Epilogue
gunner
T he records arrived three weeks later .
Marlowe’s mother planned to give them to her as a wedding present. But I nixed that plan, telling her my baby had been deprived of her father’s record collection long enough. I was ready and willing to use Mafia-style strongarm tactics. But I didn’t have to; she handed over the key to the storage unit without a single peep.
I dispatched a plane to Pittsburgh to retrieve the long-lost records. As I carefully explained to my courier, Bowen Somerset’s music collection was more valuable than the Hope Diamond and all the crown jewels of Europe combined. It had to be handled with the utmost care.
Even after issuing my explicit instructions—with a veiled threat of violence—I was so anxious for the safe delivery of the records that I could barely focus on work that day. I was more keyed up than a first-time father pacing the maternity ward waiting room.
When the albums finally arrived, I had them carted to the library. There were hundreds of them, an eclectic variety of artists and genres: rock ‘n’ roll, pop and funk, jazz and blues, the greatest orchestras of all time. It was a treasure trove worthy of any museum collection.
When Marlowe came home from class that evening, I took her by the hand and led her to the library. She was laughing and teasing me about feeding her dinner before getting some action. But when she entered the room and saw the stacks of open boxes containing the vinyl records, her knees buckled beneath her, and she would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her and held her steady.
She looked back and forth between me and the records. Then she started crying, and damn if my heart didn’t melt all to hell. She kissed me with trembling lips and whispered, “Thank you so much.”
I could only nod, not trusting my voice.
She walked across the room and began sifting gently through the records, pulling them out and staring at the covers, holding particular ones close to her chest with a sweetly nostalgic smile.
I watched from the doorway, giving her the space and time she needed to get lost in her memories. Her quiet sorrow and vulnerability made me feel even more fiercely protective. I was ready to suit up in armor and slay fucking dragons for her. Whatever she needed, I was her man.
I knew nothing would pry her away from the records that evening, so I ordered pizza and ate with her on the library floor while listening to some of her father’s favorite songs on an old record player. When Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” started playing, she jumped up excitedly and grabbed my hand. We danced and laughed, throwing our heads back and belting out the chorus at the top of our lungs. By the time we were done, happy tears were rolling down her face, and I kissed them all away.
That weekend she painstakingly reorganized the records, and now her father’s cherished music collection has its own dedicated section in the library—her favorite room in the house.
With my birthday approaching, I was feeling pretty damn good about my life and the future. I knew I had much to be grateful for. Good health. Successful businesses. A net worth into the stratosphere. Supportive family and friends.
Most important of all, I had the love of a good woman. Not just any woman. The love of my life.
Maverick and I had always celebrated our birthday with a big blowout bash, and this year was no exception. But Marlowe had an early surprise in store for me. Using her work connections, she’d secretly rented out a concert hall. The night before my birthday, she arranged for Trace to drive me there after work.
When I arrived and found the concert hall empty, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I took a seat front and center, an intrigued audience of one. Seconds later the lights dimmed, the curtains parted and a spotlight shone on a gleaming grand piano on stage.
Then Marlowe came walking out in a shimmering ice-blue gown that made her look like a fairytale princess. She was an absolute vision, and she stole my damn breath.
She gave me a radiant smile and took a bow, then sat at the piano and began playing a song she’d written for me.
I sat there spellbound, thoroughly entranced, watching her graceful fingers float over the piano keys as if by magic. Her dark hair flowed down her back, shining in the spotlight as she poured her heart and soul into every exquisite note.
It was the single most beautiful song I had ever heard in my life.
On the way home, I made love to her in the backseat of the limo. I devoured her like it was our very first time, with such insatiable ferocity that she literally sobbed and begged for mercy. She played the song again for me before we went to bed and the next day at my party.
Best. Birthday. Gift. Ever.
Oh, and the name of the song? “Boss of Me.” When she told me, I laughed loud and long and kissed her senseless.
Needless to say, life with my new fiancée has been phenomenal so far. Not that we haven’t hit any bumps in the road.
Shortly after our engagement, word got back to me that Harlan Pierce tried to have Marlowe blackballed from the local music industry. His unsuccessful smear campaign filled me with pure, seething rage. Rather than disembowel him—my first choice—I quietly set the ball in motion to acquire his company.
My first move was to buy controlling interest in Digitistic. Then I used backchannels to target certain board members who were dissatisfied with Harlan’s leadership. Every last one of them jumped ship to align with me.
Harlan, naturally, is in full-blown panic mode.
It didn’t have to be this way. I was willing to bury the hatchet once and for all. A man who has everything makes peace, not war. But Harlan just couldn’t leave well enough alone. He was hell-bent on keeping our feud alive, but he made a fatal error by coming after the woman I love.
