Richard Savage's Blog: The Anniversary, page 4

Joseph

Joseph
Book Three of the Risking Love Series
https://amzn.to/2pqMsUF
Callie Carmen
Chapter One

Violet

I stood on the landing off to the side of the altar as a bridesmaid for my best friend Jaq. I looked over the wedding guests, searching for that one special person I’d desired for over a year. In the second row, behind Jaq’s parents, I saw my friend Bella. Did I dare look to Bella’s left to see if her date, Joseph, had attended the wedding with her? The man I longed to hold, to cherish, and to love from this day forward? Oh, wait, that was Jaq’s line—shame on me.
There were two problems with what I wanted. He didn’t know I was crazy about him, and he belonged to Bella. Well, at least until after the wedding. The other bridesmaid, my friend Carlie, had told me earlier that Bella was breaking up with Joseph after the reception. For a moment I worried about ruining my relationship with Bella, but then I realized I had to follow my heart. It might be my last chance to find out if he had any interest in me. After today I’d probably never see the man again. That thought shot a stabbing pain right to my chest.
If I found the courage to approach Joseph after Bella dumped him, what would my friends think of me? After all, Bella was their friend too.
If at first, they were mad at me, it would be worth it because, deep in my heart, I knew Joseph was my soul mate. I’d never been surer of anything in my life. He’d lost both of his parents too. He would surely understand the loneliness and longing that overwhelm me at times.
Why should I give up the possibility of true love after I’d already lost so much in my lifetime? Didn’t I deserve some happiness?
Shiznit. I hated self-pity—it never got anyone anywhere good.
I turned my gaze to Bella’s left, just as Jaq and Patrick were about to say their vows. My breath caught and time stopped as I looked into Joseph’s eyes and saw him staring back at me. Why was this handsome man looking at me during the most important part of the ceremony? I froze. I couldn’t look away. I watched as his gaze lowered to my lips. It caused an involuntary response— my mouth opened, and I glided my tongue over my upper lip.
He leaned forward and wrapped both hands tightly around the pew in front of him.
My heart began to skip. Every. Other. Beat.
His eyes wandered to my breasts, which were now heaving from the deep breaths I had to take after unconsciously holding my breath for so long. I shifted the flowers from my right hand and placed my hand over my heart. When I saw that his knuckles were turning white from the intense grip on the pew, I darn near forgot where I was and almost went to him.
A hot blush rushed up my body, over my breasts and up my neck, and the warmth of it didn’t stop until it reached the top of my head. I looked back into Joseph’s eyes and the heat there was so overwhelming that I had to look away.
I tried to focus on the beautiful vows that Patrick was saying to Jaq, but all I could do was question what was going on with Joseph. He wasn’t acting like the sexually repressed man who Bella had repeatedly made clear hadn’t even tried to get to third base with her, even though they’d been dating for a little over a year. He was acting like there was no one else in the church except us.
Was it possible that he’d been waiting for me to be free of the muscle man that I’d been dating up until a couple of months ago? I hadn’t seen him since I broke it off with the guy, so this would have been his first opportunity.
At the back of the church, I stood in the receiving line greeting all of the guests. “Violet, sei troppo bella.” I had to smile at Bella because she was always throwing out Italian hand gestures or words and we’d gotten pretty good at knowing what most of them meant, and in this case, she thought I looked beautiful. “At the reception, us girls would have to be sure to make time to hit the dance floor together.”
“Thank you, and as always, Bella, you look beautiful, too. I can’t wait to hit the dance floor with you and our other friends. Especially since I don’t have a date for this event.”
She leaned in and whispered, “Then you’ll probably have a lot more fun than me.” She slightly nodded her head to the right toward Joseph.
I grimaced. Clearly, she was over him. Thank goodness for that. Maybe if something happened between Joseph and me, I’d be able to salvage my relationship with Bella. God, I hoped so. It was important I talk with her about my feelings for Joseph as soon as possible. I wanted to be honest and upfront with her and let her know I wanted to be with him. Hopefully, she’d approve, but if she didn’t I had to follow my heart. She hugged me, then moved on to the next person in line.
I turned back to greet the next guest, and it was Joseph. He pulled me in for a hug, kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear, “Sorry to hear that you don’t have a date. The single men will be lining up to dance with you.” His breath on my neck caused me to shiver, and I felt my nipples change into tight pebbled points. “Please save a slow dance for me.”
A nod was all I could muster to confirm that I would indeed save him a dance. When I looked down, I saw that my nipples looked like two missiles ready to launch. How embarrassing.
His eyes had followed mine to my breasts, and the sound of his elongated hiss shot through my body, ending at my clit. We lifted our gazes, and our eyes met. I saw that his were dilated and flashes of light were shooting through them like sparklers that would be lit later tonight at the Memorial Day weekend fireworks celebration.
Thank heavens, he kissed my cheek again and quickly moved on down the line. After that encounter, the rest of the guests who came through the line were a blur because my mind had moved on to fantasies of being wrapped in his arms on the dance floor. I felt like a character in one of the romance novels I like to read.
Wedding party pictures were finally finished, and everyone was having a blast at the reception. Jaq and Patrick were on the dance floor with friends and family members. We had all formed a large circle and were having fun taking turns in the center showing off our dance moves.
When it was my turn, I moved my hips in such a sexy way that all the men started to make wolf calls. One spin around had me catching the smiling eyes of all my friends and their men. Then I looked into Joseph’s darkened eyes. I instantly became embarrassed and had to end my turn. I reached over and grabbed his hand and pulled him to the center for his crack at it.
As I started for the spot he had vacated he reached out and grabbed my hand from behind. With my hand in his, he moved me back to the center.
At his touch, my heart sped up to the fast rhythm of the song that was playing. He spun me once around and I nervously laughed, then he whispered, “Can you Swing?”
It had been a while, but I had been in the Swing Club in high school, so the answer was yes, but all I could manage was a nod.
“Good, then let’s have some fun.”
I placed my right hand on his broad shoulder, and he put his hand on my shoulder blade. It set my body on fire, and I thought I might pass out from the heat. He started with the simple rock step, triple step, triple step. Our rhythm was quickly in sync, so he began to use the kick ball change step. He turned me and even did the change behind the back type moves. Everyone started to clap along to the beat, and Bella, Jaq, and a few others yelled out, “Go, Violet.” The fluid movement of his hips and the pressure on my back had me wishing we were alone. After that fun display, everyone joined in and began dancing together.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Bella head toward Joseph. She took his hand, said a few words to him, then they left the dance floor. I turned in their direction, so I could see what happened next. She led him toward the back exit, and they disappeared outside. She must have decided that it was late enough in the evening to give him her break up news.
Poor Bella and Joseph. Wait—poor Joseph and Bella; that meant he might get in his car and leave and I might never see him again. That felt like a stab to my gut. I knew now he had some interest in me. The scene that had played out during the ceremony and the look in his eyes while I danced were proof that he at least lusted after me. That was a start. I hoped I could build on that if I were given a chance.
Chapter Two

Violet

The wedding wasn’t the right place to have a conversation with Bella about my feelings, but it had to be soon. I didn’t know how long I could hold back how passionately I felt about Joseph. There was nothing I’d rather do than to make sensual love with him. Of course, whether that happened remained to be seen. After all, he hadn’t slept with Bella, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t been completely open to the idea. She had told us girls that she had wanted it to the point of exasperation. Perhaps he had been having doubts about his relationship with Bella and hadn’t wanted to disrespect her that way. Especially since he’d become extremely close to her father.
My hands shook at the thought of him getting into his car and leaving before I had the chance to tell him I was interested in seeing him. I didn’t dare go out the same exit; he might see me. I rushed to the side door to make sure that he was okay. When I stepped outside, I could hear the two of them talking.
“Joseph, I’ve been wanting to talk with you for some time about our relationship, but we’ve spent so little time alone together, when my family wasn’t around, that it never seemed to be the right time.”
“Look, Bella, we both know that things between us have been a little rocky for the past couple of months. Am I right?”
I couldn’t see them, but I wished I could have seen her reaction. She sighed. “Yes, it’s true. That’s the reason I brought you out here. To talk. I think we both have figured out that this thing between us is not going to work out. That you’re not into me in a physical way and never will be.”
He cleared his throat.
“I think we can both agree that we would be better friends than we are lovers. After all, it’s not like we slept together, so it won’t get weird when we run into each other while out with someone else, right?”
“Right. You’re wonderful, so loyal to your family and friends. Especially Tessa last year when people were putting her down for having sex with one man after the next. You knew she was going through a hard time with her dad and with the loss of her mom. You stuck by her, telling everyone that would listen how hardworking, smart, and sweet she was. You’re a passionate person, with a generous heart, and you have an amazing family. I’d love to remain your friend, as well as your father’s friend, if you’d let me. I think you know how close I’ve grown to your dad over the past year. He helped fill some of the void I’ve had in my life since my father died.”
I covered my heart and wished I could hold him. I knew the ache of loss he was feeling so well. I loved this man. He was sensitive, kind and loving.
“I would completely understand if you or your family felt uncomfortable having me around.”
There was silence for a few seconds, and my heart broke for Joseph. I knew how it felt to long for that familial connection. At the same time, I understood why Bella might not want him around her loved ones. Who needed a reminder of a relationship that hadn’t worked out? I sighed.
“I’ll leave that decision up to you and my father. I wouldn’t have a problem with it. You were a big help to my family, especially Dad. Helping him build the shed, digging those awful piers under our cottage, and carrying all those shingles up the ladder to put on the new roof. Dad isn’t as strong as he used to be, so you were a godsend. Thank you.”
I wanted to hug Bella; she was beautiful inside and out.
“Would you like to stay and enjoy the rest of the celebration, or do you want to take off?”
“Thank you. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay a little bit longer. I’m going to clear my head a bit before going back inside.”
My heart fluttered at that announcement. He wasn’t leaving. I let out a long breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I took a quick look around the corner of the building and could see them.
He pulled her in for a bear hug and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll miss you, and I hope we’re both lucky enough to find what Patrick and Jaq have. You deserve that and more.”
“I’ll miss you, too. You deserve that kind of love just as much as me.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, then headed back inside.
No matter how I felt about Joseph, it was hard to see my friend shed tears. Even though I loved him with all my soul, I wanted my friend to be happy. I was relieved that the break up hadn’t ended with harsh words.
I rolled my shoulders then massaged my neck. Now that I knew he was okay and was staying, I decided to go back inside and approach him a bit later. I turned and headed back toward the side door, only to be stopped when someone grabbed my hand.
Joseph’s deep voice was unmistakable. “Hey, you, were you doing a little spying?”
“No. Not really.” Oh, shiznit! I’d been caught. How had he known?
“Violet, I could smell your perfume as soon as you arrived. So you might want to come clean.” He chuckled.
“Okay. Carlie told me earlier today that Bella planned to break it off with you after the wedding.” I stepped back and forth a few times. “When I saw you leave with her, I figured that she was giving you the bad news.”
He gave me a smirk.
“I came out to make sure that you were okay.” I bit my bottom lip.
“So you were worried about me?” He brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“Yes. No.” I looked down and kicked a pebble and watched it roll away. “Maybe.”
He took my chin in his hand and lifted my head, so our eyes met. “I’d like to talk with you. Will you take a walk with me?”
He must be feeling low about what had just happened. I wanted to give him the comfort I knew he must be needing right now. But, on the other hand, it might get back to Bella if someone saw me walking off into the moonlight with him. Would she think I’d betrayed her? Would it hurt her so much I’d lose her as my friend? Would my two closest friends, Jaq and Carlie, side with Bella if I said the heck with it; I love him, and I’m going to comfort him?
Darn—looking into the puppy dog eyes of the man I loved, knowing he needed me, was making me feel sick inside and joyful at the same time. My poor stomach felt like I’d been on a roller coaster. I decided I needed to be vulnerable for his sake and help him through this.
My gaze lowered to his hand. I took it in mine and instantly felt a spark between us. God, this friend walk was going to kill me.
“I’d love to.” I tugged him towards a path that Nicolas had mentioned was off to the side of the hotel. He had scoped it out in hopes of a morning run. It was lit with the occasional solar lantern and the moonlight. It felt so romantic, but I knew this wasn’t going to be that kind of stroll.
We talked about everything under the beautiful stars, including the taboo subjects of politics and religion, and I loved it. As we were about to start a second mile-loop around the circular path, the subject of Bella finally came up.
He explained how Bella had asked him to Jaq and Patrick’s wedding months ago as her plus one. At the time, he’d already started to worry that the spark he’d kept hoping for in his relationship with her was never going to come. When the wedding was just a couple of weeks away, Joseph had become sure of it. He cared about her a great deal, but more like a sister than a lover, so he hadn’t wanted to ruin her plans by backing out of being her date for the event.
He’d made plans to break off the relationship with her when they got back to town after the wedding. So, for the past few months, he and Bella had been on the same page and hadn’t known it.
I sighed. The break up had been inevitable as they’d been on different paths from the beginning. My heart ached for her, because she had put so much effort into a doomed relationship. It had been like she was waiting for a train at the airport. He was never going to change into what she’d hoped for. She probably felt like there was no Mr. Right for her, but I knew someone as beautiful and passionate as her would eventually meet her soul mate. And Joseph may have found a family to love, to fill some of the pain he had over the loss of his best friend and dad, but he’d most likely lose that in the end too. I prayed that he’d let me into his life enough to help heal his lonely heart.

A Thread of Sand

A Thread of Sand
https://amzn.to/2L4WHHU
Alan Souter
Prologue

Monument Valley, Arizona, 1895

Julia heard him ride up to their ranch house and dismount. After her month of waiting, she wanted to run out through the kitchen doorway and throw herself into his arms. But no, his homecoming routine was an untouchable ritual and she had been forewarned of his arrival by his Navaho brother, Shilah. As Buck turned his roan stallion out into the corral where water, fresh hay and a bucket of oats waited, she hoped in the blue-shadowed twilight he would see the small iron stove with its glowing firebox next to the kitchen’s outside log wall. Atop the stove, a hot water kettle bubbled. Two steps away, shaded beneath the lodgepole-porch roof, a Sears Roebuck enameled claw-foot tub squatted. Two buckets of cold water drawn from their well stood between the tub and an upside-down empty apple crate supporting a wood brush and a bar of lye soap.
Julia sat at the large kitchen table nibbling a fingernail. Tall, with auburn hair reaching down her back, her British breeding, coarsened by a brutal year in the western United States finally shone through. His tender care had put flesh and muscle back on her starved bones. Her cheekbones flanked a patrician nose above a full mouth and a strong chin, and unplucked brows shaded her large, wide-set chameleon eyes, today reflecting the color of the evening Arizona sky. Listening hard, her ears were the only gauge of his homecoming’s success.
A loud laugh outside the window made her heart leap. Splash! Splash! The cold water half-filled the tub.
“Hi-yah, hi-yah, hi-yah,” his Navaho half sang out as boots and spurs thumped and jingled off the kitchen wall logs. Shotgun chaps, followed by a linsey shirt and finally long johns completed the untidy heap.
“Hosh nateeli! Buck called out. “Hot water!” And more laughter as he emptied the kettle into the tub. Water splashed followed by a loud, contented “Ahhhhh!”
Julia wanted to join him in that tub. Her body seemed to hum like a tuning fork as her imagination saw that brush sudsing his massive chest and lean hips, playing over his picked-out abs, and plunging down between those bronc-gripping thighs. She tore a rip of bread off the loaf she’d baked, crusty on the outside and buttery soft in the center as he had taught her. Her teeth tore into the bread as she breathed through her nostrils, chewing and making small sounds in her throat.
Just the thought of him filled her. She’d spent months working the sheep ranch on horseback. He’d taught her how to whistle up his pair of keen border collies, Dog and Other Dog, black and white fur streaks among the cowed sheep. He’d taught her to drive off wolves at the gallop with a Winchester rifle. Julia had hoed the garden and learned to put up vegetables in Mason jars for the winter; she reveled in her new skills.
The corner of her eye lingered on the thick buffalo robes spread before a large stone fireplace that glowed black-edged with an armload of fragrant mesquite.
Outside, a final splash; the snatch of a large towel from a clothesline stretched between the porch-supporting poles; bare feet thudded on worn threshold planks. The door latch slid open.
With a squeal, the heavy door swung back on its iron hinges and he stood there, naked, gripping the towel in front of him so it hung to his knees. Buck looked like a large school boy surprised at a swimming hole. Tanned forearms, neck and face, the rest naturally bronzed from his Navaho genes. A sunburned face reflected his Caucasian father, squared, creased and sharply featured, framed by long black hair reaching down to his shoulders. He smiled at her, a soft little-boy smile that betrayed his weeks of loneliness on the trail tracking cattle thieves for the Arizona Rangers.
Julia fought back tears of joy as she lifted her one-piece shift above her head and let it fall to the floor. She swallowed the bread and stepped toward him, taking the towel from his hands.
Looking at her—almost at eye level—he gripped her shoulders and drew her closer until her erect nipples caressed his chest. She closed her hands around each muscular forearm and glided between them until their thighs pressed together. Buck searched her elegant facial features, strong but somehow sculpted in delicate sunburned flesh inherited from an ancient, high-born people. He had first seen it when he’d scrubbed off the whorehouse grime, and she’d bit him like an animal that had endured one beating too many. Back then, the eyes that now softened into his were steel, red-rimmed and ready to kill or die—but never to surrender.
She raised his arms to rest them on her broad shoulders, laying her cheek against his jaw. Her sweet-smelling hair crushed against the side of his face and collarbone. With a stoop, and a quick movement of his arms, he swept her off her feet and she laughed a deep, hearty laugh that had all of the young girl burned out of it, replaced by a hot lust that came alive as he strode to the crackling fireplace and lowered her to the heap of curly buffalo rugs. Julia fastened to him like a limpet with arms and legs as he thrust inside her. She laughed aloud again until his lips took hers, gently sampling and then devouring as they got down to the business of lovemaking too long denied.
The memory of that homecoming, and the days that followed, teased a smile from Julia as she stretched out her legs encased in baggy-knee Levis that came down to her calloused bare feet. Another rich sunset visited Monument Valley, called Tsé Biiʼ Ndzisgaii in Navaho, meaning, “Valley of the Rocks.” She had been busy riding out to the Navaho villages, capturing the Navaho and their lives by splashing watercolors on thick paper—all courtesy of a Sears Roebuck catalog and the Santa Fe Railroad.
Julia had made the artwork as a surprise for Buck now that her painting skills had recovered. Each dawn and evening, she watched the long road that threaded between the great wind and water-scoured monuments that thrust up into every horizon. She patiently awaited his return from his latest ranger tracking job.
Julia leaned back in her homemade rocker with a cup of sun-boiled tea, squinting beneath the battered brim of her straw sun hat down the road that lead past their ranch. She’d been watching a galloper approaching from among the distant rock fingers and bread loaf formations and hoped the rider had news of Buck’s soon return. As the sombrero-topped rider got closer, he slowed to a canter and then down to an easy trot, sparing his horse. His riding tack was dun-colored jacket and pants, and soon she saw the low sun flicker off a brass badge pinned to his lapel, and the nickel buckle of his gun belt.
“Howdy ma’am,” he called out as he eased his weight in the saddle and lifted his wide-brimmed hat, revealing sweat-matted, ginger-colored hair to match the full mustache hung beneath a hawk beak nose. His Texas drawl slurred from a thin-lipped mouth above a large bandanna draped around his neck. “Would you be Miss Julia Carstairs?”
“I am she,” Julia replied.
The rider’s horse walked closer and halted, and the lawman slid down from his saddle. Holding onto his doffed sombrero and hanging onto the reins, he came up to a few feet from Julia in her chair and she put down the tea mug and sat forward, her elbows resting on her knees.
“Ma’am, I am Arizona Ranger Captain Lester G. Omahondro.”
“You have news about Buck?” she asked, raising the brim of her sun hat.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I come t’ tell you, Buck’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He’s dead, Miss Julia. He was killed in an ambush by a back shooter who I personally sent to the devil’s fiery pit.” He uncovered the revolver holstered high on his hip. “Buck was our top Ranger. The Rangers are saying good-bye to him at the headquarters a one-day ride from here and thought you ought to know and might attend.”
Julia had turned to stone. She could only manage one word.
“Dead?”
Omahondro nodded. “Yes’m, he never saw it comin’ and took a ball in the head. He couldn’t have felt a thing, it was that quick.”
Julia heard herself say, “Saying good-bye…?”
“Yes’m, a graveside service with an Episcopal parson and a Navaho shaman. I’d be honored to escort you.” He glanced at his lathered and near-blown horse. “If I could rest up my animal and camp the night here, we could leave in the morning and you’d be the guest of the Ranger Station until the ceremony.”
“Of course,” Julia’s voice said. “There’s hay and oats in the barn. You’re free to use the corral and you must take dinner with me. There’s a clean bunk house out back we use for hired help at shearing time. I’ll fetch bedding and you’ll have it all to yourself.”
“Much obliged, ma’am. Oh, I have papers here you’ll be interested in. Buck left this ranch and every dollar he had put away in the Merchant’s Bank to you in case of his untimely death. It’s a sorry exchange for a man like Buck, but I reckon you made a fine home for him here.” Omahondro looked around nodded and smiled. “A mighty fine home.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Julia’s voice answered. She made to rise from the chair, but her legs and arms failed. “I … I am sorry, I seem to be in a bad way. Could you help me to the house? Nothing … nothing seems to be working.”
Omahondro eased Julia to her feet and, gripping her arm, walked her to the front door and stayed with her until the last of her defenses crumbled. She drew up into a fetal position on buffalo robes, and the weight of rock-bound misery closed her eyes to escape in an oblivion of sleep.
The following three weeks passed in a fuzzy rush of legal and financial matters, of international communications to verify that she was, indeed, daughter of a British Peer. Her father’s legal representatives took over liquidating her Arizona property and transferring all funds and the bank account to Buck’s brother and the Navaho village. Arrangements were made for Julia to replace her dual passports, to be escorted to the nearest Eastern Seaboard port and shipped back to her family at Ashford Manor in Devon, England.
On the second day at sea, settled in a deck chair outside her first-class suite aboard the steam ship Pride of Denmark, screaming gulls helped Julia surface from her walking coma and take charge of her loss, her emotions and her failures.
She remembered crying for three hours, sipping some whisky, and finally agreeing with all the logical outcomes. The ranch was sold. To remain there would have left her in a state of constant melancholy. Buck was everywhere she looked. His spare razor, the coffee mug stained brown inside, the Navaho beaded vest he wore to visit his brother at the nearby village, the guitar hanging on the wall with its pick stuck in the strings from when he’d last played it, his thick, dog-eared book of Arizona Territorial Law he’d studied some nights—so many things he left behind. Buck’s most precious leave-behind, of course, was the reconstructed creature who now walked in her boots.
Buck had come into her life at her father’s behest to secretly watch over her while she studied art at the Chicago Art Institute. However, the classes and copying plaster casts had bored her. She’d made plans for an adventure, to cut short her studies and head into the American West to paint. By chance she’d discovered him, her watcher standing on a street corner, appearing in shop window reflections—a mysterious and constant shadow. Julia made up her mind to begin her adventure at once. Changing into rough men’s clothes, she’d packed her belongings in a seaman’s duffle, slipped out of her boarding house and lost the scary stalker in the night’s dark shadows. An omnibus had taken her to Union Station and she’d caught a train to Dodge City, Kansas.
Julia shivered recalling her naïve stupidity. A fragile British bird, half American on her mother’s side, raised in a manor house in the green hills of Devon, she’d gradually discovered the brutal side of life for an unaccompanied female in America’s rough and tumble railroad towns. Julia clearly remembered the derby and cravat of the smiling gentleman who’d shared an innocent dinner with her, a refreshing island of civility. A nightcap toast...
She’d awoken in a jostling box wagon, stripped of her clothes, bruised and sick to her stomach from the drug in her drink. The two-day trip without food or water ended at the back door of a large clapboard hotel and the stink of outhouses, stale beer and sweaty leather. Another week had passed as Julia was initiated into her whorehouse routine. At first, it was rape and then just business. She was offered to customers for four dollars—a stiff price commanded by her British accent and the grubby remains of her posh beauty. If she misbehaved, she was beaten or starved. If she gave her clients a good ride, she was allowed to bathe every two weeks. Some of the other working women, desperate for tenderness, had touched her and stroked her, wanting to be “friends.”
Buck, the “mysterious stalker” had found her at last. He’d barreled into the whorehouse with two other Arizona Rangers. They’d broken up the place, scattered the screaming women, and found her in her whore’s crib, backed into the corner of her bed, eyes wide, teeth bared.
“Ma’am,” he’d said. “I’m an Arizona Ranger. Your father, Sir Harold Carstairs, Earl of Ashford hired me to look after you. I been on your trail since you skedaddled from Chicago. You’re comin’ with me and I don’t mean t’ lose you again! You can sit astride, or across my saddle like a sack of beans, but you are comin’!”
He took her wrist. She bit him. He hollered, but his grip just tightened.
“Ma’am, we’re gonna find us a bath house!” Buck wrinkled his nose. “You stink to high heaven!”
Half stumbling, half dragging, Julia followed her wrist gripped in the strong hand down the back stairs and out the door into the chill desert night. She was pushed up against the flank of a nervous, sweating horse. Two gunshots rang out. Near her, three rapid shots answered, fiery muzzle blasts stabbing into the dark. A cry of pain. Her rescuer’s voice.
“Serves you right you son of a bitch!”
The creak of saddle leather and a muscular arm swung her up; her thighs bumped over the saddle horn and she was astride, her back against his chest.
As the horse leaped forward into a canter, his voice muttered into her ear.
“Scrub you down t’ the skin and fill you up on bacon and beans, an’ you just might be worth the price.”
Julia unconsciously gripped his arm around her waist as the roan stallion galloped into the moonless desert dark. That darkness meant escape. The dark meant freedom. The desert breeze on her face and the rhythm of the galloping horse meant distance from horror into the unknown. She surrendered to that unknown and tightened her grip on the Ranger’s encircling arm.
Chapter One

