Morning Star
Page 26
He comes toward me, looping his arms around my waist. “Yeah, I don’t know how good of a dad you’d be, either.”
I punch his shoulder and tip my head back. He leans down and kisses my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin. A shiver runs up my body.
“Shall we christen our new home?” he asks.
“We’ll just have to do it again when we move in.” I wink.
“Devilish girl.” He chuckles. “I’m okay with that.”
He presses me up against the wall, and sheetrock dust falls on our heads. We both look up, pausing.
Dalton says, “Maybe the car would be…”
“Cleaner?”
“Safer.” He brushes the dust from my shoulders, the top of my head, my face.
“Agreed.”
He takes my hand and leads me out of the house, only to stop short. Jackson leans on the car, his arms crossed. Dalton automatically stiffens. They haven’t sought each other out much—the two grind gears worse than a pair of siblings—and I know that Dalton has been relieved at the limited contact.
He admitted to me that he felt like Skye abandoned them when things were rough. Everyone had come back from overseas and just… scattered. For a boy who’s known nothing but people leaving, it hit him hard. Of course, he’d never say that to Jackson. He’d never voice it in such terms. Yet the feeling is there.
Dalton clears his throat. “What can we do for you, Skye?”
“Zach called.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Please, go on,” I say. The leaves are starting to change color. It amplifies the fact that I believe we made the right decision coming here.
“He’s going to be calling you to go to Chicago. Before you freak out, you’re pretty much his only hope.”
“Oh my god,” Dalton mutters. “Really? You came to champion Zach asking for a favor?”
He shrugs. “If Delia wasn’t pregnant, I’d say go for it. But since she is, and you two are just…”
“Trying to build a home,” I insert.
Jackson coughs. “Griffin can’t go either. They’re driving to the airport as we speak.”
I roll my eyes. Some days I see why Dalton can’t stand Jackson. He’s just so… Righteous. And the fact that Hadley is going to law school in Paris? It’s surreal. If I can get Dalton on a plane again, we’re going everywhere.
“So…”
“Fine,” I snap.
Dalton glares at me, and I pat his arm.
I tell Jackson, “We’ll manage on a plane. Or maybe we’ll drive. But you’re watching Shooter for us.”
Our dog hears his name and trots over, his tail wagging. I bend down and scratch his butt.
Jackson snorts. “Glad to see you taking charge, Grace.”
“Hey, can it.” Dalton hooks his arm around my neck, pulling me into him. “We’ll see you two for dinner, and not a second before that.”
Jackson sighs, but he turns and climbs into his truck without comment.
“His old rust-red truck shit the bed, so he bought a new old rust-red truck,” Dalton mumbles to me. “Fucking idiot.”
I laugh. “It’s nice that he knows what he wants.”
He kisses the top of my head, and we walk to his car tangled like a pretzel.
“And do you?” Dalton asks.
“Do I what?”
“Know what you want,” he says.
“Yeah, most of the time. Do you?” I squint at him, hoping to see through his defenses. “With the retirement and… whatever other storms you have brewing in your head.”
He smiles. “When this is all said and done, I wouldn’t mind having a safe place for people to land. Like Safe Haven. Except smaller.”
I climb into the car and wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. Once he’s in, I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I think that’s a great idea. But we might need a bigger house.”
Over the next week, there’s a flurry of action. Dalton hires a company and works with them, completely gutting the inside of our new house. I do my best to help, but I’ll admit that my attempts are more superficial. This type of window, that paint color, this front door.
“We can’t do hardwood floors,” Dalton says one day. He leans down and scooping up the samples I had spread across the kitchen. “They’re horrible, hard to maintain, creaking things.”
“So you want to do a fake floor?” I ask, pressing my hand to my chest.
“We have options,” he says. “We can go to the store and pick out something more… stable.”
I sniff. “Fine. But what about this tile for the bathroom…”
And off we went, racing toward decorating before we’d even finished the new staircase.
And then we get a call. Well, I get a call.
“Good morning.” I stir my coffee. “You’re up early.”
Zach snorts. “No, I’m not. You are though—for a regular person.”
I sigh. “I have to meet the construction supervisor at the house in twenty. Dalton is sleeping, finally, so…”
What I don’t say is that therapy is going well for both of us. We see different people in the same building, and each of us is working through our shit. It’s actually helping.
“Right, he sent pictures of it the other day. It looks like it’s coming on great.”
There’s a pause, and I nod to myself. I knew this call wasn’t just social. When has Zach ever called just to chat with me? Answer: never. It’d be kind of weird if he did.
“Jackson mention I need someone to cover the gym?” he asks in a rough voice.
Hmm, someone isn’t good at asking for favors.
“He did.”
“And he also mentioned that you and Dalton might be available?”
“I’m assuming you’re asking me because of his thing with planes,” I say. “And you want me to just say yes so he has no choice.”
