by Vivian Arend
Allison stared across at her husband—Lord, the word still made a chill zip along her spine—and admired him all over again. From his boots on up to his firmly positioned hat, he was hundred-percent Canadian free-range cowboy.
And hers. Heart of gold and all.
Gabe shook his head. “I like your smile.”
He slipped off Hurricane, tethering him to a nearby bush. Allison dismounted as well, securing Patches before stepping forward to accept Gabe’s outreached hand.
“Look and weep. She’s right there. We actually own both sides of the waterway now.”
Allison gazed over the section Gabe pointed out. Checked to the south. The north. The river wove its way along the western border, about the farthest thing from a straight line possible. “This piece?”
“Uncle George said he felt a little guilty for switching the north section with me. In exchange he got a parcel you could use a straight edge on—you could fall asleep in the tractor and the lay of the land would nearly steer you home.”
A little bit of hope brightened inside her. “So this piece that he gave you? He hasn’t planted it for a while?”
“No. Pain in the ass to do anything here, he said. He’s had the horses out for a few years at least. Karen would know more, she keeps all the records.”
Hope budded and grew, ready to bloom full out if given a chance. “Gabe, don’t go laying wagers or anything yet, but you might have struck gold, not foolishness, in your switch.”
He looked her over intently. “Explain.”
“What were you going to do with this bit of land?” she asked.
“Turn the cattle out. Let it lie fallow. I wasn’t sure yet.”
She smiled. “How about checking with Karen, and if it has been sitting for at least three years, you can get a jump on your plans. At least in terms of starting a few animals or maybe plant some alfalfa out here. You don’t mind a little extra work to cultivate, do you?”
Gabe’s jaw dropped, and a light came on in his eyes. She could see him calculating and reasoning through her suggestion. A shortcut, not everything they needed, but it would certainly help.
He snatched her up and swung her in a circle. His laughter rang out, carried down the hill and over the land. They twirled until they tangled and fell. Gabe caught her on top of him, breaking her fall.
She twisted until she straddled him. His firm body stretched out under her, the fading green grasses a cushion under them both.
He caught her hands and twirled her ring lazily. “I love you.”
Her heart leapt. The words were becoming more familiar, but she never got tired of hearing them. She lifted his fingers to her lips and kissed them briefly in response before teasing him with a pout. “You know, there is one more secret I have. Well, it’s not a secret. Only you’ve never noticed.”
He raised a brow, dropping his hands to her thighs in a caress that promised she’d soon have something to think about other than organic regulations and pieces of land.
But not before she was ready. She pointed at his ring. “Take it off.”
Gabe sat up and pulled off his shirt. Allison slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her burst of laughter from escaping. “I didn’t mean your clothes.”
“If you’re not clear, woman, I’m going to take the interpretation I like best.”
Smiling, she traced the outline of the tattoo begun on his skin. He’d had the phoenix designed to burst from flames on his lower back, one wing stretching over his left shoulder, and the other wrapping around his ribs on the right.
Said he’d been inspired by her tattoos.
“Still think you should have had the wings burst over both your shoulders,” she teased.
“Don’t need to give you more reasons to call me angel, now do I?”
“I love how I can see a piece of this no matter which way you turn.” Her fingers moved slowly along the intricate design of the feathers, colour still needing to be added.
“Everything feels new. I feel reborn. You gave me that.”
“We gave to each other.” Allison kissed his chest and tugged on his ring. “Now take it off before I hurt you.”
He humoured her, pulling the ring free, the one she’d had prepared so quickly back before she even knew this marriage was going to be real. Gabe handed it to her.
She held the plain gold band carefully at an angle. “Look. What do you see? Inside.”
Gabe leaned closer, squinting slightly as he focused in. “Butterflies? You put butterflies on the inside of my wedding ring.”
She dipped her head. “I did. Because you deserved to break free as well.”
Her cheeks were flushed. Butterflies. What had she been thinking? The glorious phoenix marking his skin was far more appropriate than the delicate little creatures she’d picked out.
Gabe slipped his ring back on. “I think that’s pretty amazing. Thank you. Thank you for wanting that for me.”
She shrugged. “It’s only butterflies.”
He caught her chin in his hands and stared into her eyes. The tenderness she saw there, the love—it made her speechless.
He brushed their lips together for a second. Spoke against her mouth. “And they only live in places that are healthy, right? So I want to see whole flocks of butterflies over this land. Over our house. If I have to tattoo butterflies on me to prove it, then I will.”
He shushed her protests and stood them both, his shirt abandoned on the ground. Allison couldn’t figure out what he was doing until he twisted his back toward her and pointed. “Look. Look closely at the fire.”
She pressed her palm to his skin, framing the section. This was the only area fully coloured. Deep crimson and brilliant gold mingled together as they rose to form the feathers covering the bird’s chest. She’d admired the tattoo a hundred times since he came home to show her.
