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“It makes sense,” Chloe said before she slapped Eden on the butt none too gently. “Now run, Eden, run!”
That was all the urging Eden needed. Without another word to Chloe and Madison, she joined the other runners. It was hard at first. Her pace was off, and her breathing erratic. At the one-mile mark, she felt like her lungs were going to burst from her chest. At the two-mile, she wanted to throw up. She had no illusions that she would catch Nash. Being a much better runner, he was no doubt far ahead of her. But she didn’t run for Nash. She ran for herself. And for Madison. And Chloe. And for every woman who had ever dreamed big but thought that they couldn’t achieve those dreams.
The thought empowered her, and somewhere around the four-mile marker, she hit The Zone that she’d read about on the Internet. Her muscles stopped hurting and begging for mercy, and every breath didn’t feel like it would be her last. In fact, she felt better than she had felt since Mike had published her story. She might not ever get Nash back. She might not find her ideal career. She might not be able to live in San Francisco. But she was going to finish the marathon.
Or her name wasn’t Eden Huckabee.
Funny thing about a runner’s high. It didn’t last forever. Her mind might be convinced that she would finish the race, but around the tenth mile, her body started having second thoughts. With every step, her feet hurt and her legs cramped and her knees felt more and more like rubber. Like a donkey in a horserace, she fell back in the pack, her run becoming more of a sluggish jog. Sweat trickled into places she didn’t even want to talk about, and the paper cups of water the volunteers handed out seemed to seep from her pores as quickly as she downed them.
Eden was just about to call it quits when she looked up and saw Nash.
He wasn’t running. He stood on the sidelines searching the runners. When he saw her, he jogged out to join her, his strides matching her much slower ones. Eden wanted to say something, but it was hard to talk when you were a ball of sweating, aching muscles. Besides, after all the e-mails and texts she’d sent him, she figured that she had said everything she could possibly say. So they just kept running—or slowly jogging. A good mile later, Nash finally spoke.
“So what took you so long?”
She glanced over. He wasn’t smiling, but there was definitely humor sparkling in his eyes. Which made her more than a little snappy. “I could ask you the same question,” she panted.
A dozen or more steps and he replied. “Beaumonts have been known to be a little stubborn. Lucky for me, my girlfriend is just as stubborn.” Eden stumbled. But rather than reach out and steady her, Nash only slowed until she’d regained her balance. Once they were running again, he continued. “The cookies were delicious, by the way. And the singing telegram gal was so good that my brother’s assistant hired her for her wedding—which happens to be next weekend. So you might want to mark your calendar.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and joined the sweat on her cheeks. But Nash didn’t notice until she released a tiny little squeak of a sob. She expected some kind of sympathy. Instead, he gave her the exact opposite.
“Damn it, Eden,” he said, “don’t you dare start crying now.”
Her temper flared. “I’ll cry if I want to! Especially after the hell you’ve put me through the last few weeks.”
“And you don’t think that you’ve put me through hell, woman? Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t the one who published your story?”
“I tried, but a certain pigheaded Beaumont didn’t give me a chance. You just completely ignored me and made me feel like a pathetic stalker.” She patted her chest. “Well, I’m not pathetic. I’m just a stupid woman in love with a jerk of a guy!”
Nash looked over at her and smiled, but didn’t stop running. In fact, he picked up the pace. Suddenly, her aching muscles were energized with anger, and she quickly caught up with him.
“That’s it? You’re not going to say a word after I told you that I love you?”
His smile got even bigger, but still he didn’t say anything. He just ran faster.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She ran after him. “If you think you’re going to get away from me, you’ve got another think coming.” People cheered and cameras flashed, but she ignored them as she continued. “Because I’m not letting you get away, Nash Lothario Beaumont. Not now and not ever.”
Nash reached out and took her hand, slowing them to a walk. He walked until she stopped panting like an overheated dog, then he stopped, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her—completely unconcerned by her sweaty condition. After a few minutes of hot kisses, Eden wasn’t that concerned either.
When they finally parted, his eyes were filled with something more than just heat. “That’s good. Because I’m never letting you go either, Eden Tulip Huckabee. You and I are going to get married and finish life just like you finished this race—with a whole lot of guts and plenty of determination.”
Joy like Eden had never known welled inside her, and she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him again until his words finally registered. She stopped kissing him and blinked. “I finished?” She glanced over her shoulder at the red-and-white banner draped over the street that marked the finish line of the half marathon, before she released a squeal. “I ran a half marathon, Nash! I ran a half marathon!”
He picked her up off her feet and hugged her close. “I know, baby. But there was a moment when I thought it wasn’t going to happen. Your tears almost did me in.”
She drew back. “So that’s why you yelled at me? You wanted me to finish?”
He nodded. “If you had stopped, your muscles would’ve tightened up. And I wasn’t about to keep you from achieving your dream.”
“My dream?” Eden shook her head. “Finishing the marathon was a goal, not a dream.”
“So what’s your dream, Eden?”
She stared into his pretty violet eyes and smiled. “To marry a panty billionaire. What else?”
Grayson Beaumont had lost it. He knew this and had known it for the past six months. But he just didn’t know how much he had lost it until Chloe McAlister had walked into his studio wanting to pose for him. Until that moment, he’d thought there was a chance that he could pull himself back from the deep dark abyss that threatened to consume him. After all, he was the level-headed Beaumont, the one who could stay calm in any given situation. But he didn’t feel calm now. He felt as if he’d toppled right over the edge of insanity and was flailing around trying to grab on to anything that would save him from hitting rock bottom.
Needing to get out of the building as quickly as possible, he headed for the elevators. He had just bought a brand-new Bugatti sports car, and he planned to drive until the desperate panic that clawed at his guts subsided. But on the way down to the parking garage, the elevator stopped at the lobby. And when one of French Kiss’s top models stepped in, he changed his plans.
