Page 45 of Semi-Reckless

Seven, Lucas, Riddick, Nikolai, and Quinn had all welcomed Ted to the team, and Gabriel took him to the infirmary to apologize to Levi for the whole chest melting incident (which had, in fact, been a total accident.) Levi, who was already healing nicely, had accepted his apology gracefully. Well, as gracefully as anyone who was missing half their chest could, Haven supposed.

Now, Haven was beyond ready to take her super-hot husband home (she was still getting used to calling Roan that) and celebrate her victory in a really spicy, sexy way. But before she could grab him, drag him to her house, and pin him to her bed with her new power, her mom and dad stopped her.

Harper gave her a stern look. “I expect you to be at the meeting on Monday, bright and early.” Her gaze shifted to Roan. “You, too.”

Then she turned on her heel and stalked away. Her father gave her a wink before following her mom toward their house.

Roan frowned as he watched them walk away. “Was that…”

Haven laughed. “Yes. That was my mother’s way of welcoming me back to work and admitting she’d been wrong to keep me on the bench for so long.”

“Subtle,” he said with a smirk.

“Yep. She enjoys being wrong just as much as I do.”

He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, I have no problem admitting I was wrong. Look, I can’t promise that I’ll never try to bubble wrap you again, because wanting to protect you is in my DNA. But it’ll never again be because I think you’re reckless.”

She sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Did I ever tell you what a turn on it is to have you tell me I was right and you were wrong?”

He chuckled. “Turned on enough to marry me?”

Record scratch. Haven pulled back to look him in the eye. “I thought we already were married.”

“We are, by demon law. But I kind of forced that on you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking adorably nervous. “So, I just thought you’d…maybe…I don’t know…want to do this the traditional, human way.”

It was not the kind of proposal most people dreamed of. But for a Section 8 princess and the demon of her dreams?

Perfect.

Haven used her power to reach up, wrap itself around his throat (gently but firmly like he’d done to her that night in the bar and again on that other night, the crazy hot one), and yank his mouth down to hers to kiss the crap out of him.

When she finally let him go, they were both breathing hard. She rested her forehead against his and whispered, “I’m going to marry the fuck out of you, Roan Malek.”

“And you’re happy?”

She smiled at him, heart nearly bursting with love. “I can’t even imagine being happier than I am right now.”

His answering smile was all kinds of dirty as he kicked her door open and carried her over the threshold bridal style. “Well, let’s see what we can do to improve that imagination of yours.”

And he did. Many, many times.

EPILOGUE

HARPER

Haven had always been an exceptionally happy child. Her first smile came roughly two minutes after birth. She’d been grinning and laughing and cracking jokes ever since.

And Harper had never seen her daughter look happier than she did right now.

Haven and Roan had opted for an incredibly simple, casual wedding on Section 8 grounds. The bride had worn wildflowers in her loose, flowing hair and a simple A-line, pale pink, tulle gown that she’d dubbed boho hippie chic. The groom wore a charcoal Tom Ford suit Haven had lucked into at a thrift shop in town for half price.

Semi-charmed, indeed. That kind of find qualified her for fully charmed.

The ceremony had taken place outside just after sundown in the Section 8 gardens, by the light of a perfectly starry sky, a nearly full moon, and roughly ten million tea lights that had taken hours to place. The vows were a mix of traditional (minus the whole “obey” thing, because who were they kidding?) and ones the couple wrote themselves, and when all was said and done, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Except maybe Seven. But Harper had never seen Seven cry. For all she knew, her sister-in-law might not even have tear ducts.

But now, as she sat at one of the tables in the elegantly appointed reception tent, stomach full of filet and shrimp, with her aching feet up on a chair (high heels sucked but her Chucks wouldn’t have looked right with her lacy, emerald-green mother-of-the-bride dress), watching the festivities, she couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic.

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