I smile and shift my new Mustang into gear. After Creighton showed me the basics of craps and dared me to lose ten grand, I threw myself into the game wholeheartedly. But I wasn’t able to lose. Nope, I just kept winning, at least until my inner Kentucky girl realized that I could buy a damn car with what I won, and I politely cashed out and walked away with my money.

When we landed in Nashville, I told Creighton I wanted to buy a new car. He asked the driver to take us to the Maserati dealer, but I vetoed his choice in favor of stopping at the Ford dealership. My one concession was allowing him to drag me out of the used-car section to look at the new ones—and I fell in love with a Shelby GT350. It was delivered this morning to the penthouse condo we’re temporarily staying in until we can find a house we both love.

So, the first order of business today is stopping at the studio to finish recording the last of my new songs, and then house hunting.

I floor the Mustang, my laughter echoing in the cabin as Creighton grabs the oh-shit handle above his seat. I’m pretty sure the man is not going to let me drive much, because he doesn’t seem to approve of my newly adopted drive it like you stole it style.

When we arrive at the studio—in record time and all in one piece, I might add—Creighton lays a hand over mine on the gearshift.

“Are you sure you don’t want a driver?”

I tilt my head. “You’re going to lose on this one. I promise.”

He narrows his eyes, and a low sound that mimics a growl comes from his side of the car. “Holly . . .”

“It’ll be fine. I swear. I’m just seeing what she can do.”

“She?”

With my free hand, I pet the steering wheel. “Of course it’s a she. Her name is Cherry Bomb.”

Creighton shakes his head with an indulgent smile. “If you name my cock . . .”

I raise an eyebrow. “Who says I haven’t?”

His gaze sharpens on mine. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

My smile threatens to split my face. “Nope,” I reply, making sure to pop the p. “You’ll just have to wonder.”

“Oh, you’ll tell me. I have my ways.”

I let another laugh break free as I push open my door.

I meet my band in the studio, hugging each of the guys while Creighton shakes their hands. We haven’t seen them since the tour wrapped up, and I think they’re as anxious to lay these tracks down as I am. Once inside the recording booth, I sling Eliza Belle’s strap over my shoulder, and we spend the next several hours getting everything but the vocals recorded.

After a break for lunch, it’s time to finish up. My gaze darts to the glass window of the booth where Creighton leans against the wall just beyond. He’s never heard the lyrics to this one, and I wonder how he’s going to react.

The tracks we just laid down play through my headphones and I start to sing. Normally I tend to record with my eyes shut, feeling every note with my entire body, but today, I can’t help but stare into the eyes of the man I love.

When we get to the end of the chorus, I let loose with everything I have in me.

I thought I’d be lost on Fifth Avenue,

but I was only lost until I found you.

When we finish recording, I remove my headphones and make my way out of the booth. Creighton hasn’t moved from where he’s leaning against the wall. As I walk closer, I note the glassy sheen in his eyes.

When he speaks, his words are low so only I can hear them.

“I was the one who was lost. I just didn’t know it until I found you.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me close. “I love you so goddamn much, Holly. I never want to go back to being that man.”

I reach up with my free hand and wrap it around his neck. It’s amazing to see how much my husband has changed since Christmas Eve. Yes, he’ll always be demanding, dominant, and deliciously dirty, but the intensity of the feelings underpinning all of those things makes all the difference in the world.

“I’ll never let you go back to being that man, because I’m never giving you up, Creighton Karas. I love you. You’re mine. Always.”

I lean up to press my lips to his, and he threads his fingers into my hair, deepening the kiss. When I finally pull back, I meet his gaze as it burns into mine.

“Mine. Always,” he says. “Now, let’s go find our new home.”

Home. When he says the word, I realize that mine is wherever Creighton is. It could be Nashville, New York, or New Delhi, but as long as he’s there, I’m home.

Nine months later

Watching Holly climb to the stage in her glittering gold dress to accept the New Artist of the Year award from my seat in the arena is surreal. I’ve made a habit of winning in my life. Winning the game. Winning the bet. Winning the deal. Winning the woman. But nothing compares to watching her win this award.

Nothing.

I’ve found contentment in my life, despite the whirlwind it now resembles as I try to keep up with both my schedule and Holly’s. Although honestly, I’ve backed off a lot from mine and handed off as much as possible to Cannon. He’s kicking ass and taking names, and has groomed a sidekick of his own.

These days, Holly and I are spending more and more time in Nashville, and less in Manhattan. Our place in Tennessee is feeling more like home than the penthouse in the city, mostly because Holly loves it so much. She has also stretched her wings in the business world as well. She’s not CEO of Homegrown Records, but she’s been involved in a lot of the business decisions. Her practical nature and straight-up cheapskate attitude is exactly what that place needs to get back in the black.

I spin the titanium ring on my left hand, following Holly’s every movement as she accepts the polished crystal award and congratulatory hugs from the presenters.

She gave me the ring a few days after I first heard the lyrics to “Lost on Fifth Avenue,” the song that rocked the charts—and netted her the award she’s about to accept. On the inside of the band, the words Lost until I found you were engraved. She said it wasn’t about telling the world I was taken, but about carrying a piece of her with me everywhere I went. Someone will have to pry that ring off my cold, dead body, because I’ll never take it off otherwise.

Holly steps up to the microphone with a brilliant smile, her left hand hovering over the baby bump the tabloids have been talking about nonstop. This morning, we learned that she’s carrying our daughter. There was no argument over her name either. Rosemary Elizabeth Karas, for Holly’s grandmother and my mother.