Beautiful Oblivion (35 page)

“Really?” A breath gets caught in my throat. The world spins in one giant kaleidoscope of color as his words swirl through my mind.

“Yes, really. Would you do me the honor of marrying me, Reese Westfield?”

“There’s not another living soul I’d rather spend my life with. Yes, I’ll marry you, Ace Waterman.”

Ace and I seal the moment with a kiss that redefines every other kiss we’ve ever shared. His hungry mouth lapses into soft, sweet, soulful kisses as his tongue aches for mine to have it.

I pull back and take him in through tears.

“You make me happy,” I whisper right into his lips.

“You make me insanely happy.”

In a small way, my mother played a part in our love story by spurring me on to create this amazing adventure to begin with.

Our special summer was a perfect ending to the old Reese and Ace, and a perfect beginning for the new Mr. and Mrs. Waterman.

I crash my lips into his as Ace and I finally catch our ecstasy.

Thank you for reading,
Beautiful Oblivion.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase. Look for
Beautiful Illusions
(Beautiful Oblivion Book 2) Gavin’s story coming 2014.

The following is a brief vignette associated with Addison Moore’s paranormal romance series, Celestra Forever After.

*Intended for
mature audiences only
*

*This in no way offers spoilers to the Celestra Forever After Series*

Marshall is a 6,000-year-old Sector (angel-like being) Skyla is a human with an angelic bloodline of the Celestra Faction.

Celestra in Retrograde

ADDISON MOORE

Copyright © 2013 by Addison Moore

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

All Rights Reserved.

Spontaneous Combustion

Marshall

The sky darkens overhead like a cast iron skillet. I pull a steed from the barn and walk her to the distal end of the property where a view of the grey Pacific waits for me.

“Well, if it isn’t Studly Dudley,” a woman’s voice purrs from behind.

A smile rides low on my lips as I turn.

There she is—stunning as always. A baroque gown sweeps behind her like a wave, the color of sea glass—with a low-cut corset, her bare shoulders pale as the moon.

“Fuck
me,
” it comes of its own volition, quiet as a whisper.

“You don’t curse.” She digs a sly smile into her cheek as she swings her hips in my direction.

“That’s because you don’t dress like that.” I touch my riding crop to her soft cheek. “Regardless, I was giving an order.”

“Nice to see your sense of humor is still intact.”

She slips into my arms without putting thought to it. Her hand traces up the side of my face, and I press a quick kiss into her wrist.

“Marshall!” My name echoes beyond the barn, straining from the sweetest voice like a chime.

“Who’s the girl?” Her brows dip as if she were genuinely worried.

“You’re the girl.” I press the back of her hand to my lips.

“Correction—
was
the girl, I’m a woman now.” Her cheeks flex as if there were a thread of jealousy. “Get rid of her. We’ve someplace to be.”

“And where would that be?”

“Salem, Massachusetts—1692.”

“Is this about Rina?” I ask as she tries to pull her hand away, but I keep her flesh close to my lips as if I were about to play her like an instrument—and, in a few minutes, I plan to do just that. “She doesn’t win the war, Skyla, you do.”

“Marshall!” The girl’s voice vibrates over the clearing, closer than before.

Skyla looks past me and frowns. “Ezrina helped me, I want to help her, too. Besides, Celestra’s in trouble.”

“Celestra is always in trouble.”

“There you are,” the girl’s voice calls from behind—so close I can make out her uneven breathing.

Skyla bears those crystalline eyes into mine. “There’s a brothel involved.”

The hint of a smile plays on my lips. “I’m as good as there.”

“
Hey
, I’m talking to you, Dudley.” The girl snatches my shoulder, and the one before me evaporates in a lavender fog. “Who the hell was that?” Skyla stands in her own wake and doesn’t even know it.

“None of your concern.” I brush the hair from her face as the long, golden spirals cascade over her shoulders. This version, though stunningly the same, has a far more youthful appeal. It’s locked in her eyes, deep in her soul, the marrow of her bones. Time hasn’t hardened her yet. It will—through pleasure and pain—and I plan on gifting equal doses of both to her future counterpart later.

“Everything is my concern,” she grits it out through clenched teeth, and I try to not crack a smile.

“My, my, someone has an ego.” I whip her over the bottom gently with the riding crop in my hand, and she jumps. “What’s the matter? An Oliver stuck in a tree and you need me to get him to safety?”

