Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

But I really wasn’t prepared for her, and I soon realised I was out of my depth. I’d been foolish, underestimating what I was truly getting myself into. She was like a super-charged energy that shocked life into my stone heart. The fire in her eyes each time I provoked her, watching her battle to fight off the surges of desire when we argued, it was all so fucking addictive. She made me lose focus. She made me think outside of my usual box.

Now and then, clarity spontaneously shocked me back to reality, and I’d find reason for a split second, find the strength to push her away and refocus on what mattered. Except I missed our chemistry-fuelled clashes the moment I put distance between us, and the conflict began to send me wild. So I’d find a way to coax her back, and the vicious circle of lust and madness would start all over again.

The urgency to find what needed to be found took a back seat. I’d discovered something else that stole my attention. It was something that motivated me, but it was also something that scared the god-loving shit out of me. I felt something for her, and it wasn’t just a hard dick. Feelings stirred deep inside of me, the most confusing feeling being jealousy. I’d never been possessive – only over my treasure. No woman had made me question what I wanted. I’d take or leave any one of them at the drop of a hat and find a replacement just as fast. The thought of any other man so much as breathing on her had unearthed a rage in me like nothing I’d felt before. It frightened me. And I could see that it frightened her. Enough to keep her away? Because she knew deep down that I would break her heart? No. She stuck me out. I cursed her for it, and I adored her for it. She took everything I threw at her. My corrupt little witch.

And here we are now . . .

The grin on my face as she walks down the aisle actually hurts my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so hard. She’s a vision in a simple strapless satin gown, her face naturally flawless, and her red hair glowing and tumbling over her bare shoulders. This should have happened over a year ago, but, you see, something came up.

It was quite unexpected, a bit like Eleanor was.

I look past her, my eyes homing in like a radar on my boy. He’s toddling down the aisle in a mini tux, his big, round eyes beaming. My smile stretches wider when he spots me at the end of the aisle. His hand pulls away from Lucy’s, and his chubby arms lift excitedly, his little legs picking up a pace. With Eleanor being led by my slow gramps, it doesn’t take much speed for George to overtake them. I drop to my haunches as he staggers towards me, catching him just before he takes a tumble. ‘Hey up, boy.’ I laugh, lifting him into my arms and smothering his chuckling, chubby cheeks with wet kisses.

‘Dadadadada!’ His frantic palms smack my face repeatedly, knocking my glasses askew and spiking a roar of badly contained chuckles from the congregation.

Eleanor’s mother rushes forward to claim him, but when I try to pass him over, he shouts his protest and throws his little wilful arms around my neck. ‘I’ve got him,’ I say, transferring him into my right arm so I can welcome Eleanor into my other. She releases Gramps’s hand, kisses him tenderly on the cheek, and then walks straight into my free arm, burying her face into my shoulder. I swear, there’s not one thing in the world that could feel as good as this – my boy and my woman snuggling into me. I press my lips into her temple and breathe her into me. ‘Give me a twirl,’ I order gently, forcing her away from me. She smiles that knowing smile and performs a slow spin on the spot, giving me a peek of one of my favourite assets. I blow out air on a whistle, drinking in the exquisite sight of her arse being hugged by satin. ‘Super,’ I whisper to myself.

She curtseys and takes my hand, turning us to face the priest, and the holy man instantly eyes George in my hold, but a quick nod tells him to get on with things. I have an arse dying for my attention.

‘Welcome,’ he chants, a Bible resting across his palm. ‘To the union of Eleanor and Becker.’

We stand together, our son in my arms, while the priest conducts the ceremony. Eleanor constantly squeezes my hand, and I constantly flick my gaze to hers, reminding myself that this is all so very real. Me, Becker Hunt, father and husband. They’re the craziest things of all the things to happen. And the best. The most exciting, the most satisfying. I’ve found my treasure.