Dirty Sexy Alphas (Twenty Book Box Set) - Hannah Ford Page 0,195

cocky, half sensitive, and I remembered the way he was the day I first met him, how he’d made me dance for him, how I had no idea he’d be the man I’d fall in love with and yet there had been something there, too, something simmering beneath the surface.

I’d been taken and attracted to him even then. But I couldn’t have ever dreamed of being as happy as I was in this moment.

“Hi,” he murmured now and he took my cheek in his hand, ran his finger over my cheekbone. “You are so beautiful, Olivia.”

I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. I had never felt so happy, had never imagined that a love like this could exist in the world, much less believe that a love like this could exist for me.

I let my eyes wander over his face in the soft light of the room, the curve of his brow, his sharp chin, his cheekbones. There was a tiny scar below his eye now from the fight he’d gotten into with his uncle, and I traced it with my finger.

“Are you happy?” I whispered.

“I’m so happy,” he said. “I cannot wait to marry you.”

My eyes welled with tears. “I can’t wait to marry you, either.”

“I don’t need anything but you,” he said and he pulled me close so that two of us were skin to skin, making me feel safe and protected and taken care of.

“Me neither.”

“Actually, there is one more thing I need,” he said, and I pulled back and looked at him as he grinned and slid his hand down over my hip bone and grazed my stomach. Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “A baby.”

I smiled as he kissed me.

I had everything I’d ever wanted.

Love.

Family.

Security.

I’d never thought it was possible, but it was.

And as I drifted off to sleep, for the first time ever in my life, I was right where I was supposed to be.

THE END OF THE OBSESSED WITH HIM SERIES

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PANTY DROPPER

By Paige North

Chapter 1

I was looking into the eyes of The Panty Dropper.

I squirmed a bit in my seat in the conference room and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. My first day on the job and we were talking about this specimen of a man, who I only knew by one name: The Panty Dropper.

All five women who were at the meeting, notepads and pens out and ready to work, oohed and gushed over the photos being passed around. They all looked so smart and chic, dressed in stylish tops and perfectly-fitted dresses, accessorized and styled to the max—all to go to work. I’d put in half the effort, even though it was my first day on the job.

I guess when I thought of a writer I saw someone in yoga pants and a topknot. I’d done a little better than that—black, loose pants and a button down with flats. I thought I couldn’t go wrong, but looking around the table, I knew I was out of my league.

Even the view of the Hollywood sign off in the smoggy distance couldn’t hide the fact that I was in over my head. After applying to every magazine, newspaper, journal and news site I could find, it had been Crush, and only Crush, who agreed to hire me.

Turns out employers want editors with experience and writers with bylines, but how could I get the experience if no one would hire me? Luckily Crush took a chance on me and I was grateful for the work—even if I didn’t read the magazine—and anxious to get my first assignment. I wanted to make a good impression. I just didn’t think that at my first meeting on my first day, we’d be talking about someone named The Panty Dropper, whose chiseled face was scattered across the conference table in more than a dozen photographs, from paparazzi shots to red carpet events.

“Look at her, she’s blushing,” said one of the girls, watching me with a smirk.

“I bet they don’t have men like that back in Maine, do they?” asked the girl sitting next to her, and the two laughed.

“No, I bet Maine men are outstanding,” said the first. “I bet they’re all chopping wood in red flannel shirts, muscles bulging…”

“I think I see some bulge in this picture,” said the girl next to me, leaning over to take