Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(88)

He scooted over in the bed to make room for her. “Get that fine fanny of yours over here.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Jake, I’m sure I’m not supposed to—”

“Ass. In. Bed.” He enunciated slowly, holding up the thin sheet, pasting on a look that brooked no argument.

She bit her bottom lip uncertainly before climbing in next to him, gingerly laying her cheek against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

Her.

Michelle. Shelly. Shell.

The woman of his dreams.

“I love you, too, you know,” he said, squeezing her tight when she hiccupped on another sob that turned into a dozen more.

Yo, he was surprised she wasn’t shriveled up like a raisin from dehydration after all the tears she’d shed. But that was Shell for you. Soft, tender-hearted Shell.

And he wouldn’t have her any other way.

For long moments he held her, rocking softly as her tears drenched the thin cotton of his hospital gown. Eventually she quieted, eventually she stopped shaking like a leaf in his arms. And it was then he said, “So let’s start talking strategy here.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, tensing in his arms.

“I think we should get married right away. Once I start with the Black Knights, it might be a while before I have enough vacation time socked away for a decent honeymoon.”

She pushed up to stare down at him, longing and disbelief in her eyes. “Married? Y-you want to marry me?”

Silly woman. Yo, what did she think? After everything they’d been through he’d just want to be friends?

“Of course I do. I mean, we already have a son together and,” he pressed his palm against her belly, “it’s likely there will be more.”

And then they were both thinking about the hotel room and all the things they’d done to one another that culminated in one sadly broken prophylactic.

A delicate blush stole up her cheeks and, inexplicably, he felt his dick stir with interest.

Just goes to show, the male is programmed to mate at all costs. Because, damn, he barely had enough blood left to remain conscious.

“I love you, Shell. You love me. There are no more secrets and—” he hesitated, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “Or are there? You don’t have another one of my kids squirreled away somewhere, do you?”

“No,” she choked on a laugh, her eyes bright with more tears. “There’s just the one.”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that,” he promised, watching as his words caused the tears to spill down her cheeks. This time, though, they were tears of joy.

“Oh, Jake,” she breathed against his lips.

Her mouth was soft and warm. She was soft and warm. Everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever dreamed. And despite the little demons and the blood loss, his below the belt region responded with a resounding yes!

She gasped when she felt him pulse against her leg. “Jake,” she giggled. “We can’t do this here. The doctor is going to be coming in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” he groaned, nibbling on her smooth, fragrant neck, loving the way she tilted her head back just so. “But I promise, as soon as they let me out of this hack shack, I’m taking you to bed and not letting you out for a week.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she sighed, and the sound was seductive and happy and filled his heart to bursting.

In life there are few perfect moments, but he was having one now. Because he held the woman of his dreams in his arms, and with her came the promise of happiness, of family, and a priceless, second chance at love.





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Hell on Wheels


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From Sourcebooks Casablanca

Jacksonville, North Carolina

Outside the Morgan Household

Those screams…

Man, he’d been witness to some bad shit in his life. A great deal of which he’d personally perpetrated but very little of which stuck with him the way those screams were going to stick with him. Those soul-tearing, gut-wrenching bursts of inconsolable grief.

As Nate Weller, known to most in the spec-ops community simply as “Ghost,” gingerly lowered himself into the Jeep that General Fuller had arranged for him to pick up upon returning CONUS—continental U.S.—he figured it was somehow appropriate. Each vicious shriek was an exclamation point marking the end of a mission that’d gone from bad to the worst possible scenario imaginable, and a fitting cry of heartbreak to herald the end of his best friend’s remarkable life.

Grigg…

Sweet Jesus, had it really been just two weeks since they were drinking raki in Istanbul? Two weeks since they’d crossed the border into Syria to complete a deletion?

And that was another thing. Deletion. Christ, what a word. A ridiculously euphemistic way of saying you put a hot ball of lead that exploded with a muzzle velocity of 2,550 feet per second into the brainpan of some unsuspecting SOB who had the appallingly bad luck of finding himself on ol’ Uncle Sam’s shit list.

Yep, two lines you never want to cross, horizontal and vertical.

“Get me out of here,” Alisa Morgan choked as she wrenched open the passenger door and jumped inside the Jeep, bringing the smell of sunshine and honeysuckle with her.