by Aria Cole
I touched my lips to hers, love lacing my words. “Hush, sugar. I’ve got you.”
Second Epilogue
Brianna—ten years later
“Sophie!” I called through the house, getting sick of my own voice after hearing it so many times in a row.
“Coming, Mom!” My huffy preteen pounded down the stairs, backpack thrown over one shoulder, headphones tucked firmly into her ears. No wonder she couldn’t hear me, she’d been ignoring me.
Blaise came in through the back door at that moment, fresh off a twenty-four-hour shift. “What’s up, Momma?”
I stretched on my toes, dusting a soft kiss across his chiseled jawline. “I swear these kids will be the death of me.”
Blaise tucked a hand around my neck, pulling me against him and pressing our lips together in a proper welcome home kiss. “That better?”
“A little,” I teased.
“Where you off to?” He glanced at the keys in my hand.
“Bringing Sophie to study group, then she’s going home with a friend for a sleepover. Jax isn’t finished with baseball until six—”
“So that means we’ve got a few hours to kill?” He winked, shuffling my hips against his, fingertips darting under the waistband of my jeans and making contact with my hot skin. I may have grown used to Blaise’s long shifts at the firehouse, but I never missed him any less.
“I could perhaps arrange a few free hours.”
“Perhaps?” He leaned against me, eating up all the oxygen between us as his lips dusted my neck. “What can I do to persuade you?”
“Mmm…” I skimmed my fingers through his hair, anxious to get closer to the man I loved. The man I called mine. The father of our kids and the hero of our family.
Blaise was still saving lives for a living. It was his calling, and I could never take that away from him, no matter how worried I was when he was out fighting fires. It just meant we loved harder, more often, because we knew the stakes were higher. Blaise’s life was inherently risky, but it put into perspective that you might not always have all the time you expected with the ones you love.
So Blaise and I loved often. It wasn’t uncommon for us to send the kids off to school in the morning and then fall into bed with each other until noon. Our lives were so chaotic, schedules so hit or miss, we took time when we could find it.
And it looked like today would happen just like that.
“Let me drop her off.” Blaise’s hands traced up the hollow of my waist. “Be ready when I get home.”
Arousal uncoiled deep in my belly, the flesh between my thighs flooding with need at just his simple words.
“You’re still a filthy-minded man, Blaise Michaels.”
“Just how you like me.” He nipped my earlobe, teeth dragging across the flesh as he went. Sparks of desire shot off in every direction.
“You still do things to me,” I hummed against his ear. “Dirty things.”
A cocky smile turned up the corners of Blaise’s mouth. “A lifetime isn’t enough time for all the love I have to give you, Mrs. Michaels. You’d better be ready for me.”
He winked just as he swiped the keys from my hand, calling out to our daughter to follow him out the door. He planted one last kiss on my lips, patting my ass with an open palm as he did.
“Hurry home, Blaise. You’ve got a fire to put out.”
“Mmm, I like fighting fires.” One knuckle dusted across my nipple on purpose, sending a flurry of butterflies through my system.
“You’re such a tease,” I breathed.
“Well, if you weren’t so horny and desperate for my di—”
“Shh!” I pushed a finger to his lips. “Don’t corrupt our kids.”
“I think they’re already corrupted.” He smacked my ass again, planting one last kiss on my cheek before turning with a wink. “See you in a few minutes, sugar.”
I stood at the door, watching the loves of my life go, grounded by an overwhelming sense of contentment.
I didn’t know why I’d been so lucky to be blessed with such an amazing man, incredible kids, and a love so epic it was worth retelling again and again.
Luck had found me just when Blaise did.
THE END
Modern Fairy Tale Collection
Four swoonworthy tales that blend modern romance and syrupy sweet fantasy the way only Aria Cole can...
Over the top gestures, filthy-sweet dirty talk, and possessive alpha goodness--they may be rough-around-the-edges but these men know exactly how to treat their women.
Warning: If an over-protective man with a soft spot for that one special woman is your guilty pleasure, prepare to be swept away by The Modern Fairy Tale Collection! Includes: Black, White, Scarlet, and Swan with brand new, ten-years-later epilogues for each couple! Enjoy catching up with a few of your favorites!
Chapter 1
Maxwell
From a dark corner in the quaint library, I gazed out the crystalline windows, taking in the vibrant green of the town common and the gently lapping waves of the aqua lake beyond. The sparkle of sunlight highlighted each small crest before it kissed the shore and receded back again. My thoughts spun away as I watched, anxious as I hid away in this tiny upstate town, watching the world from a tiny library window.
I’d spent summers swimming in that lake—the two months of the year it was warm enough for swimming. I remembered the warmth of sunlight caressing my skin and sending jolts of vitamin D through my cells. Playing catch and running improvised bases in the town common as a boy—I remembered those days so fondly, but fear had strangled out pleasure these last few years and chained me like a beast.
I loved this library more than myself. My life was imprinted into the inky pages of these hardbacks. My heart came alive as I passed through the aisles, my fingers ghosting along the dusty covers. I liked being locked up here. At least most days.
Human contact was best kept at minimum; I’d quickly realized that. Sitting up here alone in my palace suited me. I paid the bag boy to deliver my food. I scheduled the mail to come directly to my steps instead of the post office box. I didn’t do gatherings, holidays were pointless as I didn’t have anyone to spend them with, and Sunday afternoons in the park existed in the far distant past.
I missed the sunlight on my skin, bronzing the body and easing the anxiety. But after that night—the night that changed my life and left me with so many scars, visible and internal—I hadn’t been able to step outside for fear of the shame. The ridicule. The flat-out gawking. Call it what you like, but I wasn’t one for subjecting myself to judgment, and the people in this town had stockpiles of it.
I might have grown up here, I might have been the town’s golden boy at one time, but I wasn’t one of them anymore.
Now I was the moody bastard who lived above the library and had a fucking panic attack every time I left my castle. Every time I descended those three steps, flashbacks overtook me, my heart raced and my palms tingled, and a sense of revenge so large it was nearly debilitating hit me. The only time I saw anyone was when they came into my library. I allowed people into my sanctuary in controlled doses, from nine to four each day and never on weekends. Small talk with the librarian was strongly discouraged.
Thankfully, I didn’t need to announce that last part. The scar did that for me.
I ran a finger across the worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo I kept at my desk. Not a library book but mine. A treasured edition. Books were the only things that had been with me through it all. I’d never found solace in people; I’d found nothing but pain and betrayal and lies. Books provided shelter and support and encouragement.
Once in a great while, I allowed myself the privilege of sitting out on the small stoop of the library when the sun was shining brightly. I only could do so first thing in the morning, before the rest of the town awoke. But despite my disdain for people, I loved sharing books. Sharing the written word with people who could really feel a story and understand it, could sense the loss and bli
p of anxiety that shudders the heart when you close the pages on a favorite book—I wanted people to feel that.
I liked sharing the fantasy.
But was this my fantasy? My gaze crawled across the polished woodwork I’d sanded and stained tirelessly through the night to restore before I’d opened the place. The Spruce Lake Library was a dream come true, but I found myself craving more.
I hadn’t been on a date in years. What was the point? I’d have to hide too much of myself because baring my dark soul would surely send any woman running the other way.
But sometimes, on the nights when my thoughts overtook me, I dared to hope for someone to share my life with. I dreamed of a girl with eyes that sparkled, a laugh that made me weak in the knees, and a heart so big she could fit mine in it. Someone who could see past my moody, abrasive demeanor and the thousand quirks that made me a man unlike any other.
Someone who could see past the scar and into my soul.
A revelation sliced through my heart. For the first time ever, I wanted to feel love.
I’d just never found a woman brave enough to love a man like me.
The sun began its slow descent behind the horizon as I pulled my thoughts away from all the things that were too painful for me to consider and noticed it was officially closing time. I took long strides across the gleaming wood before turning the latch and flipping the sign on the door. Closed. Just a few more tasks, then I could retreat to my sanctuary upstairs for the rest of the night.
I returned to the circulation desk and gathered a pile of returned books before setting off down the aisles to reshelve them. I turned a corner and growled when I saw that the irresponsible little shits who had been here earlier had pulled out dozens of titles, reading and giggling in the back corner of my library after school for the sole purpose of my intense irritation, and not returned the books to their proper homes.
“Damn.”
A quick rap, rap on the front door sent a bundle of hardbacks crashing to my feet.
I took my time lifting the books from the floor and placing them back on the shelf with care—this was a library, not a zoo, and I wished all kids under the age of eighteen could be barred from this sacred space. They didn’t have respect for the written word. Not yet. That took time, experience, an appreciation for the blood, sweat, and tears of life.
Rap, rap, rap.
I stalked among the aisles, my eyes steering toward the door as fat drops of rain rinsed down the windows. A drowned-out creature stared back at me, brown eyes as wide as saucers as I approached.
“What the hell?” I murmured as I twisted the heavy latch that I’d locked only two minutes ago—at closing time. “Closed,” I growled upon opening the door.
A meek little creature, soaked and in a rush as she shuffled into my library. Her heady, rain-dampened scent curled around me as she stripped off her dripping coat and scarf, hung them on the rack just inside the door, and ran one hand through dark, tangled locks, sending a new burst of her scent into my nostrils. My eyes closed for a moment as I soaked it up, my cock flexing.
“I’m here for the job.” She thrust a folded application at me.
My dick pounded in my pants, begging for release. Take. Own. Devour.
“You’re late. We’re closed,” I informed her, unsure why I was being so abrasive to such a doe-eyed little thing.
“Sorry, I only just found out about the job. Please? I’m desperate. I’ll do anything you need me to do.” Her voice was surprisingly throaty, as if she’d smoked a few cigarettes or spent a wild night screaming through roof-shattering sex.
Either way, I liked her.
A lot.
Her big, brown eyes peered up at me, and I realized she was waiting for my reply.
I turned to the circulation desk and adjusted my needy cock before placing the crinkled application on the polished wood and turning to her.
