She hiccuped a giggle.
“I wanted to wait until Intercourse to do this”—he winked at the innuendo—“but I can’t wait.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took her hands. “I love you, Blue. I love your humor and your strength, your passion and your creativity. I love living with you and going on adventures. I love your potty mouth and your smooth sounds of the seventies’ ukulele songs.”
A blubbering laugh choked her.
“I love everything about you, dammit. And I need you. And you need me. And I don’t want to spend another second without you.” He opened the box and revealed a platinum engagement ring with a blue diamond setting. “Baby, Bluebell, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to travel, make babies, and raise them in my grandmother’s house. I want to make you the real Mrs. Calliope Rhodes. Will you marry me, Callie?”
A sugary sensation swept through her. Imagine bathing under the sun on a tropical island and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Under that sun and sky, picture yourself sharing a banana split with the man you love while floating on a raft together across a warm cerulean sea just off the island’s white sandy beach.
That’s how she felt.
“Fuck yes! I’ll marry you,” she shouted and smothered him with kisses.
He slipped the ring on her finger, and all at once, every horn on Madison Avenue honked.
The engagement kiss included lots of heavy petting and moaning.
“Mmm. If we weren’t about to start a riot,” he said. “I’d make long sweet love to you right here on this floor.”
She gazed into his happy peacock eyes. “I love you so much. I’m never leaving your side again.”
“You better not.”
“No, literally. I’m sewing myself to your side.”
“You scare me.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I forelsket you,” she said.
“Is that how you pronounce it?” he asked. “I’ve been saying four el skillet.”
She smiled and squeezed him tightly. “I like how you say it better.”
“All right, let’s hurry up and get out of this damn city, so I can pull over and ravish you.” He sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Yes, please. Let’s hurry up and get out of here so you can ravish me.” Leonard jumped in her lap, and she buckled her seatbelt.
“What’s the soundtrack, Mrs. Rhodes?”
She flipped through the stations and found the perfect song.
He gave her the most dashing dimpled smile ever, reached for her hand, and together they rode the Silver Dildo off into the sunset.
Epilogue
Five years later. Their backyard. Savannah, Georgia
Soundtrack: Talking Heads, “Once In A Lifetime-Remastered”
Out in the garden that night, they drank champagne in celebration of Callie’s third book release and Walker’s successful show at Bluebell’s Gallery, Creative Coffee House & Yoga Studio.
Strings of palm tree lights twinkled in the oak tree and a pink flamingo perched on one leg below it.
A four-year-old fairy with big blue eyes, gossamer wings, and a muddy yellow dress pranced over and sat in Walker’s lap. He smoothed her tangled, blonde hair and pointed to his cheek. “Give Daddy some sugar.”
Josephine put her arms around his neck and gave him a chocolate ice cream-coated kiss. “Daddy, Parker won’t let me up in the tree house. He said boys only. Will you put him in time-out?”
“Did you remind your brother you’re the one who painted all the stars on the sides?”
“Hey, poop face,” tiny Josephine yelled. “Daddy says you’re in time-out.”
He shook his head. “Child, you have a mouth like your mother’s.”
Josephine’s twin brother Parker—a replica of his father from his glasses to his lanky frame—zoomed over with Leonard Nimoy on his heels and almost knocked Callie off her chair with a hug.
Walker pretended to be stern. “Did you tell your sister she couldn’t play in the tree house?”
“She keeps telling me what to do. She’s not the boss of me,” he said.
Veronica laughed. Walt and Veronica, Parker and Josephine’s adoptive grandparents, spent winters in Georgia to be with the kids. “Parker, sweetie, come sit in your grandmother’s lap. I want to tell you a secret. Women are always the boss.”
Walt coughed “bullshit” into his fist.
Callie and Walker sent each other a secret smile.
He winked and handed their child to Walt. “Jo, go visit your grandpa. Mama and I need to take care of something.” Her husband took her hand and led her toward the house.
Veronica yelled behind them, “Make sure you lock the door! Don’t want any fairies interrupting your something.”
