Max's book

 Hi everyone, I got tons of requests for this, so here you have it. Just keep in mind it's a rough, unedited version that may be subject to change. I hope you enjoy it. Kisses, Elle

                                                           Chapter 1

 "You know, if the idea behind a midnight wedding was to discourage people from attending, I think we can fairly say it hasn't worked," Annie heard coming from behind her.

 Shit, she'd been already made out. Damn.

 She whirled around so fast, she not only got a dizzy spell but lost her footing and almost fell from the hammock she was sitting on.  

 Thank God someone with a very strong grip reached to steady her. "Wow, careful there."

 As she regained her balance, Annie lifted her gaze to find Max Bowen, the groom's younger brother, smirking at her.

She brought her hand to her thumping heart. "Jeez, you scared me, Max."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "What are you doing here?"

 They were in the unlit part of the garden, as far away from the wedding reception as possible without actually leaving the Bowen's property.

"I'm in hiding. Go away," she shooed him, peeking behind him to make sure no one had followed Max. "You always have a string of girls attached to your hip. Soon they are going to be all giggling around here, drawing attention, and I don't want to be discovered just yet."

 Her duties as bride's maid were all done, Tate and James were already on their way to their honeymoon; she could disappear in good conscience.

"Hey," he said, sounding offended. "I may be in need of hiding for a while too."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "You? Why?"

Max went around the hammock, loosened his tie and unfastening the first button of his shirt, sat beside her. "Why? Because my ass has been pinched so many times tonight I swear I can barely feel it anymore."

Annie stifled a giggle. "Your ass is sore?"

"Like you wouldn't believe it," he said, breathing out slowly and running his hand through his shoulder-length hair.

She locked eyes with his, realizing too late he was currently smiling less than three inches away from her face, and the sight of him all but knocked the wind out of her. Jeez, Max in faded old jeans and a tee was breathtaking. In a tuxedo? A total heart stopper.

She wasn't too fond of blond men, but Max was in a league all of his own. With model-perfect masculine factions, wicked green eyes and his usual five-day golden stubble, Max was sexy like hell. Add to his Hollywood looks his laidback disposition, his kick-ass body and rogue smile, and well, it was almost impossible not to drool in his presence, which the charming devil knew very well and played to its full advantage.

She managed to break eye contact. "I think the Eternal Sun resort senior contingent from Florida might be the one primarily responsible for your ass condition." She got both Mister Bowen and Tate's mom lived down there -- were neighbors actually--, but they should have never told the other residents about the wedding. The Bowen brothers were popular enough in the Boston greater area, no need to bring reinforces from the south.

 "Probably," Max mussed. "I guess I should just count my lucky stars those ladies are on the short side and can't reach my nipples, huh?"

Annie broke in laughter. God, Max was such a clown. Although on that one he might be right.

"I hear they catered a bus and made regular stops along the way from Florida to Boston to pick up their granddaughters and nieces."

 And who could blame them? It was not every day that one of the Bowen brothers got married so the standard guest plus1 had transformed into guest plus10. Not to mention the groom's wedding party alone was a sight to behold. All those hunks in tailored tuxedos. Standing tall and proud and yummy. Talk about eye candy.

 Max sighed. "I bet they did. This is the first wedding I attend where are more people crashing the damn event than actual guests. James should have hired his own security company to guard the place."

He should have, but he was so over the moon lately, he probably hadn't thought about anything else besides putting his ring on Tate's finger.

Max seemed to be able to read her. "Yeah, I know my brother is in married-man bliss, but there is Cole and I to protect. Well, ok, just me now that Cole is engaged," he conceded with a rueful grin. "But seriously, with how fiercely protective Cole is of Christy, and the mean right hook she's developed against certain bitches, I'd say some guests would have thanked the extra protection too."

"Please, Christy is a pussycat." Although Annie sure relished the yellowish remnants of the black eye Rose was still sporting, which, by the way, she'd totally deserved. "And you don't need protection from women, Max."

 If anything it was the other way around. He was the ultimate ladies' man. He'd never hurt for female attention before, but now with James married and Cole engaged, Max was getting so much action he was gorging on it.

His cheeky grin broke over his face. "True, under normal circumstances, but that back there is a bit overwhelming, even for me."

Annie rolled her eyes, and was about to answer, when suddenly Max moved, making the hammock rock like crazy. "What are you doing?" she squeaked, gripping the net hard.

"Lying down. I need to give a respite to my poor, abused ass. Come on," he said patting the spot near him. "Lay down with me. I don't bite."

Oh, she wasn't so sure about that.

She eyed warily the net. OK, forget the spiky high heels she was wearing and the skin tight bridesmaid dress, which was the shit yet didn't allow for much movement, but she'd spent 3 hours in the beauty saloon getting her unruly mop of hair all pinned up and adorned with dozens of tiny white flowers. "If my hairdo gets entangle in that, I won't be able to yank it free without looking like the modern version of Medusa."

"Here." He stretched his arm and offered it as a pillow.  

Annie wasn't sure this was a good idea, but she was so tired. "I'm not that great with hammocks. I may roll us both over."

He chuckled. "I'm a professional stuntman, Annie. I think I can handle a hammock."

 Well, he had a point there. She'd seen him on the big screen doing the craziest things. Not to mention his fondness for extreme sports.

"I'll keep us steady. Come on, you're messing with the gravity center sitting there."

She faltered for just a second, then shrugged. "Fine. But I'm a klutz. Don't come crying to me when we find ourselves on the grass, mister Hotshot Stuntman," she said as she slowly moved to lay besides him.

It was a two-person hammock, but he was so big and his shoulders were so damn broad, he took more than his fair share of space. She rested her neck on his muscular arm and tried to keep her body at a distance from his, but he was much heavier and her whole left side ended up glued to his right.

"Comfy?" he asked.

Actually, yes, but that was beside the point.

"Hmm..." She tried separating herself from him, but gravity and his massive body worked against her and the more she moved away, the more the net bounced her right back against Max.

"Not that I'm complaining, but you're rubbing against me. Anything you want to tell me, miss Shawn?" he asked, his words laced with laughter.

This was the closest she'd ever been to Max, and in spite of herself, his low deep rumble had all her girly parts tingling, which was totally inappropriate because Max was eight years younger than she was.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound outraged. "Of course not. Besides, you're way too young for me." Not to mention that at age 35, Annie was a good decade older than the women Max usually dated.

Max snorted, amused. "Sure, you're ancient. Now stop squirming, Ace. You could break your femur, and at your old age any fracture could be fatal."

She saw the smirk on his face and went for elbowing him, but there was not enough space between them to get a good jab in.

 "Watch it. In your advanced condition you can as easily dislocate a shoulder. I hear all one has to do is sneeze and there it goes the hip."

 "Oh please. Just shut up," she said unable to contain her laughter.

Annie hadn't had much contact with Max before, but since Tate and Holly had started to hang out together, and Christy and Cole had become and item, the Bowen brothers and their crew had ceased to be a bunch of gorgeous guys you admired from afar, and had become a permanent fixture in her life. It was hard to get used to such overabundance of panty creamers, but she was copping. With the casual panic attack but she was copping.

Still chuckling, he pinned her by his side and turned his gaze to the sky. "Settle down and look up, Ace."

Bossy guy, she thought but she found herself obliging him.

"Wow," she whispered as took in the view.

"Everything looks better from a hammock, doesn't it?"

Sure it did. "I'm going to take one to the Friday night outdoors cinema instead of sitting on those wooden chairs. The Arnie marathon they are running won't be better, but at least the hammock will improve my viewing experience."

"Yep," he said. "I hear they are preparing a Mel Gibson marathon for next year."

"Well, that's marginally better."

His low voice rumbled in the night. "How you figure that?"

"More rom-coms, less commando shit. Plus I could stand to see his milky white ass once more in Braveheart."

She felt him turn to her and shake his head.

Max lowered a foot to the ground and kicked it, rocking gently the hammock.

They laid there in silence for a long while, enjoying the view.  She probably should be more freaked about lying there with Max Bowen, but the truth of the matter was she didn't have enough energy to get herself worked out.

Today had been a very hectic day. The wedding had been beautiful and everything had gone according to plan --more or less-- but it had been taxing, and for a while there she'd felt dizzy and out of breath from the excitement and the place being packed. And then it had been the cake too.  Annie loved cake, even riskee ones, but she must have eaten the poisoned piece intended for Tate -- or Christy-- because boy did the little sucker repeat on her. Now though, lying there away from the crowd, with her gaze up on the black sky and the gently rocking, she felt totally relaxed and at ease.

"The wedding was beautiful," she mumbled without turning to him.

"Aunt Maggie and Tate's mom really thought of everything."

