Hard to Hold (20 page)

Christmas Eve was cold but beautiful in New Jersey. Isabella had cooked an impressive dinner consisting of striped bass, new potatoes, and green beans. They had a fire going, and the soft gems of light reflected in the ornaments hanging from the tree. Baby Cinnamon joined in the festivities and was seated in her high chair, happily munching string beans.

When they finished dinner, Isabella began clearing the plates as Logan lay on the floor and fiddled with the train set beneath the tree. “Hey, Bella, can you do me a favor and take a look at the caboose? Something seems to be wrong with it.”

“Okay, just give me a minute.” She piled the dishes into the sink, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and then joined Logan. Their Christmas tree was a beautiful Fraser, freshly cut from a local nursery, and decorated with simple local ornaments. She could smell the fresh evergreen scent all over the condo.

As she squatted down, Isabella smiled as the little choo-choo chugged around the tree stand. The train set had been a gift from Logan's parents, something they could one day pass down to Cinnamon and her children. He had painstakingly put the entire thing together, and now the locomotive made a second pass around the track.

“It looks fine to me,” she said, attempting to rise. She had a million things to do before morning, presents to wrap, cookies to bake…

He put his hand on her shoulder, restraining her. “Can you look again? It seems kind of wobbly or something.”

Exasperated, Isabella got back down on her hands and knees to examine the caboose. Once more the train made its trek around the tree, and when the last car chugged along the track, she saw something odd indeed. Fastened to the top of the caboose was a small square box with a big red bow.

She glanced at Logan in stunned surprise. “What's that?”

“I don't know,” he said, returning her smile. Those blue eyes were dark with emotion. He switched off the power and indicated the present. “Maybe you should check it out?”

Her heart lurched. She reached for the package, her hand shaking, and then sat beneath the boughs of the tree and examined the tag. “It has my name on it.”

“Then you should open it,” Logan said. Cinnamon clapped from the high chair.

Isabella removed the red ribbon and the wrapping paper, and opened the box. Inside was a white velvet ring box. Softly she caressed the sumptuous material, and then flipped the lid.

Her breath stopped. A gorgeous emerald-cut diamond winked at her from inside a bed of white satin, catching the light of the tree and sending sparkling prisms dancing on the floor.

“If you don't like it, or prefer a different stone, the jewelry store will work with us…”

“Oh, my God, Logan, it's beautiful,” she said, turning to him with moisture stinging her eyes. Emotion overwhelmed her and she gazed at him, her heart filled with joy. “It's perfect. Really beautiful.”

“Nope, that would be you.” Taking the box from her hands, he removed the ring, and then surprised her again as he got up on one knee. “Isabella, I know I don't deserve you, but I love you and can't live without you. Will you marry me?”

She couldn't help it. Tears streamed down her face and she reached for him, wanting to hold this beautiful man in her arms, thoroughly overwhelmed to know that he was truly hers. Logan kissed her, and then gently disengaged, tipping her face up to his.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Isabella said, laughing through tears. “Oh, my God, yes!”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, grinning when he saw it was a perfect fit. “It looks like it was made for you. I'm so glad you like it.”

“I love it, just like I love you.”

“Then you have made me the happiest guy in the world today.” He gave her that smile that even Nike coveted. “Merry Christmas, Bella.”

Filled with emotion, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

Cinnamon banged on her high chair in approval.

Later that evening when Isabella and Cinnamon were fast asleep, Logan came out to the living room by himself and just admired the Christmas tree.

He'd meant what he had said earlier to Bella: tonight he was the happiest man walking the face of the earth. He had everything he could have ever wanted: a beautiful daughter and a woman he adored who would stand by him throughout life. He had shown Isabella the little cottage he had spotted in Medford Lakes, a beautiful town that had good schools and a close-knit community. It was a great place to raise kids, and she had enthusiastically agreed.

They had also discussed changing Cinnamon's name. Logan smiled as he thought of the scene the previous day when Isabella brought out a baby name book. They'd tried on Sophia, Ava and Mia. None of them seemed right until Logan said,
“Hey Bella!”
At that exact moment, little Cinnamon clapped her hands and laughed out loud in approval. Isabella's eyes sparkled with tears, and he knew it was perfect.

Baby Bella.

The fire he'd built earlier in the evening was just beginning to die, the coals glowing in the dark. Purposefully, Logan walked into his office and pulled out a manila envelope with no return address from his in box.

The DNA results. As he held the packet in his hands, he knew one thing for certain:

He didn't need a lab result to know that Cinnamon was his daughter. He couldn't possibly love her or care for her more than he already did, and whatever was within the confines of this envelope wouldn't change anything for him. Not now.

Not ever.

Without hesitation, he tossed the papers along with another log onto the fire, and then used the poker to get the flame going. Sitting back on his haunches, he watched the packet catch, curl, and then dissolve into flames. A few minutes later, it was nothing but ash lying on the bottom of the fireplace.

Logan closed the glass doors and let the fire burn out. It had been a merry Christmas indeed, and he was looking forward to a wonderful new year.

