“Happy anniversary, peaches,” Sam said, kissing me awake. It was one minute into our wedding anniversary and he was sneaking into my bed. That was the problem with being married to a thief. He probably stole my room key when he was in here earlier—though I may have left it out on purpose as a temptation.

“I don’t think you should even be in here.” I smiled. “Isn’t this bad luck?”

He slid his hands beneath my negligee, worn because it was white and lacy and the first piece of sexy sleepwear I ever owned.

“The superstition isn’t valid when you’re renewing your vows. We’re already married, and you know how much I need you.”

I could feel that need pressing against my butt.

“You know most men are past the honeymoon period by now, right? They’re too busy watching sports or something to maul their wives.”

His hand moved over my stomach as his mouth worked along my shoulder and against the curve of my neck. “Is that what you call this?” he whispered. “Mauling.”

“My word power isn’t the best when you’re doing that.”

“Doing what? This?” He ran the tip of his tongue around the shell of my ear. “Or this?” He slid his hand down to my mound, stopping just before he got to point where I’d begun to throb.

“All of it,” I whispered, causing him to chuckle lightly.

“What can I say,” he said, slipping his fingers in the waist of my lace panties. “Most men don’t have a wife who mews like a virgin and looks rock-star hot in their underwear like you do.” He’d taken me to that fancy underwear store that got in trouble for their raunchy Christmas displays, and we’d gone a little wild with the purchases. He struggled to keep his hands to himself before the sexy underwear, but ever since, he was constantly hooking his finger in the waist of my pants to check which ones I was wearing. It was possessive and made me feel so damn sexy and wanted. It did wonders for my self-esteem. And not that it needed it, but it had even done wonders for our sex life. He wasn’t the only one who was insatiable.

“Mews like a virgin?” I repeated as he pushed the panties down my legs and flicked them off the bed.

“Yes. When I touch you—” He slid his finger between my folds, placing the perfect amount of pressure against every sensitive spot. I moaned. “—you mew. Just like that.”

“I like it when you touch me like that.”

“I love it that you’re already wet from waiting for me. You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“I was counting on it,” I whispered, wriggling back against him until he moaned from the friction of my butt against his cock.

“I remember the first night I took you. The way you blushed and moaned, so eager to experience everything I could give you. You were so perfect.” His fingers teased and probed, his mouth kissing my skin between his words.

I moved against him, reaching back to slide my fingers in his hair. “Your touch has always felt so good. I’m glad I waited. I’m glad it was you.” I turned my head towards him, kissing him hungrily as his hand brought me to climax before he slid inside me, taking me in the spoon position, the angle so perfectly deep that I almost came a second time after only a few strokes.

“Not yet, peaches. Wait for me this time,” he whispered, pressing his fingers into my hips as he rocked within me.

“But you feel so good,” I gasped. “So good. I can’t.”

I really couldn’t. I shuddered around him, my muscles clenching and releasing, body shaking, breath hissing. With a moan, he followed me, his fingers tightening on my hip as his cock pulsed inside me.

“You feel so good,” I repeated, breathing hard.

“You know that’s my line, right?” He chuckled, kissing me with slow force.

“I was just telling the truth,” I said when we pulled apart.

When he left to get something to clean me up, I took a moment to admire the beautiful ring he’d given me at Christmas. It had been a turbulent time for the family with Nate coming back. I would never forget the look on Jasmine’s face when we brought him back home that day.

* * *

“Jazz.” We’d entered the house through the sliding door, going straight into the kitchen where she was alone preparing coffee. She froze.

Then she turned.

The coffee pot fell from her hand with a loud crash.

“Nate?” Her wide eyes welled with tears as she stared at him in disbelief.

Toby came running at the sound of the breaking glass, skidding to a stop the moment he set eyes on Nate. He swallowed once, shook his head, then turned away.

“Tobes,” Nate called after him, his voice imploring. Toby just kept going, his shoulders hunched, having lost their usual pride.

“Leave him, brother,” Sam said. “You made him lie for you. Add he had to kill for you. He needs time.”

Nate nodded, the rest of us breathing in the sorrow in the air. This family was heavily bruised, and only Nate could fix it.

“What the hell have you done?” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Mum.” He stepped towards her.

She backed away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I was trying to break free.”

“You started a war.”

Nate’s tongue peeked past his lips, wetting them, and then he swallowed hard. “I’ll fix it,” he promised.

The silence stretched into a vast ocean of unspoken words as mother and son stared at each other, hurt and anguish in their eyes. “You do that,” Jasmine said finally. “And don’t you dare come back here till you’re through.”

* * *

I had no idea how ‘fixed’ everything was, but we hadn’t had any further visits from anyone connected to Nate’s flower business, and Nate and Holland spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s with us at the house. Holland even made a huge effort to be friendly with everyone. It seemed things were dealt with, at least to Jasmine’s satisfaction.

Toby, on the other hand, was not OK. He’d gone through a lot at the hand of his closest brother, forced across that invisible line he’d never wanted to cross. He’d killed. He had a scar on his soul now, and I didn’t know how we were going to fix it. Most days, he acted like he was OK, but there were times when I’d spot him sitting alone outside, throwing the ball for Rogue until even the dog grew tired of it. Then he’d just continue sitting out there, staring off into the distance, looking lost. Sometimes I’d sit with him, and other times I’d find Sam, Kris or Abbot sitting with him. We were all just trying to be there, trying to let him know that he wasn’t alone; we were there on that day, and we were there for him now. We just hoped that time would help him find that light inside of him again so he could come back to us.

