Epilogue
Derek
Her dark hair fans out over the white pillow in perfect curls. Lifting one, I gently twist a shining spiral around my finger, sliding my thumb across the silky strand. The only thing more beautiful is her face, smooth and blissful in sleep.
I rest my head on my hand as I watch her breasts gently rise and fall, thinking of our last two months together. Early in December, I’d won her back by having that bastard Sloan arrested. I’d wanted to do more. Standing over his unconscious body in her living room, after he’d tried to hurt her again…
It had been years since I’d fought the urge to kill someone. If she hadn’t been there, I might’ve.
Of course, he posted bail and was back hiding in his mansion a day later. He called in his team of lawyers, and Melissa backed down. I wasn’t ready to let it go, but she begged me to drop it. She didn’t want to be front-page news or dragged through a long ordeal. Reluctantly, I gave in to her. But every time I see that tiny silver scar near her hairline, it takes all my strength to keep from driving to Baltimore and beating him to a bloody pulp.
Only her bright eyes and happy smile calm those thoughts. And now she’s having my baby. Our pre-Christmas slip up had been one too many, but I couldn’t be happier. When Alison died, I thought my chances at being a father were over. That day, I’d walked away from everything having to do with love and family. I’d shut down, not even interested in trying again. Then six years later, my twisted mentor brought this gorgeous creature into my life.
The night I saw her in Scottsdale, I’d never seen such intense sadness in another person before. She was so beautiful, and yet she was visibly suffering. I knew how that felt. I’d struggled with intense sorrow, but somehow as the time had passed, my mourning period had ended, and I wanted her. I wanted to take all her unhappiness away with my love if she’d let me. And she did.
My hand moved from the curl around my finger to the top of her forehead, right where her dark hair met her ivory skin. Barely touching her, I remembered how incredible that first night had been—that whole week. It was a second chance. Until we’d had to part.
She stirs, dipping her chin the way she always does before opening her eyes. No use thinking about the days we were apart because now we’re together, and I’m going to make her my wife.
Her gorgeous blue eyes blink open, and I can’t help but smile. “Good morning.”
“Were you watching me sleep?” Her soft voice is thick with sleep, and she turns her face into the pillow. Her slim bare shoulder lifts to her cheek, and just like that I have a hard-on. I want to pull her under me and kiss that shoulder, those lips, every part of her, but I control myself. She’s just opened her eyes after all.
“You’re beautiful when you sleep.” I state the obvious, which always makes her blush. The fact this woman can’t see how gorgeous she is drives me nuts. At the same time, it’s part of the reason I love her so much. She’s so focused on her work and her plans and us. She’s completely unself-conscious.
“How are you feeling?” My hand travels down the length of her smooth back. Her body hasn’t started showing she’s pregnant yet. Well, her breasts are slightly larger, but they’ve always been the right size for me. Perfect handfuls.
She scoots into my chest, and immediately my arms go around her small frame. I love being able to lift her against me when we make love or surround her with protection. But, she’s tough as nails. She lived through a year of hell and without anyone’s help, she survived and made a new life for herself. That old urge to kill Sloan flickers again in my chest, but she banishes it by lifting her chin and kissing my throat.
“Hungry,” she says, answering the question I’d left hanging. And with that she pushes above me, smiling. “I know I’m not really eating for two, but I swear, I don’t remember ever craving breakfast like this. I want eggs with cheese and tomatoes and peppers…”
I laugh, lifting a clutch of dark curls off her shoulder and planting a kiss there. Her skin smells like roses and the ocean.
“And bacon!” she cries. “I want applewood-smoked bacon so bad right now. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
“You don’t have to sell bacon to me.” I pull her to me and kiss her nose.
Last night, her body had been wrapped around me in the most amazing way. As always, she’d cried out my name, shaking and moaning as she came hard and full over me. It was all I could do to hold out as she finished, she was so fucking gorgeous. I would do anything to keep this woman happy.
“I’m at a little disadvantage here,” I say, sitting up with her in my arms. “You’re a local now, but I’m still in Princeton. I don’t know the best place to satisfy these new cravings.”
Her arms go around my neck and she kisses my lips briefly. “Then let me show you!”
I smile, reaching for her, but she’s gone—headed to the bathroom, leaving me to admire her perfect ass and tame this erection she’s left me with. My sexual urges have to wait, it seems. Clearly, the mother of my child needs bacon.
“There’s this historic little place in town,” she calls from the hallway. I step into the boxer-briefs I tossed across the room last night after we returned home from dinner with Elaine and Patrick. Our clothes are a messy trail leading into the kitchen where we started.
