Bidding on the Cowboy Fireman Bonus Scenes

By mid-morning, we’re ducking into Daunt Books, sunlight spilling across vintage wallpaper and shelves that stretch up like cathedral ceilings. Ambrose tilts his Stetson lower, but even here, in a city of strangers, women sneak glances. Only he doesn’t see them. They’re invisible to him. Instead, he only sees me.

“You’ll need ladders like these in your store,” he muses, tugging me up to the gallery rail where the wood creaks under our steps. “And maybe one of those old rolling carts.”

“You’ve thought about everything, haven’t you?” I ask, heart as warm and melty as a freshly baked batch of cookies.

“Every damn day since you told me about your dream.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I cover my mouth with my hand. How could I have gotten so lucky? I thought Gran’s winning bid and gift to me was over-the-top, unfathomable. Turns out, I won the lottery of a lifetime, too, with a man I thought I didn’t deserve and now can’t imagine living without.

We wander Foyles, then Hatchards, his broad frame absurdly out of place in hushed reading rooms until he kneels beside me in the sci-fi section, reverent as a parishioner, tracing space opera spines with calloused fingertips.

That night, he makes good on the “dine” part of wine and dine at a glittering restaurant overlooking the Thames. Candlelight gleams in his eyes as he raises his glass.

“To you, Sparky. To your bookstore. To every crazy dream you’ve been too scared to speak out loud.”

The wine is rich, the steak perfect, but the real feast is his devotion. I feel drunk on him. On love. On the terrifying and wondrous knowledge that this man, who risks his life for strangers, has placed his heart wholly in my hands.

Over dessert, he suddenly rises, kneeling before me and holding up a small black velvet box in his large hands. Silence settles over the restaurant as he says, eyes gleaming, “Catalina Cynthia Dupont, I’ve known you were mine since the first day I met you. Made for me in every way. From our shared love of books to hockey, fifties-style diners to matchmaking grandmas, and grumpy cats, I want to share my life with you forever. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife … of officially making us a family?”

The feminist bravado falls away. The hyper-independence. Instead, I’m just a girl in love with the most handsome, amazing, charming man on the planet. My cowboy fireman. Mine forever.

“Yes, Ambrose. A thousand times, yes.”

Cracking open the box, he reveals a large, glittering diamond solitaire on a rose gold band with delicate floral flourishes. My eyes well up, my breath stuttering as he recites the engraving on the inside of the band aloud: “To my life’s Spark.”

He slides the stunning band slowly over my ring finger, eyes simmering and spilling over with love.

“You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world,” I whisper.

“And you’ve become my home, my family, the only place I ever want to be,” he answers raw-voiced.

Later, when he lays me down on the white linen sheets of our posh hotel overlooking St. Paul’s, worshiping every inch of me, I realize no price tag could measure this night. Not ten thousand dollars. Not ten million.

My life with Ambrose is beyond rich. It’s priceless.

Bonus Scene 2: Between the Bookshelves

FIVE MONTHS LATER

The moment I set foot in Catalina’s new bookstore, Cat’s Bookish Corner, pride damn near bowls me over. Fresh cream paint with mocha accent walls and white ceilings. Shelves lined with every romance she loves and my space operas, too. A place she built with her own hands, inspired by our trip to London and funded by the only devoted investor she’ll ever need.

But right now? I’m about to ruin it.

She’s perched on a step ladder, adjusting a display, black A-line skirt riding up just enough to make my blood boil. The sight of her curves framed by rows of books … Damn, I don’t stand a chance.

“Looks good, Sparky,” I rasp. My voice is too low, too rough. Because all I can think about is pulling her down, spreading her out right here between these shelves.

She turns, glasses slipping a little, cheeks flushed. “You think?”

“I know.” I close the distance in three strides, boxing her in against the wood. Her ample tits collide with my firm chest, and I feel the jolt all the way to my bones. Familiar pressure builds at the base of my spine, my need for her intensifying with every beat of my heart.

“You’re going to make me forget what I’m doing,” she protests weakly.

“Oh, yeah?” I growl, pressing my mouth to hers. “Well, you’re going to make me lose my damn mind.”

She moans, and I slide my work-hardened hand between her impossibly soft inner thighs. Hiking her skirt higher, I sensually claim every inch of my woman. She gasps, clutching my shoulders, wide eyes darting to the shelves. “Ambrose—”

“Let it fall, Sparky …” My fingers skim the juncture between her legs, finding the heat I need more than a beating heart. Her flesh hums, body already trembling beneath my demanding touch. “Books, shelves, the whole damn world. Nothing matters but you, me … us … and this moment I’ve waited far too long for.”

Her leg bends towards me, thigh rising to trace the outside of my leg. Her lace panties tease me, already dripping with her arousal. My thumb brushes restlessly over her clit, needy and raw.

“Fuck … Sparky, you’re dripping for me. In your own store.”

Her whimper is music. I sink two fingers into her heat, pumping slow, savoring the way she clenches around me, knowing who owns her pussy. Her head lolls back, cherry-stained lips parting on a heady sigh. She’s already close. Her walls quivering and sucking me in, begging me to take her there.

But I want her wrecked on my cock, not my hand.

I yank my zipper down, freeing my rock-hard arousal, need throbbing through me. Pushing her skirt up over her thighs, I lift her off the ground. Her legs wrap around my waist, knowing where this dangerous game leads and begging for it.

Pressing her against the sturdy shelves—I made sure they would support this fantasy—I free one hand, guiding the head of my cock through her weeping folds, groaning mindlessly at her honey’s searing invitation.

“God, I need you so fucking much,” I grit out as I slide into her, shivers racing through me. I’m moments from coming, unraveling in her slick channel and the smoldering desire of bringing my fantasy to life. I pound into her in one greedy thrust. Her cry tears through me, raw and desperate, as the shelf rattles. A couple books tumble to the floor. I don’t care. Hell, I want the whole damn place to know who owns her body.

“Catalina,” I groan against the crook of her neck, pulling all the way back to the head and driving again. Deep, relentless. “So tight … like you were made for me.”

Her nails rake down my back, straining against the thin layer of my button-down shirt to leave her mark on me. Brand me with her fire. “Ambrose—”

“Say it,” I snarl, teasing her neck with sizzling open-mouthed kisses. “Say this is ours. This store. This life. This love.”

“Ours,” she gasps, breaking apart in my arms. Her pussy spasms hard around me, quivering and milking my cock. I lose it, burying myself deep, splitting apart and groaning her name like it’s a prayer.

Her body shakes, but I hold her through it, locking her to me as if sheer force could fuse us together. My forehead drops to hers, sweat mixing, breath ragged, faces flushed.

When the haze clears, she’s smiling … wrecked, radiant, all mine.

“Guess we just christened the place, Wife,” I murmur, lips feathering over her face, slow, reverent.

She giggles, still trembling, still full of me as I plant delicate kisses on her eyelids, her mouth, her chin, the freckles sprinkled on her rosy cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. “Husband … that was mindblowing.”

“Good.” I press my mouth to hers again, hungry even now. “Because this place, these books, every fucking thing about you makes me ravenous. Never able to get enough.”

“So, we’ll be doing this again?” she teases, face radiant, answer already written in her eyes.

“Regularly. Always.”

And deep down, I know it’s true. The store, the woman, the future. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never doubts any of it and proving to her that I’ll always be here … and always be hers.

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