Richard Savage's Blog: The Anniversary, page 6

The Stir of Echo

The Stir of Echo
https://amzn.to/2L2yTRW
Susan Gabriel
The Homecoming

“Sign and date here, and again, right there. These papers will transfer the title of the house into your name.” The attorney offered her a gleaming gold pen. Taking the instrument in her hand, she carefully signed her name on the highlighted areas. The counsel gathered the paperwork, confirming that her signature was affixed to all of the appropriate lines on the document. “Echo,” he peered over his tortoiseshell glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “That’s quite an unusual name. I was wondering if there was a story behind it.”
There was that same stupid question again. Echo twirled her carroty locks around her index finger, wishing she had a more interesting answer. The truth was Echo didn’t have a clue why she had been saddled with the strange moniker.
“No story, really,” Echo replied. “I suppose I should make one up and have it ready for every time someone asks me that very same question.”
Echo loved to watch people’s expression when she said that. The attorney’s confused visage told her that he wasn’t certain if he had been insulted or not.
“The truth is, my parents are old hippies, very ‘into’ planetary alignments and such. I consider myself lucky that they didn’t name me something like Spring Rain, or Karma.”
The attorney tilted his head to one side, glancing over his spectacles as if she were a piece of prime rib he was sizing up for dinner. “Well, it suits you, somehow.”
If you only knew the half of it buddy, Echo thought.
As long as she could recall, Echo had “heard” things; snippets of conversations, ramblings, rants, and whispers. They were echoes from another world, bouncing off of the fabric of time into her ears.
When Echo was a little girl, her Grandmother, a darling but exceedingly superstitious woman from the old country, urged her not to worry. Gran would tuck her in at night, whispering stories of mythological Celtic gods and the gifts they bestowed on mankind. But Echo knew that it was just a grandmotherly fairy tale designed to quell her fears.
Conventional medicine had provided no answers to her questions. Physically, she was sound as a dollar. In desperation, Echo had visited The Chicago Center for Paranormal Research. There it was confirmed. She was a Clairaudient.
The researcher explained that a clairaudient was a sensitive, gifted with the keen ability to perceive sounds or words from outside sources, such as spirits or other entities. A gift? It felt more like a damned curse.
The messages she received never seemed meant for her, and Echo didn’t know how she was supposed to act on them. They were an annoying form of psychic eavesdropping, like conversations overheard in a restaurant—interesting, perhaps, in a voyeuristic way, but soon forgotten.
The purpose of this so-called gift, if there was a purpose, eluded Echo. The researcher advised her that, with diligent training, she would be able to control the communication. Echo had no desire to control anything. She hated making decisions, and right now she hated her life. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she hoped one day the condition would just disappear.
When her parents insisted she take their house in the suburbs, Echo reasoned that she was doing her parents a favor by taking the property off of their hands while they raised their consciousness in far-flung corners of the earth. In fact, she was sure she was subconsciously trying to hide, hoping the voices wouldn’t follow her here.
The attorney dropped the keys to her parents’ old Victorian into her upturned palm. His fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist. A shiver vibrated through Echo like tiny ripples on a still lake.
“You’re dreamin’ girl, and you don’t even know that you’re asleep.”
“Excuse me,” Echo stammered, “Did you say something?”
“Congratulations. I said congratulations on the house.” The attorney leaned over his desktop towards Echo. “Are you alright? You just went a little pale.”
The damned voices again; actually, this particular damn voice. It had been haunting her for months.
The attorney stretched his hand across the desk, bringing it to rest on Echo’s forearm. “Would you like a drink? I think I have some bourbon stashed around here.”
Echo peered through his conservative spectacles into his gray eyes. The attorney’s gesture was friendly, almost fatherly. Echo’s intuition sensed that it held the promise of more. A vein in her neck pulsed against her throat.
It had been more than a year; sixteen months to be exact, since she had felt the touch of a man. It was not for lack of suitors, for there were many who pursued her. Her celibacy was self-induced.
Average men were bores. Few she met knew how to talk to a woman, much less seduce one. She found them to be unskilled and selfish in the bedroom; laying their full weight on top of her while they pumped away with a predictable rhythm. Sweaty hands roughly kneaded her breasts; sloppy, smothering kisses crushed her tender mouth. Some whimpered like wounded puppies when they climaxed. It wasn’t pretty.
Echo wished that one of them, just one, would read a book on the subject, or at least aspire to some form of sexual higher education, but they appeared entirely content, even boastful, of their present skill level. Echo sure as hell wasn’t; she wanted more.
Willful and lusty, she had not yet met the man who could handle her. She was born the only child of over-indulgent parents. Some might say that she was spoiled rotten.
Her expectations were high. Finding no man that could live up to them, Echo decided to bench her booty until the right man came along. No sex was better than disappointing sex, she concluded. Besides, she was no stranger to taking care of herself in that department. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it helped to keep the horny wolf from her door until she found a suitable mate.
Echo considered the attorney’s offer. He was handsome in a suburban sort of way. Neatly trimmed hair, cut into an acceptably short style. A paunch around his middle spoke of hurried meals from fast-food sacks.
Echo scanned the paper-strewn office. Stacks of legal briefs teetered precariously, like paper monuments. Framed diplomas and licenses crookedly lined the walls. Her eyes came to rest on top of a bookcase where plastic sci-fi action figures were arranged in battle.
Oh shit, I’m throwing this one back in the water, she concluded.
Echo withdrew her arm from her counsel’s touch, uncrossed her long, lean legs and rose from the chair. A single bead of perspiration crept from beneath her thick curls, slipped down her neck, and then disappeared like a phantom between her breasts.
“Jaysus lass, you are such a dreadful girl!”
That voice again; it seemed to be taunting her, pointing out her faults. In her gut, Echo knew that this voice was not a remnant of an overheard conversation, leaking through the veil of the otherworld; this particular voice was distinctly closer, and it was speaking directly to her.
“I really should be going now. I’d like to get over to the house before dark and get settled in. Thank you for all of your help on this matter.” Echo shook hands with the attorney before walking out into the unseasonably warm autumn evening.
The daylight hours were fading. Echo turned her face towards the last rays of the sinking sun and inhaled the dewy air deeply into her lungs. It bore the sweet smell of a new beginning.
***
Echo stood in front of her newly acquired Victorian painted lady. Her parents had purchased it only two years before. A stab of guilt cut through her belly. She had never found the time in her schedule to visit her parents here. Now they were off in some foreign land, doing wonderful, altruistic things for mankind, and she was still stuck trying to figure out her place in the world.
Echo was amused by the sweet serenity of the idyllic neighborhood. Leaves glowing with the blush of late September cruised to the pavement like fairy ships on a sea of air and lay scattered along the tree-lined street. Stately, well-kept Victorian homes soared three stories high into the darkening sky, their windows aglow in the twilight.
“Well, this is just like a sappy Thomas Kincade painting,” Echo mused aloud.
A gust of wind whistled through the treetops, raining yet more dying leaves onto the bricks.
“It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed”
Damn that voice! Would she ever be alone? No matter what she did or where she went, she never had the luxury of privacy.
Okay, whoever you are, please give it a rest. W.E.C.H.O. is signing off for the day, she warned.
The illumination of the street lamp shimmered over the intricate stained glass window on the front door. As Echo turned the lock, a voice with a vague familiarity declared, “Let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
The voice was not in her ear as it usually was, but came from directly behind her. It had the same distinctive softened vowels and haunting musical lilt as the voice that had attached itself to her in recent days.
Echo whirled around in the direction of the sound. In the shadowy light of the rising crescent moon, she discerned the figure of a man with inky-black hair strolling up the walkway towards her. He was perhaps six foot two in height with broad shoulders that tapered down in a ‘V’ to a pair of slender hips.
Advancing towards her, he extended his right hand in a cordial gesture. Echo rummaged in her purse for pepper spray.
“Please forgive me, I must have startled you.” He stepped into the porch light. “My name is Flynn.”
His voice was uncannily similar to the one haunting her. But that was impossible; unless this was a dead man standing on her porch, and he most decidedly did not appear to be a corpse. He was practically the most beautiful specimen of the male species Echo had ever seen.
Indigo eyes peered out from behind thick lashes that were black as a witch’s cauldron. A lock of raven hair dangled with careless abandon above his knitted brow. Echo restrained the compulsion to reach out and smooth it back into place with her fingers.
His smile, which tilted to one side, was warm and inviting. It caused Echo to think of rainy afternoons and the things that happen under the covers on those afternoons. A tingling, heavy feeling crept into her pelvis.
“Come on” he said, “I don’t bite.” He thrust his hand nearer, beseeching her to grasp it.
“Well, girl, are you going to let your neighbor stand here all night with his arm out like he’s tryin’ to hail a taxi, or are you going to give it a polite shake?”
A neighbor, ah ha, he was a neighbor. Living in the city had made her jumpy. She felt a flush of embarrassment spread across her freckled cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed the blossoming redness of her fair skin.
Echo grasped his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. I’m Echo Sullivan.” A sense of being protected and secure washed over her as his hand enclosed hers. A fleeting image of his hands exploring her body passed through her brain. Somebody’s horny, she thought.
“Echo? Isn’t that a fine name, and aren’t you a lovely lass!” he exclaimed. Pointing towards an expansive, turreted dwelling to his left he explained, “I live in the house four doors down and I was taking a stroll on this glorious evening when I spied you, and thought, now that is a lovely lass! So tell me, what is a lovely girl named Echo Sullivan doing in my neighborhood?”
She hadn’t been called lass since her grandmother passed away. Was he for real? She just had to ask, “Are you Irish, by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Was it my accent that gave me away or am I smelling of Guinness again?”
He definitely did not smell of Guinness. He smelled like beefcake in a wrapper.
Echo laughed, “No, it was your accent.” A bit flustered, she had forgotten the original question. “I’m sorry, what was your first question?”
Echo examined his left hand—no wedding ring. Hmmm, single man, Hollywood good looks, lives in a Victorian…probably gay.
“The neighborhood…you…here,” Flynn reminded her.
“Oh, well, my parents own…er, I mean owned… this house. They moved out of the country and needed me to take over the mortgage. I needed a change of scenery, and well, here I am, living in post-card U.S.A.”
Flynn surveyed the neighborhood. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I never thought of it. It is quite picturesque. I haven’t been here that long myself, I just moved in a few months ago.”
He had the gift of gab, she had to give him that. Oddly enough, his rambling wasn’t bothering her at all. She liked the sound of his voice; in fact, she liked it very much. He was easy on the eyes too, so that made it even more tolerable.
“I had hoped that someone would be movin’ in soon. An empty house is not good for property values.” He leaned forward whispering. “Drives ‘em down, you know. People think the neighborhood might be filled with undesirables when they see a house standing empty for months. You’re not one of those undesirable characters, are you?”
Was that a mischievous twinkle glittering in his sapphire blue pools of lust? The glint in his eye made Echo want to look away. It was as if he knew her secrets—as if she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or in this case, the nookie jar.
“You appear completely desirable to me,” he concluded.
The boldness of his compliment sent up a flirt alert for Echo. Okay, maybe he wasn’t gay. She was pretty certain he was coming onto her, and she didn’t mind.
“Yes, I mean, no… I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Anyway, I’m just a loner, freelance journalist looking for some peace and quiet. I sort of need to refocus my life, you know; figure out what works and what doesn’t work anymore.”
She glanced up at the imposing house. “I thought this might be the place to start.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. This neighborhood is mostly populated with double income families. They leave for work at the dawn of day and don’t return home till sunset. Then it’s off to soccer practice, or band practice, or the PTA. All very boring, and full of scheduled activities for the family-minded. I assure you, if it’s privacy that you’re lookin’ for, then this is your destiny. It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed.”
The perfect place to go unnoticed? She had heard those words spoken just minutes before! Suddenly, feeling very uncomfortable, Echo realized that Flynn still held her hand in his. Awkwardly withdrawing from his grasp, she excused herself. “I should be getting inside and settled in.”
“Of course, of course. Nice meeting you, Echo Sullivan. I hope you find your first night in your new home an enjoyable one.” Flynn winked at her as if signaling that he knew something she didn’t. He waved a casual goodbye over his shoulder as he departed.
Echo assessed him as he walked down the sidewalk, her critical gaze summing up his physique. He was a physically powerful man, perhaps in his late thirties. His dark hair, which he wore slicked back from his forehead, ended in small twists of curls that lightly skimmed the top of his starched, folded collar. He had an exceptionally nice caboose.
His confident stride oozed sensuality. It was almost feline. Echo would not have been surprised to see him spring lithely over a wall, or slink beneath a fence.
Tango dancers in Argentina carried themselves the same way. She recalled gliding across the floor of a Buenos Aires milonga, the tango beat pounding out the rhythm, in the arms of an Argentinian dancer—strong, sure and demanding, leading the dance, asking a question with his body, and she answering him with hers.
Echo’s skin prickled with lust.
“If that was the Welcome Wagon, I’m ready to hop on board,” she muttered. She kept watch until her fascinating new neighbor was enveloped by the lurking shadows.
Bound and determined
Echo stepped into the foyer. Her eyes followed the wide oak staircase that wound its way to the second story as she maneuvered her way around the few boxes that held her personal items, stubbing her toe on the corner of one of the boxes.
“Uggg,” Echo grunted, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep into her muscles. “I’ll deal with unpacking tomorrow.”
Boards creaked beneath her feet as she padded along the hallways inspecting the darkened rooms. The house was eerily quiet; too quiet for Echo’s liking.
I’m going to have to get a cat, she thought. The silence around here is deafening.
Despite six months of vacancy, the household appeared as if the previous owner had just stepped out on an errand. Linens, toiletries, pantry items, everything had been left in perfect order.
The kitchen was spacious and bright, much more pleasant than her one bedroom walk-up in the city. She located the necessary items to brew a cup of tea. A cup of tea in a Victorian cup. How quaint, she chuckled.
In her wildest dreams Echo had never thought she would be living in the ‘burbs, and drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but life is a funny thing, she admitted. Giving a little hop, she sat on the counter and raised the cup to her lips. Breathing deeply, she filled her nostrils with the soothing scent of chamomile. She wearily rested the back of her head against the white painted cupboard. Echo allowed her mind to drift; unpacking, changing the utilities to her name, opening a bank account, registering her car, her new neighbor, Flynn. An unconscious grin appeared on her face. Thinking of her hot new neighbor seemed more preferable right now than the other mundane tasks demanding her attention.
She needed to assess him awhile and consider whether or not he was going to be playing the starring role in her next fantasy Jill-off session. She recalled his wry smile and the twinkle in his eye, and the way it caused a guilty, feverish feeling to rush over her. She especially liked the way he said her name, not pronouncing it with a harsh “eh” sound, but drawing it out softly… “Aayko”. That could come in handy in a fantasy. He oozed the confidence of a guy who had a big cock and knew how to use it. I wonder if he has a big cock? Hmmm, I’d bet my next paycheck that he does.
Had he been flirting with her or was he just the overly friendly sort? Either way, he’d made a lasting and lust-inspiring impression. Echo recognized a warmth crawling around inside of her that had nothing to do with the chamomile tea.
She started to feel a little neglected. It had been …well, it had been a long time since she’d been laid. Echo squeezed her legs together and wondered what Flynn was like between the sheets.
The wind picked up outside. Barren, skeletal tree branches scratched against the kitchen window like ghostly fingers clawing at the glass. Startled, Echo awoke from her reverie. Placing her empty cup into the sink, she slid off of the countertop and landed with a soft plop on the linoleum floor. The temperature of the room had dropped to a chilly degree. She shivered and chattered her teeth before extinguishing the light.
Briskly rubbing the cold from her arms, she climbed the wide wooden staircase that led to the second story. When she swung open the bathroom door an ancient radiator hissed angrily in the corner. A cavernous claw foot bathtub beckoned.
“Sweet!” she exclaimed. “Let’s see if the folks left some candles stashed around here.”
Finding a box of candles in the vanity, she turned them over.
“Well, peace, love and understanding,” she laughed, “Patchouli!”
Echo lit them, placing them one by one around the room. The earthy aroma wafted in the air. She turned on the tap, testing the water with her fingers. As the bathtub filled with hot water, vapor enveloped the bottom half of the room in a dense fog.
She undressed before the full-length mirror, critiquing herself. She was vain, but had good reason to be. Her ginger hair cascaded in natural waves that tickled the base of her bare shoulder blades.
I could use a trim, she criticized, twisting her body to view the back of her hair. Her legs, lean and toned from years of Yoga practice, stretched up from the floor, and traveled to her firm, rounded bottom. Echo placed her hands on her flat stomach. She blinked at her reflection. The twin pink buds of her C cup breasts stared enticingly back at her.
If nobody loves ya, guess ya gotta love yourself.
Echo lightly circled the palms of her hands over her erect nipples, pausing to tease each with a fingertip.
“I can give you what you don’t yet know that you need.”
There it was again. The voice, muffled but discernable, rudely interrupting her fantasy.
Really, mused Echo. Unless you can deliver that delicious neighbor of mine into my bed, I seriously doubt that you can give me what I need right now. I’d like a few moments of privacy, so beat it, will ya?
Testing the bathwater with her toes, Echo determined it to be to her liking; not too hot to be uncomfortable, but just temperate enough that she would have to gingerly ease her body into the bathtub.
After acclimating herself to the steamy water, Echo reclined against the cool porcelain. It was time to choreograph her fantasy.
The candles flickered in the moonlit room. Echo squirted viscous drops of perfumed gel, watching them sink into the holes of a yellow sea sponge. Her hands, slick with the syrupy mixture, stroked the sponge leisurely along the length of her neck. Above the waterline, her breasts bobbed buoyantly in the chilly air. Echo massaged the fragrant gel onto her breasts, drifting into a carefully orchestrated fantasy scenario starring her new neighbor, Flynn.
She visualized him standing over her, leering at her in a most lecherous way, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sweet six-pack. In her mind’s eye, he watched her bathe, telling her what to do and how to do it…and she did each thing he commanded.
“Oh, lovely lass,” she imagined him saying, “That’s it, touch yourself. Work the soap over your breasts until they glisten.”
Echo deposited the sponge into the water and rubbed the slippery gel onto her aching tits with her fingers, kneading them tightly against her chest. Her breasts were magnificent, heavy, round and ultra responsive to touch.
“Very nice,” her fantasy Flynn encouraged. “Now show me how you excite those mouthwatering nipples.”
Echo rolled her buds between her wet fingers, squeezing and tugging the tightening nubs until they rose from her breasts like firm, pink gumdrops. Echo’s hips writhed beneath the water, her buttocks tightening and tilting her pelvis upward in supplication.
This wasn’t going to take long. Echo knew her body like a well-read roadmap. She knew the time-saving short cuts as well as the more leisurely scenic routes.
She settled deeper into her vision.
“Hmmm, are you stirring yet? Do you recognize that aching in your pussy?” Flynn prodded. “Search below the water, Echo, to the soft down between your thighs where it’s warm and luscious.”
Echo glided her hand down her stomach and crawled her fingers over her dewy mound until her fingers encountered the lubricious fluids of her arousal. She envisioned Flynn kneeling near her, his breath tickling her ear as he watched her pleasure herself. His sonorous voice urged her onward.
“Spread your legs. I want a peek at your sweet pussy.”
Echo draped her legs widely over each side of the bathtub. Warm, soothing waves of water lapped enticingly at her cunt. In her mind’s eye, she conjured the image of Flynn’s cock springing to life as she opened her legs for him.
Echo’s breath came faster now. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep inhalation of the scented air. She squeezed her eyes tight, her fingers encouraging the blossoming sensations of orgasm. When she traced small circles around her clit, it swelled with delight beneath her touch.
She swiped her folds with her fingertip, picking up more lubrication and swirled the slick juice over her throbbing button until her pussy ached with emptiness. She wished she had unpacked her favorite eight-inch toy, but no matter.
She pushed two fingers of her left hand inside of the dewy folds causing a small, breathless “Oh” to escape from her throat. Savoring the sensation of partial fullness, her strong vaginal muscles tightened around the probing fingers as she worked them deeply into her pussy
In her vision, Flynn stood up and eased his swollen prick into her mouth. It tasted so good. It was huge, too…monstrous. He rocked it in and out of her lips. She matched the imagined rhythm of his thrusting with her fingers. Her legs shuddered and gripped the porcelain, raising her hips. Close, she was so close to orgasmic release. A little more pressure on her craving clit and she would be there.
“Stop! You wicked little vixen, stop that right now! You don’t come until I tell you to!”
A draft whistled through the leaky wooden window, extinguishing the candles and leaving Echo in darkness.
Echo opened her eyes, returning to reality. What the hell? That wasn’t supposed to be in my fantasy!
She pouted in the blackness, the only illumination coming from the glow of the waning moon. She mumbled irritably, “God, I’m pathetic! I can’t even Jill-off without being disappointed.”
Echo hurled the sea sponge across the bathtub. It split the water’s surface, sending foamy droplets splashing onto her face. The spell was broken. Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she pulled her legs inside of the bathtub in defeat.
Later, in the unsettling quiet of her bedroom, she drifted into a restless sleep.
In a deep state of dreaming, she wandered over an unfamiliar land. Drought-cracked earth stretched for miles in every direction. The barren landscape was dotted with the blackened corpses of long-dead trees. As she walked, the crunch and snap of the parched ground crackled in the still air.
With each step, the earth beneath her bare feet crumbled and broke away, falling soundlessly into a dark abyss. Scrambling to stay one step ahead of the crumbling earth, Echo frantically searched the lifeless horizon for a safe haven. Far in the distance, she spotted an immense rock formation, rising from the arid ground like an ancient monument. It stood red against the white-hot sky, its surface jagged and steep as if hewn by some great sword. Its time-worn face seemed solid and secure, strangely out of place in this fragile environment.
Blood pounded in her veins, as she raced with break-neck speed towards the protection of the rock formation, raining clods of pulverized earth into the colorless void.
She didn’t dare stop or look back, only pressing onward until breathlessly she flung herself onto the cool, hard surface of the rock base. Clinging to the stone, she looked backward. The path she had run was now a bottomless crevasse that split the earth in two. No matter what lay ahead, she could not go back the same way that she came. Echo pulled herself up to a jagged ledge, the flint-like rock lacerating the tender pads of her fingers. Perhaps if she could get to the top, she might be able to view the land from all angles and find a way out of this horrid place. With resolve and determination, she climbed to the next ledge, and the next.
The sun burned hotly against her fair skin as she searched for footholds on the steep surface. As she ascended, patches of deep green moss sprung up, cooling the soles of her feet. A dense cloud obscured the top of the formation. From here, Echo could feel its misty dampness on her face.
She must be close now. The promise spurred her onward and she found the strength to pull herself onto a smooth outcrop, where she rested for a moment, quenching her parched flesh in the cool vapor of the cloud.
Her eyes searched the endless sky for signs of life…a bird, an insect, anything that would tell her that she was not alone. But the sky only mirrored the emptiness of the landscape below.
Echo examined her hands and knees, scraped and bleeding from her climb, and wondered how she had come to such a forsaken place. If only someone would come along and tell her what to do…which direction to go. But there was only one direction left—up. Echo stood on the ledge, tilted her head skyward and stretched once again, her fingers grasping for a sturdy hold. Finding one that she felt would support her weight, she propelled her body upward, passing through the cloud line, where she found herself standing on the apex of the mountainous boulder.
She sighed with deep relief and satisfaction at having made it to the top. Walking to the opposite edge of the rock, she surveyed the landscape below. Stretched out as far as her eyes could see was a mad scene of utter chaos. There was no order to anything. Abstract structures, with walkways and wings constructed in a willy-nilly fashion, teetered and collapsed beneath their own weight. People wandered aimlessly in every direction. Everyone and everything was acting of its own accord. No one was in control.
Echo shouted out directions and commands to the swarming mass, but her words frustratingly faded into the atmosphere unheeded. She called out for help to no avail. She remained unseen and unheard—solitary and lost.
Far away, across the clouds, the faint call of her name reached her ears. Echo peered in the direction of the sound and noticed a road winding through the sky which hadn’t been there before. There was a signpost on the side of the road marked with bizarre symbols. Scratched into the sign was a single word. Tir-na-nog.
“Are you going there?” queried a small voice.
The wispy figure of a woman floated above the rock’s surface. Long tresses of white blond hair billowed around the soft features of her pale face. She wore a diaphanous gown of emerald green, which whipped around her in the wind, although Echo could feel no wind at all.
“I …I don’t know. I don’t know which way to go. I think I’m lost.” Echo confessed.
“Well, I have found that if you are lost, it often helps to just wait for someone to direct you.”
“How about you…you’re here right now.” Echo petitioned.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it is best if you just wait for someone else.”
“What if no one else ever shows up? What if I never get out of this godforsaken place? What if I die here all alone?”
The lady in green laughed, “If, if, if…so many ifs. Balls, said the Queen, if I had ‘em I’d be King.”
“What in the hell does that mean?”
The green lady clucked her tongue. “Silly girl, it means that sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, surrender and trust that the universe holds you safely in the palm of its hand.”
Leaving Echo with that enigmatic statement, the ethereal lady floated into the distance.
Before she could think on what she had been told, the rock gave way, sending her plummeting into darkness. Deeper and deeper she tumbled into the colorless abyss. She tried to cry out, but no sound emitted from her mouth. Hurtling downward, her descent jerked to an abrupt halt and she found herself suspended in mid-air, face down, her arms and legs splayed apart, held in suspension by iron shackles that encircled her wrists and ankles. She realized that she was nude.
She wanted to go back to the safety of the rock, but it had vanished. Weeping in panic, she thrashed about, wailing at the top of her lungs for help. Her cries bounced back to her across the black horizon. The more vigorously she struggled, the tighter the shackles bit into her flesh. She tried to relax and reason what her next move should be. When she relaxed, she discovered a peacefulness had come over her spirit. At that moment, she realized that the shackles were not elements of punishment; they were instruments for her safety. If they were to vanish, she would plunge headlong into the chasm.
As she willed the terror from her body, submitting to the security of the chains that bound her, a roar, like the sound of a passing train, arose from the depths. A mighty, sultry wind buffeted her naked body. It swirled and moaned, wrapping her skin in sensual sensations. The cyclone licked at her buttocks and fluttered between her legs. It caressed her breasts and tickled her thighs. Her panic subsided as she succumbed to the sensual wind. She hung in the atmosphere, suspended by the restraints, as the zephyr delighted and explored her secret, sensitive places. It was as if a multitude of tempestuous tongues teased and pleasured her flesh until she surrendered to orgasmic release.

