He rested his chin on the top of her head, his entire body settling with her in his arms. “You did your job, and I did mine. The town did the rest.” He couldn’t let her go. “Hank’s death is no longer between us.”
“I know,” she murmured, her breath heating his neck. “But my other cases might cause us issues, including the Tundra Haven fire and the EVE disappearing victim. Your brother is holding something back.”
“I don’t care about the Tundra fire, but I understand what you’re saying about EVE,” Brock agreed. “I have no doubt Damian didn’t gouge that guy’s eyes out, so whatever it is, it’s inconsequential to you and me…and family.”
She softened against him at the wordfamily.
He might as well lay it all on the line. “My family is everything, and I want you to be a part of that. It’s messy and complicated, but you’ll have a solid wall of pure stubborn steel at your back at all times.” She already had that but needed to accept it. “I choose you, Ophelia. No matter what.”
She placed a soft kiss beneath his jaw, sending warmth throughout his entire body. “It’s crazy, and we both know it’s crazy, but I choose you, too.”
He leaned her back to see her eyes. “Yeah?”
Her grin looked sweet with more than a hint of sass. “Yeah. You and me, Brock Osprey. I love you.”
He had no doubt those were difficult words for her to say. For her to trust anybody to that degree, especially considering the short time they’d spent together. But it had been jam-packed, and they knew each other. Truly knew each other.
Leaning down, he kissed her, going deep. Tasting strawberries and woman.
His.
Finally, he released her mouth. Their adventure had just started, and he knew there’d be a wild year coming at them, but they were together and would remain so. He’d finally found his home, and it lay with a smart city girl who’d stolen his heart. “I love you, Olly. Always will.”
If you likedBrock’s story, just wait until you read Christian’s romance in Thaw of Spring! Preorder now.
Also,you might like the Laurel Snow thrillers. Here’s quick excerpt from YOU CAN RUN…
The dog barked louder inside the cabin.
A male voice rumbled an order and the dog subsided.
The door opened to reveal a man.
Laurel almost took a step back. Six foot four, black hair, brown eyes, solid shoulders. Large boned hands, wide chest, rugged jaw. Dark, shaggy hair that curled beneath his ears, looking both uncared for and surprisingly appealing. The brown eyes had flecks of gold around the irises, and they held a world of experience. Some good and a lot bad. He had to be in his earlythirties, but if she believed in her mother’s teachings, he’d be an old soul. “Captain Rivers?”
He didn’t open the door but instead scrutinized her from head to toe. “Who’s asking?” His voice was both unwelcoming and at such a low timbre it was soothing. Interesting.
“I’m Laurel Snow, and I need your help.” Every instinct she had whispered not to flash her badge.
He immediately opened the door. “You’re not dressed for the weather.” His expression remained difficult to read. “You look like a Fed.”
Nobody had ever said that to her. “I do?”
“Black suit, wrong shoes for the local terrain, carefully clipped and beige-colored fingernails.” He cocked his head to the side. “Except the hair. You don’t have the hair of a Fed.”
She also didn’t have an answer for that, which was unusual for her. “What do I have the hair of?” When was the last time she’d ended a sentence with a preposition? Possibly in grade school.
“Not a Fed,” he said. “It’s too long and probably cost you a fortune to get that color.”
This was the oddest conversation she’d had in ten years. Maybe twenty. “I don’t pay for color. Or a cut, usually.” She hadn’t had time for such indulgences in far too long. Maybe she should get a haircut from a professional hairdresser instead of from her elderly neighbor who had arthritis and cloudy vision.
“You’re telling me that’s your natural hair color?” He leaned in closer, bringing the scent of pine with him.
She frowned. “I’m not telling you anything. It’s just hair.” For Pete’s sake. “It’s brown.”
“We both know that’s not brown. It’s auburn, and that combination of brown and red is unreal. Mostly.” He looked down at the dog sitting patiently at his side. “Right, Aeneas?”
Laurel tilted her head to study the canine. His markings were unique: a white hourglass shape across his face, surrounded by black fur. The white fur continued down his chest and covered each paw. “Aeneas? As in Homer’sIliad?”
