With her at his side, he observed the pony rides, the chickens scratching, and then her mom painting one little boy’s face to look like a scarecrow. His mom and her companion had moved off and were standing with some other adults by the apple cider station. A cool breeze stirred the air, mingling the scents of apple cider and straw bales. Nostalgia rolled over Harper and her hand tightened on the inner bend of Mad’s elbow.
He glanced down. “What?”
“Las Vegas doesn’t smell like this.”
A faint smile curved his mouth. “But there’s zero chance you can spend a quarter and win a million.”
“Right.” Harper dropped his arm and took a slow spin, trying to take it all in—exuberant children, colorful pumpkins, all the people she loved nearby. Goodbye, she whispered inside her head. I’ll miss you all.
Mad caught her hand and stopped her movement, then pulled her close. They stood inches apart, his quizzical gaze on hers. “Harp, we should talk somewhere. Alone.”
Not alone! If alone, she’d spill her guts and lose the starch in her knees and every cell of common sense she possessed would disappear. Her key wouldn’t fit her car’s ignition. She’d forget the route from home to the apartment in Vegas.
Home. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Mad’s hand squeezed hers. “Sweetheart. Something’s wrong.”
“It’s been good, that’s all. Seeing you again,” she said.
“Completely agree.”
“It’s been great to reconnect,” she said brightly, then her face fell. “I didn’t mean that in a dirty way. Did it sound dirty?”
“Will you be offended if I take it that way?” He smiled, then carefully brushed her hair off her forehead, away from her scabbed-over wound. “I should have gotten you over to my place last night after poker. I missed you in my bed.”
She wouldn’t touch that. “So how was poker last night?”
“I won. Big. Surprising everyone including myself.”
“You won?”
He nodded. “Not what I really want more than anything, I realized when it was all over. Harp—”
“I fell in love with you.” The sudden admission burst out of her. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t our deal, but I couldn’t help myself. Because…because I like you, you know. You’re a good person.”
Mad hauled in a breath. “Harp—”
“Oh, God.” Horrified at what she’d done, she could only think of escape. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got something of yours in my room.”
“Harp—”
“Don’t leave. I’ll be back.” She broke away from him even as he called her name a third time, and then raced for the house.
She took the stairs two at a time and tore through her bedroom doorway. There, hanging on one of the bed posters was Mad’s tie in all its conservatively striped glory. Snatching it free, she whirled around, then whirled back to grab her purse off the desk. Her bags were packed in her car. Return the tie, she told herself. Then return immediately to Las Vegas.
Live to heal her broken heart another day.
At a slower pace, she descended the staircase and then made her way to the pumpkin patch, her legs turning more leaden by the second. Upon reaching the crowded space, at first glance she didn’t see Mad.
Her panic eased as relief rushed in. Had he left after all, sparing her the final confrontation? Then she looked down at the length of silk in her hand. The tie that bound her to him.
She searched the crowd again. Would it be as untethering if she returned it to his mother?
Coward, her inner voice said, and then she saw him standing with Grandpop. Three steps in that direction and then she stopped again, her heart beating so fast she thought she’d swallowed a hummingbird. She couldn’t do it, she decided, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she threw up her arm to get Mad’s attention.
“Putting this in your car,” she called out, waving the tie.
He looked confused but Grandpop said something to him and he glanced toward the older man, clearly torn.
She took advantage of his divided attention and sped off to his SUV. If need be, she’d tuck it beneath his windshield wiper. But the passenger door was open and she held up the tie, ready to drop the silk on the seat.
Do it, she thought. And she did.
But then her fingers tightened on the door, refusing to slam it shut. Damn, why was she hesitating? She’d returned the tie, she’d said her piece. More than her piece.
But a note might be nice. A nice note. Thanks for the memories.
The pen in her purse didn’t have a paper accompaniment. Frowning, she looked about Mad’s car, but the neatnik didn’t have any newspaper or random snack wrapper she could write upon. Frustrated, she yanked open the glove box, then stared at the contents.
After a frozen moment, she snatched the items out and then closed the door in order to stalk back to the pumpkin field. Her temper fired with each step.
Beside the apple cider stand, Mad stood with his back to her. She didn’t let the small crowd surrounding him deter her from tapping him on his shoulder.
He turned, and she shook the items from his glove box in his face. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
His glance shifted from her face to the items then back again. “What?”
“I know I should be grateful, but frankly…” She could feel the angry flush crawling toward her hairline. “You should have returned them to me upon arrival and saved us both the embarrassment of my untimely admission.”
“Your admission didn’t embarrass me in the least, Harp,” he said.
She glared. “Well, I feel enough shame for the both of us.”
“Harp—”
“Do you have any duct tape on you?”
“On me?”
“It’s not in your glove box and not anywhere else in your terminally tidy sport utility vehicle.” When he looked at her uncomprehendingly, she almost stomped her foot. “I need the silver stuff to tape the plates to my car so I can head to Vegas tonight. Now.”