At the end of February, my attorney calls me at work. “Just wanted to let you know we’re good to go. All the i’s have been dotted and the t’s crossed. The company’s shareholders are more than happy with the new stock price. You’re supported by the majority of the board of directors, and the few remaining holdouts will probably fold under pressure. Barring any unlikely surprises, your bid will be accepted unanimously.”
“Perfect.” I smile a cold smile. “Good work.”
“Hey, it was your master plan. I just executed your wishes,” Archie quips humorously. “Harlan should have realized a long time ago that you’re way out of his league. He’s been punching above his weight for years, trying to go toe-to-toe with you. And now it’s going to cost him everything.” Archie chuckles, thoroughly enjoying the moment. “So after you give him the boot, what do you have planned for your new company?”
“Gonna do some restructuring and form a label called Blue Wish Records. We’ll sign new artists and have album release parties at my club. I also want to remaster and rerelease some of Bowen Somerset’s recordings. Maybe I’ll let Marlowe run that division—or the entire company—when she’s ready in a few years. She has more musical knowledge in her little pinky finger than Harlan has in his whole goddamn body.”
“Well shit, Ransom. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Archie says with an admiring chuckle. “Congratulations on your new acquisition. I’ll await your further instructions.”
“Excellent. I’ll be in touch.” I end the call and lean back in my chair with my fingers steepled under my chin, lips curving with vicious satisfaction as I imagine the look on Harlan’s face when I stroll into his boardroom to seize the reins.
Checkmate, motherfucker.
“Mr. Ransom?” Veronica singsongs over the intercom on my desk. “You have a visitor.”
I swivel from the window, my heart kicking like crazy when my gorgeous fiancée pokes her head around the open door and smiles at me.
“This a good time?”
“For you? Always.”
Her smile widens as she struts into the room. I lean back to watch her approach, my gaze caressing every curve of her body from her luscious breasts down to her long legs accentuated by spiked boots.
“I was on my way to the library and thought I’d pop in and say hi.” She hops up onto the corner of my desk and crosses her legs, her denim shirtdress riding up her thighs.
Just like that, my dick gets hard.
When I slide my chair close to her, she smiles and leans in for a kiss. Just touching her sends my blood rushing through my veins and pooling thick in my groin. I can’t get enough of her. I’m worse than a love-starved teenager.
We’re getting married in June, and not a day too soon. She wanted to get through the spring semester so she could relax and enjoy our wedding and honeymoon.
I can’t wait to put another ring on her finger and make her my wife. I can’t wait to start a family and raise children together.
I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her. God willing, we’ll have many long years together.
Our lips cling deliciously before I pull away to rub my nose against hers, our eyes still locked. “How’d everything go with the wedding planner this morning? Please tell me our mothers behaved themselves.”
Marlowe grins. “Other than a few minor power struggles, they were on their best behavior.”
“Really? Only a few power struggles?”
“Yup.” An amused twinkle dances in her eyes. “Remember the warning you issued at our engagement party? When you threatened to ban them from our wedding if they say or do anything to upset me before June? I recall lots of pearl clutching. But I think they’re taking your threat seriously.”
“They should. I meant every word. I won’t have them stressing you out trying to achieve their vision of the perfect society wedding. Same goes for Grandma Billingsley. She’s even worse than my mother, if you can believe it.” I grin. “So where are they now?”
“Our mothers? Trace dropped them off at some fancy tearoom. They can haggle about catering menus and seating charts over mint tea and scones.”
I smile but I’m only half listening, distracted by how beautiful she looks with her sparkling hazel eyes and dark hair spilling over her shoulders and breasts. I want her captured on canvas, which means it’s time to hire an artist to paint her portrait.
“Ooh, caffeine. I could use some of that.” She picks up my cooling mug of coffee and sips appreciatively. “I have lots of reading to do tonight. I need all the caffeine I can get or I’m in trouble.”
“Nah. You got this, Miss Straight A’s.”
She grins and sips more coffee, her eyes twinkling at me over the mug’s rim.
I’m so proud of her and everything she’s achieved so far. Though she doesn’t graduate for another year, I’ve already planned a big bash for her at my villa in Lake Como. Nothing but the best for my baby.
She smiles at the framed pictures on my desk. The one of her twirling on the clifftop has been joined by our official engagement photo, which was taken as we kissed in the rowboat at sunset. A bit cheesy, but undeniably romantic.
“The first time I came to your office, your desk had no personal effects. Just paperwork and files,” Marlowe murmurs, her fingers ghosting over our image. “What a difference love makes.”
I smile softly. “Indeed.”
She gives me a shy smile, and my chest swells with euphoria. God, I love this woman.
I trace circles over her knee like I did the night we met, and many nights since. I watch with satisfaction as her lips part and her eyes go hazy with arousal before she puts the coffee down.
“Believe it or not,” she says huskily, “this isn’t a booty call.”
“No?” I slowly trail my fingers up under her dress. “What is it then?”
She catches my wrist to halt my upward trajectory.
