by Snow, Nicole
It takes us a little while to recover from that.
Looking at me with a half-serious frown, she says, “You stay off this ladder until I’m in the boat.”
I feign ignorance, flashing her a puzzled scowl.
Laughing, she grabs the other handle and leaps up the ladder, all the way to the top, before turning and wrapping herself into a crouched ball. “You know why, Miller Rush.”
Damn right I do.
Lucky for her, taking her again on the deck of that boat is just as good as having her in the lake.
I scale the ladder and plop down next to her. “Think you just tried to drown me, babe.”
“Did not!”
She lays her head on my shoulder and adds, “I mean, that’d kinda ruin all the fun.”
I wrap an arm around her, bring her close, loving the soft, subtle pressure of her skin on mine. “That the only reason?”
“No.” She lifts her head to look at me. “I don’t want to paddle this thing back to shore all by myself.”
“So sex and muscle, that’s all you want from me?”
She snuggles a bit closer, kissing my shoulder. “Your cooking isn’t half bad, either.”
I chuckle. Happy, relaxed, and temporarily sated, I lean my head back and close my eyes, just enjoying the moment in the cool evening breeze. Naked and alone in nature with the woman I love.
“Careful. You fall asleep out here like this and you’ll still get sunburned.” She runs her hand over my abs, biting back a hungry look. “Some things would really suck to get burned.”
She’s right, but I’m so tired I don’t want to lift my head.
“Come on.” She sits up and pulls on my arm. “Let’s head back to the cabin and take a nap.”
I lift my head and open my eyes to see how far away we are. While I’m contemplating if we should paddle or just swim the distance, my body tenses.
A second later, I see why. Two people rushing down around the side of the cabin. One of them looks like J.T., his gold chain flashing in the evening light.
Gwen reaches for my hand, her fingers going tight. “What’s he doing back so soon? And who’s that lady?”
I shrug. I don’t know. But my gut tells me what I thought was over isn’t.
19
Pearl Diving (Gwen)
I’m trembling from head to toe, but this time, it’s not fear.
It’s exhaustion.
I’m so effing sick of bad guys, right now, I swear I could rid the earth of every last one of the creeps myself.
Following Miller’s equally tired, silent lead, I get dressed, keeping low to the floor. Whatever J.T. wants, he’s milling around down by the dock, not so patiently gabbing with his mysterious lady. She’s tall like me, but platinum blonde, and dressed in so much black she looks like she’s ready for Halloween in May.
Once we’re decent again, we quickly get the ship back to shore, and I work on tying it up while Miller walks over.
I hear them talking urgently by the porch and only catch pieces.
A politician’s wife. Cheating bastard. Affair. Designer shoes. Jackie the Ripper.
That last phrase leaves me chilled and confused.
Another thing I’m done with – more surprises.
So by the time the pontoon boat’s secure, I rush over, waving, watching the trio turn toward me. “Who have we got here?” I ask.
“Adelaide Palm. Soon to be ex-wife of Congressman and Senate candidate Logan Palm from Oregon.”
I do a huge double take. The woman just stares and sniffs at me like I’m not even there.
“Holy...you mean the same representative Palm who’s always in the news for his theatrics?” I don’t like politics that much, but even I recognize the name. “Didn’t he get arrested or something last year for pitching an illegal tent in a tree over healthcare?”
“That childish stunt,” Adelaide snaps. “He always was quite the actor, though. Had you fooled and half the country. I even believed he was up there the whole time, too, until I found out he’d hired a lookalike to spend three days up there fasting and then surrender himself to the Portland police. Logan was long gone before the yellow tape and the camera crews arrived, busy screwing his mistress at a swanky hotel across town.”
I’m gobsmacked. Also dying to know just what this has to do with us.
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head, my glance dancing from Miller to J.T and back to Adelaide. “If you’re Logan’s wife, what are you doing all the way out here while he’s been arrested? He has been arrested, right?”
J.T. clears his throat, giving Miller a look.
But Adelaide jumps in first. “He’ll have bail posted tomorrow unless there’s definitive evidence linking him to that Ripper Whore. Now, when I first got in touch with Mr. Riggs here and heard about all this going down, I could’ve just called. But I wanted closure. So I chartered myself a flight to International Falls and here I am.”
Her eyes flash anger, but her smile is almost eerily calm. My stomach churns. I’m so freaking lost.
“Babe, you know I hate to ask after everything we’ve been through, but we need your help.” Miller lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a look so serious, my blood drains.
“Help? What do you–”
“Shoes,” he growls.
“Huh?”
“Shoes, babe,” he tells me again.
“Shoes, Gwen,” J.T. echoes. “A one of a kind pair of wonder-feet cooked up by a crazy designer who used diamonds on the heels and scorpion blood in the dye for the liner. Adelaide here’s got the receipt, found it a while back and planned to turn it over to her lawyer planning a divorce...but he’s guilty of a lot more than a mistress and to really bring him down, we need some real bones.” His ash-grey mustache twitches, and he sighs, looking across the lake.
That’s when it finally dawns on me.
“Crud. You mean?”
