Epilogue #2
"I need to be inside of you." He slides his hand between us and flicks open the button at the waistband of my pants. I shiver.
A second reminder goes off on his phone.
I groan. "You need to get that?"
"I don’t need to do anything except make my wife orgasm."
I half laugh, then shudder when he slips his hand inside my pants to brush my clit.
His phone stops vibrating. Only to start again at once.
His muscles bunch. "Fuck." He presses his forehead into my cleavage.
"Do you need to be somewhere?" My heart thunders in my chest. How he can rev me from zero to a hundred in seconds will never cease to amaze me.
He raises himself enough to reach over and grab his phone from the nightstand. He looks at it, then groans. "Damn, I forgot. I promised to attend the inaugural session of Braids and Booze at The Famous Cock."
"Braids and Booze?"
"It’s being organized by Beckett. He had this idea to get single Dads, and Dads who are interested, to come together every week at the pub. We sink a few pints. Learn how to braid hair and other such stuff that’ll help us with the little girls in our lives."
“Is Beckett a single Dad?”
James eyes light up. “No, but I believe he has a soft spot for a single mother we both know.”
"Single mother?” My eyes round. “Oh, you mean Briar?”
“Exactly. Told him I’d be there for moral support. Besides, braiding hair is a life skill that’ll help me understand my niece better.”
My heart blooms in my chest. My ovaries quiver.
"You’re doing this for Freya?" I ask softly.
She has been thriving since she started at The Royal Drawing School. She no longer balks at waking up in the morning and going to class. She fits right in. She’s made friends. Turns out, all she ever needed was to be somewhere that made sense to her.
Like it is for me with my husband.
His features soften. "If I’m the only male role model she has at the moment, then I want to make sure she realizes, not all of us are like her father. A man who couldn’t be bothered to show up for her.
"Oh, James." My eyes begin to water.
"Don’t cry." He kisses me tenderly. "She’s as important to me as she is to you."
"You’re incredible." I kiss him back, hard. "I love you.”
"I love you too." He looks into my eyes.
“You should go.” I begin to scoot out from under him.
He doesn’t move. “No, I need to make you come first.”
“Learning this skill for Freya is more important.”
He searches my features, and his shoulders slump. “I really do need to go, don’t I?”
“Much as I would love the orgasm, Freya comes first.”
James
Most of the tables at The Famous Cock are occupied.
I stand at the entrance and take stock. Sticky floors, low lighting, a barman who looks like he's seen everything twice and stopped caring. A dartboard on the far wall, currently not in use. Next to it, a couple of men shoot pool.
Beckett spots me from a corner booth and raises his pint. I cross the floor toward him. Beside him, is Tristan and a man who’s built like he played rugby until his body filed a formal complaint.
When I reach them, he nods at me. "Cuz." His voice sounds like thunder rumbling in the distance.
I slide into my seat and survey him closely. There’s something familiar in his features. Awareness dawns. "Thorne? Cousin Thorne?"
He grunts.
"Now that he’s back in the UK, I thought he’d benefit from being an honorary member of our Braids and Booze club."
"It’s a capital idea." He jerks his chin in Beckett’s direction. "I’ve been trying to navigate being a single father, and it hasn’t been easy. I appreciate the support."
So, Thorne’s a dad. Not surprising I didn’t know. He doesn’t keep in touch with the rest of the family. It’s logical that Beckett would invite him. It’s a smart way of bringing him back to the fold.
I turn to my uncle. "What are you doing here?"
Tristan shifts in his seat. He looks uncomfortable. "Margot insisted I come."
"You mean, your mother ordered you to come here in the hope that it’d sensitize you to women?" Bennett snorts
Tristan runs his fingers through his hair. "Can’t deny dear ol’ mum when she asks me to do something, can I?"
For a forty-nine-year-old man who’s always composed, he seems…frazzled.
"I think it’s admirable that you’re humoring Margot," I offer.
He snorts. "If I told her not to interfere in my life, she’d only double her efforts in trying to get me married off. This way, I can buy myself a little more time before she springs a scheme on me the way she did for you."
I hold up my hands. "It was a pain in the backside when she set her sights on me, but you gotta hand it to her, it seems to have worked."
I’m happy. Blissfully so.
"It would have been helpful if you’d proved her wrong. Instead, you look disgustingly content." He narrows his gaze on me.
Warmth fills my chest.
Since marrying Ember I’m more at peace.
I look forward to waking up in the morning next to her. And seeing her face before I fall asleep. And being with her every second in between.
