EPILOGUE
| LOGAN |
= Four Months Later =
This was a dumb idea.
I should’ve fucking gone with something more traditional. Rose petals and a candlelit dinner or something.
Instead, I’m down on one knee on the top of a mountain with Nicole, holding the new climbing carabiner I had manufactured recently.
Since the three of us go climbing together outdoors at least twice a month now, I of course invested in someone to make the most top of the line carabiners out there. By design, most aren’t made to hold more than one person. Mine are.
It’s a bit overkill, yes, but I’m not taking any chances with Hannah and Nicole on the mountain.
Maybe it’s lame to be proposing with a clunky metal climbing carabiner instead of a ring, but this, I felt had more significance to this amazing life we’re about to have together. As not just man and wife, but as a family.
Thankfully, Nicole thinks so too. If her tear-filled yes is any indication.
All that said, I’m not a total imbecile. I of course got her a diamond as well. A big one. Channel set so she can wear it even when she climbs and a flawless grade capable of catching light and showing anyone with working eyes around her that she’s damn well taken.
Before I can reach in my pocket to give her said ring, however, she wipes the tears from her eyes and asks, “Can that carabiner hold four people? Or at least two people, and one person who’ll soon be eating for two?”
Proposal, engagement ring, and my own name all but forgotten, I shoot up to my feet and stare at her. “You’re pregnant?”
It’s not that I wasn’t expecting it. Hell, I’ve been trying to get the woman pregnant from the night she moved back to the house.
Before she can answer, I bombard her with more questions—the therapy really is doing wonders for me in that regard. “Why on earth did you let me bring you up a mountain in your condition?! Have you gone to the doctor yet?” I kiss her before she has a chance to answer any of those, then I drop to my knees and kiss her belly. “Do I get to name the baby?”
“My condition,” she replies, with her hands on her hips, “has no bearing on my ability to climb, and you know it.” Her stubborn gaze dares me to defy her.
My mother didn’t raise me to be that stupid.
“Yes, to the doctor,” she continues. “No, to the naming part.”
“I’m going with you to all your appointments from now on,” I growl, placing one last gentle kiss on her belly before getting up to demand, “And why can’t I name the baby?”
“Because.” She smiles softly. “I thought we could have Hannah pick the baby’s name.”
Hell, that’s a winning trump card and she knows it. “Hannah would love that.”
Speaking of which.
I pick Nicole up and sit her down on a nearby rock. “Don’t move.” I run over to my pack then to get my satellite phone.
She stops me from dialing. “Wait a minute. You’re not thinking of doing something crazy like call a chopper to come get me, are you?”
Not going to lie, the thought of an air transport for Nicole did cross my mind. Along with a passing pondering on whether there’s an existing patent on a giant bubble bioengineered to keep a pregnant mother from any harm.
I decide it wouldn’t hurt to make a few calls.
“Logan, I’ve read the research. I can climb well into the pregnancy. They have special harnesses and everything.”
Yes, yes, my legal team made sure I was well-versed in all of that the first time a pregnant patron wanted to climb in one of my gyms.
Doesn’t mean I can’t worry my ass off over it.
“I won’t call a chopper,” I promise, before resuming my dialing.
“Hannah?” I grin into the phone. “Yeah, she said yes.”
I pull the phone away from my ear so I don’t lose an ear drum when she starts squealing. “Also, Nicole just told me you’re going to be a big sister.”
This time, I almost do lose an ear drum. Smiling, I switch over to my other ear as she talks excitedly about weddings and babies for a bit before she asks me to hand the phone over to Nicole. “Sure thing, honey. Hang on a sec.”
“Hey Hannah,” says Nicole in that adoring mom voice I’ve loved hearing develop over the past few months.
The pair are closer than ever and while I’d been a little jealous of how much they’d bonded at first, now, it’s just amazing to watch their connection grow as strong as it has.
For the next minute or so, I listen to Nicole attempt to get a few words in during the markedly one-sided conversation.
That amazing little girl of mine has turned into quite the conversational bad-ass, who can now argue better than Nicole, even.
When Nicole quietly hangs up the phone a short while later, I look at her expectantly.
“She’s sending a chopper,” she says with all the reluctantly impressed dignity a woman who just lost an argument to a nine-year-old can muster.
I chuckle.
“It’ll be here in one hour.”
Interesting. I know for a fact that Hannah could’ve had one over to us in half that time.
