Del snapped his fingers. “Uh. Earth to Shaye? Please say yes, and let me put this crappy ring on your finger before my knee freezes to the tiles.”
A laugh hiccupped out of her, and she shoved her left hand under his nose. “Yes, Hollywood. Yes, I’ll wear your crappy ring and love you for the rest of my life.”
“Oh, thank Christ.” He slipped it on her finger and bounced to his feet.
The gathered crowd cheered, and New York’s lights dimmed to a flicker as he kissed her again under the falling snow. Shaye wrapped her arms around Del’s neck, holding tightly to her Mr. Perfect-for-me.
Epilogue
One week later…
Del stood on the Mollymawk’s stern deck with his arms around Shaye as the rolling hills of Stewart Island grew closer. Her long, brown hair blew in his face, and even when strands of it caught in his mouth, he couldn’t bear to pull away.
“If I tell you I’m sea-sick again, will you come with me into the cabin and make me feel better?” he asked.
Even after twenty-four hours of traveling, his fiancée still smelled like sunshine—still smelled like his. Call him a Neanderthal, but he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and drag her into a cave.
Or a cabin, since that was closer.
“If my brother and Kez catch us sneaking off, they’ll make you swim the rest of the way to Oban. They have spies.”
Three little faces peeped out the window behind them—Zoe, Jade, and their little dog, Sparky.
“Can we bribe them? Maybe with the cookies you promised to bake this afternoon?”
Shaye’s pretty brow crinkled. “I don’t remember promising to bake cookies.”
“Macaroons, I believe you said. Or maybe some chocolate chip cookies.”
A slow smile spread across her mouth, and out of sight of the girls, she shoved her hands into his jean pockets and squeezed his butt. “Huh. Thought you said you didn’t have a sweet tooth?”
“I lied. I’m completely addicted to your sweet face, your sweet smile…” He paused to nudge her stomach with his hip, cupping her sexy, no-ugly-panties-in-sight bottom. “Your sweet—”
Lips pressed against his mouth, muffling his last word. A short, lush kiss that warmed him from the inside out. Being so damn happy from just a kiss would take some getting used to. But now he had lots of time to get used to it—even if they had work tomorrow since Vince, Robbie, and her pal, Des, who’d come over temporarily from the mainland, were already bitching about the pre-Christmas rush.
Inside, Sparky yapped enthusiastically, egged on by peals of laughter.
“Don’t underestimate the little spies,” she said. “I’m pretty sure at least one of them can lip-read.”
“Damn.”
“I’ll make it up to you tonight when we try out your new queen-sized bed.”
“Assuming Ford and my brother have disassembled the old bunks and installed it.”
“Oh, my mum organized a working bee once Wally agreed to rent you the place long term.” She squeezed his ass again. “The bunks are gone, and my boxes are all stacked in the living room as you insisted. As soon as we unpack, we’ll have a love-nest fit for two, baby.”
“We? You mean I have to help unpack your twenty boxes of books, and make-up, and girly clothes?” he teased.
She stiffened in his arms, and he laughed, but this time instead of squeezing, she smacked his ass—hard.
“Ow—hey! You wanna deal with bruised goods later?”
“Just for that,” she informed him, lips against the notch of his throat, “you don’t get to unpack the bag I bought from Victoria’s Secret on 5th Avenue.”
Sunbeams sparkled on the waves, and the brine-filled breeze ruffled their hair. The Mollymawk chugged into the calmer waters of Halfmoon Bay Harbor, heading for the wharf and blasting the horn as they drew nearer. Sea birds whirled in the air currents high above the hills, some drifting down to rest on Due South’s roof.
His brother stood at the wharf’s end, his arm wrapped around Piper’s waist. Next to them in a deck chair sat Bill, with Del’s mom fussing on one side, and his future mother-in-law beaming on the other. Ford, Carly, Mrs. Taylor, Holly and Mr. Nolan—or Wally, as he’d ordered Del to call him now, encircled his dad’s chair. In fact, it appeared as if half of Oban’s locals waited on the wharf.
Del turned Shaye toward the crowd, who were waving like mad. Their families, their friends, their place, their future with people who’d walk beside them on this crazy, wonderful journey.
“Look, cupcake,” he whispered in her ear. “We’re home.”