Secret Santa

Secret Santa
https://amzn.to/2yrefWx
Keren Hughes
Prologue

Once upon a time, here in the small town of Snowflake, everything was as close to perfect as you could get. The town thrived, stores always did good trade and the people always smiled like their hearts were full to bursting. We chatted, we laughed, we all got along. That was until the new mayor came along. She wanted to introduce—what she called “better”—business strategies. She brought with her a shit-ton of pie charts, graphs, all sorts of things that someone with a background in business, someone with a degree in it, would bring with them. The new mayor sucked. Literally. She drained the life out of our small town. Instead of attracting business, she pushed it away…in droves.
Soon the once thriving businesses were going bust. What had gone wrong? The mayor couldn’t answer that. But I could. She’d come in on her high horse with her grand plans to renovate an already thriving town and she’d decimated just about everything instead. How? That I’m not sure about. Maybe she made the business owners unhappy. Maybe she thought that there was room for improvement—even though nobody else in town felt that way. Maybe she backed people into a corner and, rather than suffer under her, they decided to move away, taking their business to where it could continue to do well, out of her reach.
I’m not saying that some of her ideas weren’t good. I’m not saying that everything she suggested was wrong. But when Snowflake started looking like a ghost town, that’s when she finally gave up trying, decided to resign as mayor and hightailed it out of town, back the way she’d come. Only this time, she wasn’t on a high horse. She no longer lived in an ivory tower, ordering people to “do as she said”. This time, she knew that not even her business degree was going to save her.
What could our small town do to attract business owners back? What could we do to bring people back to line our streets with smiles on their faces? It seemed that very little could be done, and we were going to fade into insignificance while our neighboring towns continued to enjoy the boost to their economy.
The day Preston Wolfric Fitzgerald III arrived in Snowflake was a day we’d never forget. He came promising he’d undo all the bad that the previous mayor had done. He swore he’d help heal our town. Trouble was, his heart wasn’t really in it. He’d been sent by his grandfather, Preston Wolfric Fitzgerald I, a man who made his fortune off the misery of others. He strode around like he was untouchable—his ice-cold manner doing nothing to endear him to people—and he razed everything to the ground so he could continue to build his empire. I never met the guy and I can’t say I was sorry when I heard he’d passed away. His son had died at the tender age of forty-three, a heart attack by all accounts. So, his grandson had inherited the company and everything that went with it. That’s when he came to Snowflake and started to help us rebuild.
Preston Wolfric Fitzgerald III was just as untouchable as you would think a man with a name like that would be. He was rich, filthy rich, and outrageously handsome—so handsome it should be a crime, for which he’d end up in jail for a life sentence—his dark hair and dark, brooding eyes made him painful to look at. His chiseled jaw and slick-backed hair made him look like a model straight off the cover of GQ magazine. Of course, his looks were the only good thing about him. Other than that, he had no admirable traits. He was stuffy, flash, stubborn and bordered on being an arrogant ass. Did I say bordered on? I mean he was an arrogant ass.
Seriously, I don’t know where it is that they breed men like him, but wherever it is, they need to start thinking of installing more endearing qualities in their handsome, infuriating jerk excuses for men. And if this is what the men are like, heaven forbid I meet a woman made of the same stock. I’d probably end up in jail for doing something I would later realize I didn’t regret.
To this day, Preston Wolfric Fitzgerald III makes me mad as hell. I’ll give him his due—although it took him a while, he did actually attract business back to our town. He did bring our little town into the twenty-first century—which is actually an improvement on how it was before, just don’t tell him I said that. But he’s also infuriating and smug, and drives a sleek black Bugatti Veyron, which I am totally jealous of.
He only wears Armani suits that must cost a bare minimum of about three month’s wages to me. I have to admit, a handsome man in a well-tailored suit is somewhat a turn on. A black three-piece suit, with a crisp white shirt and a black tie to complete the look, this man really is the epitome of … well, I can’t quite describe it actually … he’s … knee-quakingly desirable. Is that even a thing? If not, it should be. He made me melt into an incoherent puddle of goo at his feet the moment I met him. He shook my hand and I felt the electricity run up my arm and zip all the way down my spine. I’m one of the only three original businesses left in this town—well, not me, my store is, but you catch my drift. I stood there in front of this Adonis and my mouth went as dry as the Sahara. I felt like I’d been eating cotton wool or something because I couldn’t produce saliva, never mind words.
His hand had dwarfed mine and it felt like mine was made to fit in his palm. His Patek Phillipe watch glinted in the sunlight and the hairs on his forearm were a stark contrast to mine. I don’t know why I kept making so many mental comparisons between us, it’s not like he was here to hook up with me—not that I like “hooking-up” with guys, I’m not built that way. I actually prefer real relationships to random sex. But this man made me quiver at the mere touch of his hand on mine. If that’s what he could do when he wasn’t trying, I’d hate to see what he could do when he really put his mind to it. Why, oh why, had I been thinking about what an orgasm from this man would feel like when all I actually wanted to do was smack him in his far too gorgeous face?!
Broad shoulders had caught my attention and I was mentally berating myself for getting distracted when he was talking about my business and its role here in Snowflake. I’d missed most of what he’d said and realized I was never going to admit that to him. He’d think I was a complete moron—if he didn’t already—and I didn’t want to give him any ammunition against me in case he decided to try and crush my business under his—no doubt designer—shoe while he brought someone in that he thought could do a better job.
I’ll be a grown-up—I’m a mature, sensible woman, after all—and admit that Snowflake is now better than the once thriving town it used to be. And it’s all thanks to Mr. Handsome. But his arrogance is his downfall. He’s a little like the ex-mayor, thinking that, because he has money and business acumen, everyone will bow down to him and lick his—like I say, no doubt designer—shoes. But while everyone else in this town is either under his spell, or at least begrudgingly doing his bidding, I am bucking against his leadership—much like I wish I was bucking my hips as I grind myself against him—and I am going to keep doing things my way. My store did well for itself before he came along, and I am determined that it will stay that way long after he’s got bored of fulfilling his grandfather’s wishes and has left this town behind him in his Bugatti’s rearview mirror.
I’m Nye Mackenzie—or as my mother calls me, Aneurin—and Snowflake is my home. It’s where I was born and where I’ll die. I am determined to show Mr Pearly-White Grin that Snowflake is more than a business empire. It’s a home. Full of happy families who have been here for generations before he came along and will have descendants here long after he’s left. It’s somewhere I want to have a family of my own one day. Or I would if an ex-boyfriend didn’t live around every corner.
I’m not a slut or anything, the town is just that small that a lot of people have dated each other here and I’m no different. But I don’t want children with any of those exes; I don’t want to marry the cocky, self-assured, self-obsessed asshole I was engaged to this time last year. Why had I ever wanted to become Mrs. Aneurin Dacre anyway? What kind of stupid name was that? I mean, come on, my mother already gave me a stupid first name—pronounced “an-eye-rin’—so why did I need a stupid surname to go with it? Dacre—pronounced “dayker” in case you were wondering—two stupidly pronounced names meshed together. Yeah, I was glad I’d given that a swerve.
Yes, there was a time when I’d once considered myself the luckiest girl in the world that Mal had looked at me like I was the only woman on Earth. But then I’d caught him playing around with some floozy waitress from the dive bar in the next town over. That was enough to put him on my shit list for life. Not that he didn’t try to earn my love back with stupid romantic gestures and shit. But I wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now. I’m happily single. Living my life and doing things my own way. My store is doing well and that’s enough for me.
So, why is it that I catch myself wondering what life would be like if I was Mrs. Aneurin Fitzgerald?
I’m not a person who is impressed by money or flash cars or expensive things—I’ve never been the materialistic type—but sometimes I wonder if I could scale the walls of Preston’s ivory tower and bring him down to reality. Why do women think they can change men? I could never catch a man like that’s eye, let alone tame his heart.
No doubt he has women falling at his feet everywhere he goes. All he has to do is flutter those long eyelashes or give them the puppy-dog eyes and they’d shed their clothes and fall into his bed. No doubt he’d give them the best sex of their lives and then discard them like a used tissue. A man like him looks like he’d have impressive sexual prowess. He oozes sex appeal from every pore.
Look at me, talking like I’m bothered what he’d be like in bed—whether he could give me an orgasm to make my toes curl—or what he does with his life. It’s none of my business and I really don’t care. He can bed all the women in this town and I still wouldn’t care.
I should really be focusing on my own life. On my store. On Christmas, which is just around the corner.
Christmas is a big occasion in Snowflake. The people in town seem to care that we have a name synonymous with the occasion, so they decorate like it’s going out of fashion. We literally have the biggest tree in the town center. It gets decorated and then we have an official tree-lighting ceremony where all the residents and out-of-towners gather to watch it come to life.
We have a new mayor, one much less like her predecessor. She cares about the town and its people. She comes out to officially light our tree and join in the celebrations. Unlike Mr “Moneybags” who probably sits at home, brooding, without a tree and devoid of Christmas spirit—much like Ebenezer Scrooge—drinking expensive whiskey from a decanter, God forbid he pour it from the bottle.
In fact, he probably doesn’t pour it at all. He probably has a manservant—or should I be saying butler—do all that for him. A maid to clean his far from humble home. A home that’s probably so big he rattles about in it, occupying only a fraction of its space. He probably has a chauffeur to drive him into Snowflake. I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I actually watch when he arrives or departs. I might, if I knew when he was coming. But then again, maybe not. After all, I don’t care for his comings and goings. At least that’s what I tell myself. I do know one thing; this is his first Christmas in Snowflake and we are aiming to make it our best yet. Most people are probably out to impress him, kissing his oh-so-shiny shoes. Not me. I’m going to make this Christmas my best yet purely because it makes me feel good. I don’t care what Mr “Flash with The Cash” thinks. Oh, who am I even kidding here? Myself, mostly.


Chapter One

Nye

“This Christmas display will be the death of me,” my assistant, Paisley, remarks.
“More likely the boss will be the death of you if you don’t help her get it right,” I reply with a wink and a grin.
“Why did you have to volunteer our help to your bloody mother, Nye? Her ideas are always grandiose and goddamn awful to boot.”
That’s true. My mother has great taste and a great eye for interior design, but when it comes to Christmas, she is full-on. If you ask me, sometimes less is more. But if you ask my mother, she’ll always say that it needs “more this” or “more that”. She can’t see that she needs to scale back her tacky Christmas decorations.
I shouldn’t say they’re tacky, they usually cost her a fortune. She doesn’t buy “mass produced” stuff, it’s usually bespoke, one of a kind. But just because something is a one-off with a hefty price tag, that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily pretty to look at. My mother has this thing for shiny little trinkets, saying she has an eye for pretty things, like a magpie. In reality, some of it looks like you could pick it up at a flea market. Not that I would ever tell Evelyn that. I just smile and nod. It’s better to appease Evelyn Mackenzie than it is to try and go against her. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with her many times in my thirty-one years on this earth. And I’ve lost more battles than I can count on both of my hands and feet combined.
“You know Evelyn goes OTT. Every damn year she wants the biggest, the best, the most expensive.”
“Yeah, I’m just glad it’s not my store she’s decorating.”
The one and only year I had allowed her to help me design a display for my clothing boutique, she had made it look like some cheap, crass-looking—I don’t actually have words for it, but believe me, it was farcical and awful. Paisley begged me to never let my mother take the reins again, and I had to completely agree. Once she’d left the store, we had to take a few things down and put them in the storeroom. I just couldn’t stand to look at a place that looked like Dr. Seuss had thrown up Christmas on it.
“Holy crap!” Paisley exclaims as she nearly drops her end of the large ornament we are trying to squeeze into the badly thought-out display.
How can my mother have such an eye for normal, everyday interior design, but be so awful when it comes to Christmas? And how did she rope me into helping put it all together for her? When I say help, I mean do it for her. Hence why I’d asked Paisley to help, because Evelyn had other things she needed to attend to. Some function or other is of higher importance than silly little things like actually doing your own decorating. Yes, that’s heavy on the sarcasm.
Evelyn Mackenzie has far more important things to do than anything that remotely resembles having to get her hands dirty. She used to be less standoffish and more like an actual mother, a real human being. However, since she divorced my father, men have been courting her attention. They’re always trying to impress her with some fancy cordon bleu restaurant or something. Trouble is, we don’t have many of those in town. We also don’t have many single men over a certain age—fifty-four—in town, so she has to limit her expectations. They can’t all have fat chequebooks and deep pockets.
At one point, my mother didn’t either, it was when she and my father divorced three years ago that she got more money. Dad was the rich one. Sometimes I think she married him for love and other times, I wonder if it wasn’t a little—if not a lot—to do with his bank balance. When they split up, I was happy. She seemed to drain my dad of any energy. She’s enough to sap a power station, in all honesty. Not many kids say they’re happy when their parent's divorce, but I wasn’t a kid, I was twenty-eight, and I had seen firsthand what their marriage had been like.
I’m sure they loved each other when they first got together and when they first had me. But by the time they’d been married for thirty-three years, it had taken its toll on them both. Pretending can be so hard. This is why I want someone to love me for me and not what my bank balance looks like or what they stand to gain from being with me, other than my love and all that comes with it, of course.
“Thank f—I mean, thank goodness that’s done,” Paisley says as she stands back to survey the display.
“You don’t say. And Evelyn isn’t here, you can say fuck.”
She giggles and looks at me. “I just feel like a naughty schoolgirl who’s going to get her mouth washed out with soap for cursing.”
“Trust me, me too when she’s around. Always have to be on my guard for what comes out of my mouth. I actually have to think before I speak. She once did wash my mouth out with soap.”
“She did not?” Paisley gasps, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I was about eighteen. I was drunk. She didn’t like it. Nor did my dad, but he’s not a jerk with a stick up his ass, unlike my mother. Don’t worry, it was only a tiny bit of soap and my dad yanked it out of her hand like lightning. He didn’t speak to her for the next couple of days, swearing straight up and down it was akin to some sort of child abuse.”
“Thank god for Beckett.”
“Yeah, I thought he’d have a bloody stroke or something, the way he ripped into her for doing it. I was upstairs in my room and I could hear them as clear as crystal.”
“I always feel like I’m about twelve years old around Evelyn. She scares me.”
“I feel like an errant child too, and I’m thirty-one. Sometimes I adore my mother, and other times, I think she should be grateful I’m still talking to her.”
As if talking about the devil could make them appear, I hear my mother’s key in the lock.
“Oh no, girls, that Santa is in completely the wrong place,” she chides as she sees our display.
“Mother, we’ve followed your very detailed instructions. That’s where you said he’s supposed to be.”
“Yes, well, now I see it in person, I want it moved. In fact…”
She goes on to make us move some of the decorations around. Not lifting a finger to help, Evelyn dictates while Paisley and I do all the hard work.
“It’s nearly perfect, girls, it’s just that I can’t help but feel something is missing.”
Missing? She has just about everything you could imagine here and yet she wants more? Typical Evelyn Mackenzie. Anal retentive is how best to describe her. What she wants, she gets. Typically, I am the one to furnish her every need.
“We’ve got to get back to the store, mother. I’m sorry. We have our own display to perfect before we open in the morning. I can’t open while everything is strewn about everywhere.”
“Oh yes, dear. You get along and do just that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure out what I’m missing and then you can come and sort it out for me.”
Heaven forbid I embarrass my mother, which is why I invented the excuse to get out of here. If she thinks the store is a mess, she will think it reflects on her—because everything is about her—and she wouldn’t want that.
At long last, Paisley and I can finally leave this godforsaken place and grab a bottle of wine and a takeaway. It’s been a long-ass day. My limbs are weary from hefting heavy objects around for hours. Poor Paisley must be shattered. It’s a good job she’d do anything for her best friend. She’d never have let me do all this on my own. She knows only too well what my mother is like.
Having grown up together, gone to school together, been there for all the milestones in each other’s lives, I love Paisley like the sister I never had.
She was only too happy to come and work for me when I got Style in Snowflake up and running. I had the business acumen and the idea for the store and Paisley has the eye for design. She helps to choose the clothes we stock. She has a unique sense of style and it’s worked well for the store over the years. She’s so much more than just my assistant and I am grateful to have her in my life. So much so, that I want to offer her a share in the business—she just doesn’t know it yet. I’m planning on it being her Christmas present.
“Thank you, mother. We’ll get going and leave you to it,” I say, grabbing Paisley’s arm and pulling her along to make our great escape.
“Of course, darling. You need that store looking shipshape and Bristol fashion.”
Such an odd turn of phrase, but that’s my mother for you.
Paisley and I make good our escape and jump into my car—a Mercedes Benz E Class that my mother bought me for my thirtieth birthday. I’d always driven a little Honda Civic and I loved that car, but my mother wants me to keep up appearances. All that matters to her is how things look from the outside. I didn’t want the new car, but I couldn’t reject her gift, even though it was purchased with some of the money she got when she divorced my father. So, I drive this sleek black car around because it’s what’s expected of me and I bite my lip and refrain from saying something I might later regret.
“God I’m glad to be out of there,” Paisley says as she searches my playlist.
“Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt begins to play and Paisley sings along in that sweet voice of hers.
***
Full up from the takeaway, Paisley and I sit back with a glass of wine in hand. It’s nice to just sit in my lounge and relax. My Christmas tree in the corner is decorated tastefully; garlands adorn the inglenook fireplace and windowsills. It looks homely and full of festive spirit in here. Very much unlike my mother, my taste is … minimalistic, I guess. Some might say sparse, but I think it’s just enough.
My iPod is playing quietly in the background—Christmas songs, of course. It’s nice to be able to sit here with my feet up, a blanket wrapped around me, made by my grandmother, with my best friend making idle chitchat.
We told my mother a white lie—or technically I told her the lie, not Paisley—because the store looks perfect. We got all our decorating done last night, knowing I had to take today off to help my mother. That was our last day off in the run-up to Christmas though, except for Sundays, when the store is always closed. Though in the couple of weeks before Christmas, I open up on Sundays too. I give Paisley the time off to spend as she chooses, knowing I can handle the odd day without her there.
This is the busiest time of the year, so enjoying a glass or two of wine is my way of relaxing my overworked muscles.
Paisley decides to go home and get an early night, knowing we have an early start tomorrow. After seeing her off in a cab, I turn off all the lights downstairs, including those on the tree, I make my way up to my room and strip off before walking into my en-suite to take a hot shower before bed.


