days alone with her since they’d barricaded themselves in his
hotel suite in New York all those months ago. They’d ditched the party thrown in the band’s honor by her father’s magazine less
than an hour after he’d arrived. His manager still hadn’t forgiven 5
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
him for that! But, blimey! What followed had been 72 hours of
perfection. He closed his eyes and daydreamed about how crack-
ing her ivory skin and fiery hair looked draped across that bed
with her gorgeous gown crumpled in a heap on the floor. He
tapped the velvet ring box with his fingertips, as if to confirm it was still there. It suddenly seemed to burn a hole in his pocket.
Truthfully, he was incredibly nervous about introducing
Steph to his parents and sisters. He was confident his dad would think she was hysterical, but the females of the Kersey clan?
That was…uncertain. As well traveled as she was, Steph could
be the epitome of an “ugly American.” He took comfort from the
fact that his grandparents were so taken with her and hoped the
rest of his family would soon feel the same. He also was hopeful that Steph would like them. She didn’t have any women in her
life (except Cheyenne), as far as he could tell. Her mom was
dead, and she had no sisters or close cousins. She got on well
enough with the girlfriends and wife of his band mates, but they seemed mostly like casual friendships of convenience. All that
would change after she said yes. He smiled at the thought of
Nanna, Mum, and the girls helping her plan her dream wedding.
“Hey, big boy. Can I hitch a ride?” Steph’s raspy American
accent had a Pavlovian effect on him, and he felt instantly
aroused. He forced himself to turn slowly, and the sight of her
knocked the wind out of him. Her blue green eyes were slightly
blood shot, but happy. She’d caught the red eye from Chicago
when Cheyenne’s water broke, so she hadn’t slept much in the
past two days. Steph was even more pale than usual and had lost
more unnecessary weight in the few weeks since he’d last seen
her in The States. Her usually baby doll features appeared angu-
lar and harsh. She rushed to him, and her red wavy hair bounced
wildly as she flung herself into his arms. He could feel her ribs when he gripped onto her and as she wrapped her legs around
him. She weighed no more than a child. He silently cursed the
fashion folk she worked with. Their unwelcome impact on her
6
RAGE
self-image was one more reason to marry her and get her away
from that industry. His worry dissipated when he felt her warm
breath in his ear and her fingers gripping his hair.
“Pattinson can suck it. You still have ‘the hottest hair in the
UK’.” She locked eyes with him. Something on his face must
have betrayed his inner conflict, because she looked at him as if he’d slapped her. She pulled away from him, seemingly dejected
and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he tightened his hold on her. She stopped struggling and met his eyes reluctantly.
“Did you miss me?” She seemed suddenly shy.
“Always.” He replied and softly grazed her pouty lips with
his. The taste of her hadn’t changed one bit, and he allowed himself thirty heavenly seconds of her sweetness before he untan-
gled himself and placed her unceremoniously on her feet. He
needed to put space between them before he lost control. The
Atlantic Ocean had served as a significant hurdle for their ro-
mance. This not-so-tiny stumbling block had prolonged their
honeymoon phase to the point of agony. With the bloody tab-
loids always hounding him, they desperately needed privacy.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They managed to get as far as the front seat of the car be-
fore they were all over each other again. Steph reached for his
zipper when he clasped her wrist tightly.
“There are cameras everywhere, love.”
“Ugh, what the hell else is new? Bastards. Get a real job.”
She growled and reluctantly removed her delightful hands. He
couldn’t help but snort at her remark since she was a profession-al photographer. She sighed melodramatically and flopped back
against the headrest. “Can we at least…stop somewhere before
we get to your grandparents?”
“What? Like a bed and breakfast that rents rooms by the
hour?” He retorted. She tried to shoot him a dirty look, but a wry smile won out.
“I missed you, Phillip. If I molest you in front of your
7
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
grandparents at tea, you’ll have only yourself to blame.” She was watching traffic as she said this, always the backseat driver. Phillip bit his lip to keep from smiling. He was taking her directly to their cottage where he would have his dirty way with her, but
tomorrow he would take her to Nana and Grandad’s estate. He
hoped his family was hitting it off with Cedric and Adam by
then. Considering the astounding charm that the priest possessed, he had no real concerns regarding Cedric. Adam? It was anyone’s guess. He and Steph were two of a kind. Reality hit him
like a wall of rabid fans attacking Fury’s limo: this time tomorrow, Stephanie would be his fiancée. No more Skype dating. Her
falling asleep in his arms every night…no more bloody flights back and forth across the pond.
“I’m sure we can find a quiet back road to park on,” he said
in a conciliatory tone.
“Ooooo. Dirty.” Her husky murmur quickened his pulse.
They made it to the private jet just five minutes before they
were scheduled for takeoff. Stephanie shot him a lascivious
smile before sliding out of the car. Considering that their first kiss had been in an airplane restroom, the private jet rental was somewhat sentimental.
“Ya know, I’m not typically much of a joiner, but the Mile
High Club? Sign me up!” Steph chirped, pushing past the crew-
members as if they were part of the furnishings. Phillip gave
them a sheepish shrug, but they appeared professional and com-
pletely unconcerned. He proceeded to the back of the plane,
where Steph stood on her tiptoes stowing her purse and camera
bag. She plopped down in the middle of the bench style
