LOL #3 Romantic Comedy Anthology Read online

  I can’t argue with her, and she knows it.

  She throws something at me, and it lands with a soft thump on the covers. Jeans. Button-down fly. Her favorite pair on me. I grin a little bit in spite of myself. “Don’t I at least get to wear something insulated?”

  “Street clothes,” she says, only tripping over herself slightly as she pulls on her panties. “Those are the rules. You should’ve negotiated beforehand if you wanted special treatment.”

  “Fine.” I groan slightly as I drag myself out of the warm cocoon of the bed. She’s not intentionally guilt-tripping me, but she knows I can’t say no to her. Not after I spent so many years torturing her. I step into the jeans and pull on a sweater, and she’s practically vibrating with childish joy.

  “Come on!” She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the stairs. We pause briefly in the hallway to pull on boots and jackets and hats, and she’s got her favorite pair of mittens, but there’s no way I’m ruining my nice leather gloves with snow. I’ll be fine.

  She’s pulling me outside. The air is crisp and cold, but it’s not biting. I’m instantly awake, and fifty percent more sober. “This is ridicul - JESUS!” A burst of cold hits the back of my head and immediately fills my collar, creeping down my neck. I turn around to glare at her, and she’s laughing her ass off, halfway across the courtyard.

  Of course.

  “Bitch,” I snarl, grabbing a loose handful of snow and lobbing it at her. Of course it crumbles to nothing halfway on the journey, and she just laughs harder.

  “Somehow I feel like I’m not the bitch here,” she giggles.

  “Quiet,” I warn her. “People are trying to sleep.”

  “You know nobody can hear. Everybody’s windows are closed.” She’s packing a new projectile, and I’m determined to get her this time. The snow is goddamn cold, though, and I wonder why I thought going gloveless would be a good idea. How long has it been since I’ve actually touched snow? I can’t even remember. It’s not like I ever had to clean off my own cars, as Meg will no doubt gleefully remind me.

  I manage to put something together that’s halfway decent, but it’s hurting my hand and she’s on the move. This time I’m ready, though, and I dodge her next few hits, but I don’t think I can get her. Finally I’m forced to throw the fucking thing before my fingers fall off, and it goes wide as she hops out of the way.

  “You should get your eyes checked,” she taunts. “I thought this would be easy, but I had no idea how easy.”

  Fuck this. I start stalking towards her, knowing she can’t run forever. The whole courtyard is gated in, and it’s not that big. And if it came down to it, I could run faster. Even in the snow. She’s going down.

  Her smile fades a little as she walks backwards, stumbling a little. “What are you doing?”

  “Evening the score,” I growl, as I close the distance between us. “Are you going to fight me face-to-face? Or are you too scared?”

  She shrieks a little bit, turning and picking up the pace. But with the snow, it’s difficult, and I’ve got the longer stride.

  “Oh, how the bitch tables have turned.” Now that she’s not looking at me, I take a moment to try and breathe some life back into my frozen fingers. “Come on, love, what are you afraid of?”

  It doesn’t take me long to catch up to her. I catch her around the waist and throw her off-balance, and we tumble into the snow together.

  “Okay, okay!” she’s gasping, as snow creeps into the gaps of her clothing. “All right! You win! I give up!”

  “Doesn’t work that way.” I slide my frozen hand under her jacket, under her shirt, pressing the frigid fingers against the furnace of her bare skin.

  “ADRIAN!” she screams, trying to squirm away. I’d remind her to shut up, but hell - it’s not like it’s the first time the neighbors have heard that.

  I hold her down firmly, until I can feel the painful tingles of life coming back into my fingers. Her eyes are wide, her body quivering as she glares at me.

  “You are the worst,” she grits out. I can feel the goosebumps rising on her torso.

  “This was your idea,” I remind her, calmly.

  “How is it my problem that you didn’t wear gloves?” she snaps.

  “Oh, let’s not go passing blame around.” I pull my hand away, finally, and she relaxes slightly. “Do you concede?”

