“Really?”
I laid her on the bed. Her beautiful tangle of hair fanned around her. I took a moment to memorize the vision before me.
“You come first,” I promise, sitting on the bed and plucking up one of her feet. I began to rub it as she yawned. “You’ll always come first, Magnolia.”
“Well, shucks.” She pushed onto her elbows, watching me massage her tired, probably aching feet. “You’re going to make me break my rule.”
I frowned at her.
The dainty foot wriggled in my hold. “Don’t stop.”
“What rule?” I rasped and continued to rub, digging my thumbs into the arch.
A wicked twinkle shone in her hazel eyes. “When you talk like that, it makes me want to let you drive the Camaro.”
Given everything that had happened, that was the furthest thing on my mind. I barked out a surprised laugh. “Does this mean I’ve won.”
Rae shook her head and rolled her eyes. “We’ve got to see how you handle her.”
Leaning forward, I brushed my lips over her forehead. “I’d rather handle you.”
With a low, throaty groan, Rae tipped her head back. My lips found hers, and I blessed every broken piece that led us to this moment.
“So….” I brushed a hand through her hair. “When can I drive Cherry Pie?”
Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Race you for pinks for that Aston Martin?”
“Why not the Jag?” They were all hers. Whatever car she wanted.
She shrugged. “I don’t like the color on it.”
Pulling her into my arms, I laid back on the bed and tucked her close. “I have another idea….”
THE END
Be a good girl, and flip the page to read an epilogue from Arabella’s POV
And find the bonus scene “My Sweet Cherry Pie” here to see if Dominico ever drives the Camaro…or if Magnolia Rae wins a second sports car ??
Epilogue – Arabella
SEVEN YEARS LATER
The blood wasn’t mine. That was the first coherent thought that broke through the static in my head, as I stood over the body of State Representative Harrison Cole. His white shirt bloomed crimson like some grotesque flower I’d helped water. My hands were slick with the red stain, warm and tacky between my fingers. I couldn’t remember how they’d gotten that way. The room smelled of copper and expensive cologne. A bottle of whiskey was ready on the coffee table with two glasses. The rich baritone of an Italian crooner played on a speaker from his Bluetooth.
I stepped back. My heel caught on the edge of the Persian rug, and I stumbled, catching myself on the mahogany desk. A pen holder rattled. A framed photo of Cole with the mayor tipped onto its face. The sound was obscenely loud in the macabre setting.
He was dead. Definitely dead. The way his eyes fixed on the ceiling’s ornate molding told me everything I needed to know. The dark pool beneath him, still spreading, was another clue. The fact that I’d been standing here for what felt like minutes, watching, and he hadn’t so much as twitched confirmed that my on-again-off-again fling was over.
My breath came in short, ragged pulls.
No…NO!
I looked down at my hands again. Red. Dark under the nails. I’d touched him. I’d—
No. Don’t.
The clock on the wall read 2:17 AM. The building was quiet. Cole’s office was on the twelfth floor of a building that should have been empty at this hour. Should have been. The security guard downstairs had been dozing when I’d slipped past, key card gifted me for such nocturnal rendezvous. I hadn’t planned on finding a corpse. We were supposed to hook up. Blow off steam. It was never personal.
