Smiling, she pulled his mouth to hers and spoke the words against his lips. “Make love to me, Saxon. Make a baby with me and I’ll marry you the second we find out I’m pregnant.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. In one smooth stroke he thrust inside, burying his shaft to the hilt and paused. He held her face in his hands, held her gaze with his and said the words that sealed her fate.
“I love you.”
The tears that slipped down her cheeks now were happy ones. Through watery eyes, Carly stared up at the man she’d come to love with all her soul.
“I love you too.”
“Welcome home, Carly.”
About the Author
Rhian Cahill is the alter ego of a stay-at-home mother of four. With motherly duties rapidly dwindling Rhian is able to make use of the fertile imagination she used to keep herself sane for all those years of slavery. Having spent some years living overseas and visiting tropical climates has helped inspire some steamy stories. Multi-published in erotic romance and contemporary romance, Rhian, with the help of Mr. Muse, spends her days and nights writing. When not glued to the keyboard you’ll find her book in hand avoiding any and all housework.
For more on Rhian visit her website http://www.rhiancahill.com or you can contact her at [email protected] or connect on Twitter - https://twitter.com/RhianCahill or Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/RhianCahillAuthor
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Mad About Meg
By Mari Carr
One
“What do you mean you don’t have my rental car anymore? I called weeks ago to reserve it.” Meg Williams’ flight to Eden Isle had taken three times longer than it was supposed to, due to an oncoming storm and an unexpected layover in Houston because of some faulty gauge on her first connecting flight.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you did, but as I said before, when you didn’t arrive by five o’clock we rented it to someone else. This policy was stated in the rental agreement you signed.” The clerk’s smug smile and condescending tone had Meg—the most nonviolent person on the planet—balling her hand up into a fist. The idea of throat punching someone right now was damn appealing.
The airport was packed even though it was midnight on Thursday. Every first weekend in June, the small tropical island hosted its own romance fest called Summer Fling. Meg had watched a program about it on the Travel Channel over Thanksgiving break. At the time, she’d thought the romantic escape was the salve she and her fiancé needed to spice up their waning relationship. She’d immediately begun saving her money and booked the nonrefundable escape to Eden Isle as a surprise. The nonrefundable part didn’t bother her until she’d caught her two-timing boyfriend unwrapping another woman under the tree on Christmas Eve. Unwilling to lose a tremendous amount of money, she’d decided to forge ahead with her long, romantic weekend, sans the romantic part. If nothing else, the trip to the island was a great way to kick start her summer vacation. Mercifully, school was out. It had been a long, exhausting lonely spring. Meg figured she could use this long weekend to determine where in the hell she had gone so wrong with her life.
Unfortunately, her real-life experience wasn’t turning out to be the sun, fun, and fiesta the program promised. She’d already missed her first whole day of vacation, spending it on overcrowded planes and waiting in interminable airport lines, rather than lounging by the pool at her resort hotel. To add insult to injury, she’d spent the last two hours waiting for her luggage, which apparently was, at this very moment, on a slow boat to China. An extremely annoying airline agent was now in possession of her name and hotel information with plans to send her luggage on “just as soon as we find it.”
Yeah right.
“Do you have any cars left?” Meg had specifically rented a convertible sports car, looking forward to four days of cruising around the island with the top down.
“I do have one vehicle.” The clerk was clearly relieved Meg wasn’t going to kick up more of a fuss. Quite frankly, she was too tired to complain. “It’s a very roomy mini-van.”
“Terrific, just what I need, seating for seven when there’s only little old me and no luggage.”
Signing all the appropriate forms, Meg waited inside the door of the airport while an employee of the rental agency fetched her mini-van. She killed the time trying to recall exactly what she’d put in her carry-on bag as she waited. No more clothes, she thought, glancing down at the comfortable travel outfit she’d worn. Having spent the last twenty-two hours in it, she quite frankly would have preferred to burn it rather than have to wear it again tomorrow. She had all her money—thank goodness—her camera, passport and hotel information, aspirin—hallelujah—and her now useless cell phone. She’d dropped and broken it while waiting for her connecting flight in Florida.