Egypt, 1898

Hotel Grand Oriental, Cairo, early morning

The flower girl stood at the foot of the hotel steps, looking up hopefully for potential customers, a friendly eye, a voice…
“I’ll have a bunch of those if you please,” Julia asked, sliding some coins from her traveling skirt pocket.
“Yes, m’lady. Very fresh…picked today.”
Beyond the flower girl stood the lobby boy from the hotel, guarding Julia’s bags and trunks and patiently waiting, sleepy-eyed, but still alert.
The Egyptian boy wore a white gallabiyah that hung loose from his shoulders to his sandals and needed a good wash. He had presented himself with a short bow and an eager face topped with a thatch of shiny black hair.
“Shall I load your bags, lady?” he had asked in slow, rehearsed English.
The tall pretty lady with auburn hair done up in a bun at her neck nodded, and he heaved her tack up onto the brass-trimmed barouche coach next to her trunk and then hurried to hold the bridle of the horse as the driver tied down the bags in the leather boot. All this time, the manager of the hotel, dressed in tailcoat and winged collar, grinned and nodded his head full of black hair slicked down with brilliantine as he raced through his own rehearsed speech.
“We hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Lady Carstairs, heh, heh. You honor us with your patronage and we hope you will favor us again on your return, heh, heh.”
The sun had risen and kissed the gold cap atop a nearby mosque. The muezzin, standing on a high platform within the minaret’s tower, faced in the direction of the Ka’bah in Mecca and sang out into an enormous conical megaphone his melodious sing-song recitation of the Muslim morning call to prayer. Without hesitation, the manager handed Julia up into the coach and the driver waited until she was settled and chucked the reins. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobbles disappeared into the street noise as commerce took precedence over Muslim believers in the cool of the morning.
Julia sat back upon the upholstery in the shade of the folding calash roof that obscured the driver’s shoulders atop his box seat. After her long recovery from her American adventure and the steamship voyage from England, the second leg of her Egyptian journey began. In her organized way, she mulled over the details of her planned train ride to Luxor—a sudden jolt jarred the carriage and her half-awake morning calculations.
A carriage wheel rolled past her seat. Curious, she sat forward and looked out as the wheel passed first the driver and then the horse, picking up speed on the street’s slight downhill pitch. She looked back and saw a bare axel hub to which the wheel had been attached. Following it dashed the young boy from the hotel, running as fast as his short legs could carry him.
“I’ll get it, m’lady!” he called out.
The boy must have hitched a ride on the luggage boot. The wheel clattered and bounced over the cobbles and soon the boy was joined by passersby, all chasing the errant wheel. The carriage driver stared at his bare axel as the ride carried on, balanced on three wheels as if nothing had happened. Julia leaned out and shouted, spurring her champion on as the boy gained ground.
“That’s it! You’ve almost got it! Well done!”
The young porter grasped the wheel’s rim and dug in his sandals, braking and sliding until stumbling to a stop ahead of the pursuing crowd. He clung to his prize, shooing away the latecomers and cursing them in Arabic. The driver eased his horse to a stop and jumped down amid shouts and laughter. He brandished a spare wheel hub nut and a wrench as Julia sat back in her seat, joining in the humor of the situation. She waved the boy over to the carriage step and gestured for him to take the seat facing her for the rest of the ride to the train station. Was the faulty wheel a warning, or an omen? Whatever, she let it go.
“Bravo, you’ve earned a ride,” she told him. He folded his arms and looked down his nose with a haughty smile at the crowd who had gathered to jibe the poor driver as he remounted the wheel. From the corner of her eye, she saw the boy slip the original wheel hub nut under his seat cushion.
Regardless of his deception, she tipped the boy a ten-piaster gold coin. He must have hitched a ride to the train station in search of more good fortune from the rich pretty lady. Entrepreneurs should be encouraged.
At the station platform, amid the crush and crowding of passengers and shouting porters, he stood in front of her again. The boy certainly demonstrated admirable hustle and sharp ears. She showed her approval with two ten-piaster gold coins along with the ticket to her compartment.
He lit up with a smiling, “May Allah grant you a safe journey, Miss Carstairs.”
She answered with her book-learned Egyptian Arabic, Inshallah.—In Allah’s hands.
He called over two porters who snatched up her trunk and two cases and led them up the stairs into the Delta Light Railway first-class passenger carriage.
A middle-aged British couple, looking overheated in tweeds, had paused before boarding the coach. The apparent husband raised his finger and doffed his derby.
“Excuse me,” he shouted over the din, “since we will be fellow travelers, may I take the liberty? Are you, by any chance, Julia Carstairs, the artist? If so, we have one of your canvasses on our library wall.” The portly tourist’s pouched blue eyes fairly danced with anticipation.
“I am she,” Julia admitted. “I hope my work has given you some pleasure.”
“Oh, indeed,” piped up the apparent wife, with a broad smile beneath embarrassed pink cheeks, which she quickly covered with a spread of fan.
An awkward silence hung over the smiling encounter until Julia offered, “I’m sure we’ll see each other on the train.” As the couple seemed rooted to the spot, Julia nodded and stepped up, following her luggage.
***
The monotonous “click-click, click-click, click-click” of wheels over switch points and rail joiners lulled Julia as the outskirts of Cairo glided past her open widow. Aromas of cooking oil and sizzling mutton blended with the sweat of second and third-class passengers who sat in the baking heat waiting for the window breezes to dissipate their ordeal. Julia kept her straw traveling hat on to keep some of her coiffure from the locomotive smoke and ash that occasionally blew in the window.
She wore her sensible clothes: tan, high-neck shirtwaist, ankle-length dark skirt, cotton knee socks in high heeled lace-up boots. Her leather shoulder bag shared the upholstered seat that stretched across her compartment. Julia had just exhaled, musing about a curative dose of brandy, when one of her new traveling companions, the dual British upper-middle-class ambush from the train station, spoke from the seat opposite.
The elderly gentleman introduced himself as Archie Colton and his wife as Gladys. He grinned at Julia as he slid out a business card from its leather case, identifying him as a London garment manufacturer. To the dining car waiter standing in the open door, he looked up and said,
“I’ll have a pink gin, and the memsahib will have cold fruit juice. That all right with you, Gladys?”
The waiter made a note on his pad and looked at Julia, who smiled politely with her teeth.
“I’ll have a brandy, thank you.”
Gladys, a plain woman, flushed from the sun, smiled with lively gray eyes peering over the top of that spread fan she had pulled from her shoulder bag. She collapsed the fan.
“We didn’t know you were an American, Miss Carstairs.”
Julia replied, “My mother is an American. My father is British.”
Archie Colton’s jowly sunburned face radiated additional heat and his tangled eyebrows rose.
“I was right the first time and I’m going to try for a double,” he chuckled. “’Carstairs—is your father in Parliament?”
Julia opened her silver cigarette case and withdrew a slender black Balkan cigarette. She took a wood match from the glazed ceramic match holder on the table at her elbow and struck it against the striker patch on the base of the holder. In the match’s flare she replied,
“Yes, the House of Lords; he is Sir Harold Carstairs, Earl of Ashford.”
“Hah! Two for two,” Colton brought his hands together.
Gladys shook her head as their drinks approached.
“Most of the time, he can’t remember where he put his spectacles, or the day of the week.” When their drinks arrived, she sipped her tepid juice and made a thoughtful face. “Would that make you…?”
Julia hid a weary sigh.
“Yes, I am Lady Julia, but when I’m away from London and the social set I don’t flaunt the honorific except to get a better table, or a room with a view. My brother, Tarleton, inherits the title. He’s British through and through by my father’s first wife, Lady Irene Connaught, Countess of Winterhaven.”
She exhaled a blue-gray breath of cigarette smoke that instantly whipped out the open window to be replaced by an inward rush of coal smoke, and a cinder deposited in her brandy snifter.
“Pity,” Colton nodded gravely. “But still, to be listed in the Peerage…”
“No joy there.” Julia shrugged and dabbed the cinder from her drink with her fingertip. “We’re still only a short leg up on the local greengrocer and we keep ourselves to the back of the court when Victoria is in residence. The sheep we keep to groom our lawns get fewer every year depending on how many formal dinners we host at Ashford Manor.”
Colton pressed on.
“But your father, the Earl, is regularly quoted in The Times.”
“Yes, father has opinions on everything,” Julia smiled, “and the ‘Sir’ in front of his handle carries some weight at the local clubs and pubs, so his rural circle tends to defer to him on government and global matters. Those quotes for the Fleet Street crowd get him speaking engagements for a few quid so we don’t have to pawn our ancestors’ gold leaf picture frames.”
“Handle?’” asked Gladys, squinting as she pursued the unfamiliar term.
“Sorry,” Julia sipped her brandy, “that’s a word I learned in the Western United States—it means ‘given name.’ I lived in Arizona for a time to see something of the country when I quit my art studies in the East.”
Colton brightened again, “You mean with cowboys and Indians? I say, that must have been exciting!”
Julia’s eyes wandered to the open window and glimpsed water buffalos beside some women kneeling along the banks of the Nile, washing their pots and pans beneath shading palms as their children splashed in the fast-moving current.
“It was beautiful in the Navaho country,” she answered, following a pre-designed script that most people wanted to hear. “The colors, the people and the huge sky above those reaching stone monuments were quite irresistible.”
“Speaking of monuments,” Colton interrupted her travelogue, “our son, James, is with an archeological dig hunting for ancient Egyptians.”
Julia perked up.
“Really? I’m going to a dig. My father is one of the sponsors. That name—Colton—is familiar. I’ll have to examine my letter of introduction in my luggage.”
“How grand, maybe we’ll be neighbors,” Gladys Colton beamed. “This will be a jolly trip. You can tell us all about your adventures among the savages and the…the…hoot owls.’”
Julia bit off a giggle. “That’s owlhoots, Mrs. Colton.”
Gladys shook her head, smiling with her slightly prominent front teeth.
“Oh, please, m’lady, you must call us Gladys and Archie.”
Julia sat back in her seat, cupping her brandy snifter and listening to the waiter making his way unsteadily toward their compartment clutching a handful of menus and muttering “Pardon” to every passenger he confronted in the narrow hall. As the carriage rocked and rolled along the uneven track, he weaved around late diners tottering toward the dining carriage for the luncheon service. Gladys beamed as she unloaded paeans of praise for her Jimmy the archeologist and talked of how her boy always loved to dig in the garden back in dear old Blighty.
Julia mused—a jolly trip indeed—and ordered a half pint of porter to back her brandy for a good night’s sleep during the overnight ride to Luxor.
***
The train station at Luxor teamed with local vendors as the railway carriages rolled in with much whistle tooting and hissing steam. White-capped porters in scrubbed gallabiyahs smiled and scrambled for a good spot nearest the gravel path from the tracks to the cab stand. Some carried baskets of fruit, others small brown bags of uncooked dates—guaranteed to give most foreigners a case of the trots called “Pharaoh’s Revenge”—while buskers strummed gourd guitars and flautists tweedled their pipes. At the end of this impromptu commercial gauntlet, the barouche cab drivers stood by their black high-wheeled carriages. Black vests singled them out from the street sellers and most wore a conical black fez. Their horses were well-kept and many had been decorated with colored streamers trailing from their bridles.
Into this swarm plunged Lady Julia and party. She still wore her traveling ensemble, a bit the worse the wear from the hot smoky train ride, stopping and starting at every rural platform, or meandering herd of goats. Behind her, the Coltons, still swathed in damp itchy tweeds, gamely plowed on, both carrying formidable hickory walking sticks and looking bulldog British from topknot to toecap.
Archie wheezed.
“Enterprising beggars, aren’t they?” he said, crunching along at an unsteady quick march like a subaltern on parade.
Outreaching hands rushed past in a blur of smiling faces babbling, “God save the queen,” or “Good guide—see all temples!”
Julia led, scanning the horses first—prosperity showed itself in a well-brushed bay mare—and found a well-turned-out middle-aged driver whose smile seemed more genuine than his competition. The coach parked behind his appeared to be in reasonable repair, its driver grinning with one gold tooth. She chose it for the porters in the Carstairs/Colton wake who lugged a dozen pieces of baggage and Julia’s trunk.
Archie soldiered over to the luggage coach, his walking stick tucked under his arm a swagger stick of authority, and took charge of the loading.
Doffing his fez, the driver took Gladys’s reluctant hand and steadied her up into the shade offered by his coach’s leather top. Julia dove once again into her kidskin bag of coins and paid off the parade of porters who bit their gold piasters to test their authenticity, nodded, and stuffed them into cloth bags and pockets, then turned and ran back down the noisy gauntlet to mine any remaining rewards from slower-moving passengers.
Archie returned from the luggage carriage and hoisted his girth up to sit next to his wife. “See, here, m’Lady, you must let us share these expenses. We fully expected to pay our way on this journey.”
Julia turned back from handing the driver a slip of paper and gauging his smiling nod for a trace of comprehension.
“I’m sorry,” she answered, “but I’m so used to traveling alone that I forget my manners. This sack of gold piaster coins is heavy, but necessary to get the best service.”
“Hmph,” grunted Archie. “Good solid English pound sterling and pence not good enough for them? If you don’t mind me asking, what was in that note you passed to the driver?”
“The dock location of the steamboat I hired by telephone from my Cairo hotel. Do you have a reservation?” She brought out a small leather note pad with an attached gold pen. “I’ll give it to the driver.”
Gladys gave Archie the flinty eye.
“I told you to telephone ahead. Jimmy’s not expecting us for another week. He won’t have anything laid on.”
Julia peered sideways out of the open coach and sighed as the horse began its leisurely clip-clop down the cobbled road that paralleled the Nile. Stifling an internal shrug, she turned back to the flummoxed couple.
“You’re more than welcome to share my transport. It was the only steam dahabeah left so I took it for the upriver slog—it sleeps ten. Please, be my guests.”
Archie waffled and then nodded.
“I don’t know what to say, but we appreciate your kindness and”—glancing at his wife for affirmation”—we accept your offer as long as we pay our own way. But tell me, what the deuce is a dahabeah?”
Julia consulted her leather tablet, leafing its pages to an entry of close-written notes. “Dahabeah means Golden Boat,” she read. “The Pharaohs used them to transport themselves and their entourage up and down the Nile. They are very comfortable sailing vessels with two large sails rigged fore and aft with a main deck low to the water, and a top deck above the cabins in between.” She turned a page. “A journey upriver once took two or three months under sail power, depending on the number of stops and the cataracts. Our boat has two large triangular sails for the downriver trip, but a steam engine for the ascension south upriver against the current. The shipping company has a good reputation. We should be well looked after.”
Archie said, “Ah, sounds damned fine,” and withdrew a bent briar pipe with a hinged bowl cover from his inside jacket pocket. “Do you ladies mind? I feel the need for a taste of Latakia.”
Gladys gave her approval with a small smile of familiar forbearance.
Julia said, “Please, I’ll join you.”
In a few moments, Julia’s Balkan cigarillo joined Archie’s chugging billows of Arabic tobacco blended with a touch of Virginia to mellow its peppery aroma, while Gladys moved the hot smoky air around with her fan. The pretty bay mare drawing the coach undercut her brushed appearance and stylish gate by unloading a couple of pounds of second hand horse feed to add to their odoriferous wake as they approached Luxor dock.
The Kalesta Princess accounted for one hundred feet along her dock moorings and thirty feet out into the passing Nile. She glowed white, built low to the water with rectangular cabin ports cut into her single-level deck structure just above the water line. A gaily-striped canvas awning shaded the length of her open-lounge deck that formed the roof of the fore and aft cabins, which made up two thirds the length of the hull. Amidships, a black stack showing a trickle of preparatory smoke, thrust up through the roof and canvas, topped by a three-tone steam whistle. A very tall, slender mast rose from the foredeck and another pierced the stern fantail. Each supported a boom with a large, lateen-rigged, isosceles triangular sail furled for the leisurely upriver trip south against the current.
As the pair of carriages stopped opposite the deck’s open entry port and brow, a tall Egyptian man strode down the boards toward the arriving guests. He wore an English white shirt, a collar, and a gold striped white neck cravat. His shirt was tucked into white cotton trousers that ended just above a pair of white canvas deck shoes. He wore the typical Egyptian smile of wary welcome reserved for all new acquaintances. The white clothing accented his cinnamon-deep tan, chiseled clean-shaven features, and thin-trimmed mustache above those smiling lips. He made a small, friendly salute toward Julia’s party.
Julia regarded him with a sudden rush of familiarity—his confident stride, his build, the tan skin and black hair, his dark eyes… She tried to hide her flashback flush by stifling a non-existent cough with her gloved hand.
“Welcome to the Kalesta Princess,” he said with a slight British accent. “I am Ahmed, your dragoman for the voyage.” He carried some papers clipped to a thin board. “Am I addressing Lady Carstairs?” he asked Julia—the most fashionably turned out of the trio.
“Yes,” she forced her reply, turning to the Coltons, a few paces behind her. “These are my friends, Archie and Gladys Colton. They are also bound for Aswan, below the first cataract to visit their son. I … I asked them to join me on the Kalesta Princess for company on the voyage. Your agent told me I would be traveling alone so I hope my friends will not be a burden on your expected accommodations.”
Behind her recitation, she struggled to calm her racing pulse, but her eyes swept back to remain locked on his gaze as he tilted his head ever so slightly as if—oh Christ no—he sensed her internal stirring.
Ahmed offered the briefest of smiles, gave the situation two eye blinks and then beamed at the Coltons.
“We have more than ample crew and supplies to accommodate the friends of Lady Carstairs. It will be a pleasure to serve you.” Behind him, four porters streamed off the boat to unload the luggage carriage. “We will take your baggage to your suites if you would do us the honor of taking tea on the upper deck while your rooms are prepared.”
Archie stepped forward, pipe in hand.
“Thank you, ah, Ahmed. We will be paying our own fare so as not to burden her Ladyship who has already been so generous.” He paused and added sotto voce. “This ‘tea’ you speak of, could we, ah, substitute a pint of lager? It’s been a long dusty ride.”
Ahmed made a note.
“Of course. We have lager, brown ale and bitter. The same for you Madame Colton?”
Gladys offered a thoughtful smile.
“A half of lager for me please.”
Julia pursed a smile into Ahmed’s dark brown eyes.
“I’ll be happy with a brown ale, if you please.”
Ahmed gave a brief bow.
“Please follow me up to the lounge deck. We will be casting off as soon as your bags are aboard.”
Julia handed Ahmed four gold coins.
“Please see the drivers receive these gratuities.”
Ahmed closed his fingers over the coins and gave another of his short salutes.
“Very generous m’lady; I’ll see to it.”
The lounge deck boasted wicker tables and couches, with a bar at one end next to a single stairway down to the cabin deck. A narrow passage on either side of the smokestack led to the stairway down to the stern passenger cabins. Two boys flanked the down staircase, each wearing a red vest over his gallabiyah, and a red fez. As the Coltons seated themselves in deep cushions across the table from Julia, Archie retrieved his cold pipe and made to relight it.
“I say,” he said, “do you think those native drivers will see any of that color?”
Julia looked down from the lounge deck railing as the drivers turned their carriages. They saw her. First one and then the other tipped his fez in her direction. They both wore broad smiles.
“That tells me something about our dragoman,” she replied as she returned their wave.
Gladys asked, “What does that mean, dragoman?”
Julia held up her trusty note pad. “It means interpreter or guide. I imagine most of the crew who have to be around the passengers speak some English, but anything fussier than routine—we ask Ahmed.”
The boys approached their table with the drinks, a large basket of warm Aish merahrah—Egyptian flatbread—and a small basket of sugared cakes, together with dried fish, a small decanter of olive oil, and a bowl of dates in yogurt with stacks of small single serving bowls and dessert plates for three.
“How charming,” Gladys said. “I’ll be mother.” She reached for a bowl and looked up at Julia. “Dates?”
The Kalesta Princess’s stern swung clear of the dock, the helm was put over and the bow reached out into the Nile’s swift current. Julia watched the mooring lines being drawn aboard and let the sounds, the vibrations of the “kajunka-kajunka” laboring steam engine, and the smells of the Nile Valley wash over her, covering the aching void she left behind, recalled by this startling Egyptian dragoman, and drawing her toward whatever adventure lay to the south and west into the great Sahara Desert.

First Submission

First Submission
https://amzn.to/2E4eHxM
ANTHOLOGIES
Mandie Mills ,R.M. Olivia, Leslie McKelvey,Zora Nyxx, Breanna Hayse ,S.K. Fero,Kelly Dawson, Starla Kaye,A.T. Brennan, Amanda Ravenscroft,
Selkie McKatrick
Foreword

This is a collection of stories on the subject of first submission within a Domination and submission relationship. The thing I love about working with creative people is you never really know where their minds are going to go. Considering the topic as first submission, I was expecting a series of dark dungeons, savvier male Doms and timid women eager to serve. It was very refreshing to read the stories that were sent in, as they covered a much broader spectrum than I had anticipated. The authors wrote of both straight and gay relationships and in some cases multiple partners and nothing was off limits.
The writers included in this anthology come from quite diverse backgrounds and from all over the world. Some of the authors are from our established Black Velvet Seduction family of writers and some are new and I hope we will be publishing more stories from them in the future.
I would like to take the opportunity to thank all those sending in stories for consideration, I very much hope this will be the first of a series of anthologies exploring many different facets of love, sexuality and passion for the sensual.
I hope you will enjoy reading these stories as much as I have.
R.J.S
The Initiation
Mandie Mills
She opened her front door curiously. It was nine in the morning on a Saturday; she had no idea who could be at her door at this hour.
"Felicity Meadows?" the messenger asked.
"Yes." She looked at the package in his hand. She wasn't expecting a delivery.
"Sign here." He handed her the electronic pad and she signed her name quickly. "Have a good day."
She took the package and turned it over in her hands as she kicked the door closed. It was a flat, rectangular box protected by brown wrapping paper. It looked completely nondescript, and there was no return address on the label.
She went to her living room and carefully opened the paper, revealing a shiny black box. There was nothing written on it to indicate where it was from or what was inside, but when she shook it something moved; clothing perhaps?
She peeled the tape off the sides of the box and opened it. There was a piece of folded white cardstock on top of black and red tissue paper. She picked up the card and opened it.

'Felicity, if you were sincere about wanting to explore a new side of yourself, wear this under your clothes and come to 4133 Greenway Road tomorrow at nine pm. Show this card to the person at the door, and come prepared for an experience you'll never forget.
Sincerely yours,
Shane.'

She felt a blush move over her cheeks as she was hit by a wave of memories.
She'd met Shane Donaldson at work nearly four years ago, and they'd been friendly for a few years. They'd lost touch when he'd taken a job with a different company; until he'd called her out of the blue three days after her divorce had been finalized.
They'd hung out a few times over the past two weeks; having coffee or lunch, always something casual. She'd though he was just being kind to her, taking pity on her because she was lonely. She'd never thought a man as handsome and successful as Shane could have any interest in her, but things had changed the last time she'd seen him.
He'd come to her house and they'd started to watch a movie. He'd kissed her and they'd had sex, right there on the couch she was sitting on. It had been one of the most incredible nights of her life. He'd been the best she'd ever had, and he hadn't been in a hurry to leave after.
They'd shared a bottle of wine and he'd asked her about her fantasies. She'd been a little drunk at that point and had confessed her fantasy of being tied up and having a man torture her with pleasure before he fucked her. He'd asked if she had another fantasy and she'd told him how she'd always wanted to be in a threesome with two men.
He hadn't seemed disgusted by her answers; in fact, he'd smiled and taken her wine glass from her as he'd kissed her, and they'd had sex again.
That had been three days ago and she hadn't heard from him since. She'd assumed he'd come to his senses and was regretting sleeping with her, twice; but now he was sending her invitations to go places and clothes to wear when she went there.
She put the card down and peeled back the tissue paper, staring at what was revealed.
It was a bustier of sorts. It was black and silky with a lace skirt and nothing over where her breasts would be, just empty cups in the built in bra, and there were no panties to go with it. It was hot and very sexy, and completely different from anything she'd ever looked at before.
She swallowed as she checked the tag; it was her size.
She had no idea what was going on, but as she continued to stare at the bustier her shock started to melt away and was replaced with curiosity.
***
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered to herself as she stood in front of 4133 Greenway Road. She'd been standing there for a full minute, trying to figure out what she was doing.
She'd spent last night and most of today wrestling with herself. She was insanely curious about the invitation and the outfit, but she was also scared. She knew Shane and she trusted him; she didn't fear for her safety or worry that he would hurt her, but she was worried about what might happen. She had no idea what was in store for her; what could possibly be on the other side of the nondescript door of the nondescript building.
There was no name; nor real indication of any sort of life inside. It was a big square brick building in the old distillery district, and all of the windows had been blacked out. Most of the area had been converted to warehouses and a few factories. At the other end of the district were a few clubs and high end restaurants, but this area was pretty desolate.
She hadn't made the decision to come until she'd tried on the bustier. It had fit her perfectly, and when she'd looked at herself in the mirror she'd felt incredibly sexy. The ribbing gave her slightly soft body a beautiful hourglass shape, and the skirt was long enough to cover her upper thighs; another one of her fleshier parts. It was a little strange to have her breasts just hanging out, but there was actually the slightest bit of a padded cup built into the bustier. There was only about an inch of material, but it had been just enough to push her breasts up and give them a nice round shape. She'd felt sensual and beautiful and sexy; and she hadn't felt any of those in a very long time.
Now she was standing in front of the building with the card in her hand and her heart in her throat. She wanted to run away, but a bigger part of her wanted to see what was on the other side of the door.
She took a deep breath and knocked. It took a moment, but the heavy door swung open and she saw a very large, very bald man dressed all in black standing there, staring at her.
He didn't say a word, just stood silently. Hesitantly, she handed him the card.
"Room eleven, through there." He nodded to the door behind him as he looked at the card, moving aside to let her pass.
She took a deep breath and walked passed him, pulling open the door as her heart started to pound in her chest.
She found herself in a hallway. There was a door in front of her with no number on it and the hall stretched out to her left and right with doors dotting the lines. It was dark; there was very little light and everything was done in dark, rich colours. As she was looking around the hall, the door behind her closed with a loud 'thud', making her jump.
She glanced to her left and saw a door marked 'Five'. To her right she saw a door marked, 'Four'. It looked as though number eleven was to her left.
She started to walk down the hall, her heels clicking on the smooth wooden surface, and when she came up to room number eleven she paused.
It was too late to go back. She just needed to open the door and she would see exactly what was going on.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
It was not what she was expecting. She wasn't sure exactly what she'd thought it would be, but it wasn't what was in front of her.
It was a small, windowless room set up to be a bedroom. There was a heavy wooden queen-sized four poster bed with a canopy draped over the structure; but there were also what looked to be hanging rings embedded in it. There was a brocade rug on the floor and more of those hooks, hanging down from various parts of the room. There were five chairs set up against one wall, and what looked like a portable closet pushed up in the corner.
The entire room was draped in heavy, dark red swag with wisps of sheer material peeking through here and there, and the furniture and floors were all wood. There was only one light and it wasn't very bright, so she couldn't really see many details.
When she looked at the bed she saw piece of white cardstock and a black blindfold. She took a deep breath as she walked over to it, swallowing as she picked up the card.
'If you're prepared for a night to remember, take off your clothes. Put them on one of the chairs and put the blindfold on. Sit on the bed in only the outfit I sent you, and wait.'

Uniform Desire

Uniform Desire
https://amzn.to/2L4BPO3
ANTHOLOGIES
Selkie McKatrick ,S.K.Fero, Breanna Hayse, Heather M. Walker, Leslie McKelvey,Starla Kaye,
Deborah Kelsey,Mandie Mills,Carolee Croft,
A.T. Brennan

Hearts Ablaze
Selkie McKatrick
Prologue
Sirens screamed as the truck sped down the street. The members of Station 72 of the Dallas Fire Department could see the smoke billowing up from the house at the end of the block. Blaise had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as they got closer. He knew this street. Oh shit, he knew this HOUSE! He hadn’t taken the call from dispatch and he’d flown into action, never thinking about where they were going: he just knew that wherever they were being sent, they were needed immediately. But the sight of her house engulfed in flames made him sick to his stomach and overcome with worry.
He’d dated the young woman who owned this house. In fact, he’d helped her move in after she’d learned that the house had been left to her in her grandmother’s will. But things hadn’t worked out between them and they’d parted ways. Hopefully, she wasn’t home, and it would just be a case of informing her that her inheritance had gone up in smoke. Even though they’d broken up, he didn’t wish her any harm; misfortune, however, had already found her.
Chapter One
As soon as the captain found out that Blaise knew the homeowner, Blaise was kept out of the house. There was plenty to do outside and it was department policy that firefighters weren’t sent into homes of people they knew. Even for trained professionals, the trauma was just too much and there are some things that, once seen, can’t be forgotten.
As his unit was inside working to extinguish the flames, Blaise couldn’t help but worry. Oh, you always worried when your buddies were in a burning structure. But this was a different kind of worry – the more personal kind. At least the members of his unit were trained and knew how to protect themselves. Civilians faced with fire often panicked and did just the wrong thing. He could only hope and pray that Gina hadn’t been home when the fire started. Hopefully, she was out partying somewhere with a new guy and was unaware of what was taking place at her home.
It was only when he saw the face of his captain that his worst fear was confirmed: someone had been in the house.
“You knew the homeowner, right, Blaise?”
“Yes, sir. House belongs to Gina Wentworth. We dated for a while. Jesus, Captain, tell me it’s not her inside.”
“Won’t know for sure until the coroner does their examination,” he said, “but I’d say our victim is definitely female, judging from the size. I’m sorry, Blaise. I know this is hard.”
Blaise knew that Captain was sincere. He was one of the few people who was aware that Blaise had lost his younger sister to a house fire when they were kids. The job was tough enough without people psychoanalyzing your career choice, or having colleagues second guess your every move, wondering if this will be the fire that makes you lose it. No, some things are just better kept to yourself. His sister’s death – and his part in it – was one of those things.
Chapter Two
The fire station was buzzing when Blaise returned to work two days later. He knew that police would be involved with the investigation because of the fatality, but he was surprised to hear that an arson investigation team had also been assigned to the case. He guessed he should have expected it. Gina’s family was well-to-do, and there were probably valuable items in the house.
“Hi, Blaise. You doing okay this morning?” asked his friend Darrell. Darrell was one of the newer guys at the station, having transferred in a few months ago.
“Hey, Darrell. How’re you doing after the other night?” Blaise asked.
“Not bad. Captain said for you to come to his office as soon as you checked in this morning.”
“Thanks, buddy, I’ll catch him after the briefing meeting. I know he hates lateness for any reason,” Blaise responded.
“Okay, it’s your ass. I’ve delivered the message so my ass is off the line,” Darrell said.
“You’ve done your bit. I’ll take it from here. So, is there anything I should know before we get to the briefing?” Blaise asked.
“I know there’s been some talk about the investigation. I’m sure it’s on the agenda,” Darrell said.
They slipped into a couple of empty chairs towards the back of the room. When the Captain entered from the side room, he caught Blaise’s eye and frowned at him. “Well, Captain knows I’m here now,” Blaise said under his breath. “He gave me one of those looks he’s famous for.”
The captain tapping on the microphone caused everyone to go quiet, and he started to speak.
“The investigation into the fire the other night is well under way. As you know, the Wentworth estate was vast, and the insurance company has sent investigators to examine the scene and determine if the fire was arson, and whether there might be an attempt at insurance fraud going on. I’ll now turn the floor over to Toni Rydell, who is our liaison with the insurance company. Some of you may remember Toni, who was part of this department a few years ago.
Blaise nearly dropped the cup of coffee he was holding. Toni was back! Why the hell hadn’t someone told…then he remembered the Captain’s request that he meet with him before this briefing. Well, that explained what that was about. At least from where he was sitting, he would be able to observe Toni for a few minutes unobserved, instead of suffering the humiliation of her seeing how shook up he was at the mere mention of her name.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t let a day pass without thinking of her. The sight of her made his heart ache in a whole new way. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, if that was possible. Good God, if Snow White was brought to life she’d look exactly like his Toni. Raven black hair, blue eyes as big as the Gulf of Mexico, skin as luminescent as pearls. There had never been, and never would be, a woman who filled his heart the way Toni had. But there had never been a woman who’d ripped his heart out and flung it in the dirt the way she had, either. And, by God, he’d never let another woman get the chance. His heart might cramp up with misery seeing her again, but he sure as hell didn’t have to let her know it.

