Page 78 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

I’d feel guilty about that later, but at the moment, I was just happy that they hadn’t been perfect without me.

“That’s not all,” Gemma said. “Chef Wong has gone rogue.”

I scrunched up my nose. “He does that at times.” Hence the warning I’d given Carol.

“When JR walked into the kitchen and found him making tofu instead of beef, things got dicey.”

Cash chuckled, glancing over to the woman at the counter.

She nodded and said, “We’re ready for you, sir.”

“I’ll call and check in with Annabeth tomorrow,” I told Gemma. “And I’ll call Chef Wong.”

“Good. We need you. So when are—”

“Hey, who are you talking to?” Carol’s voice carried through the phone.

“Oh, shit,” Gemma hissed, then called out, “No one!” The line was silent for a long moment until she returned. “Phew. That was close.”

Cash jerked his chin and reached for the red circle to end the call but I swatted him away.

“Gemma, I have to let you go.”

“When are you coming home?”

“We, um . . . we’ll probably need another week.”

“Ten days,” Cash corrected just as the wedding march rang over the speaker system. There was a large diamond ring on my finger, one Cash had given me last night on bended knee.

“Wait, what is that?” Gemma asked. “Katherine Gates, are you elop—”

Cash ended the call, took the phone from my hand and tucked it into his jeans pocket, where he’d kept our quarter. He’d taken ownership of flipping the coin over the past four days and fate—as he’d called it, though we both knew it wasn’t coincidence—had brought us to Las Vegas. To the Clover Chapel.

He led me toward the aisle. “I love you, Mrs. Greer.”

“I’m not Mrs. Greer yet.”

“Close enough.” My soon-to-be husband framed my face with his hands and dropped a kiss to my lips.

The same soft kiss he gave me after Elvis pronounced us husband and wife.

Epilogue

Katherine

Five months later . . .

“Don’t touch my hair,” I whispered.

Cash’s hands, centimeters from a curl I’d spent two minutes perfecting, stopped beside my ears. He brought them forward, toward my cheeks.

“Don’t touch my face.”

He grumbled and shot me a scowl. He was midstroke, his cock buried deep inside my throbbing core. “Then where can I touch?”

“Anywhere below the waist.”

Cash pulled out, grabbed me by the hips, yanking me away from the counter, and spun me around before sinking deep.