man who kept winking at me with his vivid blue eyes every time I won another hand.
God, he was good-looking. An immo
rtal come to earth with orders from Daddy Zeus to drop panties left and right.
Don't get me wrong. I don't normally drool over men like this. Or march around having drinks with complete strangers.
I definitely don't get all hot and bothered and carried away by the excitement of the spinning reels and neon lights.
Mindy freaking Austin, yours truly, is the good girl who doesn't do shocking, scary things.
She doesn't call off her marriage to King Douchebag, run off to Reno, and win crazy money, and then tumble into the lap of a Greek God.
But I had climbed into his lap, hadn't I? I'd traced his strong, beautifully weathered face with my fingertips, starting above the ear and circling down to the tender short beard that rubbed so dangerously sweet against my skin.
He'd bought me a few rounds at the bar. I'd returned the favor, buying him a drink or two, and then...
A total blank.
Damn.
Why can’t I remember? I’ve been drunk before, but...I didn’t even have that many drinks last night. Did I?
Agony ripples through my head again, this sluggish freight train of God, no.
It tells me different. The hangover from hell can't lie.
My head’s damn-near ready to explode.
I take a deep breath and force my eyelids open again, hoping some soft-blue or teal will materialize before my eyes.
Nope. Just stark white. Everywhere.
Even the curtains are bony white, and the brightness makes my head throb harder.
This isn’t the place I’m staying at in town. Those walls are tacky early nineties wallpaper with huge pink roses. The bed’s all wrong too. It's bigger than the saggy double bed I'm used to with an eat-you-alive mattress, and there's never this huge, hulking lump within reach.
Wait. Lump?
An eerie sensation I'm not alone sends a tremor down my spine as I slowly find the courage to twist my neck.
Holy shit. I’m in a bed, all right. With a man.
And it’s not Charlie.
My head snaps back so fast the air locks in my lungs at the sight of him.
Hercules shifts slightly in his sleep, his face tilting like a groggy lion's, his lips slightly pursed. If I didn't have to struggle to remember my own name, it'd be kinda adorable.
