Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

by Violet Duke

  He’s on my side.

  Hunter pushes me gently ahead of him into the bedroom. “C’mon, it’s like, 3:00 a.m. and I need my beauty sleep.”

  I giggle. “Don’t you mean, I do?”

  “You don’t need anything,” he tells me, yawning. “Except to keep your hands off my covers. Don’t think I didn’t notice you stole them all.”

  “I was cold!” I protest, sliding in next to him. Hunter scoops me against his body, nestling me into the crook of his arm.

  “Better?” he whispers. I nod, snuggling into him. “Good,” he murmurs, sleepy. “‘Cause this time, I’m not letting you go.”

  HUNTER KEEPS HIS promise. He holds me all night, his body curled against mine, his arms encircling me in a tender, warm embrace.

  I can’t sleep; I just lie there, listening to the sound of his even breaths and marveling at the contentment cloaking my body in a bone-deep haze of peace.

  I’ve never held a man like this; never stayed to see the sunrise filter softly through the drapes. I’ve never felt so close to anyone, so naked and exposed.

  So loved.

  I roll in his arms to face him, watching the peaceful expression on his face as he sleeps. He’s a work of art, naked and glorious right in front of me, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out and gently tracing the contours of his face with featherlight fingertips. The shock of hair flopping over his forehead; the light dusting of freckles across his nose. I trace his cheekbones, his jaw, his gorgeous full lips, memorizing every inch of skin. My heart beats faster, just to touch him like this; catch a glimpse of him so vulnerable and at peace.

  Hunter lets out a sleepy yawn and shifts, flinging his arm out across the bed and snuggling deeper into the pillows.

  I could get used to this.

  The thought makes me catch my breath, my body tensing with the muscle memory of old betrayals, but I force myself to relax again, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  He’s not like the others.

  Hunter is different, I know that now. For the first time, I can see the future beckoning me: a hazy golden promise of mornings waking just like this; long nights spent tangled up in his arms. Safe and loved, the way I’ve never even dared to dream.

  The possibility shivers through me, so tempting, so real. I could be this happy tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that too. I could be his, always.

  And he would be mine.

  A fierce surge of possession swells in my chest, and now my fingertips are roving further across his body. I trace over the curve of his bicep, the muscled ridges of his stomach. Mine, I think, desire rising in me. All mine. I brush my fingertips lower still, delving under the covers. I find him hard and ready for me, rising to my touch. My breath catches—

  “Morning.” Hunter rolls swiftly, suddenly trapping me beneath him against the sheets.

  I flush, caught red-handed. “Good morning.”

  “It’s sure shaping up to be.” Hunter gives me a lazy grin.

  I glance away, selfconscious. For the first time, I remember what a sight I must make: tangled hair, smudged make-up. God knows what last night has done to me. I reach quickly to swipe under my eyes, but Hunter catches my hand.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, gently smoothing hair back from my cheek. I roll my eyes, awkward, but he laughs. “You are. Like this, just you.”

  He leans down and kisses me slowly. I breathe it all in, reaching up around his neck to pull him closer. I feel him smile against my mouth. The kiss deepens, long and true, as he rolls me slowly across the bed. I savor it, every moment, such a simple thing—a kiss—but oh, how it makes my heart sing.

  Hunter pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow and gently tracing a path across my naked shoulder. I gasp, shivering at his touch.

  “My turn,” he says with a wicked grin, swirling his fingertips over my sensitive skin.

  “You were awake?” I cry, flushing with embarrassment.

  “Best damn dream of my life,” he lowers his mouth and kisses down the line of my back, slipping his hands around me to rove lightly across my breasts and stomach. I shudder, letting my head fall back, feeling the silver cobwebs dance across my skin where his fingertips have touched. Hunter’s breath comes heavier, hot against my neck, and I nudge back against him, finding him hot and hard against my ass.

  Hunter groans. He turns me over, laying me out beneath him, and cradling my cheek in his hand. “I want to stay here forever,” he murmurs, dropping kisses along my neck, my chest, my lips. “Just you and me, it’s all I ever need.”

  “I want it too,” I whisper, rising up to meet his kiss, claiming his mouth with my own. I lick into him, tasting and teasing, feeling the wave of desire rise in me all over again. This time I’m not crying out with a desperate need, no, this is something different, a steady force curling low and deep inside of me, tripping out through my bloodstream in a sweet, gorgeous hum.

  “My Brit,” Hunter whispers my name, and I reach between us, opening my thighs, already so wet and ready for him. I gasp as he eases into me, his gorgeous thickness sinking deep inside, fitting me so perfectly it’s like he never left.

  We stay there, perfectly still, not saying a word, but feeling every heartbeat and quick, shallow breath. I pull my head back to look in his eyes and find him gazing down at me, the same expression of tender reverence on his face that sings in every cell and atom of my being.

  “I love you,” he whispers, moving gently inside me.

  My heart stops. It’s the first time he’s said those words. The first time I’ve ever heard them.

