Heroes Of The Dixie Wardens MC: Life To My Flight Part 40

I'd given it to her later than I'd wanted, but I needed her to have the right mindset when I gave it to her.

Which she didn't have for many months leading up to the previous day.

It was simple in design, but it meant much, much more.

To her and to me.

Twenty minutes later, Rue became Mrs. Mikhail Caruso, and I was one happy motherf.u.c.ker.

Rue 8 months later Feeling on top of the world, I took my helmet off and turned to Cleo in the back, seeing him clutching the seat with wide, wild eyes.

He looked white as a ghost, and I had to suppress the urge to smile.

I'd just taken my last FAA- helicopter flight training session, and totally kicked its a.s.s.

I couldn't tell you why I wanted to fly a helicopter.

Mostly, though, it was so I could be closer to Cleo.

Sure he may be a little unsure right now, but eventually he'd be okay.

This was the first time he'd flown with me since I'd started the training over six months ago, and it showed.

"Well?" I asked. "How was it?"

He blinked rapidly before he let his grip on the seat go. "Uhh," he croaked. "I think I might've died a thousand deaths in the last two hours."

I gave him a wry look. "I did just fine, and you know it."

With that comment, I had Ross laughing.

"Oh, boy. You should see your face in some of these pictures," Ross crowed as he started going through some pictures on his phone.

Ross had demanded to go as soon as he'd heard it was my final teacher-a.s.sisted flight.

He'd especially wanted to go when he found out that Cleo was going, too.

Which, now I knew, was to get blackmail pictures of him.

He was becoming quite the photographer.

I secretly couldn't wait to see the pictures either.

My hands fumbled with the latches that strapped me in, moving them this way and that as I tried in vain to get them off.

I heard Cleo sigh from the back, followed shortly by the door opening.

My door was opened moments later, and Cleo's hands made quick work of the latches that were digging uncomfortably into my stomach.

"Thanks," I said once he got me completely free.

His head fell down until it rested on my belly, and he started talking to our soon to be child as if I couldn't hear every word he said.

"You're mother's making me f.u.c.king crazy. What kind of hugely pregnant person would want to fly when she has a perfectly capable husband that can do it for her?" He asked our child.

"The type that doesn't like to cook in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant," I snapped.

His eyes rose up to meet mine, and he smiled.

"I'm proud of you, girl," he said, and meant it.

I smiled widely at him and wrapped my arms firmly around his neck.

The position was awkward at best, but neither one of us cared.

That was us.

Perfectly imperfect.

Rue 1 year later "Nonnie's really living this up. I can't believe she's doing so well," I said as I watched Nonnie show our eighth month old son a gla.s.s bird on the shelf beside our kitchen window.

Cleo looked up from underneath the sink where he was placing childproof locks and smiled. "All she needed was the grandchild she was making all those baby blankets for."

I secretly agreed.

It was like a light switched the moment we introduced Nonnie to Zach.

Zachariah Lee Caruso was born a mere nine pounds one ounce via C-section.

He had a head of pitch black hair that was untamable, and had a killer smile just like his daddy.

Zach and Cleo were like two peas in a pod.

Now, at eight months, if Cleo was in the room, Zach had nothing to do with me.

He was a daddy's boy, pure and simple.

Even if his momma did everything for him like feed him in the middle of the night and kiss away his boo-boos.

"Pa.s.s me those screws sitting on the counter," Cleo instructed as he held out his hand.

Leaning forward, I grabbed the screws off the counter and dropped down to my knees in between Cleo's splayed thighs.

He was killing me in his s.h.i.+rtless state and tight blue jeans.

Dropping the screws in his hand, I let my hands roam up and down the insides of his thighs, not quite touching the important stuff, but getting close enough that I was getting a response from Cleo.

The muscles in his legs tightened, and his abs flexed with the urge to stay as still as possible.

"You're playing with fire, woman," Cleo growled softly.

I smiled, and lifted one hand to trace the waistband of his jeans.

"You know, we do have a babysitter," I said, letting my fingers dip slightly into his pants before slipping them back out.

Cleo didn't waste any time dropping the screws and throwing me over his shoulder as he practically ran towards our bedroom.

"Silas is totally going to kill me for leaving him with your Nonnie and Zach," he groaned as he tossed me down on the bed and then followed me down.

I grinned. "Yeah, but what a way to go!"

Coming Soon

Charge To My Line April 2015

Prologue.

Tru Three months prior "I dare you to go up and hug that fireman. Wrap your legs around his waist," Iliana challenged me.

I looked to where she was gesturing and rolled my eyes. "No."

I was trying to have a relaxing drink at the newest restaurant and bar in town, Halligans and Handcuffs. What I wasn't trying to do was draw attention to myself; especially, in a room filled with my mother's colleagues.

"Oh, come on, you big chicken. Balk. Balk. Balk," she clucked.

I shook my head again. "All you're doing is making yourself sound like a dork."

Seriously, why did the woman have to embarra.s.s me? I averted my eyes as the tables around us started to turn and study Iliana.

Just pour a few drinks in the woman, and she became the queen of obnoxious.

She smiled widely. "Oh, come on. Do it."

I took a pull of my beer and looked at the man she was wanting me to hug.

He was tall. He'd dwarf my five and a half feet easily.

"What will you give me if I do?" I asked as I took another sip of beer, keeping my eye on the man with the shaved dark hair, dressed in his fire department blues.

Large, mouthwatering biceps. Arms that were covered from wrist to where his sleeve stopped in tattoos. Strong, angular chin. Slightly crooked nose. Deep toe curling laugh.

"Whatever you want," Iliana promised holding up her pinky finger in the air with a dare.

Knowing exactly what I'd take if she actually held up her end of the bargain, I smiled.

I took her pinky finger, and we kissed our hands one by one. "Deal," I said and stood.

"What are you going to take?" She asked warily, knowing I'd given up too easily.

Iliana was my best friend and roommate.

We'd moved in together when we'd started occupational therapy school, and had been living together ever since.

She was two years younger than my twenty eight, but acted like she was fifty, that is, unless she was drinking, like she was doing right now.

In real life, she was that boring person who never did anything because she was too scared her boyfriend would find out that she actually had fun without him.

And the things she did was did not scream twenty six. It screamed old.

For instance, she had a Temper-Pedic bed that sat up like a hospital bed...and it was about to become mine.

"Your bed. For two weeks," I said with an evil grin.

She glared at me. "If you do it, it's yours for a month. His name's Torren."