For an arrested moment, Angela waited breathlessly, not daring to blink.
Maya scowled and turned her back on her.
Angela’s heart sank. “Hi, sweetie.”
Maya grumbled something unintelligible.
Bolstered by Justus’s encouraging smile, Angela sat on the other side of the bed. “I see you’re really mad at me.”
Maya poked her lips out and fidgeted with the covers, smoothing the duvet, but said nothing.
“I don’t blame you,” Angela admitted.
Maya froze.
Angela’s heart beat so furiously she had a hard time catching her breath. “I’m sorry I broke my promise to you. About you living with me. I was wondering if you might give me another chance.”
Maya’s suspicious gaze flicked back up to hers, but she didn’t answer.
Angela resisted the urge to smooth her hair or kiss her. Now was clearly not the time. “Maybe you can just give it a day or two,” she suggested. “See if you feel like forgiving me. Would that be okay?”
Justus stirred. “I think that sounds fair, Maya. What do you think?”
“Okay,” Maya said through tightly compressed lips.
“Great!” Angela smiled with far more enthusiasm than she felt at the moment, then stood and went to the door. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Do you have any cereal, Justus? I really feel like some Sugar Smacks or something.”
Justus bit back a smile.
Maya gasped. “You don’t eat Sugar Smacks!”
“Oh, sure I do,” Angela said casually. “Every now and then I just have to have some.”
Maya catapulted off the bed. “I’ll show you!”
And, just as she’d done hundreds of times before, she tucked her tiny hand in Angela’s.
Sudden tears clogged Angela’s throat and half blinded her. She was desperately trying to get a grip when she felt Justus’s supportive hand on the small of her back. That was all the encouragement she needed.
She took a bolstering breath and smiled down at Maya. “Let’s go, sweetie.”
Maya frowned thoughtfully and paused to look back and forth between them. “So...we’re going to be a real family?”
Justus grinned across at Angela. “You tell her.”
Angela laughed and spoke without hesitation. “We already are, sweetie,” she told Maya. “We already are.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later—Anguilla
Justus leaned against the railing and stared across the white sand and out to sea, where the pink sun hovered on the horizon. The soft evening breeze provided a refreshing change from the day’s heat, although today hadn’t been nearly as hot as he’d feared.
Across the terrace, on the other side of the round tables covered with fluttering white cloths, floating candles, and bright tropical floral arrangements, stood his wife laughing with Maya, Lena, Carmen, Brian, and some other guests. Maya, who had a halo of red and white flowers ringing her head, twirled happily until her long pink skirt flared out like a bell, no doubt to give the guests the full benefit of the dress.
But Justus only had eyes for his wife.
Angela, at his request, wore her hair free and wavy and had a huge white flower tucked behind one ear. The spaghetti straps of her filmy white wedding dress kept slipping off her sun-kissed shoulders, tempting him. That sight, combined with the way the light wind blew the panels of her skirt away from her long legs, made for a lethal combination. He was having a terrible time keeping his hands to himself, so he’d slipped across the terrace to appreciate her from afar. They’d cut the cake in a few minutes, and then he’d have his bride all to himself for the rest of the night.
He wasn’t sure he could wait.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Vincent asked, appearing beside him and following his line of sight.
The old man wore a tan linen suit much like Justus’s and held some fruity island cocktail that looked like a milkshake.
“You got that right,” Justus told him. “I’m a lucky man.”
“Yes, you are.”
Justus waited for that sinking feeling, the wordless tightening of all his nerves he always felt when he talked to his father, but it didn’t come. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t had that feeling in a while.
“Thanks for bringing us to Anguilla, Pops. Everything was beautiful.”
Vincent shrugged, with only a telltale flush to show how pleased he was. “Ah, well. I figured that was the only way I’d be invited.”
Justus laughed. “Nah. Angela would have snuck you an invitation. She seems to like you for some reason.”
Vincent grinned, but then he stared off at a sailboat on the horizon and his smile faded. “I wish he were here. I miss him.”
Justus’s chest tightened. His mind had never veered very far from V.J. and Carolyn since they’d arrived on the island the other day. “He’s with us.”
Vincent pressed his lips tightly together and nodded. “I know. I’m glad we scattered their ashes here. Angela was right about that. V.J. would have been pleased.”
“Yeah.” Justus clapped his hand on his father’s back. “Well, this was where they had their honeymoon.”
“Yeah.” Vincent cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I thought...maybe we could play a little chess when you get back home. If you’re not too busy.”
Startled and ridiculously pleased, Justus grinned. “If you’re up for it. I’ve learned a few tricks since the last time we played.”
“I’ll just bet.” Smiling, Vincent sipped his drink and nodded in Angela’s direction. “I think you’d better go.”
Justus turned to see her beckon him from the edge of the dance floor as the pianist began to play the familiar chords of “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” Joy swelled his chest until he felt as light and airy as the island breeze. He dropped his hand from his father and started eagerly for his wife.
“Yeah,” he said. “They’re playing our song.”