I grin wolfishly.
She bites her lip to keep it from twitching. “Seriously, Gunner, I have so much to do. A wedding to plan. Chapters to read. Fellowship applications to review at work. Not to mention entertaining our houseguests, who actually—” She breaks off with a gasp when I slip my hand between her crossed legs. Her thighs clench around me, her pupils dilating.
I chuckle, my own body reacting to her arousal. “You hopped up on my desk in this sexy little dress and crossed your hella sexy legs, and you honestly expected me to keep my hands to myself?”
“Y-Yes,” she croaks, her thighs quaking as I stroke her slowly through her lacy panties. “Th-That’s exactly what I expected.”
“Hmm. I don’t know, babe,” I taunt seductively. “You say this isn’t a booty call, but your body apparently didn’t get the memo.”
She tries to glare at me and fails miserably.
I laugh low and soft, gently parting her legs and standing between them. She stares up at me as I tenderly cradle her head in my hand, feeling her silky hair slide through my fingers.
“Tell you what,” I murmur against her smiling lips. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you so that you can focus on your schoolwork. I’ll bring you dinner and ply you with all the caffeine your heart desires, including coffee ice cream for dessert. As for our wedding, let that fancy planner earn the fortune she’s charging us. And don’t worry about entertaining our mothers during their visit. Caroline and Tabitha can amuse themselves with shopping or spa hopping or whatever tickles their fancy. They’re alike in many ways,” I add wryly.
The glint in Marlowe’s eyes tells me she agrees.
I nibble her plush lower lip and press a kiss to each corner of her mouth. She moans and lets her head fall back, exposing her pretty neck. I nip at her soft skin, feathering lazy kisses and love bites that leave her quivering.
“Damn you, Gunner Ransom.” Her voice is throaty and breathless, making my cock even harder. “I only meant to pop in and say hello.”
I smile into her eyes. “Hello.”
A throaty laugh escapes her. Then she surrenders with a sigh, wrapping her arms around my neck to bring her breasts flush against my chest. Her nipples are so tight beneath her dress that my tongue aches to lick them.
I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her up against me and crushing my mouth to hers. We kiss deep and long, my tongue slashing against hers in slow erotic movements that make her moan.
When she slides her hand between us to cup my hard dick, I choke out a rough groan. She smiles against my lips before gently squeezing my balls. I almost blow a load right there in her hot little hand.
Cock throbbing against my zipper, I press the intercom button on my phone. “Hold all my calls until further notice, Veronica.”
“Sure thing, boss.” There’s a knowing grin in her voice. “Should I order lunch for you and your lovely bride-to-be?”
“Good thinking. Thanks.” Clicking off, I reach under Marlowe’s dress and peel her panties down her legs. I want to spread her out and taste her for hours, but fuck if I don’t have a meeting that I really can’t miss.
Giving her a dirty wink, I tuck her lacy underwear in my top desk drawer, then make quick work of my belt and zipper.
Licking her lips, Marlowe shoves my pants and briefs down to my knees with enough force to make my belt buckle jangle loudly.
I lift her off the desk, purring approval when she locks her legs around my hips like a good girl. When I feel just how wet she is, I hiss in a breath and rumble, “Not a booty call, my ass.”
“Be quiet,” she pants.
I grin darkly and palm the sweet curves of her bottom, stroking my erection against her weeping folds.
She gasps, her fingers curling into my shoulders for support.
I lift her over my aching cock and slowly lower her, groaning at her slick heat and tightness, an intoxicatingly perfect fit.
The rest of the world falls away as I begin thrusting into her, feeling her pulse around me.
“I can’t wait for you to have my babies,” I whisper against her mouth.
“Oh wow,” she breathes, eyes glimmering. “Just how many babies are we talking about?”
“At least three. Like we agreed.”
“What about two?” she says just to be contrary, because that’s how it is with us. “Two is a nice even number.”
“So is four.”
She grins. “Smartass.”
I chuckle hoarsely. I’m already fighting off an orgasm because she feels so damn incredible, and even our playful bickering turns me the hell on.
She bites my lip and smirks. “I’m going to start wearing pants over long johns when I come here. You need to work a little harder to get— ahhh ,” she moans when I thrust deeper, circling my hips to exploit a different angle.
“What were you saying?” I taunt as she ripples hotly around my cock. “Something about me working harder? I’m literally the hardest working man you know.”
Her hands grip my shirt at the shoulders as I pump faster. “Keep talking and no more nooners for you,” she chokes out breathlessly. “In fact?—”
When I hit her sweet spot, her mouth falls open in a little O and she makes a sound that tightens my balls painfully—an acceptable consequence.
When I slowly withdraw to the tip before plunging back inside, she shudders against me and groans, “You’re such a bad man.”
“No, baby,” I whisper on my next deep thrust, “I’m just a man in love.”