by Zoey Derrick
“You’re about a minute apart.” The nurse sets about changing Cami’s sheets and then she leaves, saying, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. We will check your progress again and go from there.”
The nurse leaves, and Cami and I are alone.
“Push, baby,” I tell her, and she looks at me; she’s scared. “You’re doing great.” No need to tell her that I’m my own mess right now. We’re so close, but we’ve been so close for over an hour. It’s now nearly two in the morning and she’s been here since just before four.
“You’re doing great, Cami,” Dr. Burgess encourages her. “You’re almost there.”
Cami pushes again, and I see Dr. Burgess get a little more excited.
“Tristan, do you want to watch?” I look at Cami and she nods. I take a step toward the end of her bed, closer to her knee, and I look over. “Okay, Cami, push again. Let’s show Tristan your baby’s head. Ready?” Cami nods and braces herself to push harder. I can see the determination in her eyes. “Push.”
Cami grabs her thighs and pushes with all her might, and I watch as a messy yet hair-streaked head slowly appears, and I’m overcome. “Again, Cami, just like that one,” Dr. Burgess encourages her again, and she does, putting everything she can into it, and our baby’s head descends a little further. When Cami relaxes, though, the head doesn’t go back in. “Cami, one more push and we should see a head.” Cami catches her breath and her might, and she pushes, and out comes our baby’s head. “Hang on, Cami.” I watch as Dr. Burgess goes to work with one of those ball suckers, clearing out mouth and nose. “All right, Cami, one more push and you’ll be holding your baby in your arms. One, two, three.”
She musters up any strength she may have left and pushes hard, and just like that our child is born and the room’s silence is pierced by a screaming wail. I look at Cami and we’re both in tears.
“Congratulations, you have a baby boy.”
Dr. Burgess places our son on Cami’s chest. The nurse puts a light blue cap on his head and wipes him down. “He’s perfect,” I say to Cami, who can’t pull her eyes away from him. I kiss her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
We take a moment to enjoy him in her arms, just for a few minutes, then the nurse takes him away to clean him up. I kiss Cami and we put our foreheads together, staring into each other’s eyes, lost in our little miracle moment.
“I love you. So much.” I kiss her.
“Ditto.”
My heart is swollen so large I feel like it will burst with the unconditional love I feel for my wife and for our son. The last year has been a crazy rollercoaster that has become the start of something beautiful. I’m no longer seeking, finding, or chasing love’s wings. They are here with me, now and forever.
FIFTY
******
Bobby
******
It’s just after one and I need something to do. I thought for sure this self-imposed sentence on a remote island would be better than this, but there are days where I really go stir crazy. Today is one of those days. It is the middle of August, and I haven’t heard from Cameron since the middle of May. I gather that things are going well because Tristan has been lighting up the headlines. There is a lot of praise coming to him for his upcoming movies. But I’m interested in the one that he’s finished filming recently.
When I saw the information I was floored. I had no idea he was interested in producing or in writing. But this one, Finding Forever, seems to be one for the ages. The release date is scheduled for later this year. But I have no doubt that all of this attention is keeping Cameron busier than she was before.
I’m saddened by the fact that I haven’t heard anything in regards to Baby Michaels.
I hear Alfred open the door.
“What is it, Alfred?”
“A package, sir.” A package, that’s odd. Not something he’s received since moving to Carnealeon.
Alfred brings the envelope into the living room where I’m sitting. I take a look at the address and then at where it comes from. It just says Los Angeles, and it is addressed to Bob.
I tear back the perforated tab to open it. It’s a flat, eight-by-ten size envelope, and I look inside. There is an envelope inside. Removing the envelope from the larger one, I notice handwriting and I look at it.
Grandpa Bobby.
I lift the lip of the envelope to find a card.
Birth Announcement
Mr. & Mrs Tristan Michaels are proud to announce the birth of their son
Jaden Robert Michaels
born May 29th, 2013, 1:56 a.m.
weight: 7lbs, 8oz
21.5 inches long
There is a pictures included on the card, and I stare at the beautiful baby boy. He looks a lot like Cameron did when she was born. I look again at the date. That was more than two months ago.
“How did I not hear about this — in the news, at the very least?”
“Because we’re good at keeping secrets.” I jump and stand up. Standing at the entrance to my living room is my daughter, holding onto a small blue bundle. Her husband, Tristan, is standing behind her.
“I told you not to come here.”
“I know, but I thought that you might like to see your grandson, and the house is not yet finished.” She takes a few steps in my direction and I meet her halfway. I kiss her forehead, and she hands me her son.
I take him in my hands and I immediately start humming; it’s the same tune I hummed for Cameron when she was born. I look at Jaden and he is beautiful. I can see both Tristan and Cami in him and he’s so precious. I kiss his forehead.
