Feel the Rush: A Hard Feelings Novel (InterMix) (28 page)

He pulled her away from the car and led her by the hand to the plane. She might be crazy, which was a very valid argument given the last few weeks. But one thing was for sure. She wanted to jump, she wanted to fall, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and feel the rush—because she finally knew she had a safe place to land.

Epilogue

It was the weekend after Meagan’s thirty-first birthday, and the thick July air was slowly blowing across Reed’s face as it made its way over the still lake. He stood next to the water and stared up at the cabin where she was getting ready—keeping him out there waiting in the evening summer heat. He watched as the lights in the room tuned off, leaving the top level of the cabin dark.

This was it.

His chest constricted around his heart and gave it a tight tug. He loved that woman, she had given him more in the last year than he had ever known was possible. When his brother died, he’d lost a piece of himself that he would never get back, but Meagan helped him feel whole again.

Sanders stood next to him, his eyes traveling over to Eva, who was standing on the other side of the dock. Their little fling hadn’t lasted long, but Reed was almost positive Sanders wouldn’t mind starting that rendezvous back up again.

He wished like hell that Murano was there. He’d come down on orders and left Fort Benning before Christmas, and although he tried like hell, he couldn’t make it back down there. His unit was deploying in the fall, and he was busy in the field every other week training.

As Reed scanned the length of the dock, his eyes fell over his parents. He knew how incredibly hard it was for them to be there, all those memories of the last time they saw their son swimming to the surface of their minds, but they came. Things were still a little shaky between them, but he didn’t expect things to change overnight. Baby steps.

He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. “There’s your girl,” Conner said as he stood next to him. He was more than likely enjoying the hell out of seeing Reed sweat it out. He wasn’t nervous, though. Fuck no. He was anxious. He couldn’t wait to call that woman his wife.

He didn’t need to see her to know that she was smiling. He could feel it like it was a tattooed on his chest. But the moment he saw her, his body jolted to life. He had never seen her look more beautiful. Her hair was down, the waves cascading over her shoulders. Her skin was its summer shade of golden, and her face had the most perfect fucking blush spread over her cheeks. He pretty much lost all time from that moment until she was standing in front of him. She had a way of stealing his thoughts. She had the ability to consume his attention without even trying. She had become his life.

***

Reed’s eyes hadn’t left her from the moment she walked down those steps. And she was grateful. She needed to see him. She needed him to hold her together.

“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t enough. She had experienced the intensity of playful Reed, sexy Reed, gentle Reed, and sometimes even pissed-off Reed over the past year—and no matter which Reed she got, it was never enough. She would always want more of him. And she was finally getting it.

“I understand you want to recite your own vows?”

Meagan’s eyes left the man who had roped her in so many years ago with that same playful smirk he was giving her at that very moment, and they shot to the pastor next to her.

“What?” she asked as panic swept through her.

Reed laughed, along with their handful of guests.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said in between his laughter.

The back of her hand found his chest. “I didn’t prepare anything,” she bit out between her teeth, trying to keep her voice low.

“Eh, so you’ll wing it, sugar.” Damn that accent. “You could recite the alphabet for all I care, as long as you say
I do
at the end.”

And just like that, she melted, again. She thought that accent was his trademark. But his ability to turn her into a sopping puddle at his feet had taken it to a whole new level. It wasn’t just his trademark. It was his secret weapon.

“All right,” she said, raising her brows at him. “You get to go first.”

“Gladly, baby.”

Reed looked back at the pastor, who nodded the go-ahead, and Reed picked up her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips. The pitter-patter in her chest was still there every time he looked at her, every time he touched her.

“I still love the way your body can’t lie to me, sugar.” He smirked.

“Well, hurry up so we can start our wedding night then,” she teased, earning around of cheers and whistles from their friends. She could hear her mom’s distinct whistle meshing in with Trevor’s voice hollering out who knows what.

“It’s nice to know where your mind goes.” He smirked, then he stepped closer to her, if that was even possible, and laced his calloused fingers through hers.

If ever there was a moment where time stood still and the rest of the world faded—it was that moment. The moment he looked at her and she saw everything she had ever wanted staring back at her. Nothing else mattered in that moment. He roped her in, just like always.

