She was an astute businesswoman. I had no doubt she’d succeed with this and whatever else she came up with. Our lives would be anything but boring.

  I checked my watch and got to work. I only had an hour before she arrived.

  I went back to my truck and grabbed the lights I’d borrowed from Laverne and a stepladder. I made quick work of the lights, stringing them around the top part of the bus, and then along the inside. The soft cheerful glow of them definitely set the mood.

  Five minutes before she was due to arrive, I managed to change into my costume. And because I knew my girl so well, I was prepared for her to be early.

  The sound of truck tires made my belly clench. The costume didn’t leave much room for the ring box, so I hid it in the fridge.

  The delighted laugh outside made the bells on my hat jangle. Even the soles of my feet were buzzing with anticipation.

  Or more accurately, nerves.

  I peeked outside and she was walking all around the bus. Did she just kick the tires? God, I loved this woman.

  “How do I get in this thing? I know you’re in there, sneaky!”

  I went to the door at the front and hit the hydraulic handle for the door. “Welcome to CocoaBus II.”

  Her blue eyes went huge before she fell back on her butt.

  “Rachel, are you—” I rushed to the door to find her clutching her belly as she laughed.

  “Oh, you went all out, sir.”

  The bells on the toe of each shoe jingled with each stair. I stood over her in my green tights, green and red Harlequin elf boots, and matching red and green tunic. “Is this how you treat a man who is making sure to keep up his end of the bargain?”

  Her laughter went to a wheezing squeak as I crouched in front of her.

  “Are you done?”

  She gulped in some cold air, then started giggling again. “Just one second. Whew!” She dabbed at her eyes. “I love you so much.”

  “Because of the bus or the elf costume?”

  She launched herself into my arms, all my bells ringing as I hit the ground. “Both. Definitely both.”

  I gave her a very un-elf like kiss and her laughter slipped away into the breathy little groan I loved so much.

  She climbed onto my lap, straddling me and my very happy tights. “Oh, well, this time it’s you with the easy access, hey?”

  “I thought we’d have a little alone time in the CocoaBus II.”

  “Oh, did you?” She draped her arms around my neck. “I’ve never been seduced by an elf before. Does Santa know what you’re up to tonight?”

  I shifted my hips. “Santa’s too busy to care.”

  She gave a gasp. “You might have to keep these tights.”

  “I’ll never be squeezing into these things again.” Her giggle eased the tightness in my chest. “But this totally means I’m forgiven, right?”

  “I don’t know. I might need to see what’s under this costume first.”

  “Is that right?” I nipped her chin. “That could be arranged.”

  She lifted her chin to give me more access to her neck. I swirled my tongue along the spot behind her ear that made her purr for me.

  “Want to see inside?”

  “Mmm. It’s probably a little warmer.”

  I laughed. “My ass is currently numb.”

  She wiggled off me and ran for the bus. “I’ll just have a quick look and then we can totally christen this baby.”

  I laughed as I followed her, pulling my jester hat off.

  “Hey, keep the costume on, buddy.”

  I stuffed the stupid hat back on my head as I followed her. She was opening all the cabinets, oohing and ahhing over the upgrades to the milk frother, the storage, the canisters ready for personalizing to hold tools and products. I’d even tucked away mason jars stamped with her logo for her special whipped cream she’d come up with.

  Finally, she smoothed her hand over the creamy vintage refrigerator, tracing the lines of the big vinyl sticker naming it CocoaBus II. “You thought of everything.” She swung the door open and my stomach dropped.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

  “Did you stock it with some…” She slammed the door shut and stared at me, and then she opened it again. “No.”

  “Hopefully, that’s not your answer.” I swallowed over the sudden dryness in my throat.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I dropped onto one knee. “I had a little bit of a different plan, but yes. Want to open up that fridge and give me what’s inside?”

  She flexed her fingers once, then twice before she opened the door. She pulled out the velvet green box and threw it at me like it was on fire.

  I snatched it out of the air. “Did I scare you with this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know it’s quick, but I can’t wait any longer to make you mine.”

  “I’m already yours,” she said in a shaky whisper.

  I leaned forward to push the door closed and caught her hand, bringing her over to where I was. “We don’t do things in a traditional way—for pretty much anything between us. But I’d be the luckiest man in the world if you’d marry me.”

  She sniffled. “You can’t even ask right. Where’s the question, Clay?”

  I laughed and popped the box open. “Will you marry me, Rachel Doyle?”

  She dropped to her knees right in front of me. “Holy crap. Is that real?”