People were beginning to notice, because under distress she lost her ability to moderate the volume of her voice.
“They attach with screws,” Mad said helpfully. “The plates.”
“Well the thief or thieves must have stolen those, too, because I didn’t see any screws where screws are supposed to be.”
One of his hands reached into his front pocket and when he withdrew it, there were small fasteners nestled in the palm.
“Oh. Congratulations,” she said. “You’re quite the detective. Recovered the plates and the screws.”
“I didn’t recover them,” Mad explained. “I stole them myself.”
Harper’s jaw dropped. “What?”
He was nodding, confirming that she’d not been hearing things. “The plates and the screws—on the night I took your bags to your car.”
Mr. Law and Order had committed a crime? “Why?” she asked, reaching for the fastenings.
His hand closed over them. “To give us more time.”
She stared at his fist. “Time for what?” Her volume now was one step down from screeching. “Time for me to fall for you harder so I hurt more when I go?”
“No—”
“That really sucks you know.” Her gaze swung up to his. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Harp.” His knuckles traced the edge of her jaw and his voice turned tender. “You made me fall in love with you, too.”
Her eyes popped wide and the license plates fell to their feet. The hummingbird she swallowed became an entire flock.
“Believe your ears,” he said, addressing her shock with his lips curved in a smile. “You. Me. The in-love thing. It goes both ways.”
“Mad…how…” Any clear thoughts she had left on the breeze.
“I spent a lot of time in the last six years blaming you for all kinds of things, most importantly, my romantic misery, but then you said something to me a few days ago that fina
lly began to sink in.”
“I did? What—what did I say?”
“‘You didn’t ask me to stay.’ You used those words. And the more they ran around in my head, I realized that I didn’t do that.”
“You didn’t…”
“Six years ago, I didn’t ask you to stay. I should have. I was too afraid of my own feelings, though.”
A small child ran by, face painted like a zebra, its flailing arm knocking her off-balance. Mad’s hand shot out to steady her.
Harper sucked in a breath, pain radiating from her heart. “I would have stayed,” she confessed, putting her hand over her face. “I would have.”
“But you needed to go and I needed to let you.”
She dropped her hand and stared into his eyes. “I could have asked you to come with me. Or at least visit me.”
“And I would have.”
That didn’t make this new anguish abate. “We missed it, Mad. We missed out.”
“Then, we didn’t take the big risk. Because we were young, and unwilling to make such a huge commitment. That’s okay. I’m working on giving younger us a pass for that.”
“But now?”
“Now I’m not making that same cautious, yet stupid, choice again. Now, you’re mine.” His arms reached for her, pulled her close. “I’m in love with you, Harp. I need to get accustomed to me saying that. You need to get accustomed to hearing that.”
His kiss was hard, determined, thorough.
When they came up for air, she looked up at him, dazzled. “Is this really happening?”
“It is.”
“You broke the law for me,” she said, wonderingly.
“I’d do it again.”
“You’re mine,” she said, clutching his shoulders because the truth of that made her woozy once more. “Really mine.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “And globe-trotting Harper Hill is mine. We’ll make it work somehow if you want to leave—”
“I’m home now, Mad,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to go away again.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Then you’re my globe-trotter-turned-farm girl.”
She leaned into him, feeling like she had her own wings. “I still make a mean vodka martini, I’ll have you know.”
The crinkles at the corners of his smiling eyes deepened. “You’re all kinds of sophisticated.”
“I’m not sure I’m sophisticated enough to stand here with our mothers looking on and give you the kind of kiss that promises…”
“What?”
“That promises forever, Mad.” She could have her very own revelations. “I don’t want you doubting for a second that this time it’s for always. Eternally.”
“I like the sound of that.” He tossed down the screws where they clattered against the license plates and reached into his pocket again. This time, resting on his palm was a small velvet box.
She reared back as he flipped it open to display a diamond ring that looked old-fashioned…and just perfect.
“Where did this come from?” she whispered, staring at it.
“I told you, I won big at poker night. It was either buy an engagement ring or pay the tab for a wild night at the Little Sweethearts XXX Club.”
Frowning, she looked up. “Your poker night is relatively low-stakes. Nobody loses more than a tank of gas which means nobody wins all that much either.”
“You got me.” He smiled. “It belonged to my great-grandmother. And now it belongs to you, if you’ll say yes.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” This was happy, she thought, as his head lowered to kiss her again. This was the most happy any woman could ever be.
“I love you,” he said, his gaze boring into hers. “I love you, Harp.”
“I love you, too.” With her arms wrapping Mad’s waist, Harper glanced around. Those gathered by the apple cider station weren’t even pretending to hide their interest. “I think we’ve made a spectacle of ourselves.”
“Let’s improve on it,” he said, then swept her into yet another enthusiastic kiss.
“Swing me around,” she urged against his mouth. “This is a swing-me-around moment.”