He laughed softly before running his thumb across her bottom lip, then with that luscious baritone voice that she loved, he started.

“I will start your car when it gets cold. I won’t complain about the clump of hair in the shower. I will put my toothbrush back in the holder, and I will try to remember to put the seat down. I will wrap my hands around your toes when they are cold, and I will gladly remove your clothes when you are hot. I will do the dishes on nights you cook . . . I will do the dishes every night. I will kiss your stubbed toes and smashed fingers. I will tickle you . . . a lot. And pin you to the wall . . . a lot. I will be soft, but I will also be hard. I will go fast but also remember to take it slow. Sometimes. I will hold your hand at the movies and push your chair in at the restaurant. I will convince you to wing-walk. Someday. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. I will encourage you and push you. And when you need me to, I will hold you. And when you don’t need me to, I will hold you. I will play, I will laugh, I will cry, and I will love—all with you.”

He rubbed his hand over the large swell of her tummy. The tears were already pooling in her eyes, but that little touch sent them rolling down her cheeks. She looked down at his hand that was splayed across her stomach, and she folded her hand on top of his. His eyes were like liquid gold when she looked back at him. Liquid gold with flecks of green that reflected the ripples of the water below them.

He smiled.

“I will hold her finger and brush back her hair as she falls asleep in my arms, I will look into her eyes and see the love of her mother looking back at me. I will cry when I drop her off at preschool, and I will laugh when she burps or farts or does any other unladylike thing—and then I will high-five her. I will attempt to fix her hair, and I will kiss her scraped knees. I will hold back my temper and refrain from hurting the boy who ever breaks her heart. I will be there to kiss away the tears. I will open her door and look at her soundly sleeping every night before I climb in bed with you.

“I will fall asleep to the sound of you breathing as your head lies on my chest. And I will wake up and do it all over again—with you—forever.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, I have to thank my amazingly patient and helpful husband, who claimed chef duties, bath time duties, some nights bedtime duties, cleaning duties (but let’s face it, that was just barely), and all the other mommy duties that he took on while I hid away and wrote this book. I love you. You are my inspiration, my motivation, and my encouragement. I couldn’t have done this without your help during the day, and without your arms to crawl into at the end of those long days. Thanks, baby.

To my monsters, you make everything I do in this life meaningful. Love you both to the moon.

My little sisters, Jordan, Maddie, and Rylee, my biggest cheerleaders of all. I love having three sisters to turn to when I need advice—and when I don’t like what one says I have two back-ups to turn to. Love you crazy ladies!

Jordan, your support and encouragement through the release of
The Valentine’s Arrangement
and through the whole process of writing this second book has been amazing. I can’t even begin to explain the way it makes me feel to have my little sis so proud of me, bragging about me, and shouting from the rooftops (or Twitter) about every little move I make with my novels.

Mom and Dad, thank you for your support. You never let me down. And, Dad, again, I would just rather you not read this book.

Grandma, thank you for letting me take over your recliner and living room until all hours of the night so I could work in peace without the distractions of my rugrats.

Michelle Valentine, you have become such a great mentor and friend! Thank you for taking me under your wing and guiding me through all my panicked questions. It was great to have you as a cheerleader, and it was fun to tackle our books together—knowing that there was someone else walking through all the madness with me!

To all my Chixx, THANK YOU! Having you ladies as a support system on this journey has been invaluable! Your support, guidance, encouragement, and listening ears truly helped me more than you could know. I love you ladies!

Denise Tung, I love you, girl! You have been such a huge support. I can’t thank you enough for reading for me when it was crunch time. You’re the best. *Tackle hug*

Bobbie, I love having a friend who lives all the way around the world. When I’m up at three in the morning working and I’m having a moment or I need to bounce an idea around, I know I can count on you. Your friendship means a lot to me, babe!

Stacey, my redheaded, beautiful friend. I lean on you for your opinions, and you are always willing to give them to me honestly. It means so much to me that you are excited to read my work and offer me feedback. It’s so fun to have a friend to share the excitement with!

Heather, what would I do without you? You read more than me, and you are one woman who knows her smut! To have you read my work and get excited about it is amazing. Thank you for answering my panicked calls and for bouncing ideas around with me. I couldn’t have done it without you.

