The answer was so simple. But he loved any excuse to tell his bride how much he loved her. “I knew we’d work out. Because I loved you to pieces and refused to accept any other outcome. Tonight, though—it isn’t about us. I’m feeling the heat.”
“Then maybe move away from the stove.” This time she pinched him. On the butt. Also not anything but a turn-on. “I married a cocky, borderline arrogant man who never saw a challenge he couldn’t overcome.”
“Almost true. You know I finally had to admit defeat on the whole deep dish pizza attempt.” It still rankled Kellan. He’d never failed before. At anything. Over the past few months, he’d successfully recreated Chicken Vesuvio, Italian beef, and full-blown Chicago dogs for the Super Bowl two weeks ago. But the pizza was his white whale.
“Technically, you stopped because the fire department ordered you to not try again after their third response to your smoke alarm. Not a defeat, babe.”
For the millionth time, Kellan reflected how lucky he’d been to marry Delaney. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” They kissed, with him angled sideways around the growing bump of their baby girl.
A balled-up napkin hit the side of Kellan’s face. “Hey,” Rafe barked. “Stop making out for ten freaking seconds and come join us.”
“Weren’t you and Mollie literally still in the bedroom messing around when we got here?”
A shit-eating grin broke across his big brother’s face. “Yeah. The one at our house reeks of paint fumes. The bed’s covered in drywall dust. This is better.”
Flynn pushed a rocks glass into everyone’s hand. “Per Rafe’s request, I’ve made a very special cocktail tonight. The Maguire.”
Sierra and Mollie shifted into spots next to their guys as Delaney and Kellan came to the dining table. “There’s no way it can be as delicious as the Sierra blackberry pie martini.”
“We’ll call it different. Because I think you’re the only one in the room who likes something that sweet.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Kellan sniffed at his glass. “What’s the drink?”
“Whiskey—to represent us Irish Maguires. A little lemon juice and simple syrup shaken with it, served on the rocks with a float of Oregon Pinot Noir on top to represent our wonderful women.”
Rafe lifted his glass up to his head. “I have a toast. Well, a story that leads to a toast.”
“Oh, boy. Can I sit down through the story part?” Delaney asked, rubbing the small of her back.
“Suck it up, Marshal,” Kellan said with a wink. “You’re strong as steel.”
“I really wish I hadn’t set the bar so high when I first met you.”
Rafe cleared his throat. “As some of you know, I used to have a Valentine’s Day tradition. One that had nothing to do with romance. My old boss and I would go to Clark Street, to the site of the 1929 Valentine’s Day Massacre.”
“Capone tried to take out the Irish mob,” Flynn explained to Sierra. “It didn’t work.”
“Nope. But it did cause a lot of trouble. And the Irish mob never forgot it. So McGinty and I would go out there and toast to the murdered from a flask of whiskey. Then we’d drink a toast to his crew.”
Mollie shuddered. “That’s a horrible Valentine’s Day tradition. I mean, not everyone goes for candy hearts, but you weren’t even getting sex.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Doc. I made out okay.” He shot her a rakish grin. “Afterward.”
Impatient, Kellan tapped his knife against the table. “Could we get the short version, without the flirting, in deference to the pregnant lady?”
“Mollie’s right. It was a suck-ass tradition. One I’m glad to put behind me. Just like we’ve put everything to do with the trial and McGinty behind us.”
Flynn lifted his glass higher. “Almost everything. I do like to go on YouTube and replay that footage of the look on his face as he got his life sentence.”
“The point is, I want to start a new tradition, for our new life here in Oregon. One that is purely about love, the way it should be on this day.” Rafe beamed down at Mollie. “I love my brothers, and I love the family we’ve created out here. So happy Valentine’s Day.”
They all clinked glasses and drank. Kellan had been skeptical, but once again, Flynn’s knack with a cocktail had knocked it out of the park.
“Before anyone asks, I didn’t cook. We picked up this food from the chef at Sunset Shoals.” He pointedly glared back and forth between his brothers. “So you can just swallow whatever cracks you were about to make at risking your lives eating a dinner I cooked.”
Flynn held up his hands. “You’re the only one of us licensed to carry a weapon, bro. I wouldn’t dream of hassling you about your cooking.”
