by ANGEL PAYNE
Maybe…I just had to believe it now too.
When I went back into Abbigail’s room, she was sleeping soundly. I pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and lay my head on the mattress at her hip. I closed my eyes too. I had told Grant and Elijah to go on home. We had to stay at least twenty-four hours, and as long as everything went well, we’d be able to go home after that. They had drawn some blood earlier, and the preliminary lab work looked good so far. The hormone levels in Abbi’s blood didn’t show signs of labor, so Dr. Julie was confident the cramping wasn’t actual preterm labor. My Little Red was just exhausted and dehydrated.
Nevertheless, this had been a real shot across the bow. A wakeup call for Abbigail and me. A call to action—and to connection. Not just about the little stuff.
We had some big things to talk about now.
Just as I was drifting off, I felt her fingers sifting through my hair. I enjoyed the attention for a few minutes, being still and silent with her in that moment…knowing now that we had to make these kinds of times important. More importantly, I wasn’t sure how to address the mess I’d made. Not just this immediate one. So many of them…even after I’d promised the woman I’d change. I had done no such thing. I’d just found a way to be sneakier about my control.
Unacceptable.
I had to work on this. Had to figure it all out, even if it meant going to some uncomfortable emotional places. Yeah, even worse than the ones I’d already been.
Maybe I could talk to Mr. Gibson, the patriarch of the Gibson clan. The figurehead and emotional leader of the family could lead me through the tough times and help guide me into the next phase of my life’s journey with his daughter. Okay, yeah. Now that was a keeper of an idea. It all made perfect sense, and I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t considered the option before.
I turned my face on the mattress but still left my head lying on the thin, plastic-coated pad beside Abbigail. I pressed my lips into her palm and held her hand to my cheek afterward. She returned my stare with openly adoring eyes.
“Will you forgive me?” I whispered. “Jesus, Abbi. Will the two of you ever forgive me?”
Her brows knitted. “Oh my God, Sebastian. For what?”
“He’s not even here, and I’m already fucking him up.” Still a whisper. I didn’t trust my voice to come out steadily. “World’s worst father, and the infant hasn’t even been born. Is that a thing?” Lifting my head, the water that had collected in my eyes ran down each cheek, and I quickly dashed it away with frustrated fists.
“Sebastian,” she pleaded in a matching rasp. “Sebastian. Shark. Stop. Right now.”
I complied, of course—but instead of saying anything else, I stood up. I began busying myself with her blankets. “How do you feel, my love? Can I get you anything? How about something to drink? They brought in some”—I looked in the cup and then took a quick sniff—“apple juice. Do you even like apple juice?” I grimaced. “Fuck! I don’t even know if you like apple juice!” I threw my hands up and then raked them back through my hair.
“No, I don’t like apple juice.” She giggled but reached for me at the same time, an open gesture of reassurance. “I don’t usually drink juice at all. Of any kind.” Her features sobered. “But I’d love it if you would lie with me. Please?”
I tilted my head, letting her sleepy little smile wrap tighter around my heart. Still, I replied, “Will we both fit? That bed is pretty small.”
“Can we try?” Out came her sweet little pout. Christ… Even on a mild sedative, she knew how to work me. If we were in any other circumstances than this, I’d be seriously turned on—and willing to cling to enough of my asshole side to do something about it. “Baby?” Abbigail persisted. “Please? I’d love to be in your arms right now…that is, if you aren’t still angry with me…”
So screw the damn juice. I slammed the cup down to the bedside stand on my way to sweeping my whole upper body down and then cupping her face to kiss her fiercely. “Baby,” I husked when we drew away by just inches, our breaths still mingling and our stares still locked. “I’m not angry with you.” I pressed my forehead to hers, praying my thoughts would seep into her brain by osmosis. “I was never, ever angry with you.”
“You’re so full of shit.” She giggled again but without so much conviction. “Oh, Bas. Come on. You were furious when you first got here.”
