Epilogue

Two months later

ADDISON CHECKED HER REFLECTION in the streaky mirror behind the bar at Jimmy’s Tap. Good enough. While she recognized she still had an image to maintain as the face and body of Beautiful by Addison, it was a relief not to be so beholden to other people’s expectations of her. The only person she needed to stay sexy for was the man walking into the bar this very moment.

“Surprise!” A roar went up from the crowd on seeing Ford, star right winger for the Chicago Rebels. He turned to Jax beside him with a look of what the fuck before breaking out into that big, goofy smile she loved. The birthday boy—twenty-seven years old today—shook hands and accepted back pats on his stride to where she leaned against the bar.

“Happy birthday, Callaghan,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

Molding herself to his solidity was both grounding and exhilarating. For a boy toy six years younger than her old bones—though Ford liked to insist it was closer to five and a half—he was definitely the mature one in this relationship.

“You have anything to do with this, Bright Eyes?”

She shrugged. “I might have. And your sister-in-law is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Needs to be, married to a Callaghan.”

The last two months had been amazing with Ford at her side and in her bed. The Rebels’ season had gotten off to a rocky start but Harper was taking charge with new acquisitions, one of whom had just walked up to them.

“DuPre,” Ford said, smiling at Remy DuPre, the latest addition to the Rebels’ offense. Dubbed “the Unluckiest Guy in the League” because of how close he’d come to the Cup with no cigar, the Louisiana native cut a compellingly rugged figure with his lived-in face, broad shoulders, and a frame more suited to a linebacker.

Not that she had eyes for anyone but Ford. Still, Remy had undeniable ice-appeal.

Ford shook hands with Remy. “Have you met my Addy?” The pride in his voice melted Addison’s knees. My Addy. And oh how she was. Completely, without question.

Remy shook Addison’s hand. “Ain’t had the pleasure, chérie.” He raised it and kissed her knuckles, adding a cheeky wink.

Addison laughed. “Oh, it’s all true, then.”

“What is?”

“That Southern charm that gets the ladies warm.” She drew her hand back and fanned her face. “My, my, Mr. DuPre, have pity on my sensibilities.”

“No quarter given, not where a pretty lady is concerned.”

“Told ya he was trouble,” Ford said easily, with no machismo or jealousy. She loved how sure he was of himself and of her love for him. So different from Michael.

“Oh, babe, there’s Harper. I’ll be back in a second.” Leaving him with the kind of kiss that would keep his desire burning in her absence, Addison moved off toward the bar’s entrance, but not before she heard Remy ask Ford how he managed to land a quality woman like Addison.

Ford’s response followed in her wake and hugged her heart. “I ask myself that question every fuckin’ day. She’s something, isn’t she?”

Damn straight, she was something.

Addison reached Harper who had just parted ways with her “date” for the evening, Kenneth Bailey. Valiantly and ever useful, he tried cutting a path through the mass of ice-honed muscle to get Harper a drink at the bar.

After a brief hug, Addison stated with not a little coyness, “So. Kenneth.”

“What about him?”

Addison raised an eyebrow, though she had nothing on Harper’s favorite method of communication.

“Don’t give me that eyebrow of disapproval, Addy Williams. I practically dislocated mine when you hooked up with Callaghan.”

“Which is why I’m being a good friend now. I know you’re not sleeping with him. And I can’t believe he’s still hanging on your arm.”

“So men only stick around if the dangling carrot of sex is in play?”

Addy cocked a hip. “You’ve had him on a string for a year, Harper.”

“Kenneth knows the score. I’ve told him I’m not interested in a relationship right now, and we’re happy to be each other’s plus-one for various events. No expectations, no complications.”

No chemistry, thought Addison. She knew her friend had had a rough time of it lately with her father passing away suddenly and finding herself in the unexpected position of jointly running the team with her two half-sisters, neither of whom she got along with all that well. Three bickering women attempting to steer a professional sports team to success? The media was having a field day, especially as the jokes wrote themselves.

