has been mutually beneficial.” I hum and tap my lips.
Landon plants a kiss on the spot, nibbling on my fingertip. “And I expect you to continue providing it.”
“Well, you’ll have to put in some extra effort this evening.” I motion to the excessive volume surrounding my lower half while twisting back and forth, swishing the numerous layers against the floor.
He lifts a handful of lace and silk at my hip. “I’ll just bury myself underneath.”
I widen my legs, testing the width, and glance down. “That could probably work.”
With a growl, he yanks me closer. “Ravishing as always.”
“You’re responsible for making me a fiend.” I bump our noses together, teasing his mouth with mine.
He takes the bait, sealing us in a chaste peck. “Does this mean you like me?”
“Maybe a little bit.” I hold up a pinch between two fingers.
“Well, Mrs. Winters, I better improve my odds.”
“There’s no rush when we have eternity.”
“Consider me an overachiever. Now,” he slips my palm into his, “I have to christen the dancefloor with my wife.”
As Landon spins me around in a cyclone of tulle and pattering heartbeats, our fairytale really sinks in. This man—my once sworn enemy and cofounder of The Haters Club—gave me his last name as my own. For keeps.
**FOR EBOOK ONLY**
Want more of Landon and Vannah? I have an additional epilogue plus a deleted scene that you can read for free. Grab them HERE! (insert link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3g8b4cyet6
There’s a short story—I’m Calling Dibs—about one of Vannah’s college friends that’s available to read for free HERE! (insert link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/81mf6x10jz)
Remember hearing about Vannah’s friend who moved to the country? Audria and Reeve are from Leave Him Loved, which is available to read now! Enjoy this excerpt from their meet cute.
A laundry list of yummy goodness forms in my mind as I wander to the cart corral. It’s never wise to go shopping on an empty stomach. The meal plans stack up faster than I can track ingredients. I absently tug at a cart sticking out on the end. Nothing happens. That gets my attention, knocking me from my food stupor. I put in more effort but struggle to remove one from the bunch. They’re all wedged together in tight formation. Kudos to the attendant for shoving them in with such precision. I giggle to myself, thinking about Vannah cackling over that last comment.
I shake my head and get back on track. With more force than I probably needed, I yank backward. Not even a single squeak of metal. The damn things don’t budge. I exhale harshly, blowing stray hair off my forehead. Next comes a little mental stretch to prepare for war. I grip the handle and wrench with all my might. There’s barely a wiggle.
On my next futile attempt, I ram an elbow into an unforgiving surface. Since I don’t have a wall behind me, it’s safe to assume someone just got jabbed in the gut. My innocent victim releases a muffled grunt, confirming the worst. I hang my head as a wash of humiliation singes my cheeks. My hopes of making a good impression are dashing off faster than the power-walking supermoms in aisle four.
“Whoa, easy there.”
I spin on my heel at the gritty timbre, feeling like a spooked horse. Is he trying to soothe me? Make sure I don’t trigger a stampede? Those thoughts vanish as I take my first decent glance at the man.
When I picture a hunk of farm-raised hotness, Scott Eastwood from The Longest Ride pops into my brain. This guy couldn’t be farther from that stereotype. He’s dark and broody without leather chaps or a Western shirt in sight. Broad shoulders, toned muscles, and a trim waist fill my vision. His white T-shirt is tight enough to hint at a set of defined abs. It’s no wonder my arm is still vibrating from the impact. Without shame, I admit my mouth waters at the idea of tracing those washboard lines. I would gladly volunteer to scale him faster than a hayloft ladder.
The logo on his hat is familiar. Carhartt has a recognizable enough stamp, even to someone detached from country style. I’m pretty sure their apparel is made with heavy-duty labor in mind. Back home, the brand is popular with the hipster crowd. I have a feeling this guy didn’t choose the label to be trendy. Maybe he’s more purposeful about his fashion statements than I’m giving him credit for. He makes a ball cap look ultra-sexy, regardless of his purpose. As if hearing my thoughts, his