Moments In Time (A Time For Love Book 3) Read online

  three brief romances by

  Amelia Stone

  MOMENTS IN TIME

  Copyright 2017 Amelia Stone

  All rights reserved

  Cover image and graphics: Jamy Mawhorter / JamyLyn Art

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or advertisement.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  The Wedding Morning After

  One

  Two

  First Time for Everything

  One

  Two

  Stolen Hours

  One

  Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Amelia Stone

  Author’s Note

  This book contains three short stories set in the world of the Time for Love series. If you have not read One More Time (book one) or The First Time (book two), you will probably be very confused when reading this one. Proceed with caution. Or better yet, go back and read those other books first!

  My feet felt like they were swollen to twice their normal size, my ribs ached from the corseting in my dress, and I hadn’t had a chance to eat anything all day, other than the cake I’d licked off my face from when Brian “fed” it to me.

  In other words? Best. Day. Ever.

  Brian and I waved, leaning against each other for support, as the last of our guests filed out of the hotel’s event space. Ballroom? I guess it was a ballroom. Words were kind of hard at the moment, because man, was I exhausted. I’d been up since six a.m., which was rare for me. My job as a chef meant that I worked until midnight or later most days, and as a result, I tended to sleep until mid-morning. Between the early wake-up and the excitement of anticipating the day’s events, I got maybe four hours of sleep. I could barely function on so little rest on regular days.

  And today was not a regular day, not by a long shot.

  Still. “This was a good day,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn.

  “The best day,” Brian mumbled tiredly, snaking a long arm around my waist and pulling me into his side.

  I hummed and wrapped my arms around him, not really able to put into words just how happy I was. I’d gotten married. Today, I’d pledged my life, my faith, and my heart to the best man I’d ever known. After six long years, we’d finally done it. The whole thing felt surreal, in the best possible way.

  “You’re my favorite,” Brian murmured, and I felt his lips on the top of my head. “Thanks for marrying me.”

  I chuckled. “You’re such a dork.”

  He squeezed my hip. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

  I tipped my head up to look at him, grinning. “Yeah, I do.” And even though I’d teased him, I knew what he meant. I was so grateful for Brian’s love, for his devotion to me, to us. Our life together hadn’t always been easy. Building my business had taken so much of my focus in the last couple of years that I’d neglected nearly everything else, including him. But he’d stood by me, offering me love and support when I needed it most.

  My eyes filled with happy tears as I smiled at him. “Thanks for marrying me,” I whispered as I raised myself onto my tiptoes to kiss him.

  He pulled back from the kiss slowly. “You’re such a dork,” he teased, but his eyes were shining with emotion.

  Before I could parry back, I saw the hotel manager approaching us from the corner of my eye, an apologetic look on his face. I pulled away slightly, turning to face the short, thin man with the huge moustache.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, first of all, congratulations,” the man said, a slight accent coloring his words. The deep ridge between his eyebrows foretold nothing good, but I gave him a smile anyway (even if it was a tired one).

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, because I couldn’t remember the name he’d given us earlier. Hell, I could barely remember my own right now. “Is everything all right?”

  He nodded, though his eyes still looked worried. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s just, there’s been, ah, a little mix-up.”

  Brian cleared his throat, straightening to his full height. “A mix-up?”

  See, Brian was actually the sweetest guy, if a little dopey, God love him. But when he squared his broad shoulders and furrowed his brow like that, he looked intimidating as fuck. The manager actually gulped as he looked up at my husband.

  “Ah, yes. Well, it seems my staff booked you into the wrong room.”

  I tensed. “The wrong room?”

  I looked at Brian. He’d been the one to book the hotel package for the ceremony, reception, and wedding night. My schedule tended to be more hectic, so he had more time to research this kind of stuff. Also, maybe I sort of hadn’t hired a wedding planner, leaning instead on my best friend, Jamy, for help. And by ‘help,’ I mean she basically ended up doing everything. Which kind of resulted in her having a mental breakdown and almost ruining her relationship with my brother, Sam.

  Everything was fine now. Jamy was doing so much better, and she and Sam had gotten back together. And I’d apologized until I was blue in the face, to both of them. But all the same, I felt a residual sense of guilt that had my gut churning and my palms all sweaty before the manager even explained the situation. This was it. I was convinced this was going to be my karmic retribution for being a selfish turd. I flashed back to all the times I’d been a bridezilla, cringing at how obsessed I’d been with getting the perfect wedding photos, in particular. I’d made my brother shave his beard, for God’s sake! (In my defense, it was hideous. But that’s not the point.)

  The manager frowned, and I braced myself, ready for him to tell us we had to sleep in a supply closet or something.

  Okay, so maybe I’d seen Best in Show one too many times. What can I say? I’m a big Ed Begley, Jr. fan. I kind of have a thing for tall blond guys.

  Brian raised an eyebrow, oblivious to my internal freak-out, as usual. “I thought I verified the reservation last week. The photos on your website looked just fine.”

