Page 73 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

When she releases me, she kisses the mark once, almost shyly.“You’re mine too,” she says.

I cup her face.“Every stubborn inch.”

“Good.”

“Bossy mate.”

“Handyman mate.”

“That sounds useful.”

“It is.I have a shelf upstairs that needs fixing.”

I stare at her, and she smiles.I laugh so hard my forehead drops to her shoulder.And in the middle of a moonlit clearing, still inside her, still trembling from the claim, with leaves in her hair and my heart in her hands, Holly laughs with me.

Epilogue

Sugar, Sin, and Forever

Holly

Three months later

There’s a naked man in my bakery.Technically, he’s wearing jeans.Barely.

Low on his hips, button undone, no shirt, no shoes, and absolutely no respect for my ability to remain a productive member of society.Daniel Reed stands in front of my industrial mixer with a wrench in one hand and a cinnamon roll in the other, looking like every bad decision I have ever wanted to lick.

My mate is a menace.A broad-shouldered, golden-eyed, tool-belt-wearing menace.

Also, he fixed the mixer permanently, repaired the back door, replaced the pantry shelves, put up new lights, and built me a display case that makes Mrs.Bell say, “Oh my,” every time she sees it.

So I suppose I will keep him.For practical reasons.

Obviously.

“Are you aware,” I say from the prep table, “that health inspectors frown upon half-naked handymen fondling bakery equipment?”