by Maria Luis
He hung his head and his breath whispered against her hair. “It was also my penance. I could have been in any one of their places. When I was shot in that orphanage? I was out of the hospital less than twenty-four hours later. Twenty-four hours after that? A female cop was shot and killed at a domestic call gone wrong. The guilt of survival is something I carried with me for a long time, but I can’t do it anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t make a forever with you, Lizzie, if I’m always livin’ with the burden of somebody else’s past. So I can’t do this—adding the names, choosing to live with the guilt and the sadness. I’ll pay my respects and do what good I can with CBR, but I choose to be happy, princess. I choose you.”
Oh, God.
She really wasn’t going to cry right now, was she?
His thumb went to her cheek, catching a tear, and if she’d had any plans to apologize for being such a water pot, he didn’t let her.
Lips came down on hers, hungry and insistent, and it was everything that Lizzie needed, now and forever. Her hands on his shoulders, her breasts against his sternum, she arched on her tiptoes and gave him everything that she had.
Love.
Happiness.
Lust, too.
They fell to the sofa in a tangle of limbs, fighting for control over who got to be on top. She hooked one leg around his, giving her best to pull him off her. He sank his hips against her, using his weight to pin her down.
“You can’t always be in charge,” she gasped as his hands lifted her shirt and his fingers found her nipples. “Oh, okay, maybe just today then.”
“Always,” he growled against her neck, “you like it.”
“Sometimes.”
He tweaked her nipple and Lizzie’s head shot back against the armrest. “Always, princess, always.”
He was right. She did like it when he took control, just as he did right now. Pulling down her leggings to reveal a pair of granny panties, he teased, “Sexy,” and then slipped them to the side to stroke his tongue down her center.
Oh yeah, her toes curled at the sensation.
He was just that good. Her Gage was a giver to the very end, and today, most especially, he gave. His tongue lapped at her until her cries grew out of control, her hands fisting his hair. He didn’t stop.
Two fingers, not one, touched her core, then drove inside.
He laughed out right when she gasped his name.
Did nothing more than murmur, “I won’t stop until you come on my tongue, princess,” when she begged him to switch out his fingers for something bigger.
He left her no choice but to do exactly what he’d ordered.
And when she complied, he gave her what she wanted. His shorts on the floor, his hard cock at her entrance, a single thrust that pushed her up against the armrest. He seemed to read exactly what she needed in this moment.
Hard.
Raw.
His powerful body moved over her, ink rippling with each roll of his hips, biceps clenching when he leaned forward to shift his angle and hit her just there.
It was all she needed before she was coming again, his name on her lips. “I love you, Gage.”
Black eyes swooped over her body as though memorizing her shape, her voice. He thrust again and again, until his groan echoed in the studio and he spilled himself inside her with a tremor that racked his shoulders. “I love you back, princess,” he whispered, “you’ll never know how much.”
Heart full, Lizzie grinned up at him. “I think I might have an . . .” She frowned, ears perking up at a sound outside Naked You. “Wait, back up. Do you hear clapping?”
“Did you leave your computer on?”
“Yes, but I don’t think that’s it.” She swatted at his chest until he scooted off her, and then glanced around his solid frame.
“Oh no.”
“Oh no, what?” he echoed, following the line of her sight to the front windows . . . where multiple people stood just beyond watching. And clapping. With cameras. The damn paparazzi had arrived like something out of a nightmare. “Lizzie.”
“I-I forgot to shut the blinds today,” she whispered, fighting the good fight but losing in the end. Her chest squeezed with laughter, and her hands flew to her mouth to stem the flow. “I always . . . oh my God . . . this is so bad.”
Always the cop, Gage said, “What’s the best course of action?”
“Rub your genie lamp and pray that they go away?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to help the situation.”
She dropped her gaze to his shorts on the floor, then scooted her butt over so she could grab the fabric with her toes. “We’ll go for a trade? Your shorts for my leggings over there?”
“Done.”
Except that he didn’t move and she didn’t hand him the shorts.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered, doing her best to hide behind his body.
With his ass to the windows, Gage glanced down at her. “We’re getting rid of this sofa.”
“That’s what you’re thinking?”
But he was on a roll, grumbling and one hand covering his hard-on, his inked body fully on display for anyone who cared to look. “First Carli Simpson’s nipples and now this? The sofa is gone, princess, first thing in the morning.”
Lizzie giggled at his aggrieved expression. “You can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Simpson’s nipples now, can you?”
His lids slid shut. “No and it’s awful.”
She slipped her foot alongside his calf. “I know what could make you feel better.”
Eyes popping open with interest, he adjusted his hand over his cock. “Yeah?”
“Shut the blinds against the Peeping Toms out there and I’ll tell you.”
“I’d like a hint, Miz Danvers.”
“It starts with doggy and ends with style.”
His shorts were up his legs in a heartbeat, leggings tossed in her direction, and his feet pounding against the floor as he shot over to where she kept the remotes for the blinds. And as the blinds came down, blocking anyone outside from seeing their indoor activities, Lizzie couldn’t help but marvel at her life.