Trusting Love Again

Trusting Love Again
https://amzn.to/2SvAylA
Starla Kaye
Chapter One

A tear trickled down Toni’s cheek, then another one. She dashed at them with shaking hands. She’d lost so much, and now this. It was too much to bear, especially on this bitterly cold mid-February day. This situation was all wrong.
Another glance from where she sat in the long driveway of the two-story Victorian house broke her heart. Every inch of the large house, turret, gazebo, and porch had been painted stark white. From her childhood days here in Petersville, Kansas, she’d dreamt of the fading turquoise house with the fancy trim in varying shades of pastel colors. It had always seemed magical to her.
During the miserable ride from Denver back to her roots two days ago, on Valentine’s Day - worst day of the year ever, in her opinion - she’d forced aside her losses and concentrated on her future; this house. She’d endured awful months from June through December while waiting for her divorce to be finalized. What had kept her sane and kept her moving forward was this house. It had been vacant for as long as she could remember. She’d believed that it had needed her to be reborn as much as she did.
Her dream had been violated, like she had.
In October, Donald Caruthers, the realtor she’d found who represented the Carter family who owned the property, had told her that there were still some complicated legal issues to get settled. He hadn’t gone into them really. He’d just said that he was pushing hard for the people involved to get everything settled between them so a clear title could be signed. He’d assured her that she would get it, as long as she could be patient a little while longer. Then he’d suggested that, if she would make a substantial down payment, the people holding things up would take that as a good sign, and that everything would move along faster. She’d been suspicious, but he’d always sounded so positive every time she talked to him on the phone. Finally, she’d given in and done as he’d advised. Stupidly.
She gritted her teeth and tried to calm down. She was tired of being a victim.
Two weeks ago, Caruthers had said there were only some minor legal matters with one of the relatives left to deal with. He’d told her that she could move into the detached carriage house that had a remodeled apartment above it. Again, she’d been concerned. Yet when she’d received the key a couple of days ago, she’d packed up what little she had at the condo in Denver, checked on her furniture in storage, and headed here.
Minor legal matters? She blinked tears of frustration. He hadn’t said a word about anyone else being involved in the sale. Certainly nothing about someone having made changes to the main structure, or about someone having moved into the house.
Not a house now, a business. One with a sign planted in the flowerbed in front of the long, covered porch: Anderson and Anderson, Attorneys at Law.
She’d been lied to yet again.
Only twenty-seven, her belief in love had been shattered already. And now this supposedly kind-hearted older man she’d not actually talked to face-to-face had cheated her. She’d been right to be suspicious. Her trust in men was seriously damaged.
Yes, she should have checked Caruthers out more. She’d never handled any kind of business on her own, but she thought she could manage this. And he’d seemed so helpful.
She climbed out of the hot red Mustang she’d purchased with money from her hard-fought-for divorce settlement and carefully closed the door. Darn it all; she’d been violated, mistreated for the last damned time.
Aching clear to her soul, she marched up the sidewalk, intending to have words with the man she felt certain was responsible for the abomination: Chad Anderson. She hadn’t thought about her brother’s long-time friend in years. Although he was five years older than her, they had a complicated history. Mostly, he’d seen her as an annoyance, except he’d seemed to like when they’d disagreed about things. Early hints of his becoming a lawyer like his father. She’d had a ridiculous attraction to the good-looking, older boy. Now she didn’t care what he looked like. Now she simply wanted him not to be messing with her new life.
The lackluster square white sign with its black lettering caught her attention. No, no, no!
She set her purse on the ground. Sucking in a breath of irritation, she turned sideways, lifted her arms up by her chest, balanced on her right leg, and then did a roundhouse kick with the ball of her foot right into the center of the words, yelling, “Hai ya!”
The wooden sign broke in half, each part crashing back against the porch railing with a loud thump! Her former karate instructor would be so proud. Unfortunately, the stiletto heel of her shoe had broken off, taking some of the pleasure out of the moment. She’d really liked these Christian Louboutin patent leather pumps, even if the five-inch heels made her wobble a bit at times.
Balancing awkwardly on the damaged shoe, she bent to pick up the heel and her purse. At the same instant, the front door opened and two people rushed outside. A stunned-looking twenty-something pregnant woman gaped at her first. The man she’d intended to have words with shifted by her until he could glower down at Toni from the steps.
“What the hell have you done?” Chad growled, his face tight with fury. He strode down the steps, an iPad or tablet or whatever held firmly in one hand. “You haven’t been back in town two days and already you’re making trouble.”
Her breath hitched at the anger in his deep baritone voice; an automatic response. Her heart pounded. Her stomach knotted and she hobbled backward. It took a second for her to regain control and remember this wasn’t Stanley. Her ex-husband wasn’t getting ready to attack her again. She shoved those horrible memories aside and concentrated on where she was and who had spoken.
Chad knew she was in Petersville again? Of course he did. Her brother must have told him.
She stiffened and walked right up to him, tears of anger and weariness stinging her eyes. The gangly but handsome teenage boy she’d had a crush on was gone. He’d always been a lot taller than her, but now he was well-toned and definitely all mature man. He filled out a dress shirt in an impressive manner. Awareness and physical interest tingled inside her in a way it hadn’t in a long time, surprising and unsettling her.
Appalled with her body’s response to him, she motioned to the Victorian as fury surged through her. “You’ve mutilated my house.”
A thick, dark eyebrow lifted. “Mutilated?” His forehead knitted in vexation. “Your house? What are you talking about?”
The young woman inched closer, worry creasing her face. Even as Toni noted that, Chad’s gray-haired, still striking father and law partner walked onto the porch as well. She heard an engine as another car drove up and stopped behind her. A door opened and closed. She didn’t bother to look back at whoever had arrived.
“Antoinette,” Chad prodded, talking in a clipped tone.
He knew she hated that name, as much as he didn’t like being called Chadwin. Her redheaded temper, held under rigid control during the six years of her disastrous marriage, broke free. “Chadwin Anderson, you knew how much this house meant to me. I used to talk about it all of the time.”
“You were a child. Kids have silly ideas,” he said in dismissal.
Even if that might be true of some kids, this had been an important dream of hers. It had stayed with her ever since she’d foolishly run away to get married in Las Vegas on her twenty-first birthday. Somehow, it had been her link-pin to her hometown and to the family she’d disappointed and barely spoken to since. Many times she’d talked about returning here to somehow make peace with her family, but Stanley had always talked her out of it. He’d controlled her in so many ways. Plus she’d been raised to believe that you fought for your marriage. She’d done her best for as long as she could; longer than she should have.
God, she’d been so weak-willed, so naïve in her trust of the wrong person.
But this wasn’t the time to think about him or her other reasons for coming home.
“You’ve taken my one surviving dream and ruined it. You…” The rest of her rant got clogged up in her throat.
His expression softened and he watched her with wariness. “Ted mentioned that you’ve had a bad time recently, but…”
“A bad time?” She’d been emotionally battered and bruised by her lying, cheating ex-husband. After their break-up, their marital problems had been dragged through the Denver society pages. She’d been made out to be the one completely at fault.
“You can’t possibly know all that I’ve been through! Nobody here knows.” She didn’t want to think about how far past ‘bad’ things had gotten. But she was glad that her shame wouldn’t have spread to her hometown. At least she hoped it hadn’t.
He glanced at the young woman standing close by, worrying her lower lip. “Maybe you should call…”
“What? Call my father? Because I’m acting a little wild?” Toni snorted and cut him off. “I have every right to act upset. Yet another man has messed with me; lied to me.”
His angular face tightened in annoyance. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stepped closer and reached for her.
“No!” She jumped back, breaking off the other stiletto heel, and barely managed to keep from falling. Her entire body tensed.
A memory flashed into her mind. Stanley had grabbed her arms during their last argument, right after they’d eaten a special meal she’d prepared for him. His grip had been agonizingly tight. When she’d hissed in pain, he’d shoved her away. She’d landed hard on the floor, knocking her head against the dining room table. After a half-second of possible regret, he’d turned and hurried out of the house. No apology.
“Antoinette,” Chad said again, sounding cautious.
She pushed the recollection away and looked at Chad. His expression appeared concerned. Again, he inched forward and tried to reach for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she gasped, batting his hand away, dropping the heel and purse. She hated that she was reacting this way but felt helpless to control it.
“What’s your problem?” Appearing confused, he moved toward her once more.
Panicked, defensive, and determined to stop him, she snagged the iPad from his grasp, flung it away. It crashed into the nearby towering, leafless elm tree. The sound of cracking glass made her flinch. What had she done?
Footsteps behind her on the sidewalk pounded in her direction. The young woman on the porch gasped and Chad’s father walked behind him.
“Have you been drinking?” Chad’s tone dripped with disgust as he seemed to sniff for hints of alcohol.
Her cheeks flamed. “No, I haven’t been!” she bit out. It was humiliating to realize that her brother must have told Chad about her drinking problem; something he must have read in the gossip columns.
His vivid blue eyes didn’t look as though he believed her. His jaw taut, he latched onto her left forearm before she could move. He gripped her tightly.
No! Panicked, she drew on the self-defense lessons she’d learned after the separation. With a palm strike, she gave a hard jab to his shoulder.
“What the hell?” he snapped, jerking but not releasing her. His arm was stretched out between them.
Heart racing, she hit his elbow with another palm strike. This time he lost his grasp on her arm and glowered at her in frustration and pain. She sensed he would reach for her again, but she couldn’t let it happen.
She balanced on her left leg, raised her right leg to shoulder level, the denim of her jeans tight with the position. She raised her arms in a protective position and kicked at his chest with all her power.
He crashed backward against the broken wooden sign, lost his footing, and landed against the side of the porch. Despite the horrified gasps of the young woman and Chad’s father, Toni heard the sound of a bone cracking when he hit one of the sign posts. She gaped in horror at the sight of blood oozing down his cheek from where his face hit the porch edge.
“Oh my God,” she whispered shakily, rushing toward him.
Sitting amidst the broken wood and dirt of the garden, he straightened as best he could manage. His face tight with agony, he roared, “Stay away from me!”
She jumped back, arms windmilling to keep from falling on her broken shoes. Her heart pounded harder, shocked at the damage she’d caused.
His father and the young woman hurried to his side to help him up. Both looked at her in warning. Her legs felt weak and she fought to keep standing. She didn’t even recognize the woman she’d become. Never in her life had she hurt someone else.
The steady footsteps stopped their approach and someone grabbed at her left arm. Again, instinctively, she spun around, her hands shooting out in defense. “No!”
A man she recognized as another of her brother’s friends sat on his butt at her feet, dazed, rubbing at his jaw. “Toni, calm down,” he ordered.
The fight drained out of her like a balloon suddenly jabbed with a pin. She began trembling. Tears of shame threatened as she watched Alex Crampton; Sheriff Crampton climb to his feet. The broad-shouldered, mountain of a man watched her with molten brown eyes, as if weighing whether she would attack him again. It sickened her that he would be thinking that way. Yet she couldn’t blame him.
“That’s better.” He seemed to consider the situation for an instant, and then he pulled handcuffs from a clip on his belt. “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Beaton,” he said formally.
He didn’t look happy about it, resigned, and he clamped the cold metal cuffs over her wrists. She was too numb to resist.
“Ms. Thornton,” she corrected automatically. As confused as she was, she never wanted to be connected to that name again.
Could her day - her life - get any worse? “I,I didn’t mean to…” She hung her head in disgrace. There was no denying what she’d done; there were so many witnesses, including the sheriff, who she’d grown up with. Swallowing hard, she asked in a whisper, “Are you taking me to jail?”
He looked hesitant and then they all heard Chad grousing in pain, “She’s a menace.”
That hurt. She needed to help him somehow, make him understand. But understand what? Even she couldn’t comprehend her actions. She’d known Chad all of her life, except for the years of her marriage. He’d never been a fighter; never hurt anyone that she knew about. Yet she’d turned on him in a moment of distress. She’d used the defensive skills she’d learned to cause damage to property…and to injure an innocent man. Away from that panicked moment, she knew he hadn’t meant her harm.
“Your family isn’t going to like this,” the sheriff said on a heavy sigh. He didn’t like it, either.
Reality hit hard. She could barely breathe, she felt cold all over. She was going to jail. Her family would be seriously unhappy with her. Not any more than she was with herself, though.
She offered a heartfelt but shaky, “I’m sorry.” After what she’d done, she didn’t consider the apology enough. And from Chad’s hard expression, he didn’t either.
Unable to stay there an instant longer, she glanced at the sheriff, determined to think of him in that capacity, not as someone she’d known forever. “Let’s go. Now.”
***
“This can end here,” Alex said, as he opened the back door of the patrol car, looking down at her uneasily. “I’m sure Chad…”
Toni shook her head, tipped out her chin. “He was right. I deserve to be locked up.” Although the idea made her almost sick.
She felt sorry for herself during the short ride downtown to the sheriff’s office. Chad Anderson had cheated her; his father, too. They were involved in some kind of evil plot with the realtor to destroy her happiness. Chad thought she was a drunk, a menace to society.
But when the car stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, the excuses for her behavior faded away. She had done wrong and there was no one else to blame.
Alex helped her carefully out of the car. He’d been bigger than most of his peers all of his life; could look intimidating just because of his size, but he was a gentle soul. It seemed odd that someone like him would become an officer of the law. Yet she also sensed a harder side to him that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. She knew he’d gone into the marines at the same time her brother and Chad had gone off to college. For a second, she wondered what had happened to change him, what internal baggage he carried around. Everyone had some; she certainly did.
As they stepped away from the patrol car, a middle-aged couple walked by on the sidewalk toward the Dine-In Café a couple of buildings down the street. Toni’s face flamed as she recognized the members of her father’s church. No doubt news would spread quickly among his congregation that Reverend Thomas Thornton’s mischief-making daughter was back in town and in trouble again. Perfect.
“Come on,” Alex said, lowering his rumbly tone. “Let’s get you inside before anyone else wanders by.”
Bearing up to her shame, she hurried toward the office door. From the corner of her eye, she noted how the couple had stopped to stare. She still had the handcuffs on, although Alex had wanted to remove them before she’d climbed into the backseat of the car. He’d been annoyed that she wouldn’t allow it. Now she wished she hadn’t been so stubborn.
She stopped in the middle of the open area with a pair of worn desks belonging to the deputy who worked the next shift and to the sixty-something receptionist.
Bella Hampton pursed her lips and shot Alex an are-you-serious glower. “Really? You arrested her?” She gave Toni a sympathetic look.
Toni sensed his discomfort as he moved behind her to unlock the handcuffs. “I didn’t have a lot of choice,” he muttered. “Call her father to come take her home.”
Bella reached for the phone, but Toni faced him and protested, “Did I damage someone’s property? Did I injure someone? Did I…” She couldn’t believe she was insisting that she actually be tossed into the jail cell. But, darn it, she had done wrong and hated herself for it. She needed a time out, adult style.
“Toni, I’m sure you can work this out with Chad and his father,” Alex countered, his tone strained. “They’re reasonable men.”
“Well, Chadwin didn’t appear all that reasonable when he called me a menace,” she grumbled, still wounded by the comment. She desperately wanted to sit down and do a bit of pouting.
“Chadwin?” Alex questioned, amusement ringing in his voice. One corner of his mouth lifted. “I believe you’re the only one who ever got away with calling him that.”
“Not the point, Alexander.” It pleased her to see him wince. He, too, disliked his real name. Tired of the distraction, she strode to the pair of empty cells and stopped in front of the first one. She didn’t face either Alex or Bella, just waited.
“Dammit, Toni. You’re intent on making my life hell, aren’t you?” He marched next to her, then noted the red lines around her wrists from the handcuffs. “Hell! Look at what you made me do.”
“I’m sure it isn’t the first time you’ve done this to a prisoner.” Why was she taunting him? She could see how much the minor injury upset him. But she was in a mood, so he could live with it.
“Never to a woman. Never to the sister of one of my best friends.” He looked miserable, but he opened the door and let her walk past him. “Call her father. Call her brother. Call anybody.”
She went to sit on the narrow bench and started shaking. Yet she met his eyes and said obstinately, “Don’t you have paperwork to fill out? Fingerprints to take?”
He ground his jaw and took a second before he said, “If I fill out paperwork, then this is going to get real serious, real fast. You’ll have to go in front of a judge. You’ll need a lawyer.” He looked at her as if he wondered if she really were crazy. “No fingerprints.”
Her stomach roiled. “If you didn’t know me, what would you be doing now?”
“Dangit, Toni!” he grumbled and then closed the cell door. He barked over his shoulder to Bella, “Call her father!” He focused on her once more. “What lawyer do you want to call?”
Oh, what had she gotten herself into? Why hadn’t she just let him release her? “I, I don’t know who to call,” she stated meekly.
***
When his doorbell rang at home several hours later, Chad wasn’t in the best of moods. Even with the pain medication, his broken left forearm hurt like hell. The side of his cheek stung from the half dozen stitches, too. He didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment.
Disgruntled from his injuries and from a wasted day of work, he pulled the door open to find one of his closest friends standing uneasily on the porch. It wasn’t Ted’s fault about any of this, but still he frowned as he motioned him inside.
Ted glanced at the cast and the temporary sling, then at the bandage on Chad’s face. “Damn. I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slumped inside his heavy coat. “We knew Toni is a troubled woman now, but… Hell, man, we’re all sorry.”
Chad closed the door with a sigh. “She’s way past troubled. That sister of yours has some serious mental issues. She’s dangerous. She’s …”
“She probably does have some psychological issues,” Ted interrupted quietly, sounding worried.
His friend’s admission surprised him. He’d only made the comment because he was frustrated, in pain, and had been stunned at her odd behavior. “I don’t really think she’s dangerous. I just…” He stopped talking, uncertain exactly what he thought at the moment.
Ted straightened to his full height, looking Chad square in the eye. “She isn’t dangerous, not really. Evidently that was a ‘last straw’ moment for her.”
“I gathered that.” She’d had a temper in the past, but never anything like that. What he couldn’t forget was the way her eyes had widened in genuine fear when he’d touched her.
“She’s hardly told us anything about her marriage; about what went wrong,” Ted said, pulling Chad from his musings. Ted’s expression showed true concern. His hands fisted at his sides. “We think the sonofabitch abused her.”
It took a second for that to register in Chad’s mind. “Beaton beat her?”
He couldn’t imagine the vibrant, fiercely independent woman allowing anyone to do such a horrific thing to her. Not the young woman who used to tease and torment him every chance she got, or argue with him about anything and everything. She stood up for herself, which was part of why he’d liked her so much.
But then he was an elder abuse lawyer. He’d seen and heard of things most people could never imagine. They were inflicted on people by others who supposedly had their best interests at heart, often caretakers or loved ones. It also happened in far too many marriages. He hated to think that hers had been one of those marriages.
A vein pulsed in Ted’s neck. “Possibly, but she hasn’t said as much.”
“Verbal abuse, then?” Chad knew that could be almost as cruel and difficult to deal with. “I can’t see her taking that.”
Ted’s shoulders rose with a deep in-drawn breath, and then slumped. “None of us can. But, dammit, she broke down last night when we were all trying to find a way to make peace.”
He pulled in a breath, but his voice still held pain as he said, “At one point she was sobbing so bad we could hardly understand her. It was clear, though, her scum of an ex had done some major damage to her psyche.”
The whole idea was hard to take in. Chad would have to do some research of his own about the situation. He fought for the underdog on a daily basis. Still, it was hard to see Toni that way. He’d have to think on the matter later when his mind wasn’t dulled from the pain medicine and he was a lot less frustrated with what had happened.
Speaking of that, he asked pointedly, “So, what was the deal with the place Dad and I are buying? She wasn’t making much sense. Talking about how we’d mutilated her house. About the place being her dream.” That was the ‘last straw’?
As he’d tried to think about other things while getting his arm set and the stitches, he’d wondered about her reasoning. She’d always gone after whatever she wanted full throttle. If she’d really wanted the house all these years, he could easily see her trying whatever crazy plan came to her mind to get it. Although destruction of property - like their sign - and assault and battery seemed a stretch.
“We’re fuzzy on that. She’s pretty depressed right now, won’t say much.”
“I’m sure your Mom will…” Chad stopped when he caught the frown on his friend’s face. “What else?”
Ted heaved a breath that seemed to come clear from his toes. “She’s still in jail.”
“What?”
“Still in jail.”
Chad gaped at him. “Surely Crampton didn’t…”
Ted nodded. “Yes, he did.” Disgust filled his face.
“Alex actually arrested her? Wasn’t hauling her away in cuffs enough?” He couldn’t believe Alex would have done such a thing. They were all friends, even Toni. Even a bit crazy Toni.
“My idiot sister insisted on it. She pressed him to do it no matter what he tried to tell her.” Ted looked more frustrated with his stubborn younger sister than Chad ever remembered seeing him. “The last I heard she was waiting for an attorney, except she doesn’t know who to call.”
Well, hell. Chad knew exactly who to call. He strode into the living room and straight to the end table where he’d set down his cell phone. Grumbling under his breath, he held the phone awkwardly in his good hand and thumbed in his Dad’s number.
He didn’t have a chance to speak before his father said, “Already on it, son, but it hasn’t been easy. Little Ms. Toni thought it was a conflict of interest for me to represent her. It took some doing, but her father finally convinced her to let me do so.”
“I’m going to have some words with Crampton tomorrow,” Chad said, feeling a headache that wasn’t related to his injuries coming on. He would call the judge, too, to get this matter dropped. “Thanks, Dad.”
When he disconnected and glanced at Ted, he found his friend grinning in amusement. “What’s so funny?”
“She still gets to you, doesn’t she?”
Chad remembered the night after his divorce and how he and Ted had gone out drinking. It wasn’t something he normally did, but he’d been a broken man that night. His ex-wife had shown a bitter, selfish side he’d never witnessed until that day. Pleased with being free again and with getting a hell of a settlement, she’d stopped him in the hallway outside the courtroom and admitted that she’d had an abortion several months before. She had a career in fashion design she planned to pursue and didn’t want to be burdened with a child to care for. She’d told him that since he was such a workaholic that he’d make a terrible father. So she’d made both of their lives easier.
Drunker than he’d ever been before, he’d told his friend about it. In his stupor, he’d told Ted that he’d never really loved Sandy. That he’d been in lust over Toni for years, until she’d run off to marry Stanley Beaton. Between her betrayal and Sandy’s betrayal, he’d sworn that he’d never trust another woman with his heart. Ted had denied that his sister had betrayed him, since they’d never actually dated. Logic hadn’t mattered then. He’d moved on from that point. Sandy had been right: his life revolved solely around his work.
“Those feelings are long gone.” Even if the first sight of her in six years had about stolen his breath. He cared only about her welfare now because she was his friend’s sister. Nothing more. Right. Who was he kidding?
Ted gave him a disbelieving look and moved toward the door. “She’s going to need help, that’s all I’m saying. Cut her some slack, okay?”
Chad took a second before saying, “I’ll try.” God, what a mess.
Chapter Two

From her childhood bed, Toni stared at the ceiling in her old bedroom and found comfort in the dark. What an awful day it had been! She’d had such hopes for starting a new life and burying her rocky past where she never had to face it again. All she’d wanted was to come home to Petersville, throw herself into remodeling the beloved Victorian house, and find her internal happy place once more. She wanted to adopt a cat or two; felines as independent and spirited as she’d been before Stanley. He’d done his best to destroy who she’d been at heart. Darn the lousiest excuse for a man!
God, what she’d done today wasn’t a good sign. It made her feel sick just thinking about everything. She was afraid it would take longer than she’d like to become “normal” again; sane.
If only her parents had told her that Chad and his father had moved their business into the house, she wouldn’t be in this mess. No, that wasn’t fair.
None of them had known she’d obsessed about this fantasy for most of her life. Sure, she’d talked about the abandoned house reverently, because it reminded her of a magical place. She’d always loved the fancy trim with the Victorian scrolls. As a child, many times she’d snuck over to the house and onto the wide, covered porch that wrapped the front and most of one side. The gazebo on one corner had fascinated her, as had the rounded three-story high turret. Back then, the house had badly needed painting and repairs. No one seemed to care about the house, except her. She’d even overheard some people in town calling it an eyesore that should be torn down.
First thing tomorrow she would call that lying, cheating realtor. She’d paid a lot of money already with the assurance that everything would be cleaned up with the title before long. It appeared that the Andersons had been somehow lied to and cheated, too, although they were attorneys. You’d have thought they were smarter than that. Evidently, the realtor was a real sneaky bastard, not the compassionate and helpful man he’d presented to her. She wondered if the actual owners even knew what was going on.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Her mother gave a quiet knock on the closed door and then opened it to peek inside the room. “We’ve been worried about you. You didn’t even eat supper before you came up here.”
Toni jerked upright, clamping a hand to her hammering heart from the surprise visit. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said in a rush. She wasn’t, though. “I needed some time to myself.”
She hadn’t wanted to replay with her family the horrific details of what she’d done and about going to jail. They already knew, anyway, other than knowing why she’d snapped. She was too embarrassed to talk about it. If only the whole incident could just be forgotten... But it couldn’t. She still had repercussions from the incident to deal with.
The savory, spicy scents of the Italian meal she had been unable to eat earlier still lingered in the house. In the light from the hallway, she saw concern creasing her mother’s softly lined face. “We just want you to know that we love you.”
Toni swallowed hard at the distress in her mother’s voice. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her mother probably expected to be invited into the room so they could discuss the matter. In the past they’d had many conversations here about so many things. They’d been close, even though she had tended to get into a lot of mischief with her friends during her teen years. And then she’d disappointed her parents; gone against them. She’d been so sure that Stanley Beaton, of the powerful Denver family, was the best man who would ever want her. Now, because of her bad decisions, she and her family were uncomfortable with each other. She regretted that. But she wasn’t up to talking right now.
“I’m really tired,” she said and lay back, hoping to be left alone peacefully. She wanted to get close to her mother again; just not yet.
“Okay, dear,” her mother’s tone held sadness and hope. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Sure, Mom. Tomorrow.”
As the door closed again, Toni heaved a sigh. She wished she hadn’t broken down last night and revealed anything about her disastrous marriage. But she’d been tired from the stress of the last eight months, from driving all day, and from facing her family again. She didn’t remember exactly what had pushed her over the emotional edge, or what she’d said as she’d sobbed uncontrollably until she’d managed to run upstairs to be alone. Something about Stanley’s terrible temper, about him calling her vile names. What she did remember were her mother and brother’s horrified expressions. And the devastation on her father’s face; as if he should have protected her somehow and failed.
She knew that her family wanted to know more about what she’d gone through in her marriage. They wanted to be there for her now; take care of her. That’s what families did for each other. But she was ashamed of all of it; more ashamed of not having listened to their counsel when she should have. This was her problem alone to get beyond.
The situation from today was, as well. The violence in her marriage was not an excuse for the vicious behavior she’d shown today. She had to woman up and take control of her life; be responsible for her actions.
She’d been so irresponsible in the past, so blinded by Stanley’s attention…by what he offered her. He’d promised her a life that she would never have been able to experience here in small town Kansas. What had she really gotten? Ruined.
Her reputation had been shattered by lies, lies, and more lies. She’d suffered through six months of pure hell while struggling to divorce a man who had wronged her. She’d faced more than skepticism about her accusations. No one had believed her at first. It hadn’t been easy finding an attorney who would even take her on as a client and file for a divorce. The Beatons were that influential.
Divorce. Just thinking of it was still difficult. Not the reality of it, but doing it…giving up on her marriage. You were supposed to love, honor, and obey. You were supposed to do that for the rest of your life. Or so she had been raised to believe. In spite of all that she’d gone through with Stanley, going against her beliefs had been hard.
Benjamin Hoolihan, the gray-haired, elderly lawyer she’d finally hired had, surprisingly, played hardball with Stanley and his family. He hadn’t been in awe of them as so many of the upper echelon in the city had been. He’d managed to get her more of a settlement than she’d even considered. She had enough money to last her a lifetime, if she was wise with her investments. All she’d wanted was to be free of the man who hadn’t really loved her, hadn’t honored their marriage vows, and obeyed no one but himself.
She curled her hands into fists, the nails digging into her palms. His betrayal of their marriage vows had shredded her pride. She had endured a lot during their last few unhappy years together. She’d left here a foolish, rebellious, starry-eyed young woman with no set purpose in her life other than getting away from here. She returned disillusioned, heart-bruised, and broken in spirit.
That wouldn’t last.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she went over the goals she and her therapist had worked out together: get her emotions leveled, find a new focus, and possibly get a job. Most importantly she would rebuild her self-confidence. Okay, she had a lot of work ahead of her, but she would get there.
***
The next morning, Toni braved another bone-chilling day to make her way to the Municipal Clerk’s Office. Snow had started to fall when she’d pulled into the parking lot. She would like to simply stay here in her warm car instead of facing the humiliating next hour or so. That wasn’t an option.
She turned off the engine, forced a calmness that was shaky at best, and stepped out of the Mustang. A blast of cold air hit her and she pulled her coat tighter around her. Why hadn’t she longed to visit Hawaii or some other nice warm place instead of wanting to come back to her hometown? Not only was the weather pitiful at the moment, but also she had so many unpleasant memories to face here.
Enough! It was time to face the consequences of her disgraceful actions the day before. She was a grown woman who needed to act like one.
As she entered the older, slightly musky smelling County Courthouse, she experienced a moment of relief with being back into somewhere warm. She unbuttoned her calf-length wool coat and studied the building’s directory nearby until she found the location of the clerk’s office. On leaden feet, she made her way to the second floor.
Her stomach tightening, hands feeling clammy, she pulled the big glass door open. But she couldn’t move further toward the chest-high wooden counter that spanned most of the back wall. Only one woman stood behind it: Mrs. Agatha Trousdale. Toni had known the sixty-something widow all of her life. Mrs. Trousdale knew pretty much every act of mischief she’d been part of. Even now the older woman frowned in disapproval.
“Bring it here, Antoinette,” Mrs. Trousdale commanded, motioning Toni forward.
Toni tightly gripped the citation she had received yesterday afternoon. She drew in an anxious breath and walked grimly across the small room. Her heels clattered on the tiled floor. Without meeting the clerk’s eyes, she slid the document across the worn counter. She’d hoped that no one besides the clerk would be here, although she suspected at least half the town already knew about her being arrested, handcuffed, and taken to the sheriff’s office. That was life in a small town.
As she scanned the citation, Mrs. Trousdale tsk-tsked. She did some complicated stamping thing and turned to the copier behind her. “I imagine your father had quite a lot to say about this latest bit of trouble.”
In truth he hadn’t said much. She felt even worse because he hadn’t lectured her. She didn’t respond, instead accepted the copy the woman handed to her.
“No doubt your poor mother received many phone calls about your latest misbehavior.” The older woman shook her head of short white hair and pinned Toni with a chastising look. “She’s had years of experience with that.”
Pushed to the limits of her patience and respect for elders, Toni glowered back. Then she asked abruptly, “I go to the courtroom now, right?”
She felt slightly nauseous and her knees grew weak. What a mess. Why hadn’t she been able to control her temper? Her therapist would probably say she was still in the recovery stage after the abusive relationship; still unable to deal with acting and reacting on her own, without being told what to do after so long a time. An excuse, but not one even she could accept. She deserved this.
Mrs. Trousdale nodded. “You shouldn’t have long to wait for your sentencing. There was only one other offender being arraigned this morning.” Her gaze finally softened. “I assume your father’s attorney explained what happens next?”
“Yes.”
The act of simply getting an attorney had been a bad experience, although less so than it had been in Denver. She hadn’t known who in town to contact. Her father had wanted her to use his good friend, Ethan Anderson. That had seemed wrong, since she’d attacked Ethan’s son. In the end, Ethan had convinced her to let him represent her. Oddly, he’d been a bit amused by the situation. He’d mentioned about his son needing something to upset his rigid world, needing a challenge to face besides his work. She still didn’t understand his reasoning. Beyond that curious comment, he’d carefully gone over the arraignment today; how she would face the judge on her own, and what her probable sentence would be.
She turned on her heel and left the small office. Almost smothered in the coat, she removed it and draped it over her arm. Again she had to force her feet to move down the hallway toward her goal. She went over what she’d been told by Ethan. There would be a fine to pay, as well as the expense for Chad’s new iPad, and his medical bills. At least she probably wouldn’t have to serve a jail sentence. She might have to do community service, which was all right. She would do anything to put this all behind her.
When this was settled, she needed to move on with her new life. She didn’t relish the idea of living at her parents’ home any longer than necessary, though she appreciated them taking her in after their last, unhappy parting. She desired a place of her own. For the time being, that place was supposed to have been the carriage house’s apartment behind the Victorian house. Yet another problem she had to figure out.
She also wanted to find a job, but that would have to wait until after whatever sentence she received. Getting a job wouldn’t be easy. She’d worked in fast-food places the summers of her high school years. College hadn’t really interested her, other than a minor interest in marketing, so it had been easy for her to quit after eloping with Stanley. He’d insisted on her being a stay-at-home wife. At the beginning, that was okay. Basically she had no workable skills.
She sighed. There would be more “poor me” time later.
To her unpleasant surprise, the instant she opened the wide wooden doors to the courtroom she spotted her antagonist, the reason she was here today: Chadwin Anderson. Okay, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, other than moving his firm into the house she’d planned to buy. At some point she needed to find out how that had come about. But it kind of helped at the moment to see him as partly at fault for her ridiculous behavior.
This had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life.
Well, next to being arrested and handcuffed in front of his law office on one of the town’s busiest streets. She now had a criminal record - even if this was only a minor offense. She would have this mortifying black mark against her previously unblemished reputation forever. Unless she went through the process of Expungement to have the record sealed. What was the point here where nearly everyone in town would already know about it?
She took a seat at the back of the courtroom in the gallery, setting her coat and purse on the bench beside her as quietly as possible. Disturbing the judge talking with the day’s first offender wouldn’t be good. She tried to avoid glancing at Chad, but it was impossible. At least he wasn’t looking in her direction as she studied him awkwardly . He had a cast on his left forearm. A bandage covered part of the left side of his face, over the stitches the cut had required. Her stomach churned. They might be at odds, but she regretted having injured him.
Her thoughts went to what Ethan had said about her possible pleas. Not guilty meant she would have to face another court date; have witnesses involved. Witnesses that she knew would not be on her side in this situation. No contest didn’t seem to fit either. She couldn’t have legal counsel and, if found guilty, the judge could impose a maximum sentence, which probably would be worse than what she might face if she pled guilty. This was really a lose-lose situation…and entirely her fault.
Before she had time to calm her nerves, the first offender grumbled as he strode out of the courtroom.
“The defendant, Antoinette Grace Thornton, will now approach the bench.”
She blinked, unable to stand, feeling faint.
The middle-aged, balding judge looked at her and frowned.
Still she couldn’t make her body cooperate.
“You don’t want to annoy the judge,” Chad said flatly from across the aisle.
Irritated at his intervention, she stood and walked with brisk steps to the left side of the bench.
Chad watched the color return to Toni’s face and breathed in relief. When he’d seen how pale and frightened she’d looked as she’d entered the courtroom, he’d had the crazy urge to go to her. He wanted to take her in his embrace and promise her that everything would be fine. He hated this whole situation. Still, she’d brought this all on herself.
With her proud chin raised, she walked right up to the judge’s bench. But her hands were fidgeting with the sides of her skirt. When she’d walked by him, he’d almost been able to smell her fear. In spite of his being the one accosted, he worried about her.
Ever since she’d run away and gotten married all those years ago, he tried not to think about her or encourage conversations about her with her brother. He’d had personal reasons for being hurt by what she’d done. His feelings for her had always colored his relationships with other women, especially with his ex-wife. In a way, he’d been comfortable with his anger with her, with his irritation that she’d been the beautiful young princess in the powerful Beaton family and not with him. But now he knew that her “perfect” marriage had been far from that.
As he watched her trying to face the judge bravely, he thought about how he’d gone on the Internet early this morning when he hadn’t been able to sleep. What he’d found made him sick. It hadn’t taken him long to realize how much she’d been manipulated by her ex and his family. She’d been used, socially abused. She’d been accused of marrying for money and, maybe she had. But she’d been young, probably blinded by what Beaton could offer her. When he’d found a small article that mentioned her having been physically attacked, an article that had shifted to basically calling her a liar, he’d been outraged. She might have gotten into more than her share of mischief in the past, but she’d never been a liar. His gut told him that hadn’t changed. Even now, he wanted to find the asshole that had hurt her and beat the hell out of him. He wasn’t normally a violent man, but this was different.
“Ms. Thornton, you are charged with multiple misdemeanors. You are charged with disorderly conduct, engaging in violent behavior that resulted in injury to Chadwin Anderson.” The judge glanced in his direction and pulled him back to the present.
Toni shifted to look at him as well. She winced, worrying her lower lip as their gazes locked. He noted the regret in her expression, helplessness, before she faced the judge again.
Her behavior hadn’t been that violent, although at the time he’d thought so. He remembered Ted telling him about how she’d reluctantly admitted to her family that Beaton had verbally abused her. Ted had suspected there had been physical abuse as well. It had repulsed him when he’d heard that. Now that he knew more from research, he felt even worse. The sonofabitch had destroyed the free-spirited, fun loving, always smiling young girl he’d once known. The girl he’d argued with time and again, actually enjoying the disagreements. The young woman he’d desired and lost because he’d been stupid about not revealing his budding feelings for her. Now it was too late. They’d both suffered in bad marriages and he wasn’t willing to take another chance. He couldn’t imagine that she would be either. Plus, his life was complete already; he had a job that consumed him, which he enjoyed.
The judge cleared his throat and brought Chad back to the moment, again. “You are also charged with criminal mischief, knowingly damaging property that belongs to another person. In this case, an iPad belonging to Chadwin Anderson, as well as to a sign belonging to the Anderson and Anderson law firm.”
Toni’s shoulders slumped. He wished he could stop this, but it was out of his hands at this point.
“Do you understand the charges, Ms. Thornton?”
“Yes,” Toni whispered loud enough for him to hear.
“What is your plea, Ms. Thornton. Not guilty. No contest. Guilty?” He looked intently at her. “I assume you have been told the differences.”
Toni nodded, took a second, and said, “Guilty, Your Honor.”
Chad waited as anxiously as Toni, who shifted uneasily. He knew the possible sentences and had already spoken to the judge, first in an attempt to have the charges dropped. When that hadn’t been accepted, he’d suggested a possible sentence that he could live with.
“You will pay a fine of $150 on each of the three charges, for a total of $450.” The judge gave Toni a stern look. “I know your history in this town as a teenager, and I know your family.”
Chad fought to stay seated, wanting to defend Toni somehow. Many in the town had disapproved of the almost constant mischief she’d gotten into in her teenage years. Nothing had ever been harmful to anyone or anything. The worst incident being when they’d filled the baptistery with powdered strawberry drink. She just got carried away sometimes and ran around with a group of mischief-makers. He didn’t think she should be judged by her past.
Toni trembled, making him worry about her fainting or something.
“I could sentence you to thirty days in jail.” The judge hesitated and slowly looked understanding. “Several people have come to me on your behalf.”
Who? He had, of course. But who were the others? Possibly his father. Maybe her brother; a town councilman. Maybe her father. Whoever they were, he was grateful.
Toni remained silent.
“Ms. Thornton, I sentence you to thirty days of community service; 240 hours.” He glanced at Chad. “Is this acceptable to you, Mr. Anderson?”
He stood. Toni turned to look at him, clearly wondering. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“You are also in agreement with having Ms. Thornton perform her community service by working for your law firm?”
Toni’s eyes widened and she tensed.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Ms. Thornton, you will begin your sentence tomorrow.” With that, the judge pounded his gavel on the bench and got up to leave.
Instead of being happy with the light, easy sentence, Toni shot Chad a sizzling look. It would be an interesting thirty days.