  “Like it matters.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “Trust me.” I capture her free wrist and hold it down, sinking deep into the snow. “It matters.”

  She sighs a little, and not just from exasperation. “You always win,” she says. “You know that. Let me up.”

  “I’d rather not,” I tell her, with a grin.

  “I’ll freeze,” she says. “We both will.”

  “I bet we can stay warm.” I nuzzle against her face, and I can feel her smile. “Sorry I called you a bitch.”

  “It was well-deserved, asshole.” Her breath is hot, and still a bit boozy. “Thank you. For trusting me, I mean. I know you don’t like people in your space. If you really want me to move in… “

  “I do.”

  “Then it means a lot.” She licks her lips.

  “It does.”

  “I love you, Ryn.”

  “I love you too, Megs.”

  “Kiss me.”

  I do.

  Author’s Note - Melanie Marchande

  You’ve just finished reading WAITING FOR SNOW, a short story by Melanie Marchande. If you’d like to spend more time with Meg and Adrian, pick up her New York Times bestselling full-length novel, HIS SECRETARY: UNDONE.

  I’m about to throw an ashtray at my boss’s head.

  Turns out, the mind behind my favorite, steamy romance novels… the ones I only read in private… the ones that are my only escape after a long day of dealing with The Boss From Hell? It’s not Natalie McBride, the sweet, rural housewife.

  It’s him.

  That’s right: my boss, Adrian Risinger, the thirty-three-year-old, maddeningly sexy, pissant billionaire “bad boy” who thinks he runs my life. He is also the author of all my deepest, most secret fantasies. And to make matters worse, he needs me to impersonate “Natalie” at a series of book signings and conventions. But, of course, that’s only if I want to keep my job.

  On second thought, I’m going to need something heavier than an ashtray.

  His Secretary: Undone on Amazon

  Other titles by Melanie Marchande

  I Married a Billionaire (Free Download)

  I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found

  I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son

  I Married a Master

  Romance Impossible

  For exclusive content, sales, and special opportunities for fans only, plus a FREE copy of the full-length standalone novel ROMANCE IMPOSSIBLE, please sign up for Melanie’s mailing list. You’ll never be spammed, and your information will never be shared or sold.

  You can also friend her on Facebook and like her page.

  Melanie Marchande

  www.melaniemarchande.com

  Skiing in June

  Blair Babylon

  DESCRIPTION: Rae Stone-von Hannover is no fairy tale princess. She’s a country bumpkin currently turning into a pregnant pumpkin. When her handsome prince takes her on an après-ski vacation in Argentina in June, three real princesses show up to try to steal him away, expecting Rae to be genteel about letting him go.

  But giving up her man without a fight is not the cowgirl way.

  GENRE: New Adult Contemporary Erotic Romance, 11,500 words or 46 pages

  HEAT LEVEL: Spicy hot, 4 flames!

  This is a standalone story. The characters are connected to Blair Babylon’s bestselling Billionaires in Disguise: Rae series, but you don’t need to have read any of the others to enjoy this story.

  Turn the page to begin reading Skiing in June by Blair Babylon, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  Skiing in June
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  A Billionaires in Disguise: Rae Epilogue

  Blair Babylon

  CHAPTER 1

  Rae

  When Rae and Wulf had left the Southwest desert ten hours before, the blistering summer sunset had scraped Rae’s arms through the tinted window of the SUV that had driven them to the airport.

  Now, snow. Mountains blanketed with snow. Two feet of icy base and more powder last night, and the Argentinian morning sun shot beams off of it like stage lights. Crystalline snow stung Rae’s face like salt flying in the wind.

  The temperature difference was nearly a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and the cold air stuck pins through Rae’s new ski jacket during the quick trot from the SUVs to the ski chalet’s lobby. She had ordered the coat online in a hurry, as Wulf had made reservations here less than a week ago. The June blizzard had dropped snow early in the Southern Hemisphere’s winter. This chalet usually didn’t open until late June or early July.