  Pure joy sweeps through me, rising, circling with every slow thrust, until I’m arching up against him, crying out at the orgasm that ripples through my body, sweet and pure like stardust. I feel Hunter’s body shudder into mine with his release, gasping my name over and over until the force leaves us both and we lie tangled and breathless in each other’s arms.

  “Wow,” Hunter takes a ragged breath. “That was… wow.”

  I prop myself up above him, a giddy grin on my face. “You mean, that’s not what it’s usually like for you?”

  He laughs. “What, are you crazy? Hell no.”

  “Hmmm,” I tease, “That’s weird, because I always—” I’m cut off, shrieking as he grabs me and rolls, tickling mercilessly at my still too-sensitive skin. “Hunter!” I yelp, shaking with laughter. “Hunter, stop!”

  “Not ‘til you take that back!”

  I struggle, playful, until the distant ring of his cellphone cuts through our laughter. He finally lets me go. “Saved by the bell,” he winks, scrambling to find his jeans where he left them on the floor. “But I’m so not done with you, darlin’.”

  “I’m counting on it.” I laugh, admiring the curve of his ass in the morning sunshine.

  Hunter finally scoops his cellphone out of his jeans and answers. “What’s up?” he says, still grinning at me.

  There’s a beat, and then all the laughter drains from his eyes.

  “Hunter?” I ask, already reaching for him, but he steps back, turning away.

  “No, of course.” He says into the phone. “I’ll be right there. What hospital?”

  Fear clutches at my heart.

  I scramble out of bed and go to him, sliding my arms around his waist and holding him close as he listens to whoever’s on the other end of the line.

  “I’m on my way,” he tells them, then hangs up, clutching the dead phone against his chest.

  Silence.

  “Hunter?” I ask cautiously. “Hunter, talk to me.” I pull him around to face me, inhaling with a gasp when I see the terrible shock on his face.r />
  “It’s my father,” he tells me, stumbling over his words. “He’s had a heart attack. They think… they think he might not make it.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WE DRIVE STRAIGHT to the city, Hunter’s knuckles white with tension as he grips the steering wheel, his face set in a deathly blank stare.

  “They found him right away,” I tell him, desperately trying to break through the icy wall of fear that’s slammed down around him. I reach over, covering one of his hands with mine. “He’s getting the best doctors, everything will be OK.”

  Hunter just nods, his jaw clenched. With every mile that passes, I can see the shadows of the past haunting, darker in his eyes. I can’t imagine what this must be bringing back for him, everything he went through losing Jace…

  “It’ll be OK.” I say again in a small voice, praying with everything I have that it’s true. “I’m right here with you, everything will be alright.”

  THE HOSPITAL STAFF direct us to a gleaming new private wing, Hunter’s footsteps echoing on the floors as we head down a labyrinth of hallways and wards. I watch his expression get fearful; every muscle in his body locked tight with tension as he breaks into a jog.

  “Richard Covington?” he demands, as we reach the reception area.

  The nurse on duty is juggling three charts and a phone trapped under her shoulder. “Give me a minute.” She waves us away, not looking up.

  “We just need his room number,” I plead, but she can only offer a sympathetic smile.

  “Take a seat, I’ll be right with you.”

  Hunter doesn’t move, his body coiled with tension, so I gently tug him over to the seating area. “They’ll get to us when they can,” I soothe him. “And your mom has your cell number. She’d call if anything changed.”

  Hunter sits beside me, restlessly tapping his foot. I reach over and take his hand, uncurling his fist to drop a kiss on his palm. “He’ll be fine,” I reassure him again. I know I don’t have any right to make these promises, but I’d say anything to make him feel better right now; anything to take this terrible panic away. “He’s never had problems like this before, right? I’m sure he’s getting the best care.”

  Hunter jerks up to his feet and starts pacing. “I hate these places,” he mutters, looking around. “It just makes me remember, being stuck here, before…” He trails off, and I can see it in his eyes that he’s reliving every awful second of what happened that dark winter’s night three years ago.

  I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank. “I’m sorry,” I whisper helplessly. My heart aches to watch him like this, so full of bleak memories. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

  Hunter closes his eyes, like he’s trying to block out the world. I get up and slip my arms around him, pulling him to me in a hug. I stand there, holding him, trying to take this burden he’s carrying and bear some of the weight on me.

  I can’t believe how quickly everything’s changed.

  Just a couple of hours ago, we were snuggled safe in each other’s arms, basking in the glorious afterglow of our night together. It was perfect, so peaceful and filled with joy, and now…

  Now Hunter’s shoulder’s are hunched against my embrace, his body stiff and distant. I can tell, he’s a thousand miles away from me, like an invisible canyon has suddenly opened between us, pulling him into a private world of fear.

  “Hunter, thank God!” A voice cuts through the waiting room, and I turn to find his mother, Camille, heading towards us, trailed by a cluster of doctors. “What took you so long? He’s been asking for you.”

  “Dad’s awake?” Hunter clutches my hand.

