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Dirty Rich Cinderella Story: Ever After (Dirty Rich #5)
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Continuing where Dirty Rich Cinderella Story left off…
Get ready for a steamy honeymoon, and a heart-stopping welcome home for Cole and Lori!
The unexpected is about to happen and while Lori has faced the demons of her past, she and Cole will face those of his past now.
This is the follow-up to DIRTY RICH CINDERELLA STORY.
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Honeymoon in Paris
On our final day after a week in Paris for our honeymoon, Cole decides he wants to get us arrested. Not literally, but his actions say that’s exactly what he wants to do. After a day spent sightseeing, we dress up for an evening out with plans to visit our favorite little bakery for dessert and coffee. I wear a sexy red dress in a clingy material, with deeper cleavage than usual and a zipper that parts the dress top to bottom in the front. It’s a daring dress when I am not usually all that daring, but this is Paris and I’m with my husband. Cole personifies tall, dark and gorgeous in a blue button-down with dress slacks, and the way his eyes light on me as if he wants to gobble me up has heat rushing through my body.
We enter the elevator of our hotel, and the minute the doors close, he pulls me to him. “You’re beautiful, wife,” he murmurs, his voice all rough-edged and sexy.
My hand flattens on his chest, his heart thundering under my palm. “You’re not so bad yourself, husband.”
I’ve barely spoken the words before his hand is at the back of my head and he’s crazy, hot, kissing me, his hands caressing a path up my back. I moan with the lick of his tongue, telling myself to stop this. We’re in a public place, but then his tongue is stroking mine again and I am lost, sinking into the hard lines of his body, only remotely aware of the ding of the elevator.
Cole presses me into the corner of the car, and pulls his lips from my lips, his eyes burning into mine a moment before voices sound just behind him. A rush of people swarm the car and Cole settles against the wall, pulling my back to his front, the hard ridge of his erection nestling my backside. I am aroused, wet, aching all over for this man, and ready to go back upstairs. My hand closes down on his hand where it settles on my belly and the rest of the ride down is eternal until finally the car halts. Cole leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to obsess over that zipper all night long.”
My lips curve, a shiver racing down my spine as he nips my lobe. Yes. Please. Think about it. I love the Cole that wants and wants and wants more. That was the idea when I slipped into this dress. I am about to voice just that, but already he’s lacing his fingers with mine, leading me out of the car, and it’s only a few moments before we’re on the street, headed toward our dinner destination.
A short walk from our hotel on Champs-Élysées, Ladurée is a cozy spot world-renowned for their macarons, which has caused me about a five-pound gain on this trip. They also serve dinner, and once we’re inside the bakery, we approach the hostess. Soon we are turning to the rooms on our right and headed up a staircase where we are seated at a tiny corner table. Everything is tiny in Paris, and while Cole’s leg is intimately pressed to mine, he’s forced to behave since I could practically lean and I’ll be touching the man next to me.
Cole places our dinner orders for us with perfect, sexy French, a language that he apparently excelled at during school. I approve. Once the waitress leaves us alone again, we chat about our week and even our eventual caseload when we return home. I love that we are this connected. That we share so very much. I’ve never experienced this in my life, with anyone. Time flies by with us laughing, flirting and enjoying good food, as well as sweet, bubbly champagne. We’ve just finished off our dessert and coffee when Cole leans forward. “Look, sweetheart. Since we’re going home tomorrow, I need to fill you in on something.”
My eyes go wide. “What something and why do I not know already?”
“Because I wasn’t going to let you worry all week and before you panic, your mother is fine. I know that despite her recovery from her stroke, you worry, but it’s not about her. That said, you know that large trials can come with protestors, and you’re a protestor virgin no more. When you win a case, after the public prosecutes a client, like they did ours before we left for Paris, all hell breaks loose. We’ve had protestors at the office since we left, and that comes with random threats.”
Again, my eyes go wide. “Threats?”
His hands slide over mine where it rests on the table. “It happens. If I could keep you away from this stuff, I would, but it’s part of the job. And honestly, I didn’t think our win was one of those trigger cases. It was televised. It was pretty obvious that our client was innocent.”