“Yeah. Same damn pair I hurled in Rainy Lake before they hauled her off in handcuffs. No wonder she looked like I snapped her golden goose’s neck. Turns out, I was doing her a favor, tossing away evidence.”
“Oh.”
Adelaide’s eyes brighten. “Your husband here says you’re an amazing swimmer.”
Husband?! My eyes search Miller’s. He just grins and doesn’t correct her. Technically, I guess he’s half right, considering how this all started.
“You know I hate to ask, but I think you’re part dolphin. Gwen, would you please–”
That’s all I need before I’m running for the dock.
Hearing Miller Rush say please instead of barking orders in his adorable, oh-so-grumpy way is worth a favor or two.
* * *
Everything hurts by the time I finally track down those flipping shoes.
Against the mess of dark rocks and sand at the bottom of Rainy Lake, the five-figure designer heels blend into the darkness. I probably wouldn’t have ever found them if not for the shiny metal flash.
They’re tangled around something, and it pulls loose with me when I grab the small chain and pull. It dislodges those shoes. Just in time, too, because I don’t know if my lungs could handle yet another ninety-second run without oxygen.
Miller’s there on the dock when I come up gasping, extending a strong hand to pull me up. His huge, proud, perfect smile is reward enough.
Part of me also adores how Adelaide snarls, snatching the heels from my hand. “I knew it. And to think he never bought me a pair of slippers...”
J.T. takes the shoes for safe keeping and tries to console her. I collapse in Miller’s heavenly arms as he showers praise in beast-man speak. “You did good, Gingersnap. Got them in record time.”
It’s nice to be even for a change, instead of him saving my bacon. Literally.
My heart flutters anyway. His endless grin, hallowed by that irresistible scruff, says more than words ever could.
“But wait, there’s more. Special delivery,” I whisper, giving him a kiss as I push my little dis
covery into his hand.
“What’s this, a locket? A book?” His blue eyes lid, and he flicks the small silver box open with his thumb. “Looks empty.”
“Thank Mother for that. She always said I’d fill it up once I found my words and kept on saying it every time she saw me wearing the stupid thing. It was a present for my sixteenth birthday. Barely big enough to hold a good luck charm or something. I never bothered. Last year, I got so frustrated waiting around for my muse, I threw it away, right in the lake.”
His eyes light up. For a second, he looks like he could kiss me like a hurricane. Then, he actually does.
His tongue says it a hundred times on mine before he pulls away and speaks. “Good thing you did, woman. You just helped a mess of people find a whole lot of words to help put away Wren and Logan Fuckface.”
“He’ll sing like a canary in a couple weeks,” J.T. says, walking over, Jackie’s incriminating heels now neatly bagged. “Just wait. His kind don’t last long in prison.”
The rest is just a blur. I vaguely remember J.T., Adelaide, and Miller talking a while longer before we walk them to his Jeep. I don’t even know where my silvery book locket disappears to and wonder if I imagined the whole thing.
J.T. looks at Miller and me then. “Sorry, kids, but this old man needs to get these shoes in the sheriff’s custody, Adelaide to the airport, and then some serious shut-eye.”
“No need to apologize,” I say, stifling a yawn. “We need some sleep, too.”
I had gone back to bed for a few hours after he’d left with the sheriff, but hadn’t slept well alone, and any reserve energy I’d had left, I’d spent dredging up those stupid shoes.
The second we wave J.T. goodbye, Miller and I go straight to the bedroom. Too tired to care about my clothes and hair still being damp with lake water, I undress and throw myself into bed.
Miller does the same. I snuggle in close, and as his huge arms wrap around me so tight, so loving, so grateful, I let my eyes drift shut.
* * *
We sleep like the dead until dawn.
It’s early. Five o’clock, according to the old clock next to the bed.
Miller’s gone. His side of the bed still feels warm, but I hear the shower turning off, and then his heavy footsteps padding closer.
He’s buck naked, corded muscle and animal ink moving in fluid, sexy strides.
If I wasn’t wide awake before, I am now – especially when he catches me mid-stare.
“Didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to bed if you want, Gingersnap.”
“Nope. I slept like ten hours and I’m feeling...better.”
Let’s be real, it’s hardly the right word for waking up to Miller Rush in the buff after the last twenty-four utterly insane hours.
I reach up to brush the hair out of my eyes and am appalled at how my hair feels like a matted mass of straw. That’s what I get for going to sleep with wet hair. “You know, I need a shower too.”
His eyes glow. Miller grabs the tie of my robe and pulls me up, then closer. “You’re in luck. I need my second shower of the day to be a functioning human being. I hear if we take one together, it’ll use less hot water.”
My heart instantly thuds, even as I feel inclined to say, “The hot water heater is that little box on the bathroom wall. It’s called heat on demand. It warms the water up as needed.”
He kisses the side of my neck, running several rough fingers against my thigh. “Too early to talk so dirty, babe. Not unless you want that little heat box inspected.”
Laughing, I lean my head back, giving more room for his growly kisses which won’t be stopping anytime this century. “I mean, if you insist...”
He starts walking, forcing me to move backward while he’s still kissing my throat, my cleavage. “Come on, my mermaid-girl. Let’s go see how much heat we can conjure up wet.”