When he set her on her feet again, they’d attracted the attention of everyone, from her mother to the kindergartener with frog face paint. Harper put her hand to her head. “As soon as this is settled back on my shoulders I need to make a citizen’s arrest.”
One of his eyebrows winged up. “Of me? For stealing your license plates?”
She smiled. “For stealing my heart.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I should have seen that coming.”
“I’ll point the way for you from now on,” Harper said, and realized that the last six years had given her the confidence to partner with this beautiful man, straight edges and hospital corners and all. “From now on, just follow my lead.”
# # #
Thank you! I loved writing Mad and Harper’s story and I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you missed any of the other books in the 7-Stud Club series, you can get ALL IN (7-Stud Club Book 1), NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2), and ANTE UP (7-Stud Club Book 3). Raf’s story is next! Get WILD CARD (7-Stud Club Book 5) here.
If you want more sexy and emotional romances, let me take you to Billionaire’s Beach. The first in the series is TAKE ME TENDER.
Read on for an excerpt.
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Excerpt – TAKE ME TENDER
Excerpt – TAKE ME TENDER
Billionaire’s Beach Book 1
© Copyright 2015 Christie Ridgway
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sabrina fair
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair…
—JOHN MILTON, COMUS: A MASQUE
A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.
—ELSA SCHIAPARELLI, FASHION DESIGNER
Chapter One
Slowly threading through the tables of the darkened restaurant, Nikki Carmichael refused to let a single tear fall. No, she wasn’t going to cry, though the night’s last entree had been plated and served two hours before and the last patron escorted out the door thirty minutes ago. For the final time, she’d heard the clear-bell clink of the wineglasses greeting their partners as they were slid into their nightly resting place in the rack over the bar. The kitchen’s enormous stock-pots that had simmered broth all through the dinner service were now clean, their steam no longer able to corkscrew the baby hairs that escaped her braids.
Pausing beside a table, she tweaked a white linen napkin already folded in the signature Fleming’s twist, ready for the next day’s dinner rush.
The dinner rush Nikki wouldn’t be here to see, sweat over, or even swear about, as from now on a different sous-chef was responsible for the production of the restaurant’s elegant meals.
Still, she wasn’t going to cry.
After all, she’d been the one to turn in her resignation. And she’d had plenty of time to accustom herself to the idea of leaving the place where she’d worked since cooking school.
Not to mention that she never cried—not since she was fourteen and her father told her at her mother’s funeral that crying was something big girls didn’t do. Don’t let anyone think you’re weak.
At the locked door of the employee break room, with nothing left to do but gather her things and head home, she keyed in the pass code and then pushed it open.
“Surprise!”
Startled, Nikki took an instinctive step back and felt that familiar, dangerous doughiness in her right knee. Her leg almost gave way, but she gritted her teeth and fought for balance. The small crowd in the room
didn’t seem to notice, and then she was being dragged inside.
Colleen, the youngest member of Fleming’s full-time waitstaff, grinned at her. “You didn’t think we were going to let you go quietly, did you?”
Nikki had really hoped so. She didn’t know how much longer she could remain upright on her listing leg.
But slices of the pastry chef’s celebrated Chocolate Can’t Kill You cake were already set on a rolling cart beside champagne glasses filled with bubbly. The dishwashers, grizzled Joe and his baby-faced sidekick, Carlos, passed out forks. Colleen danced around with the champagne.
“To Nikki!” she finally said.
And everyone there, from the bartender, to the waitstaff, to her favorite prep cook who must have made a return trip just for the occasion, echoed the words, their glasses held high. The enthusiastic goodwill surprised Nikki all over again. She’d inherited her keep-your-distance DNA from her dad, so she didn’t get too friendly with people, not even coworkers.
In the convivial atmosphere, though, Nikki did okay through the next few minutes, sipping at the champagne she hoped would work like ibuprofen. Then Colleen asked her about her future plans.
“Do you have your next chef job lined up? You said you had prospects.”
It took a moment for Nikki to clear her throat of her latest swallow and her sudden awkwardness. “Not, um, yet. I’m still, uh, sifting through those prospects.”
“I have a friend—”
“What about—”
“Why not—”
The room filled with suggestions. Wearing a polite smile, Nikki listened to each of them. Her excuse for leaving Fleming’s was creative burnout, so their ideas ran the gamut from Japanese to Egyptian to a place that touted a Swiss-Argentinean fusion cuisine.
That last gave her pause. Swiss-Argentinean fusion cuisine. What would that be, exactly? Reuben sandwiches?
After the cake and champagne were consumed, the well-wishers walked her out to her car. She was forced to smooth her gait as she headed across the blacktop, pretending for the crowd she had two completely functional legs. She’d never wanted pity, or worse, the inevitable questions: Why not see a surgeon? Surely some doctor could…? There were reasons that wasn’t going to happen.
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 20
