Page 5

Five years later

Claire

The aroma of simmering marinara sauce and bubbling mozzarella fills the kitchen as I expertly twirl pizza dough, flour dusting my hands and apron. Jax stands beside me, chopping fresh basil and oregano from the herb garden just outside. His muscular arms flex with each slice of the knife, a sight I never tire of even after five years of marriage.

"Mommy, mommy! Look what I drew!" Our four-year-old twins, Liam and Noah, come barreling into the kitchen, crayon masterpieces flapping in their little hands. Their exuberant footsteps patter across the tile, narrowly avoiding Jax as he sidesteps them with the ease of a seasoned dad-chef.

"Those look amazing, my little Picassos!" I exclaim, setting the dough aside to admire their colorful scribbles of our family. "Why don't you go put those on the fridge while Daddy and I finish making pizza?"

As they scamper off, Jax slides behind me, arms encircling my waist, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I don't know how you do it all," he murmurs, admiration lacing his husky voice. "Keeping up with the kids, the blog, the brand deals. You're Super Mom."

I lean back into his solid warmth, savoring his closeness amidst the beautiful chaos of our life. The meteoric rise of our cooking brand still feels surreal at times—the successful blog, Jax's acclaimed restaurant at the inn, the cookbook deals and TV appearances. But this, right here, is what grounds me. Our love, our family, creating something together in the heart of our home.

"I couldn't do any of it without my partner in everything," I reply, turning in his arms to press a soft kiss to his lips, tasting the faint remnants of the wine he used for the sauce. "Especially on days like today."

Jax's hands settle on my hips as he grins down at me, eyes crinkling with mirth. "Well, running a restaurant does come with a few perks. Like an endless supply of gourmet pizza ingredients for family dinner night."

Laughter bubbles up my throat, mingling with the kids' gleeful shrieks from the living room and the mouthwatering scent of browning crust in the oven. This beautiful life we've built, brick by brick, is more than I could have imagined all those years ago when a charming innkeeper first swept me off my feet.

We enjoy dinner and a children’s movie as a family, and my heart swells at the gently way Jax plays with our sons, the joy evident in his eyes.

The boys are still playing, though it’s evident they’re getting sleepy as I clean up in the kitchen with Jax has a cooking competition with the boys with their play kitchen and food.

"Bedtime!" I finally call out, gently separating from Jax's embrace as our rambunctious twins reluctantly bid farewell to their daddy-son cooking competition. The twinkle in their eyes mirrors their father's, and I can't help but smile at the thought of the delicious chaos tomorrow will bring.

As I tuck them in, I'm struck by the warmth in my chest, the knowledge that our crazy, messy, food-fueled life is exactly what my heart has always yearned for. And as I close the door to their room, I can't help but linger, my senses filled with the aroma of love, laughter, and the promise of more to come.

Back in the kitchen, Jax is busy arranging putting away the dishes. He turns as he senses my presence, his eyes raking over me with a heat that hasn't dulled in the slightest. “Clean-up is almost finished.” His hungry gaze rakes over me, and I shiver.

Five years, and the spark between us hasn’t dulled in the slightest. In fact, it’s only grown stronger.

I can't help but grin, feeling a shiver of anticipation traipsing down my spine. "And what do you have in mind for dessert, Chef Donovan?" I ask, adopting a playful lilt to my voice.

He quirks an eyebrow, a slow, sexy smirk curving his lips. "Well, Mrs. Donovan, I was thinking of a little stuffing." His eyes darken, and the air between us crackles with the same electricity I've felt since the moment we met.

Without another word, I step into his arms, my body molding to his as if we've been doing this dance for lifetimes. His hands slide down my hips, fingers dancing along the curve of my thighs, sending goosebumps prickling along my skin. I gasp, his name catching in my throat as his lips brush against my neck, then down, trailing a trail of fire that leaves me breathless.

"Jax," I moan, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. He chuckles, his hand finding my thigh, lifting me effortlessly onto the marble countertop.

His hand brushes my sex, and his breath hitches at the wetness he finds.

"Eager, are we?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble that settles in the pit of my stomach. I blush, but I can't find it in me to deny the truth. His fingers graze my cheek , tucking a stray curl behind my ear. "Lucky for you, I've got something special in mind for my very naughty wife," he whispers, his voice low and sultry.