Nothing could wipe the smile off my face. Being called his is only part of it.
In about sixty seconds, I’m going to be receiving the best wake-up call of my life.
He unties my robe while still coaxing me backward, his hands going behind me for a squeeze that curls my toes. “Looking mighty hot already. Fiery phoenix red. You ready for me?”
I know what he means, but it makes me think of something else. All the unknowns, the unanswered questions, the terrible idea we could be living on borrowed time before he decides a fake wife he’s lived with for a couple glorious months is more trouble than it’s worth.
“Gingersnap?”
I stop walking and pinch my lips together at how even that simple, silly nickname warms my heart. Our eyes lock. His are blue moons, passion overflowing, but there’s hesitation, too. Curiosity.
Does he know what I’m thinking?
His slow, fierce kiss tells me he might. Then he says, “Less thinkin’, more fuckin’. Can’t give any more than that right now, Gwen. Not till the timing’s different.”
“I don’t need more than that right now, Miller.” That’s not a total lie. Because honestly?
I don’t know what I need. What I expect. What I’ll do if him and the kids jet back to Washington next week, or decide they want to live in my townhouse forever.
“Talk to me,” he growls, pushing his forehead to mine. His fingers must be burning up when he touches me, running them up my jaw, tilting my face to look at him. “What do you need, beautiful? It’s your morning for saving the last act yesterday.”
“Just a shower,” I whisper, smiling into another kiss. “And this.”
I reach for his seething cock, so hard and thick it’s no easy task to curl my entire fist around it. As usual, I can’t tell who wants it worse today, and I kinda like it.
Grinning, he pushes the robe off my shoulders. “That I can give, Gwen, and then some.”
I drop my arms so the robe falls to the floor and lean against him. I feel his hard-on pressing against my stomach, and know he’s fully aware of my breasts flattening against his chest.
We’re too far gone for more words.
Our lips tangle, our hands roam, our voices drop to guttural moans and heavy breaths, and somehow, we fumble our way through the bedroom and into the bathroom without breaking tongues.
I step into the shower, my awed gaze scaling his body, every last inch of bare muscle and ink. Forever amazed – what else?
He has to be the best-looking man on this earth, with or without clothes.
Those eyes are so lightning blue. They were the first thing I’d noticed and still do every time I look at him. I love how they shine, sparkle, and shimmer, especially when he’s looking dead at me.
The rest of him – his chiseled jaw, his wide, muscular neck, broad shoulders, brawny chest, rippled stomach, tree trunk legs, even his bare feet, are the essence of perfection.
God didn’t break the mold when he made Miller Rush and hurled him into my life.
I think he went through a few hundred before he found the perfect mix of bear, of soldier, of father, of lover, of man.
And there’s no mistaking that part when he takes his sweet time kissing my neck, helping shampoo and rinse my hair. Then his hands take me places I’d never find anywhere else while I’m this shamefully wet.
Endless teasing licks give way to deep, hard conquest. His tongue takes mine and his thumb finds my clit before he drops to his knees. He brings me off once on his hands, riding his tongue, his beard, his growl.
I scream myself hoarse, two feral fingers and a mouth like Zeus’ working deep in my pussy, prepping me for what’s next.
I can’t take any more.
My back braces against the shower wall. I throw one leg around his waist as he pins me against the wall, gently by the throat, and pushes his glorious cock into me.
His long fingers hold my face open for his lips, his tongue, his teeth as he goes hard. He holds nothing back, a cascade of sweet fuckery. Hard, languid thrusts become quaking, fast, clit-searing swipes inside my body, every inch of him buried to the hilt.
�
��Miller!” I gasp his name so hard I see stars.
His name barely gushes out as he brings me to the peak, pushing me over.
Coming!
Just like that, he messes me up so good when my shrill whine melds with his thunder, when I’m shaking on his tattooed wall of muscle, when my pussy creams every inch of him and his seed goes so deep it burns.
I’m scared the pill won’t even be enough. He’s going to trash my freaking birth control and leave my ovaries smoking if he keeps taking me like this.
But not so scared I stop, sinking my teeth into his lip, urging on our sweet delirium.
It’s truly indescribable.
Truly as close to heaven on earth as anything can be.
Miller stands, holding his cock in me while the water steams around us, and keeps me from collapsing.
Knowing he’ll never, ever let me fall is paradise.
With him, I’ve found my inspiration, even if I might’ve misplaced that stupid book charm necklace again.
And my muse doesn’t sail down from the sky to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
My real muse just growls, stomps, and leaves me so dizzy I’m still trying to figure out what hit me.
20
No Place Better (Miller)
Two Months Later
“Are we gonna finish the gazebo today, Dad?” Shane asks while we’re loading the pickup with boards at the lumber yard.
“Sure are,” I tell him. “A few more trim boards are all we’ve got left.”
“Then we get to paint it, right?” Lauren asks. “That pretty white shade May picked?”
“Yep, made to order.”
She smiles, rocking happily up and down on her heels. Can’t blame her. The extra beat in my step today feels as bright as the sunshine outside.
