Recovery (4 page)

The ceremony went off without a hitch, surprisingly. Other than thoughts of literally tearing the clothes off of my husband entering my mind every other second, there were no other real distractions. The girls were the perfect flower girls, and the path to my new happy ever after was completely covered with beautiful red, dark pink, and white rose petals.

As it should be.

In typical bride and groom fashion, Blake and I were to be brought to the reception in a white limousine…alone. However, after the girls spotted our form of transportation, I knew we would have company. And I didn’t really mind…
then
.

Now, however, it’s a different story. Every part of Blake’s body is calling to mine. Every brush of his arm against mine, every graze of his hand on my leg, the delicate way his fingers caress the nape of my neck; every movement ignites a scorching, pulsating wave of want and desire that I just really need to extinguish. With him
. Like, now
.

Not helping with my overall frustration level is the damn window that keeps going up and down, up and down, up and down. I love how my children act like they’ve never been in an automobile before. It never ceases to amaze me. Maybe I should let them venture out in public more often.

“Mommy, where are we going? I thought we were going home,” Rylie whines, dragging out the last word.

“We’re going to a party,” Nycole answers with an exhale, the whining obviously grating her nerves as well.

“A
potty
? For me? Are there going to be presents?” Rylie excitedly starts bouncing up and down on the seat. I put my hand up to my mouth as I’m suddenly overcome with nausea due to the vigorous, extremely unnecessary movement.

Fire: extinguished.

“A party, Rylie. A par-ty.” Nycole answers back. “And not for you. For Mom and Blake. And no presents for you. Those are also for
Mom
and Blake
.”

“Oh.” Rylie stops bouncing and looks up at me, batting those mile-long lashes. I know what’s coming before she even asks.

“Can I help you open the presents, Mommy?” She adds a tilt of her head and deepens her dimples with a smile. I know this technique. I’ve seen it used many times on both grandparents and unsuspecting strangers.

“If you stop bouncing on the seat, I’ll let you open all of them. How about that?” I hear Blake laughing under his breath while running his fingers across my bare shoulder.

Pilot light: lit.

“Aww, how come she gets to open
all
the presents?” Kyndall asks.

“I’m sure we can find a couple for you and Nyc to open somewhere.” I give her a quick wink and the frown on her little face transforms into a worry-free smile.

“Mommy, you already said
I
could open all the presents.” I exhale a deep breath knowing this is about to turn into a thirty minute argument and screaming match, most likely ending up with
no one
opening
any
presents.

Before I can answer, Blake chimes in, “How about we divide the presents and everyone gets to open the same number? That way no one gets left out.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nycole and I exchange wide-eyed glances.
Well, that was easy.

The limousine slows to turn into the parking lot where our reception is to be held, an upscale bar that Blake and Trace just purchased together. A business investment they called it.

Sure.

Blake ended up selling his business in Colorado, turning a nice profit and did, in fact, take over his father’s ownership of Morgan Construction. When he’s not scouting out the new duplex sites they’re bidding on, I can usually find him here, working on the bar. He just finished gutting the interior, replacing the bar tops with a beautiful dark, oak wood and the floor with tiles of a similar shade.
A real man’s bar.
It’s turning out beautifully, just as all of his work does.

They decided to call it, The Office. Laughing for weeks, both Blake and Trace were genuinely pleased with the pure genius of their naming convention. Such masterminds to allow their patrons the ability to evade any possible interrogation from their wives or husbands regarding their whereabouts. Normally I’d be offended, but seeing as though my husband would literally be at the office, I couldn’t really complain about the name. The incessant joking that went on and on and on…yes. But the name? That I left alone.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as excited giggles erupt from all three of my girls when the chauffeur walks around to their side and opens the door, letting them out with a deep, gentlemanly bow.
Wow.
We really need to tip this guy extra for the royal treatment. His smile is genuine as they each curtsey in response before they take off, running full speed to where Harlow’s waiting for them.

“Harlow! We got to ride in a limousine! It was so cool!” they all shout to her. She opens her arms and they ram into her, each giving her a hug. Squeezing them for a few seconds before letting them go, she responds excitedly, “That
is
cool. Why don’t we go inside and check out Blake and Trace’s new place? I hear it’s pretty cool too.” She gives me a quick wink before turning and herding the girls inside.

I lean back into Blake for a brief, quiet second before taking the chauffeur’s waiting hand just outside the door. Stepping out of the limo, I smooth out my dress while waiting on Blake to join me. A second later, I feel his hands glide across my hips as they make their way to rest on my stomach, along with his moist, heated breath right behind my ear.

Damn him.

He places a delicate, yet very erotic kiss just behind my ear. I’m practically convulsing when he chuckles deeply, removes his lips and releases me from his hold.

“You’re going to have to wait, Mrs. Morgan. We have guests to entertain.”

“Do we
have
to?” I draw out my words. “I’d rather entertain
you
.”

“All good things come to those who wait… and to those who don’t whine like five year olds while doing so.” I elbow him in the side.