I shudder as he slowly unbuttons my blouse, his fingers grazing the swell of my breasts. The cool marble countertop contrasts deliciously with the heat of Jax's body pressing against mine.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs reverently, eyes drinking me in like a man parched. "I'll never get enough of you, Claire."

His mouth claims mine in a searing kiss, tongues tangling, breath mingling. I moan into him, fingers raking through his thick hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, hips rocking into me, his hardness straining against his jeans.

With deft fingers, Jax unclasps my bra, freeing my aching breasts. He lavishes them with attention, sucking one pebbled nipple into the wet heat of his mouth while his hand kneads the other. Pleasure zings through me, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Jax, please," I whimper, writhing beneath his touch, desperate for more.

He smirks against my skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the valley of my breasts, over the quivering plane of my stomach. Hooking his fingers in my waistband, he drags my leggings and lace panties down my legs in one smooth motion.

I'm bared before him, glistening and wanting. His heated gaze rakes over me possessively.

"Mine," he growls. "All mine."

Then his head dips between my thighs and I'm lost. His tongue traces my slick folds, circling my clit, stoking the flames higher. My head falls back, a cry torn from my throat as two fingers sink deep inside me, curling just right.

"You taste divine," Jax rasps, lapping and sucking, driving me to the brink. "Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you."

With a final flick of his tongue, I shatter, muscles clenching rhythmically around his fingers as ecstasy crashes over me in waves. He works me through it, prolonging the bliss, until I'm boneless and sated.

Jax kisses his way back up my body, pausing to lavish my breasts again. I fumble with his belt, freeing his impressive length, stroking him root to tip. He hisses, hips bucking into my touch.

"I need to be inside you," he pants, lining himself up. With a smooth thrust, he sheathes himself to the hilt, stretching and filling me so perfectly. We both groan at the exquisite sensation.

He sets a deep, rolling rhythm, grinding against my clit with every stroke. I wrap my legs high around his waist, fingernails digging into his back, urging him deeper. Our bodies move as one, slick with sweat, the air thick with our mingled moans and sighs.

"God, Claire," Jax grunts, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chases his release. "You feel incredible. So tight, so perfect."

I clench around him purposefully and he swears, hips snapping forward harder. The coil in my core winds tighter, pleasure sparking through my veins like electricity. I'm so close, teetering on the knife's edge.

"Jax, I'm going to...I need..." I babble incoherently, lost to the intensity of the sensations consuming me.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, one hand snaking between us to rub firm circles over my swollen nub. "Let go for me. I've got you."

His words are my undoing. I come undone with a silent scream, my walls fluttering wildly around his plunging length. Jax follows me over with a hoarse shout of my name, spilling deep inside me as he finds his own release.

We cling to each other as the aftershocks fade, hearts pounding, chests heaving. Jax peppers tender kisses across my face, brushing damp tendrils of hair from my forehead.

"I love you," he murmurs, and the pure adoration shining in his eyes steals my breath. "More than anything."

"I love you too," I whisper back fiercely, cupping his face in my hands. "Forever and always."

He smiles softly, nuzzling into my touch. Carefully, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to our bedroom. We make love twice more, slow and sweet, reaffirming our devotion with every caress, every breathless sigh.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, limbs entwined, basking in the afterglow. As I drift off to sleep, secure in Jax's embrace, I'm filled with a bone-deep contentment.

This is where I belong. This is my happily ever after. And I wouldn't trade a single moment of our messy, beautiful, food-filled life together for anything in the world.

Want a free book from Emma Bray? Go to www.authoremmabray.com .

Keep reading for an excerpt from Rocky Christmas .

Rocky

I take a sip of my club soda as I watch the boxing match on the big screen.

While I’d love to have a beer, that's not what I'm here for. When I'm scheduled to fight in a match, I go through a grueling process of abstinence. I watch my diet. No processed or refined foods. Only healthy, whole foods. No alcohol. No fucking—not that there's been any fucking for me for years. I have two hands to sate my needs with, but I even abstain from self-gratification before a match.

My trainers insist that a strict diet with no drugs of any kind, including alcohol, and no sex helps build up the testosterone needed to really channel a good fight. I don't know how much I believe all that shit, but I do know I want to make sure my body is a well-honed machine when fight time comes around, so I follow their advice.

I'm not much for heavy drink anyway. I prefer to keep a clear head about myself, but a good beer is hard to beat every now and then. After this match, I'll have me one, I silently promise myself as I take another swig of the soda.