Her lips quirked in a slow smile. "Except for the electrified fence around the yard."

Max chuckled. "Yes, except for that. I could have done without the impromptu conga line afterwards during the reception too."

 Annie laughed. "Come on, Max, you rocked the conga line."

He snorted but said nothing about that.

It had been one of the highlights of the night, only second to seeing Tate all but running down the aisle and kissing the living lights out of James before the priest had gotten a word in.  

 "So, why are you in hiding?" he asked turning his captivating gaze to her. God that the guy was stunning.  And of course at this close distance, there was all this olfactory and tactile data to deal with. Even in his relaxed position, Max's body was hard and rigged, oozing masculinity and testosterone. His smell, a mixture of aftershave, clean sweat and a hint of tobacco from the cigar James had given him, was so male it had all her girly parts jumping in excitement, which was so inappropriate in so many levels she wasn't even going to think about it.  

She sighed and turned her face up to the sky. "I've been long enough in the dating arena to know when your date starts talking about himself in third person, it's time to hide."

The hammock shook with his muffled laughter. His hard body too.

"Not to mention the more he drinks, the more arms he grows. And the more his eyes bulge every time he sees a pair of boobs. It's bad enough that he has spent the last two hours talking to my nipples, but ogling other women goodies on top of that? Gross."

Steven was a co-worker from her office with whom she'd gone out twice this last month. The first date didn't turn out too bad, so she'd given it a second go. Bad, bad idea.  

He tsked. "Moron. Doesn't he know your goodies are the best?"

She felt her face flame. Then she realized what he was probably referring to. "You are talking about the candy basket from the fundraiser, right?"

A couple of weeks ago, for the annual town's fundraising dinner, her candy shop had donated a basket of gourmet candy which Max had bid on and won.

He winked at her. "Those goodies too."

She shook her head. God, he was such a shameless flirt. Gorgeous, charming, easy going. Pity when it came to women, he had the attention span of a hummingbird on crack. Not that it mattered to her. Not only was he totally out of her league, but there was the age difference to contend with. 8 years might not seem much, but in mindsets, they were light years apart. At age 35 Annie was ready to settle and marry and Max was..., well Max was most definitely not. Max was not playing the field; he owned the damned thing.

"Behave," she admonished him.

"I am, Ace. I am," he said in a chuckle. "I have been meaning to tell you those chocolate things were fucking fantastic."

"You liked them?"

He nodded. "Don't misunderstand me, the traditional sweets are great, but this new shit you are bringing... mouth watering. I'm going to go to see you one of these afternoons to get more."

  Annie smiled, pleased as all hell. She'd inherited her mom's little candy shop two years ago, when she'd decided to marry Larry and move with him to Alaska. Although she already had an office job in Boston, she hadn't wanted to close the place down, so she'd hired a girl to work there in the mornings and Annie took care of the afternoons.

As the shop had been barely turning a profit, she'd decided to upgrade the whole concept and along with jelly beans and candy canes she decided to go for a more sophisticated line sporting gourmet chocolates and truffles from Brussels, strawberries with champagne and white chocolate frosting, and all sort of products for special occasions.

"Remember to come ready to tweet."

He winked at her. "Don't worry. Twitter, Facebook, Foursquare, the whole shebang. How did you come up with the whole concept by the way?"

"Honestly? I didn't. Christy did."

  One day brainstorming while chatting through internet with Christy about how to reach more customers, her friend had come up with the idea of using Twitter, so the shop "Sweets" had become "Sweets and Tweets" and the clients got a 5% discount if they tweeted on the spot about the goodies they were buying.

Word got out about the new products and in no time they had people coming from Boston to get their sugar fixes or for special dates. Last year for Valentine's Day it had been crazy, the queue had gone all the way to the street and around the corner.

Max smiled. "My future sister-in-law is a charming geek."

"That she is." Annie and Christy had met in college and had kept in contact ever since. A bit over six months ago she took a sabbatical from her job as a software engineer and moved temporarily from LA to Alden to get away from her cheating fiance. Now she was engaged to Cole Bowen and run Alden's library. Funny how things changed.

They swung in silence for a while longer.

She'd been afraid lying with Max, playboy extraordinaire, was going to feel weird, but somehow and in spite of his flirting, it didn't.  

"So, I have to ask; how often you end up in hiding during your dates?"

She snorted. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She would be hiding in the bathroom right now if she would be sure that Women Only sign would somehow stop self-absorbed Pompous Ass from entering.

Annie was an active dater, an optimist one would say. Yeah the world was full of frogs, but there were princes out there and you just had to persevere until you found yours. Easier said than done though. A romantic at heart, she'd always believed everyone got his or her happily ever after, but with the luck she'd had lately, and all the frogs she'd had to deal with, she'd begun to believe everyone just didn't include her.

"You're dating the wrong guys."

Didn't she know that.

Not that he would understand her predicament. The guy went through women like through potato chips. Charming girls out of their pants as if it were an Olympic sport. Although Annie hadn't heard a single complain from the female population. Far from it. 

"What about the stud gala? Did you end up in hiding there too?"

Annie stilled. "How did you know about the gala?"

"You kidding me? I heard Cole grumbling about you guys buying the gala invitation for Christy. Then I had to listen Tate complain about not getting one. And then James growling and threatening Elle if she did."

She cleared her throat. "That hadn't been a date but no, I didn't end up in hiding then."

No sir, not at all.

"Guys, what are you doing there?"

Annie turned her head to see Christy and Cole approaching.

"His ass was hurting and he needed to lay down," Annie blurted, tensing. Under somebody else's scrutiny, lying there with Max felt suddenly awkward.

"What?" Christy asked confused, letting go of Cole's hand as they reached Annie and Max.

"Never mind," she mumbled, clumsily hauling herself up and out of the hammock. Max followed her much more gracefully, holding her when her wobbly legs and the whole rocking made her falling on her face a very distinct possibility.

"How's it going?" Max asked his brother. "Is the party winding down already?"

Cole looked toward the reception and grimaced.

"Nope," he muttered. Then he turned to Christy. "We are eloping."

 She smiled wide. "Sure, let's elope to Vegas."

Cole's expression tightened. "I'm not getting hitched by Elvis, sweet thing," he warned, wrapping his arm over her shoulder and bringing her front to his side.

"Who said anything about Elvis, honey? I was thinking more along the lines of Captain Kirk."

"So not happening."

Christy, bless her heart, ignored him and smiled even wider. "Or Spock. We could book the Star Trek package, marry with a Vulcan and a Klingon as witnesses. And wire the chapel so that our friends could follow the wedding through internet. Wouldn't that be a blast?"

He kissed her hard, then whispered in her lips. "I love you, baby, but no fucking way." If his expression was anything to go by, it was a good thing Cole loved Christy to pieces, because sure as hell he wasn't a man to be led by his dick, much less into a Star Trek wedding.

"Elope all you want, but I'm organizing your bachelor party. Imagine all I could do with Vegas as the backdrop," Max said, to which Cole grimaced even stronger.

"Here you are," Annie heard coming from behind them.

Shit. Steven aka Pompous Ass. Her stomach roiled and realization dawned. Oh god, the spell of sickness she'd experienced during the reception? Apparently it had nothing to do with the crowded yard or the cake. She'd reached a milestone -- her dates were physically making her sick. Way to go. 

Max came closer and whispered. "Is this the guy?"

She nodded and turned to Steven, who was obnoxiously grinning.

 "Ready to dance with the king of the night, darling?"

 He was now close enough and his sugary smell reached her. Nausea rose in her belly. Trying not to cringe, she took a step forward, frantic for an excuse, when suddenly someone tugged at her hand from behind.

 "Sorry man," Max said. "The prettiest girl in this wedding owes me a couple of dances and I'm ready to collect."

 Max twirled her around, and wound her in, a wink in his face. "Let's give him a show," he whispered to her. Before she could react, Max wrapped his hand around her neck, the other around her waist and bending her exaggeratedly backwards, placed his lips over hers.

She hadn't regained her breath and her bearings when he pulled her back up and spun her around again.

Oh God, too much movement.

"I'm not feeling too good," she managed to let out a second before bending over and throwing up all over Max's shoes.

                                                 ***********

   

"OK, spit it out, Annie," Holly prompted. "If memory serves me well, Ben switching teams on you had been a DEFCON3 emergency, I truly have no clue what possible planetary disaster DEFCON1 could refer to."

 Trying not to hyperventilate, she let out those two tiny words, the ones that had her freaked out of her ever loving mind.

Holly's ass plopped unto the chair, Sophie's eyes all but popped from her sockets and Christy's jaw dropped to the table.

 "Definitely DEFCON1," Christy mumbled.

“Pregnant? What do you mean pregnant?” Holly asked, stupefied.