“I’ve been wondering where she got that song.” I look at Tristan. “Now I know.”
I look at Cami and then back to Tristan and then to my grandson. My heart swells with the love I’ve missed, the love I’ve always thought I needed to feel when it came to my daughter, and she, along with her husband, have given me that unconditional love.
The End
About Zoey
Amazon and iTunes Best Selling Author Zoey Derrick comes from Glendale, Arizona. Zoey, was a mortgage underwriter by day and is now a paranormal, romance and erotica novelist full-time. She writes stories as hot as the desert sun itself. It is this passion that drips off of her work, bringing excitement to anyone who enjoys a good and sensual love story.
Not only does she aim to take her readers on an erotic dance that lasts the night, it allows her to empty her mind of stories we all wish were true.
Her stories are hopeful yet true to life, skillfully avoiding melodrama and the unrealistic, bringing her gripping Erotica only closer to the heart of those that dare dipping into it.
The intimacy of her fantasies that she shares with her readers is thrilling and encouraging, climactic yet full of suspense. She is a loving mistress, up for anything, of which any reader is doomed to return to again and again.
Stalk Zoey
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No Prince Charming Nook
USA Today Bestseller Angel Payne
and exciting new romance talent Victoria Blue
are excited to present
No Prince Charming
Secrets of Stone, Book 1
Available Now!
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-prince-charming-angel-payne/1119473762?ean=2940149582723
SPECIAL INTRO EXCERPT
Prologue
April
Claire
Oh my God.
The words sprinted through my head, over and over, as I prodded at my lips in assurance I wasn’t dreaming. Or hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a really crazy way. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was suddenly contorted.
Oh. My. God.
What the
hell had just happened?
Forget my lips. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had dental work done, tingling in all the places his lips had touched moments ago—which had been everywhere.
My mind raced, trying to match the erratic beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager, so I repeated myself. Because that helped, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
It was all because of that man. That dictatorial, demanding…
Nerve-numbing, bone melting…
Man.
Who really knew how to deliver a kiss.
Hell. That kiss.
Okay, by this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d been everything before. But after what we’d just done, I’d be awake for long hours tonight. Long hours. Shaking with need…shivering with fear.
I pressed the call button for the elevator with trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just emerged from, I reconsidered pushing the buzzer next to it, instead. The black lacquer panel around the button was still smudged by the angry fingerprints I’d left when arriving here not more than thirty minutes ago—answering his damn summons.
Yeah. He’d “summoned” me. And like a breathless backstage groupie, I’d dropped everything and come. Why? He was my hemlock. He could be nothing else.
I was even more pissed now. At him. At me. At the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone now, all in answer to one tormenting question.
If Killian Stone kissed like that, what could he do to the rest of my body?
No. That kind of thinking was dangerous. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if the air conditioner just kicked on at full power.
It had been a while since I’d been with a man. At least like…that.
Okay, it had been a long while.
For the last three years, career had come before all else. After the disaster I simply called The Nick Years, Dad had fought hard to help rebuild my spirit, including the doors he finagled open for me. Wasting those opportunities in favor of relationships wasn’t an option. My focus had paid off, leading to a coveted position at Asher and Associates PR, where I’d quickly advanced to the elite field team for Andrea Asher herself. The six of us, including Andrea and her daughter, Margaux, were called corporate America’s “miracle cover stick.” We were brought in when the blemishes were too big and horrid for in-house PR specialists, hired on a project-by-project basis for our thoroughness and objectivity. That also meant the assignments were intense, ruthless, and very temporary.
The gig at Stone Global was exactly such a job. And things were going well. Better than well. People were cooperating. The press was moving on to new prey. The job was actually ahead of schedule, and thank God for it. Soon, I’d be back in my rightful place at the home office in San Diego and what just happened in Killian Stone’s penthouse would remain no more than a blip in my memory. A very secret blip.
I shook my head in defiance. What was wrong with having lived a little? At twenty-six, I was due for at least one heart-stopping kiss with a man who looked like dark sin, was built like a Navy SEAL, and kissed like a fantasy. Sweet God, what a fantasy.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I muttered. “You didn’t break any rules…technically. He consented. And you sure as hell consented. So you’re—”
Having an argument with yourself in the middle of a hallway in the Lincoln Park 2550 building, waiting on the world’s slowest damn elevator.
I leaned on the call button again.
While still trying to talk myself out of pouncing on Killian’s buzzer, too. Or perhaps back into it. If I could concoct an excuse to ring his doorbell before the elevator arrived…
No. This is dangerous, remember? He’s dangerous. You know all the sordid reasons why, his and yours.