  Money and privilege changed everything, even the laws of time and space. If she wanted something impossible, like to go skiing in June, Wulf arranged for them to go skiing in June. Rae felt like a desert rat that had crawled into an exclusive ski chalet on the wrong half of the world.

  Sunlight glared brilliant white off the snow drifts outside the huge two-story windows, outshining the roaring fire in the fireplace and throwing thick wedges of light over the rustic wood and plush conversation groupings. Tendrils of wood smoke hung in the air and clung to her clothes as she walked.

  Rae squinted, trying to see through the snow-glaring radiance. The outline of the long front desk staffed with obscure shadows peeked out of the radiating beams, and Wulf’s security men, all wearing long black coats over their black suits, hustled them through the lobby to the elevators. The advance team had already secured their floor, the top one.

  She turned to look up at Wulf, who strode beside her toward the elevators. The flat planes of light cast harsh shadows under his straight jaw and strong cheekbones. She was still squinting into the bright sun and almost asked him some inane question about tinted ski goggles, but his attention was focused across the lobby with the intensity of a missile locked on a target.

  The sunlight behind him haloed his blond hair, and his dark blue eyes betrayed nothing. His practiced expression was as serene as deep water, as it always was when they were not alone.

  Wulf didn’t notice Rae watching him as they hurried across the lobby, their security men’s shoes thundering on the wooden floor as they swarmed around Rae and Wulf like black hornets. She had learned to read the exceedingly subtle shifts in the tension in his jaw and around his eyes, and he was staring across that lobby with the same sword-sharp intensity as when he evaluated thousands of flickering numbers while managing his stock portfolios.

  He was calculating something very complex.

  Rae turned, and the burly back of one of the black-suited security guys blocked her line of sight across the wide room for a moment.

  On the other side of the lobby, the glowing sun shining from behind Rae and the bonfire blazing in the enormous stone fireplace lit a woman. She wore one of those skin-tight ski outfits that clung like a wetsuit to her slim curves, and her blue second skin set off her pale features, flashing black eyes, and glossy black curls.

  The woman smiled a slow, sultry smile above Rae’s head.

  Right at Wulf, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

  Recognition tickled the back of Rae’s mind, but she couldn’t place the woman.

  Rae turned back to Wulf. “Do we know her?”

  Wulf glanced down at her, his expression as unperturbed as the glistening fresh powder outside the windows. “I don’t know whom you’re talking about.”

  “That woman.” Rae gestured by flicking her hand back at the lobby as the security guys crowded Rae and Wulf into the elevator.

  Two of the guys got on the elevator with them. They turned their backs to Rae and Wulf and stared at the doors sliding closed, so Rae only saw broad shoulders in black wool coats.

  Rae frowned. “I could swear that I know her from somewhere.”

  Wulf shrugged one shoulder, and the smallest smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure that I have no idea whom you mean.”

  Rae stopped and swallowed hard, a sour tang in her mouth.

  Wulf didn’t lie to her.

  He omitted things, sure, but only when he thought he had an excellent reason, usually to protect her or so he wouldn’t scare her off.

  She watched him, examining him for signs of what he was thinking.

  He had been staring at that woman, staring hard. He knew exactly whom Rae meant.

  An image rose up in Rae’s mind: that same woman, wearing a slim white dress and holding out her delicate hand to shake, and saying, “Marie-Therese Grimaldi, cousin to the groom.” Sweet incense smoke had floated in the air. A wooden door had loomed behind Marie-Therese’s black curls when she had introduced herself, the door to the room where Wulf’s sister Flicka had been sobbing on her wedding day in Paris because their father was trying to ruin her wedding with a temper tantrum. Wulf’s father had thought Pierre wasn’t an appropriate match for their family.

  Marie-Therese had been one of Flicka’s bridesmaids.

  Rae wove her fingers into Wulf’s, gloved hand. The sharp stones on her wedding rings rubbed her fingers, so she twisted the rings, straightening them.