Hard to Hold

Hard to Handle
(coming soon)

Bring on the Heat

Too Hot to Handle

The Heat of the Moment

The Heat Is On

A Hint of Mischief

Courting Trouble

Mistletoe & Magic

A Case for Romance

Runaway Hearts

PHOTO: © KOVATCH PHOTOGRAPHY

Award-winning historical author K
ATIE
R
OSE
makes her contemporary debut with the Bad Boys of Baseball novels,
Bring on the Heat
and
Too Hot to Handle,
which combine Katie's true loves: baseball and romance! When not watching baseball, Katie is at her lake house in New Jersey, hard at work on her next book.

Visit the author and subscribe to her newsletter at

katieroseauthor.com

Email the author at

katieroseauthor.com/​contact/

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@KatieRoseAuthor

by Katie Rose

Available from Loveswept

A
TLANTIC
C
ITY, 2010

“Come on, Whitney. You've gotta stop moping. I know it's totally shit that your boyfriend cheated and you found out on your birthday. I get it. But it's been what, a month already?”

Whitney Taylor glanced up from the menu, tucking a lock of glossy black hair behind her ear. At age twenty-one, she was old enough to order a drink but not to handle the kind of pain Nick had dealt her.

“Don't forget, it was with my roommate, and that I walked in on them when he was supposed to be studying for his finals.” She grimaced at the memory, her blue eyes closing in pain. “Apparently the only thing he was studying was her vagina.”

“Dickhead.” Alexa Page made a face, and then gestured to the bartender for another round of mojitos as her best friend violently stabbed her fork into a piece of grilled octopus. She shuddered and, when the man arrived, gave him a grin.

“Better make it two. We're talking breakup.”

The bartender winked and went to fetch the drinks.

“He said I was boring in bed.” Whitney choked on the appetizer, washing it down with the remainder of her cocktail. “Isn't that the guy's job? I mean on top of getting a 4.0 GPA in finance and working my way through school, I'm supposed to be a friggin' sex goddess?”

“I know. He's an asshole.” Alexa glanced at her watch. “Let's get some dinner, and then we can head over to the Borgata for the show.” She gave her friend a sympathetic smile. “I thought a little comedy might help.”

“I haven't been to a comedy club in years.” Her eyes slid to Alexa's. “But I'm not sure I'm up for it. I think I'd rather just go back to our hotel room when we're done.”

“We were supposed to celebrate your birthday last month before…everything happened,” she amended when she realized what she'd been about to say. “You need to take a night off and forget. I think it's totally rad that your dad comped us a room at one of the nicest hotels in AC. The best revenge would be to meet someone fabulous and have great hot sex and forget Dick, I mean Nick, ever existed.”

Whitney almost spit out the octopus. Sex was the last thing on her mind. “Not happening.”

“Well, the next best thing would be to have a good dinner and some fun. Let's order the plato guacho. It's supposed to be amazing.”

Alexa's enthusiasm was contagious, and Whitney found the ache in her heart growing a little lighter. Her friend was obviously going all out to try to make her feel better, so the least she could do was make an effort.

And she was right about the meal. They were dining at Cuba Libre, a trendy restaurant near the Tropicana Casino, and the food was spectacular. The drinks didn't hurt, either. By the third mojito, the taste of rum and spearmint tingled inside her mouth, and Nick was beginning to feel like a painful afterthought.

Alexa insisted on paying the check as a belated birthday gift, and Whitney didn't argue. As she got unsteadily to her feet, her friend grinned as her eyes dropped to her six-inch silver heels, and then back up to her fuchsia silk sheath dress.

“You look hot. I'm so glad I lent you something decent to wear. You are totally rocking that Malandrino.”

“There was nothing wrong with the outfit I brought, even if black pants and a white shirt are a little workie,” Whitney said defensively, but added a smile. “But I have to admit, this is gorgeous. And I feel…different.”

Smoothing the skirt around her thighs, she enjoyed the soft texture of the fabric. It wasn't something she would have bought for herself; it was way too bright and extravagant. Still, when she'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the borrowed dress, she'd been utterly astonished at the transformation.

Alexa was right. She totally rocked it.

“Good.” Alexa downed her drink. “Let's grab a cab and head to the marina.”

Whitney followed her outside, and Alexa whistled, hailing a taxi. The two women climbed inside and within a couple of minutes were deposited at the entrance to the Borgata Hotel.

As they entered the casino, Whitney saw the orange Chihuly chandeliers, the gold-and-white arches, marble floors, and the flashing lights of the slot machines. The tables were full of people playing blackjack and poker, Pai gow and craps. Cocktail waitresses in skimpy outfits slithered through the crowd with trays of drinks, and a crowd began to gather at the roulette wheel.

“Here.” Alexa returned a moment later and handed her a chip. “We have time. Let's play the wheel.” As Whitney hesitated, gazing at the red disk in her palm, Alexa did an eye roll. “It's ten bucks. It's not like I'm risking a fortune here. And after all the lousy things that have happened to you, you owe it to yourself to see if your luck has changed. One bet. I promise, then we'll go.”