To all my friends and family—I am fortunate to have so many I can’t possibly list you all, but you know who you are—THANK YOU! I couldn’t possibly follow my dreams without ALL of you.

To all the authors and bloggers I have met along the way, thank you. Thank you for your advice, support, encouragement, and, most of all, friendship. Seriously, none of this would be happening with you!

To my agent, Jill Marsal, thank you for making my transition from indie to traditional publishing smooth. I had a million-and-one questions and you were always there, willing to answer them all and offer your support and guidance along the way. I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you!

To my editor, Jesse, thank you for reading and loving
The Valentine’s Arrangement
so much that you took a huge leap of faith and took on this series with me. You have my novel’s best interest at heart, and working with you on this book has been a wonderful experience. Thank you for the long phone calls, talking things out with me, for answering all my questions, and for just being there if I needed advice. You have made my experience with traditional publishing seamless. It has truly been a great, and fast, journey. I can’t wait to tackle book three with you!

And as always, thank you to our military men and women and their families. You are the backbone of this country, and I will be forever grateful to you and your service.

Read on for an excerpt from the
New York Times
bestselling

THE VALENTINE’S ARRANGEMENT

eBook available now from InterMix and in trade paperback January 2014

Three more days and this hearts and flowers shit would be over. Three more days and the boxes of chocolates filled with things that should definitely not be paired with chocolate would be cleared from the shelves, the cheesy “Be Mine” balloons would deflate, and those damn stuffed gorillas, holding giant hearts, singing “Wild Thing,” would be put to rest.

It was almost Valentine’s Day in Watertown, New York, and the typical achromatic atmosphere at Fort Drum was replaced with shades of pinks and reds, complete with love banners and window decorations filled with hearts and chubby babies holding arrows. It was Ronnie Clark’s personal week of hell.

Needless to say, Ronnie was not a fan of the lovey-dovey mushy shit; in fact, that was putting it graciously.

It was getting late, and Ronnie was listening to the soft tick of the second hand on her watch as she softly pressed the needle dipped in black ink into the hip of some lovesick barracks brat who had finally landed herself a private. You would think these girls would learn, right? Soldiers are lonely, and yes, they look damn good in uniform, but the young, single ones are dangerous. They fall hard and fast and pull you in with their puppy-love eyes and promises of forever. These girls know it too; they are looking for it, and once they find it, it’s a ring on the finger, a judge-officiated ceremony, and more often than not, it’s matching ink declaring their love for one another. Blah blah blah . . .

“All right, Kara, I’m almost done with this locket. Are you sure you want me to put Craig’s name under it? Names are not fun to cover up and I charge double to do it. I’m giving you your chance now,” she said as she wiped the ink on Kara’s hip, smearing it across the Celtic locket. Branding was not Ronnie’s thing, but in this town, she was lucky if she went an entire workweek without getting stuck doing at least one.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She narrowed her eyes at Ronnie before she turned them to her eager new husband, who was holding her hand.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ronnie mumbled under her breath. Oh how she wished she could just slap some sense into this girl. Sure, Craig was every shade of hot, and even Ronnie had an image of him without his uniform on begging to be brought to the forefront of her mind, but he was not tattoo worthy. No man was. No man was that damn permanent.

“Your six thirty sketch consult is here,” Harold said, popping his tiny-ass head into Ronnie’s room.

Ronnie slathered some ointment on top of the freshly branded flesh. “Tell him I will be there in a few, I’m just finishing up this girl’s latest mistake.”

“Ronnie!” Harold admonished, but he knew good and well that Ronnie said and did what she wanted and even he couldn’t stop her. She was too good an artist to let go anyway. She was the best he had ever seen.

Ronnie lifted her head and raised her eyebrows at Harold, challenging him. He just shook his head and walked away.

“All right, keep it clean, but don’t mess with it too much.” She covered the girl’s tattoo with a non-stick bandage and taped it down before turning and cleaning up.

“Harold will check you out.” She stood from her chair and headed out of the room without as much as looking back behind her.

Most would call her rude, but she liked to think of it more as “real.” She didn’t sugarcoat anything and she wasn’t going to pretend to like you if she didn’t.