Now for the first time she spotted it. The tiny outlines of dozens of butterflies, their wings meshing into each other’s like some drawing by Escher. A thin line of them escaping from the fire and flying upward, hidden in the plumage of the phoenix’s breast.
When he turned, she trailed her fingers over his body, not wanting to let him go.
Gabe tilted his hat back slightly. Grinned.
“Rabble,” she said.
His grin twisted. “What?”
“A rabble. A group of butterflies is called a rabble. Or a swarm, or the really pretty name is a kaleidoscop—”
He covered her mouth with his hand. “I love you, Allison.”
When he slipped his fingers off she leapt, wrapping herself around him and clinging tight. “I love you too, Angel Boy. I’m so glad you’ve found your wings.”
“We can fly together.”
About the Author
Vivian Arend in one word: Adventurous. In a sentence: Willing to try just about anything once. That wide-eyed attitude has taken her around North America, through parts of Europe, and into Central and South America, often with no running water.
Her optimistic outlook also meant that when challenged to write a book, she gave it a shot, and discovered creating worlds to play in was nearly as addictive as traveling the real one. Now a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of both contemporary and paranormal stories, Vivian continues to explore, write and otherwise keep herself well entertained.
Website: www.vivianarend.com
Blog: www.vivianarend.com/blog
Twitter: www.twitter.com/VivianArend
Facebook: www.facebook.com/VivianArend
Look for these titles by Vivian Arend
Now Available:
Granite Lake Wolves
Wolf Signs
Wolf Flight
Wolf Games
Wolf Tracks
Wolf Line
Forces of Nature
Tidal Wave
Whirlpool
Turner Twins
Turn It On
Turn It Up
Pacific Passion
Stormchild
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br /> Stormy Seduction
Silent Storm
Xtreme Adventures
Falling, Freestyle
Rising, Freestyle
Six Pack Ranch
Rocky Mountain Heat
Rocky Mountain Haven
Rocky Mountain Desire
Takhini Wolves
Black Gold
Silver Mine
Paradise Found
Nothing comes easy. You’ve gotta work for it.
Rocky Mountain Desire
© 2012 Vivian Arend
Six Pack Ranch, Book 3
Matt Coleman always figured at this point in his life, he’d be settled down with a family. Since his ex split for the big city, though, no way will he give anyone else the chance to drop-kick his heart. Physical pleasure? Hell, yeah, he’ll take—and give—with gusto, but nothing more.
Hope Meridan is working long hours to hold on to her new quilt shop, going it alone since her sister/business partner ran off. Sex? Right, like she’s got the time. Not that she doesn’t have the occasional dirty fantasy about Matt. Fat chance he’d dream of knocking boots with her—the younger sister of the woman who dumped him. Nope, she’ll just have to settle for the F-word.
Friends would be far easier if there wasn’t something combustible going on between them. And when casual interest starts to grow into something more, their tenuous bond strengthens in the heat of desire. But it may not survive the hurricane-force arrival of the last person either of them ever wanted to see again…
Warning: Small-town rivals, men in pursuit and family meddling—in good and bad ways. Look for a cowboy who knows how to rope, ride and rein in a hell of a lot more than eight seconds of sheer bliss.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Rocky Mountain Desire:
“What are you doing?” He paced the store, and she followed, dragging her gaze off his ass just in time as he spun around, wide smile beaming down.
“Just checking out the place. You’ve got some neat stuff in here. I mean, I already knew you had quilts, but there’s a lot of different projects.”
“Anytime you want to take up sewing…”
He leaned a hip on the cutting table, and the broad surface slid away from him. Matt stood rapidly as she grabbed for the edge and rebalanced it.
“Shit, sorry about that. I usually stand in the middle and brace it with my knee when I cut.”
He held out a hand. “I can fix that for you.”
Suspicion snuck over her. She turned and examined the bucket he’d had in his hands. The one he’d placed on the floor that she’d ignored while distracted by all the rest of him. It was filled with hammers and screwdrivers and other tools. “Matt, what are you doing here?”
He glanced around, feet shuffling in place like a naughty kid caught in the act. “Just thought I might offer you a hand. You know, brace the table, adjust shelves, anything that you need help with.”
“And you would do this because…?”
“I want to?”
Yeah, right. “Sure. You got up this morning and decided ‘I have nothing better to do today. I should volunteer my services to Hope.’ Is that it?”
Matt shrugged. “Well, I had a coffee first, but then yeah, that was pretty much what happened.”
Hope laughed. “Aren’t you a shitty liar? Don’t worry, you don’t have to feel guilty about anything getting ruined when I went off the road. I got everything back and most of it survived the adventure. It’s good, and frankly? Being saved from that ditch—you were right. It was just stuff and neither of our lives was worth risking. Please, put your guilt aside.”
The door opened, the bell ringing sweetly through the shop. This time it was a customer, so Hope waved farewell at Matt and went to help the woman.