“Pregnant,” Annie choked out. “As in knocked up.”

“Oh God,” Sophie let out.

“How? When? Who?” Then before Annie could answer, not that she was too eager to answer anyway, Holly continued, "Please don't tell me it's Steven's."

At least there was that; a positive side of this whole mess she hadn't thought of.

"Eww. You nuts? I didn't have sex with Steven."

 Her friends let out a collective relieved breath.

"Thank God," Holly muttered.

 She'd been about to chide them for even thinking she'd had sex with him after just two dates, but she saw the irony in her predicament and decided to bite her tongue.

"If it isn't his then...?" Christy asked, motioning with her hand for her to go on.

Annie cleared her throat. “Remember the StudsRus.com gala a while back?” she mumbled in a grimace. "The nice Italian escort I met there? Luigi?"

Complete silence.

Annie had attended in Christy's place to the yearly gala that StudsRus.com, the most prestigious escort agency in Boston, had hosted a month ago in the Ritz Carlton downtown. The girls had managed to buy an invitation for Christy's birthday, after her vow of getting professionally laid, but once Cole had heard about it, he'd put a damper to the whole plan, so they drew straws and surprise, surprise, Annie had won.

"You're shitting me," someone mumbled.

Annie shook her head. No, she wasn't shitting them. She wished she was, but she wasn't.

It had been a great night. A magical one with all those candle lights, the fine food, the expensive champagne, the great company. It turned out StudsRus.com was much more than a gigolo agency. Their escorts were highly sought after and traveled all over the country accompanying clients, some of them very powerful people, to high profile events. They were not only gorgeous, but they were extremely well educated and charming.  One of the escorts she'd met that night was a dark-haired handsome man by the name of Luigi. One thing let to another and well, she did most definitely not end up hiding in the bathroom.

Holly cursed. “What about the whole stash of condoms I placed in your purse? Didn’t you think of using them?”

“I used condoms, I swear I did.”

“How did you exactly use them, sweetheart?”

“What do you mean how did I use them? How does one use condoms? Are there several different ways of using them?” Annie asked, out of breath, her tone of voice rising. She was freaking out. Big time. But all and all she thought she was entitled to. “I certainly didn’t put them on my head as new-age hats.”

"Did it break?"

She shook her head. Of course it didn't. If it would have, she would have gone to get the Morning after Pill and she wouldn't be currently about to pass out.

Sophie tried to calm her down. “Are you sure it’s not a false alarm?”

Annie shook her head. “No false alarm. Five predictors and two blood tests confirm it. I’m pregnant up to my eyeballs,” she said as she, very ineffectively, gave herself air with a napkin. Damn hot flashes. For the past 2 weeks, she'd been having so many of those she'd even considered going to the doc to make sure she hadn't entered some sort of freaky early menopause. Talk about irony, uh?

“How did this happen?” Holly asked.

“The usual way?”

"Not helping, sweetie." Holly chastised Sophie with a look, and then turned to Annie. “If you used condoms, how did you get pregnant?”

And here it was when it got embarrassing. “Well, it seems there’s an infinitesimal chance of getting knocked up if you start rolling the condom on, realize it’s inside out and then turn it the right way. Drops of precum get onto the outside of the condom, and voilà, if the semen is of quality and has great mobility, you’re in deep shit.” Annie looked at them, fidgeting. “I was a bit nervous, and there wasn’t too much light…”

Man, she should have left the logistical details to the pro.

After all the head shaking she'd done when women in her office got pregnant out of carelessness and look at her; knocked up on a technicality.

Sophie whistled. “Wow, some super-duper power sperm those studs have, uh?”

“Tell me about it,” Annie mumbled. Well, at least they could say for sure Tate and James's wedding cake hadn't been poisoned.

“Could it be someone else’s?” Christy asked.

“It’s either Luigi’s or an immaculate conception.”

The good thing about getting laid so seldom was that she could pinpoint with 100% accuracy the conception date, which meant that if her baby was as anal as she was, he or she should be born on the early hours of the 6th of April.

Holly cleared her throat. “I hate to say this, honey, and I know these guys are the best of the best, but did you get checked for diseases?”

“Yeah, no STDs." That was what she'd done first thing after she'd found out about her pregnancy. And hadn't that been fun, explaining to Alden's only doctor, the same one that had treated her all her life, why she needed testing for STDs right after he told her she was pregnant. "All I got from the super stud is a baby.”

"Well, at least you had a valid excuse for throwing up all over Max the other night," Christy mumbled.

 Annie cringed at the memory. So embarrassing. Talk about making an ass out of herself. The most sought after bachelor in the whole state was being sweet and offering her a way out so that she wouldn't have to go with Steven and what did she do in exchange? She'd puked her brains out all over his shoes, messing his pants with splatters too. Well, on the flip side, the second she'd started throwing up her so attentive date had all but run in the opposite direction.

Max had been very nice and understanding though. He'd even joked that if he would have been saddled with a date like Steven, he would have been puking too.

“Does Luigi know about any of this?”

“Nope. And I never got a last name, so I don't know how to contact him.” Or even if she wanted to.

 Annie had been high on the glamour of the night and she'd been dazzled by Luigi, who was so not what she'd expected. He wasn't a young buff stud with more muscles than brains. No, he'd been in his mid-late thirties, sophisticated, elegant and a great conversationalist. She wasn't a knock-out, but she knew she was pretty enough. And so far her body was holding its own against gravity and time, if one could ignore the expansionist tendencies of her ass. Still, Luigi favoring her company had kind of blown her mind and in between that and the alcohol, well she'd just let go. In the morning though she'd panicked and much to her shame, had run out on the guy before he even woke up, because how the hell was she supposed to face the proverbial morning-after when you sleep with a professional escort on his spare time? Well, at least she thought it was on his spare time and for free, she wouldn't even dare considering he'd been working and she'd skimmed him his fee. That was just too much.

"It seems Italian escorts are in fashion, because apparently StudsRus.com have 46 Luigis on staff. I'm going to have to ask them for pictures," Annie said.

If the conversation at the doc had been fun, she shuddered to think about the one with the stud agency receptionist.

She may never find Luigi again, and she couldn't say she felt particularly sorry about it, after all, she didn't know the guy. But again, a man had the right to know he was a father. Not to mention the thought of raising a kid all by her own sucker punched her. Money was not an issue; she had a good job, the shop was doing well, and she still had almost untouched the trust fund her paternal grandparents had set for her. They hadn't trusted her flimsy father and thank god they didn't, because the man was already on his fifth bimbo wife, who was bleeding him dry like the others before her.

So financially she was covered, but there were more things to consider when having a baby and raising it by herself. Some mornings it took her forever to decide whether she wanted to have cornflakes or Honey Puffs, how the hell was she going to choose a school for the kid? He or she would be in junior high by the time she'd made up her mind.

  "You know, I somehow envisioned differently embracing motherhood. Not at age 35, without a partner, and knocked up by a gigolo that may or may not be called Luigi."

After all, maybe Luigi was just his stage name.

"Well, it beats the hell out of a sperm bank, which is what I can see in my future," Holly muttered.

They were silent for a while, then Annie sighed. “I’m so screwed, guys. I'm a forensic accountant. What do I know about kids?"

"Well, you own a candy store, I'd say you're already ahead," Christy offered.

Well, there was that too.

"I should have never gotten up on that flower pot after you. You got the good stuff. I got... backlash."

Annie covered her face with her hands. “This is so unfair; you and Cole are the ones humping like rabbits all the time. Me? It was just once. One little shag. Why me? The universe hates me.”

“Wait a second. What do you mean once only? Wasn’t he, you know, up for a rematch?”

“It was good, don’t misunderstand me, but let’s just put it this way; it looks like when an over-priced European escort isn’t working, he starts snoring after the deeds.”

“Are you sure he was a member of Studs®us.com and not some nutcase impersonating a stud, like in True Lies?” Sophie asked.

Oh crap, she hadn't thought of that possibility. Annie panicked for a second, then shook her head. “No, can’t be. He knew everyone there.”

“True Lies?” Holly asked.

“You know, the waiter in that Arnie movie True Lies, the one that got chicks by impersonating to be a spy?” Sophie explained.

Christy frowned. “A waiter? Wasn’t he a car salesman? I–”

“People, people. Concentrate,” Holly interrupted, out of patience. "I told you to cut on the outdoor cinema." She turned to Annie. “Are you going to keep it?”

She looked at her friends. “Forget the fact I'm 35 and my clock is ticking. What are the chances of getting pregnant like this? One in a frigging billion. This baby hasn't been born yet and it's already a damn superhero. Of course I’m keeping it.”