Patrick relocated his base of operations to Wilmington last month. It was his early Christmas gift to Elaine, and it looked like he might beat me to the marriage punch. But I have a plan for today. And well, I already laid the ground work for it the night we made junior. Since then idea of us getting married has been theoretical, but today, I’d make it official.
“What’s the name?” I call back, studying the picture of her and her mother in a weathered-wooden frame on her dresser. The two smile exactly alike, but her mother doesn’t have Melissa’s gorgeous blue eyes.
“The Sawmill. It’s supposed to be really good,” she says, returning to the room. I smile as she goes into her closet, completely unaware of how the sight of her naked, wearing only a thong and my floating-heart necklace affects me. “Did I say it’s historic?”
She steps into a black skirt and I watch as she pulls a long-sleeved, faded red tee over her head. The vintage fabric hugs her braless torso in a way I want to. I can’t help myself anymore. I go to her and pull her against my chest.
“I love you,” I say, covering her mouth with mine. As always, she seems to melt.
She is such an amazing combination to me. This tiny firecracker, strong as a flint, able to survive the shit her asshole ex-husband had put her through. Yet when I kiss her, her entire body becomes fluid in my hands. It’s very distracting.
I make sure she’s standing before I completely release her to put on my shirt. Her nipples are erect as she grabs my fleece jacket off a chair and pulls it around her body. It’s enormous on her, but she tucks her nose inside and inhales deeply.
“I’m keeping this when you go back,” she says. “I might sleep in it.”
Stepping into my jeans, her bedroom eyes have me fighting the return of that erection. “So you want to go to the Sawmill or not?”
“Yes,” she laughs. “Bacon.”
“There is no applewood-smoked bacon,” I say as we study the menu.
The Sawmill restaurant is a traditional dive. Its exposed-wood interior is covered in tools of the logging trade, and the pages of our menus are covered in plastic. Still, I’m no snob. All the breakfast options look great to me, but I know how Mel’s pregnancy has her craving specific things. I’d already been sent in search of Manhattan Key Lime pie the day after Christmas, and we have someone known as “Aunt Bea” on our speed-dial in case of emergencies.
She sighs. “It’s okay. Regular bacon will do.”
Our eyes meet, and the small, black-velvet box in my pocket feels hot as a coal waiting to be taken out and presented to her. I want to propose now, to claim her as mine, like nothing I’d ever wanted before, but I also want it to be special. So I wait.
“All bacon is wood-smoked, right?” I say as the waiter returns. “And Sawmill benedict? They’ve substituted gravy for hollandaise.”
A little laugh escapes her throat. “Let’s get that gravy on the side,” she says. “And an omelet and a scrambler. And a juice and keep that coffee coming.”
The waiter nods and leaves, and with a chuckle, I gesture for her to come around to my side of the table. As always, she’s quick to comply. Sliding in next to me, she slips her arms around my neck and kisses my lips.
“I love you,” she whispers. “Last night was…”
“Screaming Os, I’m the king and all that?”
I love the sound of her laughter. “I have never—” Our eyes meet and her tone drops. She pretend-coughs, adjusting her story in an amusing fashion. “You are always all of those things,” she purrs.
My elbow is bent on the top of the bench behind her. I study her face a moment. “So this is where you want to stay. In this little town.”
Our permanent residence is the one roadblock to our union we keep stumbling over.
“How can you even ask me that?” She turns, putting both elbows on the table as she lifts her coffee cup to her lips. “Living at the beach is a dream come true for most people.”
“We don’t have to sell your house,” I repeat my argument, smiling at her cute stubbornness, as if adjusting her position can keep my words out. I move my hand to her waist and then under her shirt, spreading my palm over her bare stomach, thinking about what’s growing there. “We can keep it, and you can come here as often as you like for vacations or whatever.”
She lowers her cup and leans back, placing her hand on top of mine still covering her flat stomach. Our physical familiarity is another thing I love about her. She’s unfazed by my hand against her skin. It’s as if every one of my touches is not only welcome, but expected.
“We might as well quit now,” she exhales. “If we can’t even get through this impasse, I have no idea what makes us think we can handle more serious issues.”
I can’t help a laugh, and my hand goes from her stomach to her chin. I lift her delicate face and cover her small mouth with mine, tasting the bitter almost-chocolate flavor of the coffee as I part her lips, our tongues lightly touching. I want nothing more than to carry her back to that pretty, miniscule condo of hers and fuck her twenty ways from Sunday. Show her just how strong our love is.
Releasing her face, I look into her now-darkened eyes. “Choosing a home base is actually a pretty big decision,” I say. “I think if we can decide on a place where we’ll both be happy, it’s proof we can handle anything.”