“Fine! Let’s get this over with.” He laces my arm with his. Walking toward the bar, the murmur of the crowd and the music drumming inside causes me to pause before entering. Blake lowers his hand from the door handle.

“You okay?” he asks, giving me a concerned once over.

I nod and throw my arms around his neck. “I just…well, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you, Blake, for loving me. Thank you for loving my children. Thank you for asking me to be your wife. Thank you for making me happy. I love you more than you could ever possibly know.”

He wraps his arms tightly around my waist and lifts me from the ground. “Alex, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to see that beautiful smile on your face. I love you and I love your girls.” He gently sets me back on my feet. “I love
him
,” he places his palm flat against my stomach, giving me a presumptuous grin. “
This
is my life now. And it should be me
thanking you for giving it to me.”

With tears in my eyes, I say the only thing I can.

“Our life. This is
our
life, Blake.”

The corners of Blake’s mouth turn up into a subtle smile. He nods, accepting my words, and repeats them to me with firm resolve. “
Our
life.”

Together we open the door entering, not as two separate people, but as man and wife joined by the enduring bonds of love and family.

Crash landing myself in the seat right next to Harlow, who’s sitting at a table by herself, I can’t help but feel a little let down by the lack of reception regarding my dramatic entrance. She’s definitely focused on something or someone on the dance floor. So, since she’s not paying attention, I decide to call even more attention to myself.

“Jeez, I’m so freakin’ tired.”

She barely glances at me, then looks back to the dance floor. “Well, you better figure out something. I’m pretty sure Blake has plans for later tonight, so I really don’t see any rest for you in the near future.” She laughs to herself. It must be nice to have yourself as your own audience,
constantly.

Harlow continues her scanning. “Who are you looking for?” My eyes follow hers, grazing over all the bodies moving to the thumping music.

“Tatum. Trace’s sister.” She pauses her manhunt, looking back in my direction. She starts to speak, but then smiles, her eyes shifting directly behind me. I hear Trace’s deep voice as he approaches the table. “My
baby
sister.” He strides right beside me, leaning to give Harlow a kiss on the forehead before taking the seat next to her. As he sets his beer on the table, I take a brief moment to absorb how truly handsome this man is. Dark black hair styled to look messy, but
not.
Dark perfectly arched eyebrows with a matching set of dark lashes, outlining his crystal clear blue eyes—the same eyes currently regarding my best friend in a way that I prefer not to think about.
Ever.

Taking her hand into his, he brings it to his lips, placing a small, sweet kiss on her knuckles before turning to face me. “Tatum. A big pain in my ass right now. I love her, I do. But she’s absolutely out of control right now. She won’t talk to me, she won’t talk to anyone. Ever since our mom died, she’s on a mission to ruin her life…and her liver.” He focuses his gaze on the dance floor, brows furrowed together in obvious frustration as he continues speaking.

“I’m surprised she agreed to come, but in all honesty, it would have been
more
of a surprise if she declined a party with free alcohol.” He lets out a long breath and grabs the beer bottle in front of him. I remember Harlow telling me Trace was bringing his sister as his plus one since
her
attendance was obviously mandatory. With his downtrodden expression, I suspect his invitation was mainly for his own peace of mind.

Looking to Harlow for further explanation, I get only a slight shrug of her shoulders. She takes a long gulp of her Pinot Grigio before once again looking toward the crowd.
Lucky ass.

I glance down at my water and silently curse its lack of taste.
And alcohol.

“Which one is she?” I ask.

“See the long, dark haired beauty, in the middle there?” She lifts her hand, pointing her index finger towards the middle of the floor.

I raise my eyes from the glass in front of me and narrow them, perusing from person to person. They eventually land on one girl in particular who seems to stand out from the crowd. Mainly because she’s the youngest person dancing. “The one in the royal blue, skin tight, minidress?” She finally turns so I can see her face and she’s absolutely stunning. She looks almost identical to her brother. Same light, pale blue eyes. Same dark black hair. Same everything. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-three going on
twelve
.” Harlow takes another sip of her wine. Trace chuckles under his breath and nods his head, sitting back and taking a long draw from his beer, clearly in agreement.

“Really?” I wipe the condensation from my glass and look back over at Tatum, watching her move from person to person, dancing suggestively. Until, that is, she makes eye contact with my girls, who are seated in a booth with Nancy and John. For the first time since watching her, I see a genuine smile. She walks over to introduce herself from what I can tell. Leaning over, she whispers something in Rylie’s ear who responds with a beaming smile and a nod of her head. She crawls her way out of the booth and once on her feet, makes her way to take hold of Tatum’s outstretched hand.

Rylie waves for Kyndall and Nycole to join them and Kyndall jumps right up, always one for a good time. Nycole, however, seems more hesitant, but after some coaxing from her sisters, she stands up and joins them. They all walk with Tatum, hand in hand, to the dance floor and after forming their own little circle, they begin to dance. Tatum claps and cheers them on, speaking only to them and shooing off any and every inebriated male that dare try to interfere.