“Abbi, I was scared,” I confessed. “Scratch that.” This was the new me. I could do this emotional exposure thing, even if it felt like having my heart carved out of my chest, valve by fucking valve. “I was terrified. And confused. And out of my mind with worry.” I tucked in and took her lips with lingering adoration. “I had no idea if you were even dead or alive. They wouldn’t even tell me that much.”
Her lips shifted against mine, lifting into a gorgeous little grin. “Well, here I am. Very much alive. But you can do a quality assurance check if you’d like…”
Though she tilted higher, eyes glazed with longing and lips opening in invitation, I let her have just a brief taste before whispering, “Woman…I was damn near out of my mind.”
“Hmmm. I can tell. You know, Mr. Shark…you’re kind of sexy when in your scared-out-of-your-mind mode.”
“Yeah?” I teethed her top lip and snarled just loud enough to make her shiver and sigh. “Well, don’t get used to it.”
She pushed up again, grabbing me by the collar. She still smelled like kitchen spices and expensive perfume. She was glowing and gorgeous, her aroused nipples outlined beneath the thin hospital gown. “Then give me something else to think about,” she rasped. “Like your body stretched out next to mine.”
“Well…” I smiled and stroked her cheek. “Whatever my sweet fertility goddess wants…”
Surprisingly, we managed to arrange ourselves in her small bed, my large frame molded behind her small one, with all of her cords and tubes on top of the covers so the night nurse could access whatever she needed when she came in during rounds. Hopefully the staff would just go away when they saw us sleeping, but a man could dream.
For the longest time, I just ran my fingers through her hair. Every minute or so, I rubbed my face in the silky strands. Being pressed up against her sweet body was torture for my swollen dick, but this was a moment for other things. More important things. But first, the most important thing of all.
“You still all right, babe? Is it too much with me here? Do you want me to get up?”
“No.” She laughed it out while securing my arm tighter around her, splaying my fingers across the miraculous swell of her middle. She pressed her soft fingers over mine. As she lightly scraped the hairs on my knuckles with her cute pink fingernails, only one thought filled my mind.
This is the best damn moment of my life.
I had no idea how any other conflux of time was going to best this. Ever. I wanted to handcuff her to me and never let her out of my sight again. Not for a single second.
I kissed the back of her head. “Try to sleep. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”
“Promise?” she asked sleepily.
“Yes. I promise with my entire heart and soul. For whatever those black things are worth.”
“Don’t say that.” She squeezed my hand. “I love every part of you, Sebastian Albert Shark.”
“Abbigail Eileen Gibson, I love every part of you, too.”
One beat passed by. Another.
No. Better. Moment.
But as soon as the thought dominated my mind, another took its place. A concept that was altogether exhilarating, numbing, heart-stopping, and mind-boggling. In the middle of this damn hospital room, I felt like I stood at the lip of an airplane, ready to jump—with nothing but cardboard wings on my back.
Perhaps this really would be the best moment ever…
Unless I gave Abbi and me a new one.
Unless I rose beyond myself—and all my fears, limitations, issues, and challenges.
Unless I took a chance on something I couldn’t control. Something
I never thought I’d do, as long as I walked this earth.
Which was maybe why it felt so damn right.
“Hey. Woman of mine?”
“Hmmm?” Abbigail murmured.
“Will you marry me?”
Another beat of silence. Then two. As the third loomed in on us, I tried not to envision her tears from earlier, when she’d told Dr. Sanford we weren’t married. Had I misinterpreted the frustration beneath them?
Give her what she needs…
But what if my name and my ring weren’t what she needed? What if I was back to pulling all my old shit, attempting to control her in yet another roundabout way? But that wasn’t it at all. I didn’t want to control her. I wanted to set her free. To shower her in my devotion, worship her with my body, honor her for the rest of my life. I wanted to grow old with her. To fly on cardboard wings with her. But only if she wanted it too.
Only if she said—
“Wh-What?”
