Let’s get this over with. Glaring at the house, I took a moment to steel myself, then I trudged back inside, not ready to finish what I’d started with Taylor, but knowing it had to be done.
Rayford wasn’t in the kitchen. From down the long hallway, I heard raised voices.
Someone was shouting in the library.
A woman.
I knew it was only my lovesick heart that made the voice sound like Bianca’s, but I took off at a run anyway. My steps echoed like gunfire off the marble floor.
When I reached the open library doors, I skidded to a stop, blinking in astonishment.
Rayford lounged on the sofa, an amused smile lighting his face. Standing on opposite sides of the coffee table were Taylor and Bianca, squared off like pistoleros about to draw their guns. Bianca was dressed in rumpled pink pajamas with little blue bunny rabbits all over them, a beige raincoat, and a pair of those hideous clogs she wore to work. Her hair was sticking up in wild tufts all over her head.
She looked like an escapee from an insane asylum, and also the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“And another thing!” she shouted at Taylor. “You really shouldn’t wear brown lipstick!”
“Well hello there, sir,” said Rayford calmly. “As you can see, Miss Bianca and Miss Taylor were just gettin’ acquainted.” His smile grew wider. “I tried to tell Miss Bianca you were busy, but she almost broke down the front door, so here we are.”
“Bianca,” I said, my voice raw. “What’re you doing here?”
She turned to me with burning eyes and a heaving chest, the color high in her cheeks. She shouted, “I’m here to stop the man I love from marrying the wrong woman!”
Taylor’s mouth dropped open.
Rayford giggled.
And my heart stopped dead in my chest.
I wheezed, “Love?” before Bianca cut me off.
“Yes, that’s right. I love you, Jackson Boudreaux!”
It sounded like an accusation or a confession of something terrible and terminal, like you’d say, “The tumor is inoperable and I only have a week to live.”
But she kept talking, and my heart rebooted and took flight like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but I think I’m just about as stubborn as you are. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you hitch your wagon to some cash-hungry bottom-feeder just to save your inheritance!”
She gestured to Taylor, who cried an offended, “Oh!”
I exhaled, and it was like fire.
Bianca stepped toward me. She squared her shoulders and looked up into my face.
She said, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for someone like you. Only I didn’t know that someone would come with a caveman beard and a bossy streak and a scowl that could peel paint from the walls. And then you came at me with your ridiculous proposal, and then Mama died, and then I lost my mind, so it took me a minute to figure it out.”
She swallowed. When she spoke next her voice was quieter.
“But I love you, Jackson. And I hope you know that I don’t give a damn about your money, because I don’t. In fact I think it would do you a world of good to flush that inheritance right down the toilet and live like a normal person for once.”
She added drily, “I’ve recently been informed by my attorney that I’m a millionaire, anyway, so it’s not like we’d be broke.”
Taylor huffed. “Mr. Boudreaux, will you please tell this woman—”
“Shut up, Taylor,” I said.
She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.
Bianca took another step closer to me, then another, until she was so close I could see the flecks of gold in her beautiful brown eyes. She flattened her hands over my chest.
I thought my heart would explode it pounded so hard.
Bianca said softly, “We went about this whole thing ass backward. Marriage proposals are supposed to come after you’ve fallen in love, not before, but I have a feeling nothing we’re ever going to do will be in the proper order. So what I’m proposing is that you tell this skinny little mercenary with the weird brown lips to go pound sand, and you and me get married.”
Her lips curved into a shy smile. “Because I would like to date you.”
I took her sweet face in my hands. She slid her arms around my waist and hugged me, and I wondered if it was possible for a person to die of happiness. I felt like I might float right off the floor.
I whispered, “That skinny little mercenary is my attorney, sweetheart.”
Bianca blinked. Her brows pulled together into an adorable frown. “What?”
A rumble of laughter burbled up from somewhere deep inside me, shaking my whole body, loosening decades of anguish and pain.
“Taylor is my attorney. Has been for years. We’re not getting married. We’re working on the contract for the new division Boudreaux Bourbon’s going to open in New Orleans. The one I’m going to run.”
Bianca’s eyes went wide. She squeaked, “Contract? Division?”
I nodded. “My father and I had a long talk after you and I left Kentucky. We agreed that opening a new distillery in Louisiana would be good for business. There’s no wedding going on here.”
Bianca’s gaze turned to the paperwork on my desk, then to Taylor. She paled. Then she whispered, “Oh, shit.”
