by Addison Fox
Walker couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed a New Year’s Eve more.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck, pleased at the way she arched into him. The moments they’d spent together—getting to know each other, learning each other’s intricacies—were more precious to him than he’d ever thought possible.
“Walker,” she whispered as she snuggled down against him.
“Hmmm?”
“What’s in that bag?”
“What?” He glanced down at her, confused as to what she was talking about.
“The bag. The plastic one over there that you set down on the counter this morning after you picked up bagels.”
As his eyes alighted on the bag, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “Hang on. I’ll show you.”
He disentangled himself from her, but not before possessing her mouth in a searing kiss. The dark cherry flavor of the wine they’d enjoyed with dinner mingled with a taste that was exclusively Sloan and he knew he’d never get enough of her. Abstractly, he wondered why he’d ever worried about it.
Crossing the room, he reached for the bag and came back to kneel in front of her.
“I was thinking about something you said. Before you left my sorry ass in your hotel room.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a package of New Year’s Eve party horns.
“The horns.” Her bright blue eyes widened in understanding as a small smile played around the edges of her mouth.
“I almost forgot them and here it is about ready to hit midnight.”
Ripping open the package, he handed her one horn before grabbing one of his own. Together, they watched the seconds drop on the clock as the new year drew closer.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!” They counted off the seconds, hands entwined, and in that moment he knew he’d never looked more forward to the start of a new year.
“Three! Two! One!” they shouted in unison.
As the screams of happy revelers and bleating horns echoed from the TV, their horns fell discarded to the ground.
Walker wrapped his arms around Sloan and sealed the new year—and their love—with a kiss. A variety of emotions burst in his chest as their mouths met.
Promise and passion.
Unity and forgiveness.
Commitment and consideration.
And underneath it all there was love.
It was the taste of forever. And Walker couldn’t wait to get started.
Ready for another visit to Indigo, Alaska? Read on for a peek at the next book in the Alaskan Nights series,
Come Fly with Me
Available from Signet Eclipse in November 2012.
New York City
New Year’s Eve
Grier Thompson lined up the champagne flutes in neat, even rows. Her CPA’s heart gloried in the precise organization and order to be found in the small attention to detail. By her calculation, it would take about three and a half bottles of bubbly to fill all the flutes to properly ring in the new year.
The sounds of her mother’s annual New Year’s Eve bash swelled from the other side of the swinging kitchen door as she poured glass after glass, but the happy laughter only pushed her further into her own gloomy thoughts. She’d believed coming home to New York for the holidays would be just the thing to shake her out of the doldrums, but unlike her accurate champagne estimate, she’d sorely miscalculated this trip.
Without warning, images of the previous New Year’s Eve assailed her. She’d attended the same party and smiled and laughed with all the people she’d known for years, a bright diamond sparkling on her left hand and a smart, handsome fiancé by her side.
God, so much had changed in the ensuing twelve months.
The fiancé she’d looked forward to marrying was no longer a part of her life.
The firm she’d excelled at had abandoned her without so much as a good-bye.
And the father who’d ignored her for her entire life had come calling in the form of a contested inheritance in the far-flung reaches of Alaska.
“And now you’ve got an annoying case of self-pity to boot,” she mumbled to herself as she reached for a glass. “Which is about as appealing as an infection.”
“What did you say, darling?” The door swung open to reveal her mother’s oldest and dearest friend, Monica, as she floated into the kitchen, a surprisingly bright swath of feathers adorning the crown of her head. “I heard you talking to someone about a rather unpleasant matter.”
Grier almost choked on her sip of champagne as she glanced quickly around the kitchen looking for inspiration. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Her eyes alighted on one of the bottles. “Just muttering about that last cork. What a beast it was.”
“Of course, darling.” Monica’s bright blue gaze was sharp and radiated understanding, but she said nothing more as she reached for a large tray stacked on the far counter. “I thought you could use some help with the champagne. The natives are getting restless out there.”
Grier glanced at the clock and saw she had less than ten minutes to go until the new year.
Monica handed Grier one of the two trays set aside for this specific purpose and busied herself arranging glasses. “Your mother said your friend, Sloan, was up in Alaska with you.”
An image of her best friend bundled head to toe in a quilted coat made Grier smile. “It was nice to have her there for a few weeks.”