“Ooh, that's gotta hurt,” the guy to my right says, his eyes glued to the screen. I look back up at the TV as Riker delivers a right hook to his opponent.

I grunt in agreement. My brother sure knows his stuff when it comes to boxing.

I'm glad I was able to talk him into taking it up instead of watching him waste away up on the top of that mountain he lives on. He's only in his early thirties—like me—but he went into the military when we were younger—unlike me. He's never told me what happened over there. All I know is that he came back a different man. He won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to reporters. Hell, he won’t talk to anyone.

Before I turned him on to boxing, he used to just sit up in his house secluded away from everyone, brooding and doing fuck who knows what.

He’s got a lot of rage in him. Anyone can tell that by watching him box. You don't box the way he does without having something to work out. At least he has an outlet to channel his frustration into.

I like a good boxing match too, but my strengths lie in MMA. I like the variety. I like the combativeness of it, and while I don’t have the aggression and internal turmoil my brother does, I have a passion for the sport.

Riker KO’s his opponent a minute later, and pride fills my chest for my brother. The ref holds Riker’s hand up, declaring him the champion of the match. My brother accepts the applause, but he doesn’t look jubilant like most victors of a fight do. He’s just as stoic as usual, with the same grim, no-nonsense expression he’s worn since he came back from overseas.

I plop down some money on the bar and stand. Now that the match is over, I can go home and rest up for my own match.

I’m mentally calculating the time difference between my brother and me so that I can figure out when to give him a call to congratulate him on his latest win when I turn around and stop dead in my tracks.

My eyes light on a mass of fiery red hair that tumbles down a slender back. Those red locks almost touch the top of the woman’s ass, and I stare at them mesmerized. The locks are full and wild, curling out every which way. I've never been the kind of guy who gets off on hair, but this woman's hair is fucking beautiful. My fingers twitch at my sides. I have the sudden urge to spear my hands into that hair and see if it feels as soft and silky as it looks.

The curls bounce as the girl tips her head back and laughs before she hops off the barstool beside her grinning friend, a brunette who I hardly notice out of the corner of my eyes because my gaze is pinned on the pretty little redhead.

She can't be much more than five feet tall, and when she looks in my direction, my chest tightens like I've been punched in the gut when I look into the prettiest pair of green eyes I've ever seen. They're big and innocent-looking and framed by thick, dark lashes.

I know fucking is on my list of prohibited activities, but I'd break every rule in the book for a chance to get my dick wet by this pretty little redhead, but it's not even about that. I'm not just looking at her in lust, though I'd be lying if I said I'm not practically salivating at the thought of burying myself inside what I already know is going to be the tightest little pussy in the world.

No, it's more than that. I feel something I've never felt before surge inside me when I look at her. I don't just want to stick my dick inside her. I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her close to me forever. I want to crawl inside her head and learn everything there is to know about her.

I blink when I realize I would be happy just to talk to her. I want to get to know her. There's something about her.

I know that if I ever did get inside her, there's no way I'd ever be able to let her go.

My head should be in the game. I should be mentally prepping myself for my fight tomorrow. A lot of big players have bet money on me. I know that. I don't want to let them down. I don't want to let myself down.

But right now, the only thing I can think about is the pretty little redhead across the bar and finding out what her name is.

I take another sip of my club soda before I plop it back down on the bar. I grimace. Fuck, I wish that was a beer.

I might can abstain from alcohol for the sake of the match, but there's no way I'm going to leave this bar without finding out who this tiny angel is.

Holly

Cara's eyes widen as they focus on something behind me.

My laugh dies off, and I turn, my own eyes widening when I see what she sees.

The biggest, burliest man I've ever seen in my entire life is stalking over toward us. A thick, dark brown beard adorns the bottom half of his face. His shirt is molded to the ridges of muscles straining against his T-shirt like it's all the fabric can do to contain all that manliness.

Even though it's winter in Denver, this man is wearing short sleeves like he laughs in the face of the cold weather. Tats decorate his arms.

He’s a powerhouse of masculinity.

Good lord, what does this man do? Weight-lift cars?

All that muscle must be more than enough to protect him against winter’s chill, but I'm wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater. I’m also wearing a big, fluffy coat too. I stay cold all the time, but this man…something tells me that his big body is like a furnace.

I'm proved correct when he finally stops right in front of me—so close to me that there's scarcely an inch left between our bodies. I tip my head up to look at the giant towering over me. I'm barely five foot two, so I'm short even compared to the average person, but this guy is way above average. He has to be well over six feet tall, making me appear even teenier and tinier than usual.