It was good.
No, it was everything she’d ever dreamed.
“We’re doing it on the sofa,” Gage announced on his return.
“But I thought you wanted to get rid of it?”
His mouth curled in a sexy smirk as he dropped his shorts to the floor. “Mission has changed. I plan to make love to you so many times on this thing, that I’ll never think of anything else again but you.”
Lizzie smiled. “That just might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I love you, princess.”
She tipped her head up to receive his kiss. “I love you, too, Gage. Always.”
“Forever.”
Yes, forever.
Epilogue
8 months later…
“Princess, I swear to God, if you don’t stop teasing me with that, there’s going to be some major damage. Namely, you ridin’ me until tomorrow.”
Gage stared at his wife, then looked at the donut she held in her hand. The last donut from the box.
Lizzie took a dramatic bite and then let out an equally dramatic moan of approval, tossing her head back against the couch cushion in abandon. “Oh my God, Gage! This is just delicious. Orgasmic. Amazing. G-Gage, I think I’m going to . . .” Another theatrical moan. “I think I just came.”
“You’re cruel,” he teased, lifting a hand to her chin and leaning in for a kiss. She tasted like powder and chocolate and a healthy dose of spitfire and sass.
She sighed under his mouth. Then, “You should have offered better terms. What did you think I was going to do when you threatened me with a good old time in bed? Give you the donut? Absolutely not.”
Gage drew her legs over his lap in preparation for TV night. It was his only day off this week. Between S.O.D., CBR, and managing Inked for Ow
en, he was exhausted.
But happy—happier than he’d ever been. He and Lizzie had eloped a few months back, although perhaps “eloped” wasn’t the best word. Their trip to Mayberry House Plantation hadn’t started with the intention of marriage, but one thing led to another . . . and there they were, giggling like teenagers in front of a justice of the peace in the middle of nowhere, west Louisiana, exchanging their vows.
When they’d returned to New Orleans, none of their friends had been surprised.
Danvers had rolled his eyes and muttered, “Figured y’all wouldn’t want to plan a wedding.”
Owen had clapped Gage on the back and then bussed a kiss over Lizzie’s cheek. “Welcome to the family, Liz,” was all he’d said, but with Owen, that was enough.
“You sure you don’t mind coming in tomorrow?” Gage asked, twining his fingers through his wife’s newly accented caramel hair. “I can recruit Jordan, if need be, for extra hours.”
Lizzie kissed his palm. “Don’t even worry about it. You know how much I love to be behind the needle.”
Gage had taken her on as an apprentice after Owen had announced he was going on a tattoo-artist retreat or whatever it was. Turns out, Lizzie had a knack for the art of tattooing. She’d been relegated their “butterfly-tattoo” girl, since she was still in the early stages of learning, but he’d never seen someone more excited to butterfly it up than his wife.
The customers loved her.
Owen loved her for stepping in while he was away.
And Gage—well, he pretty much just worshipped the ground she walked on.
They settled in, her feet over his lap, his arm around her shoulder. “What show are we watching again?”
She patted his leg, a total you are such a guy love-tap. “Put a Ring on It.”
Gage grimaced. “Sounds girly as shit.”
“We can watch your crime shows later,” she said, edging closer to him, “but I’ve been waiting weeks to watch this. It’s all anyone is talking about lately. The Bachelorette meets The Travel Channel meets real-time air. There’s no going back and editing anything, from what I’ve heard. What you see is what you get.”
“It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Exactly,” she said brightly, and Gage couldn’t stop himself from laughing. His wife had spent way too many years in the spotlight, and even though she was more focused on creating makeup now instead of showing it off, she couldn’t extinguish the fact that she lived for social media of any kind.
“Plus,” she added, trailing a finger up his thigh, “we know the girl who’s being featured for the debut season.”
“We do?”
Lizzie glanced up at him. “Savannah Rose.”
Shit, did Owen know? Gage swallowed and distracted himself by rubbing his hand over Lizzie’s shoulder. Owen kept his life so on the down low that it was difficult to know what the hell was going on with him most days. He hadn’t mentioned her once in months, but Gage wasn’t an idiot.
Up until maybe two months ago, Owen and Savannah often left EOCC meetings together.
Never hand in hand, but always within minutes of each other.
“Do you know why she went on the show?” he asked, watching as Lizzie fast-forwarded through the opening credits.
“We talked about it a few times.” Lizzie shrugged, then hit PLAY on the remote. “Her mom actually submitted an application for her online, so she didn’t even know anything until the producers were knocking on her door. I think . . . I think it’s part expectation—her family is so old N’Orleans and she’s inching toward mid-thirties. No one meets their qualifications, and I’m sure they view this show as the ultimate debutante season or whatever.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. I also, I don’t know . . . I feel like she’s running from something here. She hasn’t said that, but you know what I mean.”
He did, and he had a sneaking suspicion about who she was running from.
