by Misti Murphy
“Then we’ll do that. I’ll help you with the business side or just be your first and best customer.”
“And we’ll need a cat too.”
“Simon the second,” he agrees. “Although I doubt we’ll find another Simon, but we’ll try. Just please tell me you’ll come back to me. That you’ll let me love you.”
I throw myself at him, which is awkward given my sitting position and the fact he’s still crouched in front of my chair. We end up in a mess of limbs on the floor, me lying on top of him, chest to chest.
My heart beats in rhythm with his as he clasps both sides of my face, his fingers digging into my hair. “You think you might want to start a new Frost corporation with me? Merge our lives together?”
“I love you, James.”
“And I you, Supergirl, but you haven’t answered my question. Now that I know what I want, I don’t want to waste any more time. Will you say yes?”
“Yes.” I beam at him.
“Yes.” His smile splits his face as he raises his head and tugs me down at the same time so he can kiss me. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”
“I’ll marry you,” I say breathlessly in between kisses. His mouth on mine is heaven. My heart is so buoyant, I might float away.
“And have children with me.” His hands travel my spine, down to my ass. I can feel how eager he is to start on that family too.
“Yes.” I nod, biting my lip as joy turns into something a little more urgent and needy.
“When’s Ronnie coming back?” He squeezes and kneads my muscles.
“Not for ages.” I straddle him, reaching for his belt buckle and undoing it.
He slides his hands under my shirt to cup my breasts. He plays with my nipples; hot pleasure sizzles through my core like melted butter. “Good. I want to show you how much I missed you. I’ve had a lot of nights to fantasize about all the ways I want to make love to you.”
I manage the fly and push his pants off his hips until his cock springs free. Hooking my fingers in the gusset of my panties, I yank them aside and sink onto his erection. “I missed you so much.”
He hisses between his teeth as he grips my hip, guiding me to rock on him. “You feel so good.”
“So good.” I close my eyes, my hands curled on his chest, the hair there tickling my knuckles while I try not to ride him for all I’m worth. “This isn’t going to last.”
“No.” He cups the back of my head as he grinds into me. “But that’s okay. You take control this time.” Opening my eyes, I find him looking at me with so much love and warmth that my chest might explode at any moment. “We have the rest of our lives to take our time.”
We do, and it feels so good, so I give in to the urge to ride him. He doesn’t stop me. His hands jostle me as he picks up the pace. His gaze is glued to mine the entire time we’re moving as one, sharpening the sensation until it overcomes us. My world goes dark as my body pulses with pleasure. James groans, bucking his hips one last time as his hands tense on my skin.
As the world comes back into focus, as I become aware of how hard we’re both breathing and the way James is staring at me with half a lax smile, giving him a somewhat relaxed look I’m not used to, I laugh. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a Frost. I can’t believe you asked me to marry you.”
“You can’t believe it.” He smirks as he sits up and holds me tightly. “Just wait until my mother hears about this.”
“She’ll probably harass us for a grandchild from the get-go.”
“Perhaps we should hold off on telling her then.” He kisses me. “Keep it from her until we’re pregnant.”
“That might be sooner than you think,” I whisper. “It might be right now.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“No. I just have this feeling, and we weren’t safe.”
“We should find out.” He sits up, jostling me.
“I have a pregnancy test.” I glance in the direction of my handbag. “I was going to use it.”
“Let’s find out.”
I leave James in the living room while I take my purse into the bathroom. The instructions in the box are easy to follow. I put the stick on the counter and wash my hands once I’m done with it. Now we wait.
James is sitting in an armchair when I join him, his leg shaking with the need to do something other than wait. He pulls me into his lap and holds me close as the minutes tick past. It’s the longest three minutes of my life.
And then I check.
“So?” he asks, joining me in Ronnie’s tiny bathroom.
I capture his hand and take it to my belly. It’s far too early for either of us to feel anything, but it’s real. “We definitely are.”
“I’m going to be a...?”
“Daddy? Yes, you are, Mr. Frost. Yes, you are.”
Epilogue
JAMES
“What are you doing? For the hundredth time, stop carrying boxes, Myra. I know it’s my favorite nickname, but you really aren’t Supergirl. At least, you shouldn’t be. Not right now.”
She places the cardboard container on top of the stack near the front door and glances over her shoulder to give me an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s towels, James. Even a pregnant woman can carry a load of towels. According to your mother, after this baby is born, half my days will be spent carrying around baskets full of laundry.”
“Yes, after.” I cross the room and wrap my arm around her shoulders and place the other hand on her stomach. It’s still flat, although she complains constantly about her waistline having disappeared. She says it’s annoying that she looks like she’s gaining weight instead of looking pregnant.
I suspect that’s partially why she started telling everyone so soon. Even the barista at the coffee shop two blocks over is aware.
I wanted to wait to spread the news; I’ve read two different books on the subject of pregnancy already, and both suggested waiting until the first trimester was over before telling anyone, since the risk of miscarriage is highest during the first three months. But Myra said it took her five years to get to this point and she wasn’t waiting a single moment longer.