The Crimson Z

The Crimson Z
https://amzn.to/2EepMMw
Robert Cloud
The Crimson Z
The Harbinger
Robert Cloud

Standing atop of a ladder that was perched precariously against the outside awning of the old, brick building Zachariah’s hands struggled with the last knot of the banner that proudly announced that the Grand Opening of The Crimson Z would be on October 31st. The arthritis in his gnarled and tired knuckles made it the most difficult knot to tie. His hands already ached from the work they had done in getting ready for the opening of the new location of his jewelry shop.
It had been a tradition for generations that whenever the shop moved that the new opening would occur on Halloween. He did not intend to change that tradition even if his tired aching bones were screaming from exertion they were not used to. At his age he should be home enjoying his retirement years but the life and craft of a jeweler was all he knew and was all he had. He knew if he stopped working he would waste away to nothing.
Halloween was still a week away and if he was going to be ready to open the doors on that day there was still a lot for his old body to accomplish in those seven days. He would be done in time but only barely. How he wished for the days when his body was younger and did not hurt all the time. Hell, he was so old that even he did not know his age. At his last visit to the doctor’s office the doctor had said he was in great health for a man approaching a hundred. Was he a hundred years old? It seemed like he was much older than that. He could remember things that would be impossible for him to remember if he were only one hundred, but maybe they were the memories of his own father or grandfather that had crawled into his mind and took residence as if they were his own.
He looked down the rungs of the ladder. His knees trembled as he began to lift his foot to step down. He tightened his grip upon the rung for he was not certain that the aching joints in his knees would allow him to climb down again. With pain flaring in his arthritic hands he held tight as he raised his foot to take that first step. Just then a sudden shadow loomed down and passed over him. It was larger than a bus yet looked like a giant bird. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, they had to have played tricks on him for its neck had extended forward of its body much farther than any bird he had ever seen and its tail looked more like the tail of a serpent but the tail ended in a barbed spike. Its wings were so wide that the tips were hidden by the shadows of the buildings upon each side of the street.
He watched as it disappeared and then closed his eyes thinking it had to have been his imagination. When he opened them he saw the shadow returning toward him and as it passed over him the wings of the shadow came together as if to lift the great beast into the sky. A sudden downdraft of wind hit the old man hard and he had to fight to keep from being knocked off the ladder. His eyes watched the shadow as it began to get smaller. Quickly the old man turned his head sending a sudden blinding streak of pain into his neck but his gaze caught nothing in the sky that could have made such a shadow. There was but one lone plane and it was too high in the sky and to the wrong side of the sun to have cast any shadow at all. Even if it had been in the right location to cast the shadow it would not have explained the sudden gust of wind.
The old man shook uncontrollably for a moment as his hand rubbed the aching hump at the base of his neck. Slowly he righted himself and tried to think rationally. He was not a child. What did he think he had seen? A dragon?
A memory returned to him of a long time past when he and some of his friends would be taken by such flights of fancy. They would dash off into the fields of their fathers and protect the flocks of sheep from dragons and other monsters. They would wave branches about like swords to ward off the predators of the skies. No dragons, giants or other beasts would lay one hand or claw upon any of the wooly flock of their fathers, but that was when he was a child of seven or eight. He rubbed his temples and then his forehead as he tried to remember, how long ago was that? He could not recall.
Once again he looked down the rungs of the ladder and with his knees still trembling both from his age and from the rush of adrenalin caused by nearly falling he began to descend yet he had only taken two steps down when again he was interrupted. Age had taken many things from him but one thing that it had left him was his hearing. That sense was startlingly acute even for a young man. Not one sound got past the old man’s ears. He even knew exactly how many mice had taken up residence in his apartment above the store and he left them little crumbs of food as they were his only friends.
He heard the sound of wheels skating upon the rough concrete of the sidewalk. He looked up to see a young child of maybe seven streaking along upon a pair of those things that he thought he had heard a young man call roller blades. The skater was pretty good for someone so young. The long hair streaming from beneath the child’s helmet led him to believe the skater was a girl but he had been fooled more than once, yet the grace of the skater reinforced his conviction that the child was indeed a girl.
In this small village of Hudson Falls there were not many people on the sidewalk at this time of day and the skater skirted around the few that were there like it was more a dance for her than a mode of transportation. The old man’s eyes grew wide as he saw the door of the Rexall Drug Store open. The skater was too busy skating around the cluster of people standing in front of the used furniture store and did not see the glass door. It was directly in her path and the old man started to call out to warn her but his aged lungs could no longer hold the breath of his more robust years and his voice did not carry loud enough for her to hear. At the last moment the skater made a sudden and quick move to dart around the door. The skates screamed as they flew out from under her and the girl’s face slammed into the open door as her knees and hands scraped against the rough concrete like cheese on a grater.
He continued to descend the ladder carefully. He wanted to rush faster so he could aid the little girl but he worried if he tried to move too fast that it would be himself in need of an ambulance therefore he went slowly. Still his eyes never left the girl or the door.
He watched as the person whose arm had been holding the door when the child had hit it darted out and knelt beside the crying child. The young lady, who could not yet be out of her teens, set her packages down and began rummaging through her purse. She pulled out a handkerchief and what looked like a wet wipe of some kind. By the time he was again standing on firm ground he could see that the young lady had the situation well under control. The young woman helped the girl to her feet and wiped the last of the tears away with another of her wet wipes and then the girl began to skate away. As she neared the only scratches his eyes caught upon her were a couple of small ones upon her lower shins. They were nothing that would mar what turned out to be a lovely little girl. He smiled at her as she neared but she did not see him instead she turned and waved to the young woman that had helped her and then darted past him with the grace of a dancer. He had been nothing in her life but an insignificant obstacle upon her journey.
The resiliency of the young had always amazed him. She had rebounded so quickly it was as if nothing had happened and he could hear the chiming of her laughter as she rounded the corner just beyond him.
His ancient bones creaked and complained as he turned back to look at the young lady who had caused the accident. Of the two she was the one that seemed to have had the worst of it though he could see no sign of any physical injury.
It amazed him that even from a distance of nearly half a block he could make out the wet trails that the tears had left on her cheeks. Her green eyes glistened with more tears that were readying to fall as she paused and placed her face into her hands and wept in silence. He queried himself, how was it possible to see the color of her eyes from that distance, hell he could even read the small lettering on the packages that lay on the ground at her feet. Surely someone his age should be almost blind. Instead he could see things he should only be able to see if he were looking through binoculars or a telescope.
The young woman knelt to pick up her two small bags. While she gathered her items she stopped and continued to cry a moment longer, holding her handkerchief to her eyes to hide the tears. Two older boys walked by her one pushed at the other laughing and nearly knocking his buddy into her, yet neither of them seemed to even notice she was there. He grumbled under his breath at the disrespect that young people of this era had. In his day a gentleman helped a lady in distress even if only for a moment or two. He just could not fathom the indifference of young men. It was not even a matter of being a gentleman anymore but just common courtesy, and it definitely was not that the young lady was unattractive. She did not dress to show off the beauty that lay within her but he could feel the stirrings within him that made him wish he was young again.
Slowly she stood and began walking in his direction, her right hand darting up and trying to wipe the tears away from her eyes. As she neared him he was struck at how much she reminded him of someone but he could not place who. Yet his heart began to pick up its pace and suddenly shyness overcame him. He felt as if he were a young lad about to ask the most beautiful girl in town for a date. His heart leapt into his throat as he thought she was going to pass him by but suddenly she paused. He began to dance back and forth upon his feet like an anxious young child desperate to see Santa. He could not understand what was wrong with him. He hadn’t felt like this about anyone since the passing of his wife many years ago and this was only a little girl. Why was he acting as if this was the most important moment in his entire life?
Slowly she turned her eyes upward and she looked up at his sign and then back to him and said, “Mister, your sign is up backwards.”
He gazed up, stared at the sign a moment, then laughed, and while still looking at the sign said, “Well my bones can’t handle another trip up that ladder today. I will have to fix it tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind fixing it for you, Sir,” the young lady said in such a sweet voice that he could feel his heart melting.
“But… but… you are wearing a dress?”
“Not a problem,” she said. She sat her packages down and unhooked the strap from her purse. She took one end of the strap and attached it to her belt behind her back and passed it between her legs and then fastened it to her belt in the front. The belt pulled the hem of her dress up and closed the opening making a type of pants.
He watched her ingenuity stunned. She must have seen the look upon his face for she quickly explained, “I always wear dresses and at school I often help decorate so I have learned a few tricks to keep the boys from looking up my skirts.”
He did not have time to say a word before she darted up the ladder and within no time she had the sign righted and was back down and had her purse reassembled. He smiled at her and thanked her profusely.
A gust of wind caught her hair and tossed it across her face. She flipped her head to get the hair out of her eyes. The wind however carried with it the still lingering scent of her tears as well as a light dusting of perfume. The fingers of the past wrapped around him reminding him of something from his childhood, a scent that his mother wore, a flower, but he could not place it. He suddenly felt an even stronger need to at least talk to this young lady for a little while. At the rate his heart was responding to her there was little doubt in his mind that if she wanted it he would offer her any piece of jewelry in his store for just a few moments to stare at her lovely smile. His late wife would have called him a foolish old man but he still felt like a young man in his old body.
She smiled at him and though she seemed to be happy he could sense that there was an incredible sadness within her that was far deeper than what could be explained by what had happened down the street. Again he was not certain how he knew that, but there was no doubt in his mind that this young woman was troubled. She lifted her hand as if to wave and he could sense she was about to say she had better get going.
The thoughts that went through his head then passed within a flash. He knew that she was a very special young lady. The very fact that he could feel her inner emotions without her saying a single word told him that there was something within her that was calling out to him. Then the shadow of the old drake passing overhead loomed in his mind and another memory of his past shot out of the darkness. The harbinger of an omen. Maybe it was more than his imagination. He felt deeply that he had to help this young lady in some way, he was not yet certain what she needed or how he would help but he knew he had no choice.
Before she had the chance to say anything he spoke, “Would you care to come inside and sit for a bit? I saw what happened down the street and you seem to be quite shaken by it. Besides, I at least owe you a drink for helping me with the sign.”
She nodded and he opened the door as a gentleman should and allowed her to precede him into the establishment. The young woman stepped inside and paused just inside the door. As he stepped in behind her he could see her looking about at all the display cases. They were empty and the place looked barren but the old building had a charm of its own.
He flipped the light switch just inside the door and the overhead lights illuminated the place casting out the shadows and then the tension in the young woman seemed to evaporate. He suddenly realized that she was the first person, other than himself, to enter The Crimson Z since he had decided to relocate there, “Welcome to The Crimson Z,” he announced.
The young woman laughed and said, “For all there is to it.”
Then she added, “Will you be ready to open in time for your Grand Opening?”
“I am old but I believe I can make it in time,” he said, as he walked toward the back of the store to go to the little kitchen area. “Would you like a soda, or something else?” He hollered back and asked.
“Do you have any bottled water?” she asked.
“Yes, I have some from Saratoga Springs. I kind of like it, it has a sweet taste.”
“That is good, I prefer things without additives,” she responded.
He brought back out two of the bottles. As he passed by a mirror on the wall it began to rattle and he whispered to it, “Not now Lilith, it is not time.”
“Excuse me, Sir. What did you say?” she asked.
“I just said to myself ‘Be still, Silly it is not your time.’ It was nothing”
The girl looked at him quizzically so he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. He hated to lie, he always had but he did not know how to explain the rattling mirror and Lilith to the young woman. Maybe he would in time if she stuck around, but if he tried now she would be out that door and running down the street in a matter of seconds. “You are such an attractive young lady and my heart was racing just thinking of being alone in this dark store with you. But as you see I am an arthritic old man and you are in no danger.”
He felt ashamed for he had actually told her two lies. Outside he had felt old and arthritic but once he had stepped through the doors and into the realm of The Crimson Z it was as if half his years had melted away from him. He no longer hurt and his hands and bones were in nearly perfect shape again.
The young girl giggled and smiled brightly as she blushed, “Thank you, I am not so pretty, but I already knew I was safe with you. I could see it in your eyes. I get feelings about people, and you have a very good heart.”
He handed the young woman her bottle of water and then opened his own. He laughed to himself thinking when bottled water had first come out he had sworn he would never spend even a single penny on the stuff and now it was about the only thing he drank. He did have a couple cans of soda in the refrigerator for guests but he never touched it. The young woman began to lean over the counter and look for something. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I was looking for a trash can for this wet wipe. I could not throw it on the street. I just do not like to litter, besides, people are funny about things covered with blood.”
He held out his hand, “Hand it to me, the main trash can is in the back. I am still setting up shop so do not have anything really ready yet. Other than the treasures display case over against that wall nothing has been set up.”
She dropped the wet wipe in his hand and then turned her gaze in the direction he had pointed. She could feel her eyes growing big as she looked upon the deep red of the rich mahogany case. She was not a good judge of height but it nearly reached to the ceiling so she guessed it stood nearly eight feet tall and was at least six feet wide. The front was divided into three panels. The lower one foot stretched the full width of the cabinet and then the upper portion was divided into what looked like two doors. Across the top was a decorative scrolling that had the phases of the moon carved into the scroll work.
However the most striking feature was a deep intricate carving across the faces of the two doors. It appeared to be a tree, but one that was bent to form a very stylistic shape that resembled the letter Z. The roots were twisted and gnarled from the right across the bottom to the left and became the base of the trunk of the tree but they were more than that for they also looked like they were the feet of a startlingly beautiful but completely naked woman. She leaned to the right, her legs crossed slightly, she was naked and it actually caused the young woman to feel herself blush as she looked at how sensual the woman was, yet she was still the trunk of a tree.
One of the tree woman’s arms crooked above her head and it and her hair became the branches which intertwined across the two doors. Down at the base one of the tap roots descended and connected to a circle that surrounded the entire work. Connected to the circle at twelve equidistant points were characters that she recognized from the Hebrew alphabet.
The young woman had never imagined anything like this in her life. The entire cabinet was the most strikingly beautiful piece of furniture she had ever seen. She could not even begin to imagine what kind of treasures it might hold within that he would defer to them and not to the cabinet itself as so valuable.
The old man turned and left the room as she began to walk over to the case. When she got closer she noticed that the engraving that formed the pattern was more than simply a deeply carved line. There were raised portions within the lines so she inspected them even closer. In the poor light it was hard to tell but it looked like there were some strange characters carved within the lines.
“Yes, the case is a beauty.” She nearly jumped out of her skin as she had not heard the old man approach and he was less than a foot behind her. She turned and stepped away a bit, smiling at him. She did not feel frightened of him it was just that she was not used to having people get that close to her without her noticing them. He continued, “It is a copy of the original that was made when the original store was open.”
The old man laughed and placed a key into a hidden spot at the bottom of the doors, “Don’t go asking me how long ago that was because I have no idea. It has been in my family for many generations.” Then he sighed, a deep, heavy sigh and added, “It looks like it will pass into the hands of my great-great nephew though for I have no son to pass my trade on to.”
With a twist of the key the two great doors swung open almost magically. The backs of both doors and the interior behind them were lined with red velvet. Sliding glass doors further divided the case and protected the pieces of jewelry within.
She stared in awe at the hundreds of pieces adorning the shelves. There were rings, bracelets, necklaces, pendants, cameos, and many more items and each one looked as if it were crafted with a care and artistry beyond anything she had ever seen or even imagined. She had seen exceptional jewelry before. Her mother wore very expensive pieces but what was in this cabinet was far beyond anything she had seen even in museums. The craftsmen that had made these pieces of jewelry were true masters and she had no doubt that she was looking at the finest works that had ever been created.
Her gaze was caught by an exquisite golden ring, like two coiled serpents, that held the very first place within the cabinet. Her eyes were drawn down to a pendent that looked so delicate that she was sure it would crumble beneath the touch of a feather. All the upper shelves were mostly full but once in a while there would be a blank space as if a piece was missing from the collection. She continued with amazement through the various pieces, a set of pendants all alike except for a size variance, a bracelet of gold and lapis which were one of her favorite gemstones. All the pieces were of gold, some had silver in them some had gemstones others did not.
Finally her gaze lit upon the bottom shelves and she noticed that they were empty like they were waiting for new pieces that had yet to be made.
She started to turn wanting to ask him about the blank places in the collection but before she said a word he was answering as if he had read her mind. “The blank places are for pieces that have been sold. In time it seems that all the pieces that are marked with the jeweler’s mark of The Crimson Z find their way back to this shop so it has been a tradition to leave the spots open.”
She could feel her own eyes widen at the thought that somehow the pieces always returned. Could that mean that they were somehow magical? She imagined them being woven with some special enchantment that enveloped the person that bought them and then when the person was no longer in need of the magic the piece would mysteriously find its way back into the hands of the owner of The Crimson Z. She turned and looked at the empty places amongst the jewelry and wondered what wonders those pieces were weaving in the lives of the people that possessed them.
Her gaze drifted amongst the variety of rings, chains, charms, earrings, and other jewels that had every size and type of gemstone imaginable. Slowly she turned towards him and smiled broadly. “Did you make all of these?”
He laughed, “Sometimes I feel like I did. They mean so much to me. But that ring of coiled serpents up in that corner is several hundred years old. Do you think I could have made it?” He smiled at her and raised an eyebrow, “Surely you do not think I am that old?”
She smiled, “Well, I guess not. You are old, but not quite that old.” She smiled teasingly and added, “At least I do not think so.”
The old man wiggled his eyebrows and she realized he had seen through her tease. She giggled. There was something about the old man that made her feel very warm and safe. If she had had a grandfather she would have hoped he would have been a man like this man. She held out her hand, “My name is Melanie it is nice to meet you.” Then as an afterthought, something she thought a gentleman of his era might like, she curtsied.
The old man’s face brightened, “My, that is something I have not seen in a very long time. I did not know anyone even knew how to do that anymore.”
Melanie laughed and said, “I saw it in an old movie once. I thought it was sweet so I practiced it. I never thought I would do it. Yet, you seemed like someone that would appreciate it, and it felt right.”
He took her hand, kissed it and then bowed to her, “Why thank you, Miss Melanie, it was indeed a pleasure.”
She giggled shyly, the kiss was a little more than she had anticipated and her heart raced. Why would an old man kissing her hand cause her heart to race? And make her feel giddy?
The old man added, “Most people call me Zach. My last name is Zachariah and it is where the Z in The Crimson Z comes from.”
Melanie giggled again, everything seemed so formal. Yet she felt it was somehow more. Her own heart was telling her she needed it to be more. She did not know why, but she felt comfortable around this man. It frightened her a little, that it was the first time she had ever met him and she was having such deep emotions but all her life she’d had feelings about things and they had never steered her wrong. She knew that she would be safe with this man and she knew that he was going to play a major role in her life.
She smiled at him and said, “It has been a true pleasure to meet you, Zach… um, Mr. Zachariah.” She lowered her gaze to the floor and thought. It did not feel right calling him by the name Zach as everyone else did. That just did not show him enough respect and yet calling him Mr. Zachariah seemed too formal, almost like it was distancing him from her and she did not want that.
There were no adults in her life that she was close to other than a couple of teachers, and even more disturbing to her was that there were no male figures in her life at all. She did not hang around the boys her age because she could tell all they wanted from her was to get under her dress. They did not care that she had a mind and a heart. They were too worried about their own hormones, and what conquests they could brag about to the other boys.
Something about this man told her she would be safe. Even if he saw her as a sexual being he would not pursue it. She raised her head and looked at him, she could tell from the look on his face that the look on her own face had caused him to worry, “Excuse me, Sir. It just does not seem right me calling you Zach, and I know it is proper to call you Mr. Zachariah however I am worried that that would send you a message that I want to be distant from you, and I do not.
“I would like to be your friend. I would like to come and visit and talk with you more. Would it be alright if I call you Papa Zach? That is how I would refer to a grandfather if I had one and it would mean a great deal to me to be allowed to show you that respect.”
“I do not know what I did to earn the respect, but I would be honored. You certainly may call me Papa Zach.”
She smiled brightly and said, “Papa Zach, you said you were not done unpacking. Could you use some help? Your sign says you will be opening next Friday, and tomorrow is Saturday. I could come and help you.”
The melody of her voice as she said the word ‘Papa’ catapulted Zachariah’s mind back to a moment in the past, to a happy time when his mother had called his father ‘Papa’ and it warmed his heart to hear the lovely young lady call him by that name. His gaze had also drifted to the floor while his memories of his loving parents and the love they shared filled his head. He suddenly realized that it had gone quiet in the shop except for the girl’s exuberant breath. He looked up at her. For a moment he had forgotten the question she had asked him. He quickly replayed her last words through his mind and then it returned, she had asked if he could use some help, and he could see from the bright look in her eyes that he would have a bit of an argument with her if he were to say no. Yet there were things about this girl he already felt that told him he wanted her near. He could feel her emotions coming off of her like radiant heat from an old wood burning stove. He could see occasional flashes of light dance around her, little bits of energy that clued him in that she was more than just a special girl in her polite and sweet nature. This girl had a gift that was something he needed to be close to. It made him feel alive and even younger than the magic of his shop. His heart felt youthful for the first time since the death of his wife.
Yes this girl was far more special than any of the other clients that had come into his shop but most importantly she had given him the first of the elements of the commission. She had given him a gift of blood of an innocent child. Now he had to wait for her to commission a piece of jewelry. It was imperative that she be around as much as possible and even though that was part of the requirements which he had to fulfill, it was something his heart was more than pleased to follow. He hoped that what she would ask for would be something very special so that he could put all of his heart and soul into its design. He wanted to create for her something that would help her feel how beautiful she truly was.
He smiled, “I guess I have made you dance long enough for your answer. Melanie, you are welcome to help but I do not have any cash on hand. I have not sold a piece in quite some time and all my money is either tied up or has gone to paying the rent on this place and buying back one of the treasures.”
“Oh no! No, Papa Zach. I don’t want to be paid. Well, if you want to pay me you can tell me some stories about the treasures. I get the feeling from the way you say they return to you that each of them has a special story, almost magical and my curiosity about them is piqued. Besides I love to listen to stories from older people about the past. People my age just do not respect the generations of the past and there is so much rich history in their tales and legends.” She looked at him. He could see the anticipation building to where she was almost dancing before he finally gave his answer.
“Yes.” He smiled for to hear the respect in her voice about history was just one more thing that made this young girl so special to him. She truly was a treasure. He already knew she was more valuable than all the treasures in that cabinet combined for she was a living, breathing jewel.
“Yay!” She jumped up and down and kissed his cheek. Then she walked backwards toward the door, he watched as she turned her head every once in a while as if she were trying to make certain she didn’t bump into something as she headed for the door, but she kept looking back to him to make eye contact as she spoke to him. “Papa Zach, I am sorry I cannot stay longer but dinner will be on the table soon and I do not want my mother to worry. I will tell her about you and this place and she may stop in to check it out to make certain it is what I say it is. I will be here bright and early tomorrow. Just tell me when?”
“It is Saturday get here when you feel like it. I am usually up before the sun.”
She ran to the door then stopped ran back and kissed his cheek again, “Thank you, thank you,” she said then ran out the door. The last thing he heard was her singing happily, as she was nearly halfway up the block.
As the sound of her voice faded, the mirror on the wall began to rattle. Zach got up and walked over to it. “Quiet, Lilith. Do not be jealous. I know she is young and sweet but I still love you my wife. I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you and I will always love you.” Softly he stroked the glass of the mirror and slowly it settled down. Zachariah felt a cold tingling at the front of his skull, he could remember a time when it was warm and pleasant but that had ceased long ago and now it felt more like icy fingers reaching into the frontal lobe of his brain.
Zachariah, the blood of this child that she brought you, I can tell it is truly an innocent this time. Zachariah could feel a quivering of those cold tendrils as he felt her excitement.
“What has happened? Why has it taken so long? I do not remember ever getting this old before.”