Chapter Two

Preston

Snowflake is a quaint, small town with a lot of potential. It was like a ghost town when I arrived. It seemed I had arrived at just the right time. Of course, the locals didn’t like me coming into their territory. There were those that accepted the changes, but there were more that opposed them. I don’t know why, considering any changes to this town were being made for the good. I didn’t want to walk in here and tear the place down and start again. My grandfather may have been that kind of man, but I am not him. Most people didn’t believe me until I showed them what I had to give.
But there’s one resident of this town, one small business owner that has resisted my help time and time again. She’s stubborn, set in her ways, sees me as some kind of heartless monster. I think she thinks I’m the Grinch who stole Christmas, which is an unfair comparison. I only want the best for all the stores here, for their owners and staff, and for the residents of Snowflake in general. I need to make Aneurin Mackenzie see that I am not a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Usually, I wouldn’t care what women think of me, but she’s not just any woman. She’s a woman who’s gone toe-to-toe with me on several occasions and has stood her ground. She’s a woman who really holds her own and doesn’t bow down to anyone. I guess you could say that her nature appeals to me. She’s the opposite of the submissive women I usually meet. The ones who would do anything and everything I ask. I say “jump” and they ask how high.
Typically, it’s always been the submissive ones that I have been attracted to. I can bend them to my will. But Aneurin is intriguing and I want to know her better. I want to help her grow her business—that’s what I’m here to do for the town, after all—but I also want to know what makes her tick. I want to know how to get under her skin the way she has done with me.
I didn’t come to this town looking for a relationship, I’m not actually a “relationship” kind of guy. I prefer to keep it casual and the women I have relations with understand that. They know where they stand. However, Aneurin has me tangled up in knots. I want what I can’t have.
Aneurin Mackenzie is beautiful—her dark hair flowing in gentle waves, eyes a stunning green that seem to darken depending on her mood. They go a really dark hue when she’s mad. I’d know, considering how many times I’ve made her mad. She doesn’t wear heavy makeup, unlike most women I know. Instead she looks like she wears a little mascara and lip gloss: the natural look. That lip gloss—it gets me hard just thinking of the scent of it combined with the scent of her shampoo and perfume.
She’s sexy as hell when she gets angry, such as when I call her Aneurin instead of Nye, unlike everyone else . It’s a beautiful name, so I don’t like to shorten it. Plus, I like seeing her eyes flash and her nostrils flare when I call her by her full name. I like a feisty woman with a lot of sass. Who knew? I sure didn’t.
If I had to say I have a specific type, I’d say blonde hair, blue eyes and legs that go on for miles. Aneurin is everything that hasn’t been my type until the day I moved here to Snowflake. Damn her for burying herself under my skin like an itch I need to scratch. Maybe if I slept with her, it would get her out of my system. The only trouble is, she isn’t attracted to me. Trust me to want the one girl in town who won’t fall at my feet.
I don’t know why she won’t submit. I mean, I’m tall, have dark hair, and brown eyes that I’ve been complimented on too many times to count. I’m good looking, dress well … I’m the epitome of the whole “tall, dark and handsome” thing. How can she not be even a little attracted to me? Plus, I drive a fucking Bugatti Veyron, who wouldn’t be impressed at that? I have more money than I know what to do with. I usually splash it out on extravagant things like my collection of expensive watches and suits. I thought women liked the whole suited and booted look. Goodness knows you’d never find me in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. My idea of casual is not wearing a suit jacket or waistcoat and maybe losing the tie. But, at the very least, I always wear a shirt and suit trousers.
My phone dings with an incoming text, so I slip it from my pocket and read:
Jack: Are we going out tonight?
I contemplate saying no because I have so much paperwork to get through and it’s already early evening.
Another text chimes:
Jack: We should get shit-faced. I’m totally up for that! Whiskey on you though, dude. You’re the one with the cushy bank balance, after all.
I laugh. My best friend is a total tool. He knows I can’t resist the temptation of a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan. But he also knows, just like I do, that he can’t afford my expensive tastes.
Preston: I don’t know, man. Loads of paperwork to get through.
I cast my eye over the rather large piles of paper on my desk. I itch to get rid of it all. I want a paperless office. Not just because it’s better for the environment—although that is a factor—but because I like clean lines. I don’t like mess. Even tidied up, this shit still looks a mess.
My phone chimes again.
Jack: Dude, paperwork will still be there tomorrow. Come on out and let loose. Pull a blondie with big boobs and a great ass. Take her home, show her a good time. Release some of this pent-up shit you got going on.
Trust Jack to think sex is the answer to everything. But he has a point about releasing my pent-up aggression. I either punch the shit out of the bag in the gym, or I take my pick of women and let her help ease the tension. But I don’t want that tonight. Evelyn Mackenzie and I had a meeting with the mayor earlier about the Christmas decorations in town and the lighting of the tree. They want me to come down from my ivory tower and be at the ceremony for my first Christmas here. Talking to Evelyn always makes me think of her daughter, and when that happens some random chick from the bar just won’t cut it.
I tap out a reply:
Preston: It’s a no to the woman, but I’ll come out for an hour or two. Just give me 30 minutes to make a couple of phone calls. I’ll meet you in Mistletoe & Wine. Damn, this town has some stupid names for places!
Jack: It sure does, but then the town itself has a name synonymous with Christmas. I don’t know, maybe it’s rubbing off on me. It’s quirky. Can you hurry up and come and pay for this whiskey? Not sure I can afford the stuff you drink, so I’ll stick with the cheap stuff … for now. I’ll get the barman to crack a Macallan open when you arrive.
Trust him. He knows I’ll pick up the tab and I really hate the cheap stuff. It has an almost chemical-like burn, whereas the stuff I drink is smooth as it warms its way down your throat.
Preston: Look at you with your big words. Did someone eat a dictionary for breakfast? Cool your jets and I’ll meet you there soon.
I see three dots bouncing, meaning he’s replying.
Jack: Suck a dick, man. I know big words, just like you. I just don’t need to use them all the time.
Laughing, I slip my phone back in my pocket and pick up the receiver on my desk to make a couple of quick business calls that I had intended to make tomorrow. That way, at least if I have a banging head in the morning, I’ll have a head start on the day.
***
I reach the bar and Jack swivels on his stool to face me.
“About you time you got here, my throat feels like it’s on fire. I’ve told the barman to open a bottle of the good stuff, he just needs your credit card to open a tab.”
I pass my card over to the barman, he swipes it and hands it back along with an open bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
Jack and I sit and shoot the breeze for a while; I need to unwind and stop stressing about the amount of work I have to do. That’s the good thing about my best friend, he knows my grandfather was an ass, and that it all went to shit when my father passed away so young and I had to take on the family business. It’s not a job I ever wanted to do. It didn’t fit in with my life plan at all. Why did I have to be an only child, so the mantle got passed to me? If only my father hadn’t passed away. He was the one who had the head for the family business. Yeah, I’d gone to business school, but I didn’t earn my degree so that I could follow in their footsteps. I’d wanted to be my own man and start my own business venture. None of that mattered when it came to the crunch though. My mother told me I had no choice because she didn’t know what she was doing and if I didn’t step into the breach the family business would fold. Good guilt trip, Mom.
After the fourth glass of whiskey, I spot a gorgeous brunette standing across the bar from me. Her green gaze collides with mine and it feels like my heart has stopped. She breaks my gaze and I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. My heart thunders in my chest, feeling like it’ll break free any moment. My cock gets hard just seeing her in that emerald green mini-dress. The material clings to her like a second skin and I find myself jealous of a dress. I want to be molded to her curves in the same way. I want to touch her, tease her, taste her—every inch of her. I want her to succumb to her needs and submit to me. Or do I want her to dominate me? Either way, she’s like a match, where I am a tank of gas. Together, we’d be combustible. I’m damn sure of it.
Summoning the courage, I hold my shoulders back and my head up as I walk in her direction. Jack calls something to me, but I don’t catch it; my focus is purely on Aneurin.
There’s a blonde woman dressed in red standing next to her. She might be my usual type, if I hadn’t got a thing about this particular brunette. Long blonde hair left loose in waves, brown eyes that look like she could give you the perfect “puppy dog eye” look. Her red dress is mid-thigh length and made of some sort of floaty material. There’s no doubt she’s an attractive woman, but I’m zeroing in on a woman in green.
Pulling up short, I think what I’m about to say. I actually have no idea. My mind has gone blank like someone has erased everything, including my own name.
Up close, the dress she’s wearing looks more like it’s painted on. It clings to all the right places. A generous amount of cleavage on show, but not enough to be indecent. Her legs go on for miles and end in green high heels that make my cock throb as I think about her wearing nothing except those shoes.
The blonde whispers something to Aneurin and she looks my way. Her smile could light the whole room. Her perfect white teeth make me zero in on her mouth. Her lips are painted a soft pink. I’m not sure if it’s her usual lip gloss, but they look as soft and kissable as they do whenever I see her.
“Preston,” she says and gives me a small nod. Her chest blushes with a slight rosy glow that rushes up to her cheeks.
“Aneurin,” I reply with my trademark smirk.
“How many times do I have to tell you; my name is Nye.”
“I’m sorry, darling. It’s a beautiful name and I like using it.”
“It’s so formal. Only my mother and you ever address me as such. It’s a pain in the ass.”
“I’m sorry, Aneurin. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass.”
I shrug and grin at her. She blushes again at the double meaning behind my words. Her blonde friend nudges her with her elbow.
“Sorry, Paisley, this is Preston. Preston, this is my assistant at Style in Snowflake, Paisley.”
Paisley holds her hand out for me to shake, so I take her palm in mine and shake it firmly.
“It’s nice to meet you at last,” she says. “Nye has told me about you.”
“I’m sure she told you all good things, right?!”
“Umm…” she blushes, and I can tell Aneurin has told her I’m an asshole.
It’s true; I am an asshole. I get what I want, when I want it. I’m not used to waiting. In this case, all I want to do is help Aneurin build her business up to attract more customers, people from out of town, get the business online and attract people via social media—well, that may not be all I want, but it is in the business sense of things. I don’t know why she’s so resistant to my plans.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. I’m not the monster under the bed that I’m sure people think I am.”
I flash her my megawatt grin, hoping to win her over. Maybe she can help me find my way to Aneurin, in the business sense. I don’t think she’d exactly be up for helping me get to know her boss in the carnal sense. But I’ll take what I can get.
“I’m sure you’re not,” she says softly.
“Is there something I can do for you, Preston?” Aneurin asks, a little annoyance in her tone.
“I just wanted to come and say hello. I’m still getting to know people here and finding my way around.”
“Nye could help you get to know people. She’s lived in Snowflake all her life. There isn’t anyone here that she doesn’t know,” Paisley says as she looks between the two of us.
“Oh yes, I’ll be his personal tour guide,” Aneurin says with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“Don’t be snippy, Nye, it doesn’t suit you,” Paisley says.
“Sarcasm is my second language,” Aneurin replies before taking a sip of her cocktail.
I don’t know what she’s drinking, but it’s pink and frilly. Totally girly. It suits her.
“I’ll leave you girls to it,” I say, second-guessing myself for ever venturing to come and speak to her.
“Don’t go,” Paisley chimes in before I turn on my heel.
Aneurin sighs and puts her drink back on the bar.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. Pull up a stool and I’ll get you a drink,” she relents, looking directly into my eyes.
“I’ll get us a round in,” I say as I pull up an empty barstool.
“Don’t worry about me, I should be getting home. Early start in the morning,” Paisley says as she places her empty glass on the bar.
“Don’t leave on my account.”
“Oh, I’m not. I need to get a good night’s sleep.”
Paisley shrugs on her coat and kisses Aneurin on the cheek, whispering something to her before she bids us both goodnight.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Aneurin says in what I could be forgiven for thinking is a lusty tone of voice.
I look back to see where Jack is and notice he’s no longer sitting at the bar. I pull out my phone and send him a quick text. He replies that he decided to leave me and Aneurin to it. He’d also seen “the blonde” as he puts it, leaving the bar and thought he’d go and chat to her. I tap out a text wishing him luck and telling him her name.
Sitting opposite Aneurin, I’m hypnotized by her green eyes. They’re framed by long, thick lashes and are quite possibly the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. As I look at her, her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from leaning in to lick the same path as her tongue.
“So, how’s life here in the small town of Snowflake?” she asks me.
“I’m settling in … I think. I still don’t really know my way around. I spend too much time in the office and at meetings to actually get out and look around the town.”
“Well, I know I was a sarcastic cow before, but actually I would be a pretty good tour guide of this place. Paisley was right. I was born here, and I’ll probably die here. It’s all I’ve known for thirty-one years.”
She doesn’t look a day over twenty-five and although women generally like to be complimented, I’m not so sure I could buy Aneurin’s affection with words.
“It’s a beautiful little place and the tree in the center of town makes it feel very festive. I saw it on the way in and I’ve been asked to light the tree by the mayor.”
“You have? I thought she was doing that herself as she’s new here.”
“She asked me, but I haven’t agreed … yet. Do you think I ought to?”
“Unless you’re Ebenezer Scrooge…”
“I have no problem with Christmas. I’m just not sure I should be the one to light the tree considering I’m new to town. Seems that’s exactly why the mayor wants me to, but that’s one reason I’m not sure I should.”
“It’s a way to get to know the people in town. Everyone comes out to see the lights come on.”
The barman comes over and I order a glass of Macallan and whatever it is Aneurin is drinking.
“I guess…”
I trail off as I take in her long legs as she crosses one over the other. The hem of her dress rides up and I have to remind myself to be a gentleman and not look.
We talk for a while longer before Aneurin says she has to call it a night. I have work early too, but I’d much rather spend more time in her company.
She orders a cab via the app on her phone and I escort her outside to wait. I see she hasn’t brought a coat, so I shrug out of my suit jacket and drape it around her shoulders. Smiling at me shyly, she thanks me for the gesture.
The lamppost casts a flattering glow and I can’t help but look her over from head to toe. She could quite possibly be the most attractive woman I have ever met. Her hair blows in the gentle breeze and her green eyes are like the prettiest, rarest gems in the world.
Any other time, I’d be trying to guess why she isn’t putty in my hands, why she isn’t coming home with me for the night—just a hookup, a night of fun that wouldn’t be repeated—but Nye is different. I prefer to call her by her full name, but she insisted that if we are to be friends, I am not to call her Aneurin because that’s an annoyance reserved only for her mother.
Why is she different? I can’t quite put my finger on a defining reason, I guess there are several. If I were to list them, I guess I’d say it’s because she’s unlike the random women that I normally meet. Maybe that’s because I’m seeing her through different eyes. I normally look for fun, flirty, bubbly, vivacious women, but even though Nye is all of those things and more, she’s not as vapid and vacuous as them. There’s something that separates her and puts her in a different class—one I’ve never seen any other woman in before—that makes me see and treat her differently. I want to respect her and gain her respect too. We didn’t start off on the best footing, but I want to change that. I guess you could say I breezed into town on my high horse—a bit like my grandfather would have done in his day—and tried to get her to adapt to all the changes I anticipated making to her business.
It’s not that I want to change her boutique itself, nor the beautiful women’s clothing that they sell. She has a great USP—unique selling point—and that’s done her well this far. Her style is somewhat different to other clothing stores. But it could be so much more. If she allowed me to create a website for Style in Snowflake, to advertise on social media and get the word out, her business could grow exponentially. The only problem is, she won’t listen to me and I don’t know how to change that.
Her cab pulls up and I act like the gentleman my mother brought me up to be as I open the passenger door for her. She thanks me and flashes me that beautiful smile of hers. There’s something about a woman with a gorgeous smile that makes my knees weak. Her lips are full and look like they’d be soft to touch and caress with my own. I know that won’t happen, but a boy can dream.
“Goodnight, Preston, and thank you for the drinks … and the company.”
“Goodnight, Nye. Safe journey home.”
I close the door behind her and watch as the cab pulls away. I can’t tell if she’s looking back, but I stay and watch as it drives off into the distance.
I call myself a cab and stand outside in the crisp night air, taking deep, calming breaths to try and get my heartbeat back into its regular rhythm. My heart beats and my palms get clammy like a teenage boy whenever I am around Aneurin. I wish I could figure out why.

SAFE

SAFE
https://amzn.to/2L1LHbg
Keren Hughes
Prologue

I’ve always been a believer that you have to play the hand you’re dealt in life and, much like in poker, you have to bluff your way through sometimes. Keep your cards close to your chest; never let anyone see what hand you’re playing. I like to think I have a good poker face; that I don’t have a ‘tell’ but those closest to me know I haven’t always had things easy. My ex-fiancé left nearly three and a half years ago, leaving me a single, disabled mother. My son, Caleb, is ten years old and is an absolute Godsend. He’s my raison d'être. The reason I get up in a morning, the reason I keep going even when the going gets tough. Having Caleb has made me a different person. Becoming a mother is the single most defining thing I have ever done; the very best thing I ever did. It’s not been easy, but nothing worthwhile in life is ever easy.
I thought that I wouldn’t cope as a single mother. Thank goodness I’ve managed to prove myself wrong. My son is growing up to be such a wonderful young man. He’s not perfect, but then who is? I know I’m not the image of perfection, inside or out. But it’s not about him being the model of perfection; it’s about him being the very best that he can be, and every day he makes me proud to call myself his mum. He’s a clever boy; does well in school. You only have to hold a conversation with him to know how smart he is. The only drawback is that he can have a tendency to be a bit of a loner. At school he has friends, but he’d rather play on his own or in a small group.
The trouble is his tendency to isolate himself is at an all-time high lately. He’s becoming more withdrawn, and I wonder whether it has anything to do with my ex leaving. He was the only dad Caleb ever knew. His biological dad has never been in the picture, so Caleb doesn’t have a father figure in his life. Is this why his behaviour is changing? Does he need a father figure around? I know I can’t just enter into a relationship to give Caleb what he needs. I need to be with someone because I want to be. But that’s just it. I don’t want to be.
Caleb doesn’t talk about his real dad except to say he’s glad he’s not in his life. He also doesn’t talk about Jensen, my ex. He was Caleb’s father for nearly seven years and, when he left, I chose not to talk about him much because I didn’t want to hurt my son. I look back now and wonder if I did the wrong thing in doing what’s so typical of me; bottling things up. I’ve come to realize that Caleb doesn’t talk about Jensen because he doesn’t want to open up old wounds for me, and I do the same; I don’t talk about him because I think it will be difficult for Caleb to talk about.
I don’t know how to go about it, but I am determined to help Caleb stop closing himself off. I’ve spoken to his teachers and told them that I won’t stand there and make excuses for him, but I think that our family situation is affecting him. They’re keeping an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t completely shut down.
I blame Jensen for never giving us a reason why he left. It was the typical ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit. He said we needed to talk and yet he didn’t have anything to say. He just ended up packing his bags and going back to live with his parents. The night he left, I told him to be a man about it and, at the very least, he owed Caleb an explanation. How do you tell a six year old that you’re leaving and he’ll never see you again? How do you tell him that he’ll never see his grandparents or aunts and uncles again? He’s not just lost Jensen; he’s lost a whole family. We both did. The words he left Caleb with were, “I don’t want you to ever think this is your fault. I love you. I always have, but I have to go.” That was all he had to say for himself. I told Caleb that it wasn’t his fault and that it was because Jensen just didn’t love me anymore. Why? I didn’t know then and I don’t know now.
Did he go because I was told I’d be permanently disabled and he couldn’t see past that? That was one of my theories. I’ve tried piecing things together so many times over the years, but I will never know the real reason. He wasn’t someone who talked about his feelings; I knew that before we even got together. But after seven years with me, I thought he was opening up more and learning to talk about things instead of bottling it all up.
There could be so many reasons why he left, but the one that sticks out in my mind is my disability. I don’t think he knew how to reconcile the two different versions of me. I was young, carefree and able bodied when we met. Our sex life was better than I’ve ever experienced with any of the men I’ve dated. I might have been pregnant with someone else’s baby when we first got together, but he knew I was pregnant before we even started dating. We were friends before becoming lovers and he was the second person I told about the baby. It never put Jensen off being with me though, and he was with me as Caleb was brought into the world. He was the best father I could have wanted for my son. But then came the other version of me; disabled, left with irreparable nerve damage in my right leg and foot. That meant our sex life suffered as I had to have operations on my spine and, when I was left with nerve damage after the second operation, it affected our sex life to the point where we weren’t exactly intimate for the last year of our relationship. Sex wasn’t possible for me without being in too much pain or my leg cramping up at the most inconvenient times.
Maybe our lack of intimacy is the reason, or at least one of the reasons, why he ended our relationship. I can go round in circles for hours asking myself why Jensen did what he did. Like a dog chasing its tail, I could chase the reason but never actually get it. We tried staying in contact after he left, as I wanted us to stay friends because we’d been such a big part of each other’s lives that I couldn’t possibly conceive us not being friends. But we stopped talking two and a half months after he left when he told me that he couldn’t talk to me anymore because his new girlfriend didn’t like it. They’d been seeing each other for a week and already it mattered most what was fair to her, not what was fair to me and Caleb.
Since then, I’ve become more cynical and guarded. I feel like there’s a piece of my heart missing, so what’s left of it is under lock and key, not to be shown to anyone else. Jensen owns that missing piece and it’s one I can never get back. He can’t even give it back to me. It’s just not possible. When someone has been in your life for so long, they carve out a place in your heart and when they leave, it’s the emotional wounds that are the deepest. They say you can judge how deep a cut is by how long it takes to heal. But sometimes, words leave permanent scars. It’s the scars to your soul that hurt the most.
So now I am a fiercely independent woman who won’t allow any man close to her. I don’t want to put my heart on the line only to have it wounded again. It’s already been through the wood chipper and come out broken and completely useless. I can’t enter another relationship only to have it all fall apart around my ears. Not only would it hurt me, but Caleb too. He’s my priority now, the only man I’ll ever allow entrance to my heart.
Chapter One
Elise

“It’s been three and a half years, Elise. Isn’t it time you braved your fears and got back out there?” Sam asks.
“I’m not sure I know how, Sammie. I mean, it’s harder now. I haven’t been on a date in over ten years. I was with Jensen for so long and he shattered my heart. I didn’t just lose him, I lost a family too.”
I sit back in my armchair and sip at the glass of prosecco I’ve allowed myself, even though I shouldn’t drink much, if at all, because of the tablets I have to take. Sam looks like a goldfish, sitting there opening and shutting her mouth, no sound coming out. We’ve had this conversation so many times; too many to count.
“All I’m saying is that I think you should go on this date and, even if it comes to nothing, at least you’re dipping your toes back in the water.”
Sam’s spent the best part of the last hour trying to convince me to go on a blind date with a guy she knows from work. She’s a nurse at the local hospital and this guy she wants to set me up with is a paramedic.
Apparently he’s so hot he’d ‘melt my panties’. That’s one thing I love about Sam; her sense of humour.
“My toes are pretty happy being on dry land, thank you,” I say as I take a larger gulp of my drink than intended.
I choke a little and Sam’s face brightens as she laughs.
“See, you’re choking. You need a good paramedic on hand.”
I laugh and swat her away with my hand.
“You’re hilarious. Fine! If it will shut you up, I’ll go on this date. But you’re on baby-sitting duty.”
“Sure thing, babe, you know I’ll always look after Caleb for you. He and Josh get on like a house on fire, just like their mums, so he’ll be fine stopping over at ours.”
“I didn’t say anything about stopping over. Do you think I’m going to take this guy to bed on a first date? Or let him go all cave man and drag me back to his for a night of passion?”
Sam looks at me and bursts out laughing, spraying the prosecco that was in her mouth all over my coffee table.
“What’s so funny?” I huff out, trying my hardest not to laugh along with her.
“You! You never know, you might want exactly that. A good fuck to get rid of the cobwebs up there. Plus, like I said, Andrew is pantie-melting hot. I’d totally go there if I wasn’t a happily married woman.”
“Cobwebs? You cheeky bitch!”
We both laugh so hard we have to catch our breath before being able to talk again.
“Look, seriously, Elise, you never know what might happen. Andrew is a genuinely nice guy, well, what I know of him anyway. He hasn’t been at our hospital long; he transferred about two months ago. Go on one date and just see for yourself. Not all men are like Jensen. They don’t all leave. Look at me and Karl.”
“I’ve already agreed to one date, so you don’t have to sell this guy to me anymore. Just tell me when and where to meet him, and I’ll give him one chance.”
“I’ll text him now if you like?” she asks as she whips her phone from her pocket.
“Go on then,” I reply with a forced enthusiasm.
I’m doing this to shut her up. I’m happily single, just me and Caleb. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. If I were to admit the whole truth, I do miss the companionship. The sex too, but mostly I miss having someone there to come home to at the end of the day; someone to cuddle up to, to talk to, to share my life with. But I’ve been so guarded for so long that I don’t know how to let anyone in.
I hear Sam’s phone beep with a reply and she looks up at me with a smile.
“How does Saturday at Olive Grove sound?”
“This Saturday…I didn’t expect it to be that soon…” I sputter.
“He’s keen. You might as well do it sooner than later. There’s less chance of you chickening out.”
“Okay, but he knows about me, right?! About my disability and that I walk with a stick?”
“Yes, he knows. It doesn’t put him off. He’s not that shallow, babe, honestly.”
I’m relieved to hear those words. I’ve tried dating since Jensen left but they’ve ended in disaster, mainly because of my disability. They only see the label, the stigma of it, not the woman behind the stick. So it will be a nice change to meet a guy that can see the real me past the issues I have. Will it be this Andrew guy? I haven’t a clue. But Sam’s words give me something I haven’t felt for some time. Hope.
***
Saturday came quicker than I thought. Now I’m finishing getting ready for my date with Andrew. I have gone through my wardrobe several times and ended up getting Sam to help me choose the right outfit.
I haven’t always had such little confidence in my appearance. I used to be way more comfortable in my own skin. My grandmother used to tell me I was vain because I never left the house without makeup and I never had a hair out of place; it was always styled perfectly. I also had good taste in clothes and loved shoe shopping. Nowadays, I’m more of a jeans a t-shirt kind of girl. I don’t wear dresses or skirts anymore because they show my legs; something I’m more conscious of lately. As for makeup, I don’t really bother with it much anymore unless I’m going out somewhere special, which isn’t often. I can certainly leave the house now without wearing any.
“Seriously, babe, you look great,” Sam says as she finishes applying my makeup.
“Thanks. It’s just nerves, I guess.”
“You have nothing to be nervous of; you’ll knock Andrew’s socks off.”
She steps back to take a look at me and a smile lights up her face.
I turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door. A smile graces my own lips as I look at how Sam has styled my hair and applied minimal makeup. She said she was going to ‘enhance what’s already naturally beautiful’. I think she’s done a great job, even if I don’t really agree that I am naturally beautiful.
“What time is it? Do I have time to have a mini freak-out?” I ask as I turn back to face my best friend.
“No, you don’t. Your taxi will be here in about five minutes.”
Andrew had wanted to come and pick me up, but I didn’t like the idea of a stranger knowing where I live. So I had agreed to meet him at Olive Grove.
Caleb walks into my room and gives me the biggest grin before wrapping his arms around me.
“Have a great time, mum,” he says as he pulls away to look up at me.
“I’ll try. You be good for Auntie Sam and Karl.”
“I will, mum, I promise. Josh and I will play Minecraft and probably kill some chickens.”
I chuckle at my boy as I ruffle his gorgeous sandy blond hair. He has a fascination with that game and when he and Josh play it together, they find it funny to kill chickens and then put them in the furnace to cook.
A car horn beeps, indicating the arrival of my taxi. Nerves pool in my stomach as I look at my reflection one last time.
The restaurant is busy but not full to capacity as I arrive. I look around, unsure what Andrew looks like. I look at each guy I see from my place at the bar. I’m slightly earlier than we planned to meet. I’m always early or on time; I can’t stand being late. I order my drink as the barman walks to serve me. I need something stronger to calm my nerves, but I’m being good and only drinking wine.
I know that Andrew has told Sam he’ll be wearing a grey shirt and black trousers and I know he has brown hair with a slight salt and pepper look by his temples. I keep my eyes fixed on the door as I slowly drink my white wine spritzer.
A face I never imagined seeing again makes me nearly spill my drink all down myself. I thought he was off travelling the world and didn’t put two and two together when Sam told me his name was Andrew and he was a paramedic. Sam couldn’t possibly have known we knew each other. She never got to meet him back then, because we were only a ‘no-strings’ arrangement. I’m finding it hard to take a breath. Surely it’s a coincidence and he isn’t really my date?
Looking at what he’s wearing, I find that it has to be him. He hasn’t changed much, really. Sure, he’s older, but then so am I. He’s just as handsome as I remember. Seeing him looking around for someone, I know the instant his eyes land on me. Like a magnet, our eyes are drawn to each other’s and he holds my gaze as a bright smile graces those soft, full lips. In that moment, I am pulled back to the memory of the night we met.

“I have to get going, Nat. Thanks for a great night.”
“Don’t go yet, the party isn’t over.”
“We’ve seen all the gorgeous underwear that Bella brought with her, we’ve drunk far too much wine. How is the party not over?”
Nat had invited me to an Ann Summers party being held in her flat; the flat above the one I once shared with my ex, Dave. We’d become good friends when Dave and I had moved in and I was damned if the two of us splitting up would get in the way of me staying friends with Nat and her husband, Rich.
“Well, I’ve text the boys and they’re on their way round.”
“Oh.”
Rich had gone round to a friend’s flat in the block next to ours. His friend was having a poker night for the boys to get them out from under our feet while we played party games, checked out sexy lingerie and got drunk whilst investigating the sex toys Bella had brought along.
It’s been a good laugh, despite me being out of my comfort zone. Underwear parties really aren’t my thing, but that didn’t stop me from buying some of the things Bella had on offer. For whom, I don’t know, considering I’m newly single.
Dave recently decided to go back to his wife and kids, even though we’ve been together for two years, and I thought he was happy with me.
“Stay a little longer, please?” she asks as the front door opens and the boys come in laughing.
One of the guys catches my eye, so I find myself agreeing to stay. My god, he’s breathtakingly handsome. Dark hair, slim build, his eyes twinkle as he laughs at something Rich said.
I look at his ass as he passes me by. Wow. If there’s one thing I like about a man, it’s a great ass and this guy sure has one of the nicest I’ve laid eyes on in a while.
We drink and laugh some more, but I start to feel a little sick, so Nat takes me to her bedroom. The guy I was checking out follows us and asks if I’m okay.
“I’m fine. I should just head back downstairs. I’m a tad tipsy,” I respond as I look at his beautiful hazel eyes. They have flecks of gold in them and I find that I can’t look away.
“Stay here and I’ll grab you a glass of water,” Nat says as she leaves the room, leaving me alone with Mr Tall Dark and Definitely Handsome. Oh, so handsome.
I drink the water Nat brings and we stay in her room chatting, just the three of us.
“I’m Drew, by the way,” Mr Handsome says.
“I’m Elise, pleased to meet you.”
I smile down at him as he crouches at the foot of the bed. He smiles back and I see beauty in his slightly crooked smile. His eyes seem to shine; maybe it’s the light in the room or maybe it’s because of the alcohol I’ve consumed. Either way, I can’t look away from his steady gaze.
We chat a while longer before I tell them I really must go.
“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?” I ask Drew cheekily as I sway slightly on my feet.
I feel those soft, full lips press down over mine and I melt into his arms. In the movies they talk about ‘foot-popping kisses’ and I’ve always thought it was a made up thing until now. His tongue probes my mouth and I get lost in his kiss. Our tongues dance together and I suddenly feel less drunk than I did before. There’s a clarity that comes with this kiss.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dave asks as I enter our flat. I say’ ours’, but really it’s just a place he’s staying until he moves back in with his family in a couple of months’ time.
“Does it look like I care? Who are you, my dad?” I reply, my tone dripping with its usual sarcasm.
“You’re drunk,” he states, his voice laced with spite.
“Again, are you my dad? No! So get off my back. You know where I’ve been. I was at Nat and Rich’s, you know, the flat above us. It’s not like I was far away.”
I’m really tired and all I want to do is go to bed. I don’t even know why I let Dave talk me into staying the night. I live with my grandmother now after us splitting up. But as I was coming to a party at Nat’s, he asked me if I wanted to stay and the part of me that still loved him made me agree. But now I’m regretting my decision.
“I’m going to bed,” I say as I open the bedroom door and begin to take off my shoes.
My phone beeps, indicating an incoming message. I open it and see it’s from Drew.

Drew: Goodnight Gorgeous. Thanks for the kiss. I really hope we get to do that again soon.

I smile to myself as I close my stupid flip phone and continue undressing.
“What the hell is this?” Dave demands as I slide into bed.
I look over at him and see my phone in his hand.
“What the hell? You’re going through my phone now?”
I’m suddenly angry and I feel my blood boiling as I look at his face, his features marred with anger.
“I asked what the hell this is?” he spits at me.
I sit bolt upright in bed and try to rein in my own anger.
“It’s my phone. Are you stupid?”
“I mean the message on it. Who is Drew?”
“That’s absolutely none of your business. You and I are no longer together. You’re going back to Tracey, so why shouldn’t I be moving on?” I seethe, my fists clenching the sheets.
“Because you’re still sleeping with me.”
His face is blood red and I have a feeling mine is the same.
“You and I have had sex a couple of times since we split up, but the fact remains that I am single. I’m not discussing this with you. Goodnight.”
I lie back on the bed seconds before I hear something clatter against the wall. I look over and see it’s my phone. I reach over for it and plug it in to charge on the bedside table next to me. I’ll be surprised if it’s still working in the morning with how hard he threw it, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Right now, I’m too tired to care.
As I’m drifting off, I feel Dave lie on the bed next to me. I feel my anger begin to dissipate as sleep takes me away.
***
Shaking myself out of the memory, I look at Drew and see him move in my direction. How the hell is he here? How is it possible that he’s my date?
“Elise,” my name is a mere whisper from his lips.
“Drew…long time no see…how are you?”
I feel myself getting more anxious by the second. I’ve suffered with anxiety since 2012 but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it get in my way tonight.
“I’m good. How are you? You’re looking well.”
“I am well, thank you. It’s been so long since I last saw you. Last I knew, you were renting out your flat and going travelling. Did you do that? Did you finally go travelling like you always wanted?”
I’m beginning to ramble, something I typically do when I’m nervous, but also when I’m getting anxious. But I also find myself wanting to know what he’s been up to since 2005 when we last saw each other. Twelve years have passed and I realize I know only the Drew of old, not the man sitting next to me at the bar. This version of him still oozes confidence and sex appeal, just like he always did. But there’s something different about him and I can’t put my finger on what.
“I did. Shall we find a table and I’ll tell you anything you want to know?” he asks as he steps down from his stool and offers me his hand.
I place my hand in his and instantly feel a crackling like electricity in my veins. We always had great chemistry, but I had to go and ruin it all. Now he’s here and I don’t know what will happen after tonight, so I’m going to make the most of it while I can.