 Copyright Elle Aycart 2013

Win 3 copies of More Than Meets The Ink, Heavy Issues, or Inked Ever After

 ****** GIVEAWAY ******

Hi everyone,
To celebrate the release of the latest installment of the Bowen series, I'm giving away three copies (MTMTI, HI, or IEA, your choice) to three lucky winners. All you have to do is leave a comment with your favorite quote from any of my books. The sentence that stuck with you. The one that made you laugh like crazy. Or cry like crazy. Or sweat like crazy ;-) Whatever you prefer.
In a month 3 winners will be chosen among the participants.

Epilogue for Inked Ever After

 Attention: Do not read if you haven't read Inked Ever After!! *****Contains major spoilers*****

Hi everyone, as promised, here you have the epilogue the publishers decided not to include in Inked Ever After. Their reasoning was sound; the book ended in such a high note, they didn't want anything after that.
I, however, decided to post it for whoever wants to read it. After all, Inked Ever After is the last book featuring James and Tate, and I think they deserve an epilogue. Enjoy!
Just keep in mind this is a rough, unedited version.

Epilogue

Ten years later

Cape John

Tate stepped out to the porch, where James was sitting watching the stars, a beer in his hand. As she’d been doing for ten years, she climbed onto his lap and as James had done for ten years too, he welcomed her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her temple.

“Boys sleeping already?”

She nodded. “They took forever to settle tonight. Especially Kev.”

“You’re tired, princess,” he said with a frown, placing his hand on her bulging belly and gently caressing it. “I could have taken care of getting them to bed. You didn't have to do it.”

She lifted her head and brushed her lips with his. “I know, baby, but I wanted to. I missed them this afternoon. Missed you too.”

James had spent the whole afternoon with the boys, fishing. She would have loved to tag along, but she was getting quite big and most days she needed a nap to keep up. Besides, fishing was something James did with the boys. It was their thing.  

Tate had been sitting on the porch, reading a book after cooking supper, when she’d heard her men coming.

James had been carrying five-year old Kevin over his shoulders as if he were a sack of potatoes, their younger son laughing and squirming while his older brother, Jonah, was walking along his dad, carrying his own fishing gear, all grown-up looking, talking animatedly to James.

“Mom,” he’d called out, waving as soon as he’d spotted her coming their way. “We caught some fish.”

“I see, baby,” she'd answered, reaching them.

“Me too. Me too,” Kevin had shouted lifting his head and trying to turn to her. James’s wonderful hazel eyes stared at her from their son’s face. And that roguish grin of her husband’s too. “I caught one fish. The biggest of them all. Mega huge. Put me down, daddy. Down. Down.”

James had laughed. “All right, buddy. Hold your horses.” Then, while lowering Kev to the ground, he'd turned to Jonah. “You sure you didn't give him any sugar?”

“Swear, Dad. I gave him only five M&Ms.”

By now Kevin was jumping up and down, taking the bucket from his dad and yanking at Tate's hand, all at once. “Look, mommy, look,” he’d insisted showing her their loot. “The big one is mine.”  

She'd kissed the top of his head. “I see, baby. You did good. Are the rest yours?” she'd asked looking at their oldest son.

“Yes,” he'd answered, smiling. Jonah was all Bowen too, from his blond hair to his facial features, except for his pale blue eyes. Those were all hers.  The same his uncle Jonah had had. “Dad didn’t catch any. Again.”

James had snorted, amused. “Yeah, yeah. You guys claimed all my catches. Like always. Get going home. Wash and get ready for supper,” he'd ordered before turning to Tate and gently pulling her in for a kiss.

She had been already in her tiptoes leaning to him, her palm on his chest.

“You’re caked in sand, honey,” she'd said after kissing him.

“No shit,” he’d chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and bringing her deep into his side, caking her in sand too. “Fishing with our sons is a damn messy business.”

Yep. She’d seen them fishing plenty of times. Kevin was a handful, running around and chattering nonstop, unable to sit quiet for more than five minutes. Add to that five M&Ms and well, you had a tornado in your hands. Jonah was more calmed, but still. They required a lot of attention, which James gave gladly. Attention, time, love; James gave all of that unconditionally. Every day. All the time. He was a wonderful father. Jonah and Kev adored him, but he adored them even more.

And that extended to all the Bowen men. Cole and Max were married, with kids of their own, but there wasn't a hockey match, school play or any other significant event in Jonah's or Kevin's lives that didn't have all the Bowen men attending. Hell, even for the insignificant ones the whole Bowen clan got together. Which she totally loved.

“Don't complain. You're the first one that loves the fuss.”

“True,” he'd assented, a slow smile creeping across his face, the sea breeze ruffling that sexy shaggy hair of his. "Just remind me to keep Kev away from Annie's candy shop. Five M&Ms, princess, five. Our little man can't hold his sugar."

James had promised her to be the best husband and the best father he could be, and damn if he hadn’t delivered. As far as Tate was concerned, he was simply the best.

She stared at him as he took a sip of his beer on the porch. James was now forty-four—turning forty-five in a couple of months. He hadn't changed much; his body was as muscular and breathtaking as always, but now he had some sexy wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and some gray hair on his temples. He was more handsome than ever. Among other additions, his back now sported two new tattoos; it was two small hands, prints of Jonah’s and Kev’s hands at six months old. She loved all his ink, but those handprints, and how proudly he wore them, were her favorites.

Many things had happened in these ten years. There had been rough spots, but not even once had she had to doubt about his love and commitment. Not even for a second. She’d seen him losing it only once, right before Jonah’s birth, when he’d come home and found her bleeding in the bathroom floor, almost unconscious. The only two times she’d seen him cry had been in their boys’ births.

“They are excited about tomorrow, that's why they took so long to settle tonight,” she said. “Everyone is going to be at your dad's. We need to be early in Alden.”

“Ten years, princess,” he whispered against her temple.

Tomorrow was the tenth anniversary of their wedding. Ten years. Which had passed in a flash. Up until now they'd always celebrated alone, but this time Aunt Maggie had insisted in throwing them a party.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and, letting out a long sigh, looked up at the night sky. She loved it in Cape John. Since James had bought this cabin, they'd spent all their summer vacations here. No exceptions. The town was a very close-knitted community that, never mind the vast amount of summer visitors, rarely let anyone in. Anyone but James, of course. In a week the tattooed gangsta from out of town had had everyone in his pocket. Even grandma Mendiola. Nowadays the Bowens had their own table in Kamikaze. Jonah loved it there. Kevin wasn't too fond of sushi, but he loved their famous Shin-chan roll, a concoction with mayonnaise and a sausage that would make any self-respecting Japanese person cringe but had their son walking in cloud nine. Max's little girls too.

“Do you remember what I accused you of being the first time we met?” Tate asked into the night.

“A cat kidnapper?”

She let out a giggle. “No. I mean the second time we met.”

James pondered for a long second. “A black hole wrapped up in frilly paper interested only in sucking good girls in?”

She turned to him, smiling. God that memory of his. “Yes. How wrong was I, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know about the black hole, but I do love sucking you,” he explained wiggling his eyebrows.

Tate broke into laughter. She still wasn't sure how he did it, but James kept cracking her up. He had some wrinkles, true, but so did she. Most of them were laugh lines caused mainly by him. She relished every single one of them.

“That’s right. And you excel at it, baby.”

They’d been together for a bit over a decade, they had two boys and a third baby on the way, and yet James was as passionate as always. Even more. Sex, like wine, got better with age. Who would have guessed. Now though, since the kids, more often than not she ended up with her face buried in a pillow, muffling her screams. And having sex behind closed doors. No need to send their sons to the shrink so early in their lives.

“How many headaches do you think I have given you since we met?” she asked in a whisper.

“Mmmm, not sure.  Let me check my notebook.”

“Oh God. You keep track of those in a notebook?” she asked horrified.

His chuckle rumbled through her body. “Of course not, princess. The only thing I keep track on is the mischief of our two daredevils. When they become moody teenagers and accuse us of being unfair dicks, I’m going to take out that damn notebook and show them how uneven the scales are.”

Tate laughed.

“I hope this one is a girl, princess,” he added. “We need some balance here. Someone that obeys me.”

She couldn't stop herself from snorting. Jonah and Kevin adored their dad. Idolize him. And if this baby was a girl, she was going to have her dad wrapped around her tiny little finger in no time.

“And about the headaches, princess, you’ve given me as many as I’ve given you.”

In that he wasn’t wrong. James was the love of her life, but it had to be recognized that he could do arrogant and bossy with the very best. His barbarian side hadn't gotten domesticated. At all. Not in the bedroom, not out of it. Case in point being this cabin; she'd tried paying him back for half of it, but no dice. No matter how hard she'd tried, or how sneaky she got, James hadn't accepted a cent. Two years ago, for his birthday, she'd decided to buy him a new truck, the one he'd been talking about getting for a while. James had hit the roof when he'd seen it. Well, he'd fucked her senseless and then had hit the roof. He'd accepted the gift, but next day she had the full price of the truck in her bank account.

