Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 (16 page)

BOOK: Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5

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I’m about to grab her and throw her over my shoulder, tired already of the attention, desperate only for her mouth, her skin, but just then Joe slaps my back, nods toward my front pocket where I’ve stored the ring.

“You took the money?” he says and I want to roll my eyes at his smug grin.

“I took it. You were right. I need to be able to take care of her.” I wouldn’t tell Joe that the ring was bought with next semester’s tuition money. The DNA test didn’t take long and I’m definitely an O’Malley, but my inheritance would take time to get to me. I’ll put back what I used before my stepdad is any the wiser.

Joe’s hand comes to my neck and he leans down to speak into my ear. “I never doubted you could, son. You’re the best lad for the job.”

I can’t answer him, can’t believe he said that. I thought that’s why he was so keen for me to take the money. Otherwise, I was certain he didn’t think I could take care of Autumn. I hate that my eyes are welling, just a bit.

My stepdad’s expression isn’t ridiculous, he isn’t grinning like a fool or laughing. He seems determined, content and when I catch Autumn’s glance again, I know Joe’s happy because our family is restored.

Shaking off Joe’s words, I manage to weave around the crowd, the excitement of the drama finally settling, more drinks been poured, folks far more capable than me cranking up the karaoke machine again and letting loose, and then bleeding finally, my arms around Autumn’s waist again.

“Is it ‘sometime’ yet, love?”

Her head falls back against my shoulder and she kisses my cheek. “No. Not yet.”

A bit put out, slightly annoyed, I’m about to argue, but then Autumn takes her hand from my arm and slips it to the front of my trousers. Bugger.

“McShane…” I warn, eyes looking around us to make sure no one is paying attention to the movement of her fingers or the way my chest is rising and falling.

She turns around, slipping her arms onto my neck. “Almost two weeks, Declan. Two freaking weeks.”

“Whose fault is that then?” I can see the argument about to leave her mouth, so I kiss her, quick, to keep her quiet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I can’t leave Joe’s party.”

Our friends won’t miss us, have already downed shots, sang every annoying song in the playlist and Joe is leaning against the bar trying to fight the nap he clearly wants to take. Layla and Donovan are being civil to each other—that won’t last long, trust me. That civility will end just as soon as she discovers Donovan is responsible for her missing baby. The rest of the party is more concerned with heckling whatever drunken sod is trying to slur through Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

“They’re all pie-eyed. Let’s just leave and—” she silences me with the shake of her head. So I try for another tactic. Seduction. She comes to me with very little effort, molding to me when I pull against her arse so she can feel the reason why I want to be gone. “Love, come on now, they won’t miss you. I need you.”

“Declan…” I don’t give her the chance to finish her fussing. I kiss her again right in the middle of the party, slip my tongue inside and feel her tremble against me. “Fine,” she says, pulling back, looking around the crowd until she stares down the corridor behind the bar.

I know what’s back there, have vivid, fecking memories of that place. But, she can’t be serious. “McShane? The bathroom?”

“It’s one of my favorite places.”

My mouth opens to protest, but then she drags me through the thinning crowd, past the tables littered with bottles and stale chips and down the hallway before she pushes my chest, throws me through the bathroom door.

She leans against the wall and I smile, remembering the last time we were here together. I’d caught her off guard, locked her in and she left me cold and panting after the want of her. When Autumn bites her lip, gives me that “take me” look again, I throw my jacket off and stalk toward her.

“Lock the door.”

Her hand slides behind her and the click of the lock sounds like a promise.

Karen Chapman is a big nag. She fusses at me daily. If I’m on Facebook or reading or doing anything other than writing (for her) then I get a fussing. I couldn’t be more grateful for that. Sometimes, we creative types really do need a swift kick in the butt. Karen does that daily. Thank you, friend. I so appreciate your love and support.

This novella would not have been written if it weren’t for the amazingly supportive readers who found their way to my Facebook page. Y’all are amazing and I am so thankful that you are taking this journey with me. I’d especially like to thank Sarah Leal, Allyson Lavigne Wilson, Sarah Theisen, Tracie Payne, Andrea Booker, Trish Finley Leger and Kelly Smith who were among the very first to support me. Your confidence in me is humbling. Your friendship is essential.

Thank you to Sharon Browning who edited this novella despite the personal hurdles she has had to jump over in the past few months. You really are inspiring and amazing and I hope there will always,
always
be a Sunday paper for you, my love. Thank you.

If it weren’t for
Ing Cruz
,
Chasing Serenity
would have likely been a standalone novel. She pushed me toward a series (and this novella). Thank you so much, Ing for believing in me (and Declan) so early on.

Thanks, Penelope Douglas for your support and friendship and for sending me all the emails and phone numbers I needed to get my stuff sorted. I’m pretty sure our husbands were separated at birth. God help us all, there are TWO of them roaming the planet. You’re my heroine, lady. Please keep rocking out those amazing novels and hitting the best seller’s list. You are an inspiration.

To Christopher Ledbetter, who slapped my hand when Declan wasn’t coming across manly enough; to Jessica Shamburger, who is still looking for her Declan (I have my eyes open for you, doll) and to Janette Meyers and Angie Dilmore for their speedy beta reads. If every writer had you guys critiquing their stuff, bookshelves would be loaded down with amazing fiction. Thank you so much.

Thanks to my buddy Steven Novack for another fabulous cover and to Angela McLaurin, of Fictional Formats for making this book pretty. And to you wonderful, amazing, fabulous bloggers, especially Maryse’s Book Blog, Aestas, Janna Masburn and all the folks at Beauty Brains and Books, Alaina Keller of Jenee’s Book Blog, Marie Anderson-Simmons and Michelle Monkou for the USA Today nod.

As always, my daughters and husband keep me grounded, keep me smiling and completely understand when I need to disappear to Cavanagh. I love you all.

Eden Butler is an editor and writer of New Adult Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.

When she’s not writing or wondering about her
possibly
Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden writes, reads and spends too much time watching rugby, “Doctor Who” and New Orleans Saints football. Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana.

Please send help.

Find Eden on
Twitter
,
Facebook
and her
blog
.