Ryann’s Revenge

Ryann’s Revenge
https://amzn.to/2UtJzNK
Rai Karr & Breanna Hayse
Chapter One

Ryann jumped at the sound of her phone ringing next to her. She plucked it off the seat and answered, swearing under her breath as her van momentarily veered into the other lane. With the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, she waved at the driver of the Volvo, who rudely flipped her the bird.
“Hello?”
“This is the school secretary. We are going to need you to come back to the facility.”
She rolled her eyes and quickly whipped the vehicle around in an illegal U-turn, ignoring the honk from the truck that nearly rear-ended her. Taking a deep breath as she started her way back towards the school, she asked, “Which kid is sick now?”
“Oh, no one is sick,” the other woman stated in a cheerful voice. “Unfortunately, your son was involved in a fight with another boy.”
“What? Is he okay?”
“No one is seriously hurt, but the principal wants to speak with you.”
“Damn it! I'm on my way,” she shouted, tossing the phone on the seat.
She caught the sudden blinking of blue lights out of the corner of her eye. “Just fucking great! Please don't let it be Kayne. Please don't let it be Kayne!” she muttered out loud, taking a moment to reflect her relationship with the old family friend.
Kayne Erickson had been a permanent, and often annoying, fixture in her life ever since she could remember. Like a knight in shining armor, the man stepped in to support her after her husband abandoned her and her son, James, for the bleached blonde, big breasted bartender who he allegedly met at a ‘convention.’
Since the divorce, her feelings for him had slowly changed. He became the person who was always available to listen to her complaints, fears, and doubts regarding raising James on her own and being able to provide everything the boy deserved to be happy and healthy. As a single father of a six-year-old, Kayne knew better than anyone the difficulties and hardships involved and never hesitated to speak truthfully about the realities of life, whether she liked it or not. Their history together had left him in a position that he knew her far better than she knew herself and had opened the door for a level of intimacy that she wasn't entirely comfortable facing.
The sound of the sirens grew louder, accompanied by the projection of a male voice over the police vehicle's speaker. Ryann mumbled one more prayer that the pursuing officer was anyone but Kayne before she glanced in the rear-view mirror. Her heart sank. Not only was it Kayne, but he was close enough on her tail that she could see the expression on his handsome face. With a groan, she dialed his cell number, instinctively knowing that this situation would not end well for her.
“Are you seriously calling me while I am trying to pull your ass over? Slow down now! You're in a neighborhood, not on a race track!” His voice rumbled with annoyance.
“I can't. It's kind of an emergency,” Ryann replied, her eyes glued to the road.
“I said slow down! What does ‘kind of an emergency' mean? Is someone hurt?”
“No, I don't think so. I got called to the school.”
“Then there is no reason for you to be speeding.”
“Well, yeah, there is.” She swallowed dryly, slowing the vehicle enough to take a safe turn around a corner. Her heart pounded, unsure of whether it was because of the situation with James or because of Kayne's tone of voice.
“Oh, I want to hear this. I'm waiting; so talk.”
“Can't we discuss this later? I need to get to James.”
“Sick kids are not an excuse to break the law,” Kayne shot back.
“He isn't sick. Apparently he got into a fight and the principal wants to talk to me.”
Kayne was silent for a moment. “Who was he fighting with?”
“I don't know. It obviously was important enough for them to call me.”
“I'm coming with you. Just slow down before you get into an accident or hit somebody.”
Ryann gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you! I have no clue on how to handle this. Can you at least turn your lights off before we get to the school? We're almost there.”
“Sure,” Kayne said. “but don't think for one second that this means you aren't going to get your ass paddled for this. Speeding is a spanking offense, and unless it's about life or death, there is no excuse.”
“Kayne-”
“You know the rules. Now hang up that phone.”
Mumbling an obscenity under her breath, Ryann obeyed. She was too familiar with the practice of domestic discipline and had been raised in an environment where the men took the lead as heads of their households and spankings were used as a loving deterrent, regardless of age. Despite Ryann’s protests and desire to have some independence since her divorce, Kayne took it upon himself to fill the role of protector, guide and disciplinarian. He insisted on maintaining the yard, repairing her car, helping James and keeping a close eye on her safety and well-being. Knowing her penchant for rule-breaking, especially when she was feeling exceptionally defiant or insecure, Kayne had no qualms in administering discipline when it was required. He left her feeling safe and cared for but still she struggled with the desire to prove to herself that she was capable of handling life without the need of a man.
After parking the van, she took a deep breath and stepped out to face the angry officer.
“Unbelievable,” he stated, shaking his head. “Twenty miles over the limit and on a residential street. I'm speechless.”
“Speechless? You've been talking nonstop and not hearing what I was trying to tell you. I'm concerned about James. He hasn't been the same since his father left.”
“Getting sassy with me right now is not going to work in your favor. I know you're worried, but that's no excuse for putting yourself or other people in danger,” he scolded, holding her arm as they walked towards the building. Before she could offer a retort, he gave a warning. “Don't push me right now, little girl. You are already in enough trouble.”
The secretary greeted them before anything further was said. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Hetton and for bringing Officer Erickson. You may go right into the conference room. The principal is waiting for you.”
As they entered the large room, Kayne's daughter jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around his solid waist. She then looked up at Ryann. “Please don't be mad at James, he was just helping me. Promise you won't get mad.”
“I have to find out what happen before I promise anything, Beka,” Ryann said.
James sat to the right of the principal, his cheek swollen with the beginning of a black eye. Ryann raced to his side and touched his face with hesitation. She looked at the stern-face principal. “What the hell happened?”
“Thank you for coming. Will both of you please take a seat? I wanted you to see the surveillance footage of the incident. There is no sound, but the images are quite clear.”
“Surveillance footage?” Ryann glanced nervously at Kayne as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, looking less than pleased as he eyed the principal with displeasure.
The black and white recording showed a large, older boy walking up to Beka. A few seconds later James was seen guiding the crying girl away before he turned back to the instigator. After the exchange of a few words, the boy made a fist and sent it flying in a solid punch to James' face. The video proceeded to show James holding his eye and taking a step back as the boy's mouth continued to move. The boy then pointed at Beka and maliciously curled his lips into a sardonic smile and projected another statement in her direction. The words appeared to spur James into motion as he lost the battle with his temper and he plowed, shoulder first, straight into the bigger boy's stomach. The two were rolling on the floor when a teacher ran into the frame and wedged herself between the boys in an apparent struggle to keep them apart.
When the recording ended, Kayne was the first to speak, “I'm appalled at what I just witnessed. Beka? What did he say to you to cause this?”
The little girl looked at the ground. “He said no one likes me, not even my mom, and that everyone knows it.”
“What?” Kayne roared.
“Why would anyone say such an awful thing to a little girl?” Ryann demanded, pounding her fist on the table. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
“Ms. Hetton, please settle down,” the principal directed.
“Are you seriously expecting her to stay calm after what we just saw and heard?” Kayne boomed as he stalked across the room, startling nearly every occupant. “Beka is my daughter, and I am outraged right now. I should have been called immediately about this. I want an explanation and don't even think of telling me to be calm.”
“Ms. Hetton is Beka's primary contact, so we decided that it would be best just to call her directly.”
“I am the child's father!” Kayne was livid. “Why the hell is this meeting even happening? This boy bullied her, and James came to her defense.”
“Well, according to school policy, he isn't the only child involved who violated the rules.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kayne hissed. “This boy taunted a little girl and then punched a smaller and younger kid who had the guts to try to stop him. There is only one child here who screwed up, and that is this kid. What are you doing about this, and why are you treating James like the criminal?”
“I'm sorry, but this school has a no-tolerance policy. James attacked him, and it was not in self-defense.” The principal shrugged. “We have rules that we must abide by, and my job is to see that those rules are enforced. The boy has been expelled for two weeks for his behavior, but we need to address James' actions.”
“What did he say to you after he punched you, son?” Kayne asked the frightened boy.
“He said that I was going to be just like my dad,” James whispered. “He also said that I would be a loser who screws around on his wife just like him.”
Ryann lifted her hands to her mouth in shocked silence and looked at Kayne for support. The man spoke up. “James hasn't seen or spoken to his father since the divorce. The low-life elected to relinquish all rights to visitation so that he would not be obligated to pay child support or be responsible for taking care of his son. The gossip in this town is out of control, and I will not have this child be held accountable because of words being repeated by the so-called adults in this community. Do you hear me?”
A fine sheen of sweat glistened on the principal's balding forehead as he made eye contact with the glaring police officer. “I understand your position and the tape made it clear regarding the provocation when James came to the aid of Beka. I still have to reiterate that this school enforces a no tolerance policy, and when James struck back, he broke the rules. I'm sorry, but I have to suspend him.”
“This is ridiculous. How long are you going to mess with him?” Kayne demanded.
“It's Friday, so the rest of today through Tuesday is sufficient. I will have the teachers email his homework to you so that he won't get backlogged. Please excuse me, and I will get right on it.” The principal avoided looking at Kayne as he scurried from the room.
“I should be grateful that no one was majorly hurt,” Ryann sighed. “I guess I won't be going to work for the next few days either. The boss is going to be pissed about that, but there is nothing I can do. Come on kids, let's go home.”
“Ryann? It's not true is it? You like me, don't you?” Beka asked tearfully, clinging to the woman's hips.
Before she could respond, Kayne grabbed the child from behind and swept her lovingly into his arms and covered her face with kisses. “We all love you, Beka. Don't you ever doubt that, okay? Ryann, I need to get back to work. Beka, be a good girl and make sure you let James know how much you appreciate him being man enough to come to your rescue.”
James' face brightened with the praise. “You're not mad?”
“Not at all. You are the man of the house, and real men stand up for their women. You made me proud. Ry? You and I will talk about this later.”
Ryann rolled her eyes as he planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Fine. Thanks for coming, I do appreciate it.”
“Am I in trouble, Ma?” James questioned as he and Beka climbed into Ryann's van.
“With the school, yes. With me, you certainly are not,” Ryann said with reassurance as she looked at him through the rear-view mirror.
“Good, because I'd do it again,” James said sullenly. “Like Kayne says, I am the man in this family and no one is gonna mess with my women.”
Ryann bit back a chuckle. Once again, Kayne Erikson saved the day for all of them.
***
Later that afternoon, the officer waltzed through Ryann's front door, plopped on the sofa next to her, and propped his boots on the coffee table. “Where are the kids?” he asked.
“They're out back playing hide and seek,” Ryann replied, not taking her eyes off the TV.
“Good.” Without warning, he captured her in his strong arms and landed her on her tummy across his lap.
“What are you doing?” she screeched. “You can't spank me here! The kids could come in at any minute.”
“We have the little issue of speeding to address.”
“Can't we wait until we get back from my parent's house? They invited us over tonight, and I don't want everyone to know that I got spanked. It's embarrassing.”
“We both know that you're more worried about not being able to sit still on those hard chairs that your mom uses in the dining room than about anyone knowing what happened. I must admit that it's funny to watch you shift all over the place until you find a position that your scorched butt can tolerate.”
“There is nothing funny about it. I'd like you to try to find a way to sit down that didn't result in complete agony after getting blistered. Let me up before the kids see us.”
“I don't think so. If they happen to come in, then they will learn what happens when you get caught speeding and put yourself and others in danger,” Kayne teased, reaching around her hips for the button of her jeans.
“You can't do this. Please. The kids will hear us!” Ryann whined as she pressed her crotch firmly against his thigh in an attempt to keep his fingers away from the snap.
“I repeat that they will see what happens when you break the rules. As for hearing-” He reached for the remote control to turn up the volume of the television.
“You can't do this here. It's not appropriate.”
“Would you rather I take you to your daddy?”
“God, no!” Ryann turned her head to look at the man, pushing her long dark brown hair from her face. “Please don't spank me. I promise that I won't ever speed again.”
“Now, how many times have I heard that? Either take the spanking you deserve from me, or I will leave the punishment in your dad's hands. Your choice,” Kayne calmly stated as he started to push her off of his lap. “Maybe then he can blow the dust off The Hot Seat.”
Ryann groaned, knowing that her daddy wouldn't hesitate to use his infamous paddle on her bare bottom, especially when he heard that she had compromised her safety.
“Please don't take me to Daddy. Let's at least lock the door and take this upstairs,” she pleaded.
“Go ahead,” he sighed, relenting to her requests. Ryann stuck her head out the back door to tell James and Becka to remain in the yard while she and Kayne had some ‘grown up' time, and then joined him on the long journey up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Grown up time?” he asked, sitting on the bed.
“Yeah, they think we are going to be making out or something,” Ryann said with a scowl.
“They are right about the ‘or something'. Over my knee and be quick about it. I also suggest that you lift your hips and let me take down your pants. You know the routine.”
Pushing her toes against the floor, Ryann did as she was told and allowed him to lower her jeans and the little blue panties with the tiny gold stars to her knees. He rested his palm on her backside as he spoke, “I will never allow you to put yourself or others in danger by speeding or anything else. Hopefully, this will make you think twice before you do it again.”
He removed his hand and replaced it with the cold plastic hairbrush that she had left on her dresser that morning. She shivered in anticipation as he lifted it from her warm bottom and then returned it with a resounding smack.
“Ow!” she yelped, instinctively reaching behind to protect her ass. Her actions forced Kayne to stop mid swing so that he could grab her wrists with his left hand and pin them to the small of her back.
“Keep your hands out of the way,” he ordered, punctuating each word with a heavy swat of the brush. After releasing her wrists, he wrapped his left arm around her middle to hold her in place and resumed the spanking. After the first ten swats, she begged him to stop even knowing that her pleas and promises would fall upon deaf ears.
“Sorry, but I will stop when I was good and ready, and not one second sooner. You will learn a lesson this time. I promise.”
Another fifteen strokes brought forth tears that rolled freely down her cheeks. Soon, Ryann lost count of the number of swats that covered her tender backend. Exhausted from her struggles, she allowed her body to go limp with resignation and wrapped her arms tightly around his shin. A final six strokes were added against her sit spots, ensuring that sitting without a grimace would not occur for a good long time. He dropped the brush on the floor and flipped her to sit sideways on his lap, and she planted her face into his neck to cried into his shirt.
“It's all right, baby. It's done,” he cooed, rubbing his hand up and down her back. They remained in place for several minutes, both aware of the hard cock outlined by his jeans that pressed against her sore ass.
Finally, she pulled away, looked into his eyes and whispered, “I'm sorry.” Without another word, she returned her cheek to rest against his chest and wished with all her might that he would put his hard cock to good use.
“It's okay, Ry,” he replied, pulling them both to their feet and wrapping her securely in his arms. “But if you refuse a spanking from me again, I will take you right to your dad. You and I both know he won't put up with this.”
“I know.”
“Pull up your pants and wash your face while I make myself a quick snack. When you are done, you can tell the kids they can come in and clean up before we leave to see your folks.”
Slowly, Ryann slipped her panties and jeans over her blazing rear end and entered the bathroom to rinse the tears from her face and reapply her makeup. On impulse, she lowered her pants and turned in front of the mirror to inspect the damage to her backend. She bit her lip as she gently touched the hot, burgundy colored flesh. A sharp knock on the door startled her.
“You better not be rubbing that backside,” Kayne warned.
“I'm not,” Ryann shouted back, quickly pulling her pants back into place. Several minutes later, she joined him in the kitchen and looked around. “Where are the kids?”
“I told them to stay outside a bit longer because I wanted more alone time with you. I figured you would want some time to clean up and avoid their questions. You don't really think I would risk embarrassing you, do you?”
“No. I guess not.” She gingerly took a seat on the padded bar stool. “I wish my mother would consider padded chairs. It makes for a more pleasant recovery. “
“Are you a little uncomfortable, Ryann?” Kayne teased.
With an evil smirk on her face, she reached out and cupped his still hard cock through his jeans. “Not nearly as 'uncomfortable' as you are. What's this?” His cock twitched, and she yanked her hand back, disbelieving her sudden boldness.
“What's wrong, Ry? You didn't expect it just to lay there with your fingers wrapped around it, did you?” Kayne asked huskily, stepping between her slightly spread legs.
“Um-” she fumbled, feeling her discomfort rise.
“Hey, we're both adults. You know what seeing your naked ass does to me. Did you think that grabbing my dick wouldn't get some sort of a reaction?” She felt her face heat up as he chuckled. “I hope that your body would respond to particular stimulation as well. Like if I did this,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her nipple. “Or this,” he whispered, bringing his head down to bite the other nipple through her shirt. The combined mouthing of one nipple and the gentle twist of the other invoked a shiver through the length of her body. Her head fell back, and she thrust her breasts further into his face to invite more.
He pulled away and whispered into her ear. “This is the exact type of reaction that I was looking for from you. Let’s-” Before he could resume his teasing, pounding knocks were rained upon the back door.
“Daddy, are you done having alone time? We want to come inside.” Beka asked from the back door.
“Their timing is impeccable, isn't it? Come inside, you two,” Kayne said with a sigh as he unlocked the door. “Head upstairs, wash the dirt off your faces and grab your jackets. We will be leaving to have dinner with the mob in a few minutes.”
“Us too?” Beka asked with excitement.
“Of course, you too. You are part of our family,” Ryann said, hugging the little girl.
“Mama? Were you crying?” James asked suspiciously. He frowned at Kayne. “What did you do?”
“He makes me happy, honey. If you can grow up to be half the man that Kayne is, I will be a very happy lady.”
Kayne ruffled the boy's hair. “He's going to grow up to be even more of a man than I could ever me. Mark my words.”
After the two children had left the kitchen, Ryann nodded with satisfaction. “At least I won't have to worry about him turning out to be like his father since I have you and the other men in my family as his role models. Thank you for making him feel good about himself.”
“He's a good kid. He'll be okay, trust me.”
Chapter Two

“Mama, Daddy? We're here and brought Kayne and Beka,” Ryann yelled, entering the home belonging to her parents.
“I didn't know you were coming tonight. It's good to see you,” Ryann's older brother, Grayson, exclaimed as he gave Kayne a one-armed, back-slapping, man hug. He turned to Ryann with his hands on his hips and eyebrows raised. “Why weren't you at work today, little sister? You know that my law offices can't function without you.”
“Give me a raise and I'll believe every word. Didn't you get my text, Mr. Brother?”
“Funny that you mentioned that. My secretary usually gives me messages but, for some reason, I didn't receive any today. Oh wait, aren't you my secretary?” Grayson shoulder-shoved her, ignoring his hated nickname.
“We had an incident at school today. James got suspended through Tuesday, so I won't be able to come in.” She recapped the events, frowning as her brother patted her son proudly on the back.
“He's turning into quite the man of the house, isn't he?”
“Thanks, Uncle Grayson. I can't let anyone mess with my women,” the little boy announced.
“Don't you dare encourage him to get into fights! You're an attorney and should be advising him on ways of non-violent resolution,” Ryann scolded. “James? Please take Beka outside to play until dinner. I need to have a few private words with your uncle.”
“Okay, but he would've done the same thing for Aunt Sandy if someone was picking on her. Right, Uncle Gray?” James winked.
“Damn right I would. No one messes with my wife and gets away with it. You better run out back before your mama pops a cork. Her ears are turning red which means that she's getting angry with me.”
James laughed and grabbed Beka's wrist to drag her outside, dodging his grandmother on the way. The older woman shook her head and then wagged her finger in the direction of her eldest child. “I heard what was going on in here, Grayson. Don't make me get my spoon and embarrass you in front of your friend. Did you just roll your eyes at me, young man? I don't care how big and tall you are; I can still put you across my knee and give you what for and you know it,” she threatened, standing in front of her son with her hands on her hips and looking up into his handsome, scowling face.
“He's just being himself, Mom, so ignore him. You know that we all hate those spoons, and it's our consensus that each one of them should burn in a raging fire,” Ryann grumbled. “What's for supper? I'm starving, and where are the twins? Couldn’t they come hold for the weekend?” She looked around for her two absent younger siblings.
“They have ‘plans' that don't include us.,” her mother said, wrinkling her nose. “Your dad is watching the end of the game and is grumpy because his favorite team is losing, so I ordered pizza to placate him. What's this I hear about a fight in school and you skipping work?”
Sighing, Ryann repeated the story of the school incident and the unfair way her son was treated after the deliberate provocation. In the middle of the story, another family member joined the chaotic group.
“Loren! Long time, no see, little brother. Did you bring Kim with you?” Grayson said, giving the younger man an affectionate hug.
Loren nodded stiffly in response to the question and rubbed his temples.” Yes, I brought her, but we had some issues and I don't want anyone asking about it right now. I planted her nose in the corner of the living room where she's going to stay until I determine otherwise. Where's my Beka? I need a hug.”
“Uncle Loren! I thought I heard you,” screeched the child, running straight into his outstretched arms and knocking him to his back the floor. “I missed you.”
“How is my favorite girl?” he asked, lifting her into the air and wincing as she released a high pitched squeal.
“I thought I was your favorite girl,” Ryann teased.
“Nah, you're my favorite pain in the ass,” Loren laughed, lifting both himself and Kayne's giggling daughter off the floor.
“Mr. Brother, did you hear what he called me? Loren's being mean.” Ryann feigned a whine, looking to her eldest sibling for support.
“Will you please stop calling me that name? I've told you a thousand times that I hate it,” Grayson demanded.
“I wouldn't be calling you that if you hadn't demanded it when I was a kid, Mr. Brother,” she snickered, dashing behind her mother for protection.
“You wait until I get my hands on you, brat,” Grayson growled.
“Pizza's here!” The sudden emergence of the family's patriarch interrupted the banter. “Elizabeth, grab my wallet off the shelf and help me with the pizza. Ryann and Kayne, get the kids washed up before they touch the food with their grubby little fingers. Grayson, find your wife and bring in the plates and the cooler of soda. Loren, take that girl out of the corner. She's messing with my Fung Shui.”
“Seriously, Dad? You don't even know what Feng Shui is,” Loren riposted.
“It doesn't matter. Your girlfriend is here to be part of the festivities, and not a decoration. Hop to it, boy,” the older man commanded.
After a boisterous meal, the kids were left in the living room to watch a movie while the rest of the family sat around the dining room table to chat. Grayson poked his sister in the ribs and asked, “What's wrong, Ry? You're oddly quiet tonight, and haven't stopped wiggling since you sat down.”
“That would be my fault,” Kayne answered smugly. “She earned herself a good spanking before we came over.”
“Kayne! Please!” Ryann whipped her head to glare at him with mortification.
“See, Kim? I told you that you wouldn't be the only one with a freshly roasted ass in this house,” Loren laughed as a blush spread across his girlfriend's face.
“Loren, please watch your language,” his father warned, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the little smile on his lips. He turned to Kayne. “Why did you spank this little daughter of mine?”
“She flew by me on the way to the school this morning. She was going about 20 miles over the posted limit,” Kayne shrugged as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips. “I gave her a choice between me spanking her or you. She chose me and got a taste of the brush.”
“Speeding? How many times have we gone over that issue?”
“At least a dozen,” Grayson chuckled.
“Make that two,” Loren added.
The man ignored his sons. “I should take my paddle to you right now for putting yourself in danger like that, young lady. Haven't you seen enough accidents and seen what speeding can do?”
“No, Daddy, please,” Ryann begged, as she shifted in her seat while her family scrutinized her. She looked desperately at her mother for help and received a slight shake of the head accompanied by an arched eyebrow.
“I bet the spanking helped convince you to pay better attention to your speed,” Loren commented.
“That's enough teasing.” The father pointed a finger. “Ryann, I promise that if I ever hear of you endangering yourself like that again, I will take you over my knee for a session with The Hot Seat. I won't care if you've already received the spanking of your life, either. Understand?”
The threat of the dreaded paddle was enough to cause Ryann's ass to clench in fear. “Trust me, Daddy, I learned my lesson. I will never, ever speed again, and I will certainly not leave that stupid brush out where Kayne can see it.”
“A brush isn't going to teach the lesson that needs to be learned. Kayne, if you're going to take this role, then you need a real paddle.”
“Daddy, stop it! You're embarrassing me!”
Before he could reply, James was heard shouting from the living room. “Mama! Beka keeps touching me!”
“Am not,” screamed Beka.
“Are too, you big fat liar.”
“Get your stinky feet off me!”
“Duty calls. Excuse me,” Kayne sighed as he scooted his chair back from the table and headed towards the squabbling.
“I think that maybe it's a good time to change the subject and let Ryann off the hook. Come on, ladies. Let's do the dishes,” Elizabeth said, gathering an armful of plates.
“Okay, Kim, spill it. What got you spanked? Everyone heard about me so now it's your turn,” Ryann demanded, following her mother into the kitchen.
Kim wrinkled her nose. “I called Loren a jackass and threw my wine on him.”
“Why in the world would you do something so foolish? You've been with my son for almost a year now and know exactly how our family deals with bad behavior,” Elizabeth asked with a frown.
Kim's face flushed to a deep red. “I didn't want to be late, and he was acting like a jerk. He informed me that I had a bad attitude and that I needed a spanking to calm me down. That's when I opened my big fat mouth and tossed the wine in his face. I ended up getting strapped with his stupid belt over the arm of the sofa,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the plate she was drying.
Elizabeth made a tsking sound. “You know well enough that if they feel a spanking is needed, then they are going to damn well give it. Throwing a fit just makes it worse for you. You need to think seriously about your relationship with Loren, honey. If this isn't the kind of dynamic you can accept or can learn to be comfortable with, then you have the wrong man. All my boys, including Kayne, are exactly like my husband, and it's no secret in what he believes.”
“Just be happy that he doesn't have A Hot Seat,” Ryann uttered. “I hate that thing.”
“I have a lot to think about, okay?” Kim muttered, rolling her eyes.
“My advice it to start my apologizing to Loren about your behavior and then having a long talk with him. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”
“Okay and thanks. Excuse me,” Kim said, rushing from the room.
Elizabeth then turned to face Ryann “Once you get married, Daddy is going to make A Hot Seat for you,” the older woman warned. “He didn't give one to your ex because he didn't trust him to use it wisely. Don't think for a minute that you will be spared again once you and Kayne get together.”
“Mom! Kayne and I are just friends. He looks at me like a little sister that needs to be watched over.”
“Sure he does. We've all seen the way he looks at you,” Sandy, Grayson's wife, said with a chuckle. “I haven't missed the puppy-dog eyes coming from you either. You love him.”
“I do not! You're supposed to be my best friend,” Ryann scolded. “You've been quiet all night, and now you are going to start mouthing off just to harass me? Why?”
Sandy giggled. “I got your back; you know that. I've been quiet because Grayson promised me a special something if I didn't get into any fights with Kim. You know how she likes to provoke me.”
“She likes to provoke everyone. I don't know what Loren sees in her,” Ryan murmured, ignoring her mother's disapproving look.
“Me, neither, but I'm more worried about my butt than hers. I'll put the rest of the pizza in the garage refrigerator for safe keeping,” Sandy said, kissing her best friend on the cheek.
Finally alone, Elizabeth cornered her daughter with the question “How long has Kayne been spanking you? Don't try to avoid answering me, either.”
“It's been about six months. The first time was the night before I signed the papers for the divorce. I don't want to talk about this; it's embarrassing.”
“Too bad. Have you had sex with him yet?”
“Mother, please! How much wine did you drink? You've never asked about my sex life,” Ryann squeaked, covering her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle the snort of laughter that snuck out.
“I only had one glass, and I didn't care before. You know that I’d really love to see Kayne become a permanent member of this family, so answer me.”
“Stop trying to play the matchmaker, Mother. As far as your question, he hasn't done anything remotely sexual with or to me.”
“Do you want him to?”
“Yes, and it's driving me nuts.” Ryann's frustration was evident as she yanked a chair out from the old little kitchen table and plopped into it. She squeaked painfully when her tender bottom made contact with the unrelenting wood.
“I thought so. Sandy is right- we all see the way that you look at him. Does he know that you're interested in him?”
“Ma, stop it. He’s been Grayson’s best friend ever since I can remember and has always seen me as a pesky little sister. I don't think he wants anything more than just staying that way,” Ryann exhaled, resting her chin in her hands.
“You two aren’t kids anymore. Yes, I'm your mother, but we are also adults. Women have needs; it's as simple as that. I suffer from the same needs that you have when your daddy is away.”
“Please don't say any more,” Ryann whispered as she moved her hands to cover her eyes. “I don't need this image burned into my brain.”
Her mother laughed. “What's wrong, Ry? I'm old, not dead.”
“TMI, Mother! This sweet conversation is taking a u-turn to creepy. You're traumatizing me.”
“Don't be such a drama queen. I was just wondering how things were going. I love Kayne and nothing would make your dad or me happier than to see the two of you become a family.” Elizabeth chuckled and kissed the top of Ryann's head. “I'm here to talk if you need me.”
“Is she gone?” a little voice asked from behind a closed door that opened to the surplus pantry that the family used for picnics and outdoor festivities.
“Sandy? What are you doing in there?”
Pushing the door open a few inches, Sandy stuck her head out to look around. “I snuck in from the outside after I put away the pizza. I didn't want to wreck a mother-daughter moment, so I stayed in here.”
“Well, that glorious moment is over so you can come out. Did you hear everything?”
“Yeah, and she's right. We both know it. You should just let him know how you feel and then jump his bones.”
“Listen, I love him, but I'm not in love with him. Does that make sense? And yeah, I'm horny as hell, but I don't need a man to take care of that.”
“You're not fooling me. I'm your best friend and see right through you, so there!”
“Well, that goes both ways. Why are you hiding in the closet instead of sitting with your husband?”
Sandy released a mischievous little giggle. “I'm hoping he'll realize I'm missing and make him come and find me. He's been very playful lately, and I love it.”
“I'm so glad for you. I know that this has been something you've wanted for a long time. Do you mind if I ask how you and Grayson got involved in age-play? I didn't want to be too nosy and only want you to share if you're comfortable.”
“I trust you; you're my bestie, remember?” Sandy pulled up a chair at the table to sit next to her friend. “You already know that when we first started dating, he insisted on a relationship based on domestic discipline like your family. You've been around my family- they are judgmental, demeaning and unaffectionate, so after spending all these years with you and your family and seeing how loving and supportive they are, it was something I wanted. There was also something deep inside that I wanted even more that I was afraid to share with him. I was so terrified he would reject me because of it, or think that I was a freak. And then I got into that horrible accident when I was speeding and lost control.”
“I've never been so scared in my life. We almost lost you. That's why everyone is so obsessed with speeding now.”
“Can you blame them? You also know that Kayne was on the scene and was the one who pulled me out of the wreck, so give the guy a break. Anyway, while I was in the hospital, it was your family that loved on me during that time, not mine. My own parents didn't even bother to visit, and that was when Grayson decided to bring me home and take control. He did everything for me. At first, letting him take care of me was so humiliating, but then something changed, and it started to feel natural. That's when I gathered the courage to tell him about my need for an age-play dynamic. He was so relieved because he had wanted the same thing and was equally afraid to bring it up. Since then, he's been Daddy to me, and I've been his Little Girl.”
“Your parents never came to see you? Damn, I'm sorry, I wish you had told me.”
“They wouldn't have listened to you any more than they listened to Grayson. I've never been their favorite, and you just divorced my brother. The bottom line is they didn't care.”
“I just can't fathom having parents like that. What do you like best about the lifestyle?”
“I'm spoiled rotten.” Sandy giggled. “Gray is also a lot bossier than he was when we were just in the D&D dynamic and it makes me feel so safe and loved. I know that your family had a hard time understanding at first, but it's the best thing for us. It makes us happy.”
“You've been my best friend since second grade and you know that's all I would ever want for you, right? It was just something new and took some adjusting. You guys are also super careful not to play in the dynamic around the children, so there is no reason for anyone to be judgmental.”
“Kim is. She thinks it's weird when my ‘little' slips out and makes fun of me. She doesn't care who hears either.”
“Well, she's a bitch, and if she doesn't get her shit together, Loren will wise up and be done with her. As for me, I like that part of you. I wish I could be that way sometimes. It reminds me of the days when we would play dolls and have tea parties, and try to get my brothers and Kayne to wait on us.”
“There you are, Little Girl! Have you been hiding from me? I've been looking everywhere for you,” Grayson exclaimed, startling the two young women.
With a squeal, Sandy raced into the pantry clicked it shut. “I'm not in here, Daddy! You can't see me.”
With a happy twinkle in his eye, Grayson leaned against the wall and began lightly knocking on the door. “Little girl, little girl. Sunshiny girl,” he said in a sing-song voice.
“Oh God, you guys are giving me a toothache with this sweetness. I'm out of here.” Rolling her eyes at their antics, Ryann left the kitchen with a happy heart. She would give anything to have the kind of happiness that her brother and best friend had.