“Besides, when I woke up this morning it wasn’t the headaches I remembered,” he continued, taking her out of her thoughts.

“No?”

He tipped her face up. Kissed her softly on her lips. “No, baby. Not at all. I remembered you running down the aisle and throwing yourself in my arms during our wedding, my tattoo on your back in plain sight for everyone to see. I remember you kissing the living lights out of me even before the priest got a word in. I remembered you giving birth to our two sons. How you held Jonah for the first time, scared out of your wits you were going to do something wrong. I remembered how whole and at peace I feel when I’m deep inside you. How much I need you in my life. How I can’t really breathe without you. How much I love you. You are my wicked pirate princess, a thousand times more precious and beautiful to me now than ten years ago. And let's get real; you were pretty stunning to begin with.”

“Thank you, love,” she said blinking tears away.  “But it's all you. You are the one who have made these past ten years spectacular. I love you, James. And there is no day that I don't thank God I have you in my life.”

He brought her to him and kissed her long and deep. And like always, she melted. His smell, his taste, his touch, all drew her in, and in no time she was drowning in him. Breathless, her hands in his hair, holding him to her.

“How tired is my princess?" he whispered against her lips.

She smiled softly. “Not that tired, baby.”

She was never that tired. And much less in her state, with all her hormones running wild.

“Good,” he said brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

She was well in her third trimester and would have loved to straddle him properly, but her stomach was in the way. She pouted. “Getting quite big, James.”

“That's not true. I love making love to you when you're pregnant, you know that, baby. I love how you wake up in the middle of the night and reach for me, hot and needy. How you explode around me the second I touch you. There is one thing I miss though; taking you with you wrapped around me, your chest clued to mine, looking straight into your eyes.”

She smirked. “Getting tired of the reverse cowgirl, I see.”

He barked out a laugh. “Never, princess. You can ride me all you want.” He nibbled at her bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, one hand wrapped around her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw. “And correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure the cowgirl in question was on her hands and knees, in our bed, this morning. Moaning into the pillow through her third orgasm.”

She blushed at his words. Or maybe it was his touch what was giving her hot flashes. The erection poking at her thigh perhaps? In any case, she had to put on the breaks.

“Wait, baby. Before you scramble my brains, I got something for you,” she said gently pulling back. She reached for the table near by and handled him an envelope she had hidden there while they had been fishing.

He raised his eyebrow. “I recall you clearly saying no presents this year.”

Sure she did. Every damn year for their anniversary, and for all other special occasions, James came up with the most amazing, thoughtful presents. So much so, that by their fourth anniversary she was frigging self-conscious about giving him anything, because he would top that, hands down. It didn’t matter how much money he spent; even the most inexpensive gifts got her every time.

“Did you comply?” she asked.

James gave her a duh look, his snort loud. “Of course not.”

As she’d figured. “So don’t complain and open it.”

“What is it?”

She shrugged. “I thought you deserved big compensation this year now that you won’t see me with the wedding dress. I know how much you like me wearing it.”

She’d dyed the dress a darker beige, shortened the train and transformed it into a sexy-like-hell nightgown that she only and exclusively wore for their wedding anniversary.

In their first anniversary she’d been nursing Jonah, who had been born four months prior, and her rather small boobs had been huge. As in 'hello, can't see my shoes when I look down'. He’d seen her with the dress, and they hadn’t made it in time to the restaurant.

Almost like in their wedding, where they made it to the reception, but barely.

“I love you wearing that dress, princess. This year you’d be as gorgeous in it as always,” he said gently caressing her bulging stomach.

“I could model it for you before going to bed tomorrow.”

His eyes flashed. “Deal.”

As he started opening the envelope, she had a sudden case of jitters and stopped him. “Wait. What did you get me?”

A devilish smirk spread on his face, robbing her of breath. God that he was handsome. Ten years and she still got butterflies in her stomach when he looked at her. “Not telling you yet.”

Oh hell.

“Come on, just give me a hint; is it as outrageous as that clone-a-dick thingy you got me for our first anniversary, or are we talking about a romantic present like enlarging and framing that picture of me nursing Kev while I was sitting on your lap and Jonah watched?” Because the man was totally unpredictable, one never knew what he had in mind.

James smiled. “I thought the clone-a-dick thing was very romantic, didn't you? Us naked, our hands and other body parts covered in clay... That chick flick you made me watch a while back, Ghost?" he shook his head. “They got nothing on us.”

She burst out laughing. “Come on. Just a hint,” she repeated when she was able to talk again. She waited for him to say something, but soon it became apparent he had no intention to. “Okay, whatever. I'll make sure we are alone when you give me your present. Just in case,” she said as she motioned for him to proceed.

He opened the envelope and took the tickets out. “Princess--”

“This is for you, baby. You’d wanted to spend our honeymoon in a deserted beach, doing nothing but being lazy and making love instead of traveling to Italy. So, I got us a two-week trip to the Cook Islands. It’s not deserted, but quite. The biggest of all the islands, Rarotonga, can be circled by scooter in twenty minutes tops. I hear downtown consists of one street and rush hour is when two cars stop in the only traffic light of the whole place.”

“Tate--”

“Let me do this for you. Please, James.”

He stared at her, love shinning through hi eyes. “What about the boys, work, Rosita's?”

She smirked. “I have everything organized. My mother and Ron are coming from Florida to stay with the boys, and you and I are leaving for the beach in two days.”

“Baby, you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.”

“That’s why it has to happen tomorrow. In a bit over two weeks I’ll be eight months pregnant and the airline won’t let me fly. I’ve already arranged it with Zack and Sean; you are off. They have orders not to let you in the office after tomorrow, or call you. Or take your calls. After the party at your parents’ place we will be spending the night in a kick-ass hotel the name of which I’m not telling you. Suffice to say I reserved the honeymoon suit. And asked them to make sure there's a swivel chair in handy.”

James chuckled softly. “Princess—”

“Shush. After the party I’m kidnapping you. For two weeks the only thing in our agenda will be lay on the beach and make love. And that is that.”

A very male, very wicked grin appeared on his face. He wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her to him. “Bossy, Mrs. Bowen,” he whispered against her lips.

She encircled him with her arms. Kissed him. “Learned from the best, Mr. Bowen. From the very best.”

Copyright © Elle Aycart 2013

Excerpt from Inked Ever After

“Princess—”

Not knowing what to do, Tate covered his eyes with her hands and went for a chirpy tone she hoped didn’t sound fake. “James, you shouldn’t see the dress. It’s bad luck.”

“Not watching the dress, baby.” He moved her hands away and held her gaze for the longest time. She tried ducking to escape his scrutiny, but he tipped her head back with a finger on her chin and forced her to withstand it.

She offered him a tight smile, biting her lip so it wouldn’t tremble, and braced herself for the interrogation.

But it didn’t come.

His jaw clenched several times. “Doing wedding stuff this morning?” he asked, his gaze lowering to her necklace.

She nodded.

Then he just asked, “You all right?”

She plastered a smile on her face. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated slowly, his expression tight. “And that?” he asked, motioning at her with his chin.

“This? It’s nothing. I just got something in my eye. My eyes, actually,” she corrected.

His face got harsher. He took a step closer to her, and she heard her dress getting ruffled.

“Baby, the dress!” She was far more worried about keeping up the charade than the fate of the dress. Not that a size-ten footprint on the cloth was going to be easy to explain.

“I don’t give a shit about the damn dress,” he growled, his savage tone dripping with disapproval and impatience.

“Please, James.”

He stared at her. He must have seen the look of desperation in her eyes, the one she was fighting so hard to hide, for he let out a long sigh. “Fine. Hop up, princess,” he said encircling her waist and lifting her. Before he could move her aside, she wrapped her legs around his hips and threw her arms around his neck.

James cursed, tightening his hold on her.

“Baby.”

With her still in his arms, he reached for the dress and, without looking at it, tossed it out of the way to the corner where all her clothes lay.

She stayed like this for a long while, hugging him tight, her face nestled in the crook of his neck, soaking in his warmth and his strength. Being able to breathe again. She could feel his erection, thick and hard, against her core, but his touch was not sexual. He held her gently, protectively, one hand open and cupping the back of her head, the other one splayed on her back.

God, she loved this man so much. His mere presence infused her with fortitude. With him around she felt cherished and protected beyond anything she’d experienced before.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Tate,” he said against her hair. “Look up.”

She didn’t move.

“Not too fond of repeating myself, baby.”

