Good.
Because that means the streets are clean now, safe for regular, innocent people to go about their business.
“Do you have any idea how many times you’ve made that joke?” I mutter, leaning against the wall with my hands in my pockets, a smile on my face I couldn’t have believed even a month ago.
Dallas is changing me. And I’m so fucking ready for it.
“Big bad Domenico DeLuca,” Gabriel goes on, looking like the little boy he was when I first met him. He even has the same boyish grin. “Don’t think I’m gonna be changing your diapers, though, friend.”
“Hurry up and finish that beer,” I snap.
“Why?”
“So I can smash the bottle over your head.”
Gabriel chuckles and swigs it back, and then offers it to me. I’m about to walk over to him and grab it when Dallas walks into the kitchen, Poppet at her feet.
The sight of Dallas always makes my breath catch and this afternoon is no different. Standing there in her gray sweatpants and her baggy black hoodie, barefoot with her hair piled messily atop her head, she’s like a photo of my wildest fantasy made flesh.
She has no idea that even in that hoody I can make out the gorgeous juiciness of her curves, the lightness of her sweatpants making me want to press the fabric close, feel what’s underneath.
But she’s frowning.
And smiling.
At the same time.
It’s an eerie expression.
“Dallas,” I say, taking a step toward her. “Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong, no,” she whispers. “I’m just shocked. I just did it.”
“Did what?”
“The test.”
Please. Oh, God, please let it be true.
“I’m assuming this wasn’t a math test?”
She giggles and closes the distance between us, placing her hand on my chest. “Your heart’s going crazy. You’re definitely not my Iceman anymore, are you?”
“Tell me, Dallas,” I breathe, taking her hand, cradling it against my chest, my heart.
“I did three tests and they were all positive,” she sings, causing my heart to dance inside my chest.
I feel parts of the old Domenico drifting away and new pieces coming to life, pieces that are part Dallas and part me and part our unborn child, and all of a sudden I think I might let tears spring to my eyes. I cough them back and then wrap my arms around her, squeezing her tightly, where she’ll always be safe, in my embrace.
“I love you,” I growl huskily. “I love you so fucking much. You’re going to make an amazing mother.”
“You’ll be a better father,” she cries, letting her tears go. “And you, Dad, you’re going to be an amazing grandfather.”
We turn to find Gabriel smiling. My oldest, best friend isn’t as proud as me. He lets his tears of happiness fall freely down his cheeks, and in the end, a single tear slides down mine too.
Poppet howls as though announcing our pregnancy to the world.
Extend Epilogue
One Year Later
Dallas
I lean back in my office chair, letting out a breath of relief as I stare at the email from my publisher.
The book is out there.
The book is out there for anybody to buy and now I don’t have to think about it anymore—if you exclude interviews, blog tours, maybe a radio or a TV appearance if I’m lucky. But fine, those are concerns for another day. For now, my dragon fantasy story can just drift into vapor and disappear for a time.
“What do you think, Angelico? Hmm, Angel?”
I stroll over to the crib in the corner and look down at my son, soundly sleeping with his legs twitching a little, as though my three month old is striving to walk even in his dreams. I reach down and tickle him under the chin softly, and then step back so that Poppet can keep up her vigil next to his crib.
Poppet has bonded with him so quickly, it’s almost like my snowy girl thinks she’s the mother.
“And you’re a good girl, too,” I whisper, leaning down and letting her lick my face a few times before she settles back into her nap.
I stand and walk to the window, looking down at the sun-dappled forest, looking just as picturesque as the day Dom first brought me here and proposed.
When I think about those early days, I don’t remember the explosion or the video or the warehouse or Patty.
I remember the balcony at Dad’s party, I remember the banter and the closeness. I remember the swelling inside of me when Dom opened up about his family and the girlish gleefulness that erupted in me when he gave me the first edition set, which is framed and mounted to a wall in here.
I remember the good, not the bad, and this past year life has just gotten better and better. Our initial closeness was like a magical doorway to a deeper, longer lasting commitment.
Now that we’re husband and wife I can categorically say he is the perfect husband.
We support each other.
We’re a team.
And it all started with a hot-as-hell attraction that grabbed hold of us in primal hands and couldn’t be ignored.
“I’m so glad we listened to our instincts,” he whispered just last night, arms wrapped around me as we both gazed down at little Angelico in his crib. He held me close. His breath painting me. Life sang perfectly. “Imagine if I was the sort of man who ignored signals like that. Imagine if I never claimed you. Imagine if you never wanted me—”
“I might be a writer, but that’s a stretch,” I interjected banteringly.
He tickled me and I hissed, “Hey, don’t. Don’t make me laugh or we’ll wake him.”
“I’m just saying,” he went on, and I could feel the shape of his smile as he laid his cheek against