Runaway Heart

Runaway Heart
https://amzn.to/2QkMASp
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One

Chapter One

Lindsay Davenport peered through the dirty windows of the abandoned building, a throb pounding at the base of her skull as her heart climbed into her throat. The almost overwhelming urge to flee started the flow of adrenaline, and it took her several deep breaths to pull in her galloping pulse. Relax, Lindsay. You can do this. You have to do this.
The street was clear, for the moment. She’d been careful, but she still expected Roger, her husband’s bodyguard, to pull up in the black Navigator and drag her home. Behind her, Peebo put the finishing touches on her new documents. A new work history and personal history were already done and printed out so she could memorize the particulars. His fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard, and the sound reminded her of machine gun fire. She grimaced and moved back to his side.
“How much longer?” she asked in a low voice as she listened for the drone of the Lincoln’s engine.
Peebo smiled, his dark eyes focused on his computer. “You’ve waited six years for this, Lindsay. A few more minutes ain’t gonna kill you.”
Lindsay shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, a chill worming through her. “Yeah, but Roger and his associates might.”
He looked up in alarm, perspiration beaded on his brow. “You weren’t followed, were you?”
She shook her head and went back to the window. “No, but I keep expecting them to show up anyway.” She gave Peebo a weary smile and took a deep breath. “I guess I just can’t believe it will all be over soon.”
His full lips widened in a smile, making him almost pleasant to look at. “No fear, chica. Once I’m finished you can disappear and no one, including your husband, will ever find you if you don’t want them to.”
Tears stung and she sank down onto a chair. Peebo went back to work, the printer and scanner humming, his eyes dancing as he continued. She ran a hand over her face and took a shaky breath.
Seven years ago she’d thought herself the luckiest woman alive as she strolled down the aisle with Lucas Davenport, heir to one of the nation’s largest private pharmaceutical companies. Their chance meeting outside her stepdad’s cafe had gone from casual “boy bumps into girl” to “boy asks girl out” to “girl falls in head-over-heels in love.” She’d thought herself a modern-day Cinderella, minus the evil stepmother and stepsisters, and Lucas Davenport was her Prince Charming. To go from a waitress in a rural Texas diner to the bride of a multi-millionaire and the man touted as “a rising star shooting straight for the State Senate,” was more than she’d ever hoped for. How quickly her dream had turned into a nightmare.
Her husband was the pride of Dallas society, and a favorite among the ladies. At first his handsome looks had charmed her and she’d felt proud to be on his arm. His hair was a rich, dark brown that begged to be touched, his eyes a vivid hazel that could warm her, or chill her, depending on his mood. While not physically imposing he was tall and athletically built, but his presence was bigger than he was. He exuded confidence from every meticulously cleaned pore and his smile could charm a snake. What she’d found beneath that pleasing, designer clad exterior, however, had killed the love she’d felt for him. A monster in Armani was still a monster.
“Lindsay? Lindsay!”
She jumped and came back to the present. The worn bricks of the building came slowly back into focus, sunlight turned dingy brown as it filtered through the dirt-smeared windows. She looked at Peebo and got to her feet. “Yeah, what?”
Peebo grinned and handed her a manila envelope. “You’re ready, baby. Everything you’ll ever need is in there. You’ve got a social security card, driver’s license, birth certificate and passport. There are letters of recommendation from previous employers, so you should have no trouble getting a job. And I even threw in a valid credit card with a $5,000 limit. The Witness Protection Program should be so thorough.”
Her hands shook as she took the envelope and her eyes stung. Slowly, reverently, she opened the package and pulled out her new birth certificate. “Lacey Jamison,” she said softly. She glanced at Peebo. “Pretty name. Thank you.” She thought Peebo blushed, but with his swarthy skin it was hard to tell.
“Well, it had to fit the owner,” he said. “And it’s not too far from Lindsay, so it should be easy to adopt.”
Lindsay put the paper away, a contradictory mix of hope and fear churning inside her abdomen. The conflicting warmth and cold made her feel mildly nauseous. “Make sure you destroy everything that has to do with this.” Her voice was hushed. “Anything that would show I was here, or that you did this for me, get rid of it.” She stood in front of him and gave him a pointed look. “I mean it, Peebo. Everything. Make sure there is nothing to link you to me, nothing.”
Peebo stood and smiled at her. “Chiquita, I’ve done this long enough to know how to take care of myself. It’s been a while, but I still remember the important stuff. Trust me, if your husband’s goons come here looking for something, all they’ll find is an empty building.” He started to put his equipment away. “One job, one location, no paper trail.”
She swallowed hard. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”
“You paid me, remember? Quite well, I might add.”
She stared at the envelope and shook her head. “No amount of money is worth the danger involved here.”
Peebo scowled. “Lindsay, you are the reason my family didn’t starve when your husband fired me.” His expression turned pensive and he studied her face briefly. “You’re also the reason we didn’t lose our house, or have to pull the boys out of that private school my wife loves so much, and you kept me from having to return to my prior life of crime.” A meaty hand came up onto her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I know your husband is a monster, and you’ve been unhappy for a long time.” With a shrug he released her and continued to pack. “I wanted to give you back some of what you gave us.”
Lindsay looked at his back. “What’s that?”
He paused and looked at her over his shoulder, his expression solemn. “Hope.”
***
As the sun began its descent into the western sky, the bus wound its way toward downtown Dallas. Lindsay waited until it pulled up at the huge shopping mall. A glance down the long aisle of parking spots near the bus stop showed her little BMW Z8 coupe right where she’d parked it a few hours earlier before taking the bus to meet Peebo. The bright red sports car stood out like a beacon amongst the sedans, trucks, and minivans. After looking around carefully she disembarked and followed the throng inside the air-conditioned mecca.
She clutched her bag, her precious paperwork inside. Nervous shivers fanned over her skin and she felt chilled in spite of the afternoon heat. As casually as she could, she made her way to Neiman Marcus, eyes alert. Pausing at the cosmetics counter, she listened absently as the salesgirl explained the virtues of their newest skin care line.
Her mouth was dry and her palms clammy as she looked around, half-expecting her husband’s security chief to appear. Roger would be easy to spot as his blonde head would tower over the crowd. After purchasing some perfume, she meandered through the store, appearing nonchalant but ever watchful. She bought several new outfits without even trying them on, thankful for her standard size 8 figure. After only half an hour in the store she had an armload of packages. If anyone decided to check on her whereabouts, as her husband often did, she hoped she’d purchased enough to convince them she’d spent the past several hours shopping rather than planning her escape in an abandoned warehouse.
For authenticity’s sake she wandered through the mall to Macy’s, running up even more charges on Lucas’s credit card. A flash of guilt hit her and she stamped it down. The money she spent was small recompense for what she’d been through in the last seven years.
She thought briefly of the cash she had stashed away, and wondered if it would be enough to keep her until she could stop running and find a job. For the past five years she’d taken most of the cash Lucas had given her and hidden it, because she’d known when she gathered the courage to leave she would need it. As her departure grew imminent, however, she found herself assailed by doubts, and more than a little fear. To leave Lucas was to take her life in her hands, but she knew it was time. She was tired of being Lucas Davenport’s pretty, quiet little wife and favorite punching bag.
Strolling toward the exit, Lindsay paused near the center escalator where a shelter for women and children had set up a small booth. Two young ladies, one blonde, one brunette, sat at the folding table calling out to passing shoppers. They were raffling off a “romantic dinner for two” at a high-end restaurant in downtown Dallas to raise money for new playground equipment. Judging by their discouraged expressions, it didn’t appear as if they had many takers. The tickets were $5, quite a deal for what the prize was worth. Lindsay thought about it for a moment, and a moment was all it took. She walked over to the table.
“Dinner for two?” the brunette asked hopefully.
A slow smile spread over Lindsay’s face. “Not anymore,” she assured the girl. “Not anymore.” Lindsay pulled out all the cash she had, several hundred dollars, and handed it to the dark-haired woman. It was money she could use, but the irony was more satisfying. The girl looked up in surprise and her mouth dropped open as she stared at the wad of bills. Before the young lady could say a word, Lindsay turned on her heel and continued toward the exit, her steps far more lively than when she had entered the shopping center.
She bought a dozen Mrs. Field’s Milk Chocolate Chip Cookie Bites on the way out of the mall and strolled toward her car. She loved the red sports coupe, and frowned when she remembered when and why Lucas had purchased it. He’d presented it to her at the hospital, but she’d been unable to drive because of her broken arm. She popped a cookie into her mouth and pulled out her keys.
Lindsay opened the trunk, put her packages inside, and jumped when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. Fear surged through her in an icy wave. Her bag of cookies fell to the ground as she spun and looked up into Roger’s face.
He glanced at the bags in the trunk then turned a cold eye on her as he slammed the lid shut. “Lucas has been wondering where you’ve been.”
His voice sent a chill up her spine. She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I think you can see where I’ve been,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral. “If Lucas was looking for me, he could’ve called. My cell phone is on.”
Roger frowned. “I didn’t say he was looking for you. I said he was wondering where you’ve been.” He leaned forward. “Your husband is interested in how you spend your time.”
Lindsay’s chin tipped up and she returned his baleful gaze in kind. “Then perhaps he should ask me. I’d be more than happy to give him an accounting of my day.”
“Perhaps he’s afraid you won’t be entirely honest.”
A hot spurt of anger burned through the fear and the words fell out before she could stop them. “As if Lucas Davenport would know anything about honesty.”
Roger studied her silently then his face broke into a cold smile. “You know, I thought he’d have crushed you by now.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and chuckled when she jerked away from him. “But you’ve still got some fight left in you. I wonder how much longer that will last, and what it’ll take to break it.”
Her eyes narrowed, his words like breath on coals. “It’ll take more than him...or you.” He laughed as she picked up her bag of cookies, stepped around him, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door shut. She fastened her seatbelt, opened the window, and looked at him over her shoulder. “In case you’re wondering, I’m going to spend the next half hour driving home, but after that I’ll be improvising.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned the engine over and sped away.
***
Lindsay stroked the horse’s nose as the bay gelding stood quietly in the stall. It was late and the chirp of crickets and the creaking of the barn were all that broke the stillness. She felt like a cat on a hotplate - all bunched nerves, taut muscles and jumpy. Since she’d finally procured her paperwork from Peebo her gut had been telling her to run, to drop everything and flee. Thankfully, she’d fought that base instinct. She had to behave in a normal fashion, act as she usually did, or Lucas would know something was off. Had she taken off in the bright light of day Roger would no doubt have already tracked her down and dragged her back, literally. No, she’d been smart to stick to her original plan of leaving in the dead of night. That way Roger would be asleep and Lucas would be occupied elsewhere, giving her the head start she’d need to get away.
At the moment Lucas was in the house with several executives from the company. The men had come for drinks and dinner, and she had played the entertaining, dutiful hostess as she usually did. Behaving normally. When the liquor was gone and the meal was over Lucas had dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Relieved, she’d smiled at their inebriated guests and left without a word.
As minutes ticked by her anxiety level went up, the tranquility of the evening directly contradicting her emotions. Her stomach knotted and twisted in her belly, and her throat went tight. The horse seemed to sense her distress and butted up against her with his nose, whickering softly. Unbidden, she smiled. A chuckle escaped her as she scratched the animal’s ears and patted his neck.
“I’m going to miss you, Midnight,” she whispered. “But don’t worry. Lucas will take good care of you. He thinks you’re worth something.”
She knew if she didn’t return to the house soon Lucas would send Roger to look for her, so she left the barn and strolled slowly across the broad lawn. She gazed at the imposing structure. It looked like it had been transplanted straight from Gone With The Wind with its tall columns gleaming in the moonlight. Huge magnolias lined the drive, their branches heavy with blossoms. She mounted the wide, flat steps, and inhaled their fragrance.
Pausing on the veranda, her eyes slid to her right toward the northern wing of the house where Roger had a suite of rooms. The lighted windows told her he was still awake. Uneasiness skittered coldly up her spine and goose bumps peppered her arms. If anyone would wreck her plans it would be Roger. Lucas paid the enormous man very well for his allegiance and he took his job very seriously. A large shadow briefly darkened the curtained glass and moments later the lights went out. The fact he was heading to bed did nothing to lessen her anxiety. Swallowing hard, Lindsay forced her feet to move.
Careful not to disturb Lucas and his colleagues, she entered through the kitchen and made her way up a back staircase to the master suite. She dressed for bed and turned out the lights, staring at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by. It was nearly midnight when Lucas’s associates left, and it didn’t surprise her when he didn’t come to bed. Outside she heard the Porsche roar to life. No doubt he was going to visit Amelia, his latest mistress.
It didn’t bother her anymore that he was unfaithful on a regular basis. In fact, it was a relief. With all his girlfriends to satisfy his carnal appetites, he rarely bothered her, choosing more warm and willing partners. Sending a silent prayer heavenward, she asked for Amelia to keep him all night. That would give her a better head start.
Her watch alarm went off at 3:45 a.m. She was still awake, but her throat closed up and her breathing hitched at the soft beeping. Lucas hadn’t come home and she thought of sending Amelia a thank you note. She got up quietly and donned black jeans, a black sweater and tennis shoes. Once dressed, she retrieved the manila envelope from where she’d hidden it, taped to the underside of a drawer in the closet. Using a pocket flashlight she double checked that all her documents were still there. She heaved a sigh of relief, put the envelope in the waistband of her jeans, and pulled her sweater over them.
She left the bedroom and closed the door silently behind her. Holding her breath, she paused, listening for anything out of the ordinary. All she heard was the house settling and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer, and she jumped when the chimes for the hour echoed off the walls. Her heart started to race and she took a shaky breath. She waited a few seconds and then made her way down the servants’ staircase. When she entered the darkened kitchen her eyes jumped to the glowing keypad near the back door and she quickly crossed the room. After punching in the deactivation code for the security system she slipped outside and reset the alarm. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled. Almost there.
The garage was next to the house, connected by a covered breeze way dripping with wisteria. The dense vines hid her quite well, but she wasn’t worried about being seen at this hour. Lucas trusted technology more than people so, aside from Roger, prying eyes weren’t a concern. After unlocking the garage door, she stepped inside.
It was even darker here than outside and she paused, letting her eyes adjust before she moved. The last thing she wanted was to knock something over and wake Roger. Her heart knocked loudly against her sternum at the thought. Sweat dripped between her breasts and she wiped an arm over her brow as she waited. When her eyes had adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the garage she moved. Now came the tricky part; getting out of the garage and down the driveway without waking anyone.
The remote for the garage door opener was clipped to the visor, and she held her breath as she pressed the button. Her lungs started to burn as the door slid up silently, and she thanked God that Lucas demanded the best of everything, including garage doors. Her knees went weak and she sagged against the car. It was several moments before she could move again.
She opened the car’s door and put the coupe in neutral, then released the emergency brake. Thankfully the Z8 was small and light and she started pushing, amazed at how easily it moved. The tires whispered as they moved over the cement, the sound turning crunchy when they hit gravel. It didn’t matter now if anyone woke up, and her fear slowly turned into elation as the coupe picked up speed. Excitement started to warm her belly, expanding outward from the deepest part of her, but she pushed until she reached the end of the long driveway. With one last look at the house, she got in and started the engine.
Lindsay kept a close eye on her rear-view mirror as she headed west. About ten miles down the road, she turned onto the now familiar dirt lane on the edge of the Davenport property and doused her headlights. There was enough moonlight to illuminate her path and she slowed to a crawl. Three miles later she stopped in front of a ramshackle building, nothing more than the skeleton of an old house that had probably been here just as long as the dirt on the ground. She turned the engine off and got out. After opening the trunk, she made her way carefully across the rotted porch.
In a corner of the main room, Lindsay knelt on the rickety floor and pulled up several of the boards in front of her. She reached in and pulled out two large canvas bags filled with clothes, flinching when a large spider crawled up her arm. She grimaced and shook it off, then searched for the strongbox that contained her precious cash store.
She sat back on her heels and blew the dust off the lid. She sneezed once, then slowly opened it and stared at the stacks of bills. There was almost $75,000 inside. Her fingers trembled as she closed the box and locked the latch. She hefted the canvas bags over her shoulders then took them and the strongbox out to the car.
Twenty minutes later, she was back on the main road and headed west again. The sky behind her brightened with the approaching dawn, and she estimated how much time she had before the alarm would sound. If Lucas stayed true to form, he would go straight to his office in Dallas from Amelia’s condo. That would leave Roger to discover she was missing, which wouldn’t happen until he decided to come looking for her, or noticed her car was gone. Conservatively, she had until about 10 a.m. before the proverbial hounds were released.
She hit the interstate and drove east, pulling off on the outskirts of a small town as the clock read nine a.m. An old, deserted service station was her first stop. Lindsay pulled behind the building to don a red-haired wig, blue contact lenses and some heavier makeup. It took her only minutes to put on her disguise, but even she was surprised at the difference when she was finished. Grinning at her new self in the rearview mirror, she started the engine and pulled out of the station.
After driving up the main drag, she found an empty parking lot in which to leave the Z8. She emptied her purse, getting rid of all her ID, family pictures and credit cards. A snapshot of her with her mom and stepdad slipped from her fingers. Her heart dropped and thumped uncomfortably as she bent to pick it up. Her eyes stung and she ran a finger over her mother’s image.
“I’m sorry, momma,” she whispered. “I should have listened to you.” Lindsay pressed her lips to the photo and then she put it in an envelope with everything else that would connect her to this life and stuffed it under the seat. Her new ID and documents took the place of the old ones. When that was done she got out of the car and locked it. Then she opened the trunk and strongbox, pulled out several bundles of bills and stuffed them in her purse.
There was a bus station up the street a couple blocks and she forced herself to walk calmly toward it. She purchased a ticket to the closest large town, and ran to catch the departing bus. Several hours later she got off in Texarkana, and the woman at the counter was kind enough to direct her to the nearest car lot.
Again, she found her way to a service station where the red wig and contact lenses ended up in the restroom trash can. She then put in green contacts and stripped off her sweater. She reached into her purse, pulled out a t-shirt and a second wig, and quickly put them on. A baseball cap completed the ensemble. With the long, black wig firmly in place she left the restroom and continued on to the car lot.
It didn’t take her long to choose an older Jeep Grand Cherokee. Where she was going she’d need something with four-wheel drive, and the salesman was only too happy to let her take a test drive. After driving around for a bit she went back to the lot. She looked at the $10,500 price tag and smiled inwardly. She’d done her homework, and she knew what she would and wouldn’t pay. And $10,500 was more than she was going to pay. Cash transactions more than $9,999 drew attention; attention she didn’t want. Besides, the Cherokee wasn’t worth that.
“So, what do you think?” the salesman asked after she’d parked the Jeep.
Lindsay looked at him, indifferent. “I’ll give you $8,500 cash for it.”
The man’s jaw dropped then he snapped it shut. “I have to get my manager’s approval.”
If there was one thing she had learned from Lucas, it was how to read people and get what she needed from them. She pulled out a wad of bills. “Okay, but the dealer down the street already told me he’d be happy to bargain.” She glanced at the Jeep. “And his is a newer model.”
The salesman’s eyes bulged when he saw the cash. He licked his lips. “I - I’ll be right back.” The man ran to the office and returned in less than three minutes. He was out of breath when he stopped in front of her. “With tax, license and reg, make it $9,000. Deal?”
Lindsay studied him for a moment then nodded. After following him back to the office she filled out the necessary papers and counted out the cash.
“All right,” he began, his fingers tapping on the keyboard, “now if I could get a home address Miss...Jamison...we’ll be all done.”
Lindsay’s pulse jumped and she faltered. “I...um...I don’t have one. I’m in between residences right now.” The salesman looked at her strangely and she lowered her eyes. “Messy divorce. My husband got everything, including the house, and the car.” She glanced up and nearly sighed in relief when the man gave her a sympathetic look and nodded.
After printing out the documents, the salesman spun the bill of sale on the top of the desk, pushed it toward her, and handed her a pen. Lindsay gulped, put the pen to paper, and started to sign. Once the “L” was done she hesitated. This is it. This is the moment Lindsay Davenport officially dies. This is the day I die and become someone else. She blinked several times, took a deep breath, and finished Lacey Jamison’s signature. And with a stroke of a pen, I’ve been reborn. I’m free. A strange elation welled up inside her as she handed the pen back to the salesman, and she could barely contain her excitement as the man gave her the keys. She fought the urge to throw her arms around him in a celebratory hug. Instead she shook his hand and left the office.
Lindsay had to concentrate to keep from skipping to the Cherokee, but she did turn and give the salesman a jaunty salute as she slid behind the wheel. He smiled and waved, then turned and went back inside without a second glance. Lindsay took a breath, smiled at her reflection in the rearview, and started the engine.
When she hit the outskirts of town she spun around and headed west, stopping for a blonde wig, dark brown contacts and a bite to eat. By the time she got back to the lot where she’d left the coupe it was nearly dark. Apparently the sidewalks here rolled up shortly after sunset, and an almost preternatural quiet hung over the town. She drove around the block several times, her hands tightened on the wheel with each pass. Finally, when she was convinced no one was watching the Z8 she parked the Cherokee in an alley behind the parking lot, out of view. Ever alert, she transferred her bags from the sports car to the Cherokee. She moved slowly and quietly, watching for anything out of the ordinary, her breathing shallow and palms clammy. Thankfully, there were no lights in the lot, so she was able to do her work under cover of near darkness. The strongbox came last, stowed beneath the front passenger seat. Then she made sure the coupe was locked, leaving all her keys, and her wedding ring, on the front seat in plain view. With one last lingering look at the sporty Z8, she got into her vehicle and drove away.
Hopefully, Lucas would think she’d gone to visit her parents, as she’d insinuated the previous evening she wanted to do. That way, when he realized she wasn’t out shopping or visiting friends, he’d head south to her folks’ place and start his search there. For a brief moment, she thought of calling and letting him know where he could find the coupe, but she knew there would soon be an APB out for her and the car, if there wasn’t one already. Let the police find it and return it to him. That would give her an even bigger lead.
Once she reached the interstate she turned into the setting sun. A strange, intense feeling welled up inside her, and she imagined it was a sensation similar to what the pioneers had felt when they first struck out. Scared to death, and euphoric, she couldn’t help but smile. With each passing mile, Peebo’s gift grew until her heart fairly burst with it. Hope.
 