Only, he didn’t leave, or not for good. At one point he headed out the door and she thought the strange visit was over, but before long he was back, coat once again on the hook, light tapping noises coming from the cutting area where he popped up and down like a broken jack-in-the-box. The entire time she pulled embroidery floss from the cupboard and helped her customer gather items for a project, he was there in the background. After the third time she’d forgotten what number thread she was going for, she steadfastly ignored him.
A few more people wandered in, and Hope got busy serving and chatting with the ladies, admiring projects and pictures of completed gifts they’d already mailed off to relatives for the holiday season.
It was over an hour later before she realized she was alone with him in the shop. It was obvious, no matter what she said, he was going to do whatever he pleased.
She wasn’t sure if that pissed her off or if she liked his stubbornness.
After filling a mug with coffee, she brought it over and placed it in front of him. “If you’re planning on staying much longer, you should know I will drape a display quilt over your back.”
Matt stood, pausing to brush his palms against his thighs before picking up the coffee and taking a long swallow. He closed his eyes as he hummed in approval, and she allowed herself one brief fantasy of kissing her way across his firm jawline, tasting his lips.
She snapped her gaze back up to meet his, attempting her most innocent expression possible.
He was grinning. “Am I in your way?”
She shrugged. “Not really, but I still don’t understand what you’re up to. Go home, Matt. If you don’t have chores to do, you certainly don’t need to waste a day off in my shop.”
He moved aside a basket full of patterns for Christmas ornaments and sat on the stool he’d cleared. “Yes, I’ve got some time off today, but I don’t consider it a waste to spend it here.”
Bloody fool. “What the hell is going on? Just tell me.”
“I want to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“But you said we were going to be friends.”
Hope opened her mouth to respond and nothing came out. Friends. The night she’d offered that word to him rushed back. Her brain flooded with too many erotic images. Him stripping down, his cock tenting the front of his boxers. She might have had her eyes open a tiny crack as he stripped, and her penance was that now she had a good idea exactly what size equipment he was packing.
The sight of him, the feel of his hard body underneath hers in the tub—all of it rendered her speechless to respond.
Friends?
Good Lord. She was going to die right there in the shop.
To win her heart, he’ll have to touch off her internal combustion.
Overdrive
© 2012 Chloe Cole
Even after ten long years, Frankie Sepkaski’s success as the best vintage car mechanic around still hasn’t overcome her teenage rep as a promiscuous troublemaker. No matter how tempting the prospect, the last thing Mac Galbraith needs is for her to take him out for a spin. Especially since his family thinks he should be looking for a prospective wife among the local socialites, not slumming with a grease monkey.
Mac likes vintage rides, but buying a new one every month just to have an excuse to see his ridiculously sexy mechanic in her overalls? That’s pathetic. When she finally says yes to his date offer, he’s not fooled. It’s only because she has every intention of using him to indulge her fantasies—then walking away. But Mac knows something else: underneath her bad-girl persona is a woman worth her weight in lug nuts.
It might take a crowbar to get her to admit she has feelings for him, but he plans to put the pedal to the metal to convince her to keep him around for more than just a test drive.
Warning: Sweaty, down-and-dirty sex between a mechanic and her best client. Read at your own risk. Dangerous curves lie ahead, and these roads are slippery when wet.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Overdrive:
The line went quiet again, save for their echoing breaths. She should probably hang up.
“I don’t want to hang up yet,” Mac said, the reluctant honesty in his tone encouraging her to be honest in return.
<
br /> “Me either.”
“What do you want, Frankie?”
What did she want?
She shoved aside all the doubts and self-recriminations and spoke the truth. “To listen to you talk. Your voice is so…”
“So…?” he urged.
Her heart pounded, and she closed her eyes. “Sexy. Your voice is so goddamn sexy.”
“I’m glad that you think so. And what would you like me to talk about?”
She squirmed, a familiar pressure spreading low in her belly. How to answer that loaded question? Mac had offered her the chance to explore a world she’d denied herself for so long. If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.
“The things we’re going to do tomorrow, maybe,” she whispered.
His breath came out in a hiss. “That’s up to you, babe. I’m at your disposal. Whatever you want, however you want it.”
His answer both excited and frustrated her. She’d been hoping he’d—
“But I can tell you what I’d like us to do,” he said softly. “What I’ve imagined doing a thousand times. Would you like that?”
“Yes.” She gripped the phone tighter and pressed her thighs together.
“First, tell me, are you in bed?”
“Uh-huh. Are you?”
“Yes. I hate to be cliché and ask what you’re wearing, so I’m going to pretend it’s a black, short, lace nightgown.”
She glanced down at her flowered boxer shorts and Bob Marley T-shirt and bit her lip. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”
His warm chuckle sent a thrill through her, and she smiled.
“Are the lights on?” Mac asked.
“Yes.”
“Turn them off.”
She didn’t hesitate, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “Okay, they’re off.”
“Mine too.”
He must have moved to settle in because she could hear the creak of the bed. The darkness of the room only intensified the intimacy of the situation.