When we’re at work, I hate being away at her. I message her almost every hour. I know it might deflect her attention from the very important project of launching her first restaurant, but I am also unable to stop myself.
"Margot’s made it clear, you’re next. If I were you, I’d be finding ways of evading a trap." Beckett’s eyes gleam.
He’s enjoying seeing our usually unflappable uncle squirming in his seat.
Tristan cracks his neck. "I’m going to use every trick in the book to ensure her designs to get me hitched fail."
Good luck with that.
Knowing Margot, once she makes up her mind about something, it’s nearly impossible to sway her.
Beckett slides a pint in my direction.
I nod my thanks.
"Everyone okay for drinks?" He asks the table.
There are grunts all around.
"Brilliant." He rubs his hands. "I call this meeting of Braids and Booze to order."
"Who came up with the name?" Tristan scowls.
"Don’t like it?"
"It sounds cutesy." He makes a face.
"Freya is cute." I shrug.
Thorne looks at me with interest. "That’s your—"
"My wife’s niece. She needs to know, not all men leave. Might as well be me who proves it."
Thorne’s eyes grow serious. "That’s excellent, bro."
I nod my thanks, then turn to Beckett. "What gave you the idea to set this up?"
He takes a sip of his Guinness while contemplating his words. "The woman I've set my eyes on is a single mother. Thought I might get ahead in the game by learning how to get in touch with my feminine side. And perhaps, earn brownie points with her daughter by learning how to braid."
He beckons behind me. Two waitstaff bring over mannequin heads and line them up along the table like a very strange tasting menu. Each one has a full head of hair. Combs and elastics are passed around.
I stare, bemused. He means business. You’d think we’d attract curious eyes in the rapidly filling pub. But no one gives us a second glance.
That’s London for you.
Beckett contemplates the mannequin’s head in front of him. "Okay, let's start with a basic three-strand. Everything else builds from that."
"What makes you the authority in this?" Thorne purses his lips.
"I’m not. I learned it from instruction videos."
Fair enough. What’s important is that he took the initiative to set this up.
"Any other questions?" He looks around.
When the rest of us shake our heads, he picks up a comb, "Right, so first you—"
"Do we have to use a comb," Thorne holds up a pink, glittery one, which looks tiny in his fingers.
Beckett glares at him. "How else are you—"
That’s when Tristan’s phone buzzes. He pounces on it with evident relief and brings it to his ear. "Hamilton."
He listens, then his forehead furrows. "What do you mean, you lost her?"
He listens some more.
"I don’t care that you had to take a piss… When you’re on the clock, you don’t piss, you don’t shit, you don’t even breathe, until you’ve delivered on the job."
He looks around and realizes every face at the table is turned toward him.
He doesn’t seem contrite though.
He barks into the phone, "Message me the location of where you last saw her.” He sets his jaw. “Also, you’re fired."
He pockets his phone and shrugs. "Business calls." He rises to his feet.
"Business or personal?" Beckett smirks. "From what we heard, that felt very personal."
"It’s always business with me." Tristan rises from his chair and slides it back under the table.
His movements are precise. Anger radiates from every angle of his body. Whoever is the object of his ire had better watch out.
He looks around the table. "It’s been fascinating. But I’m sure you’ll understand why I need to leave."
He turns and begins to head out, when I call out, "Who is this mysterious woman you’re tracking?"
Tristan turns, his expression a mask of cold fury laced with determination. "My oldest enemy is dead, and his daughter inherited his company. He owed me. And she’s going to pay."
To find out what happens next, read Tristan and Opal’s story in an Age Gap, father’s best friend, christmas romance - The Frosty Fiancée here
Read an excerpt From The Frosty Fiancée
Tristan
"What the hell are you up to?"
I tracked her on her lunch hour from her office in Southwark to this side street near Borough Market. Now I'm watching from behind the tinted windows of my Toyota Prius parked three cars down.
I wouldn’t be caught dead driving this vehicle. But a Bentley would stand out at the curb.
I have a clear view of the woman in the form-fitting skirt and jacket, tailored to show off wide hips, tiny waist, and hourglass figure that makes me sweat.
She saunters toward pop-up dessert kiosk. Buys a cloud of candy floss as pink as her skirt-suit. Then leans over to prop an elbow on the counter.
The action makes her arse jut out just enough for the already peach-like curve to jiggle enticingly.
Holy hell. Yet again, I marvel that this blonde bombshell is Richard's daughter.