From the sofa, Rayford cackled and clapped his hands.
Bianca whirled around and glared at him. “Rayford! You did that on purpose!”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta give the blind a helping hand.”
Bianca turned to Taylor. She put her hand over her chest and said, “I am so, so sorry. Oh my goodness. I take back what I said. You’re not a mercenary. I’m sure you’re a wonderful woman. You look very . . . smart. And you’re not skinny, that was just me being jealous. You have a lovely figure.”
Taylor crossed her arms over her chest. “And the brown lipstick?”
Bianca grimaced. “Well . . .”
“Enough apologies. Come here.”
I grabbed Bianca by the arm and kissed her. She took big handfuls of my shirt and kissed me back like she was starving.
At some point Rayford and Taylor must’ve left the room, but I didn’t hear them go. I was too busy drowning in Bianca.
“What about your inheritance?” she asked breathlessly, breaking away.
“It was get married or work for the company, remember? Not that I care about the money anymore. It was just time for me to let go of the past and grow up.” I stroked her satin cheek. “You’re responsible for that, you know. I never would’ve reconnected with my parents if it weren’t for you.”
Bianca rested her forehead on my chest. “So you don’t need to get married after all.”
A little tremor went through her. It made me smile.
“Technically, no,” I whispered. “But I want to.”
She lifted her head and stared at me. Her eyes glimmered with moisture.
“And I noticed you’re still wearing your engagement ring, so I think you still want to, too.”
A tear crested her lower lid and slid down her cheek. In a broken voice she said, “I just want you. Rich, poor, smiling, growling, bearded or clean-shaven, I just want you, Jax. There’s nothing in the world I want more than you.”
My happy sigh slipped past my lips, barely audible. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” I murmured, my heart singing. “If you think I’m a beast, you haven’t seen this beard when it really gets going.”
Bianca’s eyes were dreamy. She went up on her toes, wound her arms tightly around my neck, and whispered into my ear, “I can hardly wait.”
SLAP, SLAP, KISS COCKTAIL
Makes 2 servings
1 ounce cognac
3 ounces vodka
2 ounces absinthe
1½ ounces gin
1 ounce blackberry liqueur
Preparation
Put all i
ngredients into a cocktail shaker with ice.
Shake vigorously.
Strain into two chilled cocktail glasses.
Down the hatch, kiss your beloved, enjoy a very potent happily ever after.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is the fourteenth novel I’ve published in five years. For some writers that number isn’t so remarkable, but for me it’s staggering because I’ve never sustained that kind of interest in anything except reading, napping, and a bath before bed.
There are many people who have helped this slothful writer produce fourteen books in five years, and they deserve more than just a few flowery words in the back matter, but this is all you’re getting, guys. Maybe when I hit twenty I’ll send you a plaque or something, but probably not. (You could always frame this page and hang it on the wall?)
In no particular order, here are the people who’ve helped me birth fourteen novels, and to whom I’d like to say THANK YOU:
Jeff Bezos
Amazon Publishing/Montlake Romance
Maria Gomez, my current editor at Montlake
Kelli Martin, my editor-between-editors at Montlake
Eleni Caminis, my first editor at Montlake
Melody Guy, my developmental editor who I would literally die without, who flagged the word literally during her last editorial pass, which makes me love her even more
Jessica Poore, my Montlake author liaison
Tara Gonzales, PR guru
InkSlinger PR
Najla Qamber, cover artist extraordinaire
Marie Force, NYT bestselling author
Teri Clark Linden, audiobook narrator
Sebastian York, audiobook narrator
Melissa Moran, audiobook narrator
Geissinger’s Gang, my Facebook readers’ group
My readers everywhere
Jay, my husband and my heart, without whom nothing is possible
Also I’d like to acknowledge the Wounded Warrior Project for their amazing dedication and service to the injured men and women of the US armed forces. To learn more about their mission, please visit www.woundedwarriorproject.org.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.T. Geissinger is the author of more than a dozen novels of contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense. She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy. She’s a two-time finalist for the RITA Award from the Romance Writers of America, and her works have been finalists in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.
Join her Facebook reader’s group—Geissinger’s Gang—to take part in weekly live chats and giveaways, find out more information about works in progress, get access to exclusive excerpts and contests, and receive advance reader copies of her upcoming releases. You can also check out her website, www.jtgeissinger.com, or follow her on Instagram @JTGeissingerauthor and on Twitter @JTGeissinger.
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