Chapter One

I’m cruising along the road, singing (badly) along with Lana Del Rey’s sultry voice, when suddenly disco lights are flashing behind my car.

I glance in my rearview mirror to see a cop car close behind me, lights strobing. I slow down and move toward the shoulder to let him pass, but he follows me.

Shit! He’s pulling me over.

I slow to a stop, turn down the music, and put my car in park just as a young, good-looking officer slowly approaches. I lower the window and smile up at him.

“Evening, ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Actually, no. I don’t think I was speeding.”

“You were driving erratically and swerving.”

I was? Eek. Maybe when I switched my playlist on my phone and accidentally dropped it between the seat and the console, I swerved when I reached for it. “I dropped my phone,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to—”

“It’s against the law to use a cell phone while driving, ma’am,” he says sternly.

“I wasn’t using it really, just putting my playlist on.”

His lips are set in a firm line as he takes a step closer to the window. “I’m going to need your driver’s license and registration.”

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I grab my bag to dig out everything he needs and hand it to him with a sweet smile, hoping he’ll just let me go with a warning, but he takes everything from me and walks back to his patrol car without a word.

I resist the urge to send Storm a text message to let him know I’m running a few minutes late. I’m afraid to even look at my phone with the officer just a few feet away.

I watch my rearview mirror, waiting for him to return, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he finally comes back toward my car.

“I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”

A wave of surprise and nervousness ripples through me. “Oh…okay.” I open the car door and step out.

“Where are you heading?”

“To a restaurant. I’m meeting my fiancé for dinner. Please don’t give me a ticket. I promise not to touch my phone. My fiancé will kill me if I get a ticket.” I run my hand through my hair. “Well, not literally kill me, he’s not a murderer. But he’ll be mad. Not like domestic violence mad, but annoyed. He’s a total sweetheart really, but I’m not a good driver at all and it’s kind of a joke between us. That’s how we met actually, I got lost and crashed my car and then he saved me…” My voice fades as the officer shakes his head and blinks at me like I’m a lunatic.

“Have you been drinking, ma’am? Under the influence of anything?”

I gape at him. “Me? God no! I don’t drink or do drugs at all. I’m just sorta naturally anxious and weird.”

The man in blue is not amused.

“I’m going to ask you to walk in a straight line for me.”

Oh my God, is he kidding? Surely he can tell I’m just nervous and not drunk. I look from him to the ground and back at him. “Um… where?”

“Just walk in a straight line toward me, keep your eyes on me, one foot in front of the other.”

I let out a sigh, rivet my focus onto his nose, and take a few steps, wobbling slightly in my new three-inch heels, which I’ve only worn once before. They’re still a little stiff, and my legs are shaky from the one hundred squats I did earlier today. Damn Amy and her crazy monthly challenges!

“You seem a bit tipsy, ma’am.”

I stop walking. “I am not tipsy. These are new shoes, and my muscles are shaky from exercising this morning. Can’t you just give me a Breathalyzer test? That would be easier.”

“We don’t negotiate with perps, ma’am. Please come over here.”

Perps? I’m a perp now? My pulse speeds up as I walk over to the spot he’s pointing to in front of my car.

“I’ll need you to turn around and put your palms flat on the hood of your car, bend down, and put your right cheek to the hood.”

My eyes widen in disbelief.

“Officer, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but is this really necessary? I’ve never had to do any—”

“Ma’am, please do as I asked.”

My heart begins to pound as I lean over the hood as instructed, palms and head down. Something feels very wrong here. All I did was swerve a little. I didn’t hit anything or anyone. And it’s not my fault my legs are shaky and I can’t walk straight. I should have asked to see his badge to prove he’s an actual police officer. He could be some kind of criminal who stole a police car and uniform and is now kidnapping innocent women and—

“Please wait here and don’t move. I’m going to have my partner join us for backup.”

Backup?! “Officer, this doesn’t seem right to me, I’d like to call a lawyer or maybe someone at 911, I think.”

“You can discuss that with my partner. Please wait here, and do not move from the position or I’ll need to handcuff you.”

I tremble with nerves as he walks back to his car and, moments later, heavier footsteps approach, stopping directly behind me. I want to lift my head and talk to him, but I’m petrified of being handcuffed, arrested, and thrown into the back of the squad car. My brain spins as I try to think if I did something else wrong that the first officer didn’t make me aware of. Why else would he detain me and call for backup? Did I go into a road coma again and cause some kind of an accident?

The officer behind me takes a step closer and puts his hands next to mine on the hood of the car, his body leaning over me, his broad chest actually touching my back.

Oh my God. This can’t be normal or legal in any way. I should scream for help and try to flag down a car. But, as luck would have it, I am once again on a road that doesn’t get much traffic.

“Excuse me,” I say, my voice weak and squeaky. “I’m not quite sure what the problem is, but I would like to get back inside my car please.”

He leans down even further, pressing his entire body against mine, trapping me against the car. His breath is hot against my ear, the slight stubble of his cheek grazing my neck.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Evie,” he whispers. “I’m taking you into custody.”

“Storm!” I try to turn but he holds me there, sinking his face into my hair to kiss and nibble on my neck. The cop car pulls away, leaving us on the side of the road.

What the hell?

I spin around to face him, and my anger immediately vanishes with just one look at him: that sexy grin, those bright green eyes glinting with mischief, that long, wavy hair wild around his face, and those broad shoulders straining against the thin black material of his shirt.

God, this man just turns me into a speechless, quivering mess at least five times a day.

Storm Valentine - crazy, sweet, sexy famous rock star and my fiancé.

He grabs my waist, pulls me tight against his body, and kisses me so hard that I can’t even be mad at him for scaring the heck out of me.