“Come on, woman!” He slapped her butt. “You’re slower than pond water.”
“Ouch,” she said with a seductive brow wiggle.
“There’s more where that came from. Now get upstairs!” They sprinted to the bedroom and locked the door.
He slid his lips against hers. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“Never,” she said.
“Have I ever told you how much I love that sexy sundress?” He untied the strings at the top.
“It’s all I can stand to wear in the heat.”
“You feeling hot now?” He slipped a hand under her dress. “You naughty girl, you’re not wearing any panties.”
She undid his pants. “Easier access.”
“Keep them off for good then.”
“In two days, we’re spending a month with the kids aboard the Silver Dildo. Therefore, talk dirty to me.”
He gave her long blonde ponytail a tug. “How hard do you want me to fuck that sweet pussy?”
“Keep talking.”
Quite a few more naughty words were spoken during a lightning fast foreplay session.
“Hurry, I need another orgasm.” She bent over the dresser. “We’ve been gone too long. They’ll be here any second.”
He punched inside her. “That fast enough?”
She moaned in response.
Soon, the dresser was pounding against the wall.
“Daddy?” The doorknob rattled. “What’re you doing in there?”
“Helping your momma move some furniture, baby girl.” He rammed Callie harder and made her moan again.
“Is it heavy? Is momma hurt?”
“No, baby. Go on downstairs. We’ll be out in a bit.”
The child disappeared and let them finish with a bang. Literally. And you know she never used the term incorrectly.
“I’m feeling pretty four el skillet, Mrs. Rhodes,” he said, buttoning his pants. “How ’bout you?”
“I always feel four el skillet with you, Mr. Rhodes. Always.”
Acknowledgments
I gave up a lot of time-wasting activities to write this book: TV, Facebook, exercising, showering, my personal life, taking care of my son . . . Not that my son can read dirty romance novels yet, but I’d like to personally recognize him for being one patient little boy. For six months he kept saying, “When are you going to finish the book, mom?”
It’s done, cutie. Thank you for letting me be creative.
Speaking of moms, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without mine. She entertained her grandson on the weekends, so I could lose myself in my dreamy couple’s relationship. I doubt she’ll ever read this book because it has dirty words and sexy scenes, but in case she does, thanks, Mom!
In addition, I’d like to thank my beta readers, Kate, Lucy, Susan, Rebecca, Laurie, and Beth. None of them had ever read a romance novel until I shoved this down their throats.
Another special thanks to my editor, LS King. I lucked out with him.
And a great big kiss to Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions. Not only did she design a fabulous cover, she dealt with my newbie author pain-in-the-assishness while she was nine months pregnant.
; By the way, the poet who wrote the What if I fall poem is named is Erin Hanson, check out her fabulous work.
About the Author
Nicole Archer’s lengthy career as an advertising copywriter not only polished her writing skills—it provided a lifetime of book material. Many months her book purchases are as high as her mortgage. As a single, full-time working mom of a beautiful, brilliant, and horrifically energetic son, she has little time to do much else besides work, write, read, drink wine, and breathe. She believes the best books make you laugh, cry, and orgasm. In real life, she lives in Dallas, Texas, but she’d rather live in Switzerland.
Check out her website for questions, images that inspired the book, the soundtrack, deleted scenes, upcoming work, her random musings, or if you just want to email her and go out and get tacos and margaritas.
If you sign up for the newsletter, you’ll be the first fans offered promotional pricing. FYI, she hates spam—the email and the canned meat.
To connect with Nicole for margaritas:
@nicolearcheraut
nicolearcherauthor
www.nicolearcher.com
[email protected]
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Copyright 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed
Twist Idea Lab, LLC
707 Parkview Circle
Richardson, TX 75080
www.nicolearcher.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Cover Design ©2016 Murphy Rae, Indie Solutions
Road-Tripped/ Nicole Archer—2nd edition
ISBN-13:978-1534681064
ISBN-10:153468106X
AISN: B01H0Z8LJE
Created with Vellum
Road-Tripped Page 31