“Well, you’re the only one who applied, so it looks like you’ve got the job.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened, and she advanced.
The soft cotton of her shirt draped across her round and perky tits made my mouth water. I let my gaze linger a moment as her nipples hardened into stiff peaks.
Fuck, I wanted to run my hands up her curvy little body, tear that flimsy barrier from her skin, and have my way with her. The beast that lived deep inside my gut rattled its cage as my heart slammed in wild beats through my cock.
“Familiar with libraries?” I stalked back down the aisle I’d been in before she appeared on my stoop. I shelved a few more books, unwilling to look in her direction, irrationally angry that she had this effect on me. Who was this woman walking into my library and making me feel like a goddamn animal?
“Spent a lot of time in them in school,” she said.
She was close behind me, much closer than I would have guessed. Much too close for her safety.
I almost felt like warning her off, but instead I said, “This place is small. Non-fiction, fiction, endcap for the dirty romance novels—lot of women come in asking for that one—” I cut my dark gaze to her as I pointed at one with a sexy cover.
Her eyes flared, cheeks pinking up the sweetest shade of rose I’d ever seen. I imagined the shade her nipples might turn when she was aroused. Dark rose? Dusky pink? The riddle rattled through my brain on repeat.
“I-I don’t read those.” Flustered looked good on her. “But I’ve probably read over half your fiction section.” She pointed one long finger at the small sign that hung at the end of the next aisle.
When I didn’t respond, her gaze flashed back to me then down to the wet boots on her feet. I saw her thighs shift beneath the dark fabric of her leggings, which clung to her legs like a second skin. When she turned away, my eyes ate up the curvy outline of her thighs. The soft swell of her ass begged for my hands. She had curves for fucking miles, and I wanted her in my bed. More than any woman I’d ever seen in my life, I wanted this one.
“I would expect you to be well-read if you apply for a job at a library,” I responded finally.
She turned around, her eyes flashing with hurt, and I was shocked to find my heart stutter for a moment. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.
“I don’t have time to train someone, so I expect you to pick up the job without an issue. Now enough of the small talk,” I rumbled, stepping closer to her and invading her personal space by anyone’s standards. “Tell me what you need from me.”
Chapter 2
Elle
I just needed a job. I came here for a job. But there was something about this man. I didn't know how to answer his questions, and his whole demeanor was so intimidating. He was terrifying and yet somehow beautifully ravaged with a thick scar slashed across one cheekbone, almost disappearing in the coarse hair of his well-kept stubble. He didn’t quite have a beard, but it was long enough for someone to push her fingers through. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen, and that scared me.
I knew a lot about handsome and terrifying men. Men were dangerous. They were scary and mean, but I knew how to keep away. I knew no one would keep me safe. I’d learned at a young age to stay away from men. They took what they wanted and left. They didn't protect but destroyed.
His words hummed on a loop in my head as his dark eyes roamed across my body in a lascivious manner before he averted his eyes. Men never turned their eyes away; this was new. Usually, the men my father had hanging around would look at me as if I were dinner. Shame never dwelled in their eyes; there was only hunger. Maxwell had that same look—a predatory gaze that would stop a timid being right in her tracks—but with him, there was something more, something gentle and haunting.
His gaze bore through me like the embers of a fire before it engulfed a forest. His eyes darkened like the calm right before a storm. I knew this man was not one to be trifled with. He was used to having his demands answered, his needs met.
“Umm,” I choked, backing up against one long shelf that capped the classics row. Right up a
gainst Dante and Dickens, he was stealing my sense--and maybe something more. “I don’t even know your name.”
I hadn’t contemplated those words until I’d said them. This man, who looked at me in such an intimate way, was a stranger. I didn't know him, but I wanted to. Never in my life had I been so intrigued by a man. Never had one touched my body with his eyes the way this scarred stranger did.
“Maxwell.” He leaned closer, the sharp angle of his surprisingly elegant nose just millimeters from my ear, the heavy pant of his breath washing across my skin and sending shivers down my body. I had a strange desire to gently brush my hand across his scar. “What’s yours?”
The vibration of his voice shuddered through me like a high-voltage shock. His tone, like currents, pulsed through my veins, stimulating every nerve ending in my body.
“Elle.” My eyes dropped closed, and panic consumed me. I started to feel as though the walls were closing in. I felt trapped. This man had trapped me. Fight or flight, fight or flight.
When men got too close, when they ogled and defiled, my body took over. My survival instincts took over. My mother had always been hurt, but that was my dad's fault. My mother had kept me safe the best she could.
The next thing I knew, I was curled up in a ball on the floor, completely humiliated as tears streaked down my hot cheeks. Giant footsteps rushed away from me. Great, I had left myself completely vulnerable to a bear of a man I didn't know. A man who looked at me with predatory eyes. When I knew he was far away, I slowly lifted my head from my arms, but way too soon, his giant steps came crashing toward me. Once again, I felt my breaths accelerating.
“Here, drink this.” His words were curt as he shoved a tall glass of ice-cold water at me.