The unexpected pregnancy is putting a crimp in her wedding plans, though. Every day she waffles between waiting until the baby is born and having an elaborate affair, or simply heading to the courthouse tomorrow to make it official. Speaking of…
“We need to go, sweetheart. Everyone’s waiting for us at the new house.”
Nodding, she reaches for her purse. “Do you need to stop by the office on the way?”
“Alex has it under control.”
Her lips twitch as she arches her eyebrows and I give her the same overblown eye roll she gave me a moment ago. “I’ve admitted I was wrong about him. Well, not entirely. While he’s great with clients and he finally knows how to make a decent cup of coffee, he’s still annoying as hell. It’s like working with the Energizer Bunny. It exhausts me just being around him.”
She smooths her hand over my shirt. “He’ll relax. Eventually.”
“You’ve been saying that for two months.”
“Well—” A knock on the door interrupts whatever she intended to say.
“Must be the movers.” I pull open the door and stare dumbly at the couple standing on the threshold. “Er…”
It’s the neighbors. Simon’s owners. The husband has a box in his arms and the wife is holding a pet carrier. I can see gray and black fur through the slates.
“Um, hi,” the blonde woman says. Her gaze lands on the scene behind us and her eyes widen. “Are you moving?”
I replace my arm around Myra’s shoulder as the grin I don’t bother to contain spreads from cheek to cheek. “Yes we are. To a bigger house in my brother’s neighborhood.”
“We’re expecting,” Myra blurts, her hands going to her stomach while her face lights up like Christmas.
“Congratulations,” the couple says in unison. Then they give each other uncertain glances.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Is that Simon?” I want to ask if I can pet her. Maybe hold her. Maybe keep her. I’ve missed that damn cat. As perfect as my life has seemed since I finally figured out Myra’s place in it, there’s still been a small aspect missing. Who knew one could get so attached to a furry friend so quickly? Hell, it took Myra and I five years.
Okay, it took me five years. And I was always attached; I just didn’t realize it.
“Cleo,” the woman corrects, and then she shakes her head. “No, you’re right. Simon.” She glances at her husband again and he nods. Sucking in a breath, she extends her arm as if she’s handing the cat carrier to me. “Here. She’s yours.”
“What?” I stare at the cat, who’s prowling in her small crate, bumping her head against the prison door and purring.
“Barry has just accepted a promotion with his company, and we’re moving to Germany.”
“Congratulations,” Myra says.
“Thanks,” the husband replies.
“Anyway,” his wife continues, “the process of taking pets overseas is a pain…”
“That’s really just an excuse,” Barry adds. “Truthfully, Cleo hasn’t been the same since we took her back. She’s forever trying to escape the house and she doesn’t really want anything to do with us.”
“And we’re dog people, anyway,” the wife says. “We just thought it would be difficult to have a dog and live in the city. We’ve decided as soon as we’re settled in Germany, we’re going to adopt a puppy.”
I continue to stare at the cat, who’s now looking at me as if she expects me to do something. “Er…”
“Take her,” the woman says, thrusting the carrier at me.
“Here’s her things,” the husband says, offering the box to Myra. I quickly grab the cardboard and place it on the floor before she can overextend herself, then I reach for Simon.
“Really?” I’m not usually so dense when it comes to these sorts of interactions. Okay, maybe I am. Still, I can hardly believe this is happening. Unlatching the door, I pull out the cat, who immediately bumps her head against my chin, her entire body rumbling with her purr.
The neighbor smiles sadly and blinks away tears. “I’m so glad she found you. I think you all will be happy together.”
I glance at Myra. “Me too.”
My life really is complete now. Well, almost.
***
I guide the car to the curb behind the moving truck and kill the engine. Abby is running down the sidewalk toward us, the goat on a leash trotting along beside her, the duck flapping its wings and trying to keep up. Now there’s a cat to add to this crazy mix of family pets. Which probably won’t be a good combination. Cats eat birds, don’t they? And I can see that damned goat driving Simon up the wall. Simon may have to be an indoor pet.
We climb out of the car, me reaching in to grab Simon’s carrier, while Abby rushes to Myra, who lifts her off her feet to hug her. “Supergirl,” I say. “You aren’t supposed to lift heavy things.”
“I’m not heavy, Uncle James. Is that Simon? You brought Simon? Uncle James, you got Simon back!” She lunges for the carrier, dropping the goat’s leash as she wrestles with the door.
“Wait, Abby, we should…”
Too late. The door’s open, and the cat steps out, walking up to the goat and sniffing noses before turning its eye to the hapless duck. The feathered animal gives a quack and waddles over to check out the new guy. I hold my breath and prepare to scoop the cat into my arms, but there’s no need. The three animals size each other up, then Abby grabs the goat’s leash, and soon the little pied piper is leading her entourage up the driveway and around the house to the backyard. Our house. With our family, waiting.
“Come on, Myra. Let’s go around back. I have something to show you before we start unpacking.” Lacing our fingers together, I pull her along, following the path Abby took. When we step around the corner, I glance over to watch Myra’s expression.
