Epilogue
ANYA
Five Years Later
“I’m a huge fan,” the girl standing in front of me says. “Huge, huge fan. It’s just that... Everything you write is so relatable. I can see myself in the heroines’ shoes.” She lets out an awkward chuckle. “I mean, minus the hot man ready to sweep me off my feet.”
I finish signing my name on her book and close it, looking up at her. “Don’t worry about that, Alyssa. Love is waiting for you at every corner. You just have to see it.”
She picks her book up in slow motion, her round eyes on me.
Her jaw goes slack as she brings the book to her chest, clinging to it.
“Oh, my God,” she mouths, then blinks several times.
“Thank you so much, Anya.” And she whirls around and strides to a friend of hers who had been waiting.
“She remembered my name!” she squeals, then hugs her friend.
I can’t help but laugh. Of course I remember. She had just told me her name so I would write it in the book. I look up at the next person in line, but my agent sweeps in, raising her arms in a pacifying gesture.
“Anya Taylor will take ten, and we’ll be back for more.” And she turns to me, motioning for me to leave the table. I smile at the readers who will wait for me to come back, then sneak out of my spot to a small room the bookstore separated for me. My agent follows me inside, a hand on my back.
“You know, I could have gone a bit more,” I tell her.
“You said that last time and your wrist swelled so bad you had to take painkillers for a week,” she says with a grin. “Let’s avoid that. You have visitors. Use this time to stretch that wrist.” She winks and leaves me.
I’m left in silent wonder for a moment. Even after I won the contest and the publishing deal.
After it became an instant bestseller. After the New York Times list and the interviews and more books coming out.
It’s still weird to think there are people out there who enjoy reading what I write. Amazing, but weird.
The door opens and I turn to see Mom and Dad walking in. A bodyguard follows them inside and closes the door behind him. That’s weirder than my success. The threats were dealt with, but I guess Dad got so scared of them that he never let the bodyguard go.
Well, I can’t judge him. I never let my bodyguard go either.
“Oh, sweetie!” Mom throws her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. “There are so many people out there! And there are even reporters. We took a couple of pictures and let them know how proud of you we are.”
“Thanks, Mom. I hope they didn’t bother you.”
“Not at all! I would never mind telling them how amazing my daughter is.”
“How is the signing going?” Dad asks, pointing at my wrist. “Are you stretching? Remember to stretch. You don’t want a serious injury that will keep you from writing.”
I smile at them and do as he bids, stretching my wrists and my arms as the two update me on their lives. Our relationship improved so much. I’m so glad they ended up embracing my career choice. The fact that I make so much money and my face is often seen in magazines is a huge plus.
“Where is Bash?” Mom asks, looking around us as if a man the size of Bash could hide.
I open my mouth to reply, but a knock on the door interrupts me. The bodyguard checks out the newcomer and lets Bash in. And he’s not alone.
“Ah, who is this pretty girl?” Mom croons, reaching out to pick up my daughter from Bash’s arms. Bash lets her and he turns to greet my father.
“Did you see the line outside?” Dad asks my husband.
“I did. And it’s only growing, isn’t it, love?
” he asks me, taking my side and draping an arm around my waist. The heat of his body against mine is instantly soothing.
My muscles relax, and my humor improves.
I smile up at him, wordlessly asking for a kiss.
He leans and presses his lips to mine. Just a peck.
We’re in front of my parents, after all.
“Here,” he says against my lips, handing me a lunch box.
I accept it with a smile. “You think of everything.”
“Can’t let my wife go hungry.”
And when I look up, his eyes are burning with desire. He knows very well I will always be hungry for him. This love, this desire between us, is a feeling that will never go cold.
“We’ll take her on a walk,” Dad says, ever the politician, quick to notice how the air changed. He nods in our direction and brushes a hand down my mother’s back, guiding her out of the room. I wave goodbye at my daughter and the bodyguard follows, closing the door with a final thud.
Bash’s hand strokes down my hip to cradle my ass. His huge fingers knead at my bottom, and he flexes his arm, making me slam against his body. Fingers burying into my hair, he tugs my face up.
“How long do you have?” he asks, his voice already gruff with lust.
“Five.”
“Mm, not ideal,” he says, licking his lips as he eyes me. “But I can work with it. All I have to do is put you up on the desk and eat your pretty little pussy while you have lunch.”
I scoff. “You think I can concentrate on lunch while you suck me?”
“You’ll have to,” he says, hauling me up on the desk behind me. He takes one step away, locks the door, then walks between my knees. “You have five minutes, love. Let’s make it count.” And he drops to his knees.
The intensity of how much he wants me is clear in how good he makes me feel. I’m still his priority so many years after we met. And every time his lips touch me, I know I’m branded. Forever branded by him.
THE END OF BOOK 7