by Nina Lane
She nodded, but as he turned her this way and that, his lean body shifting that way and this against hers with little effort, a confused question rocketed around in her brain. What was the second step?
When the song came to an end, they were back where he’d approached her in the first place. He slipped her out of his grasp, like he was releasing a bird to the wild, and stepped back. “Thank you.”
“That was fun,” she said, taking in the height and breadth of him. “We should dance again before the night is over.”
He grinned and gave her a little bow. It was kind of dorky, but that was Heath—he’d always been the class clown, the jokester. Never played anything straight. It was weird to see that in a grown-up man version.
She liked it.
His eyebrows raised as she curtsied in return. Ha. Take that, geek-boy. They’d both changed since high school.
As he disappeared into the partying crowd, she found herself watching for his tall form to reappear, and when it did, she had an interesting feeling form in her chest. Heath. She’d have to spend more time with him at the bar. That was a friendship worth re-building, she was sure of it.
It wasn’t until the end of the night, after they’d all seen Chase and Mari off with balloons and a bridge of mini hockey sticks instead of swords, when the lights came on and they started cleaning up, that she realized they hadn’t had another dance.
She stopped in front of the head table, where she’d been putting all the little decorations they’d want to keep into a special box, and looked over at the back corner where he’d been sitting—as far away from the head table as possible—and she rubbed her chest.
“What are you doing?” Stella asked, bumping their shoulders together.
Audrey shook her head and straightened her shoulder. “Nothing.”
“It was perfect, Audrey. You did a great job. My hat is off to you. You’re a real romantic.”
Ha. The truth was so far from that, it was hard not to laugh out loud. But it was late and she was tired and confused. So she nodded and said thanks and tried not to think about missing out on more dancing.
— EIGHT —
“Mrs. Miller, you aren’t wearing any clothes.”
Mari smoothed her hands down the lace of her wedding dress, now hanging in her closet. She turned her head, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of her husband leaning against the archway between their bedroom and the dressing area. He had a bottle of champagne in one hand, and his tie hung from the other. “I know,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. “I, uhm, had fancy underthings, but I’ve had enough of the fancy trappings for one day.”
He moved closer, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it over. The overhead light was off, the only glow in the room coming from a lamp on top of a dresser. They were finally alone. His eyes glittered as he dropped his tie on top of his dresser.
She took a drink.
His hands—big, capable, strong, loving hands, with fingers she wanted to lick and suck and ride—worked at his buttons, baring his chest. The light highlighted his sculpted shoulders and pecs and bounced off the golden curls that bisected his washboard abs.
She took another drink.
“You should help me,” he murmured, his lips curling up as she thumped the bottle down a little harder than necessarily and reached for his shirt.
After sliding that off and letting it flutter to the floor, she tucked her fingers over his belt. Warmth from his abdomen tingled through her hands and up her arms. “Mr. Miller, are you going to carry me over the threshold to our marital bed and ravish me?”
“I was thinking more about laying you out on this bench right here and worshipping you like the goddess you are.” He stroked his knuckles along her jaw to her ear, then twisted his hand and traced up the sensitive flesh there. “I married a goddess today. Did you know that? It makes me the luckiest man on earth.”
“I’m still just a girl who leaves her clothes in a pile on the floor,” she whispered, swaying against him as she slid his zipper down and shoved his pants low on his hips. “Or your clothes, I guess. I did hang up my wedding dress.”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich in her ear. “I saw that. Gold star.”
“Speaking of gold star behaviour, you forgot flutes,” she murmured against his skin as she licked a line sideways across his pecs.
“Forgot nothing. I’m going to drink the rest of the champagne out of your belly button. And other places.”
“That sounds messy.”
He laughed. “We’re flying out in the morning for Banff and beyond. Honeymoon on the tour bus. I think a bit of sticky champagne residue is the least of our concerns.”
“Our tour bus is lovely and clean and not at all like whatever den of masculine depravity you were used to with hockey teams.”
With a growl, he picked her up and turned, carrying her through the archway and into their bedroom. “On second thought, wife, I think I will take you to bed. Teach you how it’s going to be in our marriage.”
She shrieked when he dumped her in the middle of the duvet, and was still laughing when he climbed on top of her, suddenly naked. She shoved her hand against his chest. “Oh yeah? How is it going to be?”
“No making fun of hockey, first of all.” He lowered himself onto her and bracketed his arms on either side of her head. “Unless you join my pick-up team. Your brothers are all in.”
“Go Team Miller. Got it.” She scrapped her teeth over the hard cut of his jaw, smooth-shaven for once in his life.
“And there are rules now.” He frowned at the burble of laughter that rolled through her. “I’m serious.”
“I know. I can’t wait to hear what they are.”
“No going to bed angry.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “No waking up sad. Not even if we’re apart.”
She knew what he meant. They were blessed. “Do I get to set any rules?”
“As many as you want.”