  “No, it’s glass.” At her relieved face, I laughed again. “It’s very real.” I pulled the Art Deco style diamond ring out of the box. “It was my grandmother’s ring.”

  “Oh, Clay.” Her blue eyes brimmed over with tears. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Surer than anything I’ve done in my life.”

  She held her hand out and I slid the ring over her finger. It slipped down and over her knuckle to rest perfectly.

  “You can’t even say yes right,” I said with a grin.

  “Yes.” She wiggled her finger, staring at the facets of the small diamonds surrounding the large triangular cut stone. She cupped my face and pressed her lips against mine gently. I could taste her tears and the promise of forever growing between us. “Yes.”

  I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her as I stood. She wrapped her legs around me and the kiss went from sweet and cautious to wild and hot.

  A small couch was tucked along the back of the bus. I swung us back there, sitting hard as she tugged the stupid jester hat off my head and flung it over her shoulder. She tugged at my tunic.

  “How do I get this thing off?”

  I reached over to my shoulder where the velcro held it together. She ripped it free and we struggled to get it over my head. Then her hot hands were on my chest, pushing at the Rudolph T-shirt I was wearing underneath.

  “Cute. I’ll steal it later,” she said against my mouth.

  We fumbled and laughed between groans as we got enough clothes out of the way to get skin to skin. She bit my neck and traced her fingers over my chain, then over to my nipple. Her short little nails raked through my chest hair, making me groan.

  I lifted her up enough to get one leg of her leggings free, pushed her scrap of panties aside, and sunk inside of her.

  She sighed as she rocked forward. Our lips met in a sweet, slow kiss that matched our pace. I watched her eyes go glassy as she got closer. I gripped her hips, knowing what she needed to go over. The friction as I reached between us ratcheted up the pace just that much more.

  She clasped me with each undulation and had me lifting my hips to meet her. Her eyes went wide and hot as I altered the angle. My thighs shook and my abs screamed, but I kept racing with her. Each of my thrusts met with her fisting walls.

  I buried my face into her neck, licking and sucking my way along the column of her throat to her chin and finally, her mouth again as I swallowed her cries. I gripped her hips, driving us both up and into the darkness.

  Her arms came around my neck as she shuddered over me, finally throwing her head back. My name echoed in the bus followed by her laughter as the sound of bells dented the hazy orgasm we’d both just had.

  “I’m going to hear bells in my dreams.” She laughed, kissing me sweetly. “I guess I ended being the Winslow Wife after all.”

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  Have My Baby

  Crescent Cove Book One

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ally

  I hopped back a good three feet, but it was way too late. “Aww, come on.”

  I stared down at the puddle of coffee dripping from the worn Formica tabletop to the red vinyl booth. The cracked pot in my hand held a jagged edge that could be a prop in a Quentin Tarantino movie. Right down to the coffee-stained orange lip.

  If I had to sacrifice my last pair of white Converse sneakers to the coffee gods, at least it should’ve been goddamn full octane coffee, not decaf.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Diggs. Don’t move, okay?”

  Mrs. Diggs, one of the diner’s regulars, shuffled to the end of her booth and cupped her mug in her manicured hands. She picked up her feet—clad in bright orange and white sneakers—as the coffee raced toward the wall of windows.

  I winced. Dammit, the baseboards needed a scrub again. Maybe I could convince Mitch to let me stay late or come in early one day. I’d been picking up as many shifts as he’d allow me to, but at least if I did this it wouldn’t require talking to people.

  I was pretty much talked out.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Fine. I just don’t want you to get cut, okay? Give me a quick second and I’ll brew you a fresh pot.” Disgusted, I dropped my threadbare towel over the glass and scraped the shards into a pile as I shimmied my way out from under the table. “Sage, can you grab me another towel?” I hollered over my shoulder.

  My best friend’s head popped out from around the corner. I gave her a rueful smile as I lost the battle against the river of coffee.

  Sage rushed over with a pile of towels and crouched beside me. She blew a honey blond curl out of her face. No matter how many pins Sage Evans jammed into her twisting pile of curls, one invariably escaped. Luckily it only enhanced her heart-shaped face and huge green eyes.

  “What happened?” She started mopping up the escaping coffee.

  “Careful.” I grabbed her hand just before a hook-shaped shard of glass took a chunk out of her palm.

  “Jeez, what did you do?”

  I set what was left of the pot on the table. “One too many times left on the burner while empty is my guess. I barely tapped the side of the table and pop-crash.”

