Giving It All

by Christi Barth

  “Yeah. If you’ll forgive me.” Logan shoved a hand through his hair. God, there were so many fuckups he’d made that needed her absolution. “Please forgive me for trying to push you away, to keep you from feeling the pain I felt at the thought of leaving you. Forgive me for not being smart enough to ask you out back in high school. Forgive me for not telling you soon enough that I was falling in love with you.”

  “What did you say?”

  The surprise in her wide-open eyes made Logan want to kick his own ass. If she did forgive him, he’d spend every day finding ways to show his love so she never doubted it again. “There’s a reason why you had to tutor me in Spanish in high school. You’re smarter than I am, Escarlata. I think—I hope—that you figured out faster than I did that we were falling in love.”

  Logan waited. Either she’d tell him he was crazy, or she’d let him keep going. He’d go all night. He’d go as long as it took to convince her. But he had to wait for some sort of a response to know what to say next.

  “A good tutor, a good teacher, stays one step ahead of her student,” she said softly. And the light, the love shining out of those big green eyes almost blinded him. He still needed to hear her say the words, though.

  It took only a couple of quick steps to go back around the corner of the building, where he’d hidden while she’s been talking to Sarah. It felt so right to do this here, where their journey began. When Logan came back, it was with a single long-stemmed red rose clenched between his teeth.

  Brooke burst out laughing. Maybe a good sign? When he dipped his head, she took it. Definitely a good sign. “Your romantic gestures are always just a little off-kilter. And they’re always wonderful.”

  Logan took her hand. Pulled her up, and did the flat-out scariest thing he’d done since that day in the Alps, when he’d jumped off a snow-covered mountain ledge.

  “I love you, Escarlata. You’re the light in my heart that burns away all the darkness. I can’t tell you what the future holds. I’ve never looked ahead to it before. But I know now that I want to face it with you by my side.” He took a folded paper from his lapel pocket and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Hang on.” Logan folded his hand around hers, preventing her from opening it. “This is a very special piece of paper. It can only go to a woman who thinks she might be able to at least try to fall in love with me.”

  “Then I can’t accept it.” Before his heart finished its nosedive to the floor, Brooke continued. “Because it’s too late. I’ve already gone ahead and fallen in love with you.”

  Logan wanted to kiss her more than anything. Wanted to lose himself in those red lips while drowning in those green eyes and just inhale her like oxygen. But this was a big moment. A moment he couldn’t risk screwing up. So he pushed the hand with the paper back to her chest.

  “Well, it’s a gift certificate for six months’ worth of tango lessons. The ones you said you wanted to take, and I said I wouldn’t stick around for. Will you give me another chance, Brooke? Will you let me be your partner?”

  “You want to plan that far ahead? With me? Instead of waiting for the rest of the world to need you more?”

  “I do. Because I’m not choosing you over saving the world. I’m thinking that just maybe you could be my whole world.” And if she’d let him, he’d give this woman his all.

  She tucked the rose behind her ear. Swirled her dress and spun in a circle into his chest. Pressed tight against him, those ruby lips parted in an invitation. “Then let’s dance, Logan.”

  And to the music of nothing more than the evening songbirds, they danced in the courtyard until the sun set, kissing and laughing and living in the moment.

  For my beloved Tom, who is my whole world

  Acknowledgments

  My appreciation starts with my editor, Sue Grimshaw, who let me rejigger the entire series order to tell Logan’s story in the right place. And for her general all-around awesomeness, as well as that of the whole Loveswept team. The brilliant Amanda Usen helped me knead the first draft into something far stronger and actually believable. Love and hugs to Stephanie Dray, Laura Kaye, and Lea Nolan, for multiple writing retreats that got me back on track after bronchitis derailed me, the way they held my hand through innumerable crises, made me laugh when I needed it, and are always there for me.

  BY CHRISTI BARTH

  Naked Men

  Risking It All

  Wanting It All

  Giving It All

  Trying It All

  PHOTO: AMY JONES PHOTOGRAPHY

  CHRISTI BARTH earned a master’s degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately, she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance, including the Naked Men and Aisle Bound series. Barth can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.

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  Read on for an excerpt from

  Trying It All

  by Christi Barth

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  PRESENT DAY

  Josh thundered down the stairs from the roof deck, right on Riley’s heels. Sniping at him the whole damn way. For all four floors. Which almost tempted Riley to stop short, duck, and see if his best friend just flew over his head like Wiley Coyote being launched off a cliff.

  Of course, that’d be dangerous.

  Stupid. And therefore totally out of the question.

  No matter how tempting.

  “Dude, you can’t leave yet.” If the words hadn’t been coming out of a six-foot-two man who clocked in at a muscled one-ninety and lifted cast-iron frying pans like they were feathers, Riley would’ve said the guy was whining.

  But he knew how to pick his battles. Calling Josh a whiner would only lead to a headlock/noogie battle that would make him late for work. Instead, he chose a more annoying weapon than name-calling: the facts.

