by Johnson, Cat
Marco stabs a finger at his desk, then the window. “That was not a one-time thing.”
“Oh, it wasn’t?”
He steps closer, gently turning my back to him so his large hands can zip up my pencil skirt. Marco slides his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. He trails a line of kisses from my shoulder, to my neck, then up to my ear, where he whispers, “I’m done trying to resist you, Izzy.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhm,” he says into my neck.
“So what is this, a dirty office hookup?” I tease.
A low sound of approval escapes his throat as he says, “Well, that could certainly be arranged. But I have something more official in mind.”
“You do?”
He turns me around to face him. His hand cradles my cheek, his eyes searching mine intently. My breath catches in my throat.
“Of course I do. Izzy, you’re the only person in this office willing to call me on my bullshit. I’ve wanted you since the first instant you walked through the door. I only resisted because of the improprieties. But fuck propriety. I’m tired of denying what I feel for you.”
“And what is that?” I whisper.
“That you’re everything I want in a woman,” he says simply, like it’s a law of the universe. “I want to explore this attraction between us. If you’re interested.”
He stares down at me. And I swear the great Marco Vitale is anxious to hear my reply. My mouth stretches into a wide grin. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You tell me what you were doing way uptown when you got into my rideshare this morning.”
He actually blushes. “There’s a new bakery a couple of blocks from where you picked me up. They have amazing croissants.”
“Marco, don’t tell me you’re a foodie!” I gasp in mock horror.
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad word. I’m Italian. Of course I like great food.”
I roll my eyes, my grin splitting wider. “So much for that whole I-resist-every-temptation-thing, huh?”
“I only try new places on Fridays,” he mumbles. “It’s not a problem.”
I sober, my hand slipping around his neck to bring his mouth an inch from mine. “Marco, you feel free to take me along whenever you visit a yummy spot. It’s okay to do that. Don’t be so strict with yourself.”
Something like relief flashes across his face. “The only yummy spot I need at the moment is right here.”
And then his mouth captures mine.
Epilogue
Marco
Twelve months later
“Close your eyes.”
Izzy pouts at me, and it’s so adorable that I steal a quick kiss before straightening and repeating the order.
She glances nervously at the people eating at tiny tables around us, “But what’ll they think?”
“Who cares? The only one who matters is you.”
Izzy’s gaze turns misty. “Marco, you can’t just say stuff like that. A girl can’t take it.”
I grin wickedly. “I know,” I say, then steal another kiss. I nuzzle her nose with mine, whispering, “Close your eyes, Danish.”
With one last glance for the other diners, her lids flutter shut, her thick lashes so long they graze her cheek. The image of her sleeping face next to mine, the first thing I saw upon waking this morning, flashes through my mind. Lust and something deeper, a warm sensation of permanence, of rightness, flow through me. The sight is so arresting that for a moment I forget what I’m about to do.
“Marco?” she asks nervously.
I arrange the plate in front of her, kiss her softly, stomach tightening with nervous excitement, then say, “Okay, you can look.”
Izzy’s eyes fly open. She stares down at the plate, confused.
She glances up at me. “A cupcake?”
“This is no ordinary cupcake. I called them and specifically requested they make this cupcake.”
Izzy inspects it more closely. “What’s in it?”
“A chocolate cupcake with salted caramel fondant and coffee frosting. And a little something else.”
“Marco …” she says slowly. I hide my smile. Izzy’s never been slow on the uptake. Another thing I love about her.
“Are you saying you aren’t going to eat it?” I ask, knowing that would never happen. Izzy has thoroughly corrupted my sweets-only-on-Friday rule. We’ve spent the last year traipsing around the city to find the best bakeries in New York. We also share them with the office now that Izzy is too busy to bake ever since I put her in charge of market research. This bakery quickly became our favorite.
And now it’s about to become our favorite for another reason.
Nodding surreptitiously to the guy I hired, I motion toward the cupcake and say, trying to inject casualness into my tone I don’t feel, “Cut it in half.”
She glances at my side of the table. Empty. “Wait, aren’t you going to get one?”
“Nah, I think we’ll split it.”
Izzy’s eyes narrow as she searches mine. My smile widens. She wags a finger at me. “I know you’re up to something.”
Taking a fork, she cuts neatly into the middle of the cupcake. The fork halts, meeting resistance. “What the …” she mutters, trying again before giving up and breaking it apart with her hands.
The ring falls to the plate.
“Oh, God,” she cries, her eyes flying to mine.
I kneel on the floor before her, taking her hands. “Izzy Jenssen, the instant I laid eyes on you, I knew I’d never be able to look away. That kiss in the elevator upended my world. I resisted touching you again for months, but the day I gave in to the temptation was the best of my life. This last year has been greater than all the others combined. I am hopelessly in love with you. Will you marry me?”
Izzy’s eyes are filled with tears, her head nodding furiously. “Yes!” she blurts out. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
I pull her toward me, kissing her deeply as the other people who’ve stopped eating to watch cheer and clap. The photographer smiles and gives me a thumbs-up to say he captured the proposal.
