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“Of course,” I say, leaning over to press a kiss against her forehead. “And I’ll help, too, if I can.”
She laughs softly. “I’ll ask, but she may prefer privacy.”
“I get that. But I bet I can get whatever she needs a hell of a lot faster than I could back at the resort. I’ll be your errand boy. Dallas is better prepared than a tropical island. Honestly, me finding that hot water bottle was a vacation miracle.”
“Thanks,” she whispers. “For everything. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I tell her.
It wasn’t the New Year’s Eve either of us planned, but I’m honored that I got to be there for her.
And I resolve to be for as long as she’ll have me.
* * *
Want to know more about Emery and Adrian, who work at Wanderlust resort? Read their story, Beach Boss, for free.
Still in the holiday mood? Check out my Christmas novella, Nutcracker with Benefits.
THE BILLIONAIRE’S BROUHAHA
DANIKA BLOOM
ABOUT DANIKA BLOOM
Danika Bloom is aUSA Todaybestselling author who always wanted to be the mom in The Partridge Family or The Brady Bunch ... since she only had one child, she lives out her mom-of-many fantasies in her rom-com series about bands of brothers ...
Actually, that's kind of creepy when you think about it ... Shirley Partridge writing spicy stories about Keith (aka David Cassidy) and his brothers ...
Hmm, she might want to rethink this bio.
Visit DanikaBloom.com to see more thoughts that should probably never be stated out loud.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Before I became a romance author, I was writing a creative non-fiction book with the working title,Girls Who Get Themselves In Trouble: The unholy communion of sex, religion, and politics.
Many authors have a talisman they keep near their desk that acts as a tool to help them get into the zone before a writing session. While I was working onGirls Who Get Themselves in Trouble, my touchstone object was a three-inch, 3-D, anatomically correct clitoris.
Even though I’ve set asideGirlsfor now, that small sculpture remains a fixture beside my monitor. And, as I planned my story forResolve: A new year’s anthology for choice, my clitoris spoke to me, demanding a leading role in this novella.
It’s with great pleasure that I introduce Catherine Clay, a woman who is proud to get herself in trouble with every piece of art she creates.
1
CATHERINE
“For the tenth time,it’s a clitoris, not an obscenity. And,” I pause, making direct eye contact with each of the three men who’ve been charged with removing my public installation, “taking it down won’t make it go away. If you have wives or girlfriends, guess what? Understanding how this thing works is definitely in your best interest.” I stroke one of the bulbs of the ten-foot-tall sculpture.
The youngest guy, a man in his twenties, takes a step toward me. “Listen, lady—”
“I think it’s a man,” the oldest guy says out of the side of his mouth.
I see red. This wall of testosterone is coming down. I take two steps into their space, thrust my arm and finger toward them, not quite touching, but close.
“I am one hundred percent woman, with a beautiful clitoris, just like this one.”
At six-foot one, I am an Amazon and when I’m angry, have been known to make grown men whimper. I soften, “I’m sure you’ve all said, ‘Happy wife, happy life, right?’”