  “Coffee.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Full pot no less.” I managed not to let the growl or the string of swear words free as I reached back under the booth and mopped up the coffee under Mrs. Diggs’ feet. “Okay, you’re set.”

  The woman put her feet down as I crawled back out from under the booth. A pair of dark jeans and black boots stopped two inches from my coffee-splattered khakis.

  I knew those boots.

  My gaze skipped up to the way his jeans molded to strong thighs and a bulge behind his zipper that had caused me way too many sleepless nights.

  My best friend since high school tucked his thumb into his pocket and drummed his fingers lightly against his leg. “Is this a new customer service thing?”

  My mouth tipped up at one corner. If he only knew what kind of service I wanted to offer.

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  Rocked

  Lost in Oblivion Book One

  August 12, 12:00 PM - Food For Thought

  Harper Pruitt hauled another tray out of her seven-tiered food cart. Lunch was the big meal when it came to a rock tour. The roadies and technicians would be working right up until the 7:30 p.m. curtain time, so they needed to fuel up now. Then she and her staff would break it down and start all over for the musicians and their guests.

  Already the first wave was lined up in the doorway to the make-shift cafeteria. Pop-up tents, two dozen banquet tables, and a whirring portable air conditioner gave a brief reprieve to the outrageous heat of Alpharetta, Georgia. Honestly, how was anyone supposed to think clearly when the air was thick enough to chew?

  “C’mon, Harper. It doesn’t need to be perfect. We’re just going to demolish it anyway.”

  “You will wait until I’m ready, Randy Pruitt.” Her brother, a third generation roadie, was always first in line for food. He might be whip-skinny, but he could pack it away.

  She snapped the last of the trays over cold packs she’d designed after much of their first week had been spent cleaning up after the rapidly melting ice. No matter how hard that air conditioning unit chugged, it was still hot as hell with seventy plus bodies in the room.

  She might be low man on the cooking staff, but she had standards, dammit. She made the best lunch these idiots would ever taste. Refusing to believe that everything was wasted on the tour animals that called themselves roadies, she ignored the shuffling feet and groans behind her.

  Any man or woman that didn’t want a broken finger knew better than to rush her. She knew how to handle the burly, the grouchy, and most definitely the too friendly.

  Setting out the last tray—rolls and bread—she stepped back a good four feet, put her hands together in a mock prayer, and bowed. “You may begin.”

  And boy did they. Within eight minutes her pretty display looked more like a sad deli counter. The bed of lettuce leaves she’d used were scattered like discarded pages from a TV writer’s room during sweeps week. All but the chicken salad had been scraped clean.

  She hauled the tray out of its housing. What the heck did they have against her chicken? Unless it was slathered in jar mayo or mustard, a lot of these guys turned their noses up. Each day she tried to sneak in a little something new, believing that even roadies deserved culture—but alas, they proved her wrong again and again.

  She waved at her brother as he jammed ham and turkey into a roll—his third sandwich, thank you very much—and crammed it into his mouth on the way out the door. Randy was still young enough to be excited about the prospect of sweating over the lighting rig that had to be set up.

  It was the last leg of this particular tour. She’d graduated from culinary school and hopped on a plane the next day to work this job. She had six weeks to prove herself to Meg and Danny so they’d hire her on full time.

  “All set, Harper?”

  She blinked out of her thoughts and smiled at Mel, one of her cleanup staff. “Yeah, you can start loading up.”

  The clang of metal trays and crinkle of white paper table covers was part of her everyday symphony. Roll it out, roll it up, rinse and repeat. Crap, she was only six days into the tour and already she was tired of tuna salad and cold cuts.

  Not good.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, we’re all done for the lunch rush, but you can come ba—” She stopped mid-turn, her eyes stuck on one of the most impressive male chests she’d ever seen. And seriously, she’d seen a lot of nice ones over the years. But sweet Pete.

  Wide, firm pecs filled out a vintage Journey t-shirt with little room to spare. In fact, the faded scarab logo had little tears in it from the stretch to accommodate his toned muscles. That had to be some seriously amazing man flesh under there.

  She forced her gaze up, and up, and wow.

  He smiled, and a dimple dug into his left cheek. The slash of white teeth and the dent was bad enough but man…the eyes. Green. Middle-of-the-forest green, earthy, and cool—the kind that contact commercials promised with their too beautiful to be real colors.

  They had to be fake.

  Who had green eyes with flecks of sunlit gold in the center? Not real people, that’s who. Or…