The last of her anger and fear bled out. Only Decker and his earnest gaze remained. He’d never be easy to live with. He’d probably be really unpredictable, but she needed some of that in her life.
“I do.” Rachel laid her lips across his. “Love you, that is. You made me realize how good I could feel, how sexy the right man would find me . . . the kind of caring about my feelings and my pleasure that a partner should give.” She grinned at him suddenly. “Hey, are you affiliated with Google?”
He laughed and pushed into her again, the pleasure surging, rising, about to crest. “No, I just swiped a few pick-up lines from them.”
“I don’t know, Decker . . . You have everything I’ve been searching for.”
Somehow, he smiled at her through a groan. “Is that a yes?”
Rachel rotated her hips beneath him, and felt ecstasy begin to tingle through her body. “Yes!”
The bliss exploded, and as she pulsed around Decker, he slammed into her, then let go of his restraint with a cry.
Her heart beat furiously, and she struggled for her breath. Decker barely let her drag in some air before he jumped off her, tossed away the used condom, and dragged her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Where?”
“Vegas. I don’t want to wait until even tomorrow. We’ll find a nice chapel and get married by Elvis and have something to laugh about with our grandkids.”
Rachel would have giggled . . . except that he looked dead serious.
“What about your parents?”
He shrugged. “They’ve got a big shindig for my younger sister and her fiancé coming up in a few months. We’ll send them pictures. Bet our wedding will be more fun.”
“Well, my parents . . .” What? They had seen her get married in the big white gown once. Did she really want to do all that again? No. This time was just for her and Decker. “They’ll enjoy the pictures, too.”
Decker pulled her in tight for a hug. “That’s the spirit! It’s either that or I’ll call the police and report you for stealing my heart.”
Would she ever get used to his crazy sense of humor? A whole bunch of protective male covered it and roared when she was threatened. But she loved this side of him, too. She’d thank him later for picking her up on false pretenses and lying to her to keep her safe. Let him sweat a little. In the meantime, she couldn’t wait to be his.
“Um . . .” She started giggling uncontrollably. “This is crazy! What will my last name be?”
“You still don’t know, do you? That’s awesome!”
“It’s a little irresponsible, so put me out of my misery and cough it up, Decker.”
He peered at her playfully. “Would you believe Papadopoulos?”
“Papa-doodie . . . what?” She smacked his arm. “No!”
“Pavlyuchenko?”
“No Pavlov’s dogs or whatever in this house.” She rolled her eyes. “Try again.”
“You got me. It’s Blaszczykowski.”
Rachel wrapped her arms around him and laughed. “I’m going to call the police and have you arrested for stealing my sanity.”
He gave her a juicy smack across the lips. “It’s McConnell, honest truth.”
“Much better. Do you know how difficult it would be for a bunch of fifth graders to spell Blaszczykowski?”
“I’d bet you’d get a laugh or two out of it.”
She pressed her lips together to hold in a grin. “True. I’m grabbing a suitcase, I guess. I’ll be Mrs. McConnell by tonight.”
“Yes, you will. But I’d rather just call you mine.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances for multiple print, electronic, and audio publishers. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.
Shayla’s work has been translated into about a dozen languages. She has also received or been nominated for the Passionate Plume, the Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Readers’ Choice Awards. RT Book Reviews has twice nominated her for best erotic romance of the year, as well as awarded her several Top Picks, and a K.I.S.S. Hero Award.
A writing risk taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every book.
MAKE ME YOURS
RHYANNON BYRD
For Will . . .
ONE
DRIPPING WITH SWEAT AS HE TOOK A LATE NIGHT RUN ON THE moonlit beach, Scott Ryder had a strange feeling burning through his veins, twisting its way into his bones. One that didn’t have anything to do with his grueling pace or the miles of sand he’d already covered.
The feeling had been building inside him for weeks now, making him restless, leaving him in a generally shitty mood. He’d tried to shake it, but he couldn’t. Damn thing just kept growing, pissing him off even more. People were starting to go out of their way to avoid him at the station, which was just as well, seeing as how he hadn’t been in the mood for conversation. But tonight he’d been forced to attend the retirement party for one of the other deputies in the sheriff’s department, and his nerves were still scraped raw. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dwight Jones. Dwight was an all right guy who was looking forward to spending his days either out on the golf course or on his new fishing boat and he wished him luck. But Ryder’s boss, Ben Hudson, had been at the party with his new wife, and for some unknown reason the sight of them had set his teeth on edge.
He didn’t want the sheriff’s wife for himself. Reese was more than easy on the eyes and had a killer smile, but Ben had staked his claim the moment she hit town at the beginning of the summer, so she and Ryder were friends and nothing more. But the way Ben kept looking at her during the party, as if marriage made him the luckiest bastard in the world, had made Ryder want to put his fucking fist through a wall.
He knew damn well that his reaction didn’t make any sense. Christ, he wanted Ben and Reese to be happy. After everything they’d been through, they deserved it. He just couldn’t stomach being near all that cozy, romantic bliss. Not when this itch in his veins wouldn’t let off, his instincts constantly twitching, as if he were missing something important and needed to open his damn eyes so he could figure out what it was. He’d had the same kind of feeling before, when he’d worked black ops, and it’d saved his ass too many times to count. But he’d left that life behind. He no longer had to live in constant survival mode. There was no danger here. No one gunning for his life or the people he cared about. Which meant he needed to calm the hell down and learn to relax.
Heading into the last half mile of his run, Ryder repeated a familiar phrase in his mind. His personal mantra now that he’d settled down in the cozy little town of Moss Beach.
Nothing to run from . . .
Nothing to run to . . .
There was a peace and perfection in those simple words. They meant freedom. A new beginning. A new life.
Unfortunately, they were nothing but lies. Because while he might not have anything to run to, he was sure as hell still running from something. He might have decided to stay put in this scenic little beach town on Florida’s Gulf Coast, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting an internal battle every damn day of his life. He’d physically stopped, but his mind was still running at top speed, doing everything it could to forget about—