  I frowned at my husband. The website? He didn’t even bother to come see it in person?

  But then I remembered I’m the Bridezilla who made everyone do all the work for me, and I silenced my ungrateful thoughts.

  The manager nodded. “Yes, yes, the Ocotillo room is perfectly lovely. But you should have had the Sonora suite.”

  “Suite?” I asked, cautiously hopeful. ‘Suite’ sounded good to me. Much better than the supply closet, that’s for sure.

  The manager nodded, giving us a nervous smile. “Yes, we typically book our newlyweds into the Sonora. It’s our best suite.”

  Brian nodded, looking as relieved as I felt. “Okay, that sounds good. So what do you need from us?”

  The manager grinned. “Absolutely nothing is required on your part. We’ve given you a free upgrade, and we’ve taken the liberty of moving your bags already. It’s all arranged.
” He held out an electronic room key to us, bowing slightly.

  Brian smiled as he stretched out a long arm to take the card. “Great. Thank you, sir.”

  The manager gave us another apology as he retreated, leaving us both standing there, feeling a little dumbstruck.

  Brian leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You thought we’d have to sleep in the supply closet, didn’t you?”

  I gasped softly, turning to look at him. “How’d you guess?”

  He shook his head, chuckling softly. “It’s that damn Ed Begley. If you hadn’t just pledged your love to me forever, I’d think you were gonna leave me for him.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “He can operate a toaster through bicycle power. You just can’t compete with that.”

  He laughed. “I put solar panels on the roof. Don’t I at least get some lovin’ for that?”

  I shrugged. “You still haven’t built that composter you promised me for the vegetable garden. Talk to me once you do that.”

  He chuckled again. “I’ll get right on that.” He turned to me, a lazy, satisfied expression on his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face. “Well, Mrs. Campbell, what do you say? Ready for the wedding night to start?” He wiggled his eyebrows, flashing me that doofy grin I loved so much. “We have the Sonora suite, after all.”

  I took a moment to look at him – a not-so-secret pleasure of mine. My new husband was, generally speaking, sexy in everything from sweatpants to khakis. He was a rare man who could make even cargo shorts look enticing. But Brian in a tux? Be still, my heart. The light gray three-piece suit was perfectly tailored to him, the sunflower-yellow bow tie and pocket square bringing out the golden tones in his hair and complementing his blue eyes. He was long, and lean, and effortlessly polished. He looked like a damn superhero.

  But luckily for me, my husband was sexiest in nothing at all.

  I grinned up at him, feeling suddenly energized. I wanted to skip the bullshit and go straight to the whole ‘marital bliss’ thing. “Race you to the elevator?”

  He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “What’re the stakes?”

  I grinned, knowing exactly what I would bet. “First to hit the button has to give the other a foot massage.” I so needed one. High heels are evil. I rubbed my hands together, determined to win.

  He chuckled. “You’re on,” he agreed. “Ready?”

  Then he counted to three, and we both took off across the huge, marble-tiled lobby. It was only about a hundred feet to the bank of elevators on the other side, so I liked my chances.

  But just ten feet later, I was feeling kinda rage-y. My dress was restricting my breathing and shackling my legs together, and my heels were trying to kill me, pain stabbing through the arches of my feet at every step. Brian, meanwhile, was working his flat-soled shoes and longer stride to his advantage. Damn him and his more-than-a-foot-taller-than-me self, I thought as I trailed behind him.

  “Wait for me!” I called. “My legs are shorter!”

  He laughed, glancing back at me with a devilish grin. “The whole point is that we race.”

  “I. am. racing,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. I’d run a half-marathon last winter, for the love of Mike! Winning a footrace across one lousy room should not have been so hard.

  “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

  “You and Inigo Montoya can both bite me,” I huffed. “Or maybe I’ll just bite you.”

  He turned, running backwards. Fucking show-off. “Now, now, wife, that’s not very sweet of you to say. You know I don’t like it when you use your teeth.” He wagged a finger back and forth, his smile evil.

  I narrowed my eyes as I tried – and failed – to put on a burst of speed. “Well, husband, don’t you know you’re always supposed to let me win?”

  “I promise, you can always come first,” he retorted, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

  I couldn’t help it – I laughed. And then I tripped, because I had two torture devices strapped to my feet where shoes should have been. Have I mentioned I hate high heels? I mean, I’m five-foot-two. I’m just not meant to be tall. As such, I usually find it best to stay close to the ground, where I belong. High heels lead to nothing but disasters like this.

  But before I hit the floor, I felt two strong arms loop around my waist, lifting me. Then I was unceremoniously dumped over Brian’s shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

  “Hey!” I cried, thumping his shoulder blade. “I was winning.”

  He threw his head back in a laugh, his hair tickling my elbow. “You can still win,” he said as we reached the elevator. He leaned forward to press the button, and I swayed dangerously. But his hand tightened on my ass, keeping me nice and secure. He totally copped a feel, too, the letch. “I’ll say you beat me if anyone asks.”