Toy’s Story

Toy’s Story
Acquisition of a Sex Toy
https://amzn.to/2E8MLZw
Robert Cloud
Prologue
Escaping a Haunted Past

The door slammed, the echo reverberated off the cold walls, emphasizing the harsh emptiness that prevailed throughout the house. The curtains were pulled tight, blocking out all but a few brave fingers of light that dared to slip through, to find that the only real life within the dismal abode were the dust motes dancing within the beams. Aside from the disturbance of the motes, as they danced in the breath of the weary man who had just entered, there were no signs that anything even lived inside the dreary walls.
He dropped a large and heavy box containing various technical books and equipment, along with his briefcase, into an old, green recliner that once had been filled with happiness, yet now sat as empty and barren as his heart. The anxious dust rose in a cloud of protest to the sudden shift within its home, and brought new life swirling into the splinters of the sun that etched their way across the room. The sun seemed to be trying to find some semblance of joy within this abode, but it was a futile effort. There was only one lost soul.
Glancing around the living room, he could feel the loss of the things that had once greeted him. Even after two weeks he still half expected that, at any moment, his little mixed breed ankle-biter dog would come running in to greet him by leaping into his arms; but he knew it would not happen. Mercedes had been her name, and she and her father were no longer amongst the living. Once he had been told that Mercedes knew when he was about to come home, for she would sit in front of the door and whimper with her tail furiously flogging the floor in anticipation of his key entering the slot. A tear slid down his cheek to get caught in the beard that he had let go unmanaged for too long.
The mournful man cast his gaze upon the larger, brown Lazy-Boy recliner that sat beside the green one. When his wife had bought, them he had asked why she did not at least match the color. Her answer had been she was trying to save them money and these were on sale. That had been before things had gone sour; back when they used to sit together and watch the evening news, and when there had still been moments of laughter rising through the room, as he would look over at his wife sitting in the green chair, and see her smiling back. Even when things had been rough and the emotions between them strained, they had managed to care for each other.
Many years had passed since they had been truly happy together; too much time together, some of their so-called friends had said. Truth was, David and his wife had grown apart due to a pain in her soul that was the fault of neither of them. No matter how many times he had tried to explain that to others, they were always trying to say he was controlling her. All David had ever done was to try to protect her and care for her, even when the love had nearly vanished. Another tear slid down his cheek and joined the first, as he turned and walked across the living room to begin his ascent to the second floor. One flight of nine steps; then turn with four steps on the landing, and seven more steps to reach the top. For fifteen days he had counted them each time he made the ascent; for it was the only way to face the memories that would assault him when he reached the top.
Stopping briefly at the top of the stairs, he looked down at the empty cat bed, and wished that his twenty year old grey cat had been lying there asleep in the sun, or that she would be sitting there looking at him, and crying her sweet meow for him to feed her: but he knew that that, too, had ended and would never happen again.
He raised his gaze and stared at the door to the right of the bedroom. Since that day two weeks ago, he had not been able to enter that room; her room. He had waited long enough. It was time to relive the nightmare. He almost laughed that painful laugh of bitter tears.
She had christened the room as the library. It was the one room in the house that his wife had taken over completely. She had used it to store her crochet yarn and other paraphernalia that she had managed to collect over the years. It had been her private sanctuary, and whenever he had entered the room, he was greeted by the ear-splitting screech of a Conure. Tequila, the bird, had acted like an alarm, telling him he did not belong there; that this was her mother’s domain. Now he even missed that screech; for it, like the joys he had once had, had been permanently silenced. The library housed her computer, and it was the computer that had made him decide to return to this place that haunted him when he was awake, and filled his nightmares when he slept.
One more time, he paused as he tried to gain the strength to face his memories. Then he turned the doorknob and stepped into the silence. He stared at the lonely stuffed animals that lined three of the four walls. They were piled and stacked neatly from floor to ceiling, so that each had its face visible. She used to say that she could not let the stuffies suffocate. A silent tear slid down his cheek, but now they all stared back at him with accusations. What have you done to our mother?
How would he ever explain that all he had done was to try to survive, and the fight that he and his wife had had was not that severe. He had gotten the month’s cable bill, and she had ordered a few movies on pay-per-view. His only intent when he had approached her, was to request that she ask him if they could afford for her to order the movies next time. He still had no idea why it had erupted into her screaming at him; but he had known he had to get out before he said something he would regret. So he had left to take a walk to allow his emotions and anger to settle.
There was no real fault that caused the argument, just the fact that they no longer were able to remain civil; the simplest of things could set off a round of yelling and screaming that would last for hours. This fight had been a minor one; he had even managed not to raise his voice in response to her screams, but instead just turned and walked to the store to get some milk.
The specter of his memory haunted him with the vision of her body slumped over the computer keyboard, and the empty bottles of medicine lying on the floor. He had only been gone an hour.
It could not have been more than seconds, but it seemed like hours that he had stood there not believing what his eyes were telling him. Slowly, he walked over to her and called out her name several times, hoping for a reaction; any reaction. He lifted her wrist to feel for a pulse, but already he knew he would find none, for she was too cold.
There had been many fights in the last few years, and they both had thrown out the word divorce like a serpent striking at the heart of the other. Yes, he had wanted her out of his life, but not like that. He had thought he had grown to hate her, but his heart was crushed and he realized that he had still loved her, even if she had no longer been the woman he had fallen in love with seventeen years before. He had held her and wept until the police and emergency crews had arrived.
With those visions of the police and EMTs trying to revive her filling his head, he sat down at the computer and turned on the power switch, then waited. When everything had finally loaded, the little icon telling him that she had mail, indicated that there were over a thousand emails from her friends. Another lonely tear followed the others, as he recalled how she would claim she had no friends. It had been only two weeks since her death and she had over a thousand emails. His computer downstairs had had less than fifty in that same time; and forty of those had been spam.
Still, it had been too long, and none of her friends knew anything about what had happened. He had made the decision to come to her computer only because today, at his office, one of those friends had emailed him and demanded to know what was wrong with Gwyneth. The email had caught him unprepared, and he had not been able to hold back the torrent of tears that surged from his eyes. He could not stop the sobs that had been held at bay since he had found the cold body of the woman he had once loved more that life.
When he had finally regained his composure, he had turned to apologize for his outburst, only to see his boss standing there with an envelope. As the man looked at him with a cold glare and handed him the envelope, he informed him that it was time to pack his belongings; that the company no longer needed his services.
Now he sat staring at his deceased wife’s computer screen trying with every ounce of strength he had not to cry again. He had come to this god damned computer to tell every one of her fucking friends that Gwyn had taken the easy way out, and had ended her life. His intent had been to tell them that she had cared so little about how it would affect him, or any of them, or even her elderly parents who were both in a nursing home, that the only thing in her suicide note was one rambling accusation after another. No goodbyes, no ‘I am sorry’, just accusation after accusation, accusing David of destroying her life. Instead, he sent one mass email telling them that she had died in her sleep.
He began to stand and leave, when a yahoo IM popped up. The door called out to him, pleading with him to make his exit. Instead, he plopped back down into the chair and began typing a response to make the messenger aware of the tragedy. Once again, he retold his tale of how Gwyn had passed away peacefully in her sleep, but her friend from Australia would not believe him. It was as if he could sense the lie behind the tale, and accusations of foul play began to fly with the shock. He even tried to accuse David of poisoning Gwyn, and threatened to call the police. Reaching into depths that he did not realize were still there, David managed to maintain his control and, with rational calm, informed him that the police had already cleared him of any wrong doing.
More memories nearly overwhelmed David as he typed. The stretcher, with the stark white sheet lying over Gwyn, being carried down the front steps of the house to the ambulance as the police were asking him one question after another. The doors of the ambulance slamming closed, sealing the end of a life together. The cold steel of handcuffs being slipped over his wrists as he watched the ambulance drive away; too numb for a moment to realize he was being arrested. At the police station he had used his one call to call Gwyn’s therapist, before being locked behind the cold steel bars. David had not been sitting in the cell even an hour before he was released. The testimony of the therapist had kept him from spending the night in jail, but even that one hour behind bars had been too long. For all he had to occupy his time, were the memories of finding his wife’s cold body slumped over her computer, and of finding the corpses of his pets lying on the floor; with their blank eyes staring at him with accusation. However, one part of her suicide note had haunted him the most. He kept remembering the words scrawled in her own hand.

‘I cannot let you hurt the pets like you hurt me, you rotten bastard. I will haunt you for the rest of your life. You intentionally sought out the one thing that would destroy me. When the Devil comes for your soul, I will help him pull it into the flames’.
That night he stayed in a motel, unable to return to the house that was no longer his home.
While he was typing back and forth, he glanced at the many trinkets upon the desk, and felt the dam break as his tears flowed in a torrent down his cheeks. Huge weeping sobs echoed off the walls, and the stuffed animals seemed to look at him and say, ‘Mommy isn’t coming back, is she’?
As Gwyn’s friend continued to try to pry more details out of him, he began to surf through Yahoo Groups to see if anything might pull his attentions into some other realm or void. It had been almost three hours after the typing had ceased to appear in the IM window, when his gaze fell upon a topic in Yahoo Groups that drew his full attention. It was a writers’ group. They were in need of more authors to join them, and help create a fantasy.
Writing had always been one of David’s greatest passions, and he knew that this could be the very thing that would help him to refocus his energies until he could get control of his life. Looking at the clock upon the monitor, and seeing that the sun would soon be coming up, he decided that the time was not right to begin anything new. He needed to get some sleep. However, he did take the time to post a message saying that he would be interested, and then he bookmarked the group. Then, with his heart heavy, and his soul bereft, he headed to bed, where once again, for the fifteenth night in a row, he managed to fall asleep with the tears soaking his pillow.
The afternoon sun managed to find a crack in his window shades, and broke through to focus its energies upon his closed eyes. The glare was too bright for his mind to remain in the dream world where everything had once again been happy. His subconscious had taken him into the past, where he had been reliving the time before his marriage to Gwyn, and the joy and passion that they had once shared with each other.
“David,” she had laughed, when he pulled out the French Tickler shaped like a dragon’s head. He had flicked the long plastic tongue of the dragon with his index finger, and watched it vibrate, then looked at her and smiled, saying that this would really tease the hell out of her. Her eyes met his with a love so deep he knew that he had found his soul mate. David had stood to put the French Tickler on and, as he looked down, he began laughing in near hysterics. The dragon’s head, with its long forked tongue, made his cock nearly double in length and width. He wondered if it would even be able to enter her.
Gwyn joined his laughter and reached out to the tickler, pulling it off and saying, “Just fuck me lover, you do not need anything to enhance your penis. I love it just the way it is.”
He smiled at her, and she lay back, spreading her thighs, beckoning him to come to her…
Then the light intruded upon his dream of one of the few joyful moments in his life and brought him back to the reality of his new life without her. He rose and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to think of a reason to even face the day. There was no work to go to. There were no pets to feed. Before Gwyn had taken the pills to end her own life, she had locked the pets in the kitchen and turned on the gas. When he had returned home that day, it was the smell of gas that had alerted him that something was wrong. David did not know whether to forgive his wife; for he knew she had not been mentally right, or to despise her for not only killing herself but killing the only children he had had, his two dogs and four cats, as well as her Conure and a lizard.
He also knew why, in her delusional state, she had killed his children.
Gwyn had blamed him for the death of their thirteen year old dog, Ginger, that had died in an unfortunate accident three years before. Ginger was Gwyn’s treasure. She would follow his wife everywhere; sleeping with her, even sitting outside the tub until the water was cool enough for Gwyn to lift her in to bathe together. That night, there had been a company party, and they had decided to go. When they came home ,Ginger did not greet them at the door like she usually, did but neither he nor Gwyn had thought much about that, for she was getting old and getting up and down for was hard for her.
They went to watch the news together before going to bed, and a comforter was lying on Gwyn’s chair. As David lifted it he knew something was wrong, because it was weighted. He found a hole that Ginger had chewed in it, and then crawled in to warm her aching bones. Quickly, David had torn the quilt open, and the blank stare on the face of Gwyn’s dog told him she had died trying to chew her way out when she got stuck. Gwyn had been standing behind the chair screaming, “Oh no!” over and over again, but there was nothing to be done. Together, they carried the stiff little body of a dog that they had had for thirteen years into the back yard, and Gwyn held her while David dug the grave.
For months, Gwyn lit a candle every night, and every night she would cry herself to sleep. David finally told her that Ginger was old, and it was time to move on, Gwyn snapped. She accused him of poisoning Ginger. Her mind could not accept the fact that he had nothing to do with it. For hours, sometimes as many as eight nonstop, she would stand at the top of the stairs and scream at him about how he had wanted Ginger gone so that she would have no reason to live; or how he was hunting for some whore to replace her. Both were extremes, and only a few of the many things she would accuse him of doing, in order to drive her to commit suicide.
The worst days were when she would sit on the top step and cry ceaselessly, begging him to allow her to take her life. He had wanted to put her in a hospital to get her the help she needed, but her fear of confinement was so great that she would become hysterical at the mention of it. When looking into her terror filled eyes, he knew there was no way he could force her. She was strong, but her mind was weak, and it would have destroyed what was left of her.
Finally, David managed to get up and walk into the bathroom. Looking into the shower stall he decided that it was a good idea to try to start fresh, so he climbed in and turned the hot water to full blast. Facing the jet of water and letting it beat against his face and cascade down his chest, he turned slowly and let the hot, pulsating water massage the base of his neck. It was nice to be as tall as he was; nearly six foot four, for the shower head was right above the base of his neck and soothed his aching muscles. Sometimes it was a pain too, for when he washed his hair he had to stoop down to get the water to wet his scalp and rinse his hair. Today, however, he just stood there with the spray beating down upon him; he did not really care if he was clean, he just needed to feel something besides pain. When the heat from the water began to fade, he knew the water heater had reached its limit and it was time to try to face the day.
After he turned the spray off, he opened the door and stepped out, looking around, wondering for a brief moment where Mercedes and Red were. Then the shadows of memories filled his mind. He remembered his two little dogs prancing about in excitement as they waited to lick the water from his legs in adoration. It was something that would never happen again, for they were now buried in his back yard beside Ginger. He began wishing he’d had more patience with them and had not ignored their affection, which he now found himself missing terribly. Had it only been fifteen days?
David did not bother drying, nor was there a need to get dressed. He was not going anywhere, and no one would come to visit him. In the last four years of the marriage, Gwyn had retreated so far into her sanctuary that she had alienated all the neighbors. Months had gone by without her leaving the house. His only true friend was currently away on business in Upstate New York, over 1600 miles away, and he had already done all he could to console David.
Walking into the library, David realized that working on the computer in this room that haunted him would be too painful to do every day; yet today was not the day to begin rearranging things. He barely had the energy to walk to the chair, let alone begin a massive reorganization. Sitting down in the chair, he wished he was not was using Gwyn’s computer. His own was perfectly fine; however, when he had gone to get the link for the writers’ group, he remembered he had bookmarked it on Gwyn’s computer. His plan was to spend just enough time to email himself the link and get back to his own computer, but as he hit the link, he became enmeshed in finding out more about this story line. If this story did not interest him enough, then he would look for another.
Pressing the button on Gwyn’s computer, he waited for it to cycle up. Even before it had finished doing so the Yahoo window popped up with the message ‘You have mail’. He dreaded opening the email window, for he knew that Gwyn had given his Yahoo ID to many of her friends. He was certain that more of her friends would be contacting him with more accusations or remorse.
He hesitated, but finally clicked on the open button for Yahoo mail and ,to his relief and also intrigue, there was a message from the Yahoo group where he had left his lone post before going to bed.
David began reading it, and realized that it was an automated response detailing the purpose of the group, and that the group was looking not only for more writers, but for a coordinator to help run the group. The former owner of the group had decided to quit, for he had other things more pressing, but the concept had been exciting to the writers, and they did not want to let it just end.
The storyline was a fantasy set in a realm where Elves, Dwarves and Dragons were more abundant than humans; yet it was intriguing, for it was erotica. Great, David smiled as he read, just what I need to make myself even more sexually frustrated. Hell, except for his hand for release, it had been more than six years since he had sex with anyone, and that one time had been a mistake; it was the only time he had strayed from his marriage.
Sexual frustration was not something he wanted, yet he also thought that perhaps writing could relieve some of the stress. So he replied, and said that he would agree to run the group and write in it as well. Less than three minutes after he hit ‘enter’ a Yahoo IM window popped up, and the current lead writer requested a chat session. David accepted the IM and allowed the man with the Yahoo ID “Kryloq” to add him to his friends list, and they began discussing the group, and how to help it reignite.
Apparently, it had actually been a while since anyone had posted, and the story line seemed to have died. Of the original seven writers, only three remained, and none of them had any experience running a writing circle. Within moments, David was made the new moderator of the group. Kryloq thanked him, and said he hoped David could find a way to revitalize the story.
The process of taking over the control of the group began with David reading the archives. The current storyline was basically a good concept, but it needed a lot of work. There had been no real organization to it and no plot. The work done so far was nothing more than an Elf Fucking Porn Fest. However, there was one notable exception, and David decided he wanted to try to figure a way to keep that in the story at the right time. Laughing in true amusement for the first time in months, David enmeshed himself in reading a scene where a dwarf accidentally gave a dragon a love potion instead of a charm potion, and wound up getting fucked by the Dragon. The Dwarf had wanted to make a pet out of the Dragon; not find himself a lover. One of the interesting side effects of the potion was that the dwarf fell in love with the dragon. What a lovely couple! David guffawed.
When finished with the archives, David made a decision. He felt his creativity beginning to stir to life, and had many ideas to help enrich the story. He emailed all the writers with his decision to start a new story line upon the same concept. Then he set about trying to recruit four additional writers, by advertising in the various writers’ group listings on Yahoo and MSN. A laugh escaped him and surprised him; it was not a bitter painful laugh, but one that felt good. Smiling, he thought that, just maybe, this would help him to begin his recovery. He was aware that it could also be only a temporary fix to his own personal problems, but for the moment, his mind was not on the tragedy, but on something creative.
Opening MSWord, David began to jot down his ideas for the new story line. He wanted to be certain that the authors were given some guidance as to what direction to follow, yet not so much that they could not have the freedom to create. The outline began to form, and he took the little gems from the old story that he wanted to keep, and placed them within the framework. As he typed ‘Dwarven mistake, love, not charm, Dragon fuck’, he snickered to himself, wondering if he could persuade the author to relive that scene.
David felt the ideas flowing, and he wanted to be able to keep the story fresh and alive, and yet give enough leeway so that authors could throw in new scenes to make it exciting and erotic. To aid him in this, he devised a database where anyone who was going to be writing with the group would enter a description of the character they were going to focus on, the character’s aspirations, its loves and dislikes, fears, and anything else that might make the character seem real. He was careful to note in his email that the characters needed to have a fault too, for no one was perfect. Then he attached the questionnaire, and sent it to the other writers.
The questionnaire also included a request for some personal information from each of the writers. David wanted to know their motivations in joining the group, and, to add some spice, he asked each author to list their fantasies, and to be sure to include their deepest and darkest ones as well. In the email, he stated that this would be a great aid to all of them in giving new ideas and purposes within the story.
Next, he reorganized the basic concept of the story line, and created an outline with a plot. There had to be a goal to the story beyond having Elves fucking Dwarves and Dwarves getting fucked by Dragons. He also thought there could be some interesting things added to the sexual characteristics of each race; perhaps Dwarves were exceptionally well endowed, or Elves would change color when they climaxed and stay that way for a few hours. David pictured a shy Elf turning purple during an orgasm and then trying to stay hidden so no one would know what she had been up to, and snickered again. This could be fun, he thought. Then he incorporated one of his own fantasies into the story line by creating a new fantasy race. David designed this race to be the humanoid forms of the large cats of Africa.
When he had met Gwyn, one of her biggest collections centered upon the Siberian white tiger. From her early childhood she had collected everything she could afford, and her family had contributed to her collection. During their engagement, Gwyn had confessed to him that she wished she were a white tiger. David’s mind had played with that, and he had developed a fantasy to have sex with Gwyn one day with her painted up like a white tiger. His fantasy had never taken place, and as he wrote out his concept for the new races, fresh tears began to flow as his heart yearned to have Gwyn back. Wiping away the tears, he felt that the inclusion of his fantasy into the story could be the beginning of a healing process. He needed to be able to allow his fantasies the freedom to escape and come alive again.
Less than thirty minutes after he had posted the request for new writers, the applications began pouring in, and within three hours he had nearly reached his limit, with seven of the eight author positions filled. David realized it was time for him to make the opening post, and get the story moving along. Opening MSWord again, he began the adventure, focusing upon a young virginal Elven male.
Yshmar was the character’s name, and he had been raised in seclusion by a monastic mentor. On his daily routine of combing the beach for crab and other delicacies for dinner, he came upon the remains of a ship wreck. He had only just begun searching the remains when he noticed a body, and ran toward it. Turning the body, over he looked upon one of the feline race; but even more intriguing to him was that it was the first female he had ever seen. While staring at her, dumbfounded, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.
His ending was the segue for the next author to pick up the story and carry it on. Panna was the character name and her ID as well. Though David had been thrilled with her choice to portray one of the feline races, he had found that, surprisingly, it was not as enticing as he had hoped. Perhaps it was due to his fantasy surrounding a white tiger. When Panna had chosen to write as a black panther female his heart had sunk a little, and he felt there was something missing from what he had envisioned. However, the eroticism and sensuality was intense, and Panna was an excellent writer. As David became engulfed in her seduction of Yshmar, he could not resist the urge to begin masturbating. It felt dirty and raunchy, and it did his heart a great deal of good, as he orgasmed for the first time since long before the tragedy.
The story progressed, and soon each writer found themselves becoming entangled in the intrigue of the plot that David was keeping a secret, and yet guiding them toward. For three months, the writing was fresh and rapidly paced. There would be days when each of the seven writers would add to the story in the round robin fashion that David had devised. However, for some reason the eighth writer remained elusive. Then, one day, David noticed a new name requesting to be added as one of the readers of the story. Her Yahoo ID was “Whitetigress” and his heart leapt. Did he dare even hope that she would decide to join the group as an author?
Another week passed, and each day David would open his email and hope that this would be the day the eighth writer joined, so that the circle would be complete. Even more, he hoped to see an email from Whitetigress, or a comment on how she liked the story. Anything at all to give him a hint as to what the woman behind the nickname was like.
As he logged on, the email window popped up with ‘You have mail’. The subject read ‘Requesting to be added as a writer’ but it was not from Whitetigress, and he felt his fantasy slip further away. He read the email and realized that the request was coming from a man wanting to write as a female character, so that there would be the potential of four strong relationships in the storyline. David did want a female character, but the idea of a man writing the part did not sit with him very well, so he decided not to reply right away. Even before he could begin writing an email to the man to inform him of his negative response, the email client again popped up with ‘You have mail’.
His heart began palpitating, and he could feel his head begin to swim as he read the sender’s name. Whitetigress. The subject title was ambiguous; simply reading; ‘A question about Yshmar’. David read the email filled with anticipation, yet fear.
ShadowWolf,
My name is Doreen, and I have found your story truly interesting.
It pains me to see the sorrow and pain that your character, Yshmar, is filled with. Even at times when there are the brief moments of happiness, he soon falls back into such a deep and gloomy state, I feel as if he will never recover.
You have made me feel the depths of his loss when his Mentor died, and also the intensity of his desire to find a purpose in his life.
I am wondering if perhaps you would allow me to write with your group, and find his purpose for him. Maybe the character I would portray would help him find happiness.
You already have a feline female in the storyline but, as my nickname suggests, I have a thing about white tigers. If it does not interfere with your story, I would love for that to be the race I portray. If it does interfere, I will opt for whatever race you suggest.
Please, sir, this girl would love to write for your story.
Doreen
His eyes were glued to each word; his heart sang as he read the words again; not once, but several times. She wanted to write in the group; she wanted to portray a white tigress, and, even more to his delight, she wanted to have her character have a relationship with his. Did he dare hope that this could lead to more?
He was as excited as a child on the night before Christmas as he emailed her that he would love to have her join the group, and there was no problem with a second feline female. All she had to do before being given access to post was to fill out a brief biography for herself and her character. As David hit the send button, he began to realize he needed to settle his heart. If this turned out to be nothing it would only cause him more pain. The story had helped him come out of his depression, yet he still felt pangs of loss. He did not know if he could handle another loss, even if it were only an online romance.
Quickly, he sent a response to the male who had wanted to write as a female, and informed him that the spot was taken. Then David tried to focus on the next post for the story he was devising, but the words would not come to him. His mind kept returning to Doreen, the white tigress, and he kept worrying that his attraction to the name would do more harm than good. It was too soon to open his heart again.
The popup ‘You have mail’ appeared on his screen, and he decided to check it. Perhaps he could come back to the story with fresh ideas after reading the email.
David sat for at least fifteen minutes staring at the screen. He had not expected a reply from Doreen so quickly. He could see even before opening the email that the biography form was attached and ready for him to review. His heart was beating with the fury of an erupting volcano.
He clicked on the attachment and began to read. He was certain that his mind was playing tricks on him, so he read her fantasy again, and again. David was certain he could not be reading the words correctly, so he read them yet again and still he could not believe them. He heard his voice reading them aloud on the fourth time.
My deepest and darkest fantasy has been with me since I was a young child. I dream of it often and wish it would come true. Someday, I would like to have some stranger come and kidnap me and make me serve him as a sex slave. I am Asian, and being someone’s Asian sex toy is my greatest desire.
Her fantasy danced in his head. Suddenly, he could see her kneeling at his feet, rubbing against his thigh like a large cat, and purring, then looking up at him and saying, “Master, would you fuck your tigress?”
David stared at her words as if in a trance. His heart told him it was time to move on, to reach out and grasp this chance before it slipped away. Yet his mind struggled with the fear of having his heart ripped asunder again. His heart won.
He emailed Doreen:
Whitetigress,
I am very pleased that you wish to join the group and, after reading your biography, I have to say yes, beyond a doubt, I want you to join.
I have sat here with your fantasy stirring up images and possibilities for the storyline, but I wish to be honest. It may be a little soon to introduce something that profound. There has not been even the mention of any kind of slavery in the tale as of yet.
Still, I am curious, and reading your fantasy has made me want to suggest that you and I write a story on the side, exploring your fantasy. I understand if you would rather wait until it can be incorporated into the story. I feel it may help me to understand your fantasy better if we wrote about it, and I could see exactly what you were thinking of.
Looking forward to reading your first post; you may introduce your character after my next addition.
Be well,
ShadowWolf
Immediately after hitting the send button he began to wish he could unsend the message. It was too soon to proposition her into writing a private story. He had become aware that she existed only a few days ago. Until three hours ago he had never made direct contact.
This was ludicrous. He shook his head back and forth thinking ‘No, I did not just do that’ as he felt his heart beginning to sink at the thought that he would never hear from her again.
The speakers chimed, and David looked to the monitor as a window popped up…
‘You have mail’.
He stopped shaking his head, his heart stopped beating, and he opened the email from Doreen.
I would love to.
The Acquisition
Chapter One
Sparks Ignite

The door thumped against the frame as David pushed it shut with his ass. He straightened and entered the house with exuberance in his quick pace. No longer did the house seem like a desolate tomb; the curtains were open and the sun filled the abode with a warm ambience. There was clutter lying everywhere, for it seemed he no longer had time to even think of keeping things organized. He was too happy, and life was too short, to worry about such matters. Grabbing the remote that lay on the waist high end table just inside and to the left of the door, he pointed it toward the CD player and filled the house with the soothing melody of a Native American flute.
A little over three months had passed since the day David had returned jobless with the images of his wife’s suicide fresh, and thoughts of his own swimming within his head. Over that period, his heart had recovered remarkably, and happiness seemed to be finally within his grasp. There were still times that he had flashbacks to the moment he had found Gwyn. There still were times when memories of hopes he’d had with her overwhelmed him, and the tears would once again break down the dams and come flooding. However, now there was a new purpose. A new love was in his life, even if, thus far, it was only an online romance.
His heart would beat with wild abandon whenever her name appeared on his screen, telling him she had come online. His love was no less strong simply because there had yet to be a personal contact. Sometimes, he even wondered if his heart had grown this deeply attached to her because he craved the sensation of her skin beneath his fingertips so much. The old saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder had never even considered the constant contact made with a computer that made that absence even more profound. He had no doubt that the day would come soon when he and Doreen would be together in real time, and that desire to hold her and feel her in his arms would be fulfilled. He laughed. To feel her sweet ass beneath the palm of his hand as he spanked her was a thrill he could almost not bear waiting for.
Heading toward the stairs, his eyes locked upon an empty spot on the wall where the sun had seared the image of one of his antiques into the paint. The weapon had been on display there since the day that he and Gwyn had purchased the house. David was a little saddened that he’d had no choice but to begin selling some of the collection he’d inherited, but he had not been able to find work. He was not certain whether the reason was because the industry he had spent seventeen years in was still struggling to recover from the double whammy of 911 and the price of used steel skyrocketing, or whether his former employer had blackballed him. In some ways he was actually happy that he had not yet found employment, for it had given him the opportunity to learn so much more about his new love, and to spend many more hours with her online than he would have been able to had he had to get up and do the nine to five every day.
The cross shaped pattern seared into the wall was a reminder of the sword from Medieval England; one of his favorites in the collection. The appraiser he had shown it to had said there was little doubt that the blade was authentic.
Tomorrow Steven, the appraiser, would be visiting an expert in that time period, who was also fascinated with weaponry. By noon, David would learn if it was the real thing or a replica. Upon the chance it turned out to be real, Steven had already begun looking into a couple of auction houses, and had made arrangements to get it on the docket before the end of the week.
The hushed exhalation of a sad sigh escaped from David as he began his ascent up the stairs. He prayed that it did turn out to be real, and could bring in at least a few grand, for things were beginning to get desperate. Already he’d had no choice but to refinance the house, and there had not been that much equity in it to begin with. His funds were running low, with only a couple grand left from the new mortgage and no income coming in.
The unemployment had been challenged by his former employer. They had pulled out a clause in the company manual that they had never tried to enforce before. The manual read that personal emails were not allowed upon company computers. The email David had received from Gwyn’s friend after her death had been considered personal. The officer of the unemployment review office had looked at his boss in shock when David had told him what the email was about, but he had then turned to David and said that, since it was in the handbook, there was nothing he could do but rule in favor of the company.
So, finances had become very tight and, if the sword turned out to be a replica, then David knew he would have little choice but to sell the house and move into subsidized housing with welfare being his only option. He had already tried to find work, without success. This lack of income had been the only thing he had kept from Doreen, for he wanted her to have faith that he could support her when the time came she could move in. He was not about to give up hope; the sword was real. He believed with all his soul that it was authentic.
Suddenly a bellowing and hearty laugh burst from his lungs, as he pushed the depressing thoughts back down into the depths where they belonged, and focused on the better things his life had brought. Tonight was going to be a very special night. David raced the last seven steps upstairs. He had moved the computer out of the blue room that had been called the library, and into the green room across the hall. All of Gwyn’s trinkets, stuffies and other belongings had been packed, and were in boxes waiting in that room to be shipped to her family or some of her friends. David could not keep anything that reminded him of her; he had even moved his recliner upstairs so that he could sleep in it instead of on the bed that they had once shared. It now sat waiting for him in what had once been the guest bedroom, but now acted as David’s sanctuary. Upon a desk in front of the recliner waited his date for the night; the computer.
Moving his blankets aside and laying them over the bench of the only other piece of furniture in the room; an unused Crossbow exerciser, David sat down and faced the dark monitor. As he began thumbing through the snail mail and flyers, he instinctually reached down and pressed the power switch on the computer letting it begin the too slow process of cycling up. Laying aside the last of the demand for payment notices, he turned his entire attention to the luminescent screen and watched as the last few programs finished loading. He thought to himself that there was too much on the computer at start-up. It was just too slow, and he needed to get a good registry cleaner so he could remove them all safely. The thought was abandoned. His eyes brightened and a smile broke across the transfixed features of his face, and he radiated joy when the window popped open from his email client and announced ‘You have mail’.
As quickly as his fingers could move the cursor he opened it and began to read…

David,
I have sat and stared at your picture all day today, with the thoughts of tonight dancing in my head.
The picture. David knew which one she was speaking of. He had had only one picture on the computer when she had asked what he looked like. Unfortunately, it was over four years old and had been taken before he had begun to let his hair grow. It was of him after a business meeting, and he was wearing the noose of modern business; a tie. His hair had been cut very short and was a uniform half inch in length. He did have a mustache, but not even the hint of the beard he now wore. With a quick smile he realized that, were she to pass him on the street now, she would not even recognize him as the same man.
David hoped to find someone that would be willing to take some new photos of him, so he could show her the change; but for now all Doreen knew was what he used to look like. Since she had said he was very handsome David had decided to wait until the picture was made before telling her of the changes. Of course, he could decide to cut his hair and shave again, since she loved him the way he appeared in that older picture. Yes, he thought, for her he would do that.
Doreen’s email continued…
I am so looking forward to tonight. I have dreamt about this every night since we began writing our story together, and then last week, when you found that chat room on ‘BuddyChat’ I knew immediately what I wanted to give you.
All these people we have met that are living the life I had only dared dream about have been such an inspiration to me, and have given me a new passion to be to you all I can be. David, I so want to be your slave, even if it is only online for now. Soon, my love, I will be kneeling at your feet and kissing them for real.
For tonight, a couple of the slave girls in the chat room have helped me get everything ready and perfect for you.
One even announced in the room last night, after you had gone to bed, that the ceremony would be tonight at 8:00 EST. I am looking forward to kneeling before you and those of the room, and begging your collar tonight online. Soon, my sweet David, we will meet in real time and make our online dream a reality.
Until tonight, my soon to be Master,
Your love forever,
Doreen
PS… purrs at the thought of her Master stroking her hair…
David’s heart swelled; he had truly never thought he would be this happy again. For ten years he had served as a caregiver to his wife, and had sacrificed his happiness to help her get well, to no avail. What she had done was wrong, yet he remembered coming home after the loss of his job with the thoughts of joining her. Had it not been for the random chance of finding the writers’ group and then the incredible good fortune that Doreen had been the first to ask to fill the vacancy in that group, David was not certain that he would have survived the depressed state he had been in.
Wonder now filled his life and gave new reasons to face waking. His days were now happy and fulfilled.