Justus tossed his jacket on the bench at the end of the bed and turned to face his wife across the candlelit honeymoon suite.
His wife.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
He stared at her, trying to convince himself that his life really was this good. That this moment wasn’t some amazing dream or misguided prank. That he really would, in fact, be spending the rest of his life with the woman who still made his heart stop every time he looked at her.
“What’s on your mind, husband?”
The husky note in her voice made all the nerve endings in his body stand at attention. He stared at her in absolute wonder, taking in her windswept hair...bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and pouty mouth...bare shoulders and arms...ripe breasts with pointy tips...narrow waist, wide hips, and tight ass...sleek legs.
He took a shuddering breath. “You’re a goddess.”
“Yeah?” She unclipped the flower behind her ear, dropped it onto the desk, and tossed her head to make her hair swing around her shoulders, a gesture that made need spiral straight to his rock-hard dick. And that was before she tempted him with a sultry and triumphant half-smile that said she knew exactly what she did to him. “Come worship me, then.”
“I plan to.”
Taking his time about it as he crossed the room, passing the fluttering white curtains and ocean view as he went, he loosened his tie and dropped it to the floor. Toed off his shoes. Unbuttoned his starched shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Swept his T-shirt over his head.
When he arrived in front of his wife, he held her amused gaze as he unbuckled, unzipped, and divested himself of pants and boxer briefs.
Then he stared her in the face, a challenge in his eyes.
“I wanted to do that,” she complained.
“Oh, don’t worry. There’s still plenty for you to do.”
She grinned. “Don’t forget your socks.”
With a wry smile, he yanked off his socks.
Then he straightened and took her
precious face between his hands.
“I love you,” he told her.
“I love you.”
He traced her features with his thumbs, enjoying the silky arch of her brows and the velvety curves of her cheeks. And her mouth—
“Come here,” he said, lowering his head.
The kiss was soft. Infinitely gentle. A leisurely exploration of lips and tongues that left them both breathless and his blood hot and thick. Christ, she was delicious. He could taste champagne in her mouth. Lemon cake. Strawberries.
And she felt...
Nothing should feel this good.
It just wasn’t right.
No wonder he still couldn’t make it twenty-four hours without making love to her, even after all these months.
He couldn’t manage without this.
Absolutely could not function without his daily dose of Angela.
Using his lightest touch, he trailed his fingertips up her bare arms and down her sides. Back up her sides and across the tops of her lush breasts, to where his pin nestled on her dress.
“I was hoping you’d wear it,” he said, firming up his touch as he flattened his palms against her nipples and circled his hands.
She cried out, her face twisting with rapture as her eyes rolled closed and her head fell back. She arched into him, hunching her shoulders, and those heavy breasts overflowed their cups and filled his hands with their soft weight.
His breath hissed.
Having already scoped out the area earlier, when they were dancing, he knew the dress’s zipper was under her arm. He reached for it now, skimming his teeth down the smooth column of her throat as she raised her head again and watched his face with glazed eyes.
She wanted to nuzzle, so he tongued her lips again, tasting her sweet mouth, but his focus was on getting her arms out of those straps and baring her to the waist so he could study those breasts to his heart’s content. They were bigger than they’d ever been before, the aureoles and nipples more prominent than he was used to. Dark chocolate now rather than milk chocolate. And Angela was more exquisitely sensitive to the way he handled her breasts, a theory he tested by bending and sucking one nipple into his mouth.
His reward? Her strangled cry and the sharp, sweet scrape of her nails across his back, urging him on.
So he suckled. Long and hard. Deconstructing her with one breast, then the other.
It was hard for him to wait, but tonight—every night, really—was all about her, and that was the way he preferred it. Angela getting hers was all he needed to get his. So he ignored his building need and waited until he felt the helpless way her ribcage heaved beneath his hands. And saw the sheen of perspiration across her chest and forehead and could taste its delicate saltiness. And delved between her legs and felt the slick heat of her arousal.
Yeah, she was ready.
So was he.
“Justus,” she said, struggling to catch her breath.
“I’m on it.”
He let go of her long enough to let the dress slither to the floor and puddle at her feet, then reached for her panties and tugged them just far enough down her thighs to get them out of his way.
The bed was way the hell on the other side of this big room, a million miles away, and there was no way they would wait. So he hefted her onto the nearest piece of furniture—the dresser, as it turned out—and took his rightful place between her open thighs.
This was where he belonged. Only here. Always here.
And he loved this face-to-face action.
Because now he could see her dilated pupils and the way she melted down for him, cooing and mewling as he thrust as deep inside her as he could get. And he could see the way her lids lowered and a frown grooved down her forehead as she got closer to the edge. He could squeeze her strong thighs as they clamped tighter around him, making sure he hit her sweet spot just right.
And, best of all, he could see the very second when her mouth turned up at the edges, giving him that early warning that she was coming, which meant that he could let himself go, too, and they could say each other’s names together.
Together, he thought, shuddering as he emptied himself inside his precious, precious wife.
His heart.
His soul.
“You’re everything,” he whispered in her ear when he’d caught his breath.