She lifted her head. His face was carved in tight lines, but his eyes were gentle. And damn compelling. He curled his hand around her neck and brushed her lips with his thumb.

“You need to stop hiding and give me your mouth.”

She did. Soft, tender kisses and deep, hard ones, until she was boneless and dazzled and her mind was full of only him. As she opened her eyes, she stole a glance of them in the mirror, and her breath froze in her lungs. What a view—him with his black T-shirt, his faded jeans, and those sexy cowboy boots, standing tall and solid, his broad shoulders taking more than his fair share of the room, and her in pearls, fuck-me heels, and satin lingerie all wrapped around him.

“I look good on you,” she whispered.

He caught her eyes in the mirror and then turned to her, a devilish smile on his face. “Yes, you do. Not that I’m complaining, but why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

“It looks like the wedding dress I’m getting doesn’t allow for a bra.”

He grimaced. “Elle’s idea, right? Maybe I should have paid more attention to the dress.”

“Maybe you should have.”

He slid his hand to the lace at the top of her stockings and her garter belt.

“Love the white, virginal underwear.”

“Good. I’ll be sure to wear it for the wedding. Although I’m not sure the dress allows for panties either.”

“Fuck, baby,” he cursed in a low growl, leaning his forehead on hers. “You come to our wedding without a bra and without panties, and I can assure you we won’t make it to the reception. Hell, we’ll be lucky if I’m not inside you the second you say yes.”

Of that, she had no doubt whatsoever. “Duly noted, honey.”

“If you’re taking requests, then this hairdo needs to go,” he added, grabbing the loose knot at the back of her head and unraveling it. “I want this gorgeous hair of yours flowing around you as you walk down the aisle to me.”

Happy Valentine's Day from the Bowen brothers

 “Valentine’s Day is around the corner,” Max said after taking a slug of his beer. “What do you think is the bullet-proof way to go; taking the romantic sensitive route or banging your woman’s brains out until she can’t walk straight?”
James turned to him. Cole too.
  “I didn’t know these were mutually exclusive,” James said. “I’d say start with the first; then move fast to the second. Why? You need tips?”
That would be the day their slut of a brother would need tips for impressing a woman.
  “Nope. I ask because we need to help this bozo out,” Max said pointing at Cole. “It’s his first Valentine’s Day. He’s bound to fuck it up in record time. It took him 37 years to find a woman who could put up with his sorry ass. We can’t let him mess it up all now. We need to make sure he has a bullet-proof plan.”
  “That’s right,” James said, clapping his older brother’s back. “You’re a Valentine’s Day virgin, aren’t you?”
  “You can call it that,” he muttered.
  And wasn’t that the mother of all understatements. Before falling for Christy, Cole wouldn’t fuck the same woman two nights in a row, much less make it to any anniversaries or marked dates. No Christmases, no birthdays, no anything with them. Hell, James wasn’t sure Cole even talked to them before or after fucking them senseless. Now though he had a fiancé he was crazy about. And he found himself muddling his way through a world of tricky traditions and painful firsts.
  “Finally someone is going to pop his Valentine’s Day cherry, can you believe it?” Max said. “The damn thing must be petrified by now though, Christy better get herself a hammer.”
  “Smart ass,” Cole growled. “Don’t need your bullet-proof plans. I can keep my own woman without your help.”
  “Sure you can keep your own woman. Tied to the bed you can.”
  Cole’s growl got louder; Max’s grin got bigger.
  “Just saying, man.” He lifted his hands in mocked surrender. “You need to mix it up a bit.”
  “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I do mix it up.”
  “Don’t tell me Christy got her own whip now.”
  James chuckled. Man, seeing Max poke at Cole never got old. They were so different, but really, when shit hit the fan they were so fucking similar. Dependable, loyal men he was proud to call his brothers.
  Cole’s glare left no doubt what he thought about the whip crack. Yeah, he might be mellower, but just marginally. Very marginally.
  “Do your face a favor and harass the married man here,” Cole said.
Max just laughed and turned to James. “What are you getting for Tate? This is your first Valentine’s Day as a married man, whatever you do, it will set precedent.”
  “Well, you know those mold-a-dick thingies? I’m getting one for her.”
  Both his brothers all but choked and spewed their beers in the process.
  “What??”
  “Kidding,” James laughed. “Although I’m reserving that one for our wedding anniversary.” Among other presents, that is. He wasn’t totally insane.
  Max barked a laugh. “Man, if you mold your dick and give it to your wife as a present on Valentine’s Day, or any other important date for that matter, she will take the cast and beat the shit out of you with it.”
  Well, maybe yes, maybe no. He’d take his chances. Doubtfully she’d be capable of too big a damage after he’d make her come all night long with his mouth and dick. Or ‘dicks’ he should say. And never mind how over the top his macho tripping, Tate always went along with it with a smile on her lips.
  “And you guys think I’m the one in need of help? Please,” Cole snorted, but Max ignored him.
  “What is it, James; are you jealous of your woman’s toys now so you need to clone yourself?”
  “Nope. Jut mixing it up,” James said with a grin.
  He wasn’t jealous of Tate’s toys. Since Elle organized for her that Pleasure Party and his woman came home with a basket full of them, she’d let him use them on her often enough, but well, there were things only two cocks could accomplish. There was no way in hell any other man was getting close to Tate, so yeah, welcome mold-a-dick. Not that he was going to say a word. Whatever Tate and he did behind closed doors – or wherever the mood struck as long as nobody saw – was none of their business.
  Max shook his head. “Man you are both kinky fuckers.”
  Cole and James snorted. Sure, like Max was Mother frigging Theresa.
  “So what about your Valentine’s?
  Max was looking intently at James so he gave up. “Okay, I’m pulling all the stops, you happy? Romantic supper, a show downtown and then I’m bringing her back here, lay her on the grass in the backyard and try pointing to her the star I got named after her.”
  “That’s a married man for you,” Max said to Cole. “Live and learn. Totally pussy-whipped.”
  He’d known he was going to get his ass busted if his brothers found out about this, but honestly? He didn’t give a shit. Tate was going to love it, and that was all that mattered.
  “You got a star named after her? What did you call it; Tate 347?”
  “Not exactly, no,” James said.
  “So what’s the name?” Cole prompted.
  “Not telling.”
  Max lifted his brows. “Come one, you told us how you plan to give your wife a mold-a-dick, but you won’t tell us how you named her star?”
  He nodded. “Exactly.”
  He wasn’t explaining to them where the name Pirate Princess came from. No fucking way was he discussing his wife’s pierced pussy with his brothers.
  “Well, you got the romantic route down pat, that’s for sure. What else are you doing; spreading rose petals on the sheets?”
  “I don’t think we’ll make it to the bed.”
  He knew his woman. And himself. It was going to be a frigging miracle if they made it back inside the house before he fucked her senseless in the yard.
  Max seemed to read his mind.
  “You’re going the romantic route and banging her brains out too. Clever, my man. I hope Mrs. Ramsden’s hearing device will be low on batteries that night.”
  James too. As a matter of fact he was going to personally make those batteries disappear. And hide her binoculars. Just to be on the safe side.
  “What about you?” James asked turning to Cole. “You said you need no help. What have you got planned for Christy?”
  “I’ve got to tell you, the mold-a-dick idea sounds good.”
  Max shook his head in dismay. “Man, she’s agreed to marry you, but you haven’t closed the deal yet. James may get away with it, you won’t. He’s after all, officially a husband. Women take a lot of shit from their husbands. Not so much for their fiances. I suggest you get Christy jewelry. The more expensive the better.”
  “Nah, my woman is a geek. Jewelry doesn’t work with her.”
  Cole had messed up a couple of times in these past six months with Christy. Thank God she loved him, because his bro sure was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Still, one couldn’t be without commiserating with the guy; he’d learned the hard way that buying her off with expensive shit didn’t work with Christy. Opening up did.
  “I’m flying her down to Vegas,” he said.
  “You what?”
  Cole let out a slow breath, ran his hand through his hair. “They are hosting some freaky Star Trek convention, you know, celebrating the pre-view of the second new Start Trek movie. I’ve been hearing Christy talk about it for a fucking month already. All her geek friends from LA are going, so I’m taking her.”
  James looked at Cole, then at his brother Max and exploded into laughter. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
  “Nope.”
  James tried to sober up, but failed miserably. “I don’t know what worries me more; that you are going to a Star Trek convention, or that you know the second Star Trek movie is being pre-viewed.”
  “Tell me about it. Even Klingon doesn’t sound so weird to me any more. Sick, really,” Cole muttered. “Anyhow, I’ve got us a room at the Venetian. I’m hoping to keep her entertained enough that she’d prefer staying in it with me than going out.”
  “So you plan to fuck her into submission. Or into exhaustion, whatever comes first, uh?”
  “Damn right. Do you have a problem with it?”
  “Nope,” James chuckled. “Great plan. Tried it a time or two myself.”
  “Rate of success?” His marine brother asked matter-of-factly.
  “Not that high I’m afraid.” He’d managed to fuck Tate into exhaustion many times, true, but fucking her into submission hadn’t worked yet, not in any lasting form.
  If his older brother didn’t want Christy out of that hotel room, he could easily keep her in, but Christy wasn’t without talents of her own. And she didn’t need a whip for that. All she had to do was smile. He’d seen it.
  Cole muttered something under his breath. “If it can’t be helped, I’ll go with her to the convention, but I’m drawing the line at dressing up.”
  Silence. Then Max cleared his throat. “I heard they opened a sci-fi sex club in Vegas, you know, for those who like their sex… theme oriented. Maybe you can go there with her,” Max said, his shoulders shaking from laughter.
  Cole’s glare was murderous. “Not fucking dressing up.”
  “Aww, come on. Rent the vulcan outfit. Just in case,” Max said. “For the sake of bullet proofing the whole thing. I could download you some info on Vulcan nueropressure massages. You know, to keep it real.”
  “Neuropressure massages?” James managed to get out in between laughs.
  Max waived at him. “Not clear on it. Something to do with their pointy ears, I think.”
  As James and Max laughed their asses off, Christy and Tate came back from the house. James grabbed Tate and settled her on his lap, wrapping himself around her and breathing her in. She fitted perfectly in his arms, as if she were made to be there. She turned to him and kissed him, her eyes full of tenderness. Fuck, how did he get so damn lucky?
  Christy encircled her arms around Cole from behind and kissed his jaw. “What were these two laughing about?”
  “Nothing,” his older brother grumbled. “Just setting some things straight.”
  “Your kick-ass phone’s got that super-mega-pixel camera, right?” Max asked turning to her.
  “Sure. Why?”
  “Just don’t go anywhere without it this week. Promise. We want full coverage. Anything that strikes you as… unusual, please take a pic.”
  Max didn’t really have to insist. Christy went nowhere without her eGizmos. Not that there was a snowball's chance in hell Cole would ever dress up, no, but getting to see pictures of him surrounded by sci-fi geeks was going to be fucking memorable. Max was probably going to frame the pics. He may too.
  “And you,” he said to Tate, his face splitting in a devilish smirk. “I hope your molding skills are up to date. Because really, some things, when broken, are impossible to repair, never mind how much clay you put on it.”
  “What are you talking about?” Tate asked, intrigued.
  “Nothing,” James and Cole all but barked at the same time while trying to smack their little brother.
  “We’re trying to figure women out,” he explained. “What, in your opinion, would be the best Valentine’s Day present ever?”
  “We’re easy to please, any small detail will do,” Tate said.
  The collective male snort was loud.
  “It’s true,” Christy added coming out in her defence.
  “Yeah right. Any small detail will do, my ass,” Max began. “Let’s put it this way: what do my poor bros have to do for Valentine’s Day so that their Steak and BJ Day in a month will be memorable and won’t degrade into a handy and a hamburger?”
  “Max,” James growled, but Tate and Christy didn’t take offence; as a matter of fact they were laughing.
  “Like you’d have a complaint about it,” Tate whispered to him.
  James cupped her neck and kissed her. No, he had no complaints whatsoever about their last 14th of March. He got a big juicy steak, served by a naked Tate, with two small red bows on her nipples and one slightly bigger on her waxed pussy. Then he got a big, juicy… yeah, well. No complaints whatsoever. And the best part? He didn’t get it only on March 14th.
  “Steak and BJ day?” Cole asked, seemingly confused.
  Christy whispered something in his ear. His eyes flashed.
  “We are so going for that tradition,” he said.
  Max’s smirk was blinding. “Another cherry for Christy to pop, uh?”
  “You better shut up,” Cole snarled. “Or it’ll be me smashing your fucking cherries.”
  Max laughed. “Sorry, man. You’re too late. Got no cherries left to smash.”