  “I specifically told you last night and again this morning that I’d have to cut out of brunch early.” Riley pulled his black windbreaker—the one with NTSB printed in big yellow letters on the back and sleeves—off the coat rack. Then he thought about how it was the fourth of September here in steamy Washington, D.C. He ducked into the study. Not to get away from Josh—although if it worked, that’d be great—but to check out the shelf of old-school weather forecasting instruments they’d given Griff when he graduated from the Coast Guard Academy.

  The twirly anemometer wouldn’t exactly be able to tell him the wind speed from behind the double-paned windows of the old rectory they all shared. And even though he’d been the one to give the lieutenant the nephoscope, measuring the clouds wouldn’t do any good, either.

  Josh flopped into the burgundy leather wing chair. “And I specifically told you that leaving early would make you a party pussy.”

  “I’d tell you to be sure to spell that correctly on my tombstone, but statistics show that it’s probable I’ll outlive you by a good three-point-seven years.”

  “What?” Josh straightened up like Riley had shoved the measuring tape for a coffin down his back. Whipped the plastic lei off his neck and chucked it in the corner. “No way. How do you know?”

  “I gave a presentation during the Family Assistance section of the Transportation Disaster Response course this week at the training center.”

  “You didn’t say you were giving a speech. Way to go.” Josh rose to give him a double backslap/hug combo. His friends always celebrated his successes, no matter how small. And they knew that every extra assignment or nod from above that Riley got was another step up the ladder to a promotion.
Even though they often called him a sucker for volunteering for the crap jobs nobody else wanted.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey—I didn’t get a chance to give you my picture-everyone-naked-and-you-won’t-be-nervous pep talk.”

  Riley pretended to smooth back his hair like the Fonz. Labor Day Weekend was always good for marathons of old shows. They’d had on the ultra-cheesy Happy Days in the background last night while playing Texas Hold ’Em. “Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you beforehand.”

  Squinting his gray eyes into slits, Josh said, “Do I have to disappear for half a year like Logan to make you appreciate my special skills?”

  “Nope.” Riley patted his belly through the green polo shirt. “I appreciated them plenty this morning with that bourbon-pecan-cream-cheese–stuffed French toast you made for brunch. Out of this world.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it for free,” Josh said, with a heavy emphasis on the last two words. “Starting next week, you can get it for eight-fifty a pop at the Capitol Grilled. If you spread the word about its awesomeness, I’ll make sure to park near the NTSB so you can gorge without going too far.”

  “If I spread the word, I expect a price break.” The argument was just for form’s sake. The food Josh produced on his food truck was worth every penny he charged, and then some. The guy was a wizard behind a stove.

  “You just told me I’m going to die. You’re lucky I’m not breaking your skull.” Josh rubbed his head where there was still a divot—covered by blond hair, which had many assuming he was Griff’s brother—from the fracture in the Alps ten years ago. “And trust me, that’d hurt.”

  “Look, you won’t die tomorrow. After my lecture, I stuck around and went to one on human fatigue factors. It covered fatigue-related issues at the individual, medical, operational, and environmental levels, and how they affect performance, alertness, and safety.”

  “You could’ve just been reciting the alphabet in Lithuanian for all it registered. Don’t bore me to death now. Tell me why I’m gonna die before you?”

  Funny how freaked out he looked. Or was it just that he looked freaky in the camp shirt covered in psychedelic yellow and green swirls. Josh called it a party shirt. Knox called it a fashion abomination. Riley just called it a headache about to happen. “You don’t sleep enough.”

  “Huh?”

  “You get up at the crack of dawn to sell breakfast. You work your ass off and then go out and hit the town and don’t go to bed until after midnight. You’ve been running on fumes for about four years straight. Exhaustion makes you sloppy. Dulls the senses. That became a huge factor in figuring your life expectancy.”

  The barometer told him the humidity sat right around fucking miserable. And the colorful glass spheres in the Galileo thermometer showed it to be approximately the same temperature as the devil’s ball sac. So Riley hung the jacket back up in the hallway and grabbed his NTSB ball cap instead.

  All the guys made fun of him for wearing it off-duty. Griff didn’t run around the District in his flight suit. Riley, however, made a point of wearing something that identified him as a National Transportation Safety Board agent. Tourists came out here not just to see the monuments, but to be able to go home and brag about seeing the people who make Washington tick. As a local, Ry felt it to be his duty to give them that little thrill. Just like he’d been excited to see a moose—from behind the safety of window glass and locked car doors—when they’d hiked in Yellowstone.

  “Fine. While you’re slaving away at work this afternoon, I’ll take a nap. Then we’ll see who lives longer.” Josh backhanded Ry’s cap off and walked away on a laugh.

  As Riley bent down to pick it up, he heard a muffled “Shit.” Then Josh loped back over to him in two long steps. “Play nice,” he ordered.

  Huh? By the time he stood up, Josh had headed back toward the kitchen. And then the warning became perfectly clear as tinny taps of heels against their wooden floorboards preceded Summer Sheridan’s appearance.

  Riley knew the sound. The woman never wore anything besides high heels, despite medical warnings and common sense that said they were bad for feet, knees, and hip alignment. She might as well start pre-ordering her inevitable cane now.