Chapter Two

“You open yet, Ross?” The familiar voice of Sheriff Edward “Boomer” Madison traveled through the bar and Ross smiled. “Hey, Ross!”
“In back, Boomer,” he called back. “And you know we’re not open yet, but since you’re already here...”
Ross strode into the main bar toting three cases of beer as Boomer kicked the snow off his boots, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him. The sheriff took off his hat and scarf and hung them on the coat rack then did the same with his heavy parka.
“Hey, did you hear? Fanny finally sold old man Tinker’s place.” Boomer sat down on his favorite stool and swiveled to face Ross. When Boomer saw him loaded down with beer Boomer rushed to help, took two cases, and put them on the counter as Ross slid the third alongside the others. Boomer leaned an elbow on the carton with Budweiser printed across the top. “Did you hear what I said?”
Ross tossed him a glance then went to work stocking the cooler. It was a Friday night, and they were always his busiest nights. “Yeah, I heard. So who broke down and bought that isolated piece of property?” Ross paused when he saw the gleam in Boomer’s eye.
“Don’t know, she’s not from around here.”
Ross saw the bait, and feigned interest. “She?”
Boomer nodded, his brown eyes shining. “Yeah, and from what Fanny says, she’s a right pretty thing.” He paused for effect and twirled one end of his moustache. “Paid cash.”
Ross’s head snapped up. “Cash?” He tried to wrap his brain around that and failed. “Must be nice. What was the asking price on that cabin, $45,000, $50,000?” With a shake of his head and a low whistle, he went back to stocking the cooler.
Boomer sat his considerable girth back on the bar stool, his leather utility belt squeaking as he shifted. “Seems strange, don’t you think?” Boomer narrowed his eyes. “I mean, an attractive woman wanting to live way out at the end of that lonely road, paying cash for the place. Fanny says she tried to get the woman to talk, but she was awful skittish.”
Ross paused and raised one dark brow. “I think you’re bored and looking for a mystery to solve. Face it, Boomer, Cooper’s Ridge is not the place for a natural detective like you. Just leave the woman alone. It’s obviously what she wants.”
Boomer immediately perked up. “Oh, that reminds me. She asked Fanny about a job and Fanny told her you were looking for a waitress.” He smiled. “You still are, aren’t you?”
Ross stopped what he was doing and stared at the large man. “The last thing I need in here is an attractive woman. You know what this place is like, especially on the weekends.”
Boomer only grinned and turned to look out the front windows as an older Jeep Cherokee pulled to a stop. Ross followed the direction of his gaze and groaned when a woman got out and made her way toward the door, her steps hesitant. The sign said closed, and he scrutinized her as she read it then checked her watch.
She was pretty, but he’d seen prettier. Her hair came to just past her shoulder blades, dark blonde corkscrews framing an oval face. He guessed she was about 5'7", but with her heavy coat on he couldn’t tell anything about her figure. If she wanted to work here he hoped she was sturdy, and not too curvaceous.
He knew she saw them, but instead of knocking she got back into her Cherokee, a plume of vapors rising from the tailpipe as she let the engine run, obviously to keep the car’s heater going. He realized she was going to wait until they opened. Ross placed his hands on the bar and glared at Boomer, who only grinned in return.
“I’ve got one piece of advice for you,” Ross said, irritation swirling hotly in his belly, “stick to being sheriff and quit trying to play Cupid.”
His cell phone rang then, and Ross pulled it out of his pocket to glance at the display. Suzanne. Great, just what I need. Growling softly, he silenced the ringer and put the phone back in his pocket, tossing another scowl at Boomer as he did so.
With a frustrated sigh he walked to the door and opened it. The sub-zero temperature hardly fazed him and he waved at her, gesturing for her to come inside. He watched as she got out of the vehicle and walked toward him. She halted in her tracks a few feet away and looked at him uncertainly. A few moments passed and she didn’t speak, so he did.
“Being timid is no way to get a job, miss,” he said softly. “We don’t do timid in Alaska.”
She glanced toward the street. “I wasn’t being timid, I was being polite.” Her eyes swiveled back to him. “Or, don’t you do polite in Alaska?”
Ross raised his brows but didn’t reply, and she didn’t hold his gaze. He held the door open as she preceded him inside. He noted the graceful way in which she walked and the almost regal air. She wasn’t arrogant, just...genteel. He already knew the Northern Lights Saloon was not the place for her, and silently cursed Boomer for putting him in this position. He hoped she wouldn’t resort to tears when he told her she couldn’t work here.
She took off her coat and hung it next to Boomer’s parka, then removed her gloves and stuffed them in a pocket. Her fingers were long and slender, with short, neatly trimmed nails. He saw her hair, which had at first appeared dark blonde, was actually many colors, from palest blonde to light brown, and every shade in between. All the colors of autumn. As she removed her scarf he let his eyes rove over her, and frowned. She filled out her jeans exceptionally well, and he could see the nicely rounded, ample breasts beneath the heavy wool sweater. He glanced at Boomer and saw the sheriff, too, appreciated the woman’s shape. When Boomer saw Ross’s mutinous expression, he immediately stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Well, hello. I’m glad we finally have a chance to meet. My wife, Fanny, sold you that cabin out in the middle of nowhere, and she’s taken a real shine to you. I’m Sheriff Madison, but round here everyone calls me Boomer.”
Ross watched the exchange with interest, noting the flash of trepidation in her eyes before she took Boomer’s hand and shook it firmly.
“Lacey Jamison,” she said. Then she smiled and continued. “But you probably already knew that. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all your wife has told me.”
Boomer turned and grinned at him. “And this here unsociable creature is Ross Devlin, our local libations engineer.”
She turned to Ross and he found himself looking into eyes of caramel brown, the color of expensive whiskey, lined with thick, dark lashes. Again he saw the flash of apprehension and wondered at it, then shook her hand. Her grip was firm, her skin smooth beneath his fingers.
“Hello,” she said. “Fanny told me you were looking for a waitress.”
After releasing her fingers, he put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Have you ever waitressed before?”
A small smile curved her mouth and she nodded. “It’s been a while, but I think it will come back to me. I grew up waiting tables at my Pop’s cafe.”
He wasn’t moved. “Have you ever worked a bar before? Have you ever had to fend off drunks and still maintain a smile? Have you ever had to be polite to people you really didn’t care for and serve them as you would your own family?”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction and it seemed she was remembering something, and then she looked at him directly. “No, yes, and yes.”
Ross felt something shift inside him, and wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. Her candor was refreshing, and her lack of elaboration was even more refreshing. In his business, he learned far too much about far too many people. He was often tempted to remind some of his customers he was a bartender, not a priest.
He was too stubborn to give in just yet, however. Despite her firm answers she looked soft, too soft for a place where the Sheriff was frequently called in to break up the fights. The loggers could be a rough lot, and the last thing he wanted was a skittish female who bolted at the first sign of unpleasantness.
“How are you in a fight?”
She thought about it for a moment and glanced at Boomer absently. The sheriff sat on the nearest bar stool, watching this exchange with far too much interest and amusement for Ross’s taste. He glowered at Boomer before turning his gaze back to Miss Lacey Jamison. He studied her intently, seeing the hard swallow and the tipping of her chin.
“Let’s just say if I wasn’t a fighter, I wouldn’t be here now,” she said.
He contemplated that remark, and set his face in stone. Her gaze wavered slightly and she looked down at the ground, scuffing the toe of her boot against the well worn hardwood floor.
“Look,” she began, “I really need a job. I’m not going to burden you with my life story, but I’m not afraid of hard work.” She looked up at him then, and he saw a myriad of emotions reflected in her eyes; fear, uncertainty, and, strangest of all, determination. “All I ask for is a chance.”
“C’mon, Ross. You know you need a waitress. Why don’t you give the lady a try?” Ross glared at Boomer, and decided to have a talk with the barrel-chested sheriff as soon as they were alone. Boomer seemed to read his thoughts and his smile widened. “She’d sure dress up the place.”
Ross rolled his eyes.
“Let me work tonight,” she suggested. “If you don’t think I can handle it, you don’t have to pay me and I won’t bother you again.”
He turned his gaze to her. Her request had been more like a proposition than a plea, and as he looked at her she raised her chin another notch. She really was pretty, he decided, and wondered where that thought had come from. She had a generous mouth, with full, ripe curves and a pronounced cupid’s bow. Her nose was straight and tilted up slightly, her eyes large and wide set. Sensing there was much more to Lacey Jamison than what he could see, he decided it might be interesting to find out what else there was. He kept his expression impassive, however, and gave her a short nod.
“All right. Be here by 5:30 and you’d better wear something cooler than that sweater. It can get a mite warm in here when the place is full up.”
She watched him carefully for a moment, as if she was uncertain whether she should believe him or not. When he didn’t retract his offer, she gave him a small smile. “Thank you. See you tonight.” She extended her hand and they shook again, then she donned her coat and strode out the door into the snow.
Ross stood there, hands on hips, watching as she drove away. A strange niggling sensation started at the base of his spine. He shook his head and then went back to the cooler. “I’ve got a feeling, Boomer. That one’s trouble.”
Boomer laughed. “For who? You? I didn’t think you were affected by big brown eyes and a well rounded backside. You worried the boys might start a fight over new meat and break up the furniture?”
Ross rested his hands on the bar gazing in the direction the Cherokee had gone. “No, it’s not that, because that’s almost guaranteed. I don’t know what it is. Call it...a gut feeling.”
“Well, your gut’s not usually wrong, but I can’t see how a bit of fluff like Miss Jamison could be trouble. At least, not any trouble you can’t handle.”
After a few moments Ross shrugged the feeling off and shook his head. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
Boomer gave him an impish grin. “That we will, Ross. That we will.”
***
Lacey added a couple of logs to the fire, knelt before the blaze, and extended her hands. A knock sounded on the door and she jumped, nearly falling over. Her heart rapped sharply against the inside of her chest. Cautious, she retrieved a pistol from a drawer on the credenza and approached the door of the cabin.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Name’s Jack Calhoun. Fanny sent me out to take a look at the roof. Said it needed some fixing.”
Lacey heaved a sigh of relief and put the gun away. Fanny had called earlier to tell her of Mr. Calhoun’s impending visit. She opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
The source of the voice stood on the top step, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He was tall, probably six feet or just above and nicely built. Sandy brown hair peeked out from underneath his ball cap, framing a ruggedly handsome face. His eyes were deep brown and the corners crinkled as he smiled at her. The man took his hat off and twisted it in his hands.
“So,” he said, extending his hand, “you’re the mystery woman everyone is talking about.” He paused. “You can call me Jack.” She shook his hand briefly but said nothing, and he shifted on the step uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll go up and take a look at the roof. Shouldn’t be anything serious, ‘cause Ol’ man Tinker knew how to build things. Probably a loose shingle.”
Lacey nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Jack Calhoun was obviously used to this weather, dressed only in jeans, boots, a turtleneck sweater and a flannel shirt. He gave her another boyish smile before he walked back to his truck and unloaded a ladder. Lacey watched him for a moment and then went back inside.
The cabin was a simple place with only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a large main room that served as living room, dining room and kitchen all in one. There was a large couch in front of the fireplace, the cushions well worn and comfortable, two chairs, two end tables and a coffee table. The furniture looked as if it had all been made by Ol’ man Tinker, and Lacey remembered the small workshop out back. It was full of saws and woodworking tools. Maybe when she settled in and got to know a few people she could get someone to show her how to use those tools, perhaps Ross Devlin.
She stutter-stepped and wondered why that thought had entered her head. Shaking herself, she moved to the hearth and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire. Her heart rate picked up as she remembered him: tall, dark, intense, and brooding. He was certainly handsome, but not in a pretty-boy way like Lucas. His face was as harsh and forbidding as the Alaskan wilderness. He had a Roman profile with a long straight nose that ended above a pair of nicely shaped lips, lips made for kissing. At that thought her mouth dropped open and she ran a hand over her eyes.
Try as she might she couldn’t get his image out of her head. He was taller than Jack Calhoun and powerfully built, and his presence was formidable, at least to her. Piercing, deep-set blue eyes had stared hard at her from beneath dark, slashing brows, the square jaw with its neatly trimmed beard clenched as if in anger. It had been an effort just to maintain his gaze. Try as she had, she knew she’d been, for the most part, unsuccessful. Truth be told, the man frightened her in more ways than one. When he scowled it felt like a physical blow, and even now she felt a bit bruised.
Shaking off the feeling, Lacey got to her feet, walked into the bedroom, and went into the cedar-lined closet. Her clothes, what few there were, already hung inside the heavenly smelling cubicle. She reached for a denim button-up shirt and donned it, then sat down on the large, four-poster bed and ran her fingers over the handmade quilt. There was a smaller fireplace in here, but the hearth remained empty for now. With a sigh she knelt on the floor and pulled the strongbox from under the mattress. She opened it and started to count.
She’d paid $45,000 for the cabin, broken up into chunks to avoid any undue attention. A chuckle escaped her as she remembered the shocked look on Fanny’s face when she had said she’d pay cash. Another $9,000 had paid for the Cherokee, so after traveling and various other expenses she had about ten grand left. It would suffice until she started bringing in some money. She glanced at the clock on the night stand and shot off the bed. It was 4:45 p.m. If she didn’t hurry she’d miss her first shift at the bar.
She hurried into the living room then threw on her jacket and scarf, pulling on gloves as she rushed through the cabin, checking the locks. After grabbing her purse from the side table she stepped onto the porch and locked the door. When she turned, she bumped right into Jack Calhoun. He grasped her arms to steady her.
“Whoa! You sure are in a hurry.”
She twisted away from him and he released her. She stepped back and pressed up against the cabin door, her breath catching in her chest. His sudden appearance sent her pulse skyrocketing and it was several moments before she could pull air into her spasming lungs. After she finally managed to inhale she pushed away from the door and straightened her jacket.
“I have to be at work in half an hour,” she said at last in a shaky voice. “It’s my first night and I don’t want to be late.”
Jack smiled. “Right. Fanny said you were looking for a job. So, where you working?”
Lacey wondered if the entire town was aware of her comings and goings, then remembered that in a small town like this, everybody probably knew everybody else’s business. That was something she was going to have to be careful about, like it or not. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat softly.
“The Northern Lights,” she answered. Jack’s brows shot up and he gaped at her, but Lacey ignored him. “I’d love to chat, but I have to go.” She stepped around him, then stopped in her tracks and turned. “I’m sorry. The roof?”
Jack nodded. “Just some loose shingles and bad plywood. If it’s okay with you I’ll be back out tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have her fixed up in no time.”
She gave him an apologetic smile and nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow afternoon.” She paused. “Thank you.”
He smiled at her, a winsome smile that made him even better looking than he already was. “No problem. See you tomorrow.”
Lacey walked through the front doors of the Northern Lights at a 5:15 p.m. Ross sat at the bar, counting out the cash drawer. He looked up when the bell on the door jingled and, seeing her, got to his feet.
“C’mon. I’ll show you where you can put your stuff and get you an apron. You’re going to need it. You can park behind the building and come in the back way if you want, it’s easier.”
He gave her the grand tour, such as it was. He showed her the small, tidy kitchen, the store room, his office which was nothing more than a glorified broom closet. Within five minutes they were done.
Lacey paused at the bottom of a narrow staircase. “Forgive me for being curious, but what’s up there?”
Ross glanced at the stairs then proceeded to walk around the bar, flipping on neon beer signs as he went. “My apartment. The entire top floor is mine.”
“Oh.”
“Now, come on. Your first duty will be to get the tables wiped down and the snack bowls filled. The first customers should be arriving within the next half hour, and they like peanuts with their beer.”
Lacey nodded, hating the way her pulse quickened when he was close. She could smell his cologne, a subtle, spicy scent that made her want to get closer. At that thought she gulped, turned, and walked away from him.
After gathering the bowls from the kitchen, she put them on the bar and retrieved a large container of peanuts from the store room. The jar was heavy, and when he moved to help her she pulled away.
“Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of handling a jar of peanuts,” she said.
His brows rose, but he said nothing as he raised his hands and stepped back.
One of the things Lucas had insisted on was that she work out regularly, and he’d hired a personal trainer to make sure she did so. She’d hated the man, called him a bulldog behind his back, but he’d helped her become stronger physically. In truth, she had him to thank for her decision to leave. Self-esteem and confidence were powerful motivators.
“After that wipe down all the chairs and get ready for the coming storm.” She looked at him quizzically, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “My last waitress was named Hilda, and she fit whatever images that conjures up. Most of the customers were afraid of her. You on the other hand...” He grinned when she lifted her chin. “We’ll see how much of that bravado you have left at the end of the night.”