© Elle Aycart, December 2013
All Rights Reserved

James and Tate's novella

Hi everyone,

How's winter treating you all?
As you may know, around two months ago I landed in Helsinki, Finland. I'd been living in Spain for the past seven years, so you'd be right to assume winter is NOT being kind to me :-)
Anyhow, all this moving around Europe has really messed up my writing schedule, and I'm very sorry for it.
It's going to take some months before James and Tate's novella gets published, but I get asked so often about it I thought you guys deserve reading the beginning. Enjoy!
(just keep in mind this isn't the final version, it hasn't been edited yet and it may be subject to change.)

Chapter One

“Girls, prepare your Franklins, we got more strippers!” someone yelled the second James and his crew entered Rosita’s.
Yup, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear while crashing his bride-to-be’s bachelorette party.
There were around twenty pink bunnies running rampant around the restaurant, some dancing, others already waving bills at them, whistling and catcalling—all of them totally shit-faced. James rolled his eyes and, ignoring the mayhem, scanned the place in search of his woman. The second he spotted her, his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Oblivious to his presence, Tate was up on the counter, dancing barefoot. Her eyes were downcast, her arms over her head holding her wild mop of hair up, showing off the sexy curve of her neck while her hips sinuously swayed to the music. She was a bit out of tune though, as if she were drunk. The pink bunny ears over her head stood a bit skewed, and she had on a black skirt that barely covered the essentials and a tiny scrap of a pink shirt that all but had her boobs popping out. The text on her front said ‘Bunny number One ready to party.’
Fuck, had she been strutting that sweet ass of hers all over Boston dressed like that?
James reached her and left the two six-packs he was carrying on the counter. As he caught her backside, he realized that a pink fluffy cottontail was bouncing on her behind, and her shirt read ‘Buy this thirsty bunny a drink and she may forget all about getting married.’ Well, didn’t that explain it all. It was a miracle she was still standing and not crawling on the floor.
He was so going to kill Elle.
Even lost in the music, Tate must have sensed him for her glazed eyes lifted towards his. She looked confused for the second her brain took to catch up, but then a wide smile broke across her face.
“If it isn’t my knight in shiny tattoos,” she said, her words a bit on the slurry side.
She was so cute when she was trying to be funny. “If it isn’t my bigoted drunk bunny.”
Tate laughed and threw herself at him—literally—not a second’s hesitance, completely trusting that he would catch her. Which he of course did. He enveloped her in his arms and buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, relishing the feeling of her sweet body against his. There had been a time, not that long ago, when Tate had not only not thrown herself at him, but she’d run in the opposite direction as far and as fast as her cute sexy legs could carry her. He’d caught up with her—the proof was the motherfucking huge rock he’d put on her ring finger—and the wedding band that he’d slide beside it in a month, but he’d be lying if he said her lack of faith in him hadn’t pissed him off a time or two.
He curled his hand around her neck and, with his thumb on her jaw, tipped her head back, taking her mouth in a hard, deep kiss by the end of which, both he and Tate were breathing hard.
“So, strippers, uh?” he asked against her lips, his eyes never leaving hers. They’d gone clubbing, he could tell. She smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, but underneath all that, there was that sweet fresh smell with a hint of coconut characteristic of his woman, like she spent her days bathing under the Caribbean sun instead of running an Italian restaurant in Boston.
She smirked, the minx. “Police officers. Don’t worry, they got nothing on you.”
“I surely hope so,” he said with a laugh. "Elle was in charge of dress code, right?"
"Yep. Why?"
"Just making sure whose neck should I wring for this."
She smiled. "What? You don't like it?"
Like wasn't the right word here. He wasn't even sure what the right word was. Seeing as his cock and his head were in total disagreement but both about to explode, mind-blowing would be a good choice.
“Come on, let’s dance,” she said as an old Jon Bon Jovi ballad started playing.
She was too short for him, especially without her shoes on, so she placed her feet on his boots and he wrapped himself around her.
“You kick ass at dancing; that’s why all those grandmas love you so much down at the Eternal Sun resort.”
He snorted. “You’re giving me shit about some old ladies in Florida when you just got police officers stripping for you?”
Tate didn’t answer, just smiled against his throat. “You realize you crashed my party, right?”
“Yep.”
“Couldn’t stay away?”
“Nope,” he answered shamelessly.
Tate kissed him softly on his neck. “You know, the only reason I didn’t go searching for you was that I knew you’d come to me.”
“Yeah, that and the fact that if you tried driving in this condition, you’d end up spending the night in jail.” And maybe the next couple of years too. For DUI and indecent exposure.
“There’s that too,” she conceded. “We may have overdone it.”
May have? He shook his head. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to have this party the day before the wedding.”
“I thought it was because you wanted to allow for some travel time in case Max shipped you to God knows where.”
Well, there was that too.
“And speaking of the devil,” she continued. “How did your stag party go? Did Max behave?”
“Max never behaves, princess. Giving my baby brother carte blanche to organize a bachelor party is like giving an alcoholic the keys to a bar.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So you got strippers too?”
“I got mermaids.” At her surprised look, he chuckled. “Don’t ask. I didn’t touch them, but Max may be in serious need of an intervention.”
Then again, he doubted there was an intervention out there capable of saving his brother. Max was too good looking for his own good—and too damn charming. All he seemed to have to do was smile in their direction and females dropped left and right. Surreal. His job, well the arguably less disreputable of the two he had, the one Mike and Cole got him when he came back from his stint in the military and they feared he was losing it, didn’t help much either. There was something about working for Hollywood, even if it was only jumping from moving vehicles and burning buildings that drove women wild.
Tate looked towards Max, who was already surrounded by giggling girls, all fawning over him. “Mermaids? Well, that explains his wet shirt—sort of.”
Yeah. Sort of.
The party kicked in all around them as they danced. Every once in a while, someone came to talk to them, but they were for the most part left alone, until Paige, Tate’s gothic waitress, prepared another round of mojitos, and Elle, who was too brazen to even consider giving them a wide berth, brought the drinks over.
“You and I will talk later,” he said to her, doing his damnedest to sound stern. It was a useless attempt though, as nothing ever intimidated Elle.
She winked at him. “Sure, bro.”
James moved to the nearest table, placed the glasses down and tugged Tate to sit on his lap.
She went compliantly and snuggled against him, one arm wrapped around his lower back, the other resting over his chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. The mojito, thank God, was long forgotten.
“I love you, James,” she whispered.
He squeezed her in his arms and nuzzled the top of her head. “I love you too, princess.”
