The Last Guy

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  My entire body heats, and I turn so I can face him. “I’ll never forget a moment of this. Not as long as I live.” Our eyes meet, and I can’t hold back any more. “I love you, Cade Hill.”

  Warmth fills his blue gaze, and he leans forward, capturing my lips with his. My mouth opens, and his tongue finds mine, teasing gently, claiming definitively. Cade Hill is my man. He’s my prince. He’s my Star-Lord, and I can’t even begin to understand how it happened.

  “It’s positive,” he says, pulling back.

  “What?” I’m slightly dazed and my lips are warm and well kissed.

  “The Beatles song. It’s positive. We should make more love. Then there’s more love to take.”

  My nose wrinkles. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

  He reaches up to cup my cheek, and all signs of humor leave his face. “I remember everything about you . . . every minute, every laugh, every sigh, every moan. I love you, Rebecca.”

  He’s never said my name that way, thick and heated. I have to blink fast. I don’t want to cry, but . . . Shit, I’m going to cry.

  His dark brow lowers. “What’s wrong?”

  Joy so strong it hurts fills my chest, expanding my lungs. “I’ve never known this kind of happy. I didn’t know it existed . . .”

  That dimple I love pierces his cheek as he smiles. He leans down and gives me another, longer kiss. I reach up to hold his face as we melt into each other, as our hearts move together in time.

  His lips trace my cheek, brushing against my ear. “We should make more love now.”

  Laughter bubbles in my throat, and I stretch my body against his. “You won’t get any arguments from me.”

  It’s out of this world how life can change on a dime. I’d gone from frustrated, ready to give up, to one stupid, wasted night that turned out to be the luckiest break of my life . . .

  With the last guy I ever expected . . .

  Right here, on this planet, making all my dreams come true.

  Cade

  ONE YEAR LATER

  I WAKE UP at the crack of dawn, way before I have to be at work, and Stone’s curled up next to me, her soft naked body glued to mine. She’s snoring delicately, and I grin and pull her even closer if that’s possible. She’d moved in to the penthouse about six months ago and every single day when I wake up next to her, a sense of rightness settles in my chest.

  She stretches out and mutters something about tacos, giving me a view of the curve of her hips and those luscious tits. My girl is so hot she could sell bikinis during a snowstorm. She’s fucking perfect with her creamy skin and long wavy hair. With a light touch, my hand traces the line of freckles on her nose, and she waves her hand in the air like she’s swatting a fly. She flips over on her stomach, and her arm flings out, smacking me in the face.

  Still, she doesn’t wake up.

  I chuckle.

  A bit zany, compassionate, funny, and crazy in the sack, I’m lucky she loves my ass—literally. She’s in love with my tight, muscular backside, and me, of course. I grin again, my permanent expression since we’d made up and she’d finalized her contract with KHOT, making her the nightly co-anchor with Matt and me.

  I think back to everything that’s happened over the past year. Marv had been fired and is now working as one of those goofball consultants he loves to listen to so much. Lots of travel and he was low man on the totem pole. Fitting. Savannah had resigned and is currently working at the Gap.

  Trent still works for Dad and is branching out to start new charities for other inner-city schools. He and Dad did some counseling to hash out the hateful things in their past. Their relationship isn’t a miracle turnaround—I didn’t expect it to be—but they do love each other and want to have each other in their lives.

  Coach Hart and Cheetah won the high school football championships this past November, and part of me likes to think we all played a part in getting that trophy.

  My phone buzzes on silent, and I scoop it up off the nightstand as I sit up on the side of the bed. It’s Chas.

  Morning, Killer. Hope your ass is awake. I’m tapping my heels in your lobby. Don’t you think it’s time you gave me a key?

  Shit. She’s early. Jerking up, I slip on last night’s hastily discarded football shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms I have to dig out of the drawer. It takes several minutes to find a pair because with Stone around, we’re naked most of the time.

  I slip out of the bedroom and head to the front door. Killer is nipping at my toes the entire way, but I ignore her and exit the apartment. I hop in the elevator and ride down to the lobby.

  The door opens, and I see Chas leaning against a marble column. The doorman is eyeing her fishnet hose, spiked red heels, and mini-skirt with a steely gaze. She straightens and swishes toward me holding the ends of a black cloak with a high fur collar.

  I wave at the doorman. “She’s with me, Bobby. Next time send her on up if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, Mr. Hill.” He gives me a short nod and turns back to the double-glassed doors, his expression blank.

  “You’re early—and very dramatic,” I say.

  She shrugs her tall frame in an effortless way as she makes her way over to me, the ends of the cloak flapping behind her. “Had to. Found out last night I have a face-to-face meeting with the bigwigs at Bloomingdale’s. Happened rather suddenly to be honest.”

  “Makeup, I assume?”