These Eyes So Green

These Eyes So Green
https://amzn.to/2QlFeOv
Deborah Kelsey
Chapter One

Standartenführer Hans Faber knocked on the door of his superior officer’s office and waited for the entreaty to enter, then opened the door and went in. He stopped to give the salute and a hearty “Heil Hitler!” before coming to stand before Gruppenführer Peter Kuhl’s desk, which loomed large in the small office, covered as it was with the accoutrements of a Major General of the Third Reich, including a sterling silver pen and inkwell.
“This one, Hans, is different.” Gruppenführer Kuhl tossed a file across the desk to Faber, who took it and opened it to examine the two photos.
Kuhl knew that if anyone could handle this case, it would be Faber. He watched Faber closely as he perused the file. He had always admired this dapper figure. Faber stood elegant and immaculate in his uniform before his Gruppenführer, who had always felt rather clumsy by comparison in his officer’s attire.
Kuhl had always regretted the fact that he had never mastered the art of having a uniform properly tailored, and he resented Faber’s skill in this area. He had once happened to be at the tailor’s when Faber was being measured for his uniform. Kuhl watched him as he turned slowly and viewed himself in his uniform from every possible angle, instructing the tailor in each proper placement of pin and tuck. Faber seemed to consider tailoring as a finely choreographed dance of movement and observation. From what the tailor had told him, Kuhl knew it took Faber a good hour to complete the process, and the results were always stunning. At 170cm, Faber was not a tall man by any means, yet he seemed much taller; more confident and more in command in his uniform; which annoyed Kuhl, who towered over him, in addition to outranking him.
Faber finished flipping through the file and returned to the two photos of the suspect in question. One of them was of a rather grubby-looking farm boy in a broad cap, the other of a raven-haired woman of such fierce beauty he nearly caught his breath. There was something oddly familiar in her dark, intelligent eyes, and to think that the disheveled farm boy and this striking woman were one and the same brought a faint smile to his lips.
“Clever,” he said, “very clever. She is quite stunning, but rather conspicuously so, hence the alter ego, I imagine.” He tossed the open file back onto the desk. “She’s not Jewish? She looks Jewish.”
“No, “answered Kuhl. “She was born in the Sudetenland. Her parents died in the flu epidemic, but they left her some money. She was a student at the Sorbonne, and then worked as a photographer in Paris; led the Bohemian lifestyle; and a rather wild one, by all accounts. She did not marry, but had a child; a son. She wanted to raise him in the country and ended up in Angouleme. For many years now she has had a small business running vegetables and fruits to the groceries and cafes in the area. But more than a few believe that she runs other things as well; weapons to the resistance, to be exact. Not much is known about Desiree Mendelsohn except that she once used her alter ego very effectively,” Kuhl went on. “‘He’ saved her life on more than one occasion. But that’s not what differentiates her from other members of the Resistance. There’s a touch of wildness in her; a passion that sets her apart from others we’ve pursued in the Resistance.”
Faber glanced back down at the photo, intrigued. “A passion,” he murmured. He could see it in those dark yet fiery eyes.
“Yes. This woman makes love as fiercely as she has been known to fight; with women as well as men, but she clearly prefers men.”
“And how do we know this?” asked Faber, his interest piqued.
“Because, although Desiree Mendelsohn will make love enthusiastically to a woman, throughout her life she has fallen in love only with men.” Kuhl was firm in this declaration.
“Aha. Men are her weakness, then.” Faber smiled.
“Oh yes. And that very weakness will be her undoing,” Kuhl smiled, his voice calculating.
“And how is that?” Faber was bewildered.
“That will be entirely up to you,” Kuhl pronounced, looking him straight in the eye.
Faber burst out laughing, and Kuhl felt his cheeks blush. Although he outranked Faber, he had never lost a sense of acute inferiority in the man’s presence. Faber never failed to exude confidence and self-assurance, especially in areas of sexual matters; whereas Kuhl, for all his honors and achievements on the battlefield, in matters of a sexual nature still felt like the boy who had always been bested on the football field.
After a few last chuckles, Faber quickly caught his breath. “Forgive me, Herr Gruppenführer,” he said, amusement still clear in his voice, “but you can’t mean that I am to serve as your male Mata Hari?”
“In a sense, yes. Oh, come now, Hans. You’ve always been a ladies’ man. You’ve been through half the actresses from UFA film studios. Your conquests are legendary.”
“Simply rumors, Sir. I enjoy women, yes; I sleep with as many of them as I can, but I am not what the Americans would crudely call a ‘stud horse’.”
“You’ve said that rumors often expose the truth.” Kuhl felt triumphant, knowing he had made the right choice with Faber.
“Hoist by my own petard,” Faber grinned. “Well, from the looks of it—or, I should say, of her—this should prove to be a very pleasant assignment.”
“You have a way with women, Hans. Everyone knows it.” There was more than a touch of envy in Kuhl’s voice.
“I had no idea that my ‘exploits’ had become the stuff of legend,” Faber replied with a broad grin.
Kuhl suddenly grew more serious. “Let me make myself very clear, Standartenführer. This is not a woman who is easily intimidated. If anything, violence only makes her more determined. What she does respond to is seduction, and we both know that’s your forte.”
Faber picked up the file once more, and removed the photo of the womanly Desiree. Again he found himself struck by those deep brown eyes, and the curious sensation that she was somehow familiar to him.
“If she is as fiercely passionate in bed as you say, she and I should make quite a match,” Faber mused, gazing again at those beautiful dark eyes. What would she be like in bed, he wondered. He was sure he would soon find out…
Gruppenführer Kuhl interrupted his thoughts. “And that’s precisely why you are the man to not only captivate, and thus capture her, but to tame her as well. Take her to your bed, Hans, then bring her back to us—refreshed and ready to talk.”
***
Faber studied the file thoroughly as his staff car drove him back to his fashionable flat. He discovered that, in less than two years, Desiree Mendelsohn had made quite a name for herself. She had initially fought the occupation. Her son, then fifteen, had been killed during the fight in their small town outside Paris. Some accounts in the files said that Desiree had been forever changed by the loss of her son. She had become a hedonist as well as a fighter. In reading the accounts Faber thought that she seemed not unlike Hans himself; determined and self-assured. Reading further, he found that it had never been proven that Desiree had any association with the Resistance. All that was known was that she would disappear for a week or two at a time in her small panel truck, but she always returned with a load of fruit and vegetables for her customers. Most intriguing to Hans was the fact that, a year ago, Desiree had been charged with smuggling foodstuffs and sent to a concentration camp. In that camp she had had a lover; an SS officer who had managed to have her released, only to find himself sent to the Eastern front a month later, where he had been killed. It was rumored that this love affair with an SS officer had brought Desiree back to life again after the devastating loss of her son, and it was believed by many that this was the reason why she now maintained a neutral and occasionally friendly relationship with the occupying forces. Hans closed the file again. Who knows what drives a woman to think and feel and act the way she does, he pondered, as he gazed once more at Desiree’s photo. He had always felt that a woman was a labyrinth of secrets to be explored and uncovered, and, as he suspected in Desiree’s case, she would need to be thoroughly unleashed to revel in her charms. In the short time he had known about her, Desiree had already crept into his psyche, had stirred both his intellect and his sensuality; something very few women had done. Hans knew that this case would challenge him as both an inquisitive SS officer and a gifted detective. He also realized that it would prove stimulating to both his body and his mind.
***
Rene Charlont waved to Desiree Mendelsohn as her truck pulled up before his restaurant, Lune, and greeted her with a hearty hello. He watched her womanly figure as she hopped out of the truck. He had always had a crush on her, and he knew she knew it.
Desiree hefted several baskets of tomatoes from her truck and handed them to Rene’s fresh-faced assistant.
“And that’s it,” she said to Rene, “enough tomatoes to last you for more than a week. I’ve labeled each basket according to the degree of ripeness and how long the fruit should be kept refrigerated before being brought to room temperature to continue the ripening process.”
Desiree smiled at Rene. Both of them were well into their forties, she thought, and they had each reached that point in their lives when they were at last comfortable in their own skins, and so much more at ease in the world. They had been friends now for over ten years.
The cheerful, plump-cheeked restaurateur grinned broadly at the lush and handsome woman. Even with the occupation, Charlont could easily claim to be content and at peace with himself, but he knew that wasn’t quite the case with Desiree. There was a restlessness in her; a yearning that kept her more youthful, as though she were still searching for something. That very restlessness, Charlont knew, had also taken her in and out of more than a few beds.
“You never cease to amaze me, Desiree,” Charlont laughed. “How can one woman locate so many fresh vegetables”
“Once again, my dear Rene, the tomato is not a vegetable. It is a fruit. It has seeds.” Although her voice was serious, Desiree’s deep brown eyes twinkled as she spoke.
“So does a pepper,” Charlont remarked, his grin still broad as he plucked a shiny green one from one of the newly delivered baskets.
“And it, too, is a fruit.” Desiree looked straight into his good-humored eyes and winked.
Charlont laughed again. “How is it, Cherie, that in all the years we’ve known each other, I have never been your lover? Why have I not been blessed with the opportunity?”
“You’ve always had the opportunity,” Desiree replied. “You’re just too much of a gentleman to take advantage of it.”
The two friends enjoyed a good chuckle together; then Charlont suddenly grew serious. He stepped forward and put one of his large, beefy hands onto Desiree’s shoulder, rubbing it affectionately.
“Never forget,” he said, “that if you should need me for anything—anything at all—I will be there for you.”
“And that, mon ami, is why we have never been lovers,” Desiree replied as she turned away to climb back into her panel truck. She started the engine and, with a last wave, pulled away from Rene’s storefront.
Yes, Renee, Desiree thought as she drove away, I can count on you. That’s why you are not my lover. She thought back to a time that felt like a hundred years ago. But what about Uwe? He had been her lover, and he saved her life. The thought, always unbidden, had a habit of popping back into Desiree’s head. She thought about Uwe, and the strange mix of tenderness and brutality that had been their relationship. The kindnesses he showed her in the extra food and the comforts he smuggled to her, the easy work details he had always managed to arrange. Yet at the same time he was violently, furiously passionate with her in bed. He was feral and completely uninhibited, as though the physical act of love was the one part of his life in which he could completely let go and wrestle with everything that angered and frightened and excited him all at once.
Desiree had surprised herself by meeting his passion and thoroughly unleashing her own. In Uwe’s bed she had uncovered parts of herself she hadn’t known existed; raw, dark places, and a physical and emotional hunger so strong it both thrilled and frightened her. At times it even threatened to overwhelm her.
Desiree knew she would never experience that extreme level of passion again. What troubled her was that she couldn’t be sure what she felt for this loss. Relief - or regret?
Chapter Two

Hans Faber stood on the balcony of his flat, gazing down at the bustling streets below as he nursed his cognac. Like the cunning hawk he was, he had spent the better part of the last two weeks learning as much as he could about his prey. He knew Desiree’s daily habits, her weekly routine, her haunts. He knew how many men she had slept with during that time; two and how many women; one. The number seemed surprisingly low for a woman of her reputed appetites. But he had also learned that she lived her life as though she were always in search of something elusive, never able to stop and rest.
Now it was Friday; he was alone and aroused, as he had been for most of the last week. It was part of his preparation for what he was sure would be his most challenging case. He wanted to keep that edge, that raw hunger. As it had when he swum competitively as a youth, that edge kept his focus keen; his mind alert. Oh, there had been several times when he’d had to relieve himself from the discomfort. But he had denied himself any real pleasure in obtaining release. It had been quick, hard and joyless.
The joylessness was the most difficult part. Hans hadn’t realized what a considerable effort it would be for him to deny himself even the most basic of sexual pleasures. He hadn’t realized that he found such exhilaration in the pure physicality of sex. The touching. The tasting. The sounds and scents. That part of his life had always sustained him when times were difficult, and the cravings were deeper and more profound than he had expected.
At one point it had been too much bear. The hunger for physical contact had overwhelmed him. On that night, he had Herrmann drive him to a town at some distance from Angouleme, where he found a dark alleyway filled with the equally hungry. While Herrmann stood by the car and enjoyed a smoke, Hans disappeared into the alley and found a young man, a boy, really, eighteen at most, with dark hair and deep brown eyes, a virtual doppelganger for the woman he so desired.
A mouth is a mouth, he thought, as he watched the boy minister to his needs. Lips, teeth, tongue were all that mattered. The touch of another person. Hans let himself take pleasure this time; prolonged it, in fact; at one point even caressing the boy’s soft hair. He came deep in the boy’s throat, savoring each spasm. Afterward, he roughly pulled the boy up and shoved his tongue into his mouth to taste himself. Then he pulled back and struck him, hard, knocking him to the ground. As the boy gazed up at him in pained confusion, Hans drew out his wallet and tossed a few francs at his feet, then turned and strode away.
That had been Wednesday. Now it was Friday, and the hunger was back in full force. Tomorrow, he would make his first move in the labyrinthine plot he had devised to capture his prey, seduce her, and unleash that passion he craved from her.
***
That very same Friday night, Desiree was in the town Hans had visited that Wednesday. She was seated at a small café with a young married couple, and the three were flirting. Desiree had little interest in Guillaume. She had long outgrown boyish men. But he was part of the package that came with Marie, a tender young blonde whose endearing shyness captivated her; at least at that moment, on that night, in that week, month and year.
The three were laughing together when Desiree spotted Rene across the street. Thankfully, it appeared that he hadn’t seen her. She laughed again at some particular idiocy uttered by Guillaume, and it was then that Rene turned and saw her. For a moment Desiree was sure that she had seen shock flash across his face at the sight of her with what were destined to be her companions for the night. Then a sly smile crept across his face, and he winked. Desiree smiled back at him before turning to her companions once more.
Guillaume and Marie took Desiree back to their small flat. Once inside the door, she turned to Marie and began to kiss her deeply, her tongue exploring that sweet pink mouth. Marie surprised her by returning her kisses eagerly while Guillaume caressed Desiree from behind, his erection pressed against her backside. He reached around in front of her, his hand snaking under her dress and into her panties.
Desiree moaned, and her head fell back against Guillaume’s shoulder. He was young, yes, but his touch was practiced and sure. He gathered her moisture on his fingertips and stroked her bud with it, making her gasp. Marie, feeling neglected in their erotic reverie, grabbed Desiree’s face and kissed her with renewed fervor. The girl hadn’t realized how much she had wanted this, how much she had hidden from herself in burying the memories of those achingly electric adolescent fumblings with her best girlfriend.
Guillaume watched, eyes wide, drinking in each moment. It was a dream come true to see his pretty young wife with another woman, and he was more aroused than he had ever been in his life. He pressed closer to Desiree and drove two fingers deep inside her, reveled in the gasp he elicited from her. He then brought his glistening fingers up and stroked them alongside those kissing lips, painting the very corner of each woman’s mouth. They broke their kiss then, and each mouth engulfed a finger and sucked the moisture from it, their hands caressing each other feverishly.
With one swift move Guillaume pulled up Desiree’s dress, yanked down her panties and drove himself deep inside her. He held himself very still as she cried out and pulsed around him. Marie slid down Desiree to her knees, trailed her hands up the woman’s quivering thighs and swiftly buried her mouth between her legs.
Six a.m. Desiree awoke in the couple’s wide, white bed, the two of them asleep in an embrace beside her. She slid carefully out from between the sheets, dressed and slipped out of the flat. She walked back to the café where her truck was parked, hopped in and began the drive home.
It was better this way; to disappear from these people’s lives like a wraith in the night. That way, no one was hurt, and if they wished, Marie and Guillaume could think of last night as nothing more than a dream.
***
Six a.m. Hans was awake, alert, staring at the ceiling. He had dreamt about Desiree all night, dreams so vivid that he imagined he could still feel the press of her flesh against his. Her imagined scent was in his nostrils, her taste in his mouth. He stroked himself lazily as he thought of the night to come.

Their Lady Gloriana

Their Lady Gloriana
https://amzn.to/2QoecpP
Starla Kaye
Chapter One

Middlemound Castle, England, June 1272

“Riders come, my lady! Two of them,” a guard called down from the parapet to Gloriana where she stood in the gardens. “They bear the King’s banner.”
She raised her head toward the guard and felt chills spiraling up her spine. News. Bad news. She sensed it to her soul. “Allow…” she had to clear her throat before she could finish. “Allow them entry.”
The two maids working with her to gather vegetables looked worriedly at her. One of them hurried to her side. “Are ye all right, my lady?”
No. She was far from being all right, but she refused to show weakness to her servants. They’d witnessed enough of that in the past. She forced a reassuring smile and handed the younger woman the basket she’d been holding. “I’m fine, really. Twas just a surprise.”
With that said she walked around the corner of the keep and heard the unusual silence in the bailey. She noted the dozen or so soldiers who had been training there now stood still, tense and cautious. All had heard rumors from traveling tinkers that the last battle of the Crusade had ended. All were awaiting the return of their lord and the men who had gone off to fight with him. Like her, though, none were overly eager to have Geoffrey Stewart back. He was a hard man, cruel and vicious at times…especially to her. No, she did not look forward to hearing news that her husband of barely three years would soon be home.
Her red-haired bailiff, Sir Gerald, strode toward her. He’d become her fierce protector during her second difficult year with Geoffrey and had often dared to come between his lord and her. She’d worried that Geoffrey would one day lose the last of his patience and kill the man, and that worry returned now at seeing her knight’s expression.
“He will not harm you again, my lady,” Gerald vowed. His nostrils flared and cords stood out in his thick neck.
“You must not put yourself in harm’s danger, Sir Gerald.” She held her chin high, tried to keep from showing the tremble of alarm spreading through her. “Your lord would never truly hurt me.” Twas a lie and they both knew it. He’d seen her bruised face on occasion; he’d seen her walk gingerly after yet another sound lashing. Yet it wasn’t the beatings that hurt her the most. No, her husband flayed her even worse with his harsh tongue. Gerald’s brow furrowed and his gaze darkened. She noticed the way his hands fisted at his sides. But before he could respond, they were interrupted by the pounding of hooves across the wooden drawbridge.
Gloriana stiffened her spine, prayed her knees would not fail her, and waited for whatever news the messengers were to deliver.
The small contingent of soldiers in chainmail and bearing the king’s banner rode between the rows of silent men straight to her. She fought against rubbing her nervous stomach and sucked in a breath to calm her racing heart as she ran her clammy hands over the sides of her gown.
She watched as Gerald stepped forward and stopped next to the lead soldier. Both men nodded in acknowledgment. Without saying a word, the man extended a rolled parchment. “You may find food and ale in the hall,” Gerald offered. He waved a page over. “Tend to their horses.”
The men glanced toward Gloriana. She had to swallow down a lump of distress before she could force a hint of lightness to her tone. “Please go inside, as Sir Gerald said. The maids will see that you are fed and given drink.”
The tension eased from the soldiers’ expressions and they began dismounting. Her own men watched in continued silence. She wished they would go about their business again, but she knew they were waiting for her to read the message. They waited to be told the news that might affect the castle.
As the king’s soldiers moved away, Gerald extended the parchment toward her. She shook her head. Her hands were trembling too much, her thoughts scattering in fear of hearing that her husband would be here within a day or two. She wasn’t ready to see him again, even if she had no choice. “Nay, I would ask you to read it to me.”
He glanced around. Gloriana was aware the silence remained heavy around them. Nearby, soldiers, villagers and servants waited for the news the king’s men had brought.
“Please,” she prompted, her voice quavering. With a nod of acceptance, he untied the parchment. The paper crinkled loudly as he unrolled it. His eyes widened as he read it over quickly and then frowned at her. “Tis two items of importance, my lady. Are you sure you don’t wish to read it yourself?”
She shook her head, and then commanded, “Read it.”
He pulled in a breath and said with grimness, “Lord Middlemound will not be returning, my lady. He died over a month ago in the battles.” Gloriana’s knees gave out in her shock, and one of the nearest soldiers hurried to steady her. “Not returning? Dead?” The words left her mouth in a whisper. Relief filled her instead of sadness. But that was wrong. She would beg forgiveness for such an awful sin in her prayers later.
A quiet hum began around the bailey as word spread quietly but speedily of their lord’s death. She sensed relief from her people as well. She could pick out not one word of unhappiness or regret in the soft din of voices. How very sad it was that one should die and no one expressed sadness at the death. But, there it was, Geoffrey Stewart had been a man no one would miss. Certainly not her.
Gerald caught her attention once more and said with clear unhappiness, “King Edward has decreed that you will marry Lord Montrose upon his arrival at Middlemound. He is travelling here with his men and with Lord Middlemound’s men.”
The buzz around her became louder as the additional news spread. She heard the mixed opinions, sensed the mixed emotions. She’d seen Lord Montrose once at Edward’s court. What she remembered was a big man, even taller and brawnier than Geoffrey. He’d had striking dark blue eyes and a hardened look to his handsomely carved face. Yet not one of the women who’d danced with him at the ball appeared to fear him. No, most all but drooled over him. She, of course, had been with Geoffrey and had not danced with him, nor even been allowed very close to him.
Gerald watched her. “Lord Montrose is a fierce warrior, I’ve heard. They say he’s the very devil in battle, but a good leader.”
A devil in battle…fierce warrior. Nerves twisted and twined in her stomach. Geoffrey had been fierce, too. A devil as well.
“Those who have sworn allegiance to bear a sword at his side do so with pride.” His awe toward the man rang clear in his words and in his eyes. “He was widowed long ago and has a son. Fostered out by now, I’m sure.” He shifted uneasily. “I’ve never heard that he treats a woman poorly.”
Again she thought of the man she’d seen at court, a man that none of the ladies had seemed to fear. Dare she hope… Gerald’s unspoken promise replayed in her mind, “He will not treat you poorly.”
It was much to take in: learning she was widowed and betrothed again in the same moment.
“Mayhap you should go lie down, my lady,” the soldier still holding her arm said gently. “That is much news to deal with.”
She blinked out of her musings and nodded as he released her. “Mayhap you are right.” She glanced at Gerald. “Does the missive say when we should expect Lord Montrose?”
“Nay, but I will question the messengers. Mayhap they have an idea of when they will arrive.”
Needing time alone, Gloriana nodded and walked toward the keep. She noted the sympathetic and relieved expressions on the servants she passed; their uncertainty as well. She suspected many had heard of Lord Montrose’s reputation as a warrior, but she doubted any knew the man himself. He could be as hard a leader as Geoffrey had been. Had not Gerald just told her of his fierceness in battle? To be such, would not the man have to be cruel at times, demanding much of himself and of his men?
Her footsteps slowed as her thoughts tumbled about. Mayhap Montrose was a strong warrior and yet a good and loyal leader, not a cruel one like Geoffrey. How did his intensity as a leader affect him beyond the battlefield? Gerald had not heard that Montrose treated a woman poorly. Yet what a man could do behind closed bedchamber doors… She had far too much experience with the horrors of that.
She shivered at the memories, but shoved them back. Instead her mind recalled watching Montrose from across the ballroom. She saw the politeness, the care he had shown the women he’d danced with. Would such a man turn around and be cruel and demanding in bed? She didn’t think so. She prayed that would not be so. She did know that he had gotten under many women’s skirts at court, as those rumors spread quickly. Surely that meant he most likely was nothing as vile in bed as Geoffrey. But it could mean that he, too, would find his way into more than just her bed. She could probably live with him seeking other women’s beds, since she was already used to that. Still, she would like him to give her a baby.
Gentleness curled through her. Tears misted her eyes. How many nights had she lain awake recovering from Geoffrey’s cruelty and longing for something to give her life meaning? How many times had she ached to hold a wee babe in her arms? Longed to feel its softness, to know its loving trust in her? She would wrap her baby in all the love she had within her. She would protect it with her life. Having a baby to cherish and care for would give her the strength to survive anything.
***
North Yorkshire, England

Thomas stood next to the River Ure while his horse drew in water beside him. He looked out over the valley leading to Middlemound Castle. A faint breeze swept over him carrying the scents of sweet clover from the patches bursting with flowers nearby. Along with it, he drew in the heavy smells of sweat; his own and that of Rowan, who stood quietly a few feet away. He imagined all of his men—including his new men—smelled equally as unpleasant after these last long days of travelling.
“I suppose we should all bathe in the river before we head toward Middlemound.” He said the words without hazarding a look at his first knight. He dared not think about the roughly handsome man being naked anywhere near him as long as his other men were nearby. Even the mere thought of Rowan in all his hard-muscled glory, naked, had Thomas’s cock showing interest.
Understanding the problem, Rowan said, “Aye, I’m sure everyone there would appreciate not smelling the stink of our many days on the road.” He turned to head back to where they’d camped last night. “I’ll pass the word.” He hesitated before walking away. “I’ll go into the river farther upstream.”
As he heard his friend move off, Thomas felt the strain of arousal slip away as well. He and Rowan had discovered an appreciation for one another quite by accident almost half a year back. An appreciation that had quickly led to some of the hottest sex he could ever remember experiencing. At first Thomas had been shocked, not sickened or appalled, just surprised. He’d always loved being with women, quite lusted after them actually. He had a hearty appetite for sex and he’d never had any complaints from his more than willing bed partners. Yet he’d never been drawn toward a man before that time with Rowan. He still wasn’t drawn toward other men. Only Rowan fired up his need to make love to a man.
His glance shifted to Castle Middlemound in the distance. It was impressive, sprawling over a large piece of prime land. Even from here, he thought the gray stoned main structures were three stories high along the east and north sections, and not far from its curtain walls stood a village with many houses. This was a holding of great value. It still surprised him that King Edward had commanded he hold Middlemound and marry Geoffrey Stewart’s widow. He’d met Stewart on more than one occasion at court and disliked him. He’d distrusted the man even more on the battlefields in Tunis. His death did not bother Thomas at all. But being ordered to wed the man’s young widow did. He tried to remember seeing her at King Edward’s court, but couldn’t place her. Yet he was certain Lord Middlemound would not have married a woman displeasing to the eye. Not that her appearance would matter to Thomas. He’d bedded his share of homely women and been satisfied. He and Lady Middlemound need only be agreeable in bed together to please him. He would not seek out relief from maids or find a mistress. He’d been faithful to his first wife during the short time they’d been together before her death in childbirth. He would be faithful again.
He heard Rowan’s deep voice telling the men to bathe in the river and his thoughts returned to Rowan. Although he’d tried to convince his first knight to take over Montrose castle from him, Rowan had refused. He’d also refused to accept a holding of his own offered to him by King Edward. Rowan wanted only to become Thomas’s first in command at Middlemound. He didn’t want to leave Thomas. While Thomas was certain there could be problems ahead, he was grateful for the man’s loyalty both as a soldier and as a lover. For if Gloriana Stewart couldn’t fully satisfy his hungers in bed, at least Rowan could.
***
Middlemound Castle