Revising the Plan

Revising the Plan
https://amzn.to/2E7eCcw
Anissa Blume
“Corrections. Revisions. The requirements for worthwhile plans.”
Ben Hoffman could hear the mantra, spoken in the German accent of his father. Founder of the architectural firm, Hoffman and Associates, Dieter Hoffman had high standards and expected them to be met. A quiet ride right now would be most welcome, but Dieter would be waiting to hear how the meeting went.
Rush hour was unusually busy in the city; the traffic gridlocked in every direction. The week had been grueling; the days long and exhausting and still there was one day left before the weekend. It was nearly 5pm and Ben wished he could take off his tie, go to a bar and nurse a beer until the rush hour was over. Dieter would never converse about working hard. To him, work was about one’s best effort; there was no need for the adjective ‘hard’ to describe it. Life was about doing your work for your family and the world at large. Ben grabbed his cell phone; it was best to call Dieter and give him a report.
“Benjamin.” Dieter said, answering the phone call in his deep voice. Not “hello”, not “how are you?” There was never time for small talk with Dieter.
“Father, the meeting went fairly well.”
“Fairly well?” Dieter interrupted.
“Except for a few details, the administrators like the plans and will be ready to move forward once we’ve made the changes they want. They will give us a list tomorrow at the wrap-up meeting. I’m driving back to Boston now.” Ben maneuvered his way through the next jammed intersection, waiting for the words he knew would be spoken next.
“Well, get it done, Benjamin. Fairly well is hardly good enough. Remember; corrections, revisions. The requirements for worthwhile plans.”
Unlike others in the firm, Ben had heard the words at home too. Dieter applied the advice to elementary school projects, how staff ran the household and even to family vacations. Dieter paid attention to detail in all aspects of life, and carefully assessed his plans at work and at home to assure they were on track with his goals. Despite the strict nature of Dieter Hoffman, he was a man with integrity, who was respected as a father and husband, and also as the chief of the hugely successful architectural firm. Still, Ben thought as he sighed, like now, Dieter’s style was overbearing.
“Yes, father. I believe we will make changes acceptable to the Center once we review their requests.”
“Good work. I detect flatness in your voice.”
“Father, I’m strained; the week has been long and particularly demanding.” Ben knew he shouldn’t have said that to his father, and instantly regretted it.
There was a long pause; so long that Ben looked at his cell phone, wondering if he’d been disconnected.
“I will assume your ‘strain’ is indicative of your high caliber and diligence. Perhaps you’ve chosen an incorrect word? Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres will be served at seven-thirty; you and Carissa will be on time?”
Ben laughed to himself; laughed at his own foolishness. Trying to get his father to understand work-related pressure was impossible. That he’d have to drive from Hartford, Connecticut, to Boston, and then back again in time for tomorrow’s meeting was not something his father would see as an issue. The phone signaled another call was coming in.
“I have another call. I will be on time, Father. Carissa will meet me there.”
“Continue to make me proud, Benjamin.”
No “good-bye,” no “drive carefully.” Ben clicked over to the call he was receiving.
“I am having the worst day!” Carissa said, almost shouting. “I was leaving the hair salon and the police pulled me over. They noticed the car didn’t have an inspection sticker and they towed it!”
“What?” Ben asked, trying to figure out what had happened. He felt a punch to his abdomen. Just the possibility of some tow truck driver being rough with the new Jaguar was sickening.
“You didn’t get the inspection sticker, Carissa? You had ten days.” Ben was now backed up in traffic at a light that had already turned green twice. He’d already been on the road for a half hour and hadn’t gotten anywhere.
“Where are you; and where is the car?”
“I’m at a bakery on Summer Street. The car is at the place where the police take them,” her voice cracked as she spoke.
“’The place where police take them’? That’s great information.”
Ben could feel his neck getting hot. He loosened his tie as he finally turned onto the expressway. Traffic was still heavy, but it wasn’t stopped. The car was just two weeks old. He had let her pick it out. She’d opted for the gold, fully-loaded XFR. And now, because she hadn’t got the sticker as she’d promised, it had been towed.
“It’s really cold out, Ben,” she said, whining. “I left my warm coat in the car and my clothes for tonight in the trunk.”
Keeping his angry feelings under control, he spoke in a slow, rhythmic tone. “Just go in the bakery. I can’t get there sooner than ninety minutes. Buy a coffee and read a paper, Carissa.”
At top speed in this traffic, he’d be lucky if he’d make it to his father’s home by 7:30; now he’d have to go out of his way to another high-traffic area to get Carissa from the bakery. And the car; he didn’t know where it even was. He would call the police to find the location, then call the garage and make arrangements to have it towed to a local service station. Impoundment charges were calculated daily. It was too late to get an inspection; it would have to be done tomorrow.
It wasn’t as if there wasn’t enough to do. The race was on for the renovations to be completed on the townhouse they’d just purchased. He and Carissa would be closing on the sale of their small suburban home, and moving into the townhouse on Marlborough Street in Boston once the work was completed. The recently familiar tug began; tight and pulling, up the right side of his neck. Ben shook his head, trying to make it stop. The tension headaches lately were intense, and now they included his neck. His stomach was growling for dinner, his mind for a rest. It seemed this day would never end.
***
Carissa bought a cup of coffee and a muffin, and sat at a table beside the window. It was already dark and starting to snow. The wind blew the tiny snowflakes around, but it didn’t appear there’d be any accumulation. Across the street, a storeowner decorated for Christmas. Colored ornaments and tiny pin lights trimmed the large windowpanes. Everything would look so pretty in the days to come, Carissa imagined, remembering her childhood back in the crowded neighborhood where the immigrant Hispanic families lived.
The people back there were poor, but they were believers in Christmas. There were houses with flashing lights nailed around the windows. There were wreaths on doors. Pictures of Santa hung in windows. She smiled to herself as she remembered life back there.
She remembered the year she was in the second grade, and how she’d wished for a baby grand piano. She had asked for one in her letter to Santa Claus. Maybe she was six that year, maybe seven. She could still feel the disappointment when, on Christmas morning, she had not been given one. Instead, she got a new coat and mittens, a gumball machine and a Barbie Dream house. Her mother tried to explain that a baby grand piano was very difficult for Santa to carry, and there was no room for one in their tiny third-floor apartment. “Carissa, someday you work hard, you get a house and you get a room for a piano. You learn to play beautiful music.” Her mother had said in her strong Spanish accent.
Carissa took a sip of coffee. That had been the last family Christmas. It was just months later when her father died in a car accident on his way home from work. She remembered how her mother tried to keep up with the family finances. Two jobs, long hours; she was hardly ever home. Her older brother Fredy got into trouble and was eventually put into a juvenile detention center. If her aunt and uncle hadn’t let her stay with them and her cousin Ana, she’d have been alone most of the time. Life was hard in the neighborhood, but she was loved and was grateful for that; her only regret, really, was that her mom had never seen how things turned out. Her mother would have liked riding in the new Jaguar; she’d have been proud to have her daughter living in the Back Bay. “Rich people live there, Carissa”, her mother had once said while pointing out of the window of the transit bus.
“We close at seven.”
Carissa looked up, her contemplation interrupted by the woman behind the counter. She stood and cleaned her table, wondering how she’d keep warm until Ben arrived. The woman was sympathetic; noticing Carissa’s situation she offered her a large towel she had in the back room. “At least this adds another layer for you.”
Carissa wrapped the towel like a shawl around her shoulders; nothing in the area was open. She huddled close to the bakery’s doorway, under their awning, trying to stay sheltered as she shivered in the wind.
***
Ben continued to lose time, getting stuck in one traffic-jam after another. Crossing town now seemed impossible, and, as upset as he was with Carissa, he worried about her waiting alone. The traffic stopped again; this time he could see flashing lights in the distance; maybe an accident, maybe a breakdown. Carissa should take a taxi to his father’s home, he decided; it would be quicker. Ben called a taxi company, called Carissa, then made a U-turn and drove in the direction of his father’s neighborhood. He would pay the taxi driver once Carissa arrived.
A half-hour later, Ben finally arrived at his father’s home. A valet was standing in front of the Commonwealth Avenue residence. Ben pulled up to the curb. He tightened his tie and put his suit jacket on as he climbed the few steps to his father’s entrance. A big bushy wreath with a red velvet bow hung on the big old door and, as Ben entered, the familiar creak of the hinges sounded.
The entrance hall was decorated elegantly. Everything in its place, as always. Ben looked around, enjoying the carefully placed antiques and pieces of art. Gentle scents of bayberry brought back wonderful memories of past holidays. Across the front hallway he could see formally dressed men and women mingling, holding long-stem glasses of wine. Three men in tuxedos played soft classical Christmas music in the corner.
“Benjamin, come here.”
Across the living room Ben could see Annika waving to catch his attention. He crossed the room, stopping briefly to shake hands with different guests, until he reached where she was standing. He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the cheek, admiring her perfect composure. She was attractive in her odd way. Tall, trim stature and angular features. High cheekbones, a long nose, a bony chin, but still striking. Her blonde hair was not artificial; she’d been blonde her whole life and, as usual, it was pulled back and wrapped in a tight bun. Ben liked that she was plain. Her only enhancements were light makeup and the three-carat diamond ring Dieter had given her at their engagement. She hugged him.
“It’s so good to see you, Benjamin.”
“It’s always good to see you, Annika.”
Ben hugged her, always appreciating that she’d been the buffer between him and his father, and tonight would be no exception. Though she wasn’t his biological mother, she couldn’t have been a better mother if she had been.
“You look stunning.”
Ben could see his father crossing the room to greet him. He told himself to relax as he quickly stretched his neck; a preventative measure against tension, a tension Dieter was sure to aggravate today. Sometimes Dieter’s formality was difficult to endure. Always fastidious, always on watch, nothing passed Dieter Hoffman. Smart as a man could be; clever, business-minded, and still ethical. It was those attributes that attracted the most accomplished people to him, just like all the people at this party. Ben admired him and his business sense, but when his father’s standards weren’t met… Ben exhaled; just the thought of his father always being ‘on’ was exhausting. Dieter looked him over once, apparently approving of his appearance, and then spoke.
“And where is Carissa?”
“Carissa will be delayed because of a glitch with the inspection sticker on the car. The car was towed, and now Carissa is on her way by taxi. She should be here shortly.”
Dieter raised his eyebrows and then lowered them, causing his eyes to squint. “A glitch?”
Ben felt the piercing stare of his father’s gaze. The look that replaced many words. Dieter turned to signal an older couple over.
“Harry and Mrs.Clemens; my son, Benjamin. The Clemens family has donated the funds for the proposed transplant unit at the Children’s Hospital.”
Ben shook their hands and complimented them on their generosity. They were pleasant, he thought. Good kind people, who the firm would get to know when it was time to get the Children’s Hospital project under way. Most of the guests were familiar socialites he’d met before at similar gatherings. He’d just begun to make his way around the room to say hello, when Dieter rang a small brass bell and asked for the group’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming to our home this evening. We have had a triumphant year at Hoffman and Associates, and I greatly appreciate both your business and the pleasure of working with such an esteemed group. I give thanks to my dear wife Annika, for laboring to make this evening a success, and to my son Benjamin for working attentively by my side on our projects. Before I welcome you to the dining room, where a buffet dinner is about to be served, I want to introduce the Mayor of this fine city, Mayor….” Dieter stopped speaking abruptly when the front door slammed. He looked to the hall as the rest of the crowd turned to look, and there, standing wide-eyed, was Carissa, now stopped in her tracks.
Ben’s neck tightened to a new degree at the sight of Carissa caught coming in late, dressed in tight jeans and a sweater. Her breasts pressed against the material of the flimsy sweater with such force her nipples were outlined. Being cold made things worse. Ben wondered what was around her shoulders then on closer observation realized it was a towel. He had to get her upstairs; help her find something else to wear. He stood and, in the same second, turned to Dieter to confirm the stare he was sure he was getting. The “do-something- promptly” stare. Their eyes locked as Ben received the silent demand.
“Please excuse me, everyone,” Carissa pleaded from the hall.
Ben walked quickly. Annika followed Ben, much to his relief, to help defuse this awkward situation.
“Let’s go upstairs and find you something to wear, darling,” Annika said softly.
Ben followed Carissa, who followed Annika up the winding flight of stairs. “I’m sure there’ll be something that will look terrific on you,” Annika said, small-talking as they climbed.
Ben couldn’t help but watch Carissa’s rear as each cheek strained against the material of her skin-tight jeans. Each step looked to be a struggle. He didn’t mean to be judgmental, but he was certain it would be to her advantage in the world in which she aspired to live and work, to err on a more sophisticated style. Why she clung to this ’girl-from-the-‘hood’ look, he couldn’t understand.
“Let’s take a look,” Annika said as she swung open the door to her room-size closet. “Soon, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here.”
Ben looked over to Carissa, who wouldn’t make eye contact. Annika was already in the closet, going down the rack searching for possibilities, while she talked about which color would look best on Carissa. “Don’t anyone worry, Carissa will be dinner-party ready in no time.” Ben wondered how Annika would find something that would fit Carissa, since their shapes were so different.
“Ben, I’m sorry for making a scene down there,” Carissa finally said anxiously, breaking their silence. “Everything went wrong today. I feel terrible.” Ben looked at her then turned. He couldn’t assess the situation. Too much had gone wrong, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was feeling; perhaps it was neglect.
“Annika, thanks for helping us.
“Go back downstairs, Benjamin. I will help Carissa and deal with Dieter.”
Ben thought of his father downstairs, certainly fuming about the three of them being upstairs looking for attire just as dinner was about to be served. Carissa was not malicious and not defiant. It was a matter of ignorance, he was sure. He couldn’t relieve himself from the image of her standing in the hall. Every guest had turned to look, jolted by the slamming door, and there Carissa stood, beautiful, but dressed like a street girl. They’d talked about her choice of clothes. She could go to the stores and buy any nice outfit she wanted, but every time she came home she’d have more skintight jeans and too-tight sweaters. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling more embarrassed or angry. Being late; that was still another issue he’d have to take up with her.
As expected, the buffet table was elegant. A long, off-white linen table cloth hung to the floor; gold, scarf-like pieces of silky material draped over the edges of the table and two large silver deer standing on hind legs doubled for candelabra, set between the serving dishes. Tall tapered candles were set in each deer’s antlers, giving a soft, lighted glow from the flickering flames. Three men dressed in formal attire were ready to serve the guests. Father does everything just right, Ben thought; he never slips up. As he made his way back to where his father stood, he smiled and shook hands with various clients. “Everything looks perfect, Father,” he said, hoping Dieter wouldn’t mention what had happened.
“Yes. Good outcomes do not happen by accident, Benjamin. Plans; good solid planning minimizes the probability that there will be an anomaly. Perhaps you should consider your plans and see if revisions are needed. If so, make the necessary corrections.”
“Father…” Ben said as Dieter turned and walked away. Just like that, Ben thought. Dieter spoke his mind and moved along. He wasn’t interested in what had happened, whether or not there was an apology due; he wasn’t interested in excuses.
By ten o’clock, most of the guests were gone, except for a few who lingered behind talking to Dieter about an upcoming golf trip to someplace warm. Ben was glad. He’d done enough polite chat, shaking of hands and talking about ventures and investments. Annika was his hero still. She had found an outfit that actually looked exquisite on Carissa; loose fitting enough to fit her, tight-fitting enough to need a festive silk scarf draped to hide Carissa’s heavy breasts.
“Stay here tonight,” Annika said. “It makes little sense for you two to go home then come back to Boston in the morning to get the car. You can get a good night’s sleep and leave early for Hartford. I’ll drive Carissa to get the car inspected.”
Rescued again, Ben thought as he let out a sigh. He could sure use a good night’s sleep, even if Dieter didn’t understand how overwhelmed he’d been feeling. “Annika, thank you so much!”
Carissa could see the relief in Ben’s expression; surely Annika’s offer to help them would make his day less complicated. She thanked Annika for offering to help, and also for inviting them to stay, then she politely excused herself from the guests who remained, and gave Ben a hug goodnight.
Annika accompanied Carissa to the guest room and pulled down the edge of the comforter. “I want you to be comfortable tonight,” she said, then opened a drawer and took out a nightgown with the tags still attached. “It’s good to have a spare nightgown in the spare bedroom,” she said smiling, before noticing Carissa wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
Carissa took the nightgown from Annika then sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me tonight; Ben was so upset. You really saved me.”
Annika studied Carissa for a moment, wondering. “Saved,” Annika thought. Apparently she had saved Carissa from Ben’s wrath, and then she thought about herself, wishing someone had saved her on occasion, back when she first became Dieter’s wife. Dieter had had lots of expectations, and expected them to be met. Now, like Dieter, Ben had expectations too.
“Carissa, let me explain. After Benjamin’s mother died, Dieter had to learn to care for an infant. He knew nothing about nurturing, but he worked at it. Benjamin is self-disciplined because of a lifetime of Dieter’s strict rules and expectations. Sometimes their expectations are a bit high, but it’s also why they’ve been so successful in their lives. When I met Dieter, Benjamin was just seven, and he was a delightful little fellow, but often reminded me of a miniature soldier. After Dieter and I married, I took on the nurturing role for both of them. They appreciated a woman’s touch. Benjamin is like my own child; I love him dearly and could not be more satisfied with who he’s become.” Annika spoke as she drew the blinds in the long, floor-to-ceiling windows while Carissa remained on the bed, listening carefully. “I didn’t come to this family with a stringent upbringing either, but eventually Dieter got to me. He’s a very caring and responsible man; and he’s admirable. Benjamin might be too rigid at times, but it is what he knows.”
Annika looked at Carissa sitting there; her eyes wide, her head tilted, appearing to be processing every word Annika said. “I understand. I know Dieter is rigid, and it’s what Ben has learned. Ben is actually a very gentle man.”
Perhaps she had misunderstood what she had “saved” Carissa from, Annika thought, but it didn’t matter. “Good night, Carissa.”
Ben was feeling the day catching up to him. It was hard to sit upright; his shoulders felt like cement. He glanced at his watch. It was getting late and he needed to rest. The conversation was interesting, but his eyes were fighting to stay open. When Dieter offered a nightcap to him and the two remaining guests, he declined, but offered to get the cognac and glasses from the liquor cabinet. He carefully poured a drink for each one and then said politely, “I have to excuse myself, tomorrow’s weather forecast isn’t too promising, and I must be in Hartford early.” The men acknowledged his reasoning and wished him well. Ben shook their hands and headed for the stairway.
“Sleep well, Benjamin. Corrections. Revisions. The requirements for worthwhile plans. Keep that in mind.”

Ravished by the Highwayman

Ravished by the Highwayman
https://amzn.to/2UqOzmi
Summer Edwards
Ravished by the Highwayman

“Well that was a pleasant evening, was it not?”
Cora gazed in surprise at her great aunt. The formidable woman leant back comfortably against the squabs of their luxurious carriage with a beatific look on her lined face.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself Aunt Augusta,” she finally managed to reply, “but I did not find it particularly pleasant.”
“And why was that, my dear?” A rather pained look crossed her aunt’s face.
Cora harrumphed. “You know very well why, Aunt; I simply cannot enjoy myself in the presence of that man!”
“That man is a Duke,” her aunt replied rather more sharply than was her usual wont. “You should be grateful to have been invited to his ball.”
“I was only invited out of courtesy to my father.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Well I’m sure it is; the Duke hates me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, His Grace does not hate anyone.”
“He does not hate anyone save for me; I am privileged in that regard.”
“Really, Cora,” her aunt looked rather annoyed now, “what on earth has led you to such a ridiculous conclusion”
“He did not ask me to dance.”
Her aunt settled back again and half closed her eyes. “He did not ask anyone to dance as far as I could see.”
Cora picked at a thread on one of her gloves. “He kept glowering at me all night.”
“Probably because you were glowering at him! Now really, Cora, I have no desire to continue this conversation any further. You seem set on spoiling a lovely evening.” Her aunt closed her eyes pointedly.
Alone with her thoughts, Cora stared sightlessly out of the carriage window. As they so often did, her thoughts turned immediately to the Duke. His Grace, the Duke of Letham, was by far the most important figure in the district. Every aristocrat in the vicinity longed for an invitation to his soirees. Every woman, gentle or otherwise, swooned in his presence, save she, Cora reminded herself firmly. Yes, the Duke might be handsome. Yes, his tall, athletic figure filled out his superfine in a most pleasing way and yes, his thighs were particularly well muscled, but she was not affected by such things, especially since the Unfortunate Event last year.
Cora almost groaned aloud at the memory. It was one she tried particularly hard not to relive but, before she could stop them, images flashed before her eyes.
She had been at another ball. It was midsummer and something about the time of year had made her increasingly curious regarding the pleasures of the flesh. So much so that she had allowed herself to be coerced into the library by a handsome young Baron and had been kissing him enthusiastically when the Duke had entered.
To this day she did not know why His Grace had been so angry. The kiss had been reasonably innocent. She had already decided well before his intervention that she was not going to allow her suitor to go any further, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. There had been no reason for Letham to pull the young Baron away from her quite so forcefully or to punch him quite so hard. What really bothered her, though, was why the memory remained as clear and vivid as if the sorry event had only just occurred. She could barely remember Lord Forrest’s kisses, but the response of the Duke of Letham was inexorably engrained in her mind.

Her would be suitor dispatched, the Duke stood before her, breathing heavily and absent mindedly rubbing his bruised knuckles. Cora drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much, and looked him straight in the eye.
“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she demanded fiercely.
“I am protecting your virtue,” he ground out, raking a hand through his already disordered hair.
“My virtue did not need protecting.” She clenched her fists in rage.
“That was not how it looked to me.”
“Well, appearances can be deceptive,” she almost shouted. “It so happens that Lord Forrest was educating me in the arts of lovemaking at my behest.” This had not been strictly true. The sojourn in the library had not been entirely her idea and she hadn’t particularly been enjoying the arts of lovemaking, but the man before her wasn’t to know any of this.
“At your behest?” the Duke asked incredulously, taking a step closer to her. “You little fool, do you know how close you are to being ruined?”
Cora raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t particularly care whether I am ruined or not,” she told him, “since I have no desire to marry, it matters not to me.”
The Duke took another step towards her. He was so close now that she was sure she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Before she realised what he intended, he had wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her body up against his. Her breath hitched in her chest. He clearly thought her a woman of loose morals. He was going to ravish her right here in the library.
Part of her knew she ought to fight against him, but she found a strange lassitude had overcome her. She was finding being pressed up against the hard thighs of the Duke of Letham to be a much more invigorating experience than being pressed against Lord Forrest. Her breasts were crushed against the lower part of his torso and she could feel every inch of his lean body against her own. Sudden heat burned between her legs. She tilted her head back to regard his face. His dark hooded eyes bored into her own, and his sensuous mouth was set in a grim line of disapproval.
Unwittingly, she tilted her head still further, her soft lips parting in invitation. She truly believed he meant to kiss her when, with a curse, he pushed her away from him and took several steps backward.
“Your reputation should not be worth so little to you,” he snapped. “Please be more careful with your assignations in the future.” With that, he removed himself from the library, leaving Cora to sag helplessly against a writing desk.
The carriage jolted over a rut in the road and Cora snapped back into the present with a start. She desperately wished she could stop reliving the humiliating scene and that she could not still so vividly remember his clean scent of soap and sandalwood and the invigorating feeling of his body against hers.
He had not spoken to her since that occasion. In truth, they had not been great conversationalists prior to the Unfortunate Event, but he had at least asked her for the occasional dance and exchanged pleasantries with her should they find themselves in the same drawing room. Since he had caught her in the library with Lord Forrest he had not danced once with her. This evening, when she had been jostled against him the queue for the buffet, he had given her the cut direct, and she had detected him glowering at her with his hooded gaze on more than one occasion.
His censorious presence at any event was enough to thoroughly spoil it for her. To make matters worse, she was unable to forget the press of his body against hers, and although she had danced with numerous men and flirted with just as many since that day, none of their admiration had awoken the spark of excitement within her that the Duke of Letham had lit with his disapproval.
***
Marcus Holloway, fourth Duke of Letham, stood in the portrait gallery of his country seat and watched the last of his guests disappear down the winding drive of Letham Court. He gripped his cut crystal brandy glass so tightly it was a wonder it did not shatter. He raised the vessel to throw back the rest of his drink, only to realise that the glass was already empty. Resisting the urge to hurl it into the entrance hallway below, he placed it carefully on a low table.
Yet again she had ignored him. She had danced every dance with some other young gentleman, laughing in their arms and smiling up at them as they escorted her onto and off the dance floor. She had cut him when he had managed to jostle his way towards her in the crowd around the supper table, and every time he had tried to catch her eye, she had looked away in utter disdain.
It seemed to him that any other man might enjoy her plentiful charms. She was popular amongst the local crowd, and no wonder. She was quite a beauty, with her unfashionably long chestnut hair hanging halfway down her back. Her peach coloured gown was cut just low enough to reveal the swell of her generous breasts, and every time she laughed in the arms of another man, he had to suffer the agony of watching them gaze at the ripe creamy orbs as they rose and fell beneath the thin silk. Her brown eyes sparkled with humour, except when they looked upon him. Then they became flat and cold and her usually smiling lips formed a moue of displeasure. How he longed to kiss those lips until she smiled for him, too. He was a Duke, one of the most powerful men in the country; could it really be this difficult to capture the attention of a simple country miss?
He muttered a low curse and strode down the wide staircase. Although Miss Cora Markham did not know it, her evening was far from over.
***