“Oh, come on, Grace. It isn’t every day that I ask for stuff. Hell, I came to your rescue more than once, right?”
I groan. “Blackmail. You realize that’s what—”
He chuckles.
“Damn,” I mutter. “That’s cold.”
“So, I’ll see you here soon? Preferably today?”
“What—”
“I already called Reece. He’s on his way up to grab you guys.”
I roll my eyes, but secretly, I’m thrilled. We took a train up from Florida, spending our nights curled up on a tiny mattress and our days gawking at the sights. This will be my first time on a plane. Even if Dalton is terrified, I’m thrilled.
“Okay,” I say. “If I show up alone, it’s because I failed to convince Dalton of the validity of your argument.”
He snickers. “If you show up alone, it’s because you need to work on your negotiation skills.”
“See you tonight, I guess,” I mumble, hanging up on him. I take a big gulp of my coffee and dump the rest down the drain. I go back upstairs, steeling myself. I think I’ll need to be my most persuasive to get Dalton to get on a plane, even for one of his friends.
DALTON
Fucking Reece.
Fucking Zach.
I have a death grip on Grace’s hand, and she won’t stop laughing. At me.
It’s her first time on a plane, but nooo, she’s fine. She’s having a ball. I’m sitting here sweating, terror holding my limbs hostage. The plane jolts, because I think Reece likes to find the bumpiest path through the sky, and I grit my teeth.
“What the fuck, Reece?” I yell.
Grace blinks at me. “Don’t take it out on him,” she whispers. “It’s just the wind.”
“I think I like her, D,” Reece hollers back. “And yeah, going into Chicago is always a bit dicey.”
I groan as the plane swoops sideways. “This is normal? You fucking suck at flying.”
How they managed to get me on a small plane, I’ll never know. Oh, yeah, Grace kissed me senseless when I saw it. We left out of the tiny airport near Bitterwood, New York. The house is coming along nicely, a
nd autumn is in full swing. The weather is getting colder.
And then Zach asked if we would visit, and Grace said yes.
Her yes involved a plane, and Reece, and a tiny freaking runway, and landing in a windy fucking city.
“I hate both of you right now.” My eyes are closed, my grip on Grace’s hand is tight enough that I’m surprised she isn’t complaining, and I’m sweating. Profusely.
“We’ll be on the ground in five.”
Five minutes is eons in terror-land.
“Hey, Reece?” Grace asks.
I open one eye.
“Yeah?”
“Just, err, don’t look back.”
He coughs over a laugh and murmurs his acknowledgement. Grace undoes her seat belt. I want to restrain her, and suddenly her weight settles on my lap.
“Hold me so I don’t go flying when we land,” she murmurs in my ear. She chases her words with a nip to my earlobe.
My dick hardens. I grab on to her hips, keeping her on me. She leans forward, so we’re chest to chest, and I’m sure she can feel my rapid pulse.
Her hands slide around my neck, into my hair, and she kisses me softly. I push into it, opening our mouths. Our tongues slide together, igniting a fire in my chest. I want more. I’m the greediest man alive, wanting all that she’ll give me.
If Reece wasn’t three fucking feet away, I’m sure she would have unbuckled my pants and had me inside her already. She grinds her hips on mine, desperate for friction, but we have to settle for our mouths.
She grabs my shoulders as the plane suddenly hits the ground, engines whining. I wrap my arms around her waist, hugging her to me, and she laughs.
“Hell, I’d fly again if we get to do that every time,” I murmur. I will away my erection as she climbs off me, returning to her seat. “Grace Leigh Jones, you may have cured me of my fear of flying.”
She snorts. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Minutes later, we get off the plane and into a waiting car. It takes us straight through downtown Chicago, traffic crawling, and parks outside a tall building. The first floor is… Sucker Punch.
I grin at Grace, pulling her out. “That’s what they called him,” I say, bouncing on my feet. “He always fucking talked about owning a boxing gym. I knew he had got his own place, but… damn. It’s real.”
Zach greets us at the door, slapping my back and hugging Grace. “Welcome,” he says. He shifts on his feet, and his smile is… off.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
His smile drops. “What?”
“You look like you’re constipated.”
“Ew,” Grace mutters. Still, she squints at him. “Yeah, you seem tense actually.”
“Well… I got myself into a little bit of a situation.”
I rub my hands together. Music to my ears. But then I pause. “This couldn’t happen over the phone?”
He looks away. “I need you guys to run my shop. Just for like, two days. Three, tops.”
“Why? What’s wrong with your other guys?”
“Because when the police come asking where I am, I trust you to lie.”
Grace shakes her head. “Spill. The whole story.”