“Very funny.” She pulls at a thread at the bottom of her sweater. “It
is
about an Oliver.”

“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, and she raises a brow assuring me she heard. “What now?” I look past the juniper bushes in search of that luscious, green dress. I plan on untying her corset with my teeth.

“It’s actually the she-Oliver,
Emma
.” She sticks her finger down her throat, and I hold back a smile. Breaking Skyla of her youth is like breaking a steed, and I have no intention of doing either. “It’s like no matter what, I can’t seem to get her to play nice. I swear that woman has it out for me. Is there anything you know of that can make this better? Can’t you do something to get her to like me?”

“Let’s see.” I straighten as I inspect the storm boiling on the horizon. “Emma has one bouncing baby boy on this spinning rock, and you’re currently servicing him in the bedroom. Is that correct?”

“What is this, a vaginal pop quiz?”

I pull off my gloves and run the leather through my hand. “You’ve corrupted her child, she’ll never
like
you Skyla—deal with it.” I move past her into the thicket, and she trails along.

“Deal with it?” A series of gagging sounds emit from her. “Did you just tell me to
deal
with it?”

“It’s nice to know your hearing is intact. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a vixen to catch.”

She latches onto my elbow and digs her feet into the soil like a three-year-old having a tantrum in the grocery store.

“Listen, Marshall. I have a motherfucking huge problem, and her name is Emma Oliver. You were put on this earth to help me, and I swear on all that is holy that if you don’t do something about that witch, I’m going to not-so-accidentally evict her from the planet because she’s making me
insane
.”

“Language, Ms. Messenger.” I take my arm back with little resistance on her part, and her features soften. Her glowing, pale eyes fill with tears. “Am I really the one you should be running to with this problem, Skyla? Is there no one better suited to help talk you down from committing a felony no less? What about your own mother? God knows you have two to choose from—ridiculous as they each may be.” A bolt of lightning cuts through the ever-darkening sky and touches down in the clearing. It starts a grassfire that quickly burns itself out, followed by a growl from above. “How about The Pretty One? You ever think of enlisting Jock Strap for the duty?”

“Stop calling them that.” Her voice jumps like she might cry. “And why is everything about my life so ridiculous to you all the time? I thought you’d always be here for me.” She backs away and stumbles over a fallen branch. “I thought you were the one person I could count on.” Her voice breaks right along with my heart.

“Give me your hand. I’ll walk you to the house.” I pick up her fingers only to have her yank them back.

“I can walk myself. I’ll get out of here so you can get back to your forest fantasy.”

“
Our
forest fantasy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not there yet. I have a very real problem and it just so happens to be set in
this
day and age. I thought you’d be more than happy to help me, but you know what I’m hearing from you? I’m hearing
fuck you,
Skyla!
”

“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you.” I growl, tracing her features out with the riding crop. “Dirty mouth at that.”

She lets out a roar of frustration, snatching the stick and attempting to crack it over her knee before tossing it into the bushes.

“Well fuck
you
, Marshall.” She turns and runs into the murky night.

“That’s precisely what you’re about to do.”

“Good God.” A female voice pants from behind, and I turn to find her eminence glowing soft as a pearl—Skyla. “I remember that day. It didn’t help when you snuck into my room later and tried to kiss it and make it all better.” She steps in and rubs her thumb hard over my lips, her lids hooded low with the glaze of lust in her eyes.

“Yes, well, what I really wanted to do was take you over my knee and initiate a proper punishment.”

Her lips give a dangerous curve. “It’s never too late.”

My stomach cinches in lieu of a laugh. “Let’s get to task.” I set to grab her waist, and she glides back a good ten feet.

“You’ll have to catch me first.” Her teeth illuminate like white flames, her laughter ricochets throughout the island, careless as a breeze.

“I’ll gift you a head start.”

“You know where to find me.” Her face glows as her skin becomes transparent as vellum.

“1692. My least favorite year.”

“To the best little whorehouse in Salem,” she sings it out like a battle cry, the sound of laughter on her lips.

“To the best little whore.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Marshall is here!” A blonde harlot cries out from on top of the piano, and the girls in the vicinity swarm in our direction with their matching crimson dresses, their black corsets strung so tight they resemble telephone poles at the waist.

Skyla rolls her eyes. “Like flies on—”

I press a finger to her lips. “Now, now, Ms. Messenger. I’ve had enough of your salty tongue for one evening.”

She gives a gentle bite over me until I take back my hand.