His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,76
rhythm.
His wife.
He laughed, catching the rumble low in his chest in effort to avoid waking Taylor. She was exhausted, the past month catching up with her and spiraling her into a deep sleep not long after sinking to the bed in a boneless, sated heap of sexual satisfaction. He’d thought that nothing could be better than the bliss of burying himself inside Taylor and watching her shatter with pleasure, but he was wrong. Knowing she was his—until parted by death—added an astonishing blessing to the love they shared. Sappy? Maybe a little, but you couldn’t blame a happy man who knew just how good he had it.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor nuzzled into his chest, her mumbled words tickling his skin.
He wove a hand through her hair, the other coasting across the silky skin of her back, following the line of her spine until it reached the spot of her tattoo. Their initials, woven together in the form of a loose heart, matched the smaller one inked onto the inside of his left wrist. Taylor had been surprised when he suggested them, but was completely on board when he explained that nothing said forever like matching ink.
“Nothing’s funny. I’m just happy,” he said, pressing a kiss against her hair.
“Ummm…me too.” She stretched, the soft and silky bits rubbing against the parts of him that swelled in response. Her hazel eyes, exposed by a slow, sleepy blink, caught his and mesmerized him. “Sorry I fell asleep. How long was I out?”
“Not long. You needed to catch a power nap. You’ve been going nonstop for the past month. The wedding, starting the spa business with Mom, and helping supervise the house construction. You’ve been amazing.” He trailed his hand lower, cupping her tight little ass and giving it a little squeeze that prompted the wiggle he was looking for. “Besides, you’re on your honeymoon and all you need to do is eat, sleep, and have sex with your husband.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. I read it in one of those bride magazines your mom left lying around the house. In fact, I think it actually said that having sex with your husband was first on the list.”
She kissed his chest, her lips trailing along his skin in a shiver-inducing pattern. “I think I can support that agenda.” Taylor mouthed her way over to his nipple, giving a quick bite before sitting up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Right after I get something to drink. Did I see a bottle of champagne?”
“Over there.” Lucky gestured toward the armchair placed next the window. A tray was there, a bucket of champagne and a domed silver platter covering the surface, compliments of Sheriff Burke and Mrs. Burke. He scooted up in the bed, pushing pillows behind him to watch his wife, naked and stunning against the multicolored backdrop of the city below.
“It was so sweet of the Burkes to send this to us.” She lifted the dome and did a little shimmy when she spied what was underneath. “Yum. Strawberries.” Taylor glanced over her bare shoulder, the wide grin splitting her face into equal parts girlish joy and invitation to sin. If he didn’t love her already, that one look would have made him fall. “Do you think they had a good time?”
“Hell, yeah they did. Especially Burke.” Lucky scrubbed a hand over his face as he remembered the drama that had unfolded just after the rehearsal dinner the night before. One of the high rollers in the casino had turned out to be none other than the elusive Sarah Morgan, and Burke had tackled her to the ground when she tried to beat feet out the door. She could have gone anywhere and she chose to go to Vegas—crazy. “It was kind of fun to see him sprawled on top of a woman for once.”
“I think everyone was having a good time,” Taylor said on a laugh.
“Especially Teague.” Lucky hadn’t seen Teague as hammered as he was tonight in a long time. The man had been under a ton of stress the last few months and was apparently auditioning for the position of poster boy for Vegas tourism. At the rate he was drinking he wouldn’t have to worry about Vegas rules, because he wouldn’t remember it anyway.
“No kidding. You think he’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, Jack and Beck have got him. He’ll be fine.”
Taylor popped the cork, laughter spilling out of her like the bubbles cascading out of the bottle. She poured two glasses, grabbed the plate of fruit and cheese from the tray, and scooted back onto the bed, laying the food out before them in an impromptu picnic.
Lucky toasted as they clinked their glasses together. “To my wife. I love you, Mrs. Landon.”
“I love you, Farmer Landon.”
Taylor leaned in and gave him a wet champagne-flavored kiss that he chased with his mouth as she tried to break it off. Laughing and breathless, Taylor placed her glass on the side table and broke off a bunch of grapes, alternately feeding one to Lucky and then to herself.
Lucky had never been a dreamer—he was a planner, a man who executed tasks, not one to build dreams in the sky. But if he had, then this evening would be one of them. To spend the first night of their married lives laughing and enjoying the pure, simple joy of just being together.
“So”—Taylor tossed him a sly look, her tone doing nothing to disguise the mischief so clearly on her mind—“you want to go down to the casino? See if you can live up to your nickname?”
Lucky leaned in close, nuzzling her neck, soft tender kisses trailing over her skin, the taste of Taylor a spice on his tongue and a sizzle down his spine. He nipped her earlobe, kissing away the sting.
“Baby, I already hit the jackpot. I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Patrick, my husband, who supports my love of writing romance and my dreams. To Rory and Fiona — your smiles make every day a joy.
To my editor, Alethea, thank you for answering all my crazy questions and suggestions with enthusiasm. This is only the beginning. You’re the best!
To Emmie Dark, Avery Flynn, and Kimberly Kincaid — the best critique partners a girl could ask for. I am so humbled to be part of your journey as well.
Special thanks to Michele Sharp for naming “Sissy’s Southern Style.” MBC rules!
And, to those fellow authors whom I’ve learned to lean on and count as friends over this journey—Robyn Carr, Carly Phillips, Hank Edwards—thanks for being a listening ear and a cheering section. And thanks for writing the books that keep me at the keyboard!
About the Author
Robin Covington, who the New York Times best-selling authors Robyn Carr and Carly Phillips said was their new “auto-buy author,” writes sizzling hot contemporary and paranormal romance. A Night of Southern Comfort, her best-selling debut, was nominated by RT Book Reviews for the 2012 Best Contemporary Romance from an Indie Press for bringing a “fresh, modern feel to the genre while still sticking to the things that get our adrenaline pumping—sex and danger.” When she’s not exploring the theme of fooling around and falling in love, she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello.
Robin is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Washington Romance Writers, a faculty member at Romance University, a member of the Waterworld Mermaids, a Goddess at The Naked Hero, and a contributor to the Happy Ever After blog at USA Today. You can find Robin on her website, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter (@RobinCovington).
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments