Page 124 of Kismet

Spring, Two Years Later

“Ladies and gentlemen, American Airlines welcomes you to Beaumont, Texas…”

Glancing over at Stone, I ask, “What time do we meet the guys?”

“In about an hour,” he confirms. “We probably have enough time to grab a bite to eat before then.”

Stone surprised me with a trip to New Orleans. I’ve been wanting to go to explore all the culture there, hoping it inspires a story. I publishedKismetthe winter after my Europe trip, and since then have published another one, and have been trying to work on a third. So, this trip may be what gets my creative juices flowing.

With the help of Julian, Stone was able to reach out to the Beaumont chapter of Julian’s motorcycle club and borrow a bike for the weekend so we can ride to New Orleans. Getting to ride on the back of Stone’s motorcycle has easily become one of my favorite things to do over the last few years, but riding bitch from Lubbock all the way to New Orleans—which is at least a twelve-hour drive—did not sound like my idea of fun.

After deboarding the plane and grabbing some food at the airport, we catch an Uber to the clubhouse, getting there just before four in the afternoon. Just like the Lubbock chapter, all the guys are incredibly nice and welcoming. The bike we’re borrowing is a gorgeous, shimmery navy-blue Harley Davidson, and after we get our helmets on, we’re on our way.

The weather’s great. With it being only April, the sun’s shining but it isn’t too hot yet. Being on the open road feels amazing. Stone’s back is flush with my chest as I fist the sides of his leather vest. His scent surrounds me, even with the wind beating down on us, and my pulse races. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to ride on the back of a bike with him and not get all swoony.

Letting go of his leathers, I wrap an arm around him, and I can’t help my grin when he lets go of one of the handlebars to hold on to my hand. His touch sends electric waves through my arm, lighting fire to my blood.

Bringing my mouth near his ear, I flick the lobe with my tongue. “I fucking love you, you know that?” I yell over the sound of the wind and the roaring engine.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road as a smile forms on his face. “I fucking love you too, Bambi.”

All these years later, and that pet name still stirs something fierce in me like it did that very first time in college.

Sliding my hand down until I’m cupping him over his jeans, my cock thickens at finding him already half-hard. I get a couple of firm squeezes in before he grabs my hand, placing it back on his torso.

“Behave,” he growls, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, sir,” I say, knowing it drives him wild when I call him that.

About halfway into the drive, I think somewhere near Lafayette, Stone pulls off into some secluded park area. The sun is starting to set, the sky a calming symphony of reds and oranges. It’s stunning.

We get off the bike, and Stone ushers us down a small trail. I can’t help but notice his jerky movements and the slight shake of his hand as he holds mine.

“You okay?” I ask him.

He glances over his shoulder, meeting my gaze for half a second before he averts his eyes. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You just seem a bit jumpy. What are we doing here, anyway?”

Continuing to look straight ahead, he says, “Julian told me about this spot. It’s apparently gorgeous at sunset. Thought it would be a cool place to get some pictures.”

My chest warms at the sincerity in his tone. The last two years have been nothing short of a dream. In no way am I saying we never fight or have our disagreements, because we do, but from the moment he brought me to house he built while I was in Europe, I knew I was home. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be, where I was destined to be.

We wind up at a spot at the end of the trail that overlooks the water. With the sunset hues hitting the water, it’s breathtaking. There’s a wooden railing all along the edge, probably to keep people from falling in. It’s about a ten-foot drop from here.

Stone turns, facing me, as he rakes his fingers through his thick, dark hair—which is completely disheveled from the helmet. He’s somehow still able to look mouthwateringly sexy, unsurprisingly. But I think I’ll always look at him and think he’s the most beautiful man that’s ever walked the earth. He could be waist deep in cow manure, sweating like a pig, and I’d still want to rip all his clothes off and jump his bones.

“Do you remember what I said about the love my parents had for one another?” he asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

I nod. “You said it was unwavering, and the type of love the greats wrote about.”

My heart’s suddenly hammering inside my chest as he grabs my hand, using his other to cup the back of my neck.

“For many, many years, I believed I wasn’t capable of a love like that. That I’d never get the deep, unparalleled type of love I grew up watching. And that was a tough pill to swallow. I spent years unhappy, but not really knowing I was… until I met you.” His voice cracks at the end, a pressure building behind my eyes as he continues.

“The way we started was unconventional at best, but I think from even the very first time I saw you, my heart knew. Every single part of you compliments who I am, and after I left Washington, I was sure I’d never get that again.”

“Stone…” My voice is barely above a whisper, and my throat feels tight.

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