Page 65 of Owned In Misty Mountain

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Later, we walk into town for the library picnic.

Shanay’s on my arm.

Our girl’s skipping ahead, holding a book and threatening to read it aloud to the ducks.

Everyone stops to smile at her. Comment on how big she’s getting. Ask if we’re having more.

I just growl and say, “Working on it.”

One guy says, “Damn, Costa. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Shanay laughs.

I don’t.

But I do glance at the gazebo and picture burying a body under it.

Just for fun.

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I tug her away from the crowd for a minute.

Slide my arm around her waist, press my mouth to her ear.

“You know I still dream about the first time I saw you in that damn library.”

She laughs. “You mean when I dropped a book on my foot?”

“You were so fuckin’ beautiful I forgot what the roof looked like.”

She leans into me, warm and soft, eyes sparkling.

“You think she needs a little brother?” I murmur.

She arches a brow. “You volunteering?”

I don’t answer.

I just pull her behind the stacks and kiss her like I’ll never stop.

Because I won’t.

Not ever.

Twenty Eight

Bonus Epilogue

Shanay

He starts with his mouth.

Because of course he does.

I’m pinned to the mattress, legs spread, thighs shaking, and my husband—my possessive, obsessed, mountain man husband—is between them like he’s starving.

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