She pulled him closer and ran her lips over the corner of his mouth, breathing in the warmth of his skin and the faint remainder of his aftershave. “This is always home. Right here, between us. We carry it in our hearts and it will be wherever we are.”
Catching her lower lip, he sucked gently, a tug that wormed its way through her body and flooded her eager pussy. Damn her body for being so easy for him.
“I’ve got more,” she gasped.
“Anything I haven’t heard before?” He ducked his head to her breasts, his movements hurried and hungry now.
“Okay, just one more.” Spreading her legs restlessly, she rocked beneath him, simultaneously trying to drive her nipple deeper into his mouth because oh my God yes, and at the same time wanting him to move back up her body and just fuck her already. “Crap, I can’t remember. Chase!”
“I’m here,” he whispered. He stroked up her sides as he rocked against her wet core. Reaching between them, she brought him into her body.
“I love you.”
He flexed inside her. “I love you, too. Forever.”
They kissed each other, neither of them starting it and both of them continuing, their mouths echoing what their bodies were doing. Harder, faster. Then slower, when the need built heavy inside and threatened to burst, because neither was ready for this to be over.
Sweaty limbs and murmured whispers. Nonsensical noises that meant nothing and everything, that promised a future full of love just like this.
She clutched at his shoulders as he moved them together, thrusting deeper until he found the spot that made her toes curl and the corners of her vision darken.
She’d loved this man for what felt like ages, and still this was just the start of their life together. She’d loved him with her body more times than she could count, and this was still new and special. It felt like he was pulling her into his body, like they were becoming one, and it wasn’t cliched or ridiculous in the least.
God no. She wanted more.
Panting his name, she clung
to him as he surged, rough and jerkily, stretching her right to her limits. Beyond, really. She was free falling now, faster faster faster, and then he caught her and together they flew. Higher. The dark turned to bright as every cell in her body exploded in climax.
Holy fucking shit.
Above her, Chase breathed heavily, his forehead pressed hard against hers.
She blinked up at him.
He grinned. “My wife.”
She tested her vocal chords. “My husband.” Oh good, they still worked.
He laughed and rolled onto his back, pulling her into the crook of his arm.
“We forgot the champagne,” she whispered against his sweat-soaked skin.
“Be right back.”
She ogled his extra-fine backside as he hopped out of bed and jogged to the dressing area. The recovery time of an athlete was a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Scooting up the bed, she plumped the pillows as he sauntered back. He stole a sip of wine before handing over the bottle.
“So we got married.”
She took a sip and giggled. “Yep.”
“Favourite part?”
“The speeches.” With a happy sigh, she leaned back against the pillows. “Davis was funny. Drunk, but funny.”
“He had a flask of rye that he was drinking from all day.” Chase shifted onto his elbow and gazed down at her. “I liked your speech. You said a lot of things that resonated with me about staying real and knowing what’s important.”
“The ceremony was beautiful, too.”
He got a funny look on his face.
“What?”
His expression went from chagrined to amused, and he pushed back up to sit. “Gimme the bottle.”
She clambered up to sit next to him.
He passed the champagne and took a deep breath. “I totally spaced out during the ceremony. Not like thinking about comic books or anything, but it was…emotional. I got all buzzy headed and all I could see was your face. I didn’t expect it to hit me like that.”
That was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. “Baby! I love that.” She kissed his shoulder.
“You can’t tell anyone. It’s not manly.”
With a sigh, she wrapped her arm over his shoulder. “Okay. The fact that you’re a sensitive, loving human being will remain our dirty little secret.”
He turned his head, capturing her mouth with his. Blindly he took the champagne from her and shoved the bottle onto the bedside table.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly as he hauled her into his lap. She straddled his hips, planting her knees on the bed and rising up. So what if they’d just done this? It was their wedding night. He could take her all night long and she’d still want more.
“Refining the definition of sensitive, loving human being,” he growled , squeezing her hips and urging her down into his lap.
“Again?” Like there was any question.
He just laughed and kissed her mouth. Yes, again.
THE END
Want more Wardham?
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You can also visit my website for links to all the Wardham titles, available on all major ebook retailer sites:
Between Then and Now
What Once Was Perfect
Where Their Hearts Collide
When They Weren’t Looking
Beyond Love and Hate
Perfect No Matter What
No Time Like Forever
Beneath These Bright Stars
And coming soon …
All That They Desire!
— ABOUT THE AUTHOR —
Zoe York lives in London, Ontario with her young family. She's currently chugging Americanos, wiping sticky fingers, and dreaming of heroes in and out of uniform.
www.zoeyork.com
Reign of the Vampire
Book 1
By Sharon Page
www.SharonPage.com
Reign of the Vampire Book 1 by Sharon Page: Moving to Manhattan to work at a literary agency, Lauren is drawn into the world of seductive biker vampire Batiste Carlyle and his eternal battle with his destructive billionaire brother Renoir. As Lauren uncovers secrets of her past, she begins to trust Batiste, until he takes her captive…
Chapter 1
For the fourth time this week, I miss my subway stop.