They were coming. Soon. Dear God, what was she to do?
Lady Gloriana stood in front of one of the small windows in the chapel and peered out. She’d fled up here after Gerald had talked to the king’s men and learned Lord Montrose and his soldiers were camped not far from the castle. She’d wanted time alone to find some way to make peace with the latest changes in her life. But her time was quickly running out.
Even now she heard the powerful hooves of the many horses passing over the wooden drawbridge. She looked out the window and saw the large group of men merging with the castle’s guards in the bailey. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. She could barely draw in a breath. This fear, this caution and timidity sickened her. She hadn’t always been this way. Her life with Geoffrey had done this to her. He’d battled down her self-worth, her dreams of having a happy family, and her natural zest for life.
She refused to continue on like this. She needed to find the strength to face this new marriage to this war-hardened warrior. She had to make him respect her where Geoffrey never had. She had to make him allow her to be the keep’s chatelaine as was her rightful duty, although Geoffrey had never allowed it. Most of all, she had to endure relations with him until he got her with child.
Determined, she stepped away from the window, smoothed down her gown, and gathered her courage. She left the comfort of the small chapel and headed for the stairs. With each step, she considered bolting to her bedchamber and locking herself inside. Keep moving. Don’t be such a weakling!
Her steps faltered as she neared the bottom of the circular stone staircase. The great hall rang with the sounds of joyous reunions. The families of the Middlemound men, who had been gone for nearly a year, happily greeted the returning soldiers. Men who had stayed behind to guard the castle welcomed the soldiers as well. She heard unfamiliar voices too, no doubt Lord Montrose’s men. And then the deep tone of another unfamiliar voice. It rang with authority, with power, much like Geoffrey’s voice had. Yet something about it drew her instead of repelling her as his voice had. Something about it called to her woman’s place, and she felt warmth spreading there. The reaction surprised her, but there was no time to think about it now.
“Lady Middlemound,” Gerald said, snagging her attention. “Lord Montrose asks to see you.”
She couldn’t read Gerald’s expression, couldn’t tell if he was unhappy about the situation or resigned to it. At least he didn’t appear angry or overly protective of her. She gave a slight nod and joined him at the foot of the stairs.
The deep rumbling voice she’d heard drew her focus to the raised dais. Two men stood there drinking cups of ale, talking, looking over the hall full of people. Two such different—and yet the same—men. The darkly handsome man she’d seen across the ballroom at King Edward’s court and an almost equally handsome man with blond hair both glanced her way as if sensing her presence. Neither smiled. Both seemed to study her, their gazes sliding from her carefully braided hair to her suddenly aching breasts, down her best jade green gown to her slippered feet. Then as their gazes lifted, her breath caught at the obvious heat in their eyes. Lust. She’d seen it in Geoffrey’s eyes many times, but never directed at her. No, he’d lusted after nearly every other woman in the castle and nearby village but never for her.
Gerald held her arm by the elbow and guided her to the dais. “Lady Middlemound, my lord.” He released her and nodded toward the two powerfully built men. “Lord Montrose, my lady, and Sir Montgomery, his first knight.”
“Thomas,” Lord Montrose said and stepped down in front of her. He towered over her by at least a foot. His breadth and brawn made her heart race. Yet she didn’t feel intimidated by him as she had been by Geoffrey. His dark blue eyes assessed her from beneath thick dark eyebrows, pinched together in thought. Yet they were not cruel eyes. “You may call me Thomas.” She bobbed her head and had the oddest desire to run her fingers over the dark stubble on his face. Or gently touch the long, thin white scar on the left side of his face running from just to the side of his eye to his jaw. Or to smooth them over his full and tempting lips. All such notions made her blush, made her look away. “Gloriana,” she whispered.
Then the other man stepped down next to Thomas. As she glanced up, he gave her a crooked smile. “And you may call me Rowan.”
She blinked at him and felt her heart race even more. Where Thomas had a head of thick, wavy black hair that brushed his shoulders, Rowan’s hair was dark blond, chin-length and straight. His eyes were brown and appeared both interested in her and slightly amused. “Gloriana,” she repeated, more forceful this time.
Thomas cleared his throat to capture her attention. “We have much to discuss. In private.”
“Yes,” she said, again feeling her stomach flutter with nerves. “Yes, we do.” She nodded toward the stairs. “The solar would be good.”
As Gloriana climbed the torch-lit stairs in front of him, Thomas watched the gentle sway of her hips beneath the green gown. She was a tiny woman, delicate, fragile for a man such as him. His first wife had been a woman of fair size, not that he’d minded. They hadn’t been in love and he’d never grown to love her, but she had pleased him outside of the bed. She had managed his household well. His people had respected her, as had he. Yet there had been no lustful feelings between them.
The sweet swell of Gloriana’s buttocks held his gaze. And he recalled how generous her breasts had looked barely contained in the low neckline of her gown. He’d hardened as he’d stared at them, as he’d fought a desire to lower his head and her gown so he could taste of the tempting mounds. He remained semi-hard as he climbed the stairs behind her. He hadn’t been with a woman in months and the need to have a soft, pleasing woman beneath him once again was almost overwhelming. This small woman drew him as no other before her ever had. He was both uneasy with that and glad, for they were to marry. Soon.
He heard Rowan’s heavy footsteps behind him. The two of them had talked about Edward’s decree during their long ride from Tunis. Both of them had concerns about the matter. Neither wanted this marriage to affect their deepening relationship, but both knew it would. Thomas wouldn’t give up Rowan. Somehow he had to make both situations work.
“She’s a pretty one,” Rowan said quietly. “I’m thinking twill nay be a hardship to have her as a wife.”
Thomas considered what his friend said, wondered about the tone of his voice. Rowan bedded women, but he’d told Thomas once that his attraction for women grew less as they grew closer, as their love grew stronger. Yet he was certain he’d heard a touch of envy in his lover’s tone. As if he, too, well appreciated the petite beauty thrust into their lives. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Later he’d ponder the idea.
Gloriana stopped in a doorway, waited with a smile that looked forced. “Geoffrey’s … I mean, your solar, my lord.”
As Thomas strode closer, her eyes widened and held a hunted look. She feared him. Because of his well-known reputation for being a tenacious, often merciless warrior on the battlefields? Because of rumors spread through Edward’s court of his numerous liaisons with women after his wife’s death? He wondered. Or did she fear him just for being a man?
He’d seen how Geoffrey treated women in the towns they’d traveled through on the way to Tunis. Cruel was putting it lightly. He’d even interceded once, making them enemies from that moment on. Had the man been brutal with Gloriana? His hands knotted into a fist. No doubt. The idea sickened him.
He stepped by her quickly so as not to make her any more anxious than necessary. Patience. He would have to draw on his limited patience and settle her down before they married.
“I … I understand you,” she said uneasily, “are to marry me.”
Thomas went to stand by the large, scarred wooden desk and let her frightened words roll over him. Rowan walked beside him, giving him a look of understanding. He’d picked up on her fear as well. Rowan, too, had witnessed Geoffrey Stewart’s vicious side when it came to women. He, too, had despised the older man and had stepped in to defend a helpless young woman.
She eased into the room, although she stayed near the door. She hovered there, giving him the impression she wanted to be there in case she needed to run from them. If ever a woman needed a protector, it was this one. He sighed. He could be her protector, would be her protector. Rowan, too, would keep her safe; there was no doubt of that in his mind.
As he watched her, he felt outraged at what she might have suffered at Geoffrey’s hands. The man had no respect for women, would have had none for his wife. He saw a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she looked from him to Rowan. Those same eyes warmed with sensual interest for the barest of seconds before she blinked it away. The woman had a passion that she didn’t know what to do with, that she feared letting anyone know about. The lovely Gloriana needed a man to teach her the softer ways of intimacy and to unleash her hidden desires. He felt challenged to peel away the layers of fear and distrust, to soothe her worries, and to gain her trust. He looked forward to it.
He met and held her gaze. “Aye, King Edward wants me to hold Middlemound for the crown. It is a valuable asset both land-wise and with people here known to be loyal to him.” Trying to look less intimidating, he leaned back against the desk. “He wishes us to wed as quickly as possible. He believes that as soon as word spreads about Geoffrey’s death, men wanting to lay claim to Middlemound will come from near and far. They will want not only the castle and its lands, but also you.”
“Me?” She blinked in puzzlement. “I have no value, other than having been Geoffrey’s wife.” The sadness in her expression, that she appeared to believe such nonsense, tore at him. He wasn’t sure what to say. Rowan answered for him. “You are wrong, Gloriana. You have great value.”
She cocked her head slightly and worried her lower lip for a second. “Geoffrey didn’t value me.” “He was a fool,” Thomas stated in anger at the same time Rowan said the same thing. Her pretty face grew pink. “Although it is sinful to speak badly of the dead…or of one’s husband…I agree.” Thomas smiled at her spark of spirit. He hadn’t smiled in a very long time and was surprised he could even still manage it. Evidently his smile wasn’t as comforting as it should have been because she shifted uneasily. A crease of concern furrowed her brow.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said quietly, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt.
“For speaking the truth? Nay, there was nothing sinful in what you agreed to. Geoffrey Stewart was a vile man, disliked by most people who crossed his path. Feared by women unfortunate to come anywhere near him.” Thomas slammed his mouth shut and wished he had watched his tongue better. She was one of the women who had feared Stewart, one of the women who had been, he was certain, seriously mistreated by him. The man deserved to spend eternity in the fiery depths of Hell. To his surprise, she straightened to her full barely over five-foot height and thrust out her chin. “Aye, I feared the wretched man every day of our life together. But, know you this; I will not endure that kind of life again. No man will ever treat me that way again.” Thomas felt his chest swell with admiration. Some men would not allow a woman to speak so boldly to them. Many men expected complete submission. He was not one of them. He appreciated honesty and someone who held strong to their beliefs. Aye, with time and patience, they would make a good couple.
“You will never need to fear me, little one.” He meant it. She brought out the fierce protector in him. He would never allow another person to harm her in any manner. That chin thrust out even farther. “I might be small in stature, Lord Montrose, but do not mistake me for being incapable.”
Rowan gave a chuckle and quickly covered it with a cough.
“Incapable of…?” Thomas questioned, curious to what she was referring. She stopped fidgeting with the sides of her skirt and looked directly at him. “Geoffrey didn’t believe I was capable of acting the chatelaine for the keep. He didn’t think anyone would listen to me, take me serious because of my size. But he was wrong! I’ve acted as chatelaine ever since he left nearly a year ago. My people listen to me, respect me. I want to continue with that duty.”
Thomas had to admit that he’d been concerned about her handling the normal duties of a lord’s wife in the running of the keep. She appeared little more than a child, and she brought out his strong need to protect those weaker than himself. He would try his best to give her some free rein, within reason.
He gave a nod. “As much as I see that you are capable of handling, Gloriana.”
Her lips pursed in annoyance for a second, and then she seemed to accept his statement. Her gaze held his once more, but her creamy cheeks grew pink. “Geoffrey also thought me incapable of pleasing him in bed.” She looked away, curling her hands into fists. “In truth, when we were first married, he never gave me the chance. Then … well, then I lost any interest in doing so.”
She shifted her gaze back to him, anger flashing in those grass green eyes of hers. “He never pleased me either.”
“More fool than we’d first thought,” Rowan said with a snort of disgust.
Thomas glanced sideways at his friend and, again, wondered what Rowan’s feelings were for this intriguing woman. He felt a second’s jealousy. Because he would be Gloriana’s husband and didn’t want another man thinking sexually about her? Or because Rowan might be interested in Gloriana and no longer in him? Or because Gloriana looked as heatedly at Rowan as she did at him? Who was she drawn to?
“Trust me, my lady, you will definitely find pleasure in our marital bed,” Thomas said with determination.
She cocked an eyebrow. “I heard many tales of your conquests at court, Lord Montrose. Often those tales are mere overblown rumors.” Her face hardened. “I’d heard tales about Geoffrey, too, before we were wed.”
Thomas saw Rowan stiffen beside him. He knew Rowan’s need to defend the weaker was even stronger than his own. Had Geoffrey not already been dead, Rowan would have taken his blade and cut off the older man’s cock for what they both suspected he had done to Gloriana.
“You will come to no harm in my bed,” Thomas assured as gently as he could. “I promise you that.”
“He’s a man of his word, Gloriana. You can trust him to take care of you, to be gentle in loving you, or to be passionate when you desire it.” Rowan glanced at Thomas, silently acknowledging what happened between them.
She looked curiously at them. “Good friends as well as lord and first knight. You watch each other’s backs. Tis good, that.”
Thomas didn’t want to go deeper into the subject. He merely nodded and then straightened from the desk. “We will say our vows on the morrow.”
Her eyes widened and she sucked in a shallow breath. “As you wish, my lord.”
***
The keep was quiet as Thomas lay awake in his temporary bedchamber. He’d lain in bed for the last hour thinking about tomorrow, about saying marital vows to Gloriana. Uncertainty curled through him. It was clear she’d experienced some manner of abuse from her previous husband. She didn’t truly want another husband, but she had no choice in the matter. He, too, was reluctant to wed again. His first marriage had given him a wife who tolerated him and his physical attentions. They’d been friends of a sort, no more. She had been completely submissive to him, had never questioned him about anything, and had never spoken up for herself.
He stretched and thought about how Gloriana had seemed at first timid, fearful even, but then she’d dared to speak against her brute of a husband. She’d insisted Thomas let her fulfill the normal duties of a lord’s wife; be the chatelaine. He’d agreed, with reservations. She was so slight, appeared so in need of protection. He could easily envision her being taken advantage of, even hurt in some way while trying to tend to her duties. He would not stand for either. He would watch her carefully, and only if she could truly prove herself would he give her free rein in the role.
His thoughts turned to James. It had been far too long since he’d seen his son. In truth, he’d seen very little of his ten year old son. When Sarah had died in childbirth, he’d not even been there. He’d been off battling on behalf of King Edward. His sister and her husband had raised James until now, although he’d made sure James knew he was his father. Now that he planned to settle here at Middlemound and train soldiers for Edward rather than going off to war, it was time to bring James to live with him.
Frowning into the darkness, he wondered if Gloriana was infertile. She’d been married to Stewart two years before the man had gone off to the Crusades. Surely the man had tried to get her with child. He frowned even more. Even though he barely knew her, he hated the idea of Stewart taking her to his bed. He hated thinking about the man known for his cruelty with women driving into her delicate body with no care for her. He would be as gentle as he could with her. Hopefully she would soon find that he could give her great pleasure, and, hopefully, she would free the passion he sensed within her.
His body was too tense now to consider falling asleep. His cock throbbed, demanding attention. For a second, he reached down and stroked the hard rod. But he wasn’t interested in finding relief that way, not when Rowan had settled into a bedchamber at the far end of the hallway.
Thomas pulled on his braies and headed out into the semi-dark hallway. The only light came from torches in holders on the stone wall. He padded barefoot toward the chamber Rowan had claimed. He needed Rowan tonight and hoped Rowan needed him as well.
He hesitated in front of Rowan’s door. What if one of the maids was with him? He’d seen Rowan leading one up here earlier; he’d known what they’d had in mind. It hadn’t bothered Thomas then. Yet he would be disappointed if the young woman was still with Rowan.
The wooden door opened, startling him. Rowan stood naked before him with a slow smile sliding over his face. He motioned Thomas inside.
Relieved, Thomas strode into the chamber. His glance took in the rumpled bed and the candles burning on the bedside tables. He smelled sex in the air and felt a second of jealousy. As it passed, he faced his first knight, the man who had protected his back nearly as many times as Thomas had protected his. He nodded toward the bed. “Mayhap you don’t want…”
“Hell yes, I want!” Rowan countered, sounding almost angry. “I want a good pounding.”
Pleased that this much hadn’t changed, Thomas felt the tension drain from him. “Good.”
Rowan cupped Thomas’s head with his calloused hands and leaned toward him. Their lips met with familiarity. Thomas raised his hands and wove his fingers into Rowan’s chin-length hair, pulled him closer. Heat flared through him, need, demanding in its intensity. He slid his tongue along his lover’s lips until they parted. Then their tongues parried as they’d done so many times before.
Rowan skimmed a palm over Thomas’s bare chest and deepened the kiss. Thomas had kissed many a woman in his years but none kissed with Rowan’s fiery enthusiasm. Rowan took his mouth hungrily, with an almost feverish desperation. Thomas’s cock hardened and pressed between them, throbbing, aching for relief. His balls swelled as the kiss went on. Rowan didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. Yet somehow his thoughts turned to Gloriana. He recalled her rosebud mouth, the passion that had flashed in her eyes when she’d stood up for herself. Would kissing her be… Rowan rubbed his lower body against him and commanded his attention. Thomas’s focus returned fully back to the man he’d come to see. His body thrummed with the powerful need for more.
His chest heaving, Rowan pulled his head back. His nostrils flared. “I’ve missed this.” He pushed Thomas’s braies down, enough to free his hard cock. Grinning, Rowan gripped it, worked the pulsing shaft slowly with his strong hand. “I’ve really missed this.”
Thomas groaned. His hips rocking as his cock was pumped repeatedly. Rowan’s other hand cupped Thomas’s balls. He closed his eyes and groaned. “God’s teeth, I’m so hard,” Thomas bit out.
He couldn’t take any more. He shoved Rowan’s hand away before he lost all control. “Now. Right now!”
Rowan grinned, clearly proud of having driven him half mad with need. He turned and walked to the bed. The dim light from the candles teased over Rowan’s toned body, over the taut ass that drew Thomas.
He pumped his dick and watched Rowan settle onto hands and knees. God, he wanted in that ass.
Looking heatedly at him, Rowan wiggled his ass. “I’m ready for that pounding now.”
Thomas moved quickly behind Rowan and took a second to stare down at the butt he so loved. Pre-cum leaked from his cock, making his lover’s eyes widen and making him lick his lips. If they didn’t both need this so desperately, they’d take more time. Thomas would let Rowan lick that cum; let him suck long and hard on his cock. And he’d return the favor before they got down to actually fucking. But he ached to be inside Rowan too much right now.
He coated a finger with the pre-cum before finding Rowan’s puckered anus and sliding his finger inside. Rowan kept his head turned away, and Thomas watched in fascination and pleasure as his finger disappeared. He gritted his teeth and probed deeper still. His jaw tight with tension, Rowan craned his head back to look at Thomas. Their gazes locked and Thomas drove a second finger inside as well.
Rowan’s eyes glazed over; his face tightened. “Work me,” he gritted out, shoving back in demand.
Thomas twisted his fingers, pulled them nearly out, and then shoved them deep again. His cock throbbed. He couldn’t do this much longer, or he would shoot off, and he’d rather be buried deep in Rowan’s warm hole when he did.
“Fuck me!” Rowan bent down to rest his head on his forearms. “Pound me into the bed!”
Wanting to do it as much as Rowan wanted him to do it, Thomas guided his thick cockhead into Rowan’s anus. He inched forward, letting his friend adjust. When he heard the quiet moan, felt the release of tension, he thrust all the way inside.
“God, yes!” Rowan squirmed and pushed back. “Do me. Do me now!” The commanding words served to make Thomas’s cock grow even more. He needed control and he took it, pulling his shaft almost out while Rowan growled in protest. Then he plunged hard, deep. Being surrounded by the tight space felt so good, so warm. He repeated the action and watched Rowan clutch the linens, heard him groaning, straining at the invasion of his ass.
Thomas drove harder and faster. Sweat beaded his upper lip, his chest. His heart thudded as he burned for release. It had been too long, nearly a month, since they’d had the chance to be together like this. He groaned, fought for breath.
“More. Fuck me harder!” Rowan’s body was shuddering, as Rowan moved back and forth, frantic in his desperation.
Thomas’s eyes lost focus and his mind spun. Deeper. Deeper still. He held Rowan’s hips and pumped for several more agonizing minutes. Waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He shifted slightly and the new angle forced a rough, guttural cry from the man beneath him. It ignited the fire within him, building it higher and higher. He couldn’t last much longer. He panted. “Uh, oh God!”
Rowan shoved his ass back at him. “Do it! Now.”
Thomas’s energy was draining away. He couldn’t think about anything beyond finding release. He had to have relief! He tightened his hold on Rowan’s hips and rammed as deep as he could a final time. His breathing stopped as he froze in place with his cock buried to the hilt. Then with a shuddering sigh, he shot his hot seed in Rowan’s tight passage.
They collapsed next to each other as they’d done many times before. Thomas turned to his side. He knew Rowan liked having him watch as he worked his own rod. Thomas watched as Rowan’s hand pulled steadily on his cock. His handsome face was covered in sweat, grimacing in tension. A vein pulsed in the side of his neck. Thomas knew that him watching excited his lover even more, made him stroke the swollen cock faster, made him breathe deeper. In truth, observing his lover do this excited Thomas as well. His limp rod showed signs of interest again, but not enough. The intense fucking had taken the strength out of him for now.
His face pinched in strain, seeming to hold his breath, Rowan finally cried out almost as if in pain. Thick ropes of cum shot upward and then glazed over his hand. After a second he closed his eyes and drew in a long calming breath.
When Rowan finally settled back to the moment, Thomas leaned over and kissed him tenderly. As their lips met, he thought again about Gloriana. Was he being fair to her by marrying her? Was he being fair to Rowan? What he and Rowan did was unnatural by society’s eyes, but necessary to both of them. As lord of a substantial holding, he was expected to have a wife. The people of Middlemound expected him to wed their lady. He would do so. But what about Rowan? Could they keep the relationship they had? What would Gloriana do if she ever learned of it?
“I’m thinking you’re a lucky man to wed her,” Rowan said, interrupting Thomas’s troubled thoughts. “I saw the fire that burns within her, just as you did.”
Thomas wondered about his friend’s comment, and he remembered the odd look he’d caught as Rowan watched Gloriana at sup. They’d have to talk about her later, but now he was tired. Tomorrow would be a long day, a trying one.
“I do not want to hurt her.” Thomas climbed from the bed and pulled on his braies.
“You won’t.” Rowan sat up and looked seriously at him. “She will be lucky to have you in her life.”
“I can’t give you up.” Thomas noted how Rowan’s gaze had settled on his chest, shifted lower. If he didn’t leave the chamber now, he might end up staying here the night. Already his cock was showing more determined life again.
“Nor I, you,” Rowan released a tense breath. “Tis best you leave while you can.”
Thomas nodded and walked to the door. He glanced back at his lover, but Rowan’s eyes were closed. His brow furrowed in thought. “We’ll make this work. Somehow.”

Chapter Two

The sun had barely risen by the time Rowan dressed in his tunic and braies. He jammed his low boots on and glanced back at the rumpled bed. It reeked of sex from his time spent with Marie, a maid who had worked her wiles on him. She hadn’t had to do much. He’d been ready for driving his cock into a willing woman. He’d been sure to give her great pleasure, but his needs had surpassed what she could give him, at least that time. He wasn’t complaining and would probably seek her out again. Yet he’d needed Thomas. Thank God his friend had come to him late in the night.
He left the chamber and headed downstairs. Thomas’s door was closed, and he heard the muffled sound of snoring. At least his friend was getting some rest. This would be a big day for them all. He knew Thomas had mixed feelings about marrying Gloriana. He was concerned as well. The marriage would only add to the complicated life he and Thomas led. He didn’t want to give up their relations. He’d been with only a couple of other men before Thomas, but none had compared to Thomas. He’d been Thomas’s first male lover and he hoped to be his last.
Lost in his thoughts, he nearly plowed right over Gloriana as she stepped out of her bedchamber. She gave a gasp, and he caught her to keep her from falling. The instant his arms went around her, he felt a jolt of awareness. His heart raced. His cock swelled. Blinking in shock, he all but thrust her from his embrace.
She, too, looked surprised. Her pretty face blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Sir Rowan,” she gushed, stepping farther away. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m sorry as well.” He tried to calm his body, tried to see if she’d been struck by the same startling sensations as he. “I was thinking about something else.”
“I trust you slept well.” She smoothed down the sides of her gown. It was another green one, which emphasized her emerald green eyes that could both hint at past pain and warm with concern. Now they watched him in confusion.
Without thinking, he said, “I hardly closed my eyes.”
She cocked her head and the waist-length blonde hair moved just enough to make his fingers ache to weave their way through it. “Are you feeling poorly? Was there something wrong with the mattress?”
He couldn’t tell her that thoughts of Thomas had kept him awake. That he’d wanted to find Thomas’s room and pin his lover to the mattress and ram deep into his upturned ass. He couldn’t tell her that he’d also spent a fair amount of time puzzling over the attraction he’d felt for her yesterday. An attraction that had grown even more alarming when he’d held her only seconds ago.
Instead, he gave her a weak smile. “There is just much on my mind, Lady Gloriana.” He wondered if adding her title would help him put distance between them. She returned his smile and the gentleness of it stabbed at his heart. Like Thomas, he wasn’t a soft man. There’d been very little kindness or gentleness in his life. But her softness made him want to pull her to him once more. Thomas’s bride. Remember that.
Biting back disappointment, he nodded toward the stairs. “Shall we go break our fast?”
“Tis still early, but I’m sure we can find some bread and cheese in the kitchen.” She hurried away as if relieved.
They didn’t speak again until she reached the bottom of the stairs. The great hall was filled with people, some still sleeping on mats on the rushes, some just waking and starting to move around. Snores and quiet whispers met his ears.
“Thomas will make you a good husband,” Rowan said, determined to think of her only as his friend’s future wife. He didn’t want to keep noticing the gentle sway of her bottom, or how her plump breasts filled out her bodice. He didn’t want to inhale the scent of her, the hint of a flowery soap she must have used. “I’ll admit I’m more than a little worried.” She looked up. Her gaze searched his for something, but he didn’t know what.
“I’ve known Thomas for almost a year now.” He remembered the day they’d first met on the battlefield. Thomas had ridden his huge black destrier straight into the middle of a group of men who had him pinned. Thomas had already suffered wounds himself, but he had raised his sword and had quickly saved Rowan’s life. “There’s not a man I respect more. I would give my life for him without a thought.”
She didn’t look reassured. Her gaze moved about the large hall, moving over the many soldiers. “I know of his reputation as a warrior. All here at Middlemound do. But Geoffrey was a warrior, too. A hard one.”
“Stewart was a sadistic, brutal warrior with no sense of honor. He took what he wanted by any means. He would cut a woman down as easily as he did a man.” At her gasp, he slammed his mouth shut. Good God, what had he been thinking to say such a thing to her? “I apologize, my lady. I should not have—”
“No. I’m sure what you said was only the truth.” She stiffened her slight shoulders. “I suffered at his hands many times and am not at all saddened by his death.”
Then she realized what she’d said and paled. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Again, it was only the truth spoken.”
“My lady, I will get you some bread and cheese. Mead, too.” A reed thin young woman walked closer and blushed as she looked at Rowan. “For you, Sir Montgomery, as well?” “Aye. I would appreciate it.” He gave her a smile and her blush turned up a notch before she scurried toward the kitchen. Gloriana studied him and then said, “You’ve got a very nice smile, Sir Rowan.” Her demeanor softened and she laughed. “I fear you’ll soon have all of my young maids trailing after you.”
He was long used to gaining the attention of most any woman he encountered. It both pleased him and annoyed him. He enjoyed the softness and passion of a woman. But he enjoyed the hardness of a man, too and the intensity of a man in the throes of wild passion. Like Thomas.
Just the thought of Thomas naked and pleasuring him made his cock begin to harden. The thought of Thomas bent over so he could drive into his ass made it swell even more. Yet when he glanced down at Gloriana, he longed to see her spread out before him on his bed. He wanted to suckle her breasts and slide into the warmth of her body.
As if she saw the heat in his eyes and understood the reason, she stepped back and tried to change the subject. “I heard someone say King Edward offered you a castle to hold, but you turned it down.” She headed toward the dais and the long table there for the lord, his lady, and the first knight.
Rowan followed her, nodding in acknowledgment at a few of the men now rising and moving to tables to break their own fasts. He sat in the chair next to her. “Tis true. Even Thomas offered me to hold Montrose Castle for him. But I’m not interested in a holding of my own. Not now, anyway.” The maid rushed back with two mugs of mead. Another carried trenchers of bread and cheese. Neither young woman seemed in a hurry to leave them. He didn’t encourage either to stay. His interest lay only with Gloriana.
After they reluctantly moved away, Gloriana broke off a piece of bread and asked, “Why not?” “Thomas needs me.” Rowan sipped at the mead, watched her nibble on the bread. “He has warred for nearly a dozen years, travelled constantly. He wants to settle down, but he’s unsure if he can really do it.” She eyed him curiously. “What about you?”
He wasn’t sure what he wanted, other than to stay here for a while. He’d been on his own longer than Thomas. As the bastard son of the Duke of Remington, he’d been a thorn in the powerful duke’s side. He’d been acknowledged but never accepted by the duke’s wife or his family with her, so he’d left where he’d been fostered at eight by his father and found another castle and lord to take him on. The lord had been hard on him, but he’d learned much and had become the seasoned warrior he was because of him. He’d drifted around from battle to battle, from castle to castle. He’d been a favored warrior by Edward for several years and more so after he and Thomas had joined together, fighting side by side. Being with Thomas was as close to settling down as he’d ever come. He wasn’t ready to give up their friendship.
“Rowan?” she questioned when he took too long to answer. “I don’t mean to pry, if it makes you uncomfortable. I was only curious.”