Seriously. Best kid ever.
I make a mental note to raise her allowance.
“One whole hour up here all by our lonesome,” I say, pulling my beautiful bride-to-be into my arms as I reach into my pocket.
First I slip the diamond ring on her finger.
Then the blindfold I brought over her eyes.
~~THE END~~
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© 2017 Sasha Burke
| |
The woman’s killing me.
I’m not the kind of man who would normally even consider blurring the lines between landlord and tenant or boss and employee, but Summer is a walking temptation. Neurotic and obsessive-as-hell when it comes to work details, but a damn cute-without-knowing-it temptation nevertheless.
She’s been a good tenant and an even better worker. Plus, she doesn’t simper or throw herself at me like a lot of women who find out my net worth. I’ve grown...fond of her, oddly enough.
But if she drags my ass out of bed in the middle of the night to talk about work one more time…
The man’s a saint.
Not only did Jason hire me for the greatest project I’ve ever run point on, but he also let me move into an amazing loft in his building as an extravagant job-relocation perk. Sure, he can be a grouch when I accidentally wake him up to go over the project, but he’s still a saint nevertheless.
He’s been a fantastic boss and a surprisingly protective landlord. But…when did his shoulders get so wide? And why is that growling voice of his making me all weak in the knees lately?
Also, is it still considered morning wood if it happens in the middle of the night…or something more?
NOTE: This is a quick, steamy romance with high-scale chemistry & low-scale drama for the busy reader on the go. Contents include: dirty & descriptive sex, a hot & sweet blue-collar billionaire who curses a lot, a strong & feisty heroine who inspires much of said cursing, and a swoony instalove plot complete with an HEA. No cheating, no cliffhanger.
| E X C E R P T |
It’s no secret that Jason is usually the most handsome man in the room, any room, whether he’s in a suit or covered with jobsite dust from head to toe.
But Jason dripping wet and naked?
I have no words.
All I see before me are miles of tanned, ripped muscles, and an almost dauntingly impressive erection.
No really. It’s huge.
And just like that, I can’t stop my brain from firing off an onslaught of questions. How does he walk around with that thing and not feel like he has an extra sledgehammer weighing down his tool belt? Would my fingers even meet around it? Do his? Was it that hard this morning when I first saw him at the door?
As I continue to stare, it begins to harden and lengthen even more. To the point where I’m not just riveted, but also frankly curious from a general contractor’s standpoint. Sort of like that time I once had to figure out how to get a grand piano into the tiny ass little window on the thirtieth floor of a commercial high rise.
Putting the question of seemingly impossible male-female anatomical fit on the back burner for the time being, I shift my silent inquisition to the matter of why he’s got a hard-on again. That’s the second time today. Is ‘morning wood’ an ongoing thing? Has he been like this every morning without me noticing? And is it some sort of mysterious biological response for my nipples to be tightening this much now that I am noticing?
I feel my cheeks pinking, but I can’t seem to pull my gaze away. A hum of warm pleasure begins in my core and I feel my whole body waking up as if I’ve never really been awake before this moment. It’s unsettling. But not in a bad way.
Definitely not a bad way.
Seriously, I need to stop looking at it. He’s my boss. And my landlord. I need to look away.
Anytime now.
Every second that ticks by is another second too long, another second I’m gaping at him like I’ve never seen a human penis before.
Which is ridiculous for a woman my age. Of course I’ve seen one.
Well, I’ve seen porn. And also that one guy in person who hadn’t been nearly as hung as Jason. Or whatever the term is for a giant cock now standing upright and all but saluting me.
The unexpected penis-sighting that other time had been an accident, too. The real-life penis guy, not the porn. I watched the porn on purpose to see what I was missing. Clearly though, my porn research had been a wholly inadequate means of measurement.
Because wow.
My heart starts to thunder then, and my brain begins cataloging every millisecond of time passing by. The longer he lets me stand here and look my fill, the more I find myself wondering other things. Things so far past improper, I can’t even think of the right adjective.
Erotic images beyond anything I’d ever imagined before start swamping my senses, and my brain is suddenly under siege with more illicit questions. Would it feel hot to the touch against my lips? My tongue? How would he react if I reached for him right now? Would he be all cool and collected like he usually is or could I actually break him of his renowned control?
Do I want him out of control?
I feel my panties growing damp as the answer to that last question heats me from the inside out, rushing my veins like a drug.
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