This is what life is like, loving and being loved by Storm.

Chapter Two

“You look beautiful.” I lean my forehead against hers and stare down into her eyes.

“How did…thank you…but—”

I kiss her lips, soft and slow, the way that calms and hushes her, and release my grip on her waist to cup her cheeks.

“What were you doing in a police car?” she asks when our lips part. “Did you plan all that?”

“Yeah. He’s an old high school friend of mine. I didn’t want us to be in separate cars, so I sent him a text and asked if he’d give me a ride to find you.”

Her expression is blank, and I know she’s stuck in that place right in the middle of being mad at me and being crazy about me.

I put her in that place a lot. And ya know what? I like it.

“We tracked you with the GPS app, and I asked him to play along.”

A smile curves across her lips, but she’s still got that shocked look in her eyes. “Isn’t that illegal?” she asks. “In like, twenty different ways?”

I shrug. “Probably.” Taking her hand, I lead her around to the passenger door, help her inside, and jog around the car to climb in behind the wheel. I have to move the seat back about a foot because she’s short and sits right on top of the steering wheel.

“Change of plans, baby.” I smile as I pull back onto the road.

“What are you up to?” She turns in her seat and eyes me suspiciously. I grab her hand and link our fingers together, loving the feel of her engagement ring pressed against my fingers as she squeezes my hand. Six months ago if I had pulled a stunt like this she would have had a major freak out. There would have been tears. I probably would have gotten smacked. Most chicks would have kneed me in the balls.

But my Evie’s come a long way from the high-strung girl I found in a ditch. It’s amazing what a lot of love can do.

And orgasms, lots of orgasms. They’re like a hidden reset button. Losing your shit? Have sex.

“Storm?”

“We’re going to the cabin for the weekend.”

“Your cabin?”

“Yup.”

“What about—”

“Rayne is staying at the house to watch Niko and Halo. I took care of everything, babe, so we could have a quiet weekend alone.” I glance at her. “I thought going back to where we fell in love would be a good place to talk.”

She looks down at our hands and slowly nods. I leave it at that and switch the conversation to something light and fun. I know when to push, and I also know when to give her a little room. But I also know that, come Monday morning, we’re going to have a definite wedding date nailed down if I have to kiss, beg, talk, or fuck it out of her. This is me we’re talking about. When I want something, I don’t wait for it. I’m not letting her listen to the fears in her head anymore. The only thing she should be hearing is wedding bells…and us moaning each other’s names, of course.

Visiting the cabin always chills me out, and every time Evie and I have stayed here, it’s brought us closer together. Maybe because, a long time ago, it belonged to my grandparents, and part of their love still lives in these walls. I spent a lot of time having it renovated, throwing myself into it right after I got out of rehab years ago, because I needed to keep my mind busy. Picking out paint and flooring and furniture had my brain spinning for months and almost made me start drinking again just from the stress of it all. The cabin was always meant to be a no-female zone, but I knew the moment I brought Evie here—that first time, during the blizzard, right after we met each other —it was no longer my special place but our special place.

As soon as we enter the modern log cabin nestled in the woods, Evie walks over to the fresh bouquet of lilies in a mosaic vase sitting on the coffee table in the center of the living room. She leans down to sniff them, and a blissful smile spreads across her face before she turns to me.

“They’re beautiful. When did you do all this?”

“Yesterday.”

She crosses the room and puts her arms around me, clasping her hands behind my neck.

“You’re an amazing man, you know that?” she says softly, gazing up into my eyes.

I kiss the tip of her nose. “I know.” I put my arm around her and lead her into the kitchen. “We’re going to cook dinner together, then I’m going to rip your clothes off and we’re going in the hot tub.”

“Do I get to rip your clothes off too?” she teases.

“You better.”

We sip red wine and chop a salad together while our steaks broil; prime rib for me, a petit filet mignon for her. When I’m not on tour with the band, we do everything together. Cooking, laundry, grocery shopping, even grooming the cat and dog. She sits next to me for hours in the garage, talking nonstop, while I work on my motorcycle. She’ll sit and massage my feet while I practice guitar. I straighten her hair for her with the flat iron because she always misses that one spot in the back of her head. When we’re apart we text and video chat as much as possible. She’s my best friend, and I love her at her best and her worst and everything that falls in the middle. And finally, I’ve found someone who loves me for me. She couldn’t give two shits about my money or me being in a rock band. She doesn’t “fangirl” over me, and she puts me in my place when I need it - which is often.

We’re a perfect figure eight, an unbreakable, twisty connection of friends and lovers.

Do we need vows and a marriage certificate to solidify that? Hell no. But I want her to be my wife. I want to see the signature in her email as Evelyn Valentine. I want to introduce her as my wife, not my fiancée. I want all the nuts on social media to know we’re married. They can tag her as #BlizzardChick all they want, but I want them to know she’s permanent and not a weekend fling.

When we finish dinner she rinses the dishes in the sink and starts organizing them in the dishwasher by size and fragility. This self-distracting stalling technique of hers is nothing new. When she’s scared or nervous, she retreats and scurries around like a little bunny.

Like a hawk I swoop in on her and throw her over my shoulder.

“Storm!” She twists around in my grip as I carry her to the sliding glass doors that lead to the hot tub on the back deck. “What are you doing? I have to do the —”

I give her ass a playful spank. “The only thing you have to do right now is get in the hot tub.” The night air is borderline chilly—perfect for relaxing in hot bubbling water. I set her down on her feet and tilt her chin up to kiss her lips before I uncover the tub. She’s still standing there with a dazed smile on her face when I turn around, but she snaps out of it and steps toward me to wrap her arms tightly around my waist.