“And she’s getting married, too?” Monica’s voice was casual, but Grier couldn’t quite put her finger on something that hovered beneath the question. “To the town lawyer, right?”
“Yes, to Walker Montgomery.”
“Isn’t he your lawyer, too?”
Grier busied herself with her own tray, forcing Monica to ask the questions. “He is.”
“How’s that all going? You know your mother; she doesn’t say much. I swear, since she’s been rattling on about this party for a month, there just hasn’t been room to talk about anything else. I’ve never been so glad to ring in a new year.”
Do I ever know my mother, Grier thought to herself. Patrice Thompson was a piece of work. One of New York’s most well-established blue bloods—“Patty-cakes” to all who knew and loved her—she wouldn’t deign to discuss anything that delved beneath the surface. Or caused pain. Or even remotely indicated she and her daughter had a family secret.
“It’s moving slowly.”
Monica’s smile was gentle when she spoke. “A side product of all that cold weather?”
The champagne flutes sat in tidy rows on her tray but Grier still fiddled with them to make the rows perfect. “More like a half sister who doesn’t want me there and who’s contesting the will.”
“Grier.” Monica’s concerned tone boiled over to something unmistakably protective as she pulled her into a hug. “I had no idea.”
Grier couldn’t ignore the warmth—or the comfort—that hit her even through the cool sequins of Monica’s dress. “Of course not. It’s not like Mom to share that sort of thing.”
“Your mother is reserved, darling. You know that.”
It was an oft-repeated phrase throughout her childhood and Grier couldn’t help but hear it as a cop-out. Reserved was an excuse, a way of interacting with people that allowed a person to skip over the hard parts of life with a stoic demeanor and an unwillingness to acknowledge that anything was wrong.
A loud ding broke the moment as the buzzer on her phone went off. She and Monica turned at the same time to look at where it lay on the counter.
Suddenly Grier was swamped by a wave of pleasure as she read the text that had appeared on the smooth screen.
WISHING YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR. WHEN YOU GET BACK TO INDIGO WE NEED TO PICK UP WHERE WE LEFT OFF. I’M NOT WALKING AWAY, GRIER.
A sly smile lit Monica’s face and Grier knew she’d seen the message. “That’s a rather bold way to wish someone a happy new year.”
Grier reached for the phone and turned it facedown on the counter. “It’s nothing.”
Monica’s smi
le only grew broader. “You sure about that? Because that sounds like unfinished business to me. And I’ve found in my lengthy observations of the males of our species, unfinished business is a rather enjoyable pastime.”
“It’s really nothing.”
“Actually, my dear,” Monica reached over and ran a hand down her back, “that blush riding high on your cheeks suggests otherwise. But I won’t press you any further. I also understand the need to keep a secret or two.”
When Grier didn’t say anything, Monica added, “It also seems like a rather lovely way to start a new year. Text messages full of promise and, if I’m not mistaken, perhaps passion and determination.”
With that, Monica picked up her tray of champagne and headed through the swinging doors and into the party. Grier reached for the phone, intent on putting it in her pocket before grabbing the tray, but she couldn’t resist one more glance at the message.
I’M NOT WALKING AWAY.
Mick.
On a soft sigh, Grier followed Monica’s path through the swinging doors. She couldn’t quite muster up the same degree of revelry as the other partygoers, but she had to admit that her spirits were higher than when she’d walked into the kitchen to pour the champagne.
After the year she’d had, she’d barely thought herself capable of feeling anything. Yet just the thought of him—all six foot, two inches of rugged Alaskan male— made her body quiver as anticipation hummed in her veins.
He was the one thing she missed from her stay in Indigo, and even after time away and the distance, her powerful response to him had her body growing warm and her breath catching in her chest.
A loud burst of laughter interrupted her thoughts as she lifted her champagne flute to match the other partygoers.
If she touched the phone in her pocket as the entire room screamed, “Happy New Year,” well, that would be her little secret. Maybe it was time Grier Thompson, New York blue blood, acted on a bit of her reckless Alaskan roots.
Also by Addison Fox
THE SONS OF THE ZODIAC SERIES
Warrior Ascended
Warrior Avenged
Warrior Betrayed
