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For as long as August Cates could remember, his dick had ruined everything.
He wasn’t a get-it-right-on-the-first-try type of man. Which was probably why he’d mistaken his “gut” for his dick. Meaning, he’d translated his father’s advice into . . . Trust your dick, son.
What the hell was he supposed to say? That he’d seen her across the room at that stupid Wine Down Napa event and felt like he’d had an arrow shot into his chest by a flying baby? That his palms had sweat because of a woman for the first time ever that night? He’d already been in that Viennese countryside holding a picnic basket in one hand and an acoustic guitar in the other. God, she was so beautiful and interesting and fucking hilarious. Where had she been all his life?
“Hell, huh? Your old stomping grounds, right?” “Yup!” She didn’t even bother turning around. “That’s where I met your mom. She said she’d rather live in hell than drink your wine.”
August’s mouth went dry at the screech of tires on the road and a moment later, he broke through the trees . . . Only to find his temperamental feline rolled over onto her back, preening, two inches from the front bumper of a blue hatchback. Totally unconcerned about her brush with death. Just another day wrecking the lives of humans and getting away with it because of her pink nose and toe beans. Unbelievable.
“Why isn’t she wearing a collar?” “Look, I don’t know what cats allow collars around their necks, but Menace”—he jabbed a finger in the animal’s direction—“isn’t one of them. She’d probably pretend to like it for an hour and then I’d wake up to find a death threat written in blood on my bathroom mirror, signed with a paw print.”
“Awww. You were just trying to escape the smell of farts and stale beer, weren’t you, precious?”
“Why? You want to judge my handiwork before you deem me suitable to fix your royal boo-boo?”
I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here. After the shock of hearing that breathy confession had worn off, he’d just gotten mad. Who the fuck made her feel like that? How long had she been feeling like crap without his knowing about it?
Natalie wasn’t a simple combination of colors, she was an ever-changing kaleidoscope he couldn’t seem to stop peering into.
“What happened to ‘my Adonis’?” Temper snapped in Natalie’s expression, but at least the irritation helped her focus, which had been his intention. “That’s something I call you only when we’re alone,” she said with a toothy smile. “You know, kind of like ‘shit for brains.’ And ‘rat king.’”
“I don’t think I used those exact words—” “Nope, that’s what you said. Verbatim.” “I must have been sleep talking.” Golden eyes crackled up at August and hell if that temper wasn’t turning him on. “People are known to talk in their sleep,” she continued. “In rare cases, people are even known to murder loved ones in their sleep. Did you know that? You might want to keep it in mind.”
“I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life trying not to murder me in your sleep. Please.”
He surprised her by pressing their foreheads together. “Natalie.” “What?” Three seconds passed. Four. “I will never, ever let you down again. Is that clear?”
“If you don’t directly ask me for sex, I’ll respect that. But if you want to be fucked, you’re going to get it. Period, the end.”
“Jesus,” Natalie breathed, slapping a hand to the middle of her chest, positive her heart was about to explode straight out of her rib cage. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like an old Victorian ghost or something? I almost hurled a butcher knife at you.”
“Are you wearing a wire, Welch?” Without a moment’s hesitation, her brother’s girlfriend lifted the Stanford T-shirt to reveal a pair of rainbow panties and two very impressive tatas.
“You’re a little nuts, aren’t you, Hallie?” “I wrote your brother secret admirer letters and got jealous when he wrote me back.”
“Thank you. I hereby declare myself your secret minion.” “Just don’t ask me to call you that.”
“Guess you have to put a shirt on. Unless you’ve ripped them all down the middle pretending to be the Hulk in the mirror.” “As opposed to asking my mirror if I’m the fairest one of all like you do, oh evil one?”
“Natalie, I burped ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi into a microphone at my high school talent show when I was seventeen. In a wig and tasseled knee socks. I’m not here to pass judgment.”
The increasing protectiveness he felt for his fiancé told August . . . This wasn’t temporary. They weren’t. Sorry, princess. Sucks to be you.