  She nods, a hint of nerves on her face—something I’ve never seen. “According to the voicemail they left me yesterday, they adore my new line of eye shadow.”

  I’m not surprised. Since we’d met, I’ve learned Chas’s work ethic is mostly work your ass off until you get someone to say yes. “You deserve it,” I say. “With those million hits on YouTube of you using your product, you can name your price.”

  She purses her lips. “Mercury is in retrograde again, and my horoscope did say I would make my fortune this month.”

  I laugh. Chas is Stone’s number one friend, which is why I’d enlisted her help with picking up a special package for me yesterday when I’d realized I wouldn’t be able to make the final pickup because I had to work late—with Stone.

  “Do you have it?”

  Chas nods and passes it to me. I take it, my hands suddenly sweaty. My heart somersaults as I peek inside.

  “You gonna hurl?”

  I tear my eyes off the gift—the one I’d carefully designed and selected months ago after Stone and I had come back from our spring break trip to Hawaii. “Maybe.”

  She studies me carefully and then after a few tics, her head does a quick bobble. “It doesn’t take a palm reading to see you guys are written in the stars. I knew it the second you walked in the Pussycat Club. Forever and ever, Amen.”

  I feel light-headed but squash it down. “Yeah,” I say and start backing toward the elevator. I’m anxious to get back to Stone. I don’t want her knowing anything about what I have planned. “Uh, good luck today. Let us know how it goes.”

  She’s already turning to the door and sending me a jaunty little wave. “Bye, Star-Lord.”

  I head back up to the penthouse, hop in the shower, and dress. Stone is still sacked out, and I know it’s because we were up until the wee hours of the morning making love. I have a shit ton of work waiting on me, so I dress quietly, writing her a quick note before I walk out the door.

  You look so peaceful I didn’t wake you. See you at work.

  Love, Cade.

  It’s brief, but it’s all my brain can come up with.

  Like Chas, I’m nervous and need some time to process what I’m doing.

  I get to work, and the day drags by until Stone shows up around eleven.

  By five thirty, I’m running from Vicky’s office and texting Kevin at the same time. It’s almost time for a huge story we’ve all been working on.

  “Wait.” I grab Stone’s hand just before we take our chairs behind the modern-looking chrome and wood desk.

&
nbsp; The cameraperson starts the countdown—sixty seconds until we’re live.

  I study her intently. She’s wearing a royal blue pencil skirt and a V-neck sweater in a lighter color that’s soft and fuzzy.

  “What’s up?” she asks.

  I rub the back of my neck, searching for the right words. There are so many things I could say . . .

  “Cade?” She tilts her chin and studies me. “What are you thinking?”

  “Truthfully?” My gaze skates down her form. “How fucking great you’d look barefoot and pregnant.”

  That wasn’t what I meant to say.

  She blushes and smiles up at me. “That can be arranged.”

  I touch her face, my thumb sweeping across her cheek as my hand cups her nape. I’m dying to kiss her.

  Twenty seconds.

  The cameraperson is waving frantically at us, but I don’t give a shit.

  I gather myself, taking deep breaths.

  “Cade?”

  The words come out in a rush. “I want you to know that since I met you, I dig The Little Mermaid. Ariel and Eric have a great love story. In fact, you’re my mermaid. I love Taco Bell because of you, which is saying a fucking lot because it’s not good for you, and we all know it’s not a hundred percent beef. I love jogging in the park with you. I love how you fall asleep, and your arm automatically curls around me. I love cooking for you.” I pause. “I never thought I’d be this fucking consumed with a person every second—”

  “Five seconds, people! I can’t have empty seats!” Vicky calls, her voice a bit shrill. Matt is already seated, waiting patiently.

  Stone is transfixed by my words and reaches up and kisses me on the cheek. “Ah, Star-Lord, I love you so much. Now let’s go do the news.”

  I swallow, nod, and guide her to her seat. She’s watching me the entire time, a bemused but baffled expression on her face. I take my seat on the other side of Matt.

  The show’s upbeat and peppy music comes on, and the camera is pointed straight at Matt as he reads from the teleprompter. He takes the first headline about a shooting while Stone jumps in with a story about a robbery of a local pharmacy. It’s a normal news day.

  “And now to Cade Hill for a rundown of the college games this weekend,” Stone is saying.

  The camera swivels at me, and I dig fucking deep to keep cool.

  Put your game face on and stay calm.

  I shoot a cocky grin at the camera. “College football can wait a few minutes, folks. First, here at KHOT, we’d like to celebrate an anniversary that’s very special to us. It’s been exactly a year since our very own Rebecca Fieldstone was promoted to anchor. Last month she was voted Favorite Anchor by the Houston Herald. It’s a big day for her, and well”—I smile sheepishly and glance over at her—“we prepared a little surprise to commemorate how much the viewers and the staff at KHOT love her.”

  The view switches to film Kevin has spent the last two weeks shooting.

