EPILOGUE
HARLOW
“So, when do you have to be at the theatre?” Gunner asks, his voice sleepy under the covers.
“Two hours.” I stretch my arms over my head and point my toes. “When does your flight leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” he yawns. “Your father wants me to check out some land in Boston.”
“Boston?” I repeat. “And then?”
“Back up here. I think your father built an office in New York just so I could come here and keep an eye on you.” He pulls me close under the covers and kisses my neck, down my arm, my hand, his lips brushing possessively over the ring that marks our status as an engaged couple. I love the story of how he got it, and I make him repeat it to me at least once a week.
Daddy was, surprisingly, a pretty quick convert to the idea of the two of us together. Or maybe my father just likes to pretend everything was his idea when he loses. Because he started to invite Gunner over for dinners. And, after a few discussions about his businesses, Daddy found that Gunner had a brilliant mind for analyzing problems.
Never in a million years did I think Gunner would accept my father’s offer to work as a location scout for the real estate arm of the business. He shocked us all by agreeing to a one-month test run. Winds up my rebel bad-boy fiancé can work his way around boardrooms and build-sites just as comfortably as he ever managed a bar counter. While he’s away, Jared is watching the bar and keeping an on eye on the house.
“We have time for a bath,” I suggest, and Gunner gets up, walks across my loft, and turns the tub on.
I snuggle down, listening to the water run and watching the very sexy image of naked Gunner walk across the room.
“See something you like?” he teases.
“What if I do?” I ask.
He walks over to the bed, rips the cover back—ignoring my screams of protest—gets on the bed, and slaps my bottom with a big, rough hand.
“Ow!” I yelp, then giggle when he drops a few kisses over the red handprint. “You’re mean.”
“And you’re sexy,” he says, his kisses following the curve of my backside and working their way up my spine, along my shoulders, and up my neck.
He lays on top of me, and I love the weight of him over me. “Gunner, the bath,” I whisper.
He grabs me around the waist and throws me over his shoulder, walks me to the bath, and lowers me into the deliciously hot water. “Mmm, come in with me.” I crook my finger his way.
Gunner settles behind me, grabbing the sponge and soap. I lean forward so he can wash my back, which he does with slow sweeps of the sponge. Then he moves to my shoulders, and down to my breasts.
I swat his hand after a few seconds. “I think you may be overestimating how dirty my breasts are.”
He chuckles lowly, turning me so I’m facing him and straddling his lap. “I like to be thorough.” He flicks his tongue over one nipple, then the other.
I arch my back and press into him, my fingers curled over his shoulders, my lips pressed to his mouth.
“Are you happy?” I ask as his rough hands slide down my back and stop at my hips.
“Course I am, baby. The minute you said yes, I had everything I ever needed.” He pulls back and looks at me. “Are you happy?”
I rub my hands over his chest, up along the thick column of his neck, and take his face in my hands. “I never imagined a happiness like this.”
His fingers start to do things that make me come undone, and I dip my hands below the water to return the favor.
“I love you, Harlow Grace Mills,” he breathes in my ear as his fingers rub where I’m most sensitive. “I want you to know that I’d do anything for you, kitten. You ask, I’ll make it happen.”
His voice is low and gruff in my ears, and I press harder against him. “There is one thing...”
His hand slows and he looks at me, his eyes fierce. “Anything.”
“I want to be Harlow Grace Hunt sooner than later. I want to be yours completely,” I whisper.
“Done,” he says, his mouth sweet and rough on mine as he slides deep into me, filling me and claiming me as his own, now and forever.