Maybe I could just say I accidentally left my purse inside.
And that’ll fly…how? One glance down at my oversized Michael Kors clutch had me cursing the fashion trend gods, along with their penchant for large handbags.
I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and hoping for a light bulb. I was bombarded with Killian’s smell, instead. Armani Code. The cologne was still strong in my head, its rich bergamot and lemon mingling with the spice of his shampoo and the scotch on his breath, like he’d scent-marked me through the intimacy of our skin…
My fingers roamed to my cheek, tracing the abrasion from where he’d rubbed me with his stubble. My head fell back from the impact of the recollection.
In an instant, my mind conjured an image of him again, standing in front of me. Commanding. Looming. Hot…and hard. I felt his breath on my face again as he yanked me close. The press of his wool pants against my legs. The metallic scrape of his cufflinks on the wood of his desk as he shoved everything away to make room for our bodies. Then the wild throb of my heart as he tangled his hands in my hair, lifted my face toward his, and…
Yes.
The memory was so vivid, so good. I used the flat of my palm on my face now, thinking I could save the magic if I covered it. Protecting it from the outside world. Our perfect, shared moment in the middle of all this chaos.
Whoa.
“Get a grip.” I dropped my hand along with the furious whisper. It was one kiss. Incredible, yes, but I guaranteed he wasn’t still thinking about it like this. Behind that majestic door, Killian Stone moved again in his world, already focused on the next of his hundred priorities, none of them bearing my name. And he expected me to get back to mine: cushioning his company from that big, bad outside world I’d just been brooding over. You’ve been hired to help clean up the Stone family’s mess, not add to it.
The elevator finally dinged.
At the same time, Killian’s condo door opened behind me.
I locked a smile on my face, trying to look like I had been patiently waiting for the elevator the entire time.
“Miss Montgomery?”
Not Killian. I didn’t know whether to curse or laugh.
“Yes?” I managed a Girl Scout-sweet reply.
A kind face was waiting when I turned around. The man wore such a warm expression, I was tempted to call him Fred. Not Alfred. Just Fred. The man was too handsome for a full “Alfred.”
Fred handed me a small ivory envelope, then stepped over into the elevator. He held the doors open while I got into the car with him. We rode in silence down to the lobby. I squirmed while Fred smiled as if it were Saturday in the park. Did he know what his boss had just done with me?
I winced toward the wall. Technically, Killian was my boss right now, too.
Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone.
He can never be “Killian” again.
The sooner you remember that, the better.
I was dying to open that little envelope, but carefully slipped it into my queen-size clutch for when I was alone again in the cab on my way back to the hotel.
“I’ll call the car ‘round for you.” Like his employer, Fred made it obvious the subject wasn’t up for debate, so I forced a smile and followed him across the gleaming lobby to the building’s front awning. In less than a minute, the black town car with the Stone Global logo on its doors appeared. I climbed in, all the while yearning for the anonymity of a city cab instead.
Chicago was a great city, but the traffic was insane, even as evening officially blended into nighttime. Nevertheless, Killian’s building was swiftly swallowed by the lush trees of the neighborhood. I was on my way back to the hotel. Back to real life—and all the dangers that waited if anyone on the team ever learned where I’d just been.
For just a few more seconds, I yearned to remember the fantasy, instead. Perhaps the treasure in my purse would help.
I pulled it out, running reverent fingers over it again. Nothing was written on the outside. Killian—Mr. Stone—had simply expected it would be delivered straight to me.
The elegant handwriting inside, dedicated to just one sentence, dried out my throat upon impact.
I must see you again.
&n
bsp; He left no signature. No phone number. Not even an email address. But the strangest part about it all? I wasn’t surprised. He was Killian Jamison Stone. And he kissed like that. Things—and people—came to him, not the other way around.
But did I have the strength to be one of those people, knowing I’d never see him again after three months?
Chapter One
One Month Earlier – March
Killian
“Have a seat.”
I tried to be diplomatic about it. Trey’s stoned eyes and clammy skin were evidence enough of how he’d tried to self-medicate the nightmare away last night. But this mess—his mess—wasn’t going away anytime soon. I’d closed the shades, blocking out the panoramic view of the river and skyline, to force him to see it. All ten monitors on my office wall blared the headlines from the major news carrier websites.
Stone’s at it Again—Times Two
Throwing Stones? Looks Like He Did
Stones, Sex, and Politics: They Really Do Mix
Senators Daughters? He’ll Take Two, Please—At Once
Oh, Trey! Come and Play the Washington Way!
The titles progressed in creativity from there.
Trey didn’t sit. Instead, while taking a surly trip to the sideboard, he snarled, “Turn that crap off.”
