Grinder (Seattle Sharks Book 1) (19 page)

* * *

“
Y
ou really don’t want
to me to leave hockey behind and stay here?” Gage asked, his naked lower half covered by my single, thin sheet.

He had me tucked underneath his arm, and I trailed my fingers along his hard chest. “You look way too sexy in your uniform for me to want that, Gage.” I chuckled, the motion moving the leg I had wrapped around his hip, and suddenly I wanted to go for round three.

“Is that so?” He flipped me over, pinning my shoulders to the bed. “This isn’t sexy enough for you? You need the ice and the jerseys too?”

“Don’t forget the fights.”

“You hate it when I fight.” He nipped at the skin on my neck.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching it from time to time.” I pressed my breasts against his chest and he growled.

“Again? We just---“

“Don’t deny me. You can’t deny me anything for the next nine months.” I teased.

He grinned. “Understood. What does the lady require now?” He asked in a terrible Parisian accent.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”      

“I want you to take me home.”

He laughed and glanced down where I ground against his hard cock. “Really? Now?”

I smiled. “After,” I said, angling so he slipped inside me, relishing the way his eyes rolled back in his head. “I miss our life. I miss our home. I miss our girl.”

He stopped anything more I would’ve said with his lips on mine, kissing me until I was breathless and bucking against him. “Agreed,” he groaned as I rolled my hips upward and down against him. “But first?”

“Mmmhmm?” I asked, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Let’s enjoy Paris for a couple more days.”

“Deal,” I sighed into his mouth.

“
I
t’s so pretty
!” Lettie said in a loud whisper as we stepped into the Seattle Gallery of Modern Art.

“It is,” I whispered back.

Her mom was going to be proud. Bailey had been working on teaching Lettie “gallery manners” for the last few months, and it was paying off. Our gorgeous little girl fidgeted in her red velvet dress but held her head high as she stepped up to examine a painting.

I found Bailey across the room talking to one of her patrons. Fuck, she looked amazing. Her curves post-baby were phenomenal, and I still couldn’t get enough of her. In fact, we’d had sex on the floor right around where she was standing a couple of days ago.

Nothing like christening a new gallery.

The opening was a wild success, with people flooding the first floor of the gallery, and if I had to bet, I’d say the second floor was just as busy.

And in the middle of it, my wife shined brighter than the diamond I’d put on her left hand on Christmas morning last year.

Wife. I still wasn’t used to saying that word, but damn it sounded fantastic—almost as good as when “husband” rolled off her tongue.

As Lettie moved to the next painting, Bailey winked at me before sliding up next to her. “So what do you think?” she asked our daughter.

“I like the combinations of color, but the structure is weird,” Lettie said, tilting her head.

Bailey did the same motion and I grinned as I watched my girls.

“It is a little disconcerting, but maybe it’s supposed to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Lettie nodded seriously. “I can see that. Maybe it just makes me too uncomfortable.”

“Fair assessment,” Bailey said, kissing our daughter on her forehead.

I adjusted the wiggling weight on my chest as my wife leaned in and took a whiff of baby shampoo. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and kissed our son’s forehead. “How did bath time go?”

“Perfect. I’ve already signed him up for the 2032 Olympics. I’m expecting a champion swimmer here.” I kissed Ethan’s little forehead and he garbled his response, too busy chewing on his toy to care.

“Have I ever told you how ridiculously sexy you look with a baby carrier?” she whispered in my ear.

“Every day since Ethan was born,” I responded, turning so my lips could brush the shell of her ear. “But I never tire of hearing it.”

“Well, maybe I’ll do a little more than tell you, later,” she whispered. “I promise I won’t keep you up too late. I know you have a game tomorrow.”

How the hell could she do that? Turn me on with nothing more than a hushed promise? Let alone in public with both of our kids present?

She brushed her lips against my cheek, gave Ethan a kiss on his forehead and then stood straight. “Is it time?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said, barely able to contain my smile.

“Lettie, I’d like to show you our latest exhibit,” she said, offering Lettie her hand.

“I’d like to see it,” she said in a voice way beyond her age.

Hand in hand they walked just in front of me to a corner of the room where a small, child-sized podium stood lit by a single beam of light.

“What’s it called?” Lettie asked as she walked towards the exhibit.

“Scarlett McPherson,” I answered, which earned me a set of five-year-old eyes as big as saucers.

“Really?” she asked us both, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Really,” Bailey answered. “Why don’t you take a closer look?”

As Lettie stepped forward, Bailey took my hand, her grip nearly crushing my fingers in her nervousness.

Lettie’s lips moved as she read the papers we’d placed there, her forehead puckering at points, but never giving up. That was my girl. Tenacious, smart, and every ounce as courageous as her mother…her new mother.

“Petition for adoption?” she asked, finally turning around.

Bailey nodded, biting her lower lip as a lump crawled up my throat and lodged there. “I want to be yours forever,” Bailey whispered. “Is that okay?”

Lettie’s eyes flickered between mine and Bailey’s, even stopping on Ethan’s dark curls. “Like Ethan?”

“Just like Ethan,” I said, my voice cracking. Sure, I lost man-points for losing it a little, but God, this moment was everything.

“Yes!” She screamed, forgetting all about her gallery-manners.

She raced for us and we both sank to our knees, Lettie in Bailey’s arms, and all three of them in mine as they cried.

Lettie and Bailey openly wept happy tears, and it felt like each one was a balm for my soul, bringing life to a land that had lived in drought for far too long.

Ethan’s cry? Well, he was tired of being squished against his sister.

I laughed, which came out as a choked, distorted sound. I’d never been this happy, but I knew it would only get better from here. Better with years, with additions to our family, with love and laughter and everything Bailey brought to me.

“I love you, Bailey McPherson,” I said, as she stood, our daughter curled against her shoulder.

“I love you, too,” she answered, happiness shining out of her gorgeous eyes.

Never had four words meant so much.

S
amantha Whiskey is a wife
, mom, lover of her dogs and romance novels. No stranger to hockey, hot alpha males, and a high dose of awkwardness, she tucks herself away to write books her PTA will never know about.

T
hank
you to my incredible husband and my awesome kids without which I would live a super boring life!

H
uge thanks must be paid
to these amazing authors who have always offered epic advice and constant support! Not to mention creating insanely hot reads to pass the time with! Sosie Frost, Winter Renshaw, Gina L. Maxwell, and Heather Stone…there aren’t enough words for how much I adore each and every one of you!