Ronnie sashayed to the front of the tattoo shop. She had one last client tonight and then she could slip off her heels and go home. Sure, she was going home to nothing, and not because her fiancé was still deployed and overseas, but because her fiancé was now an ex-fiancé and her solo living arrangement was now irreversible. Apparently her fiancé had a problem keeping it in his pants while he was gone, and his squad’s female medic just so happened to be the lucky one to help him with his little, and she did mean little, dilemma. Okay, maybe she was being a smidge too hard on him . . . nah.

The shitty thing about it all, well, other than her fiancé sleeping around on her, was that she found out from someone else. His best friend, who just so happened to be deployed with him, called and told her what was going on. That was not a phone call that she wanted to get, let alone from someone other than the piece-of-shit cheater himself. When she confronted her fiancé about it he didn’t even deny it, just acted like she should forget about it. He was halfway across the world, how could she possibly think he could wait that long? Fucking prick.

“Kale Emerson?” Ronnie said, scanning the waiting room. There were only two people there: one was Harold’s intern, who was waiting to do his nightly bitch work, and the other one was a fuckingly handsome Captain America impersonator. He was tall, broad, and his well-defined arms were bulging through the thin material of his shirt. His sandy brown hair was cut short, barely enough on top to run your hands through, and of course he had to have blue eyes that seemed to grab onto hers with a force that held her captive. And for the first time in a long time, she felt vulnerable.

***

Kale Emerson turned around as a melodic voice sang out his name. Standing next to the front counter, was a brunette bombshell in the sexiest purple heels he had ever seen on a woman’s feet, making her damn near as tall has he was. Her legs went on forever and her almost black hair hung down past her shoulders and curled at the ends. Kale would like to say he saw her deep brown eyes first, but lying wasn’t his strong suit and so help him if those lips weren’t the first thing on that gorgeous face that caught his attention. They were plump, full, and cherry red, and they parted into a smile when his eyes finally locked on hers.

Kale sauntered up to the counter and outstretched his hand. “Hi, I’m Kale. I have an appointment with Ronnie.” The woman looked at his hand but didn’t make a move to place hers in his.

“You’re looking at her,” she said bluntly.

“You’re Ronnie?”

“Guilty. Come on back. We can talk in the design room.”

Kale followed Ronnie through the narrow hallway, lined with framed drawings of cryptic angels and dragons, among other things. The entire place smelled like antiseptic cleaner, but Kale could still smell the hint of vanilla and musk that lingered in the air as Ronnie passed through. She was wearing a tight black shirt that dipped low into a V in the back, showcasing a delicate dream-catcher tattoo that started at the base of her neck and ended at the curve in her spine. The entire tattoo was done in shades of black; the only color was the turquoise beads dangling from the dream catcher. It was stunning; he had to refrain from reaching out and tracing it with his finger.

“Right in here.” Ronnie stopped in front of a door leading to a large room and gestured for him to go on in.

“Ladies first,” he said, reaching his hand out toward the open space in the door.

Ronnie’s thick black eyebrows arched up and her full lips curved in a sexy-ass smirk. “I’m no lady,” she said, then turned toward the room and glided in.

Kale followed her past the black sofa and flat-screen TV to the back of the room where a large glass table with black leather desk chairs took up the back wall.

Ronnie sat down at the table, crossing her legs, and her shoe slipped off her heel, causing it to dangle from her toes. Fuck, those heels were hot. Kale had been home from Iraq for all of six days. He had yet to sleep with a woman and this one sitting in front of him was becoming tempting.

Kale lived alone. He had no family to go home to, so coming back to Fort Drum for R&R was the only option. If he had his way, he would have just stayed with his platoon and continued to lead his troops, but he didn’t have his way and it was mandatory he took his leave. He told his commander that he wanted to wait until after the holidays. Why should the men with families and kids have to miss Christmas if they didn’t have to? No, Kale wouldn’t be missing out on spending Christmas and New Year’s with anyone: he wanted his soldiers to have that chance, so he opted to take his leave now instead. Six days down, eight more to go, then it’s back to the sandpit and Kale couldn’t wait.