Not exactly that.
“You…uhhh…you don’t want to?” I stammered.
“I didn’t say that.”
She tried to turn in my arms, but I stopped her. “No, stay there. It’s okay. We’re situated in here too perfectly. We can redo this all for the Instagram story again later. Right here, right now, is just for us. For our hearts. For our son and for the family we’re making. Will you be my wife? And make me the proudest man and father ever? Let’s do this the way it’s meant to be done.”
“Yes.”
I could tell she was crying. I could feel her body’s slight tremble, and when she lifted my hand to her lips, her sweet mouth was warm and wet with tears. “I love you so much,” she rasped. “I love you more with every day that passes. With every day your son grows bigger inside my body, I feel my heart swell with the love and the joy that you bring and will bring into my life. I would be honored to be your wife, Sebastian. Yes! Yes! Yes!”
She pulled me in, cinching me tighter. And damn, did I let her—because no way in hell could anyone see the drops seeping from behind my own eyes. Her fragrant, soft hair was a perfect place to let them fall. As they mingled into her brilliant red locks, I could finally clear my throat and tell her, “As soon as you’re home, I promise I’ll do this the right way, my love.”
Abbigail spurted with a cute laugh. “Wait. That wasn’t the right way?”
“I’m going to call your father and ask him,” I asserted. “Then I’m going to get down on one knee, with a ring in my hand the size of—”
“Bas,” she chided. “None of that matters. I would marry you right here in this room, in this sexy hospital gown with my ass sticking out.”
I growled at the mention of her ass being exposed in this damn flimsy gown, because at the moment, that perfect backside was pressed so tightly against me, if I just opened the fly on my slacks, I could be inside her, celebrating our new commitment to one another in all the right ways.
But the moment was already right.
Already perfect.
Already so complete in all the ways that mattered.
I had the love of my life in my arms. A love I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find or brave enough to deserve. A woman who was willing to accept me for everything I was and elevate me to everything I could be. A human who had shown me how to rise beyond myself…into the glory of her love.
Into the joy of our beautiful new life.
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Excerpt from Grant’s Heat
I quickly texted Rio that I was on my way. After a ten-minute walk, I was hiking up the sprawling steps at Bunker Hill.
When I finally reached the summit, there was a raven-haired pixie with the constant devilish gleam in her brandy eyes to greet me. As I gasped for air, she threw her head back, taking obvious delight in my distress.
“What’s” —gasp—“so”—gasp—“funny?” I folded in half, gripping my knees while sucking in air through my nose. “Mother fucker, that’s a lot of stairs.”
She popped up on her feet while I straightened my stance. The top of her head only reached the knot of my tie since she was in one of the nineteen pairs of Chuck Taylor’s she owned. And yes, I’d counted and mentally cataloged them all.
“You, Mr. Toughguy, getting so winded from a few steps.” She cranked her head back to look up at me, so I went back down three of the shallow concrete steps to put us back to mutual eye level.
“This was your plan all along, you little brat,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.
Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she asked, “What?”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“Nah.” Her elfin features sobered. “I like you too much to kill you.”
She issued the last of it in a voice so soft, I could’ve been mistaken about what I’d heard.
“Maybe just hurt me a little, then?” I decided to fight fire with fire. As I added to the quiet taunt, I leaned slightly toward her, letting my register drop even lower. “Like a cat toying with a mouse?”
“Yeah. Maybe something like that.”
Rio grinned and looked at where her slender fingers wrapped around the railing. Black nail polish tipped her delicate hands, bringing a dirty image to the forefront of my mind. I imagined that metal pole being my shaft instead…
And there was no going back.
My slacks became agonizingly tight in the crotch.
No. Bad Grant. Married woman.
At once, my logic—and my stomach—supplied the perfect subject. “Are you hungry, Blaze?” I inquired. “Have you eaten anything today?” The woman had a terrible habit of neglecting herself in favor of caring for others, and I called her on it routinely when we worked together.