She’s staring out at the gathering of people; Paynter and Chloe, Garrett and Erin, Ronnie, who appears to be arguing with Erin’s best friend Danny, my parents, Garrett’s agent, Callum, who tends to crash our family events; even Alex is there, along with most of the staff from my office. They’re all standing around a wooden arch that’s decorated with purple flowers. Myra’s favorite color. And there’s an elderly man standing there with a small book in his hand and a congenial smile on his face. Light explodes nearby and I glance over at the photographer, a young woman dressed entirely in black, which must be damned uncomfortable as it’s warmer than normal for a mid-September day in Chicago.
“What’s this?” Myra asks.
“Our wedding.”
“Our…”
Chuckling, I wrap my arms around her and pull her flush to my body, ignoring our audience for a moment. “The decision whether to get married now or wait was driving you mad, and I hate to see you fret. So I decided to make the choice for you. Mostly because I didn’t want to wait any longer to make it official.”
“Oh James.” She buries her face in my shoulder and her body starts shaking, warning me that she’s crying.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d like it.”
She lifts her face and swipes at her cheeks with one hand while clutching my shirt with the other. “I do. I love it. I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I’m pregnant.”
Oh. Thank God.
“Now come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and leading me to the altar. “Let’s get married.”
THE END
The Sexy Bad Family of Books
Sexy Bad Neighbor
Sexy Bad Daddy
Sexy Bad Boss
Coming soon
Sexy Bad Valentine
Sexy Bad Escort
Hey, Sexy Bad Readers!
Thank you so much for joining us on this journey. We hope you enjoyed Sexy Bad Boss, and fell in love with James and Myra just like we did. How about Simon? Were you as glad as we were that she came back and completed their little family?
If you want to keep in touch with us, so you know when we’re releasing more Sexy Bad Books, you can sign up for our exclusive mailing list at: http://www.subscribepage.com/SexyBadBooks
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And if you have even three words to say about this book, such as “Sexy Bad Awesome,” consider leaving a review. We’ll sexy bad thank you for it.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Sexy Bad Neighbor, the first book in the Sexy Bad series. And after that, there’s some info about the other books Misti and Tami have to offer. Misti writes dirty talking bad boys with hearts of gold. And Tami writes kinky chefs and brooding FBI guys.
Misti & Tami xx
SEXY BAD NEIGHBOR
What happens when your neighbor hires you a stripper?
It starts one hell of a prank war. A war that involves goats, phallic chandeliers, stolen kisses in the rain, strawgasms, and eating out on the kitchen counter.
A war that could damn well involve two hearts and a plan. Her plan doesn’t involve falling in love. His life doesn’t involve plans.
This could be a problem.
Turn the page to read the first chapter.
CHAPTER ONE
CHLOE
What am I doing here? Taco Tuesday? Seriously? Tacos are sloppy and delicious and it’s far too easy to eat too many. I’m not an overindulging kind of person. And I really hate contrived social situations.
But my boss said I need to do something to de-stress because otherwise I’m going to have a heart attack by the time I’m forty, and that isn’t as far away as I’d like it to be. Actually, he suggested I get laid, but I don’t do messy, nor do I do sex with strangers, and who has time to get to know someone? I suppose that’s ironic considering I’m about to walk into a room full of strangers and pretend I want to befriend them.
At least it’s supposed to be exclusively women at this
shindig. Women don’t intimidate me, which is the only reason I agreed to James’s ridiculous idea. “Who knows,” he said earlier today as he pushed me out the door, “you might actually make a friend or two.”
“Maybe a new client,” was my response, and he’d rolled his eyes and told me not to return to the office without at least one outrageous story to tell.
I consider not opening the door, not stepping into the sports bar where a group of strangers are likely becoming friends over spilled guacamole and too much tequila. But I will never hear the end of it if I turn around now, and besides, I’m not a quitter, whether the task is climbing the corporate ladder or attending a stupid function I have no interest in.
So I grasp the pilsner glass-shaped door handle and walk into the dark, loud place that smells of nachos and spilled beer. This is not my scene.
Bitch face in place, I pause to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I can feel gazes on me. Lecherous, sleazebag gazes. Guys with names like Paul and Chad and—the worst of them all—Marcus.
Conveniently, my bitch face is seriously scary, so they all leave me alone as I smooth the front of my silk skirt and straighten my already flagpole-like spine. Sticking my nose in the air, I strut through that bar like I own the place. Actually, one of my clients does, so I know there are a handful of semi-private rooms toward the back, and that’s the most likely location for this silly gathering I’m supposed to attend.
When I reach my destination, I note that semi-private means there’s a party on each side of a smaller bar area, with one bartender tending to both. He’s one of the tall, dark, and handsome types, so the females in one group, which appears to be some sort of birthday party, are all gathered around the wood and laminate boxing him in, trying to garner his attention. Several of them are doing that classic grab-a-guy’s-attention stance, leaning against the bar, resting on their elbows, which are pressed against their sides, so the girls are pushed up and together, no doubt providing the lucky tender plenty of fodder for his fantasies later tonight. Assuming, of course, he goes home alone, which doesn’t seem likely.