One perk about getting the hell out of that country was the women. It had been eight months since he had been in the States, and it had been eight months since he had had sex. Casual sex was Kale’s forte. He didn’t do relationships or commitment, just sex. Kale didn’t have time to worry about putting someone else ahead of him; hell, he didn’t even have time to put himself ahead of him. His soldiers came first, they always had. He loved his country and he loved his job, and a woman just didn’t quite fit into that equation. No woman he had ever been with had been able to change his opinion either, but that didn’t stop him from needing a woman to get underneath him from time to time. Now was one of those times and he wanted Ronnie to be that woman.

“All right, let’s get down to business,” Ronnie said, sliding a sketch pad in front of her from the middle of the table. “What do you have in mind?”

Her voice broke through his mental slush pile and brought him back. “I want a memorial tattoo.”

“Okay.”

Kale leaned back in his chair. “I want a poem, a soldier’s prayer. I want it tattooed on my back, and I want it to look like my skin is ripping, revealing the words.”

Ronnie wrote notes on her sketch pad.

“And I want the names of my fallen brothers to be after the prayer.”

Ronnie looked up at Kale and an emotion flashed across her face that he didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t pity; was it awe?

“That’s beautiful,” she said quietly. Kale didn’t know the first thing about this woman, but he gathered she didn’t throw out compliments much. “How does the prayer go?” she asked, her eyes returning to her sketch pad, preparing to write.

Kale slowly recited the prayer, his eyes locked on Ronnie as she wrote the words that told of courage and strength, of sacrifice and devotion. “And may my fallen brothers walk with you now, Lord. Amen.”

Kale cleared his throat after he finished the names of his fallen soldiers, and rubbed his hand over the back of his head. Their eyes met and Kale’s mood shifted back. One look at her and he couldn’t seem to think of anything but touching her. Yes, it apparently had been a long time because he felt like a twelve-year-old boy who just saw his first pair of boobs.

“I can have this ready for you tomorrow. When would you like to get started?” Ronnie asked as she closed her sketch pad and stood up. Kale stood up as well, his body leaning a little closer to her than he intended, and she took an immediate step back.

“Tomorrow will be fine.” Kale shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from grabbing her tiny waist and pulling her against him. That thought kept taunting him and he was damn ready to do it.

“Okay.” She narrowed her big brown eyes at Kale, confusing the hell out of him. Ronnie walked back to the door and stopped, turning around with a hand on her hip. “You can stop fucking me in your mind now.”

Kale’s eyes came close to popping out of his head. “Excuse me?”

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Let’s get this straight, Soldier. I’m not sleeping with you. You can get it out of your pretty little head, and I suggest you do so before I stick a needle in your skin.” She turned back around, her sexy heels clicking out of the room.

***

Holy shit, he was sexy. And the way he was looking at her? He was threatening to make Ronnie come undone right there in the design room. She was used to having men gawk at her. She worked in a man’s industry and had been subject to more than her fair share of pathetic one-liners and roaming eyeballs, but the way Kale looked at her was different; she didn’t know what it was, but it was different. He was unashamed as he took her in, but he wasn’t vulgar or offensive about it. He was just . . . hot. But he was a soldier and Ronnie sure as hell didn’t do soldiers, not anymore.

“Since this is a large tattoo I need you to be my last appointment of the day. Can you be here tomorrow night at seven?” Ronnie asked as Kale finally emerged from the hallway.

“I will be here.” He looked her in the eyes, unwavering and unaffected from the little threat she gave in the other room.

Before Kale walked around the reception desk, he stopped at the end of the hall and leaned in close to Ronnie. Her body jolted to attention the moment the heat from his breath hit her neck. She was about to spit out words to him that even her trailer-park, sailor-swearing momma would be embarrassed by when his hand touched the small of her back.

“For the record, Sweetheart, I wasn’t ‘mind-fucking’ you, but thank you for putting that image in my head.” He pulled away, and his pretty-boy, clean-cut, “yes-sir” persona faltered a little bit. The corners of his mouth tilted just slightly into an imperative smile, but it didn’t last long. “See you tomorrow night.” His tone was now formal, like he hadn’t just planted goose bumps along the side of her neck. Fuck, tomorrow was going to be interesting.