Page 22 of Hot Water

“Your dad and I got curious,” he says with a shrug. “We cracked open a box and did a little browsing.”

I gape at him, not sure if he’s serious or not. “You did not.”

His devilish smirk tells me that they absolutely did.

“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, pressing my palms to my cheeks. “I can never look my dad in the eyes again, Sinclair. He knows what I read now.”

“Mmhmm, he does.” He quirks a brow at me. “Do we need to discuss your kinks, mermaid?”

“What? No!” I shout, blushing bright red. “I have no kinks. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I push away from his chest, turning toward the truck. “I’m going to help your brothers carry boxes. Bye, Felicia.”

He chuckles, hooking an arm around my waist to haul me back into his arms. His lips come down on the side of my neck. “You little liar,” he growls against my skin. “That’s all right, baby. Keep your secrets for now. I have a lifetime to work them out of you.” He nips my skin, grinding his erection against my ass. “And I’ve got handcuffs and all sorts of equipment to help me do it…”

I whimper, spinning around to face. “Say it again.”

“Handcuffs and all sorts of equipment.”

“Not that part,” I laugh, covering his mouth with my hand. “The other part.”

His eyes soften with understanding. He pulls my hand away from his mouth. “A whole lifetime,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’ve got a whole lifetime together, mermaid.”

I fling my arms around him, tears stinging my eyes. Those are the best words I’ve ever heard. At least, until he tops them.

“And I get to love you for every fucking second of it,” he breathes.

“Best. Vacation. Ever,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his.

EPILOGUE

SINCLAIR

The crisp October air curls around us as we step out of the car, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the anticipation building inside me.

Ever since my very pregnant little pumpkin stepped out of the bedroom wearing the adorable costume—a black t-shirt and crop pants with a big orange pumpkin painted across her belly—I’ve been counting the minutes until I can take her home to have my way with her. It might make me a caveman, but knowing it’s our child growing in her swollen belly keeps my cock rock-hard and heart mushy as hell.

“I can’t wait to see Sullivan’s ride in action.” She nearly vibrates in her seat as the lights of the park come into view. Amelia adjusts her witch's hat, her face glowing with excitement.

As I park next to Sullivan’s ridiculously big black truck, my wife reaches for the door handle. “Stop right there, little mermaid. You know I’m going to come around and help you out.”

We have this same argument all the time—my independent wife pushes back at what she calls my “Neanderthal tendencies,” and I hold my ground since I’m not going to change these tendencies any time soon. “I can open a door for myself,” she huffs adorably.

“I know you can, but I’m still going to do it for you.” I lean over the console and place a soft kiss on her pouty lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, you big Neanderthal.” She sighs and waits as I come around the SUV to open the door for her and help her out.

We walk hand in hand toward the entrance, the cacophony of the crowd melding with the haunting melodies of the park’s Halloween-themed background music.

Sullivan has been talking about this haunted ride for months, pouring all his creative energy into its design, and driving Sterling crazy in the process. Knowing him, it’s going to be an immersive experience, one that blurs the lines between reality and nightmare.

The towering gates of the park, adorned with ghoulish decorations and faux spider webs, greet visitors. The park is alive with people in elaborate costumes, kids darting around with bags full of candy, and the air thick with the scent of caramel and popcorn. It feels electric, the atmosphere buzzing with a shared thrill.

As we make our way through the maze of attractions, we finally catch sight of Sullivan’s masterpiece. “Stroke of Midnight” stands before us, an ominous structure with flickering lights and eerie wails emanating from within. A large crowd has gathered, whispers of excitement and trepidation alike swirling through the air.

"There he is," Amelia points out, and I see Sullivan, dressed as a mad scientist, his costume an eclectic mix of steampunk and classic horror. Standing next to him is Sterling in his usual dress pants and polo shirt.

"Sullivan!" Amelia calls out, waving. He spots us and breaks into a wide grin as we walk over.

"Sinclair. Amelia. You made it!" The asshole smirks at me before leaning over to pat my wife’s belly. “How’s my little nephew doing tonight?”

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