###
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More from this Author
The Due South series focuses on family, community, and of course, each book contains a scorching hot romance.
Other books in the series:
Book 1 Book 2
Coming Soon…
Christmas With You
(A Due South Novella)
She’s a Holiday Grinch…
Carly Gatlin doesn’t want to spend another Christmas alone. With her beloved father gone, she’s desperate to be part of a family—so she’s spending the holidays with her step-brothers on Stewart Island. But even with sand, sun, and not a snowflake in sight, everything reminds her of what she’s lost. So no tree trimming, cookie baking, or kisses under the mistletoe for her, thanks. Especially not from Due South’s sexy bartender, Kip.
He’s a too-hot-for-his-Santa-suit killjoy...
Kip Sullivan’s moved hundreds of miles away from his family who’d like to see him married off before his next birthday—on Christmas Eve. Then ten days before the big event, his meddling relatives arrive en masse, and dear God, they’re planning to stay. With match-makers breathing down his neck, it’s becoming harder to ignore the temptation to unwrap Carly like a present under the tree.
The Kiwi barbecue isn't the only thing sizzling this summer...
Kip agrees to help make Carly’s first New Zealand Christmas special. He’s got five holiday missions to complete—one involving a frisky fake reindeer—before he hopes to claim a mistletoe kiss…and maybe even Carly’s heart.
Christmas just isn’t Christmas without this spicy yet sweet Due South novella.
Excerpt from Christmas With You
Chapter One
Carly Gatlin stomped down the hallway carrying a giant box of sparkly, holiday-themed crap. She nudged open the door to Due South’s bar, her ears once again assaulted by non-stop music.
Seriously. If she had to listen to Michael Bublé sing Winter Wonderland one more time, there’d be bloodshed. No jury would convict her since a girl could only take so much holiday cheer before homicidal urges kicked in.
West, her oldest stepbrother and boss, topped her hit list—insisting they play Christmas music for the two weeks prior to the Big Day. In second place came Kip, hottie barman—according to everyone possessing two X-chromosomes. If the man’s smug smile was any indication, her co-worker enjoyed watching her wince at the noise blaring from the bar’s sound system.
Due South was the hub of the tiny town of Oban on Stewart Island—travel any farther south and you’d hit Antarctica. Go figure why anyone thought Winter Wonderland was appropriate when the only glimpse of ice here in New Zealand’s summer was the stuff served in glass tumblers.
Now, now, Zoomie, her father’s voice piped up, as real as if he stood beside her. Where’s your Christmas spirit?
“Gone, Daddy.” Carly hauled the box through the doorway. “Disappeared the night you joined yo
ur flyboys in the big blue sky.”
“You say something?” From behind the bar, Kip paused tacking tinsel to the wall and glanced over his shoulder. “Hard to hear over the waves of good cheer rolling off you.” He had to raise his voice above Bublé jazzing about building a snowman. Ugh.
“Bite me,” she said.
Kip’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners and he flashed his pretty-boy grin. Her lower belly squeezed around a little kernel of warmth. Weird. Since she’d arrived in Oban seven weeks ago for West’s wedding and had worked with Kip from almost day one, she should be immune.
Hmm, perhaps her immunity was on the fritz.
Carly dumped the box on a table by the corner West designated to be the Kissing Area. The corner was normally set up for musically-inclined locals to perform, or for the MC on quiz nights. But for the next ten days people could position themselves in front of a huge Halfmoon Bay sunset poster with a bunch of mistletoe above their heads, and take kissy-face selfies.
Ho-ho-ho. What fun.
Her job, before the bar opened for business this morning, was to help Kip decorate Due South—starting with a bunch of fake mistletoe attached to the roof.
Carly hoisted the step-ladder leaning against the wall into position. “Building up biceps, though.” She opened the ladder underneath the ceiling hook. “You’ll be one lean, mean, Christmas Grinch soon.”
“Do you ever stop talking to yourself?”
An embarrassing chicken-squawk of a sound exploded out of her and she whirled.
“Dammit, don’t sneak up on me!” She bunched a fistful of the Due South polo shirt over her rabbiting heart. “What if I’d been up the ladder?”
“Then you would’ve fallen on your ass.” His gaze twitched to her hip level.