She’s ready to relent. I know by her expression my kiss has left her willing to do anything I ask. God, I love her so much.
“Derek.” When she says my name that way, I can’t tell if she’s aware I’ll do anything she asks. “Sloan asked me to leave here. And it was the most unhappy decision I’ve ever made in my life. I never want to make that mistake again.”
Her words sting, but I understand her fears. I saw what she survived. My fingers trace a light path down her cheek as I exhale. “For one, I’m not Sloan,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “And for two, we don’t have to make this decision today.”
She blinks and her smile returns. The waiter also returns with our orders, and I kiss the side of her head. As he puts three orders of eggs—poached, scrambled, and wrapped in an omelet—in front of us, all served with sides of sausage, bacon, and ham. We spread out the plates and get ready to sample, share, and devour.
“Delicious,” she smiles, lifting a thin slice of salty pork and taking a big bite.
After breakfast we head down to the shore in front of Melissa’s place. My office is still closed for the New Year’s holiday, which I spent wrapped in my lady’s arms, but I’ll be heading back to Princeton in another day.
She inhales deeply as we walk, and the strong breeze pushes her dark hair off her shoulders. It also whips her black skirt around her still-slim hips, and she has my fleece jacket zipped all the way up. It’s like a dress on her.
“I have an idea,” she says, slanting those baby blues at me, “What if you stay in Princeton and I stay here, and we just met up for conjugal visits?”
I decide to take her challenge and raise it. “That sounds like a reasonable plan. I can probably go a month between visits. How about you?”
Her expression almost costs me my poker face. Clearly she did not expect me to concede to her ridiculous offer, and it appears she might cry. Her brow melts into a frown, which she tries to lift and fails.
“I was only teasing,” she says in a voice that twists my insides. “I can barely stand us being apart for a week.”
It’s impossible to hold out after that, and I scoop her small frame against my chest. “And I can barely stand two hours.” I lean forward and kiss her again, and as always, her body melts into mine. It awakens my urge to take her.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” I say. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Her nose wrinkles as she laughs. “Maybe it is better for us to be separated for now. We’re way too horny to get anything done in the same city.”
Her use of the pronoun we is all I need. My eyes meet hers, and I see that fire brewing in them. It’s only grown stronger since she’s been pregnant, and I know from our first encounters she doesn’t shrink from being risqué.
Glancing over my shoulder, I verify that we’re alone. No one is out on this cold, January day but us, and we have the beach to ourselves. Still, I use discretion, leading her away from the open shoreline into a nearby patch of beach scrub. It’s not only private, it’s out of the breeze and less chilly.
I sit on the soft sand, pulling her onto my lap. Skirts and thong underwear might be my favorite clothing combination. My hands are up her thighs and caressing her clit as fast as our lips can find each other’s. Her arms are tight around my neck and her whimpers slip out between passes of my mouth over hers. My erection is straining against the zipper of my jeans, and I want nothing more than to be buried in her tight, wet opening this instant. I’ve wanted it all morning.
Her hand goes to my waist to unfasten my pants, and when her slim fingers wrap around me, the memory of her mouth closing over my tip almost sends me off. The first time she gave me head, I almost shot down her throat it was so good. But I fight to distract myself from those thoughts and get her off instead. I’ve been on edge all morning, and her hand sliding up and down my dick isn’t helping. My fingers press into her wet opening as my thumb caresses her clit. I can tell by her breathing, she isn’t far behind me.
“Ooh,” she moans, sending shockwaves through my shaft. I want to be inside her so badly. Quickly, I slide down the zipper on my jacket and lift her shirt, catching one of her taut nipples in my mouth. Her breasts are gorgeous right now. I give one a little suck, and she sighs with pleasure. I almost lose control.
“I need to be inside you,” I whisper, moving my mouth to her ear. I give her lobe a little bite, and she shivers. At once, she shifts her position, moving her thong aside and dropping down on my cock.
“Uuh,” I can’t help but groan as her warm passage envelops me. I wanted to lay her back and pound her hard on the sand, but I’m not sure she’s finished yet. Gripping her ass, I lifted her up and down, keeping my thumb on her clit, massaging her.
Her arms tighten around my neck as her breasts rise under my chin with every lift. It’s fucking amazing and almost more than I can take. “Derek,” she gasps in my ear, and I know we’re hitting the right spot. She’s lifting herself on me now without my even helping her.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps, but I’m barely touching her as she works me. I’m doing everything in my power to hold out while she finishes. Her inner muscles tighten on me as her orgasm begins, pulling and releasing. It’s far better than hands or a mouth, feeling her come around my cock.