  I harrumphed. “Sure, because everyone wants a pity trophy.”

  He squeezed my ass again. “Would you feel better if the pity trophy came in the form of an orgasm?”

  I bit my lip, trying to hide a grin. Then I remembered he couldn’t see me, since my face was buried in the back of his suit jacket. “I guess that’s okay,” I relented.

  He chuckled, the sound almost drowned out by the chime of the elevator. Then he stepped back, probably to let someone out.

  “You’re doing that wrong, son,” a grizzled voice said.

  “Pardon?” Brian asked.

  I turned my head, watching as an older man with a walker stepped off the elevator. He nodded at me, still draped over Brian’s shoulder. “You’re not supposed to use the fireman’s carry. You lift her in your arms.”

  I bit back a smile. “He’s just showing off,” I explained, reaching down to pinch my husband’s butt.

  To his credit, Brian didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned toward the older man, his other hand clamping on my hip to make sure I didn’t fall. “Actually, she got really dizzy,” he stage-whispered.

  The old man raised a bushy eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Brain nodded. “Yeah, she just can’t handle my potent masculinity,” he said, like it was the saddest thing he’d ever heard. “Most of the time she faints when we, you know.” I couldn’t see, but I imagined him wiggling his eyebrows in that goofy way of his.

  The old man blushed. “Well.” He patted his heart absently. “Well, good for you, son. Er, congratulations!”

  Brian thanked him, but I had to bite my lip, trying to hold in my laughter as the old man walked away.

  Brian stepped onto the elevator, and I thumped him again. “You probably gave that poor old man a stroke,” I chided.

  He chuckled. “Or maybe I gave him some ideas. Maybe he’s off to give Mrs. Poor Old Man a stroke or two.”

  I laughed. My husband was a twelve-year-old boy at heart, but he made me laugh every single time he opened that immature mouth of his. “You’re in rare form tonight.”

  “I’m in a really good mood today, for some reason.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I grinned.

  The elevator chimed again, and he exited swiftly, striding quickly down the hall to our suite. Once he’d carried me through the spacious living room and into the bedroom, he finally let me down, and I wasted no time in kicking my heels off, nodding in satisfaction when they hit the opposite wall with a dull clunk. Then he pulled me in close, bending to kiss me.

  Now this – the delicious meeting of our lips, the slow slide of our tongues – was hardly rare. But it really never got old. Brian kissed me thoroughly, hungrily, like this was both the first and last time he’d ever get to do it. When he kissed me, I felt truly cherished, as though only he could keep me safe and loved.

  “I love you, Mrs. Campbell,” he told me once he pulled away.

  I grinned, and I’m sure I looked dopey and dazed, but I couldn’t help it. Love-struck fool, that’s me. “I love you, too, Mr. Campbell.”

  He leaned in for another kiss, and his hands moved around to my back, where they began to fumble with
the buttons on my dress.

  I pulled away. “Wait a second,” I said, all breathy and distracted. “I got something for tonight. A surprise for you.”

  He growled, going in for another kiss. “Don’t care. Just need you.”

  I pushed him back gently. “Just give me a minute.”

  He groaned, but he was grinning when he stepped back. “Make it snappy,” he teased, slapping my ass lightly. “I want to fuck my wife tonight.”

  I grinned. “Trust me,” I said, grabbing the small bag I’d stashed in the outside zip pocket of my suitcase and disappearing into the bathroom. “It’ll be worth it.”

  Once inside, I somehow managed to unbutton and wriggle out of my dress by myself. I all but cried in relief as I took a deep, full breath without the hindrance of the corset. “Never, ever again,” I muttered darkly as I hung it carefully on the back of the bathroom door. Because it may have tortured me all night, but I still wanted to box that shit up and preserve it for all time.

  I quickly stripped out of my undergarments and pulled out the special surprise from my bag. Once it was on, I removed the pins from my hair, fluffing it until it hung in loose curls around my shoulders. I touched up my lipstick, taking my time to make sure the matte crimson looked perfect. Finally, I took a deep breath, opened the bathroom door, and struck a seductive pose.

  Only to find Brian sprawled out on the bed, seemingly fast asleep. He was even still in his tux, though he’d removed his shoes and tie.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I grumbled. I crossed to the bed, climbing up and over him until I was straddling his waist. “Hey.” I poked him in the chest, but he merely grunted. “Wake up, husband. We have to consummate our union.” I poked him again, but this time he grabbed my hand, pulling me until I plopped down onto the bed next to him.

  “Gimme a minute,” he mumbled, tucking me into his side.

  I huffed. “Weren’t you the one who was all, ‘hurry up so I can fuck you?’”

  He smiled, but his eyes remained closed. “I’m gonna fuck you.” He yawned. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you faint.” He let out another huge yawn, his whole body stretching, like a lion’s. “Need a minute first.”