Kip Sullivan was the biggest flirt on the whole damn island. Five-foot-eleven with dark brown hair, bright blue eyes above the devil’s own smile, and a muscled upper body barely concealed by his matching work polo shirt. And the way his jeans hugged his hug-able bits…
Anyway. He hadn’t earned the nickname pretty-boy in her head for no reason, and women drooled over him. Most women.
Not including herself.
Because the best way to enforce West’s low opinion of her would be to sleep with his barman.
So. No sexy-time with Kip.
Carly grabbed the pre-tied leafy bouquet from the box. “Since you’re here, hold the ladder steady.”
“Sure.” He braced his hands either side of the hinged spreader. “Up you go.”
Her heart gave another rabbity hop as his cologne curled into her nose. Spicy, sexy, understated yumminess. The kind of smell tempting her to use the mistletoe as an excuse to drag him closer.
The metal rungs vibrated under her ballet flats as she climbed, deliberately not staring at the sprinkling of chest hair visible beneath his shirt’s open collar, or his lickable throat, and even more lickable face. Yes, she’d noticed the muscled contours of his chest. No, she hadn’t imagined how far that crisp, dark hair trailed down below his collar. Much.
Concentrate on the task at hand, zoomie. She grabbed the ladder’s top rung.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you? You look kinda flushed. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Carly looked down at Kip’s upturned face, his blue eyes narrowed by his to-die-for long lashes. An Air Force officer’s daughter afraid of heights? Puhlease. Afraid of the effect of men with big blue eyes and sinfully-scented skin? Just a smidgeon.
“I’m fine.”
“This isn’t one of West’s better ideas,” he said. “Who’s going to donate a buck to charity and kiss their lady under a bunch of fake mistletoe?”
“Plenty of women around here would kiss you for a dollar. Mistletoe or no mistletoe.” Hell, they’d probably pay at least ten and cat-fight to be first in line. “I don’t know why West insists on hanging it up instead of letting the guy dangle it over his girl’s head.” She looped the string around the hook.
“Because the way a man should kiss a woman involves having both hands free.” His voice was as smooth and intoxicating as eggnog, the kind her dad used to make with a healthy dollop of brandy.
It’d been a while since a man had kissed her like that—and definitely not a man as magnetic as Kip Sullivan. Carly’s knees trembled as if she’d downed a half dozen spiked eggnogs—not enough to tip the ladder, since he had a firm grip—but enough for her precarious balance to go AWOL.
Her gut plummeted first, then Kip got a hell of a lot closer as she toppled off the ladder.
###
About the Author
Tracey Alvarez lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New Zealand) where she’s yet to be buried under her to-be-read book pile by Wellington’s infamous wind—her Kindle’s a lifesaver! Married to a wonderfully supportive IT guy, she has two teens who would love to be surgically linked to their electronic devices.
Fuelled by copious amounts of coffee, she’s the author of contemporary romantic fiction set predominantly in New Zealand. Small-towns, close communities, and families are a big part of the heart-warming stories she writes. Oh, and hot, down-to-earth heroes—Kiwi men, in other words.
When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, Tracey can be found reading sexy books of all romance genres, nibbling on smuggled chocolate bars, or bribing her kids to take over the housework.
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Acknowledgements
As always I’m so grateful for my wonderful husband who goes both above and way beyond normal husband-of-a-writer duties.
I’m sure I’m a constant source of eye-rolling embarrassment to my kids, but I’d like to say “I love you guys and be nice to your mum because one day the Due South gang might pay for your education.” Not that they’ll see this since both of them are banned from reading my books until they’re at least twenty-five.
I’d like to thank the usual round of accomplices who’ve helped, supported and motivated me–my two fabulous critique partners, plus the great group of writers and lovely women in my Facebook groups—Ink Ladies, BOCHOK Babes, and my Savvy Critique group (c’mon ladies, we need a better name!).
Thanks also to Kendra Schmucker who won my giveaway to name Ethan Ward’s fictional TV Show – Ward on Fire.
ONE LAST THING
I do hope you enjoyed reading Ready To Burn. Please share your thoughts by clicking here and taking a few moments to let other readers know about this book.
Reviews are so important to authors. Thank you!
Tracey
Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) Page 31