Izzy wipes her face bashfully as I pull some wet wipes from my pocket and clean off the ring. Her eyes widen at the size when I finally remove the cupcake remnants from its glittering surface.
“Whoa.”
I laugh, the sound booming across the room. I laugh much easier now. And smile. I still remember the look on Izzy’s face the first time I laughed. Shock. Delight. Then lust. We made love for an hour after. My laugh still has the same effect on her.
Sliding the ring onto her finger, I grunt in approval and then pull us to our feet. The people in the bakery cheer again as I bend her back over my arm and give her a passionate kiss that is no way in hell appropriate for public. Izzy melts against me when we straighten, her expression dazed.
“You can’t kiss someone that way in front of other people.”
“I’m Italian,” I say wickedly. “Don’t you know? We always kiss like that in public.”
About the Author
K.D. Elizabeth is the author of eight steamy contemporary romance novels in the small town, holiday, and suspense sub-genres. Before writing full-time, she worked in finance in Boston. She splits her time between New Hampshire and Pennsylvania, is fluent in French, and has traveled to over twenty countries. When not writing, you can find her skiing, scuba diving, traveling (although not this year!), enjoying great food, crocheting, and painting.
Check out her work here: https://www.kdewrites.com or follow her on Instagram: @kdewrites
Read her work on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/author/kdelizabeth.
Download a free book here: https://BookHip.com/BNJTWV.
Country Songs & Righting Wrongs
Dylann Crush
Can one country love song fix past wrongs?
1
Morgan
There was only one good thing about being back in Swallow Springs, Missouri—knowing I’d be l
eaving again soon. Not even my recent sweet success could chase away the bitter taste in my mouth as the asphalt unrolled in front of me, leading straight to the heart of my hometown.
“Look, Morgan. They put up a sign.” My older brother Jesse nudged his chin toward a bright yellow piece of painted plywood that read Swallow Springs, birthplace of country music star Morgan Yancy.
The sign flashed by and my heart twisted. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. The folks in my hometown had shown me nothing but support since the day I hopped a bus to Nashville to take a shot at a larger-than-life dream. But I didn’t want to come back like this, not with my career hanging in the balance on a forced break from my record label.
He shook his head. “I know you’re not stoked about this but give it a chance. Your manager knows what’s best.”
Nodding, I took in a deep breath. The familiar scent of summer’s freshly cut grass tickled my nose. I didn’t have much of a choice. The label felt my career had hit a slump and that I needed to return to my roots to reclaim my magic or some bullcrap like that. All I cared about was writing songs and making music, but even I had to admit my latest efforts were missing something. I had one more chance to come up with my next big hit. If I failed, I’d either have to suck it up and start singing someone else’s songs, or my most recent release might be my last.
Jesse slowed the truck for the one stoplight in town. A flicker of neon caught my eye. The Lovebird Café. Last time I’d been home the whole place had been boarded up. It was nice to see it back in business. Every small town needed a hub, and the Lovebird Café had always been my favorite gathering spot.
“Mind if we stop in at the Lovebird for a sweet tea?”
“You sure you want to do that?” Jesse asked. “Mom’s probably got a batch waiting for you at home.”
Mom probably also had a litany of tips on how I could resurrect my career. She meant well but I’d do just about anything to delay the onslaught of unsolicited advice. “Do they still make those lemon bars?”
Jesse arched a brow. “As far as I know.”
“Come on, my treat. We can share one.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more.
“Please?”
The truck bounced over a pothole then he turned into the small parking lot. “Fine. But you can’t avoid Mom forever.”
“I’m not trying for forever, just long enough to make sure we get home after she leaves for her auxiliary meeting.”
Jesse chuckled. “I want my own lemon bar.”
“You got it.”
I climbed out of the truck and set my feet on Swallow Springs ground for the first time in five years.
“Watch out.” Jesse stepped off the sidewalk to avoid a huge goose. The bird flapped its wings and hissed.
I jumped back, tripping over my own feet. “What’s a goose doing outside the Lovebird?”
“Funny story.” My brother held the door for me, and I quickly stepped inside. “I’ll fill you in after we order.”
Before I had a chance to claim a stool at the counter, the doors to the kitchen swung open, and a blast from my past swept through.
For a moment, I forgot I was standing in the middle of the Lovebird Café, hundreds of miles from the fame and fortune I’d found in Nashville. I was just a girl with stars in her eyes, staring at a boy whose name I’d once doodled thousands of times. Sometimes with little hearts over the i’s.
He stopped short, his gaze locking onto mine. My breath hitched in my chest, and my pulse pounded like a thousand bass drums in my ears.
In an instant, my mind transported me back to the hours I hid out under the bleachers, watching him lead the state-champion football team through practices. Until one day he caught me, a guitar in hand, notebook next to me, filled with the scribblings of a girl in love with her big brother’s best friend.
“Morgan Yancy.” Ryder Williams recovered his shock faster than me. The corners of his mouth ticked up in the same grin that had invaded my dreams. “I heard you were coming home. It’s good to see you.”
