“Princess, I swear to God, if you don’t stop teasing me with that, there’s going to be some major damage. Namely, you ridin’ me until tomorrow.”

Gage stared at his wife, then looked at the donut she held in her hand. The last donut from the box.

Lizzie took a dramatic bite and then let out an equally dramatic moan of approval, tossing her head back against the couch cushion in abandon. “Oh my God, Gage! This is just delicious. Orgasmic. Amazing. G-Gage, I think I’m going to . . .” Another theatrical moan. “I think I just came.”

“You’re cruel,” he teased, lifting a hand to her chin and leaning in for a kiss. She tasted like powder and chocolate and a healthy dose of spitfire and sass.

She sighed under his mouth. Then, “You should have offered better terms. What did you think I was going to do when you threatened me with a good old time in bed? Give you the donut? Absolutely not.”

Gage drew her legs over his lap in preparation for TV night. It was his only day off this week. Between S.O.D., CBR, and managing Inked for Owen, he was exhausted.

But happy—happier than he’d ever been. He and Lizzie had eloped a few months back, although perhaps “eloped” wasn’t the best word. Their trip to Mayberry House Plantation hadn’t started with the intention of marriage, but one thing led to another . . . and there they were, giggling like teenagers in front of a justice of the peace in the middle of nowhere, west Louisiana, exchanging their vows.

When they’d returned to New Orleans, none of their friends had been surprised.

Danvers had rolled his eyes and muttered, “Figured y’all wouldn’t want to plan a wedding.”

Owen had clapped Gage on the back and then bussed a kiss over Lizzie’s cheek. “Welcome to the family, Liz,” was all he’d said, but with Owen, that was enough.

“You sure you don’t mind coming in tomorrow?” Gage asked, twining his fingers through his wife’s newly accented caramel hair. “I can recruit Jordan, if need be, for extra hours.”

Lizzie kissed his palm. “Don’t even worry about it. You know how much I love to be behind the needle.”

Gage had taken her on as an apprentice after Owen had announced he was going on a tattoo-artist retreat or whatever it was. Turns out, Lizzie had a knack for the art of tattooing. She’d been relegated their “butterfly-tattoo” girl, since she was still in the early stages of learning, but he’d never seen someone more excited to butterfly it up than his wife.

The customers loved her.

Owen loved her for stepping in while he was away.

And Gage—well, he pretty much just worshipped the ground she walked on.

They settled in, her feet over his lap, his arm around her shoulder. “What show are we watching again?”

She patted his leg, a total you are such a guy love-tap. “Put a Ring on It.”

Gage grimaced. “Sounds girly as shit.”

“We can watch your crime shows later,” she said, edging closer to him, “but I’ve been waiting weeks to watch this. It’s all anyone is talking about lately. The Bachelorette meets The Travel Channel meets real-time air. There’s no going back and editing anything, from what I’ve heard. What you see is what you get.”

“It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Exactly,” she said brightly, and Gage couldn’t stop himself from laughing. His wife had spent way too many years in the spotlight, and even though she was more focused on creating makeup now instead of showing it off, she couldn’t extinguish the fact that she lived for social media of any kind.

“Plus,” she added, trailing a finger up his thigh, “we know the girl who’s being featured for the debut season.”

“We do?”

Lizzie glanced up at him. “Savannah Rose.”

Shit, did Owen know? Gage swallowed and distracted himself by rubbing his hand over Lizzie’s shoulder. Owen kept his life so on the down low that it was difficult to know what the hell was going on with him most days. He hadn’t mentioned her once in months, but Gage wasn’t an idiot.

Up until maybe two months ago, Owen and Savannah often left EOCC meetings together.

Never hand in hand, but always within minutes of each other.

“Do you know why she went on the show?” he asked, watching as Lizzie fast-forwarded through the opening credits.

“We talked about it a few times.” Lizzie shrugged, then hit PLAY on the remote. “Her mom actually submitted an application for her online, so she didn’t even know anything until the producers were knocking on her door. I think . . . I think it’s part expectation—her family is so old N’Orleans and she’s inching toward mid-thirties. No one meets their qualifications, and I’m sure they view this show as the ultimate debutante season or whatever.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. I also, I don’t know . . . I feel like she’s running from something here. She hasn’t said that, but you know what I mean.”

He did, and he had a sneaking suspicion about who she was running from.

Dammit, but he needed a donut. Lizzie had gotten him hooked on them, and she was lucky he loved to work out so much. First the cheese, then the donuts. Give them another year and he’d be taking coffee from an IV.

They watched as Savannah came onto the screen, dark-haired and olive-skinned. Gage didn’t know her that well, not like Lizzie did, but he understood that her family had been prominent in the city for centuries now. High French-Creole society type of thing with a family mansion in the French Quarter and another one over on Esplanade Ridge.

No wonder she’d felt pressured to go on the show.

One by one, the men filed out of a limo, all dressed in suits.

Gage and Lizzie teased each other about which one they’d want to take home. Lizzie voted for the Greek dude who looked like John Stamos. Gage threw his hat into the ring for a former NFL Quarterback.

“I liked his stats when he played for the Broncos,” he muttered when Lizzie openly laughed at him.

“You’re totally appreciating his butt in those dress slacks of his.”

“What can I say? It’s full.”

Lizzie caught onto the joke and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. God, he loved her. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t gone in to work at Inked that day.

Maybe they would have met at some other time, but it wouldn’t have been the same.

They’d earned their happiness every step of the way.

He parted her lips with his tongue, seeking entry, loving her with everything that he was.

“Gage,” she moaned, and his name . . . Hell, hearing his name on her lips never got old.

He rearranged her legs over his thighs, angling her hips just so, so that she could feel how hard he was for her behind the fabric of his sweats. Her hands went to his arms, using his weight so that she could straddle him, press down against his cock and make him groan.

“Fuck yeah, princess,” he growled, nipping her bottom lip, “grind on me just like—”

Her head whipped around, and then she was tugging on his shirt frantically. “Gage. Oh my God, oh my God.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

She fell to his side, one hand still on his chest, and then pointed the other at the TV screen.

Slowly, Gage shifted his focus from his wife to the show, and the man stepping out of the limo. Beard. Dark hair. Full-on black suit. A familiar grimace on his face.

“And finally,” the host said on the TV, “we’d like to welcome our last bachelor for this season, Owen Harvey from New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Oh. Fuck.

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Psssttt! The Put A Ring On It series is coming in 2018 - no way would I leave Owen hanging! Want an update when the first book, HOLD ME TODAY, will be “airing”?

And if you enjoyed Danvers & Jade, then check out their journey to love in , available now!

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