  Wulf couldn’t have forgotten Marie-Therese. He never forgot anything, ever. Rae wouldn’t have been able to stand having his memory where nothing ever faded, not even childhood horrors, and she had slowly, over the last few months, begun to discern his many skills for coping with it. Most of them involved adrenaline or testosterone. Anyone less controlled would have been driven mad.

  She sort of wanted to write a psychology paper on him for her senior year next year, but he was far too private a person. It would have slashed him open, and she wouldn’t ever do that.

  But she was unsettled.

  It was odd that Marie-Therese Grimaldi was in Argentina at a ski resort at all, and it was downright baffling why Wulf wouldn’t admit to having seen her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rae

  The elevator doors opened to the hallway outside their suite, and Rae’s eyes slammed shut from the glare barreling through the windows. She had grown up with the desert sun burning the plants and drying the soil to dust, but snow-glaring sun felt like lasers to her watering eyes. “Holy cow.”

  Wulf glanced down at her and motioned to the wall of windows opposite the elevator doors. “Let’s close those curtains.”

  The security guys were already fanning out through the suite, and two guys tugged gossamer sheers over the tall windows, filtering the cold, white blaze.

  Wulf asked, “Better?”

  “Yeah. A lot.” Rae wiped the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “Wulf, honey? Can we talk about something?”

  “Of course.” He led the way through the living room—the shining dark wood and navy blue velvet balanced the snow outside and the sunlight beating through the windows—to a bedroom beyond. Wulf had mentioned that he stayed in this suite whenever he skied in Argentina, so it made sense that he knew the layout.

  She followed him because she sure as heck had never been to this elite ski chalet before, nor gone skiing in June before, nor had ever been skiing, nor had even been in the Southern Hemisphere. Rae was lost.

  He shut the door behind them and tugged off his black leather gloves and long coat. Underneath, he wore a black suit similar to all his security men’s, similar if someone couldn’t see the difference between the precisely tailored cut and the very fine fabric of his, as opposed to the suits that cost only a few thousand dollars that he bought for his men, and their suits were altered in very specific ways, looser under the arms and longer.

  Rae took a deep breath. No woman likes saying stuff like this. “Wulf, honey, you don’t have to pretend that you didn’t see her. It’s okay to look.”

  On
e of his blond eyebrows dipped, and he actually smiled a little for her. “I beg your pardon?”

  She did love his accent. It was still predominantly English, pah-don, but when he relaxed, German and French shadings sneaked in, and she made it a game to tease them out. “It’s okay with me. She’s pretty. Heck, she’s gorgeous. And I’m getting kind of thick around the waist, so it’s okay to look.”

  “You thought—” Wulf blinked, looking down for a moment while he sucked in a breath, but then he took two steps across the room with his long, long legs and caught her in his arms.

  Her body bent in his strength. “Wulf?”

  His harsh whisper brushed the skin of her neck. “I wasn’t looking, and certainly not like that.” His fingers clutched her hip, digging into her flesh just enough to get her full attention. “You’re carrying our child. Every time I look at you—the curve of your hips, the swell of your body—I am brought to my knees.”

  His lips came down on hers, and then he was pushing her up against the wall, rubbing his hand up under her sweater to find her skin. He kissed down her neck, and his bare fingers were cool against her ribs.

  Rae wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. The fine wool of his suit jacket against her cheek absorbed the little moisture leaking out of her eyes due to the harsh snow-reflected sunlight, she told herself.

  Wulf’s breath heated the skin on her neck, and his murmur drifted through her long, auburn hair loose around her shoulders. “Every time I look at you, I want you. I swear to God, my body wants to make you more pregnant somehow. You are so thoroughly mine that there is a part of me growing inside your body. I don’t want to look at another woman. I want to watch you every moment so I don’t miss even a second of this. You devastate me,” he whispered.

  Wulf always whispered in such moments, and when he did—rarely, quietly—Rae’s heart broke open. It was like he wore a shiny shell, one that concealed a deep vulnerability.

  Wulf’s hands found Rae’s elbows and he grabbed her arms, stretching them over her head, and he pinned her wrists to the wall with one of his strong hands.