But Ididworry. And I wanted to be gentle with her, especially when she was carrying our son.
Reaching up, Candace cupped my cheeks and gave me a slow, deep kiss. “I promise you’re not going to hurt the baby and you’re not going to hurt me.”
My hands tightened on her hips as she fished out the hem of her orchard tee shirt and peeled it up and over her head. Her bra was black and lacy, and I liked it on just as much as off.
As if she could see my resolve crumbling, she smiled.
I sighed and demanded, “If you get uncomfortable, you’ll tell me to stop.”
She nodded earnestly but ruined it a second later by smirking. “I don’t anticipate being uncomfortable at all.” Then she shimmied the remaining denim fabric over her hips and took her underwear with it.
That devilish smirk stayed firmly in place as she pivoted and leaned over her desk, elbows braced beneath her shoulders.
Instinctively, my hands rose to skim over her backside, my rough palms leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
Subtly I reached around her, feeling for the edge of the desk.
“I’m fine, Mark,” Candace said, exasperation and amusement fighting for dominance in her tone.
Then she wiggled back against me and I slipped my hand lower, eliciting a soft moan as she tried to spread her boot-clad legs wider, making room for my touch.
My gaze snagged on the fish mounted over her desk, but I didn’t stop my ministrations. “You know I hate that fish watching us. Are you ever going to get rid of it?”
In the last year, she’d updated nearly her entire office. I’d helped install bookshelves along the back wall. We’d stripped off the wood paneling and painted the room a cheerful pale yellow. There was new furniture. And Candace had pickedout some art prints for the wall from some artist out in Colorado. We’d even cut out a window so she had some natural light. Thankfully, the shades were drawn now.
Candace gasped dramatically. “Get rid of Lance Bass? Never.”
Then I dipped my middle finger low and pushed inside her. She gasped again for an entirely different reason.
I smiled at the sound and bent, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder blade. As my finger stayed busy along with the heel of my palm, I knew I’d never get enough of moments like this—secret and stolen with my achingly beautiful wife.
But as much as I liked hiding ourselves away and fooling around in her office, I craved the life we were building together even more. One that was embroiled in the community and supportive of one another. We were part of a family, a legacy, and a team. The Judds had already been mine, but now it was official. I was grateful for the parents I had in Nick and Amy, and for the brother and sister I’d gained in the process.
Candace had made me her world, but, truthfully, I was just happy to have a place in it. One with the love of a woman I deserved.
I’d spend the rest of my life showing her just how much.
The fun in Kirby Falls continues withLeaf and Let Die, coming May 27, 2025 to Kindle Unlimited. Scroll down for a sneak peek of MacKenzie and Brady’s enemies-to-lovers romance. I can’t wait for this one, y’all.
Want more of Mark and Candace? Check out a bonus epilogue forLeaf It to Mewhen you sign up for Laney’s newsletterHERE!
If you have trouble with the link above, scan the QR code:
Leaf and Let Die
Chapter One
*Mac*
Every single day in Kirby Falls had the potential to be a class reunion, especially when half the people I’d graduated with never bothered to leave.
It was the first Friday in September, so I knew, without a doubt, that the bonfire on Cole Abernathy’s property would be full of former classmates. The bonfire happened every week, no matter the weather, but, without fail, this particular seasonal shift meant Kirby Falls High alumni would be out in droves. There was just something about September when the setting sun meant chilly nights. People were more than ready for the choking humidity of August to give way to crisp, clear skies and cozy flannel.
Obviously, I wasn’t immune as I parked my Jeep in the bumpy field beside Abby’s barn and grabbed a six-pack and my maroon flannel from the passenger seat. The smell of wood smoke permeated the air as soon as I opened the door. My boots sank into the dry ankle-high grass, and I heard the sounds of people gathered, laughing and talking—folks I’d known my whole life. The bonfire was a tradition born out of boredom and familiarity, one that was as reliable as death and taxes and Connie Hixson’s hummingbird cake taking home the blue ribbon at the county fair.
The faces had changed a bit over the years as former classmates went away to college, paired off and got married, or had kids. But they usually cycled back around as they came home for the summer or found babysitters. The crowd around Christmas was usually the biggest as folks returned to celebrate the holiday but managed to sneak away from their families long enough to get drunk in a field with their friends.
The invitation was always open for Friday night bonfires at Abby’s. It had been a tradition since high school, and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon.