  Except…a man would have to be three days in the ground not to notice how smoking hot she looked in them. Riley was great at identifying and compiling facts. The unassailable facts about Summer were that she looked like a gypsy in a wet dream—all long, dark brown hair and mysterious dark eyes that beckoned a man in. That she always looked amazing, no matter how weirdly fashionable an outfit she wore from the boutique she ran. And that she rubbed him the wrong way.

  Nah, that wasn’t precise enough. Summer Sheridan irritated the shit out of him. If Riley said “Black,” she said “Ecru.” Ecru, for fuck’s sake!

  He’d warned her not to spill her Bloody Mary on the white top that looked like an upside-down handkerchief tied around her neck. Ridiculous-looking—even if it did provide enough flashes of side boob to make him look at her twenty more times than he should have this morning. She’d coolly corrected him that it was ecru. Which annoyed Riley so much he snuck an extra gratuitous stare the next time the wind flapped her excuse for a shirt into revealing more side boob.

  With apparently no bra.

  Riley’s brain urged him to slip out the door, make a break for it. They’d only argued a couple of times at the noisy gathering on the roof. Probably due to the eight other people who acted as a buffer zone between them. The two of them, alone in a hallway? Not a good idea. Except Riley’s other brain—the one housed in his pressed navy shorts—kept his feet firmly planted and his eyes locked on those swaying hips and tan legs.

  “Thought you had a butler to open the door,” Summer said as she tapped her foot, waiting. “Are you being punished for something? Did you lose a bet?”

  Right. Like a man couldn’t open his own front door. Deliberately, Riley turned the knob and then swept his arm wide to indicate she should go first. “We do have a butler. A majordomo. Whatever. We haven’t decided on his title.”

  “Hasn’t he been with you for years?”

  Riley closed the door behind them and followed her down the steps. “Jerry? At least four.”

  “It takes you four years to come up with a title for an employee whose work you see every day? Aren’t you just a perfect example of a government employee grinding the wheels of progress to a dead halt.”

  Talk about grinding. His teeth were doing it to keep from snarling at her. “It’s complicated.”

  “Five grown men having a butler is complicated? All I know about them I learned from Downton Abbey, but I thought butlers were supposed to uncomplicate your life. Is he doing it wrong?”

  A mental comparison of the stuffy—and uniformed, for God’s sake!—help his parents employed compared to the easygoing Jerry almost made Riley laugh out loud. “Nobody could run this house better than Jerry.”

  “He looks like a linebacker. Like his shoulders would split a morning coat right along the seams. Where did you find him?”

  Riley thought about walking away. But that wasn’t an option, thanks to Griffin falling in love with Summer’s best friend, Chloe. She was around all the time now. That being the case, she ought to know Jerry’s story, if for no other reason than to treat him with respect instead of the mocking that had sharpened her tone so far. “Will you drop it if I tell you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I met Jerry at the gym. I asked him to spot me one day because, well, like you said, the guy’s enormous. We got to talking. He blew his knee out his rookie year in the NFL. Went through his money less than a year after that. He was hard up. And we needed someone to help clean up after Hurricane Sandy. I offered him some work, he came over…and just stuck around.”

  Her eyes melted like Hershey’s Kisses left out in the sun. Dark and sweet and rich. “You saved him.”

  “The saving was completely mutual.”

  “You could’ve hired a real
contractor. You gave him a shot instead. Who would’ve thought that the buttoned-up Riley Ness had a heart beneath all that starched cotton?”

  How come her praise felt like it was covered in tiny insult spikes? “Jerry’s great. We didn’t know we needed him. But all of our lives run better with him at the helm.” Things could be crazy at the old rectory Knox had bought with his first gajillion dollars, for them all to share.

  Knox would disappear on a whim to go skiing in Vail or buy a company in New Mexico. Logan disappeared for months at a time at disaster sites around the world. Griff used to have odd hours as a Coast Guard rescue pilot before he’d recently been promoted. Josh worked and partied too hard to even notice if his shirts were clean. Yeah, they all needed Jerry’s help to keep them on track.

  Those annoyingly beautiful eyes glared at him in accusation. “Why’d you leave your own party early?”

  “I have to work.” Not that Riley owed Summer any damn explanation.

  “You work for the NTSB. They don’t strike me as an impress-the-boss-by-putting-in-weekend-time-and-you’ll-make-partner kind of place.”

  There she went. Dismissing the import of his job…just like he always dismissed the import of hers. “You’ve never seen a highway accident on a Sunday?”

  She rolled her eyes. “If there was an accident, you would’ve peeled out of here at the speed of light, not being all polite and holding the door.”

  Riley reminded himself that she was Chloe’s best friend. That he couldn’t just flip her the bird, tell her to mind her own damn business, and walk away. Griff would definitely owe him big for having to politely limp through this conversation. It had to be worth at least a bottle of Johnnie Walker Green. “I have to spend some time on HR stuff. There’s no way to get to it during the week.”

  “It figures that you’re in charge of people.” Summer sniffed. Fucking sniffed at him. Like he was a dog who’d fallen into a sewer. “What with being all stiff and always telling people what to do.”