Music for a Merman

Music for a Merman
https://amzn.to/2ZkU5wR
Alice Renaud
Music for a Merman

Chapter One

Rob Regor knew that humans were trouble. All the shape-shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands knew it. And human women were double trouble.
Especially when they were lying on the road in front of a digger.
The site manager strode up to him. “Can you move her, officer? I’m already behind schedule.” His tone was polite, but his clenched fists told another story.
A gaggle of locals and tourists had gathered behind him. Their eyes bore into Rob, some curious, some hostile. Unease crept across his scalp. Many locals in
St-Sulien opposed the development of this stretch of Welsh coast, and tempers in the village had been running high. He could have a mini-riot on his hands if he didn’t take control.
The thought was like a kick to the backside. This was his first real challenge as a rookie cop. He had to show his superiors that he could handle it.
He adjusted his cap and strode to the horizontal figure on the asphalt. She looked so vulnerable, with her head resting inches away from the giant vehicle’s wheels. Her tight jeans and red T-shirt were streaked with dirt, her mane of black curls grey with dust. He wondered how long she’d been lying there.
“Miss. Please get up.” He hoped that he’d got the tone right. He wanted to sound firm, not too fierce or too pleading. He still found the nuances of human speech tricky at times.
Two amber eyes, as bright and challenging as a leopard’s, stared up at him. “No chance.”
Prickles of annoyance displaced his unease. Even for a human, this was ridiculous behaviour. Dangerous, too. One wrong move from the driver, and the digger would flatten her. “Miss, you can’t stay here.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not moving.”
Someone sniggered. Irritation swept over Rob’s body like a rash. He was a merman warrior of the Regor Clan, damn it. He wasn’t going to let a bunch of humans ridicule him.
He straightened his uniform. He’d have preferred to arrest her away from the crowd, but she wasn’t giving him that option. “Miss, I am Police Constable Rob Regor. I am arresting you on suspicion of aggravated trespass. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when interrogated, something which you later rely on in court—”
She interrupted him with an exaggerated sigh. “Spare me the routine; I’ve heard it all before. And it’s ‘questioned’ not ‘interrogated’.”
Great, now she was correcting him. In public. It was getting better and better.
“Anything you do say may be given in evidence!” He caught himself. He was snapping. He couldn’t let his temper show too much in front of that crowd. He counted to ten to simmer down. “Right, miss. I am going to put my hands under your armpits and lift you up.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes, then her mouth relaxed into the beginnings of a smile. “You can put your hands wherever you like, officer.”
Several people tittered. The scratchy aggravation in his chest intensified, but he pushed it back. If they were laughing, they were less likely to attack him. He crouched behind her, took hold of her shoulders, and hauled her up. To his relief, she didn’t fight back, but she didn’t cooperate either. She just slumped in his arms like a beached porpoise. “Are you going to walk, or do I have to carry you?” he asked.
No answer.
“Fine. I am now going to pat you down.” He did his best to do this with one hand, keeping her up with the other. At least she wasn’t armed. One less problem to worry about. “What’s your name? Do you have any identification?”
“The site manager didn’t tell you?” She turned her head and winked. “Everyone around here knows me. My name is Charlie, Charlotte Fitzwilliam, and I’m an eco-warrior.”
The statement was so absurd, he almost laughed out loud. Her, a fighter? Humans had such a high opinion of themselves; they had no idea what a real warrior looked like.
But the crowd was moving closer, reminding him that she had friends here, and he didn’t. A flash of sunshine on a smartphone screen almost blinded him. They were taking pictures. The scene would be all over social media in the next few minutes. Blast humans and their technology.
He had to get her out of the building site. The other formalities could wait. “OK, Miss Fitzwilliam. I am now going to carry you off the development.” He bent, slid one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and scooped her up. Hoots and catcalls rose from the crowd, but he blanked them out and strode away from the digger. At the police station, he could hand her over to Constable Frank. With his five teenage daughters, he would be used to handling stubborn young females.
If only he had the police car—but he’d been patrolling on foot when the site manager had called him. He headed towards the village, ignoring the whistling and clapping behind him. Some smartarse started singing, “He’ll lift you up where you belong.”
“For fuck’s sake,” the girl muttered.
Rob tightened his grip and lengthened his stride. “You’re embarrassed? I hope you are, after the show you’ve put on.”
She twisted her neck to look at him. His father and brothers would have called her face coarse, with its strong nose and firm jaw, so different from the delicate features of the mermaids. Yet the energy that radiated from those feral eyes was impossible to ignore.
She scowled. “A show? You think this is for fun? To draw attention to myself?”
Curiosity pecked through Rob’s annoyance. In his Clan, females stayed out of trouble, tucked up in their undersea homes, looking after their children and menfolk. What could have prompted this woman to break the law?
“Why are you doing this?”
The deep ridge in her brow evened. “You’re new, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around. You have no idea what’s been going on here. What that E-SCOR building consortium is planning to do.” Her hand rose to brush his shoulder. “I’ll tell you everything. You’ll understand.”
Her words were a cool balm on his irritation. Away from her audience, she was becoming more reasonable. His very first arrest wasn’t going too badly after all.
They were in sight of the village, and no one had followed them. He put her down on the dusty grass verge. “I’ve carried you far enough. Are you going to walk now?”
She pouted at him. “OK. It’s a shame, though. I was enjoying this.”
He’d thought she was cooperating; now she was mocking him again. Not for the first time, Rob wished that he had spent some time with human women before leaving the Morvann Islands. He’d get on better with this female if he had more knowledge of her kind. But his father would never have allowed it. Rhys Regor’s voice grated in his memory. “Remember, son, your mission is to find out as much as you can about the humans on the mainland and the crimes they commit against other species. But keep your distance; don’t let them corrupt you. And for the Lady’s sake, don’t break any of their rules. It will only draw attention to you.”
Rob shut his father’s voice up. He was carrying out Rhys’s instructions—he hadn’t done anything wrong. This woman, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy breaking rules. He had just arrested her, yet she was joking and messing around. Perhaps she didn’t grasp how serious her situation was.
He’d have to explain it to her. “Come on, Miss Eco-Warrior.” He took her by the arm and marched her down the road.
She matched his strides, unperturbed. A few minutes later she pointed at the handcuffs on his belt. “Aren’t you going to use those on me?”
He shook his head. She wasn’t dangerous, just infuriating.
“Are you sure?” Her voice dripped into his ears like hot honey. “I’ve been a very naughty girl.”
Her words conjured up a scenario that contained her, the handcuffs, and a hard prison bed. Rob gritted his teeth and tried to squash the dangerous image, but its poison had already leaked into his blood, warming him from within. Damn. She was mocking him, but his stupid human body didn’t know. It behaved as though she meant every saucy word.
“Get moving.”
Thank the Lady of the Sea, the mermen’s ancestral spirit, they’d reached the police station. She sauntered in and waved at the bored-looking officer behind the desk.
“Hi, Frank.”
Frank gave her a friendly nod. “Hi, Charlie. How’re you doing?”
Rob stared at him. “You know her?” Jeez, she really was a hardened protester.
Frank shrugged. “Sure, she’s stayed here a few times over the past weeks.”
Charlie winked. “I could write a TripAdvisor review on this place. The mattresses are a bit thin, but the breakfasts aren’t bad.”
She gave Rob a slow, appraising look, starting with his boots, and working her way up to his face. “Plus, some of the staff are easy on the eye.”
The warmth in Rob’s blood reached his skin. She was manipulating him like a pro, and he was powerless to control himself. His brothers had been right. He wasn’t cut out to be the first merman to spy on mainland humans. Bitter frustration, with himself and with her, swelled in his chest, until his ribs ached with the effort of containing it. He had to get rid of her.
“Can you interview her, Frank, since you get on so well with her? It’s nearly the end of my shift.”
The older man squinted at the clock on the wall. “Are you kidding? You’ve got half an hour left, boyo. That’s more than enough time. And I’m shooting off early today. I promised the wife I’d take her to that new restaurant in town.”
Rob breathed in and out a dozen times, until the pressure in his ribcage eased. “OK. Will you at least process her? Whilst I get the interview room ready?”
Frank gave him a ponderous nod and extended his big, bony hand towards Charlie. “You know the drill, love. Hand over your phone, wallet, keys ... there’s a good girl. Sign here.”
Rob retreated to the interview room opposite the lobby and lined up the notepad, pen, and tape recorder on the table. The routine activity calmed him a little. She was only a young human female, for goodness’ sake. He just had to keep his libido under control, and all would be well.
He sat down and called her. “Miss Fitzwilliam? In here, if you please.”
She ambled in and arranged herself on the chair, crossing her shapely legs at the knee. She passed her tongue over her lips, and he remembered that she’d been lying in the sun for ages. A soft tendril of concern nudged him. He couldn’t let her get dehydrated. “Would you like some water?”
“That would be lovely, officer.” Had her accent changed? She sounded more educated than before.
He filled a cup from the water cooler by the front door and brought it back to her. He tried not to notice the way her generous mouth wrapped itself around the plastic rim, leaving a faint trace of pink lipstick.
He withdrew to the other side of the table and pulled the tape recorder towards him. He had to think of her as a task, nothing more. She was a human! The laws of his Clan forbade him from ever bedding her, even if he wanted to. And why the hell would he ever want a woman who clearly had no respect for the law or its officers?
He pressed Record. “What is your name?” She’d given it to him, but he had to have it on tape.
“Charlotte Fitzwilliam. Everyone calls me Charlie.” She batted her long, dark eyelashes. “But I’m no angel.”
“I can see that.” He’d keyed her name on the computer screen, and the system had brought up her file. “You’ve got three previous convictions, for trespass, wilfully obstructing the highway, and breach of the peace.”
She sighed. “It was a joke. Don’t you remember Charlie’s Angels?”
Rob shook his head. The Regors shunned humans, and even avoided other mermen Clans when they could get away with it. His father believed that it was a strength, because it allowed them to maintain the purity of their lineage and culture. But it meant some cultural references passed him by.
“No.”
She pulled at a jet-black corkscrew curl. He wondered how glossy her hair would be if she washed the grime of the road from it, how it would feel against his hand, or his chest. Shit. This had to stop. She was taboo. But the warm currents under his skin kept running.
She let the curl bounce back, and it swung against her cheekbone. “It was a TV show, in the seventies. One of my nannies was addicted to it; she used to watch repeats when I was a kid.”
Nannies. So, he hadn’t imagined it; she was higher class than she looked, which only made her actions more puzzling. He jabbed a finger at the screen. “What’s a girl from a good family doing here in St-Sulien, collecting cautions and fines? Although I guess you have the means to pay them.”
Her body went rigid. “My family have money. That doesn’t make them good.” Her fingers twisted in her lap, and for the first time, Rob noticed that her fingernails were bitten to the quick.
Had she run away from her people? What had they done to her? He angled the screen so he could see better. “They paid your fines, and I guess your lawyer’s fees, too. They must care about you.”
“No, they don’t.” She gave him a rueful smile. “They just want to avoid a scandal and having the family name in the newspapers.”
The mockery, the outrageous flirting, had been a mask. Now it had slipped, and Rob saw a different girl. A sadder, softer girl, who seemed to have as many problems with her family as he did with his.
Her fingers raked her denim-clad knees. “But this time, their money won’t help. It’s my fourth conviction, so I might be looking at a custodial sentence.”
Rob’s lungs constricted, as if he were the one shut up in a tiny room made of concrete, away from the sky and the sea. Prison was no place for a girl like her. “You could stop breaking the law. It’s not too late to change, is it?”
She chewed the remains of a fingernail. “Every cause needs a martyr. I’d be a good one, because I’m from a rich, powerful family. More publicity.”
“Which cause is that?” Rob told himself that his curiosity was purely professional. He had to find out who, and what, was behind her actions. And it was his duty to turn her away from that path of self-destruction she’d chosen.
She abandoned her nail. “We have to stop the E-SCOR development. The coast here is beautiful and unspoilt, a haven for wildlife.” Her voice was rising. “It’s supposed to be protected. But the local council have sold the land along St-Sulien’s Bay to E-SCOR!” Her eyes gleamed, golden and passionate under the electric light. “They’re going to ruin it. Destroy it forever.”
Rob shifted on his chair, as if moving around could remove the discomfort her words had created. She was right. St-Sulien Bay wasn’t a patch on his native Morvann Islands, but it was lovely, a perfect sandy cove nestled between granite cliffs.
But he couldn’t approve of her actions. At least, not whilst they were speaking on tape.
She leant forward. “You should see the horrors these E-SCOR developers have built elsewhere on this coast. Big ugly mansions that no one here can afford, second homes for rich people.” Her energy was hard to resist. He was trapped between his duties as a cop, and his desire to agree with her.
The effect she had on him made him uneasy. He needed to create some distance between them, to remind her of where she was and who she was talking to.
“Even rich people have to live somewhere.”
She shook her head so hard that her ebony locks swished like a flock of blackbirds. “They don’t have to live here. Not if they’re going to ruin it for everyone else.” She sniggered. “E-SCOR, my foot. I call it Eye-Sore.”
Rob had to stop a smile from hijacking his mouth. Not because of the feeble quip, but because of the impish look on her face, like a naughty schoolgirl caught kissing boys behind the bike shed. Her scent was sneaking into his nose—a tang of road dust and female sweat, with something spicier underneath. As if she’d rolled in cinnamon and baked herself in the sun. An intangible net tightened around him.
“There are dolphins and porpoises in St-Sulien bay. The noise from the development messes up their sonar, and because of that several porpoises beached two weeks ago. Did you know that?”
Yes. He’d read it in the local papers. He hadn’t known those animals personally, but the news had made him gag on his breakfast, just the same. The last beaching on the Morvanns had happened five years ago, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday. Seven bodies on the sand, including a mother and her calf. The memory churned his stomach.
Charlie’s voice, low and persuasive, pulled him out of his thoughts. “You know what the development means; I can see it in your face. You don’t like it any more than I do. You’re like me, really.”
He wanted to say, no, I have nothing to do with you or your cause, I’m on the side of the law here. But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth.
Charlie pursed her lips. “OK, officer, don’t say it.” She nodded at the tape recorder. “You’ve got a job to do, I get that.”
She gave him a proper, full-on smile. It was as if the moon had risen behind her face, making her glow from within.
“But I’ll do anything in my power to stop that development. And I know you understand.”
She radiated passion for her cause, and he couldn’t help himself. Something stirred, deep inside his being, and rose towards that light.
Charlie’s catlike eyes plunged into his. Her soft contralto vibrated along his spine. “If you weren’t a cop, I’m sure we could be friends. What did you do before you joined the police force?”
Rob almost answered, but his father’s ink-black, noseless face swam up before him, lips open on a row of sharp teeth. “Don’t let them corrupt you, son.”
The remembered warning yanked him back to reality. He was a Regor merman. He could never get personally involved with a human. And he was a policeman. He couldn’t let a female lawbreaker convert him to her cause. He had all the information he needed. He had no reason to let her talk any longer.
He kept his voice as neutral as he could. “Interview terminated at five pm, Friday the seventh of July. The suspect admitted the offense of aggravated trespass and stated that she would do anything in her power to stop the E-SCOR development on St-Sulien Bay.”
He shoved his chair back. “Your photograph and fingerprints are already on file, so we can skip that bit. You have the right to make a phone call.”
She shrugged. “I’ve no one to call. I don’t want my family to know. They wouldn’t care anyway.”
She said it in a matter of fact tone, but the words tugged at him just the same. He had his brothers, and they’d always taken an interest in him. Too much sometimes, but perhaps too much was better than too little. “What about your activist friends?”
Another shrug. “They already know. They saw me get arrested.”
She seemed to have given up on the idea of winning him over to her cause. The thought brought a tiny jab of regret. He wouldn’t see that passion light up her face again.
And it was for the best, he reminded himself.
He switched off the computer and picked up the tape recorder. She wasn’t his problem anymore. In a few minutes’ time, Jack, the sergeant, would arrive to take the night shift. Rob could hand his prisoner over and go do something reasonable, like get drunk in a pub. He had to forget about her, and he had a feeling it would take more than a few drinks. He had no idea why. He’d never found it hard to forget girls before. But this one was different.
“OK. Follow me, Miss Fitzwilliam.” He escorted her out of the interview room.
Frank, at the front desk, was putting the phone down. “Bad news, Rob. Jack can’t make it tonight. He twisted his ankle on some rocks this afternoon; he’s going to be out of action for a few days.”
Charlie sighed. “Poor Jack. I hope he gets better soon.”
She edged closer to Rob. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, yet her hair, her perfume, and her oversized personality seemed to fill the room. The air thickened with something he didn’t want to name, or even think about.
Frank was watching him with a quizzical look. Rob squared his shoulders. Damn it, accidents happened. The human universe was not out to get him. He wouldn’t let Frank think that he wasn’t up to the task. “I’ll take this shift, Frank. You covered for me last week, and you said you had something planned tonight.”
Frank nodded, his weather-beaten features softening in relief. “That’s right, I’m going out with the missus. You’re a good lad, Rob. I’ll make it up to you.”
He hurried out the door. Charlie smiled. “It’s nice to see an older chap still making time for romance. I gather you didn’t have any plans tonight, officer.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now at least I’ll be keeping you company.”
Rob searched for a suitable witty answer. Or a serious answer. Any answer. But his mind had focused entirely on her lips, and the pink tongue she was sliding along them.
“I’m a little sticky after all this activity.” She tugged at her T-shirt, revealing a triangle of tanned, smooth skin at the base of her throat. “Could I please take a shower?”
Images trotted across Rob’s brain-the sort of images that could get him sacked and thrown into his father’s undersea dungeon.
“Of course.” He walked with her to the bathroom in the custody suite, made sure she wasn’t taking anything with her that she shouldn’t, and shut the door behind her. There’d be no more banter tonight. It would be inappropriate, now that they were alone in the police station. And she was naked behind that door.
The air in the narrow corridor was stale, and thick with the heat of the day. He opened a window, took off his jacket, and flung it on the back of a chair. If only he could do the same with the murky instincts that Charlie stirred in him.
It was going to be a long night.


Chapter Two

The bathroom in the custody suite was as Charlie remembered it. Small, basic, but spotlessly clean. She stepped into the shower and turned her face to the modest flow of tepid water. Not a patch on the power showers in her father’s castle, but better than the erratic plumbing in the tiny flat she rented above Marnock’s bar. She combed her hair with her fingers until she’d washed off the dust and grit of the road. She should make the most of the facilities, even if they were basic. She wouldn’t get such comfort and privacy in a real prison.
Her throat tightened, as though she were already struggling to breathe the stale air of an overcrowded cell. She pushed the image into a corner of her mind. Saving St-Sulien Bay and its wildlife from the developers was more important than her comfort. Or even her safety. She needed to focus on her mission to get as much publicity for the cause as possible. So far, it was going pretty well. The young cop had helped by removing her forcibly from the building site. The picture would get into the local paper, and her friends would post it on social media. It was a start.
She put the sliver of soap down. Where had that rookie cop come from? He had the face of a Greek god, and the muscles to match. He’d carried her as though she weighed no more than a kitten. She turned off the tap and padded out of the shower.
“Are you done in there?” Rob’s shout made her jump. He banged on the door—twice.
A rough ball of annoyance swelled in her chest. No more Mr. Nice Guy, then? She grabbed the thin blue towel and rubbed herself down hard, until pink marks appeared on her skin. She should have known better. Now his colleague had gone, the young cop was showing his true colours. He was probably an overachiever, eager to get his boss’s approval by sticking rigidly to the rules.
The handle rattled. “Miss Fitzwilliam! Charlie! Are you OK?”
The genuine anxiety in his voice punctured her irritation. He wasn’t angry; he was concerned about her. Perhaps he’d had a bad experience with a prisoner who had harmed themselves.
“I’m fine!” she hollered. “This towel is so small; it’s taking me ages to dry off!”
Silence. She pulled on her clothes again and wrapped the towel as best she could around her still-damp hair. She’d better not stress him out. They were going to be cooped up together for a while; there was no need to make the experience painful. She opened the door.
He watched her come out as if she were a dangerous animal emerging from the forest. The intensity in his eyes unsettled her. He was on edge. She searched for something to say that would ease the tension.
He was Welsh, his accent made that plain. With Welshmen, family and land were always good topics.
“I haven’t seen you in St-Sulien before. Where do you come from?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. She took one step into the corridor, and he flattened himself against the wall, as if to avoid any contact with her. She stopped, tugged between amusement and aggravation. Less than two hours ago he was carrying her in his arms, now he treated her like a beast that might attack at any moment.
“I’m not going to eat you. And I’ve just washed, so I shouldn’t smell that bad.”
He crossed his arms. Her feeble attempt at humour had fallen flat. He seemed more ill at ease than ever.
He was a rookie—perhaps this was a new situation for him, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Have you never arrested a woman before?”
His gaze glided over her face. “I’ve never even met a woman like you.”
Fire flashed in his dark eyes as they slid over her body, setting off a shower of tiny sparks from her neck to her thighs. Shocked at her own reaction, she turned away. Why did he have such an effect on her? They’d only just met, and she was his prisoner.
She couldn’t let him see he was affecting her. If he realized she was attracted to him, he might take advantage. He might start flirting with her, she might flirt back, and who knew where that would lead. She couldn’t allow herself to be so distracted by him. She’d got herself arrested to publicize her cause, not to swoon over a cop. No matter how hot he looked in his uniform.
“I’d better go to my cell.”
He gave her a nod. “I’ll escort you.” He averted his eyes, but the little sparks remained, pricking her skin like a thousand fireflies.
It was the same cell she’d stayed in before. She sat on the bed, which hadn’t got any bigger or softer.
He opened the tiny cupboard in the corner and pulled out a parcel wrapped in cellophane. She already knew the contents. It was packed by the local Women’s Institute to help prisoners like her—a worn, but clean, nightshirt, clean second-hand underwear, basic toiletries. She knew she was lucky. This wasn’t standard treatment, but then St-Sulien’s police station was unlike any other she’d ever visited. Maybe because it was such a small village; the cops usually knew the inmates and treated them better than average. A three-star custody suite.
Rob turned back to her. His uniform shirt stretched over his impressive torso.
Make that five-star, with personnel like that.
He moved towards her. “You can keep your own clothes, but the ladies in the village think that female prisoners should have something clean to wear.”
Charlie smiled. “I know. It’s very kind of them. And kind of you and your colleagues to let us have it.”
His mouth twitched a little, as if he wanted to grin but didn’t allow himself to. From where she was sitting, she had a perfect view of his stomach. Flat and taut, with no sign of the paunch that his older colleagues had developed. If she lifted her hand just a little, she could run her fingers down his shirt and feel the abs that flexed underneath the white fabric. The fireflies tap-danced all over her body.
He bent to lay the parcel on the bed, and she caught a whiff of shampoo and saltwater from his close-cropped black hair. Her nose prickled with the irrational urge to bury itself in that hair and inhale that scent. She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, just to break the spell.
“Did you go swimming earlier?”
He straightened, and for the first time she saw a twinkle in his dark eyes. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you? Where I come from, whether I swim. I could say it’s none of your business.”
Charlie wanted to smile or come up with a smart retort. But the fiery insects in her stomach unsettled her and sucked all energy and wit from her. She fidgeted, suddenly wishing she could get away from him.
He stepped back, concealing the twinkle under a layer of professionalism. He must have sensed her discomfort.
“I will leave you in peace, Miss Fitzwilliam.”
He wheeled round. She couldn’t help noticing that he had the most fantastic rear she’d ever seen on a man, sculpted and taut in his tight uniform trousers. The door clanged shut behind him.
She bounced on the bed for a bit. It didn’t make it feel any more comfortable. With a sigh, she stretched out on her back and contemplated the patches of damp on the ceiling. She should dedicate herself to her mission, not fantasize about this guy she’d only just met. He was off limits anyway; he was a cop and she was a felon.
The sparks quieted down. Weariness lay over her like a blanket of stone. She closed her eyes.
The knocking on the metal door disturbed her just as she was drifting off to sleep. She hated it when people woke her up abruptly. Her limbs ached with fatigue, and this cop wouldn’t even let her rest for a few minutes. Irritation rolled through her body, increasing her discomfort.
“For goodness’ sake, what do you want?”
She dragged herself into a sitting position. He opened the door. His clenched jaw told her that he wasn’t impressed by her outburst. Good. Why should she be the only pissed off person in the room?
“Why have you woken me up?”
His dark eyebrows came so low over his eyes, they almost smothered them. Damn, that only made him hotter, like a uniformed version of Heathcliff, glowering all over the cell like a sexy thunderstorm. She rubbed her hands over her face, hoping to clear the silly idea from her mind. It didn’t work.
She let out a sigh. He was only doing his job. Her reaction hadn’t been very fair. “I didn’t mean to bark at you, officer. You startled me. I was having a lovely snooze.”
He held out a bar of white soap. “I remembered the soap had run out.”
He walked to the small sink in the corner and placed the soap on it. Now she felt really bad. She’d bitten his head off when he was only being kind.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
He turned back to her. Her apology seemed to soften him.
“If you sleep now you won’t sleep tonight.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “At least that’s what my big brother used to say. It was OK for him to stay up all night, swimming after girls, though.”
What an odd expression. Curiosity flickered, prompting her to repeat, “Swimming?”
He jerked back, as if to retreat into the corridor, and cleared his throat. “Swimming, running, flying ... it was a figure of speech. Though we did spend a lot of time in the water when we were kids.”
Her interest intensified. Here was an opportunity to find out more about him. She told herself that it was only to give herself an advantage. Learning about the enemy, to fight him better.
“Where did you grow up?”
He bit his lip. Maybe he thought he’d already told her too much. His reaction only made her inquisitiveness burn brighter. She busied herself smoothing the polyester beige cover on the bed. If she kept quiet, perhaps he’d say more.
A long minute later, he answered. “I come from the Morvann Islands.”
“I know them!” A small bubble of excitement expanded in her chest. “I’ve been there!”
He grew very still, like a bird surprised by a hawk. “How often? Do you know the area well?”
The bubble popped at his sharp tone, but now curiosity blazed a hole through her mind. Why did he seem worried? Was there something about the islands, or about him, that he didn’t want her to know? In an effort to appear nonchalant, she shuffled back on the bed and leant against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her. No way was she going to reveal how interested she was. She had to keep him talking and not scare him into silence.
“I went only once, when I was seven. But I remember Newrock Island. It was so cute, with the houses around the harbour painted in pretty colours, like boxes of candy. There was a café on the seafront, with tables outside. I ate the best ice cream of my life there.”
His shoulders relaxed. He leant against the doorframe. “What flavour was it?”
“Vanilla.” She smiled at the memory. She’d been happy then, before her brother was born. Her mother and father hadn’t got bored with her yet. “And then we went swimming, and dolphins came up to us.”
The joy of that day shone in her mind. The cell had vanished. She was back in the water, staring into the eyes of a sleek grey dolphin.
“You swam with our dolphins?” The new warmth in the cop’s voice fitted with the memory, increased the light she was bathing in.
“They swam with us.” The dolphin had looked at her as though he understood her, as though he wanted to be her friend. “It was wonderful. I felt closer to him than to my own species.” She let out a little laugh, in case the policeman thought she was a silly hippy. “I know that sounds a bit mad.”
“I don’t think so. I used to swim with those dolphins too. They’re very intelligent and friendly.” His lips twitched, and she wondered what he would look like if he smiled for good.
On the other hand, it was probably best he didn’t. It would only get her hot and bothered again. She detached her eyes from his face and stared at the wall instead. The real world reasserted itself, the bright memory faded.
“It was the best holiday ever. But we never went back.”
The following year, her brother had been born, and her parents had dispatched her to boarding school. Holidays after that had been a tame affair—two or three weeks in a Mediterranean hotel, supervised at all times by an ever-changing cast of nannies and tutors. A swimming pool, even made of gilded marble, could never replace the sea.
Not that it mattered. She was going to prison, wasn’t she? A place without sea or swimming pool. The cell closed in on her … its grey atmosphere crept over her skin. She rubbed her arms to rid them of the feeling.
“Are you cold? I’ll get you a blanket.”
The young cop disappeared. He really seemed worried about her. The thought enveloped her in softness, as if he’d wrapped her in cashmere. How odd that he should care about her comfort, when he’d only just met her and they stood on opposite sides of the law. She pulled her knees up to her chin. Officer Rob Regor was unlike any policeman she’d ever met. Where in the Morvann archipelago had he grown up? Why had he left his islands to join the police force in St-Sulien?
He walked back in, carrying a checked woollen blanket. There was so much she wanted to ask him, but she needed to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to put him off with intrusive questions.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He gazed at her with a quarter-of-a-smile on his full lips, and she found that she had run out of words. This didn’t usually happen to her.
It had been so easy to tease him earlier, in front of the locals, then his colleague Frank. But now that she was alone with him, in this small cell, every sentence, every look, became dense with meaning. He placed the thick blanket on the bed and stepped back, his face guarded. Perhaps he felt it too.
She took her time unfolding the fabric and spreading it on the bed. Maybe it was her fault he was uncomfortable around her. She’d gone way too far earlier, when he’d arrested her. She’d teased him like mad, as if he’d been a handsome fisherman in Marnock’s bar on a Saturday night.
“Goodnight, then,” he said, and turned to go. She should have been relieved; instead the chill in the room seemed to deepen, as if she were sitting alone on a windswept beach. She didn’t want him to leave, not yet.
She pushed the words out. “It’s very kind of you, Officer Regor. I’m really sorry about earlier.”
He spun round. “It’s OK. It’s a stressful time for you; I get it.” He ran a hand through his shorn hair. “To be honest, it’s not very relaxing for me either. I’m still new to this. In fact, you’re my first arrest.”
His bashful admission dissolved the self-consciousness between them. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t get you into trouble.”
His eyes locked on hers. “I’m sure you won’t, Charlie. I’m sure you can behave when you want to.”
He’d called her Charlie. An invisible energy touched her, glided over her like a caress. Those eyes said that he too could be trouble. The sort of trouble she liked.
The disturbing, exciting thought made electric currents race all over her body. The part of her mind that had remained rational whispered that she was going in the wrong direction. She should have pulled back, brought their exchange back to an appropriate level, whatever that was. But where was the harm? Nothing serious could happen. Fun without consequences, her favourite sort.
She tucked her legs under herself, getting comfortable. “So, your name is Rob Regor. That’s a cool name. Isn’t one of the Morvann Islands called Regor? Is that where you grew up?”
A look of alarm flashed across his face. “No! Of course not. Regor Island is uninhabited.” He backed towards the door. “You should have everything you need, Miss Fitzwilliam.” His voice sounded formal now. “Have a good rest.”
Shit, she’d done it again. Too many questions had scared him off. It had been going so well, until she’d asked about the islands.
He was hiding something. And she was damned if she was going to let him off that easily. She put on her most innocent voice.
“What about dinner?”
That stopped him in his tracks. “Dinner?” he repeated.
She smoothed the blanket over her lap. “Prisoners are entitled to three meals per day, with drinks between them. Is that OK?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Ah, right. Of course. I’ll get you some food.” When he looked at her again, his expression veered between amusement and mild exasperation. “Is soup OK? With bread and cheese? We don’t have canteen facilities, as you probably know.”
She couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Depends. What sort of soup is it?”
He hesitated. “Vegetable, I think. If that’s not suitable, I can order a takeaway.”
Charlie pretended to ponder the options. He waited, drumming his fingers on the metal door. For the first time, she noticed a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. She’d never met a cop with tattoos. Another detail about him that didn’t fit.
“Soup will be fine, on one condition.”
The drumming sped up. He heaved a sigh. “I’m indulging you, Charlie, but don’t push it. What condition?”
“I hate eating on my own.” Especially in this cell, alone with bad memories, and fears about the future. “Could I eat with you, or next to you? I won’t disturb you or try to run away.” And she’d have a chance of grilling him some more about his background.
The dark gaze met hers. “OK. You don’t have a table in here anyway. I’ll let you eat in the interview room, where I can keep an eye on you.” A hint of steel crept into his voice. “Please don’t try anything funny.”
This time she had no desire to challenge him. His height and muscles filled the small space, but it was more than that. Behind those black eyes lurked something that she couldn’t quite puzzle out. It put her in mind of a wild animal that had wandered into a house. As if he didn’t quite belong in the regular, everyday world.
It only made her want to see more of him. To learn everything about him.