Epilogue

JONAH

* Two Years Later *

S taring at my lovely wife through the large library window, I think I could watch her sketch all day.

Brooke has always been the most breathtaking woman I've ever seen. It's like there's a light that surrounds her. As if all the love and sweetness in her heart radiates outward.

But now, after living with me for two years up on the mountain, she glows even more. It's not just all the fresh air and sunshine, or the faint tan that brought out a few more charming freckles. She's truly blossomed.

About a month after she settled into my – sorry – our house, she began working like crazy. When I gently suggested she scale back so that she didn't burn herself out, she simply raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Then Brooke spoke with Mrs. Honeywell at the library and started a drawing group in the large conference room every Tuesday afternoon while I'm busy at the clinic. She even called it "Drawing and Doodling for People Who Aren't Very Good at It" to ensure that everyone knew it was purely for fun and no pressure.

Now she has just as many friends around here as I do and keeps track of our social calendar. Apparently married couples are supposed to go out at least once a week until they have kids. I told her she must have snuck this into the fine print of our marriage license, but she wouldn't relent. She just made that little adorable grr sound that turns me on so much.

I watch in admiration as her quick hands move across the easel, her engagement and wedding rings sparkling in the sunlight. My thrifty girl designed our wedding invitations herself, using pressed flowers from the forest and her own sketches. We only invited a dozen people, but since it took place at City Hall, half the town showed up anyway.

She was just as beautiful in her simple white dress as she is now in a slouchy green sweater and yoga pants, leaning forward to point to something on another artist's drawing. Everyone in town tells me how kind Brooke is. And apparently, behind my back, they mention how much she's mellowed me out.

Tearing my gaze away from the window, I lean on my truck and idly check my email for ten minutes until Brooke comes out waving goodbye to people. I take her bag, then begin to help her into the truck, but stop.

Caging her against the seat with my arms, I lean down to nuzzle her throat. "You're very sexy when you're sketching. Did you know that?"

"Interesting. I had no idea." Her soft gray eyes lock on mine. "You're very sexy when you stare at me through the window like an overprotective husband."

"Ah, you noticed that?"

"Every. Single. Time." Her left hand reaches down and punctuates each word with a squeeze of my ass, and I can't help but notice that her grip strength is completely back to normal.

Since we can't keep our hands off each other, the wrist is something I've been paying attention to for a while. Sure, we attempt to be professional in the clinic, and when in public. But it's difficult.

Partly because my gorgeous little artist knows she can make me hard with no more than a sultry glance and a toss of her auburn hair. We're always jumping into bed for another round.

"You know, if we pick up pizza now, we'll finish dinner faster. Early bedtime." My eyebrows fly up and down suggestively.

Brooke fists the front of my t-shirt, pulling my mouth to hers for a deep, sensual kiss. The flash of heat is instant, as our bodies press together, each point of contact becoming warmer as we hold each other close. Then she pushes me away to laugh. "Or we could throw something in the oven that takes an hour to cook. If only we had something to do while we wait…"

I take hold of her hot, round ass with both hands. "How about that frozen casserole?"

"Perfect. Let's go."