If only that were true. He was just glad that Flynn was back to teasing him about the gun. Both of his brothers hadn’t made a single jab at him for weeks after shooting O’Brien. It hadn’t been until after they returned from the trial that things got back to normal.
Kellan hoped to God they stayed that way from now on.
Mollie pushed back her chair. “Should I go get the salad?”
“No.” The answer exploded out of Flynn. Shaking his head, he said, “Sorry. I thought we’d do something fun tonight. Since Valentine’s Day is all about sweetness. Start with dessert first.”
At least it’d get Kellan’s nervousness out of the way. “On it.” He went into the kitchen and pulled the cake out of the fridge. “This, I did make. Also per Rafe’s request. I’m giving up recreating Chicago food. All things Oregon, that’s my new kitchen mantra. Salmon, probably. And, of course, cranberries. So I made a cranberry cheesecake.”
Mollie’s jaw dropped. “Rafe, my Rafe, asked you to make something with cranberries?”
Eyes squinted to angry slits, Rafe growled, “I absofuckinglutely did not.”
“He asked for a purely Oregon dessert. I picked cranberries just to mess with him.” Kellan made quick work of slicing and plating. And he made sure to put the slice with the big swirl of cranberry sauce right in front of Sierra.
Then he held his breath. Because if he’d screwed this up, not only would he feel bad, but Flynn would kick the shit out of him.
The women all dug in. The men all sat, forks hovering over their cake, eyes trained on Sierra.
“Oh!” She leaned down to peer at her slice. “There’s something in my cake.”
Thank God.
“What is it?” Flynn asked. The guy looked all knotted up, like he was in the midst of passing a kidney stone.
Sierra tapped and scraped on her plate. Then she dropped her fork. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. Slightly muffled, she said, “It’s a ring.”
“That’s right.” Flynn put it in his mouth, getting off all the cheesecake. Then he held it out. “It’s your ring. If you’ll accept it. The only clincher is that it’s a package deal. I come with the ring. For better, for worse—or so they say. All I know is that everything about my life has been better since you came into it, Sierra. Please say you’ll let me love you, and work my damnedest to make you happy, every single day for the rest of our lives.”
She slid her finger through it. Love and happiness radiated from her, dulling the candle flames. “Only if you let me love you right back.”
“Done.”
And with that, their new family as the Maguires was complete, their new lives officially on course. Kellan put one arm around Delaney as everyone clapped and cheered, and rested the other on the bump of their soon-to-be daughter. He didn’t need a fancy lawyer’s office in a Chicago skyscraper. Didn’t need so much as a single bill from that two million that—for ten months—had belonged to all of them.
He had the love of his life and his brothers, safe and together.
Nothing could be better.
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to all the readers who have embraced this series. My bad boys were a bit of a new direction, and I’m beyond grateful to everyo
ne who took the leap with me.
Thanks to Jessica Alvarez for not only finding the right publisher for the series, but also being a stalwart rock of wisdom and calm throughout its creation. Thanks to Nicole Fischer for having the vision to point out the myriad ways I could make it better. And big hugs to all my friends who supported me during the late nights and head-banging moments I wrestled with these bad boys!
About the Author
USA Today bestseller CHRISTI BARTH earned a master’s degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately, she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance.
Christi can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.
www.christibarth.com
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
By Christi Barth
Bad Boys Gone Good
Bad for Her
Never Been Good
Got It Bad
Naked Men
Risking It All
Wanting It All
Giving It All
Trying It All
Shore Secrets
Up to Me
All for You
Back to Us
Aisle Bound
Planning for Love
A Fine Romance
Friends to Lovers
A Matchless Romance
Bad Decisions
The Opposite of Right
The Reverse of Perfection
Check My Heart
Love at High Tide
Love on the Boardwalk
Cruising Toward Love
Act Like We’re in Love
Tinsel My Heart
Ask Her at Christmas
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
got it bad. Copyright © 2018 by Christi Barth. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-268567-4
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-268568-1
Cover design by Nadine Badalaty
Avon Impulse and the Avon Impulse logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America.
Avon and HarperCollins are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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