“Your present is back at the house,” he said, carefully tucking the picture into his breast pocket. “Great.” She had to swallow because her throat was utterly dry. “I can’t wait to open my lube from the gas station. Which flavor did you get me?” “Tropical. Obviously.”
“Natalie Vos. Wow. Here we are. Getting married.” He turned the paper toward her so she could see he’d written those exact words, before going back to reading. “I promise to take your side in every argument—unless it’s the one you’re having with me, then it’s fair game. But the point I’m trying to make is that we might fight . . .” He scanned the room with a pointed look. “But God help anyone else who tries to fight with you. They will answer to me.”
“I also promise to protect you from this day forward. From cat claws to fires to drunk people with axes. You’re always going to be safe. I’ll make sure of it. You can call me no matter where you are, and I’ll come.”
“Are you kissing me because of what I said about your tits, princess?
August unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket with a flourish and dropped it on the dance floor, moving on to the cuff links next. Rolling up his sleeves. And then he started to dance—although even he could admit that that term should be used loosely when applied to his series of exaggerated disco moves and jump spins. Not to mention a lot of finger guns.
“Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin it.” “Nobody puts Natalie in a corner,”
“And when I look at you, I swear I have. Existed just for you all this time. It feels like I have.”
“Oh yeah? Well in my high school yearbook, I was voted—” “Class Clown. Fart Champion. Guy We’ll Miss the Least.” “Wrong, princess. Most Likely to Surprise You.” There was a short pause. “I do think that was in reference to the fact that I used to sneak up behind people and fart, but still.”
“You scared forty-six years off my life.” “That’s a very specific number,”
“Go sell that lie somewhere else, princess,”
“If I ever make you cry, you get to give me a purple nurple. Says it right here in bold print.”
“Make it count.” His wife didn’t need the reminder. She secured two knuckles around his nipple and twisted with nothing short of savagery until he yelped, discomfort shooting through his pec. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.” She twisted harder. “Natalie! SHIT.” Finally, she let go. And had the nerve to look innocent when he lifted his head to show her his incredulity. “You asked for it,” she said, blinking up at him. Smiling. He’d made her smile. After a fight. The bliss of that almost eclipsed his pain. Almost. “I’m afraid to look down and see if my nipple is still there,” he choked out. She yawned.
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“Woke up starved for that thing between your legs.” He groaned into her neck. “Not sure if you’re still a little pissed from last night, so I’m asking very nicely if I can eat it.”
“I love some parts of the storm between us.”
“Wait, so I’m the princess and my vagina is the queen?” “And I’m her loyal subject. Yes.”
“I need to get my wife home before she catches a cold.” Natalie ran a knuckle down his happy trail and he almost swallowed his tongue. “The only thing I’m going to catch,” she whispered for his ears alone, “is this di—”
“Oh, you are going to get it, Natalie queen princess Cates.”
In a mere scrap of panties, she resumed jacking him off, but this time her hand had entered the end zone. It was inside his sweatpants doing the Lord’s work, playing with his balls and tugging on his cock gently, with a grip that increased in pressure, then got rough.
“Damn, princess,” he grunted, rattling the window of the truck with a series of quick drives. “Speaking of flash floods—” “No.” “Sorry.”
“I need my wife. I’ll always fucking need my wife.”
“I’m in love with your sister. I love her so much.” “We’ve established this.” “She’s only been gone for a little while and I already miss her so much—” “August, this is getting weird.”
“I’ve been through Hell Week, injuries, training that nearly killed me, giving myself stitches without so much as an Advil. And none of it, Natalie, is worse physical torture than being away from you.”
“What were you going to say to him?” she asked as they stepped inside, the gold doors snapping together in front of them. “I don’t know. All I could think of was Julia Roberts’s line in Pretty Woman. You know? ‘Big mistake. Big. Huge.’ But then you decided to be mature about the whole damn thing. Kind of caught me off guard.”
“You have no idea how badly I want to come upstairs with you. Honestly, everyone in the lobby is about to see a grown man cry. My dick might just hop right off my body, assume a human form, and punch me in the face.
So this is love. A painful motherfucker.
