“And I can’t believe I get to be her mom.”
I press up on my toes, brushing my lips against his cheek. Lex holds me there, steadying one firm hand against the small of my back as he captures my lips in a longer, deeper kiss, the kind that sends quick pulses of heat shooting through my veins. It’s the kind of kiss that maybe we shouldn’t engage in with his daughter ten feet away, even if she is asleep.
Lex must be thinking the same thing, because the next thing I know, he’s scooping me into his arms, swallowing my surprised gasp with his lips as he carries me into his bedroom and drapes me delicately across the end of his bed.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He stares down at me with wonder as his fingers work open the buttons of his shirt, exposing his tanned, chiseled chest to me one inch at a time. “But I think I lied to you before.”
I freeze, my eyes narrowing to slits as I assess the wicked smile settling on his lips. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not the penthouse princess,” he says with a growl, tossing his shirt aside and pinning me against the bed. His breath is hot and hungry against my neck as he trails his lips along my collarbone, leaving little chill bumps in his wake. “You, my dear, are the penthouse queen.”
And with that, I’m lost in him. In his words and his heat and his hungry, demanding lips.
I want him. Tonight and every night.
For the rest of my life.
EPILOGUE
* * *
LEXINGTON
Two years later
“You gotta hold still, honey, or Mommy can’t turn you into a dragon,” Corrigan says gently, struggling with Grier’s costume.
It’s a bit of a complicated getup. We suggested a few alternatives that were easier to get into, but the moment Grier laid eyes on the shiny green dragon on proud display at the costume shop, her heart was set on it and accepted no substitutions. At least it has an easy flap for potty time.
Grier manages to calm down a fraction, but she’s too excited to fully stifle her wiggles. And who could blame her? It’s her first Halloween since starting preschool, which means her first time dressing up for class. And on top of that, later tonight there will be trick-or-treating.
It’s a lot for a four-year-old to handle. But, of course, Corrigan’s got the patience of a saint and handles it all like a champ. Just one of the many things I love about her. She’s definitely made my life better in every way possible. When we got married last year, I thought I couldn’t possibly be any happier, but little did I know I’d fall more in love with her each passing day.
“I’ll come help,” I call, setting down my spatula beside the panful of sizzling eggs.
But Corrigan waves me off when I get close. “I’ve got this.”
I chuckle and back away slowly. I know that determined look in my wife’s eyes. Sometimes she wants me to swoop in and save the day, but most times she really does have it all handled. After all, the woman manages a classroom of thirty first graders on a daily basis. One four-year-old is a piece of cake.
“Mommy? Am I a pretty dragon?” Grier asks, looking down at her costume-clad self.
I glance over from the counter where I’m plating eggs, and my heart squeezes at the sight of them crouched together. My daughter hasn’t outgrown her love of all creepy and crawly animals, but she’s started to become aware of the other little girls in her class who are into the whole princess scene. As far as I’m concerned, she can be whatever her little heart desires.
Corrigan softly touches her cheek. “You’re the best little dragon in the whole, wide world. Beautiful and strong.”
Grier’s smile widens.
While Corrigan and I eat and go over the logistics of our day, Grier races around the table, roaring and flapping her sequined wings and yelling, “I’m breathin’ fire!” at the top of her lungs. I picture a roomful of preschoolers all acting out their costumes at maximum volume, and wince in sympathy for Mrs. Ledford.
“She looks even cuter than she did as our flower girl,” Corrigan says.
“Some things never change,” I murmur, and she meets my eyes and gives me a soft look. “Are you eating enough?”
“Lex.” She frowns at me.
I hold up one hand. “I know. I know.”
She’s asked me not to worry. When I bought all the baby books and prenatal vitamins and started quoting the blog posts I’d read, Corrigan shut me down in a hurry. She wants to do this her way, which has been decidedly chill and low stress.
What can I say? I’m just excited to experience the pregnancy alongside her.
With Grier, it was so different. My ex and I didn’t live together, and to be honest, there wasn’t all this excitement in the air. There was a lot of uncertainty. Of course, it all worked out in the end because I got my sweet baby girl.
We haven’t told Grier yet about her new little brother or sister yet, since Corrigan’s only three months along, but we plan to soon.
After finishing my last bite of eggs, I wipe my hands on the napkin and push my plate away. “I’ll be done with the closing for the Mount Hill property by four.”
Corrigan nods. “Perfect. I can’t wait for tonight.”
I give her a surprised look. “That excited for trick-or-treating?”
She chuckles. “Sorta. Actually, I’ve just been craving those chocolate-peanut-butter-cup thingies.”
I laugh and shake my head at her. “Then you shall have them.” I make a mental note to stop at the store on the way home and grab some extras.
Corrigan turns that bewitching smile on me and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “All the changes ahead of us . . . there’s nobody I’d rather go through them with, Lex. I love you.”
I bring her hand up to kiss it, my lips brushing the cool, smooth gold of her wedding band. Our first anniversary was just a few months ago. I still haven’t stopped being awed at the fact that Corrigan is actually my wife, that our life together is real and not just an amazing dream, and I hope I never will get used to it. It feels like I just placed that ring on her finger yesterday . . . and yet it also feels like we’ve been married since the beginning of time, her presence a comforting force that I can’t remember living without.
“I love you too. And I can’t wait to see them all together.”
Corrigan rises to her feet and begins clearing the plates away. “Now, if you’re done eating, let’s take a picture for Grandma.”
“Even though we’re seeing her in less than eight hours,” I say under my breath.
My wife gives me a look, so I promptly shut my mouth.
“We’re gonna carve pumpkins and brew witches’ slime,” Grier says to me while executing a little dance around the kitchen.
“Absolutely, and it’ll be great.” I scoop her up. “And then what?”
“Trick or treat, smell my feet, gimme somethin’ good to eat!” A renewed burst of wiggles and giggles springs out of her.
“Dinner first, but you’ve got the gist.” Corrigan steps beside us and fiddles with her phone until all three of us are onscreen, then taps the button. “There. And . . . sent. To Dak and my parents too.”