Dammit, but he needed a donut. Lizzie had gotten him hooked on them, and she was lucky he loved to work out so much. First the cheese, then the donuts. Give them another year and he’d be taking coffee from an IV.
They watched as Savannah came onto the screen, dark-haired and olive-skinned. Gage didn’t know her that well, not like Lizzie did, but he understood that her family had been prominent in the city for centuries now. High French-Creole society type of thing with a family mansion in the French Quarter and another one over on Esplanade Ridge.
No wonder she’d felt pressured to go on the show.
One by one, the men filed out of a limo, all dressed in suits.
Gage and Lizzie teased each other about which one they’d want to take home. Lizzie voted for the Greek dude who looked like John Stamos. Gage threw his hat into the ring for a former NFL Quarterback.
“I liked his stats when he played for the Broncos,” he muttered when Lizzie openly laughed at him.
“You’re totally appreciating his butt in those dress slacks of his.”
“What can I say? It’s full.”
Lizzie caught onto the joke and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. God, he loved her. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t gone in to work at Inked that day.
Maybe they would have met at some other time, but it wouldn’t have been the same.
They’d earned their happiness every step of the way.
He parted her lips with his tongue, seeking entry, loving her with everything that he was.
“Gage,” she moaned, and his name . . . Hell, hearing his name on her lips never got old.
He rearranged her legs over his thighs, angling her hips just so, so that she could feel how hard he was for her behind the fabric of his sweats. Her hands went to his arms, using his weight so that she could straddle him, press down against his cock and make him groan.
“Fuck yeah, princess,” he growled, nipping her bottom lip, “grind on me just like—”
Her head whipped around, and then she was tugging on his shirt frantically. “Gage. Oh my God, oh my God.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
She fell to his side, one hand still on his chest, and then pointed the other at the TV screen.
Slowly, Gage shifted his focus from his wife to the show, and the man stepping out of the limo. Beard. Dark hair. Full-on black suit. A familiar grimace on his face.
“And finally,” the host said on the TV, “we’d like to welcome our last bachelor for this season, Owen Harvey from New Orleans, Louisiana.”
Oh. Fuck.
Psssttt! The Put A Ring On It series is coming in 2018 - no way would I leave Owen hanging! Want an update when the first book, HOLD ME TODAY, will be “airing”? Sign-up here for the alert!
And if you enjoyed Danvers & Jade, then check out their journey to love in Take A Chance On Me, available now!
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Dear Fabulous Reader
Thank you so much for reading Tempt Me With Forever! I really hope that you enjoyed diving into Lizzie and Gage’s journey to an HEA.
For those of you who are new to my work, this section is to share a little behind-the-scenes glance at the book. Where did some of my ideas comes from? What locations are actually real that you can visit—that sort of thing. Without further ado…let’s get started, numerical-style!
First and foremost, I should start with the biggest whammy of them all just so there isn’t
anyone coming at me with a pitchfork…yes, I totally did just end the NOLA Heart series with a cliffhanger! As my editor said, “You really didn’t just do that, did you?” I did. I totally did. But never fear, Owen Harvey will absolutely get his own story in 2018 when the Put A Ring On It series airs (see what I did there?). Unlike many other bachelor-esque like books, however, the books in Put A Ring On It will take place after the show is over, once the contestants go home. To me, that’s even more interesting than any of the debauchery on the TV show itself. I can’t wait to share this amazing new series with you!
Why Hackberry, Louisiana? Well, it’s a real place—though Mayberry House only exists in my imagination. I recently attended a writer’s retreat with some of my close author friends, including rom-com author Jami Albright, in Hackberry. It was dead-center between all of our homes, and for a weekend I found myself farther west in Louisiana than I had ever been. Placing part of this story in Hackberry played a little homage to my time spent there, the tranquility of the waters, the expanse of the sugarcane fields, and my own obsession with 19th century architecture.
Did you notice a lot of the police anecdotes sprinkled throughout Tempt Me? Well, I’m here to tell you that some of them are true! (All names were obviously changed to protect identities, LOL). The case with the wife who Tased her naked cop-husband? True story. The case of Jarvis Reed, the cop who stood up in roll call and called out his lieutenant (who claimed he’d never let another man give him a blow job) for lying to everyone? Also true! As for the orphanage, it was actually Mr. Luis’ partner who got stuck in the doorway—no one was shot that night, however, and the robber was arrested. Sometimes the best stories are those that come from reality! Even if, as authors, we twist and turn the truths so they sound even better as fiction.
Lizzie’s love for makeup (and photography) can also be attributed to reality. In other words, my obsession with watching makeup tutorials on YouTube. We won’t discuss how many beauty influencers I follow, but I will say this . . . in watching YouTubers for the last few years, I couldn’t stop the questions from bubbling up. If you follow the beauty industry closely enough, there are always hints of rumors swirling. But I wanted to dive into the psyche of someone who had lived their life online and in front of millions of people. What happened when they no longer wanted that life? What happened when something major happened to them, and suddenly everyone knew? Thus, Lizzie was born. To date, she might be the best heroine I’ve ever written.