It had taken for-fucking-ever for her to say these words to him, and even though he’d heard them countless times by now, they never failed to leave him breathless, socking him in the gut and tightening his chest. Especially as James still broke out in sweats at the memory of how close he’d come to losing her eight months before—to losing everything. If Elle hadn’t been in town and hadn’t alerted him, and if Jack hadn’t had his back, he probably would have.
“Something wrong, babe?” she asked as she sensed his tension.
He shook his head. No, nothing wrong. She was alive, happy and in his arms—he was good.
It had been in this very same restaurant, just a couple of meters from where they were now sitting, where that sick motherfucker had pointed a gun at Tate’s head, ready to shoot her. And James hadn’t been close enough to stop him from pulling the trigger.
He’d never had any trouble sleeping at night before. He couldn't say the same now.
As he kissed Tate’s temple, something caught his attention. In the far corner, his older brother Cole was facing off Zack, looking quite feral and yanking Christy behind him. He barked something and Zack backed off, his hands lifted, a smirk on his lips. Christy was rolling her eyes as Cole unceremoniously dragged her away.
“God, babe, your girls are wreaking havoc among my people.”
She followed his gaze. “What exactly is going on there?”
“My guess? Poor Zack committed the ultimate sin and tried talking to Christy.”
“But I thought Cole didn’t—”
“Cole is fighting it, honey. Fighting and losing. Ex-marines aren’t too keen on that.”
“He’s stubborn,” she said with a sigh.
Stubborn? Stubborn didn’t even begin to describe his brother. “Falling in love is fucking hard on the knees, especially on the untried and unwilling ones.”
They both watched as Cole hauled Christy to the stairwell leading to Tate’s old apartment.
“Should we be worried?” Tate mumbled.
“For her? Nope. For him? Absolutely.” The guy was in total meltdown. That there, I can’t even explain,” he finished, motioning with his chin at Elle, who was talking to Jack. Well, not talking, by her stance, she was egging him on—like always. One hand was hitched on her hip, attitude galore. In typical Jack fashion, he had his arms crossed over his chest and regarded her with a closed expression. Whatever she said, Jack’s jaw tensed. Leaving her in mid-sentence, he turned his back on her and headed for the door, an unlit smoke in his hand. Elle threw him an aggravated look and went in the opposite direction.
“Total havoc,” James muttered. Grown men trembled at the sight of Jack’s jaw pulsing, but apparently, it didn’t do jackshit for Elle. The crazy girl enjoyed poking him. Like pulling at a tiger’s tail for shits and kicks wasn’t fucked-up enough that you had to show him your tongue while you were at it.
“I bet you think it’s my fault, with Elle being my sister and all that, but you have to agree that Jack is not Mr. Congeniality,” Tate said turning to James.
“And thank God for that because neither is your sister. She may smile like an angel, but she doesn’t hold her punches. She’d eat Mr. Congeniality alive.”
“True. Maybe getting them to be maid of honor and best man wasn’t the greatest of ideas.”
“Don’t worry. They make it through the rehearsal dinner and the wedding reception unscathed, we are good,” he said.
"You know, we have our birth certificates ready at home. Let's make humanity a favor; find a judge of peace and elope."
He chuckled. "Not a chance, princess. Besides, there isn't a judge of peace in the whole of Massachusetts that would marry a girl that can barely stand upright."
"Sure?"
James shook his head, amused, and keeping one arm on her back and curling the other under her knees, he stood up. “Let’s get you home, gorgeous. You’re dead on your feet, and you’re wasted.”
His friends and brothers could hack it without him, he was done—his woman too.
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Hoping to get me alone to have your wicked way with me?”
“I love fucking you, baby. That time in the garage with the swivel chair and the rope proved beyond any doubt that taking you when you’re drunk is even more earth-shattering than usual, but you’re totally smashed. I’m not too big on you puking over me.”
She pouted. “I’m not that drunk.”
“I’ll make you a deal, princess; if you make it home without passing out, I’ll bend you over the sofa and give it to you again and again until your voice is gone from screaming my name. This time you'll have to bury your face into a pillow though.”
“Such a gentleman,” she said with a laugh, hanging onto him tight.
“Not having the cops show up again, baby.”
“Aww, but wasn’t it sweet from old Mrs. Ramsden to worry about your safety?”
“Ha-ha,” he muttered as she dissolved into laughter.
He loved seeing her like this; relaxed and laughing, and not stressed out, withdrawn and sad like she’d increasingly been these past days as the wedding date approached.
It seemed that from all the wedding-related events they were dealing with, the bachelorette party was the only that didn't have her on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
Alcohol, of course, had a lot to do with that.
Maybe he should keep her in a steady supply of mojitos.
As they reached his car she kissed his jaw. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Always, baby. Besides, your sis was organizing this shindig, and she’s a fucking menace.” Not to mention that since agreeing to marry him, she’d been staying at his place in Alden. No way was he sleeping without her. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could.
“You telling me you’re scared of Elle’s parties?”
“What do you think? The last party she threw for you, you came home with an inflatable cock on your head as a tiara, totally drunk and singing Gimme, gimme gimme. And carrying a huge basket full of sex toys.”
Not that he’d object to sex toys, but when your woman came home fully loaded and talking nonsense about being forced to fly solo after the wedding, well, you fucking worry.
“It was a Pleasure Party, James. The consultant gave me those sex toys as a present in case married life doesn’t work for me and I need to take matters into my own hands.”
Yeah, right, like that would ever happen.
“In hindsight,” she mumbled to herself, “she did say she was getting a divorce, so she may have been biased.”
“And the gag ball? Care to explain that one?”
She smirked, her silver eyes flashing, and whispered into his ear, “Ah, the gag ball I bought. You’re too bossy—wouldn’t hurt for you to be quiet from time to time.”
James burst into laughter. “Dream on, princess.”

© Elle Aycart, December 2012
All Rights Reserved

Disclaimer: this excerpt is not final and is subject to change 

Heavy Issues to be released on May 29

Steering clear of relationships has never been difficult for demolitions expert Cole Bowen, but now, with his brother's engagement sending the female population into full-blown hysterics and the town of Alden's month-long festivities helping along, he finds himself in hell. When he discovers Alden's new resident and the object of all his wet dreams, Christine Sheridan, has sworn off relationships and is going to hire a gigolo to get professionally laid, he decides to kill two birds with one stone.

Christy is so not drinking again. Thanks to José Cuervo she has her friends signing her up for stud conventions and Cole frigging Bowen offering sex in exchange of fake dates, which is so out of the question it isn't even funny. She knows the domineering man will push her boundaries, and after battling all her life with self-esteem issues, she isn't ready for that. Too bad he won't take no for an answer.

Cole is determined to strip away all of her defenses but refuses to lower his ever-present walls, so when Christy realizes she wants more, she's left with only two options; walk away or crack his shield and risk her heart in the process.

Click here to read an excerpt of Heavy Issues