Pure Pleasure by Ava McKnight Page B

adventure for Off-Road Rally .
    One balmy spring day, only a few months after we’d met, I settled into a chaise lounge chair with Ky on one side of me and our mothers on the other side. We sipped margaritas and watched a spectacular Mexican sunset from the private patio of the condo Ky had rented for a race in Puerto Penasco, an hour or so from the Arizona border.
    “Congratulations on another win,” his mom said, her pride evident in her tone. She’d hedged on attending this race, but Ky had kept at her for weeks and she’d eventually caved.
    “I’m glad you came,” he told her.
    My head rolled on the thick cushion to look at her as I added, “He really is a persistent sucker, isn’t he?”
    She smiled at me. “Yes. Very much like his father.”
    I recognized the flash of pain in her eyes. I’d seen it plenty of times in my own mother’s eyes, and in Ky’s. I suspected they all saw the same emotion in mine too, when we talked about my dad.
    But the flicker of agony vanished and she continued. “I think he’s actually a better driver than John was, which is really saying something.”
    “I was certainly impressed,” my mom said, from one chair over. “This whole weekend has been a treat. Thank you all so much. I’ve never had so much fun…nor have I ever seen such a beautiful sunset.”
    She’d been as hesitant as Ky’s mom to come to Mexico, though for different reasons. As had been the case when Ky had whisked my mother off to the Four Seasons with me still in awe of his generosity and good intentions, she had insisted she’d never done anything to deserve this kind of self-indulgence. Ky had assured her she had—by raising me so well.
    He never failed to tug on my heartstrings or catch me off guard with his fabulous ideas.
    But I was the one with the surprise this evening. I rummaged around in the tote bag next to my chair and pulled out a box of truffles I’d bought at Fran’s. I had two jobs now, and I was working on a novel—purely for the enjoyment of it. Whether it was ever published or not, I at least had to give myself credit for the work I was putting into it and for the fact that I was doing it because I loved writing, not because I was desperate to sell it in order to cover my bills. I had that well under control with my dual income.
    As I passed around the decadent chocolates, Ky said, “While the four of us getting together is certainly a cause to celebrate with ridiculously expensive candy, I think we could make it an even more memorable occasion.”
    I eyed him curiously as he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and extracted a ring.
    A stunning masterpiece that made the sweet and salty taste of the chocolate bursting in my mouth all the more thrilling as excitement shot through me and my toes curled in the sandals I’d ordered off eBay a week and a half ago.
    With his devilish smile, Ky handed over the ring. He swung his long legs over the side of his chair to face me as our mothers sprang from their loungers and gathered around.
    He said, “I had it designed for you. It’s one of a kind. Never owned or worn by anyone else.”
    Tears instantly filled my eyes. The cushion-cut diamond sparkled brilliantly under the soft glow of the patio lights and the intricate platinum setting was polished to a high sheen.
    “It’s breathtaking,” I whispered as fat drops rolled down my cheeks.
    “I’d hoped you’d like it,” he told me.
    “I love it.”
    He shifted off his lounge chair and knelt in front of me. Taking my hand in his, he asked, “Will you marry me, Giselle?”
    Oh my God. How had I, of all people, become Cinderella?
    With a nod, I said, “I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.”
    And I suddenly understood, to the depths of my soul, why our mothers chose to live alone, rather than find someone else. For me, no one but Ky would ever own my heart.
    He took the ring from me and slid it onto my finger as the two women standing beside us