It’s the classic situation. I’m reading, utterly lost in the world of the story, when a jolt of the subway car pulls me back into reality. I look up and get an eyeful of the guy man-spreading across the aisle.
Right. I’m not on a deserted island, trapped with a clan of werewolves. I’m in New York. On the subway. On my way to meet my friend Amanda at a gallery opening.
I shove my ereader in my bag and swing out of the seat, joining the crowd getting off the subway car. A few minutes later I catch the train going back in the other direction.
As it rattles through the tunnel, I pull out my phone and text Amanda, letting her know I did it again—missed my stop—and that I’ll be a few minutes late. This will be my first New York art gallery event, and we’re also celebrating Amanda’s promotion from assistant to junior editor at one of the Big Five publishers.
I’m now working at one of the hottest literary agencies in New York. I’ve been there—and here in Manhattan—for six months. I got the job because, decades ago, my father went to school with the agency’s president back in England. My father pulled strings to get a job interview for me, even though I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen years old. Since the summer my twin sister disappeared. Maybe it was grief and pain that made him leave. Maybe he and Mom blamed each other. Or maybe it’s because he was an actual vampire hunter, and through him I learned that demons and vampires are real.
That secret changed my whole life. It’s been a crushing weight on me; I guess it must have been the same for him. Maybe he ran from that. After he left, Mom and I moved, and I never saw him again.
It seems insane that he never wrote, sent an email, or even showed up at my high school graduation, but he got me a chance at the job of my dreams.
Tomorrow morning, at the agency’s acquisitions meeting, I get to make a pitch to take on my first author. I’ve found a stunning manuscript. I realized I had to fight for this book when I found I was telling everyone about how fantastic it is—including completely innocent people trapped in line with me in coffee shops.
It’s fiction—nothing like real werewolves—but that’s what makes it so great and romantic.
I know this book is going to be successful. It’s going to prove I deserve this job on my own merits.
My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Amanda letting me know that she’s waiting for me outside the gallery.
Originally, I wasn’t going to attend the opening. The arrival of an invitation for me and a guest took me by surprise. There is no reason anyone would invite me to a glitzy event. I suspect my father must have something to do with it, but there was no note or explanation. At first I was excited to go. Until I learned, through my small-but-growing grapevine of friends, that Leo is going to be there, photographing the celebrities at the event. I really don’t want to see him. Leo was my first relationship in New York.
My first serious relationship ever.
I found out it was over when I saw the Instagram photos of him and his gorgeous blond new girlfriend, Rachel, a model who just shot a swimsuit layout in Costa Rica. Rachel has hundreds of thousands of twitter followers. She believes that’s because she protests for animal rights, not because she constantly posts modeling pics of herself in bikinis, bras, and panties.
Losing Leo…
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t had so much loss in my life. My father. My sister. I barely had time to experience love before I lost it again.
But Amanda insisted we go to the opening together, so here I am, running through Manhattan in heels. The gallery is ho
used in the lower three floors of the new Carlyle Tower, a ninety storey building. I’m completely relieved it’s not in the upper three stories. I could never go up that high in an elevator.
“There you are!” Amanda launches out from where she has been standing beside the roped-off area on the sidewalk, complete with red carpet. She’s tiny, wearing her little black dress and a long, pale pink coat. Her blond hair is swept up in a perfect early Kim Novak chignon. In contrast, I’m wearing a black skirt and white silk tank top, and my unruly auburn hair is loose, tumbling in wild, humidity-induced curls down my back.
“You do have the tickets, right?” Amanda continues. “I shouldn’t have grabbed that coffee on the way. It’s my twelfth one day and I’m completely buzzed. How did you miss your stop, by the way? Were you reading?”
When I’m sure Amanda has paused for breath, I explain, “I was working on my pitch for the meeting tomorrow. My fingers are crossed that I can actually explain what is so amazing about this book.”
“You’re going to do great. Then, you’re going to send the book to me, and we’re going to launch a star,” Amanda says. She puts on a fake posh accent. “You look fabulous, dahling. Leo is going to eat his heart out.”
He won’t, and I don’t want him to. I want him to be happy. It’s hard not to think of lazy Saturday mornings spent with him in my apartment and not feel utter heartbreak. We used to look at the travel sections of the newspaper and make plans. He seemed so down-to-earth and real. But I guess none of that was true.
Despite the knife-sharp pain in my heart, I really do want him to be happy. I also want me to be happy. I hurt inside, but I have learned to deal with heartbreak.
Amanda and I join the line. Two tall, blond men in tuxedos stand by the doors, checking invitations. The line moves slowly toward them. It’s only mid-May, but the air is so unusually warm tonight, it’s almost sultry.
As we wait to get in, Amanda scrolls through messages on her phone. I should be thinking about my pitch, but I start thinking about my father.
I wouldn’t be here, in New York, if it weren’t for him. I’d likely be doing three part-time jobs back home, trying to pay back my college loans.