It seemed silly to argue, so reluctantly she followed Alexa to the roulette wheel. As they wedged in closer to the action, Whitney saw the reason for the amount of people gathering: A young man across the table had just moved a mountain of black chips onto number three. She couldn't see him clearly; the nearby gamblers had halted their play and surrounded him, watching the play.

But when they moved to allow him to recklessly toss a few more chips onto the felt, he looked up, and Whitney froze where she stood.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. More than beautiful; he was drop-dead gorgeous, with hair as dark as her own, classic features, and warm, sherry-gold-colored eyes that seemed to see right through her. Black brows, set close to the inset of those eyes, arched up, giving him a hawklike appearance, and the godlike cheekbones and nose were marred by a white scar that only added to his appeal.

But it was his mouth that sent her over the edge. Firm, pink, and perfectly shaped, it was meant for kissing and so much more…

Her cheeks heated at the thought. God, what was wrong with her? Those drinks must have gone straight to her head. But he gave her a slow, hot smile, those sensuous lips curving, as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking…

“C'mon. Put down your bet.” Alexa didn't notice the exchange and placed a blue chip on number nine.

Whitney literally forced her gaze away from the gorgeous stranger across the table and concentrated on the numbers. She slid the chip to number five, her nerves doing a tap dance inside of her.

The croupier put his hand on the wheel, and the crowd seemed to hold a collective breath as it began to spin. At first it flew in a maddening circle, moving so quickly that the numbers seemed a red-and-black blur. An eternity seemed to pass before it slowed, clacking through the metal pins one by one as if having a life of its own.

The wheel finally stopped at number three!

The gamers went ballistic, high-fiving and shouting, but the gorgeous winner merely grinned as if expecting this outcome all along. As he collected his chips, his gaze lifted to her once more, and he gave her that strangely intense smile.

“Wowsa,” Alexa said, exhaling a breath. “It looks like you've caught the eye of our lucky winner. God, I thought the earth stood still for a moment. But check out the guy he's with.”

Whitney shifted her eyes to the man who'd captured her friend's notice, grateful for the distraction.

“He is good looking,” she agreed as she studied his companion. He was tall, handsome, and built like an athlete, with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and a firm waist. “In a Tom Brady kind of way.”

“Right. They both look like athletes. Shit! I think they're coming over here!”

Sure enough, after pocketing the winnings, the two men headed purposefully toward them. Alexa, of course, angled for a position front and center, giving them a welcoming smile, while Whitney took a step backward, her bottom against the table.

“Ladies, I want to thank you for bringing me luck. I was losing until you joined our table.”

He spoke to them both, but his eyes sought out Whitney, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it would escape her chest. The voice matched the face: cocky, charming, and oh so sexy. Up close, she could smell his cologne: light, fresh, and totally intoxicating.

“It's amazing that you hit,” Alexa said, twirling her blond hair and flirting, enjoying the attention. “What are the odds?”

“37 to 1,” Whitney said at the same time as the newcomer. He gave her a curious smile as she continued absently. “Or actually, the house pays 35 to 1. So it's 1 in 38, or a 2.63 percent chance of hitting any single number.”

“She's a math geek.” Alexa grinned as the two men exchanged surprised glances. “She's not only cute but she's a genius.”

Shit. Belatedly, Whitney realized she'd spoken before thinking. When was she going to learn that guys did not find brains sexy? Then she calmed as she realized he was attracted to Alexa; he had to be. Guys always were. And why not? She was a knockout with her blue eyes and Malibu Barbie bod.

But to her astonishment, he slid his hand around her waist, leaving it there to burn through her dress.

“You're more than cute.” His voice was a seductive promise, and Whitney shivered involuntarily as he looked directly into her eyes. “You are utterly fucking hot.”

Heat shot through her, quickening her blood. What was happening to her? She wasn't the type to have erotic adventures, but she couldn't seem to stop the fantasies that dominated her mind. Then his hand was in hers, warm, strong, and a little bit sandpapery, and she longed to feel his touch on her bare skin. She could envision the roughness against her softness, her body yielding to him, and dimly realized she wanted this beautiful man to possess her in every possible way…

Thankfully, they couldn't stay.

“Drinks!” A model-like cocktail waitress appeared as if by magic and began handing out beers and cups of wine. Alexa took one, her laughter high and sweet like a tinkling bell.

“Here.” She offered Whitney a cup, her eyes begging her to go along with what was happening.

Whitney shook her head. “We have to get going. We have tickets for the comedy show, remember?”

“Seinfeld?” her gorgeous companion asked. When she nodded, he shrugged, but didn't seem at all sorry. “I guess you didn't hear.”

“What?” Alexa asked, startled.

“He has the flu.” The other man concurred, giving Whitney a warm smile. “Check online and see.”

“Confirmed.” Alexa sighed as she Googled and found the notice. She showed Whitney the phone, and sure enough, the performance was canceled.

“Then you know what that means.” The megawatt smile flashed beside her, and Whitney sucked in a breath.

“You can have that drink.”