“Oh, shit,” I groan, but I can’t stop it. Her inner workings have me shooting off inside her, and the pleasure momentarily blacks out my thoughts. All I know is me buried deep in her gorgeous body, my orgasm primed and extended by hers. Instinctively, my grip on her ass tightens, and I’m lifting her harder and faster up and down as I finish.
A hoarse moan scrapes from her throat, and as I continue moving her, more noises follow. Her thighs quiver, her knees press into the sand, and she’s riding me now. She’s making it, and after several more movements, she drops, arms draped around my neck, head on my shoulder, aftershocks slowly subsiding.
“God, I love you,” I murmur, kissing her neck, traveling with my lips behind her ear, causing her to shiver again and laugh.
She sits up and holds my face, her cheeks pretty and pink from her climax. “I love you,” she says in a breathy voice.
Our warmth is like our own little world. Sure, we might violate a public decency law every so often, but we take care to keep it secret and unseen. Without moving her away, staying buried deep between her thighs, I reach for my pants pocket.
“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give you this,” I say, fumbling for the black velvet box. Her eyes widen, and instantly she’s off my lap, pulling down her skirt and sitting beside me on the sand. She takes the small box, but doesn’t open it.
Pulling my jeans up, I catch her eyes on mine, and I can see her enthusiasm. “Is this what I think it is?” Her voice is still breathless.
A smile crosses my lips. “I can’t read your mind.”
For a moment, she only holds it, and my stomach tightens in anticipation. I took a chance on this ring—it isn’t the traditional diamond, but I figured since we’ve both been married once before, we might be up for something different.
With a quick glance back at me, she pulls the top open and then gasps. Inside is a square-cut blue sapphire ring encased in platinum with tiny white diamonds all around it. It’s an art deco style, and it matches her eyes and the sea perfectly.
I take the box back and lift the ring out. Her fingers tremble slightly as I hold her hand in both of mine.
“Melissa Jones,” I say, keeping the ring poised and ready. “Will you marry me?”
My eyes travel from her hand to the heart floating at her neck to her eyes, which are now shining. All I can remember is that night in the desert when she’d wanted to say she loved me. I’d gone immediately to the nearest jewelry store still open and bought the first thing they had with a heart on it. She’d stolen mine then, and I knew the only way to get it back would be to marry her.
With a hiccupped breath, her face breaks into a smile. “Yes,” she nods. “I already told you I’d say yes, but yes, yes, yes.” She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck. Our mouths meet and my hand fumbles back down only briefly pausing before sliding around her waist, drawing her close against me. I love how our bodies move together so easily. We belong to each other.
“If you want me to move to Princeton, I will,” she says, kissing my lips once more before resting her forehead against my cheek. I know right then she’s saying she’ll do whatever I want, and that’s the funny thing with power. When the one you love gives it to you, you start looking for every opportunity to give it back or at the very least, use it for her happiness.
“I don’t want you to leave the place you love,” I say, my hands moving under her shirt to her breasts. I lay her back on the sand and push up her tee. Her belly isn’t the slightest bit round yet, but we’ve both heard the little heart in there beating so fast.
I kiss her right below the navel. “It’s not a bad drive. Let’s get this little person here and then we’ll decide what to do.”
Her slim fingers thread into my hair as she exhales deeply. My wife. My beautiful wife who’s given me another chance at a family. Even though my instinct resists, and my inner drive is to be the boss, she has my heart. I’ll do anything for her.
I hold her close, resting my cheek on her skin, loving her. She continues lacing her fingers through my hair, and we listen to the soft noise of the breakers. It’s as if we’re on our own private island together. After a while, we slowly stand, repositioning our clothes. Our fingers entwine as we walk back to her condo.
“I was thinking if it’s a girl, we can call her Edith. If it’s a boy, Dexter.”
“No and maybe.” I say curtly.
As tiny as she is, Mel is unexpectedly strong. She jerks my arm hard, and I can’t suppress a laugh. “Edith is a terrible name for a baby.”
“It’s a family name,” she cries.
“And I don’t know about Dexter.”
“I think it’s cute. We can call him Dex.”
“I was thinking Scott or Cactus Flower—for where we met.”
Her brow wrinkles. “You cannot be serious.”
I laugh again. So perhaps we have the housing situation on hold—now begins a new round of debate. Baby names. Knowing how stubborn we both are, I figure we can prolong this argument into the child’s fifth birthday when it can decide.
She’s still fussing, and I know the one way to win any argument with Melissa. But I’ll save my next win for the bedroom.
* * *