  “He’s recovering in his room.” Camille directs that last part at the staff. “I’ve been telling them for hours, that shoebox is an insult. You’d think that with all the money we raise for this hospital—”

  “I’m sure it’s the best they’ve got.” Hunter placates her. “The room, mom. Where is he?”

  She points down the hallway, and Hunter takes off without another word, leaving me standing here alone.

  For the first time, Camille notices me.

  “And you are…?” She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Her expression is blank, despite the fact I spent half a dozen summers serving her sweet iced tea and plain grilled chicken sandwiches. But it’s been years now, and she’s clearly got plenty on her mind.

  “Brit. Hi.” I swallow. Despite the crisis, Camille is perfectly dressed in a navy pantsuit and gold jewelry. She must be in her late fifties by now, but there’s not a line visible on her face, or a hint of grey in her sleek blonde bob. “I’m so sorry about your husband. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thank you,” she answers with automatic politeness. “But we have it under control.” She looks me up and down for a moment. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were again, a friend of Hunter’s?”

  “I… Yes.”

  I fold my arms over my chest selfconsciously. In the hurry to get dressed and on the road, I threw a shirt of Hunter’s over my tank-top and shorts; rolling up the sleeves and tying it around my waist. Now, it feels like a neon sign screaming, ‘I just screwed your son.’

  “Well, thank you for… escorting Hunter here.” Camille gives a brisk nod, as if dismissing me. “You’ll understand, I have a lot to deal with right now. This room situation is impossible, and I need to talk to talk to someone about his medication.”

  “Oh, of course!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry, I… go ahead.”

  “It was nice to meet you.” Camille’s smile is empty as she turns and sweeps away, leaving me in the hallway alone.

  The nurse at the station gives me a sympathetic look. “Room twenty-one.” She says. “Just that way.”

  “Thanks.”

  I catch my breath, then carefully venture in the other direction, following the way I saw Hunter go until I reach the room. I’m braced for the worst—intensive care wires and breathing tubes—but when I nervously step into the room, I find his father sitting up in bed, laughing along with Hunter, looking the picture of health.

  Relief crashes over me, followed swiftly by confusion. Richard looks like he just stepped off the golf course, not suffered a major heart attack.

  “Hey,” I knock awkwardly on the open door. Hunter turns.

  “Brit!” He leaps up to greet me, smiling. “Come meet my dad. Dad, this is Brit. Brit, meet Richard.”

  “Come on in,” Richard booms. He’s wearing a plush navy dressing gown over striped pajamas, a spread of empty deli wrappers on the bedside table. “Sorry there’s not much space, but my wife’s seeing to that. She’s on the warpath,” he adds conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they kick out half the ward to make more room.”

  “Umm, hi.” I edge forwards and take the hand he offers. His handshake is firm and vigorous. “I’m glad you’re OK. When he got the call, we thought…”

  “That I was banging at death’s door?” Richard finishes cheerfully. “False alarm, just a touch of angina. But you know your mother,” he adds in Hunter’s direction.

  “Everything’s OK,” Hunter tells me, gripping my shoulder. I can feel the relief pouring off him in waves, the way his heart is racing with gratefulness. “He’ll be fine.” He exhales. “He just needs to watch his diet, and get more exercise—“

  “Lord, not you too!” Richard protests. “I’ve already had an earful from the doctors. Tell me, if a grown man can’t enjoy a good steak from time to time, what’s the
point of living at all?”

  “I’ll certainly bear that in mind when I’m planning your funeral,” Camille’s voice comes, icy from the door. She walks past me to the bed, swiftly snatching a glass from his hand. “Tell me you didn’t drink this. Richard! You know these places are a breeding ground for infections.”

  “It’s alright, dear. You’re not getting rid of me just yet.” Richard pats her hand, and Camille clutches it tightly, a look of deep affection passing between them.

  Hunter’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me close. “It was nothing,” he murmurs to me, as if reassuring himself. “We shouldn’t have worried.”

  His mother looks up sharply. “Angina is not nothing. The doctors said it’s a warning sign. And is it any wonder? Your father has been working himself to death, all alone at that company.”

  “I have employees—” Richard tries to interrupt, but Camille won’t be stopped.

  “And you, all the way off in the middle of nowhere,” she accuses Hunter. “What would have happened if it had been a real heart attack? By the time you got here, it would have been too late! It’s not right, all this stress you’ve left him with.” She plumps up the pillows with sharp motions, barely controlled. “He was never meant to run that place alone, it was supposed to be for you boys. Well, I hope you’re happy now.”

  I feel Hunter’s sharp intake of breath beside me. I turn, waiting for him to defend himself against her crazy accusations, but he doesn’t say a word, just drops his head, staring at the floor.

  “That’s enough,” Hunter’s father says, his voice quiet but firm. “We can talk about all of this later. Did you find someone to help you with the new room assignment?”

  Camille collects herself. “It won’t be necessary, they’re releasing you. You’ll be home for dinner tonight.” She forces a smile. “I’ve already called ahead and told Marta to throw out all the butter. It’ll be steamed fish and vegetables from here on out.”