Speaking of the twins, they were the most adaptable men I’d ever known in my life. They’d been pissed when they found out Nate had faked his death, even left and returned with bruised knuckles after hearing the news. But once they got the shock out of their system, they were right back to being their crazy, light-hearted selves. Sometimes I thought they were the glue that held this family together. They made anything heavy feel lighter.

My relationship with Holland had definitely grown stronger. I wouldn’t say we were the best of friends again, but we were definitely on the road to becoming something else—sisters perhaps, the kind who still loved each other even when one of them was being a pig-headed arse (I was talking about Holland, here. She was trying to embrace the Cartwrights, but she still had a long way to go).

Jasmine, well, she was Jasmine. Strong, capable and centred. That woman would keep walking forwards in the middle of a cyclone. You simply couldn’t put her down. I found myself taking pride in any comparisons people made about me and her. She was fierce, and I was cool with being seen as fierce too.

Despite the messed-up year we’d had, Sam and I had come out of it stronger, and during that same Christmas, he wanted to show me how much I meant to him by getting down on one knee.

“What are you doing?” I’d asked, looking around the room at our gathered family. They just smiled knowingly, and my heart beat even faster as I realised what was going on.

Holding out that little blue box that every girl dreamed of one day owning, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with all the love I felt in my heart, and said six very important words. “Peaches, will you marry me again?”

I didn’t have to think. I immediately said yes, ecstatic for the chance to renew our vows and reset our marriage, this new day planned to perfection so we could put the disaster of our first wedding behind us. I wanted to look at our first year together as an overzealous form of dating, our true married life starting after we said ‘I do’ without any sort of coercion. That way it would be real. That way I would forever believe it.

That’s not to say I didn’t still question Sam’s motives and his devotion to me. My brain just wasn’t adjusted enough to believe that someone could possibly love me at my best, let alone at my worst. But he was tireless in his efforts to show me that I was his very reason for waking up each morning. And when he presented me with a seaside cottage with the tinted windows I’d wanted for my birthday, I’d spent a week walking around naked to prove to him how happy he made me. Granted, the nakedness was a little uncomfortable when the mailman came knocking, but we quickly learned that a robe hung on the back of the door was a great solution for unexpected visitors.

Now he was treating me to my dream wedding. We had booked a local hotel and filled it with our guests. I had chosen my perfect dress, and my father was ready to give me away. Holland was my pregnant matron of honour, a piece of information she’d only dropped a few days before. It was very early, so no one knew outside the family. It was a bit of shock for me since she’d never wanted children, but once she and Nate went back to Portland in the new year, she was suddenly bit by the baby bug.

I was sure they’d make beautiful book-loving children, but I couldn’t help feeling a little tug of longing at how easy it had seemed for them. Sam and I still wanted children, but we were going to have to embark on a very frightening, very expensive journey to make that dream happen. But that was OK. We’d do whatever it took, and we’d do it together. United, we were strong. And on the upside, Holland being pregnant meant she couldn’t get stuck into the champagne this time and cause a whole new family incident since we were all still on tenterhooks with each other.

When I made my way up the aisle later that day, Sam’s side of the altar was going to be a little crowded. He was going to have all four of his brothers as his collective best man. There had been a lot of questions about Nate’s resurrection, but once we explained that the coroner had made an error and Nate had simply gone on holiday, the questions slowed. I’m not sure anyone really believed that lie, but it was the best story we had for them—simple was more believable than complicated.

On top of the bridal party, all of our friends and relatives were invited, our vows were written and a reception was ready to go. We were making all that went wrong last time go right, reclaiming the day as our own. Sam was giving me my fairy tale, and I loved him even more for it.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to kick me out of your room now that you’ve gotten want you wanted from me,” Sam said once he’d carefully bathed away our mess. “I agreed to the whole separate room thing, but I never agreed to separate beds.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” I laughed. “And no, I’m not going to kick you out. Turns out I can’t sleep too well without that big chest of yours wrapping around me.”

“You mean this one?” he asked, pumping his pecs so they danced.

I nodded. “Yeah. I really like that chest.”

“Do you like it, or do you love it?”

I laughed. “I love it.” He slid into the bed and I snuggled in close, sighing from the happiness of being close to him. There was no such thing as perfect, but I was pretty sure this love I shared with Sam was as close as it was going to get.

“Sam?” I whispered just as his breathing started to deepen.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t wait to marry you again.”

“I can’t wait either. I love you, peaches.” He kissed my shoulder.

“I love you too.”

Next in the Cartwright Brothers series, Foolish Games, featuring Kristian and Veronica.

I didn’t have an easy life. Waiting tables for a function centre was about as good as life got for me. There were no tips—unless telling me I had a great arse could be considered a tip—but it was enough for me to live on, barely. Everything else I needed, I took. And I was never caught, except that one time when these brothers and some weird chick busted me for stealing their car. It was their fault I took it. They shouldn’t have left their keys where I could find them. And it was a sweet ride; I chucked a couple of donuts in that thing and it smoked up like a charm. Good times.

Anyway, those guys took the car back, turned my boyfriend into a pussy and ended up making me homeless. When I saw that same car again in the function centre parking lot, I couldn’t resist. I pulled out my keys and started scratching. C… U… busted. I should’ve known it was a bad idea, but I never was one to listen to my conscience. Suddenly I was locked in a room while a family of five ridiculously hot brothers argued over what to do with me. Their mother wanted me dead, but they were insisting that stealing and vandalism weren’t necessarily grounds for a beheading. I was on their side. I quite liked my head—even though it seemed like I’d just gotten myself in way over it.

But do you know what was crazy? The brother I’d stolen from, the one who’d caught me defacing his car, was now watching me like a lion watches a big juicy steak. Hmm, maybe I could spin this in my favour after all….