His eyes are a deep brown, like the finest chocolate.

They bore down into me in a way that sends all the blood rushing to my cheeks.

His eyes have taken mine captive. I couldn't look away from them if I tried.

I vaguely register Cara murmuring something, but I can’t make out what she’s saying over the roaring in my ears. It’s like this man has caused everything around me to dim.

The man’s eyes rove over my face as if he's trying to commit all of it to memory before one of his giant hands reach out to gently touch my hair.

His lips part slightly, and my breath hitches.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” His voice is like a big rumble of thunder, and it sends little shock waves rolling through me.

“Holly.” I don't even contemplate not answering him because I'm suddenly dying to know who he is too.

I don't even have to prompt him for his own name.

“Holly,” he tastes my name on his lips and nods his head in approval.

My blush deepens, pleasure unfurling deep in my belly at the look of approval on his face.

“I'm Rocky,” that deep voice rumbles again.

“Rocky,” I repeat his name like he did mine, and his eyes close for a moment as if he’s savoring the sound of it.

“Say it again,” he rumbles.

My cheeks flame even brighter, but I give him what he wants.

“Rocky.”

A shudder goes through his big frame. “I’ve never liked the sound of my name so much,” he growls before he pins me in his intense gaze again.

He takes a deep breath before he says, his eyes never leaving mine, “I'm not good with subterfuge, Holly. I'm not one of those guys who's going to dance around what he wants and ease into it. I see what I want, and I go after ut.”

My heart beats against my ribcage as the intensity in his eyes deepens.

“When I saw you across the room just now…” He shakes his big head before he continues. “I don't know what happened, but fuck, I want you.”

My breath catches.

He rushes on, “I know I'm coming on strong, and I don't want to freak you out, but I don't see any point in beating around the bush. I’m going to make you mine.”

The way he says mine comes out as a growl, and my heart flutters at the possessive way he's looking at me—like I already belong to him.

This is crazy. I don't know anything about this guy, and I’ve never wanted to belong to someone before. A monologue like this coming from any other man would undoubtedly infuriate me. It would come off as cocky and arrogant, but it doesn’t come off that way with this man.

I get the sense that this isn’t just some line he uses, that he’s speaking from his soul.

And I'm loving the sound of him making me his .

It calls to me on a primal level. Even though he's the biggest, scariest-looking man I've ever seen, I also somehow feel completely safe in his presence—like nothing could ever hurt me.

When I don't speak, he runs a hand through his hair, a look of regret and self-loathing on his face.

“Fuck, I've just scared the shit out of you.”

Frustration pours off him. He looks like he wishes he could beat himself up.

I instinctively want to soothe him. I lay a hand on his big arm, my fingers trembling atop his muscles.

He instantly stills, his eyes flicking up to mine and his chest heaving up and down at my touch. His nostrils flare, but I keep my hand on his arm. I feel like I’m calming a big beast. It both humbles me and empowers me at the same time. Seeing what I do to him almost makes me dizzy.

“You haven’t scared me.” I shake my head. “It’s just…no one has ever said these things to me before.”

He visibly relaxes before he covers my hand with his own. “Let me get to know you.” His voice is gruff, and it scrapes over me like sandpaper. “We can go as slow as you want. I just want to spend some time with you, get to know you.”

He fingers my hair again, a look of wonder in his eyes. “You're the most beautiful little thing I've ever seen,” he murmurs.

My heart races again. He's looking at me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen. No one has ever looked at me this way before.

As the senator's daughter, I haven’t dated much. I’ve always been so cautious. I’ve always had to be careful of who I'm seeing with so it doesn't look bad on my father or his career. I've never dated anyone who wasn't vetted and approved by him. My whole life has been planned out around my dad's career.

I’ve been complacent. I've never done anything just for me in all of my twenty-one years.

As Rocky's eyes bore down into mine, I realize that I'm tired of living that way. I want to do something for me.

I want Rocky. He’s going to be that something just for me.

I’m tired of only dating the guys my dad sets me up with because their connections will further his career. I want to be with someone who wants me just for me and not what a connection with my father can do for them.

Rocky doesn’t have a clue who I am. That much is obvious.

And that's why I'm not going to tell him my last name. I don't want to ruin this before it ever even begins.

My pulse races as I do the first thing I’ve ever done just for myself. “I want to get to know you, too.”