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit it was good to see him too. He’d changed in the time I’d been away. He’d always been “All-American” good looking, but there was something different about him now. He still towered over me with the build of a pro athlete. Still captivated me with dark green eyes I’d gazed into for hours. Still made my skin tingle with possibilities of his large, capable hands skimming over every inch of me.
But he’d lost the carefree attitude. His eyes didn’t hold the confidence and cockiness they once did.
“Hey.” I couldn’t manage more than one word, not when my lungs struggled to take in a breath.
“What can I get for you?” He covered the short distance between us, stopping in front of me on the other side of the laminated countertop. “Cassie had to run out, so I’m managing things on my own this afternoon.”
“You work here?” My voice came out more like a croak.
Ryder’s gaze shifted from me to Jesse and back again. “Yeah, after”—he cleared his throat— “after I got hurt, I came home for a while. Cassie needed help getting the Lovebird off the ground and I needed something to keep me out of trouble while I made a new plan.”
His injury… he mentioned it like it was no big deal, like it hadn’t ripped his life apart. But I knew better. For a guy who’d had his heart set on the NFL, hearing he’d never play football again had to be the worst blow life could have dealt him.
Before I could come up with a response, Jesse shook his head. “You’d think a guy with a degree from a fancy school like yours would be able to come up with a plan B by now. What’s it been, two years?”
Ryder’s jaw clenched. “Did y’all want to order something?”
“How about a couple of sweet teas and two lemon bars?” Jesse said. “And can you add a basket of fries to that?”
“You got it. I’ll have that out in just a few minutes.” His gaze drifted over me, warming my skin a few uncomfortable degrees with just a look. “It’s been a long time, Morgan. It’s nice to have you home.”
* * *
Ryder
Morgan Yancy. The pride and joy of Swallow Springs, Missouri. I’d almost claimed the honor at one point in my life, but that didn’t turn out so well.
I headed back to the kitchen, intent on getting their order ready as soon as possible. Morgan might be a sight for sore eyes, but her brother might have given me some warning before bringing her in like that. Even knowing she was coming home, I still hadn’t figured out what to say to her. How to clear up the hurt I’d caused.
It didn’t take but a few minutes to heat up a new batch of fries. I filled a couple to-go cups from the giant container of sweet tea Cassie made fresh every morning and headed back out front.
Morgan sat alone at the counter, chatting with one of the high-school kids I’d been working with on his passing game. He held her attention, which gave me a chance to let my gaze drift over her while I grabbed two lemon bars from the case.
She’d changed from the wide-eyed girl I’d shown how to strum a guitar into a country western superstar. Her hair had been lightened from the warm honey-blonde I used to run my fingers through into a cool platinum that fell in long waves over slim shoulders. A face once free of makeup looked so much more grown up with those long, black lashes and ruby lips. But the set of her jaw held the same stubbornness—the spitfire that had propelled her from a small-town girl with big dreams to an overnight success.
“Here you go.” I set the bag and two cups on the counter. She glanced up. Her cool blue eyes warmed as she met my gaze. “Did Jesse decide to wait in the truck?”
“He got a phone call. But Dion’s been keeping me company.”
“What kind of company is that?” I leaned an elbow on the counter and grinned at the next potential pro ball player to come out of Swallow Springs High. Dion was a good kid and I enjoyed helping him out. If he could keep his head in the game and his mind off th
e cheerleaders who followed him around, he might make it.
“Hey, will you grab a picture of me with Miss Yancy?” Dion held out his phone.
I nodded toward Morgan. “If you’re sure Miss Yancy doesn’t mind.”
“Of course not.” She pasted on a smile I’d never seen in person before, the one that had graced dozens of magazine covers in our years apart.
My stomach clenched as Dion’s arm went around her shoulders. I had no right to feel possessive about Morgan, but the message didn’t make it from my brain to my gut. I snapped a few photos before handing the phone back.
“Don’t you have practice this afternoon?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Heading that way now.” Dion grabbed his playbook off the counter. “We still on for tomorrow, Coach?”
“I’ll be there.”
“What’s with the ‘coach’?” The curious grin on Morgan’s face tugged at my heartstrings, trying to loosen the knots I’d pulled tight over the years.
Even though I loved helping kids like Dion, I shrugged it off. “Nothing really. I just meet up with some of the guys on the team to pass on some pointers now and then. Keeps ’em out of trouble.”
She nodded. “Sounds like a good start to plan B. Have you given any thought to going into coaching?”
I could have taken that opening to tell her I had my eye on an offensive coordinator position at the high school, but I shook my head instead. I’d been laying the groundwork for months. But waiting for an opening to lead kids on a field where I’d once reigned seemed like nothing compared to what Morgan had achieved.
“If you haven’t thought about it, you should.” She gestured to the food. “What do I owe you?”
A smart-ass comeback threatened, but I forced it down. “It’s on the house. Cassie’s hoping you’ll agree to do a set while you’re in town.”