She pulled back, her expression sated and alight with happiness. “Do you know how much I love you?”
He was getting there.
“I don’t think I do. You can show me again in about half an hour. Deal?”
“Oh my God,” she said, laughing. “Can I take a nap first?”
“A quick one, yeah. Hang on to me.”
She tightened her grip around his neck. Taking great care to make sure they stayed joined, he lifted her off the dresser, swung her around, and hurried to the bed, where they stretched out, still facing each other.
Staring into her drowsy face, he cupped her breast again and flicked the nipple with his thumb. She shivered.
“When are you going to tell me?”
Arrested, she watched him closely. “Tell you what?”
He stared down at his hand on her, enthralled, as always, by the sight of his darker skin against hers, the new fullness of her flesh and new prominence of her nipples.
Then he slid his hand lower, to her belly, and covered it protectively.
She gasped.
When he looked into her face again, her eyes were wide with surprise.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he asked quietly. “What’s in this belly, wife?”
She smiled, blushing. “A baby. Your wedding present.”
“You’re my wedding present,” he said, grinning. “But I’ll take this, too.”
“Are you happy?”
“You have to ask?”
“You might not be ready,” she said.
“True.”
He reached across her, opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a shirt-sized box gift wrapped in yellow with a white satin ribbon, and gave it to her.
“Here. Wedding present.”
“What is it?” she asked, laughing with delight.
“Open it.”
She did, eagerly, revealing a blue velvet jeweler’s box on top of tissue paper. Her breath hitched. Inside was his mother’s platinum and diamond tennis bracelet, all fifteen carats of it.
“Justus! Oh my God. Thank you. Thank you!”
Squealing, she pressed happy kisses all over his face.
“There’s more,” he told her, laughing as he pointed.
“What?”
“Underneath the tissue paper. Look.”
She looked, gasping with surprise as she unveiled the loot he’d had a ball buying at Target the other day:
Three tiny pairs of footed pajamas in pink, blue and yellow;
A package of undershirts;
A pair of booties;
A pair of soft leather shoes;
A fluffy blanket;
A pacifier;
Several bibs; and—
“A teddy bear?” She pressed the tiny blue bear to her heart. “You’re unbelievable! How long have you known?”
“About two weeks,” he said, thinking back. “How long have you known?”
“About two weeks and one day,” she said, and her laughter was the most amazing thing he’d ever heard. “Hardest secret I ever kept.”
“God, I love you,” he said, sweeping all the baby stuff aside and reaching for her. “Come here.”
“Hey! You promised me half an hour!” she reminded him, trying to wriggle away.
“I can’t wait,” he said, pulling her back and savoring the renewed flare of heat in her eyes. “I can never wait when it comes to you. Come here.”
The End
Dear Readers:
I hope you enjoyed the Author’s Cut version of Risk!
I don’t know about you, but I can’t believe it’s been over eight years since this book first hit th
e shelves in February 2007. Eight years. Wow. Where has the time gone?
Although I’ve written many more books since then, Risk will forever hold a special place in my heart. Why? The characters, baby. It’s all about the characters.
Justus is an old soul and a wild card, and he is from his first appearance. He’s headstrong and intuitive. He says and does what he wants. He claims he doesn’t care what his father thinks (actually, knowing Justus, he’d probably say he doesn’t give a **** what his father thinks, but I digress), but we all know he’s lying. And when it comes to Angela, the older woman who catches his eye at his brother’s wedding, Justus is all heart and passion. He can’t help himself.
Angela is a reserved, uptight and vaguely OCD lawyer who doesn’t know what to do about her attraction to the bad boy who’s turned out to be such a strong and unexpected force in her life. Her paralyzing fear of being hurt makes her keep Justus at arm’s length. Well, she tries, anyway. She tries hard. But her anxiety is ultimately no match for the power of Justus’s determination...or his love.
And little Maya. What a pistol she is, eh? Can you tell I had small children in the house when I wrote this book? I hope everyone who knows and loves a small child will connect with Maya when they read Risk. Oh, and here’s a fun factoid: much to my astonishment, my husband taught our kids to play chess when they were about Maya’s age. But we didn’t have a Wizard of Oz board. *VBG*
Finally, there’s Vincent. A disapproving and imperious right-fighter, he’s never gotten over the fact that Justus makes his own decisions and didn’t follow in Vincent’s footsteps to Yale and beyond. I had a lot of fun opening his old eyes, bringing him down to size and giving him a new lease on life.
So...Four major characters with strong personalities plus a family tragedy and competing agendas equals an emotional book. I really hope you laughed and cried with the characters. That was my goal when I sat down to write this one.
With my Author’s Cut version of Trouble, I was merciless in cutting scenes and tightening the story, but I didn’t see the need to do that here. Why? Because I learned a lot about plotting between writing Trouble and writing Risk, and I’ve never been dissatisfied with Risk the way I was with Trouble. If there was fat to trim in the Author’s Cut version of Risk, allow me to apologize to you now, because I missed it.
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) Page 36
