“No way, cowboy. I’m never leaving your side again.”

As the unlatched door swung open, the explosion of camera flashes barely registered with Miranda because she was locked in a soul-deep kiss with a living legend.

Epilogue

Miranda was still shivering slightly from the frigid air of the February night as she and Luke walked, fingers intertwined, into Frankie Hogan’s office at the Bellwether Club. Although she’d been to the club before and met Frankie, Miranda had never been in this room. She was startled by the bright, sleek, glass-and-chrome modernity of the room when the rest of the club was all dark paneling, leather upholstery, and Oriental carpets.

The club’s founder rose from behind her desk, her smooth silver hair contrasting with her dark red pantsuit. “Welcome to my lair,” she said in her raspy voice with its undertone of Irish. “Congratulations to both of you on winning your part of the wager.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Luke said, his drawl pronounced.

Miranda had learned that his accent deepened when he was either trying to disarm someone or when he was more emotional than he wanted to let on. She slanted a glance up at his sculpted face, trying to gauge which it was. He caught her looking and gave her a wink. It still amazed her that this extraordinary man had chosen her. Now she could touch those beautiful cheekbones and that golden hair and all those gorgeous muscles anytime she wanted to. She winked back and squeezed his hand, just to feel the strength of his fingers.

“Well, then, let’s see the ring,” Frankie said.

Luke lifted their joined hands, turning them so that her engagement ring with its large marquise diamond and its frame of smaller blue and white diamonds scintillated in the light. She loved the shape of the central diamond because it reminded her of a football. Luke claimed it hadn’t crossed his mind when he chose it, but she didn’t believe him for a second.

“Wait a minute,” Frankie said, moving closer and narrowing her eyes. “Is that another ring underneath it?”

Luke’s dimple showed, but he didn’t answer.

“You son of a gun, Archer. I like your style.” Frankie turned to a large cupboard and typed a code into a keypad. The door clicked open and she pushed it farther ajar to reveal an industrial-looking safe. “A different sort of congratulations is in order, as well. I watched you win your fifth Super Bowl. That’s damned impressive, even for a member of the Bellwether Club.”

“I didn’t win it alone. It takes the whole team.”

“Spoken like a champion.” Frankie chuckled as she swung open the massive door and pulled out a leather portfolio. “However, the whole team doesn’t wear a target on their chests.”

Miranda silently agreed as she thought of the many times Luke’s body looked like a painting of pain with its multicolored bruises. That was the hardest part for her, knowing how battered he was as he jogged onto the field to be slammed into all over again. After the Super Bowl victory, he’d gone out to celebrate with his teammates and then come home to crawl into bed, where she’d covered him with a blanket of cold packs. No one except she and his trainer Stan knew how much he had to endure to win game after game. He said that being able to admit to her how much he was hurting eased the pain. She hoped it was true.

“Here’s your stake.” Frankie held up a cream vellum envelope with Luke’s name slashed across it. She flipped it to show him the back. “Still sealed.” She picked up a pen. “As I did with Trainor’s, I will mark this ‘wager satisfied’ and initial it.” She did so with a flourish before sliding it back into the portfolio. “One forfeit is left, and judging by his mood, I don’t see Miller getting any closer to canceling it.”

“He has time,” Luke said, but Miranda knew he worried about his friend, who still couldn’t write, much less open his heart to a woman. They owed Gavin Miller a debt of gratitude, and Luke felt that keenly.

“Not everyone moves as fast as you do.” Frankie’s gaze touched Miranda’s beringed hand again. “I wish you both joy.”

“Much obliged.” Luke shook Frankie’s hand. His new Super Bowl ring gleamed large on his finger.

Miranda gave in to an impulse and hugged the club’s owner. Frankie hesitated a moment but gave her a quick squeeze in return.

“Your fellow gamblers are waiting in the bar where this all started,” Frankie said, shooing them out of her office.

Luke walked sedately beside Miranda down the hallway until they passed an open door. Before she knew what was happening, he had pulled her inside the room and bent down to give her a long, hard kiss.

“What brought that on?” she asked when he gave her a chance to catch her breath.

He framed her face in his big hands, his expression solemn. “The envelope reminded me of where I was five months ago and where I am now, and what a difference there is between those places. The night I made that bet, the future looked so grim I was willing to do anything to change it. Now I look forward to all the years I get to spend with you.”

She blinked hard to keep her tears away from her mascara.

“That’s the power loving you has given me.” He shifted his grip to her shoulders. “When I think of how close I came to letting you go . . .” She felt his hands tighten. “That will never happen again.”

“I wasn’t giving up, either. Gavin wouldn’t let me.” She put her hand over his heart, savoring the strong beat under the fine cashmere of his navy blazer. “Speaking of Gavin, we’d better get upstairs.”