He frowns. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. And Griffin and Hadley just left for Paris, and Delia’s further along in her pregnancy, and Mason—”
“Okay,” I snap. I hold up my hands. “Okay, it’s fine. We were just in the middle of a house renovation, but yeah, we’d love to stay in Chicago for a few days. We get to crash at your place?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re not going to tell us anything?” Grace asks. She sticks out her lower lip, a ridiculous pout. She’s never pouted at me before—except that one time when she wanted hardwood floors, and I really wanted the… Ugh. We’ve become that couple.
“I’m just helping a friend,” Zach says. “A friend in trouble.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and his words suddenly hit me. “Your girl-space-friend. The one you mentioned.”
“Well…”
“Oh my god,” Grace squeaks, jumping up and down. “Zach! Go get the girl, buddy!”
I lean back and burst into laughter. Zach’s ears turn red, and he looks at the ceiling. Maybe God can help save him from Grace—my soon-to-be fiancée—and her excitement. “Good luck, man. We’ll keep your gym running.”
“Great. You’ve gotta be here every morning at four-thirty to open the doors.”
My jaw hits the floor. “Seriously?”
He grins. “Yep. Have fun.” He puts the keys in my hand, quickly showing me the one for the door and the one to his apartment… and then he’s gone. Out the door.
I glance at Grace.
She frowns. “He just left?”
“I guess he has more important things to do,” I say. I walk around the big boxing ring in the center, to the stretching mats in the back. “Lock that door, would you?”
The gym is closed on Sundays, and the day is young. So really, we have the rest of the afternoon to do… whatever we want.
My dick is hardening again as my mind wanders back to our plane make-out session. Grace wanders back toward me, trailing her hands over the ropes. When she sees me, her eyes light up. She bites her lip, and I hope she can read my mind.
Fuck. Me.
She starts peeling off her clothes as she walks, dropping them on the floor. Shirt. Boots. Jeans. Bra. Panties.
All that’s left is her crosshairs necklace, gleaming between her breasts.
“You know what would be a good accessory?” I ask.
She raises her eyebrows. I think it’s the last question she expected me to ask. “Nipple clamps?”
I smile, but my palms are sweating again. “Yes, but not what immediately came to mind.”
“What, then?”
I pull the ring out of my pocket and hold it out to her. She stares at it, and I wonder if alarm bells are going off in her head. If this ring—simple and dainty, with a single, tiny diamond on top—reminds her of Marco’s ring. I went for something that fit her personality better. A classic. Not too flashy. But maybe, judging from the way her mouth parts, she wanted flashy.
“Holy crap,” she whispers. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me something? Not just hand me a…”
“I didn’t want to ask if you were going to say no,” I say, shifting.
“Just ask me, Dalton. Please.”
I take a deep breath, walking toward her slowly. “Marry me, Grace?”
She nods, taking a short leap and launching into my arms. “Yes. Of course. Kiss me, Kavanaugh,” she orders.
“I’ll do much more than that,” I murmur. I slide the ring onto her finger, pausing a split second to admire it, and then it’s back to business. After all, I have a naked girl in my arms, and she was just crazy enough to agree to marriage. To marry me. I lower us to the floor, trailing kisses across her body. “I can do this forever.” And ever and ever and ever…
* * *
END OF BOOK THREE
Looking for more dark and twisted deliciousness? Check out Wicked Dreams, available now!
Continue on for more of S. Massery’s books!
Also by S. Massery
Fallen Royals Series (Dark High School Bully Romance)
Wicked Dreams
Wicked Games
Wicked Promises
Vicious Desire
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Broken Mercenaries Series (Romantic Suspense)
Blood Sky
Angel of Death
Morning Star
* * *
Something Special Series (Contemporary Romance)
Something Special
Something Sacred
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For a complete list of books on all retailers, please visit my website:
http://www.smassery.com/books
Coming Soon
In Dark Matrimony
A dark mafia arranged marriage anthology
Releases November 10, 2020
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DeSantis Mafia Duet
A dark mafia arranged marriage romance
Releases spring 2021
Pre-order book 1 now
Acknowledgments
To my wonderful beta readers, Erica, Anelise, and Amber: your input and insight is invaluable. Thank you for your time and effort.
To Elle Thorpe: thank you for your continued wisdom and advice, and general camaraderie.
To my parents: what can I say? There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude.
To Rebecca: ever reliable and seldom doubtful of my abilities (at least, outwardly!)—thank you, friend.
Thank you to my editors, Emmy of Studio ENP and Paige of Paige Sayer Proofreading, for consistent excellence.
And finally, to YOU, my dear readers: I am grateful for you and your support. It means the world to me.
xoxo,
Sara
About the Author
S. Massery is a romantic suspense and contemporary romance author. She lives in Western Massachusetts with her dog, Alice.
* * *
Before adventuring into the world of writing, she went to college in Boston and held a wide variety of jobs—including working on a dude ranch in Wyoming (a personal highlight). She has a love affair with coffee and chocolate. When S. Massery isn’t writing, she can be found devouring books, playing outside with her dog, or trying to make people smile.
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