“So what did you get Ford for his birthday?” Harper asked. “Lemme guess? Anal?”

Addison blushed. Sometimes Harper was really too much.

“Knew it.”

“Nooo. I haven’t given him his gift yet.” Her hand flew to her tummy, thinking about how that “gifting” conversation would go. Eager for a rapid subject change, she added, “Your savior’s a real charmer, by the way.”

“My sav—oh, right.” Her gaze tracked to where Ford stood with Remy, darkening on spying the big Cajun with his back to them both. It lingered somewhat longingly on the man’s very fine ass. What was it about hockey players and their most excellent butt musculature? As his boss, Harper couldn’t get involved with him or even have a little fun, which was a damn shame because if there was one thing Harper needed, it was a little—or a lot of—fun.

“I wonder why he’s not married,” Addison mused, because she suspected Remy DuPre gave new meaning to “fun.” “Or in a relationship.”

“Some men aren’t cut out for it. You probably found the last magical unicorn in the league.”

Warming up, Addison poked the bear a touch. “He’s had girlfriends. Plenty of girlfriends.”

Annoyance flirted with Harper’s usually ice-cool expression. There it is. A forbidden romance might be just the ticket . . . Look at how it had worked for Addison.

“Sweetheart, I missed you.”

She turned in time to see her man—the man of the night and all her future nights—leaning in for a kiss that made her heart flutter.

On separating, she found Harper and Remy shooting daggers at each other, and she missed the opening salvo because Ford dragged her away. Spoilsport.

“Callaghan,” she whined, “I’m trying to stir things up here.”

“You need to be stirring things up over here.” He pulled her behind a pillar, away from the crowd. “Time for a Ford-Addy check-in.”

“Oh, yeah? How’re we doing?”

He checked in with her lips, then along the curve of her neck to that sensitive spot along her collarbone. Then his hard body decided to get in on the check-in act as he covered her completely.

“All good.” And then, in a reverent, awe-struck tone, “Christ, woman, I love you.”

Her heart did a funny spin. She felt his love in every lusty kiss and genuine moment they’d spent together since he signed with the Rebels, but he’d not expressed their connection in words. She’d been a little worried that he might feel obliged to say that when she told him her news. To hear him offer it so freely was a gift in itself.

He lifted his head from where he’d been nuzzling gently. “What, nothing? Not even a cheeky ‘I know’? Because you have to know how crazy I am about you. How I fell in love with your voice and wit and charm on that balcony.”

She tried to remain grave, though joy was bubbling like lava below the surface. “So, you like me for my personality?”

“Well, you don’t have much else going for you, Bright Eyes.” He sighed. “Okay, you’re not so bad to look at, I suppose, but I’m not the shallow type who’s swayed by a pretty face and a bangin’ body.” He rolled his hips against her, hitting that sizzling juncture between her thighs just right. “I’m mostly interested in a woman I can talk, argue, and grow old with.” Another rub of his erection against her core. Oh, God, they needed to find somewhere, anywhere, now. “Soul-deep. That’s the connection I want.”

His mouth captured hers, avowing that profound, ever-deepening connection, one that had sparked on a hot summer night in the shadows. One that had blossomed in the light into something so all-consuming she refused to imagine her life without it.

She’d fallen in love with a man who risked it all to stoke the embers of desire created that first night and turn those sparks into flames of love. Who saw what she couldn’t because her heart was closed to the possibilities. Who respected and cherished all she was.

Ford “Killer” Callaghan slayed her every time, and she was happy to die in his arms every night.

“I love you, too, Callaghan,” she whispered. She brought his wandering hand from her ass to her stomach. “Happy birthday, Daddy-to-be.”

Any doubts she had that he might not be thrilled at this news faded as his face transformed from desire to shock to unadulterated joy. Radiant happiness shimmered in his chocolate-drop eyes, ones she hoped their baby would inherit.

“Looks like we’ll be slipping away to Jimmy’s office very soon.”

She sighed dramatically, then added with a grin, “If we must.”