Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) (30 page)

DO YOU WANT MORE MR HAPPY?

I’m toying with the idea of writing a novella in H’s point of view. Would you read it? Do you want to know why he did what he did and felt the way he felt?

Contact me on social media and let me know

COMING SOON: COMMITMENT

(A Temptation novel #5)

Turn over for a sneak peek.

COMMITMENT PROLOGUE

Thirteen years. That’s how long Dean and I have been married. Thirteen years of ups downs, forwards, backwards, whirlywirls and somersaults. Whatever the obstacle we’d faced during that time, we’d nailed it. And not just nailed it. We’d MacGyvered the arse out of it.

Our matrimonial knot was tied in front of friends and family in a large Catholic church before God on a scorchin’ hot December afternoon. In fact, I’d had a makeshift steam oven between my legs, and I swear I could’ve put Betty Crocker to shame by baking a cake in it.

But despite heatwave we experienced that day, I’d still rocked a white halter-neck taffeta wedding dress like it was nobody’s business. Yep, Natasha Jones — that’s me — had been the most beautiful walking meringue to have ever lived.

I’d owned that shit.

You could throw a forty degree Celsius day at me, and I’d show it who’s boss. I’d wear dampened strands of hair on my face as if it were the newest Lady Gaga fashion statement. And smudged makeup? Pfft … if Marilyn Manson could pull that shit off, then so could I.

Thinking back to that day as I drove my car into the driveway of our house, I smiled to myself. Dean and I had come so far. We’d started at the very beginning, working our arses off to save for a deposit on a house, soon after becoming proud owners of a gigantic mortgage. We’d parented a cat and then a dog — our safe and happy furry test subjects successfully proving that we could try parenting the real thing … a baby human.

Enter said baby human one: William, who was born two years after we married. How my Tashy Tunnel still operated after pushing out that little beast was beyond me, and how it could still accommodate Dean’s Dickasaurus, let alone push out another mini beast (known as baby human two: Thomas) was also beyond me. But it could, and it was going to do one of those things tonight — accommodate Dean’s Dickasaurus. There was certainly no bun in my oven.

Yes siree, bring on anniversary sexytimes. Bring on a candlelit dinner, a full body massage, hot steamy bubblebath, schanppies and a fuckfest.

Bring on a childfree evening.

Grinning devilishly, I slid my key into the front door, paused and pulled out my phone, checking my hair and makeup on the selfie cam. I’d performed a rearview mirror beauty touch-up at the traffic lights, even spraying some BO-basher under my armpits for added effect. And because it was our anniversary, I’d de-fuzzed myself the night before.

All of myself.

Tashy’s clam was no longer bearded.

Performing a duckface at my phone and running my tongue across the top row of my teeth, I nodded in approval. “Looking hot, bitch.” I then turned the key, stepped inside our entrance hall, and …

“SURPRISE!”

… nearly had a fucking heart attack.

“Jesus Christ! What the fff … frig tree is this?” I screamed, clutching my chest and staring wide-eyed at my sons. Both William and Thomas were in battle stance, pointing sword-shaped balloons at me. Yes, balloons, as in air-filled latex objects from hell.

“Prepare to die, mother,” William declared, stepping forward.

The balloon neared.

I backed my arse up..

“Yes, prepare to die a horrible death, evil wench.”

“Thomas! Don’t call me that,” I scowled at my youngest spawn.
What the hell is going on? Where are my candles, rose petals … and smooth sounds of Lionel Ritchie filtering from the stereo? Where the hell is my husband?

Thomas put his hand to his mouth and whispered. “Just go with it, Mum. I’m acting.”

I shook my head in bewilderment. “But … but why?”

He stepped forward again, this time pointing the sword-balloon directly at my chest. “Do not speak, or I shall slit your throat.”

The balloon made a hell-like screeching noise as it molested my skin, causing my heart rate to elevate and an ear-piercing squeal to leave my mouth. “Get that thing away from me!” I screamed, swatting the balloon-sword and making a dash for my bedroom.

As I ran past the kitchen, the two bandits hot on my tale, Dean sprang out from behind the wall, prompting my bladder to lose some of its contents.
Holy shiz!

Not knowing whether to clutch my chest or my vagina, I took in my husband, who was dressed in a white shirt and grey tights, and he was wielding one of the boys’ non-balloon toy swords.

“Halt, you heathens,” he said dramatically, chest puffed, as he guided me to stand behind him. “How dare thee cause m’lady such distress?”

The boys both stopped suddenly and stared dumbfounded at their father. “What’s a heeven?” Thomas whispered to William.

“I don’t know. I think it’s Robin Hood speak for Villain.”

Thomas scrunched up his nose and nodded. “Oh.”

“You are no match for us, girly man,” William declared, aiming his balloon at Dean.

I couldn’t help it and burst into laughter.
Girly man?

“Hey!” Dean widened his stance by spreading his legs and holdings his arms out, displaying his attire for us. “There’s nothing girly ‘bout what I’m packing.”

Stepping out from behind him, I dropped my gaze to ‘what he was packing’, which was beautifully accentuated in tight cotton Lycra. The sight prompted my teeth to clamp my lip. I wanted that package. I wanted it in between my legs. I wanted it rubbed across my face. I just plain wanted it. And as it would seem, I wasn’t going to get it.

My heart sank.

This
always
happened.

There was never any time for Tash and Dean, Dean and Tash. It was always us and the boys. No sexytimes. No Tashy Tunnel exploration. It was just …
marriage
.

Looking back up to meet my husband’s endearing sweet face, I put on a smile for what he’d orchestrated. Sure, it wasn’t what I’d had in mind, wasn’t what I’d wanted. But this was Dean. He was my goofy man, my sweet, caring, safe and secure man.

He was my
normal.