Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men, #1)(100)

“Jeremy…” my mother started.

My throat dropped into my stomach. “His trial was dropped again,” I croaked, my skin chilling to icicles. “Wasn’t it? He’s free?”

“No,” Mom said. “No, not at all. He’s dead, honey. He got into a fight in jail and was stabbed to death. Two days ago. I think the newspaper called it a…a shanking or something like that?”

I covered my mouth with one hand and met Mason’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he mouthed.

I shook my head and turned away, still not sure how to react. I had certainly never wished this kind of harm to come to my psycho stalker ex. But I’d technically been finished with him since the beginning of my junior year. There were no lingering feelings of affection at all.

There was just…oh, God.

Relief.

Mom talked a few minutes longer, but I kind of shrugged her off, thanking her for calling and letting me know but saying I had to go.

When I hung up, I told Mason the news.

He was mostly quiet, studying me intently. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, looking more through him than at him. “Yeah, I…” Finally, I focused on his face. “I’m free.”

His grin was slow and approving as he took my hands and squeezed my fingers. “We’re both free.”

“Free at last,” I sang out, grinning, only to brighten. “Ooh, that reminds me…” I paused with an arch of my eyebrows and tilt of my head. “Actually, I have no idea how that reminded me, but it made me remember, for some strange reason. Isn’t it odd how one thing can remind you of—”

“Reese!” Mason cut in, his exasperated voice and amused grin telling me how badly I was rambling.

“Right.” I got back on track. “I wrote you a poem.”

He wrinkled his brow into frown. “You wrote a poem? For me? Really?”

I bobbed my head enthusiastically. After digging into my pocket, I yanked free the multi-folded sheet of notebook paper I’d ripped out of one of my binders.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Wow. That’s…that’s really sweet.”

“Thanks.” I tried to toss my hair over my shoulder before I realized I had it up in a ponytail. God, I loved being able to wear my hair up again.

Mason waved his hand. “Let’s hear this thing.” He sounded excited.

I nodded, clearing my throat and straightening the wrinkles in the page so I could read aloud what I’d written.



Way down in the boondocks of Waterford,

The girls liked to pay for their manly sword.

Goodbye, Mr. Mason Lowe.

Oh, what a gigolo.

Too bad he’s retired to Ellamore.



Mason stared at me, stunned speechless. Then he shook his head and cracked a smile. “Manly sword?”

“What?” I shrugged. “I never claimed to be a good poet. You try to come up with something that rhymes with Waterford.”

I’d been stretching it enough to make Ellamore go with Waterford.

“Hmm. Well, thanks so much. It’s simply romantic. Brings a tear to my eye. Seriously.”

I scowled, afraid my sarcasm was rubbing off onto him a little too well. Shoving at his arm, I pretended to pout. “Hey, you said you wanted a limerick. And limericks are not romantic. I looked it up. They’re witty, humorous, nonsensical, and kind of dirty.” I shook my rumpled scrap of paper in his face. “So this is what you got, buster.”

“I never said I wanted a limerick written about me. I said there probably would be.”

I snickered. “Well, now there is. Don’t you just feel…immortal?”

He shook his head and pulled me into his arms. “You are so weird. But I don’t think I could love you any more than I do right now. Thank you for my dirty poem. You’re amazing, and I’m the luckiest guy on earth.”

See, had that been so hard for him to say?

I flushed, pleased by his praise. “Well, you’re welcome.”

We kissed, and life was perfect.

“And I love you too,” I felt inclined to add.

“You know,” he murmured thoughtfully, pressing his forehead against mine as he toyed with the collar of my partially unbuttoned shirt. When he oh-so-accidently slipped the next button free, my sleeve slid off my shoulder. His fingers coasted over my bare skin. “The more retired and free I feel lately, the more I actually want to be tied down again. To you.”

I frowned until the significance behind his words took root. Did he mean…?

He didn’t mean…marital ties. Did he?

I sent him a suspicious glance, but he only winked.





THE END





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



To Sandra Martinie, big sister extraordinaire, who reads everything I write and gives her insightful advice. Yes, you may feel very, very sorry for her!

And to more amazing family members: Cindy Alexander, Nancy Crumpacker, Jamie Alexander, Katie Cap, and Kayla Crumpacker. Thank you so much for helping me proofread.

Ivy Bateman, amazing author and cherished friend. Thank for your wonderful counsel and manuscript guidance.

And that same acknowledgement goes to Lisa Filipe, blogger for Tasty Reads and owner of Tasty Book Tours. She took time away from raising her precious baby to also beta read my work.