It’s official.
I like this girl.

Something about her, I don’t know…seems innocent. Childlike. Yet, even with the distance between us, I sense an overwhelming amount of sadness. Her smile, no matter how genuine, just doesn’t seem to reach her eyes.

I start to ask more about her when I happen to glance over Harlow’s shoulder and notice a young man standing behind the bar. A full-fledged, drool worthy young man with an intensity in his eyes that is indescribable. His fierce gaze cemented to something or someone on the dance floor. I slowly follow in the direction of his stare, which leads me right back to Tatum.
Very Interesting.

“Is that her boyfriend? The guy at the bar?” I dip my head in his direction. Harlow turns her body, not at all in a discreet manner, and after staring for an
obscene
amount of time, she repositions her body to face me. She waggles her eyebrows and I clear my throat to keep from laughing.

Trace, who has also turned around, twists back towards me. “No, that’s Noah. He’s the bar manager here. I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet.” He places his arm around Harlow, whose now mouthing the word
hot
and fanning herself
.
“He’s really a great kid, a lot of promise. Going to med school next year, last I heard. Definitely
not
her boyfriend.”

Harlow purses her lips. “Yeah, Tatum’s been seeing some douchebag. He’s a major
loser
, but it’s not like we can talk her out of it. The girl may be more stubborn than you, Alex…which is not meant to be a compliment.” She gives me a wink.
Nice.

So the boy possessively watching her is
not her boyfriend?
Really?
Very, very interesting.

Trace glances back to find Tatum, obviously making sure she’s staying out of trouble. But, something deep down inside of me knows that if she ever found herself in any distress, that boy...Noah, would be the first to respond. Even before Trace. I continue watching him, watching her as she dances with my babies.
Hmm.
My gut feeling is telling me something about these two.

Or maybe that’s the crab cake I just ate?

My eyes shift back and forth a couple of times between the two.

Nope, it’s them.

Just as I’m about to start making up background stories for them in my head to keep myself entertained, my attention is captured by a pair of light green eyes that call to me like a beacon through the crowd. I watch Blake gesture towards the office, the
real
office, and I shoot up so quickly out of my chair that the screech it makes on the floor causes Harlow to jump, and half her wine slushes out of her glass onto the table. She shoots me the evil eye.

“Serves you right, lush.” I push my chair under the table, making it squeal even louder just because I feel like irking her. Trace laughs out loud and she glares even harder at me, the narrowed eyes and tight lips only succeeding in making me giggle. I lean down, quietly whispering in her ear, “I’m going to see
my
man. I took your advice and found my happy ending. Be sure to give Trace
his
tonight.” Her face relaxes as she covers her mouth and giggles.
Lush.

I can only shake my head before leaving them on their own. Most likely to do things I absolutely
don’t
want to think about.

Making my way through the crowd, I stop to offer several nice-to-meet-yous and thank-you-for-comings before finally making my way to the office. I breathe deeply through my nose in an attempt to calm my hormones, which seem to be raging all of a sudden. I run a quick hand check over my hair—
not really sure why
—and reach for the door. Finally letting the air in my lungs escape, I try to clear my mind of all the dirty thoughts that seem to be taking over my brain, but as I fling the door open, all control is lost. I find myself trying to reel that air back because all of a sudden I’m finding it very difficult to breath.

My eyes have latched themselves onto Blake, who’s leaning against the front of his desk, feet and arms crossed in front of him. He’s wearing that sexy lopsided smile that means only one thing; the one thing I haven’t been able to get off my mind since my first sight of him at the lake earlier this evening. My heart begins to race, my breathing picks up,
finally
, and my body begins pulsating with every previously evicted dirty thought breaking back into my mind.

I close the door quickly and lock it as soon as it shuts. Wearing my own sexy grin—
at least I hope it’s sexy—
my feet carry me to where he’s standing on their own accord. He uncrosses his legs and I step right in between them, pressing my waist against him, and placing my forearms onto the tops of his shoulders. Cupping his hands on my bottom, he pulls me closer to him, and my breath hitches in my throat. I feel him harden, and the pressure building between our bodies causes the insides of my thighs to throb.

Moving my hands to his lower back, I grab fistfuls of his nicely starched, now untucked, shirt and pull him close. He sucks in a ragged breath, and reaches down to hook my leg, hastily pulling it up to his waist.

My body falls forward, placing us as close as intimately possible, and the friction from the movement causes us both to gasp as the same time. We stare at each other, panting, eyes locked onto one another. Finally, after the most sexually stimulating standoff ever, he finally lowers his head and places his full lips on mine. I feel his mouth open and I graze my tongue along his teeth, teasing him. Still holding my leg, he moves his free arm around my waist, pulling me in as tightly as he can.

“Mommy! Are you in there? I need to tell you something!” Rylie bangs on the door. The heart that was previously thrumming from sexual need is now pounding inside my chest from near cardiac arrest.