“Three brothers.” She raised her arms, looped them around his neck as her head lifted and her lips pressed against his in a quick, hard kiss. “Remember, Rick. Three brothers.”
Three brothers. He felt a grin tugging at his lips, felt the lifting of the fear and the pain that had tightened his chest, just enough to allow him to breathe.
“I love you,” he whispered, his hands framing her face as he stared down at her, felt her inside him as he had never felt anything in her life. “I love you, Hannah.”
Her expression lit up his soul. All the love, all the life he could have ever imagined, ever dreamed of.
“You finally saw me,” she whispered.
Rick shook his head at her slowly. “I’ve always seen you, Hannah.”
“No.” She cupped his jaw with her palm, love shining in her eyes, in her face. “You didn’t before, but you have now. Now you have, Rick.” Her thumb brushed over his lips. “I love you.”
She loved him. She had loved him last year. She was going to love him next year. He could feel it, he knew it.
“My luck’s changing,” she said softly. “It’s changing, right?”
“Mine definitely has,” he stated, helping her to her feet. “I finally got lucky.” He wrapped his arms around her, held her to him, and glanced away to see Mae being hustled quickly from the house. “We both got lucky.”
And they had.
Mae was still alive and she wouldn’t see the inside of a jail. At least not a traditional one. She had information the Ops needed. So she’d be taken care of. Her disappearance would be explained away. In the meantime, he had Hannah. If her luck had changed, then his sure as hell had.
He had Hannah, and having her, loving her, was what mattered. His luck had definitely changed.
RECKLESS AND YOURS
Red Garnier
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY HEARTFELT thanks to Monique Patterson, to her awesome assistant Holly Blanck, and to Roberta Brown who brought us together.
AND THANK YOU to Sierra Dafoe, Wylie Kinson, Robin L. Rotham, Sheryl Carpenter, and Georgia Woods, for your amazing support and enthusiasm. You’re so much better than chocolate.
THIS ONE’S FOR you, Mr. Red. And to our reckless moments.
PROLOGUE
PAIGE.
Her name was Paige.
So sleepy. She could not open her eyes. Her arms felt as though a building sat on top of them, and an insectlike sensation crawled up her legs under the sheets.
But the sounds . . . The rhythm was strangely soothing, like a lullaby. A nice, sweet lullaby. Keeping company in the quiet.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Mrs. Avery! They said Paige was in a trauma and we had to come—”
“Ohmigod, we’re so sorry about the judge! But what happened? What’s wrong with her—”
“Shhh! Francine, can’t you see she’s sleeping?”
A voice rose above the others— ringing with maturity, authority. “Girls! Please. You can’t all be in here at once! Out in the hall, please.”
Again quiet.