“Yes, Daddy. Thank you.” She wrinkled her nose at me in defiance. “But I am hungry, now that you mention it. I think there might be an empanada cart across the patio. Somewhere that way.”
She pointed with one of those black nails, and my dick kicked up again. And now, the recognition was getting outright odd. Since when was Wednesday Addams nail polish a thing I actually liked? Easy answer: never. Goth girls just weren’t my thing. Too much angst. Too much emotion, period. But Rio Gibson wasn’t the quintessential goth girl. She had her own unique style in just about everything she did.
Her short ebony hair, for example. It was downright fascinating. I found myself staring at it when we talked. It caught and absorbed sunlight like a spectrum. Then, depending on the way she turned her head, it shone the rays back in different colors altogether. Sometimes scarlet or cobalt, other times the deepest chestnut or hint of violet.
“Is your hair naturally black?” I randomly blurted the curiosity as we walked across the deck. Jesus, I probably sounded like a smitten schoolboy, though at the moment, I didn’t really care. Right now, I didn’t want to think about what anyone else thought—except for the captivating human at my side, who tilted her head before answering. Likely, she was trying to figure out the same thing I was. What the hell had gotten into me?
“Yep,” she answered simply, then completely changed the subject. “I’m buying. What would you like?”
“You’ll do no such thing.” I didn’t lift my gaze from the small menu.
“Why? I can afford to buy you lunch, Grant.”
“I’m sure you can. But I’m old-fashioned and a gentleman. And because I said so. Tell the woman what you want, please. Beef and a bottle of water for me, please, and whatever the lady would like.” I motioned Rio to order with a sweep of my hand.
She huffed and rolled her eyes. And sure enough, my cock twitched yet again. Dear God, how I longed to teach this girl some manners—and to do it my way. A different definition of “the old fashioned way.” Over my knees. A paddle. My hand. A hairbrush, maybe? On her delicate bare ass…
“Hmmm.” I shifted my stance, applying damn near the same kind of disci
pline to my willful erection.
For fuck’s sake. Settle down.
“Hmmm, what?”
“What?” I startled from my fantasy. Good thing too, since the cart was getting a line and the sweet old lady behind was pushing me off with a pointed glare. I paid her and then guided Rio to the side, where we could wait for our food.
“You said, ‘hmmm,’” she pointed out, her eyes going big and curious. “So what were you hmming about?”
I blinked. Then again. Well, shit. She was clearly expecting an answer—to a comment I hadn’t meant to voice aloud.
“These smell so good, don’t they?”
My lying skills were really getting to stretch their wings today. Fortunately for me, Rio bought into the illusion this time.
“They do,” she answered excitedly. “I think this was a good call. And thank you, Mr. Old Fashioned Twombley, for treating me to lunch. Next time, it’s on me. No arguing!”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will.”
“Hmmm.”
She bit her lower lip and flashed me a cheeky grin.
I clenched my jaw and attempted a rebuking glower. But the woman was my glower killer. I simply couldn’t be in a bad mood around her. Especially not now, as our order came up and the little lady handed our food over the stainless steel surface.
We found an empty precast concrete table out of the way, in the shade of a large Angel’s Trumpet. Though scientists had likely named the plant eons ago, it was a perfect fit for a planter in the center of the City of Angels. The hearty beauty clearly agreed, since even on this hazy afternoon it was showing off its drooping yellow horn-shaped flowers, some as large as my fist.
“This is a perfect little lunch spot,” Rio declared after sitting down. “A secret little hideaway. I love how LA has all these gems tucked away for the people who dare to look beneath the surface.”
“Me too.”
But I was only half-invested in the response. I was wholly mesmerized by the sight of the woman as she unfolded the paper napkin and placed it on her lap, treating the paper square as if it were the most beautiful linen. The action was so unique in this background of casual business lunchers, college kids on laptops, and people walking their dogs.