  The first shot is of Petal wearing a sparkly tiara and a purple fluffy dress. “Happy anniversary, Miss. Fieldstone. I’m glad you’re not on commercials anymore. Remember to read To Kill a Mockingbird!”

  The next shot is of Albert from the children’s zoo holding Pixie. “Say hi to the lady who made you famous on the internet,” Albert tells Pixie. I hear Stone stifle a groan as Pixie reaches up and snatches his hat off his head then puts it on her own.

  Phil and Sissy show up on screen. They’re standing in front of Paulette’s, the restaurant where we’d had our dates. “Thank you for introducing us, Rebecca!” Sissy calls. “We’re engaged!”

  Phil does a weird thing with his hands. “Qapla!”

  Stone giggles and gives me a long look as the film rolls. “Did you come up with this?” she whispers.

  I nod.

  Her face softens and she gives me a look—that look—the one that tells me she loves me.

  Then Trent and Chas take over the screen. They’re standing arm-in-arm outside, just at the corner of the Pussycat Club. Thankfully Kevin had edited out the racy marquee.

  There are other quick shots of people we work with blowing kisses and wishing her well—Vicky, Kevin, the beat reporters, my mom and dad.

  Then, there’s a montage of photos of us . . . at Christmas . . . in Hawaii. It’s pretty fucking good, and emotion wells up in my chest.

  It fades, and the entire news crew erupts in applause. With her eyes misty, she’s composing herself just as I stand and walk around the front of the desk to her side. I offer my hand and she takes it, her eyes looking around the room trying to figure out what’s going on. I lead her a few feet away as the camera follows us. I get down on one knee.

  She gasps as I pull out the velvet box Chas had delivered. I open it to reveal a three carat round diamond with an emerald nestled on each side to match her eyes.

  I gaze up at her. “Rebecca Leigh Fieldstone, I love you. You brighten everything, and I can’t imagine a day without you. Will you be the last girl for me and be mine forever?”

  A tremulous smile spreads across her face. “Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes!”

  I stand, and we kiss as the camera rolls.

  Everything is full circle.

  She’s mine.

  I’m hers.

  Her last guy.

  Forever.

  THE END.

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  THE ONE TO HOLD SERIES

  One to Hold (#1—Derek & Melissa)

  One to Keep (#2—Patrick & Elaine)

  One to Protect (#3—Derek & Melissa)

  One to Love (#4—Kenny & Slayde)

  One to Leave (#5—Stuart & Mariska)

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  Read an Excerpt from Fake Fiancée by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  Fake engaged to the hottest quarterback in the country? SCORE.

  They say nothing compares to your first kiss,

  But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.

  Our second kiss . . . that one was REAL.

  He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.

  He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.

  Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,

  He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,

  And he’d never get another piece.

  A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist . . .

  And I was lost.

  I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.

  I forgot we weren’t REAL.

  Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist,

  Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.

  Chapter 1

  Sunny

  A WARM SUMMER night.

  Music on the radio.

  A young g
irl driving a red Mustang convertible.

  It sounded perfect—only the evening was humid as hell, the radio was stuck on a stupid gospel station, and the car, well, it was stolen.

  Chewing on my nails, I debated on pulling off to the side of the road and putting the top down, but this wasn’t a pleasure ride. Obviously. I had to get out of Snowden, North Carolina before I lost my nerve to run away.

  An image of my father loomed. He’d pop a blood vessel when he discovered I’d not only stolen his car but also most of the money from his wallet. I pictured his barrel chest and the way his thick fingers clenched when he was angry. He’d be grabbing his Bible and snapping his belt up. If he found me, he’d—

  Stop.

  I shook myself, focusing on Atlanta, Georgia. I had family there on my mom’s side, people my father refused to talk to. I’d be safe . . .

  For the hundredth time, I checked the rearview mirror and saw nothing but black highway, pine trees, and mountains. No one was following me, and I hadn’t met a car in half an hour. I could almost imagine I was the only person alive in the world.

  I fiddled with the radio station but got nothing but static. Glancing back at the road, a raccoon dashed in front of me, and I swerved.

  Wrong move.

  The tires locked and the car went into a tailspin. I froze up, helpless as I was pressed against the seat of my Tilt-A-Whirl. A thud. Screeching metal. The car ground to a halt against a guardrail that lined a narrow bridge.

  Shit!

  I ran shaking hands over my face and the rest of my body. I was injury free except for my chest aching from the seatbelt catching me. No airbag had gone off and the engine was still running. Thank God. Maybe if I made it to Knoxville, I could ditch the car and buy a bus ticket to—

  Everything went to hell.

  The car lurched forward with a groan that sent chills up my spine as the guardrail gave in to the weight of the front end. My world tipped and then froze again. I could see the murky lake below rippling in the moonlight. I recoiled in my seat, willing the car to not move another inch.