Rally Fever

Rally Fever
https://amzn.to/2E5OTBi
Crea Jones
Chapter One

“I don’t like it when you go, Auntie Mo,” Peter whimpered.
“I know, baby,” Marly whispered, gathering the four year old onto her lap and laying her cheek on his silky head, breathing deeply of the scent of child and baby shampoo. “I don’t like it either, Petey, but I have to make money...you know...so we can eat...and maybe have a new toy.”
“You could just do the books.”
The children’s books, Marly wrote and illustrated throughout the rest of the year paid their living expenses; food, clothing, and taxes on the farm. But it was Marly’s ten day stint at the Sturgis rally; air-gunning wolves, eagles, and buxom women on the back of leather vests and jackets, that paid for the medical insurance...expensive because of Petey’s frequent ear infections and her mother’s heart. It paid for medicines and even a few extras—like the second-hand car and the new tricycle that had so delighted Petey.
Petey pulled back and looked up at her from big, worried eyes. “Will my mama be there?”
Marly stilled. It had been nearly a year since Janine had flown in on the back of a Harley owned by some man Marly had never seen before, covered Peter with kisses, presented him with a second-hand teddy bear, borrowed fifty dollars from their mother’s purse, and roared away again.
“I don’t know, Petey. She might.”
“I don’t like her,” Petey whined.
Marly bit her lip; she wasn’t sure she liked her sister either, but she didn’t want Janine, should she ever choose to reappear, to know that. Marly lived in terror that someday her sister would come back and demand the boy Marly had cared for since he was a baby.
“That’s all right, Peter, but never tell her that, okay?” “An...an...I don’t like grandma either!”
“Yes, you do, Peter.”
“No, I wan’ you to stay with me.” He was close to tears now. If he made a fuss, Marly knew her mother would take it out on him in dozens of mean little ways.
“Peter, you have to be brave for me. And strong.”
“I don’ wan’ to.”
“If you do, I’ll bring you a present.” Bribes, Marly thought. That couldn’t be good for him. But...she had to get him through these next ten days with as little stress as possible.
He considered, looking up at her through the beginning of tears. “What?”
“A surprise. But something really special. You just have to be real good for grandma.”
“But I don’ like grandma.”
Marly felt the beginnings of panic. She’d planned so carefully, keeping Peter up all day so she could put him to bed early, and leave when he was asleep. But now he was so tired he was irritable. Marly hated to leave him, but she had to, and he just had to cooperate. “Please Petey. It’s only ten days. We’ll mark your calendar. Ten little bears.” Marly leaned across to sketch in ten smiling bears on the calendar she’d taped by his bed. “Every morning when you wake up, you can put a mark... say a hat on one of the bears. When they’re all wearing hats...well, then I’ll be home. With your surprise.”
Petey stared at her suspiciously. “What if you run off with some bad man like my Mama did.”
Marly sighed. She knew that had come from her mother. “I’d never leave you, Petey. You’re my little boy.”
He sniffed. “Tell me about the butterfly again.”
Marly tugged the drawstring waist of his dog-printed pj’s down to reveal the odd little birthmark perched on the point of his hipbone. “You have this magic butterfly right here, and whenever you feel sad, you can just press it...” Marly punched it once with her finger and Petey giggled, “and it’ll fly with you and carry you up and away right into our great big blue sky, where everything is bright and happy. And you can soar with the eagles and the hawks and even other butterflies.” She lifted him into bed and kissed his forehead. “I love you bushels and bushels, and I’d never leave you, Petey.”
Petey smiled and turned on his side. “I know,” he muttered snuggling into his pillow.
Marly waited until his eyelids slid down over the green eyes so like her sister’s, then stood, went into her own room, gathered her bags, and carried them out into the living room where her mother sat on the worn avocado-colored couch beneath the mounted deer head her father had shot with bow and arrow some twenty years ago. Marly sighed and thought how she really should try to find the money to redo this place...at least by the time Petey was in school and bringing friends home. “Well, I’m going now, Mom.”
Her mother sniffed and muted the TV. “Do you think she’ll be there this year?”
“I don’t know. Be patient with Peter, Mom. Please.”
“You spoil him.”
“He’s...just a little boy.”
“He’s always whining.”
“No, he’s not Mom. He’s really a very sweet-natured child.”
“I guess you think it’s me, don’t you? I guess you think it’s all my fault.”
Marly blinked guiltily. “No Mom, of course not.”
“Everything in this family is always my fault.”
Marly reflected uneasily that she did rather tend to feel a vast majority of this family’s problems were her mother’s fault, but she wasn’t about to say that, particularly now when she needed her mother’s help with Peter. “Just do the best you can, okay, Mom? And then after...we’ll do something special...go someplace special.” Damn. Now she was bribing her mother.
Pale eyes flicked at her and then away. “You think it’s my fault he left, don’t you?” “No!” Marly shook her head hard. “No, of course not. I certainly don’t blame you for Daddy’s leaving.”
“It was your sister. He couldn’t take her acting out and then just leaving like that. That’s what it was. It broke his heart. That’s why he left.”
Marly felt tears threatening. She wanted to throw herself into her mother’s arms and wail, “But I wasn’t acting out, Mom. And he left me too. And I miss him every day of my life.” But her mother would just sniff and push her away and say, “I do have a bad heart you know.” And besides, today of all days, Marly had to keep the peace.
“I guess you’re staying with her again.”
“Places are really hard to find during the rally, Mom, and Florence rents to me really reasonably.”
“You call her Florence now?”
“Mrs Walker, I mean.”
“Call it like it is. Your father’s whore.”
“Oh Mom. She...was his girlfriend. She loved him and misses him as much as we do.” More than you, I bet, Marly thought bitterly. Her mother’s illness had always kept her from doing anything she didn’t want to do, including inhabiting Smith Prescott’s bed, for as long as Marly could remember. Still, her mother raged continually then and now about his Sturgis girlfriend.
“That’s one good thing about him running off with his young floozy, isn’t it? Old fat Florence got hers.”
“Oh Mother,” Marly whispered; and then louder. “Please. Just take care of Peter.”
“Sure. You just go off and have your good time just like he did. Don’t think about me.”
“I’ll be working!” Marly said through gritted teeth. “Working hard! It won’t kill you to look after the boy for ten days!”
“You don’t know that, do you?” her mother said haughtily. “After all, I do have a bad heart, you know.” She punched up the TV sound.
“Damn,” Marly whispered to herself. “Damn.” She was trembling with anger. Don’t say anything, she told herself. That will just make it worse. Just leave. She moved to the door then hesitated and turned back. “Please Mom!” she cried over the TV. “Be good to him.”
“If your sister’s there,” her mother yelled back, “you can tell her, I haven’t got much time left and tending her bastard kid is probably going to kill me.”
“Mother!” Marly gasped.
“Ask her who the father is. Tell her we gotta have some help. Tell her her behavior drove off your Dad. Tell her I can’t do this every year, Marlene. I’m a sick woman.”
“The doctor says if you take your medicine...” “A lot he knows.” Her mother turned the TV sound even higher and whined to it, “I’m just not up to caring for a kid.”
“I’ve frozen meals for all ten days, Mom. The house is clean. All you have to do is...is...” her voice fell. “Be nice to him.”
Her mother stared at a beaming Pat Sajak and didn’t answer.
Marly hesitated and then went out, letting the screen door slap shut behind her. Maybe next year it would be better. Wiley was trying to get her airbrushed vests and jackets into the Easy Rider catalogue. Maybe next year she could afford childcare for Peter. She hefted her bags into the old Chevette already loaded with painted vests and jackets, her airbrush, and her paints. And maybe next year she could afford a car that wasn’t on its last legs or tires or whatever. “Just make it there and back this year, baby,” she whispered patting the rusty hood. “Please. Just this year.”
She started to get into the car; hesitated, glanced up the path that ran behind her mother’s chicken coop, and then, on impulse, left the car door wide to the evening breeze and walked up that path. One hundred yards beyond the coop was the small pit Marly’s father had dug for her vision quest. Her father’s grandmother had been Sioux, and he’d grown up with endless stories of the Sioux ways, myths and history. In turn, Smith Prescott had related them all to his younger daughter. She’d been ten when she decided she wanted, just as a Sioux child would, to have a vision quest. So her father had dug the hollow, searched out a quilt that had been his grandmother’s and then, late in the chosen day, Marly had caught him cutting tiny pieces from his arm and putting them into a hollow gourd.
“What are you doing?” she remember crying out, horrified.
“This is how it’s done,” her father had replied. “It’s the duty of the parent or grandparent, Marly. It helps the visions come. They say Sitting Bull chipped a hundred pieces from his arms before he had the vision of blue-coated soldiers falling upside down from the sky. That’s how he knew his people would win at the Little Bighorn.”
But Marly had begun to cry and to protest that she didn’t want her father to cut himself. He nodded and stopped, but always after, she remembered him like that, cutting himself for her, and always after, she’d tried hard never to hurt or displease him.
Marly knelt and touched the hot dirt in the small depression, remembering how her father had wrapped her in the quilt and settled her there as night fell, and she had lain, staring up at the stars and the Sioux night sun, big and round and pale. Then finally, she slept and dreamed bright vivid pictures, and then herself painting those same pictures. The next morning, she told her father she would be an artist, and he smiled and capped her head with his huge, warm hand. “Then my little Wonderkid,” he grinned, “we better start saving for art school.” He took her into town and opened a savings account in her name, and every month the two of them had put in five dollars until Marly started babysitting; then it was more.
When Smith Prescott had walked away without a word, Marly had used a little of the account to begin an art course down at the Black Hill’s College in Spearfish. But when Peter came, every cent was needed for the medical bills from Peter’s frequent ear infections and the tubes a surgeon had finally implanted to stop them.
She had felt as though the very threads of her being were entwined with those of her father, and then he’d simply torn away and left her. That had been four years ago, and she’d just barely begun to heal. She stood abruptly, turned, and hurried back down the path. It was time to go, past time, and this wasn’t helping a bit.
The Chevy sputtered and jerked to a start, shied a bit on the gravel road that led out of the hills, but settled into a rattling rumble on the county road that led into Spearfish. After a time, Marly relaxed and let herself enjoy the long, late sun light that hazed the distant mountains, giving them that dark look that caused the Lakota Sioux to name them Paho Sapa, Black Hills, since their language had no word for mountains.
The sky was deep blue with lofty clouds piled in the west. An eagle wheeled slowly over a stand of burr oaks. Marly felt herself soften and fill with pleasure. It was so beautiful here, so quiet. She began to fill with peace. It would be all right. It was all going to work out. She would make enough money at the rally to cover next year’s extras and Peter would manage with her mother and pretty soon he’d start school and have friends he might be able to stay with. She half-smiled and the tension in her shoulders eased until something, some uninvited feeling, crept from the fringes of her mind. A feeling of unease, a feeling she hadn’t had this strong since that terrible August her sister had run off, and her father had disappeared. “Took off with one of his floozies,” Marly’s mother claimed to this day. But...somehow...Marly couldn’t quite believe it. There had been other women; Marly knew that. But since Smith Prescott’s wife considered herself an invalid, and since Smith was still a strong, healthy male, Marly couldn’t quite bring herself to blame him. But her father would never have left her alone to deal with her mother. And he’d never have left the Meade County deputy sheriff’s job he loved. But then he had, hadn’t he?
At Spearfish, she pulled onto interstate ninety and was immediately surrounded by Harley Davidson motorcycles, two abreast, all rolling toward Sturgis, all huge and mostly ridden by hairy men. They reminded Marly somehow of the buffalo that used to roam here. Marly sighed. Another rally. Every August, the little town of Sturgis, South Dakota, shut down its businesses, emptied its stores of dresses, shirts, hardware, and rented every inch of space to vendors from all over the world, selling leathers, T-shirts, exotic foods, rally beer, motorcycles, and every motorcycle accessory known to man. The Buffalo Chip, Hog Heaven, and other, smaller campgrounds hauled in hundreds of porta potties and booked famous rock bands. The highway patrol moved half of its staff to the West River area; hundreds of police from other towns took their vacations and drove to Sturgis to earn the big bucks the Sturgis force paid for extra rally policing. And then the bikers arrived. For one week, the population of Sturgis went from five hundred to two hundred thousand plus.
The money bikers spent in a State with a severely depressed economy would keep a good number of locals going through the rest of the year—Marly included. Most of the bikers worked as doctors, lawyers, construction workers; but then there were The Hells Angels, The Devils Disciples, The Yonkers; all the outlaw gangs. Not just everyone could afford the gleaming $25,000 Harleys and all the painted leathers and chrome attachments. It was a pricey hobby...or occupation. Marly hit her right turn button and took the Sturgis exit behind a biker with a buxom blonde in a string bikini clinging to his leather back. His babe was going to have one miserable sunburn tomorrow.
Marly turned into Florence Walker’s driveway, pulled out a shopping cart and loaded it with leathers, paint, and airbrushes. Florence came out and stood on the front porch. “Room’s all ready, Marly.”
Marly smiled and nodded.
“You hear from your father?”
“No.” Marly murmured. Growing up, she’d heard the whispers. Florence had been Smith Prescott’s lover for as long as Marly could remember; she knew her father would have left her mother for Florence if it hadn’t been for his daughters. This part of South Dakota was traditional; men stayed with their families...and besides, their Dad had loved them. And Florence. And had gone off with someone else?
Florence came down the three steps from the porch to whisper to Marly. “They rented their back yard for three hundred dollars.” She pointed with her chin to her neighbor’s back yard where three tents were already in place. “Kin you believe that? Three hundred dollars! Jus fer a scrap a grass ta stick a flap a canvas. They rented the drive fer another two...n’ the poor suckers gotta go in and use the town porta potties. They’re not even lettin’ ‘em use their john.”
“Florence, the two hundred I pay you really isn’t enough. I mean, for the driveway and the room...”
“No, now baby. I’m not about to rent to those bikers. Who knows what they might do?”
Florence represented that part of the locals who locked themselves in their houses for the rally duration; another part set up stands, rented rooms and yards, and came away with a tidy little nest egg.
“You want a glass a sweet tea?” Florence asked, wistfully.
“No, I’m going to get this down to Wiley’s before it gets too late.”
“Oh honey, you shouldn’t be out alone.”
Marly smiled. “I’ll be okay, Florence.” She didn’t point out that even though the rally didn’t officially begin until tomorrow, the streets and sidewalks were packed with bikers and tourists and locals. Every year, Florence made Marly watch a video of an old fifties movie, The Wild Bunch, in which a motorcycle gang takes over a town and menaces its pretty young women. Marly understood that, for Florence, every rally was just one gigantic Wild Bunch and so, for a long ten days, she worried constantly about Smith Prescott’s daughter.
***
Marly walked down Main Street, narrowing her eyes against the glare of late sun flashing from the chrome of several thousand motorcycles. Revving motors thundered about her. Gas and oil fumes filled the air. The crowds on the sidewalk were so dense she could hardly push through. Marly had to admit that she, like the town, was ambivalent about the rally. When it started, she always grew uneasy and often ended the ten days with shaking hands and fierce headaches. Never had there been a rally where at least one person hadn’t died. But Marly didn’t feel physically threatened.
No. It was...something else. It was such a very different world. The town had been overwhelmed by the 50th anniversary rally back in 1990. The great hordes of people who descended on the small, quiet town had left behind hills of garbage and other unpleasant messes. Public nudity and similar displays of questionable taste had had the town up in arms. A community standards letter had been mailed to all vendors, property owners, and the local newspaper. A community standards committee had been appointed, as well as a rally committee that had created newer, stronger rules. Taxes and levies were set on vendors so the town would benefit. And now a peace of sorts existed between the two sides. But the flash, the glitter, and yes, the violence, was still part of the rally...and all of it was underscored by a restless, sensual, sexual energy.
The motorcycle babes wore string bikinis or fringed leather halters or tight
T-shirts that they flipped up at the drop of a lug wrench revealing full, white breasts. And the street booths were full of T-shirts and bike stickers with biker messages and biker humor. Messages that seemed to speak of some hidden war between the sexes: “Women: you can’t live with them, can’t shoot them.” “I’m not a bitch. I’m the bitch.” “Never trust anything that bleeds three to five days a month and doesn’t die.” “Get on, hold on, shut up.” “BLOW ME!” “It isn’t how deep you fish, but how you wiggle your worm.” It seemed to Marly that perhaps sexuality was something angry and hard. But then, too, were the messages of their life philosophy. “Every day we make it, we’ll make it the best we can.” “If you have to ask...you wouldn’t understand.” “If you get the urge, do it in Sturg.” “If you can’t rock and roll, don’t fuckin’ come.” “Born to ride.” “Crashing sucks.” “It’s a sick world, n’ I’m a happy guy.”
It all made Marly uneasy; even frightened, but more too. She felt something lacking in herself...the ability to give up control, to take the chance of crashing. If it was a sick world...well, then she was not a happy girl. And part of her wanted to be...happy? Free? Something.
She felt a bit like her mother’s hens in the spring when they grew broody and the blood pooled in the skin of their chests, and they turned endlessly in the new grass and weeds until finally they created a nest and settled to lay and hatch a new family. Yes. That was it. Increasingly, the rally made Marly feel broody, and that was what was frightening. She wasn’t about to climb on the back of some sleek, leather-covered biker’s hog and head off into the sunset, leaving her devastated family behind as Janine, her sister, had done. Yes, damn it, just as Janine had done... and...worse...her father.
But if Marly left, there would be no one left to pick up the pieces and no one to care for Petey. And he didn’t deserve that. She would never do that to him. Still she wanted…something…more. Something she knew was out there beckoning, or perhaps threatening.
Marly found herself remembering the woman who’d been strangled and dumped out on the county road after the rally when Janine had disappeared. A woman who looked so much like Janine that the sheriff’s substation in Deadwood had called the number on the posters Marly and her father had stapled on poles all over Meade County. Marly had been seventeen when the call came in, but her father had looked so white and sick she’d insisted on going with him and on driving.
“Deputy Prescott,” A respectful, young officer murmured, looking honestly sad. “I hope it’s not your daughter.”
Her father just nodded, unable, Marly suspected, to speak. The officer led them back to the body. Marly heard her father gasp as the young man reached to pull back the sheet; quickly she put an arm around his waist. And then it wasn’t Janine. Just someone who looked very like her.
But her father stood for the longest time, staring down at the pale, heart-shaped face, the tangled red hair.
“It’s not her, Daddy.” Marly whispered.
“Sure does look like her.”
“Yes...but...it’s not.”
Smith Prescott’s eyes moved from the face of the stranger back to his youngest daughter’s. His eyes were odd, troubled. “Some big coincidence.”
“Yes, it is, Daddy.”
“Odd,” he muttered, turning abruptly and striding away so fast Marly had to run to catch up.
“What’s the matter?” She gasped catching at his arm.
He hesitated and then smiled down. “Nothing, baby. Nothing. Don’t worry that pretty head.” And then within the week he was gone. Just disappeared.
“Run off with his floozy,” Marly’s mother said over and over. But Florence was still there in Sturgis. He’d been so pale and gasping for breath as they’d sped toward Deadwood. He could have had a heart attack somewhere isolated and just never been found. But then Chris Stokes, his fellow deputy, partner and friend, pointed out that his car was parked at the McDonald’s in Spearfish. “You think he had a heart attack and then walked off so far we couldn’t find him? Doesn’t work that way, Mar.”
“Well then, maybe foul play,” Marly ventured. And Chris started laughing. “You’ve been reading too many detective stories, honey. This is South Dakota, you know.” And later, he’d brought word that one of the deputies had seen Smith Prescott with a young thing over in Pierre. Later, word came that someone else saw him in Wall. So then he’d just walked away? And never once so much as tried to contact his family...contact her? It was a sick world, and Marly was not a happy girl.
She tightened her grip on the cart handle, and moved faster through the crowd. Most just stood staring out into Main Street where the huge Harleys, many painted or chrome decorated, roared up and down Main Street, which hadn’t yet been officially closed to car traffic, though it might as well have been. One biker rode with a blow up doll tied behind his seat; another sported a cage with a real, live hamster, but most carried scantily dressed “biker babes.”
Marly’s eyes drifted forward and caught on a pair of steel grey eyes that fixed on hers. The owner’s monster Harley was parked in the line that fenced the side walk. The owner sat, one foot on the black gas tank, an arm draped over the propped knee. He wore not the usual bikers’ cap or bandanna, but a leather hat that was half-biker, half-cowboy. Marly’s steps faltered, then stopped. For an instant, their eyes locked; Marly swallowed. He really was rather magnificent; wide shoulders and narrow hips all encased in the glove-soft, black leather that bikers wore for protection should their skoots skid out. His face looked...grim, she thought. Something about the distance in his eyes or the set of his jaw... perhaps fierce was more accurate. Then, with his eyes still holding hers, his finely chiseled lips curved into a mocking half-smile that made him look...dangerous.
Marly found herself shifting in a small half-circle. Just like a broody hen, she thought with disgust, and jerked her eyes away right onto a scantily clad young woman perched up on a counter, selling T-shirts emblazoned with, “There’s nothing like an eight hundred pound vibrator,” beneath a picture of a huge Harley. Marly’s face burned and her eyes shot back to the man in black. He was grinning now and looked a little less like some hero from a spaghetti western, but Marly wasn’t fooled. This was just the sort of man Janine would have leapt on behind, her hands running up and down that leather-gloved body as they rode off into the sunset, leaving everyone else to clean up her messes.
Well, Marly was not her sister. No way was she going to tie up with some biker who’d leave her alone in the ashes of a ruined life, no matter how pretty his eyes or how his hair curled on the collar of his jacket. In fact, he needed a haircut. She walked faster, jerking the shopping cart behind and knocking into even more pedestrians in her flight, as she fought an urge to look back...just once. “I’m not my sister,” she muttered into the motorcycle roar. “I am not my sister.” She hesitated, then added, “Or my father.”

Chapter Two

Marly paused outside the shop where Wiley Witterford had rented space for this year’s rally, then jerked her cart over the threshold. “Hey, kiddo,” Wiley called. “Lookie here. I got your table set up right there in the window. Been selling at Sturgis for over ten years now. Guess as how I know the game. I loaded that camper with twice the leather jackets, vests, and pants I usually bring, and all the way up from Georgia, I knew this was gonna be our year.”
Marly grinned, remembering how last year, a full year ahead, he had reserved the window booth in the hardware store right on Main Street. “Better be, Wiley. This ten foot square is going to cost you several thousand dollars.
“Yeah, some a the other vendors are complainin’ a exorbitant rents, but hey, I import my leathers cheap from China and with yer paintin’ n’ yer looks, doll, profits from this week’re gonna be big.”
“I sure hope so, Wiley.”
“Well, I know so, kiddo. Lookie here. I got your table set up right there in the window.” He grinned widely, “And I got you this thing.” Wiley grabbed a bag and dragged out a strange woven garment. “There’s a guy down the street’s wearing one, and he has hisself these sheep horns on his head bigger than my daddy’s old bull. Looks odder than Dick’s hat band. But on you, now... He calls ‘im body webs. Sellin’ like popsicles in hell, an’ the rally ain’ even officially started yet. I figure you in this, in that window, an’ we’re gonna do us some business, big time.”
It looked like nothing so much as some giant, string shopping bag. Marly stared at it appalled. “I can’t wear that, Wiley.”
“Ah sure you kin, Shugah. All up and down Main you got babes in them butt cutters sellin cigars or porno calendars...and, yeah...leathers. We gotta meet the competition...and you kin even beat it. You got that sweet little lady face stuck on that killer body. Every man’s fantasy.”
“Wiley, I’d feel so...so...”
“We both need the dough, Babe.”
“I’d like my sales based on talent, Wiley.”
“Sure, sure. But you got that in all sorts a fields, doll. Let’s just use it. This place is costin’ big time. I don’ make the sales this year, I might not be able to afford to come back next.”
Marly stilled and stared at the wizened little man. How would she keep it all going if she didn’t have this? Maybe she could get on with another leather vendor...but most already had their own airbrush artists. She needed Wiley...at least until she made some sort of name for herself. She hesitated, then reached out and took the garment.
“And wear yer hair down,” Wiley said.
Marly looked at him. She would look like all the other biker babes rolling down the street out there. She would look like…Janine.
“And some make-up. You got the building there, kiddo. Let’s give’er a coat a paint.”
The next morning, Marly put on the body web, and then turned to the mirror and began to brush out the wild black curls she usually kept in a bun at her neck. Suddenly she stopped, the brush hovering. The black web covered her from wrist to ankle like a second skin, revealing graduated ovals of flesh that marched up her legs, thighs and body, then circled her breasts in a low, wide neck line. While the web revealed less than a string bikini, its strings woven close over breasts and bottom, still it was subtle and suggestive and hence perhaps more disturbing. “I can’t wear this,” Marly told the worried-looking girl in the mirror. “I look like...like...” Worried grey-blue eyes looked back at her, full lips moved slightly. “Like Janine.”
But of course she didn’t. Janine was red-headed and had green eyes. No, she just looked like someone like Janine. Someone all dressed up for...for trouble...rally trouble. She found herself thinking of that spaghetti western hero watching her with those fierce, dark eyes.
She grabbed her hair and twisted it into a tight bun, then slid into a T-shirt that covered her to the knees. She could do hair and make-up at the store. And sit up there in that window, day after day, selling her painted leathers with her painted self? “Well, you have to,” she whispered to the mirror. “You have people depending on you.” After work, she could wash her face, do up her hair, put on the shirt for the walk home.
After work, she could be herself again…Couldn’t she? “Just ten days,” she told herself. “You can do this for ten days. You can.”
***
Marly sat in her window, her airbrush misting out veils of paint. She tried to lose herself in the work and ignore the men passing her window, and more often than not stopping to stare; and not at her work. A number came in to buy, a vest, a jacket; business was brisk. A number of customers lingered to talk.
“Marly,” one said, reading the signature below his eagle. “Marly what?”
“Just Marly,” Wiley cut in quickly. “It’s her professional name...like Cher or Madonna.”
“Does Marly have a telephone number?” “Not this week, she don’, Mister. Try askin’ when rally’s over.” Her admirer went off mumbling. The window was hot and bright.
Marly felt exposed—vulnerable. She was a shy person who loved still, quiet places where she could work and dream. And yet too...there was always that shadow of wistful longing.
She looked up, and he was there. Outside her window. Staring in at her. Her hand began to tremble, and she shut off the machine and picked up a brush to add detail to the gray wolf she’d painted on the back of a vest. Wolf eyes formed beneath her hand. Marly tried to fix on the work but found her eyes slipping toward the window. He was still there, rearing back slightly, his hands in his back pockets. He nodded toward her wolf and smiled. She saw it then. Somehow she’d begun to add his features to her wolf’s face. Those fierce dark eyes. The grim set to his mouth. “Damn,” she whispered.
“What?” Wiley asked.
“Nothing.” She leaned a little to shield the painting from his eyes.
“I think I’ll go grab me some lunch, Doll. Less you wanna go first.”
“No, you go ahead, Wiley.”
Wiley stepped out of their space and joined the throng moving through the store. And a moment later, the stranger came in and leaned on the counter. Marly moved carefully off her stool and came to stand across from him. “Can I help you?”
He nodded toward her table. “Finish the vest. I want to buy it.”
She hesitated. “That will take another thirty minutes or so. You can come back.”
“I’ll wait.”
She sighed and returned to her stool. After a moment, he came around the counter and stood behind her, watching.
“I’ve always wanted a vest with a wolf wearing my face.”
“It...it does not.”
But it did, more so with every stroke she made.
“Marly,” he said softly. “What’s the rest of it?”
“That...that’s it. A professional name. Like...a...Cher.” She debated, then asked softly, “and yours?”
“Lukas.”
“First or last?”
“Just Lukas. It’s a professional name.”
She heard the laughter in his voice, and she wanted to give the wolf a stye or warts, but then he probably wouldn’t buy it, and they needed every sale.
A finger slid into one of the web openings just below her shoulder blade and stroked the skin there. She drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t do that!”
“Yesterday’s little caterpillar became quite a butterfly.”
She shrugged back a shoulder to knock away his hand.
“Still...I rather liked that shy, little wrapped-up creature. I sensed something in there. But now...” She turned abruptly and caught the slight half-smile. “Now it’s all out here. They’re stuffing bills into the bikini of the cigar girl down the street. Maybe you should try that, just-Marly.” She felt her hand flying up at him. He caught it in mid-air and then stood there staring down with those dark, hooded eyes.
“You okay?” The voice came from behind Lukas’s broad back. “Is there a problem here?” Lukas turned slowly, drawing to one side until Marly could see the tan-uniformed man standing behind him.
“Chris!” Marly cried, leaping up and flying to give him a hug.
“Marly?” Chris drew back to look down at the web. “Jesus, baby, what’s happened to you?”
Marly smiled at her father’s one-time partner. “What happened to you, Chris? Last I heard, you’d scored a job as detective on the Pierre force.” Chris was twenty years younger than her father, but his curly blond hair had begun to recede slightly and he’d acquired a slight paunch.
He looked...safe. Teddy bear safe, and she was glad to see him. Maybe because of the dark man who stood watching them with a narrow-eyed stare.
“This guy bothering you?” Chris glared back.
Marly’s eyes slid uneasily to the stranger and then away. “No,” she mumbled. “Just...a customer.”
Lukas’s lips moved in something that might have been a smile. “I’ll come back for the vest,” he said and strode off into the crowd. Marly felt both relieved and let down.
“Damn bikers,” Chris muttered.
Marly touched the emblem on his shoulder. “Are you back for good?”
“No. Just one of the rally fill-in-staff.”
“A detective?”
“Bunch of them here, Mar. Gets you away from the desk. Sort of a paid vacation.”
Marly nodded and swallowed. “Well, it’s good to see you, Chris.” There was a time when Chris Stokes had fairly lived at their house. A time when she’d thought he’d be her brother-in-law. And then Janine had met her biker. And now her one time pal was eyeing her web-covered body. “Jesus, Mar, I always thought Janine was the family beauty, but you’ve got her outclassed and then some.”
Marly blushed. “It’s the web,” she muttered. “Wiley thought it would be good for business.” She went back to her stool.
“I guess.” Chris cleared his throat. “Say...a...speaking of Janine, you seen her this rally?”
Marly shook her head, took up a brush, and outlined the wolf’s tongue. “Why do you ask?”
“Guy here this year...” Chris came closer and stood watching her work for a moment, then he fished a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on her table. Marly turned her head and stared down at the grainy picture.
“It’s Janine,” she said, bewildered.
The black block printing over the picture offered a ten thousand dollar reward for any information leading to the location of this woman. Below the picture: “Janine Prescott Grey. 5’10” tall, red hair, green eyes.”
“Grey?” Marly asked, frowning.
“Married name.”
“She really married him then?”
“I guess.”
“She said she did when she brought Peter to us, said he died in an accident here at the rally, but...” Marly hesitated.
“But she lied a lot,” Chris finished in a flat voice. He of all people would know. “Sometimes she did...Sometimes she told the truth. You never knew.
The rally accident thing felt a little false to me. You know how she did like to invent glamorous lives and give herself starring roles. I doubted it...but mainly because she didn’t tell us his name, and none of his people ever tried to contact us...about Peter. I just assumed...”
“That he was illegitimate?”
She nodded once.
“I could do some checking if you’d like.”
Marly hesitated. The thought of finding someone who might want to take Peter away was terrifying. But still...the memory of the very unhappy little boy swamped her. The child deserved more than she was able to give him. Her mother was right about that. “Please Chris. I’d appreciate it.”
“Let’s have supper tonight. I’ll tell you what I find.”
“It will have to be late...after Wiley closes the booth.”
“That’s fine.” For just a moment, Chris’s hand rested on her shoulder and then he left. Such a nice man. Why couldn’t her heart stutter at his touch instead of...of... Marly looked into the eyes of the jacket wolf. Instead of this creature.

Playing for Keeps

Playing for Keeps
https://amzn.to/2E5s298
Glenda Horsfall
Chapter One

The night was coming to a close and Matt was enjoying holding Cassie in his arms as they swayed together on the dance floor. He held her close as he gently nuzzled at her nape. They were a perfect fit. Although she was tall at just over 5’8”, her head rested just below his shoulder. He had only to bend his head to whisper in her ear. He breathed in deeply. God, he loved the smell of her. The light floral scent of the shampoo she had used mingled with the smell of her arousal, and he was looking forward to taking her home to bed.
“I love the outfit, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands caressing up and down her back, “but I can’t wait to get you out of it.” Before she could reply, he continued, keeping his voice low as he whispered in her ear, “Mind you, I think I’ll let you keep the shoes on. Love the idea of fucking you in high heels.” Christ, he’d been fantasizing about it all evening. He was still wondering if the sheer stockings she wore were, in fact, stockings or tights. Was she wearing a garter belt? Shit, he sure hoped so.
She blushed in response to his teasing and glanced around the room, as if to see if anyone had overheard his heated comments. As her eyes widened in arousal, he pulled her a little bit closer.
They had spent a lovely evening having dinner at the local Italian restaurant with another couple, Zack and Emma; old college friends who had married while still at college. During the evening, Zack and Emma had announced that they were expecting their first child. Amid the excitement and baby talk, Emma had joked that it would be his and Cassie’s turn next. Matt sure hoped so. He would like nothing more than to settle down with Cassie and start a family. Unfortunately, they still had one major obstacle to overcome. He just hoped she didn’t bring it up again tonight and spoil the mood.
“You’ve been teasing and driving me mad all night. When we get home, I’m going to make you scream for me. I love watching you come!” he teased.
“Oh yes,” she whimpered, closing her eyes. “Love the idea enough to play a little?” she asked softly.
Shit! He stopped dancing, unable to get his feet to move as he tried to damp down his irritation. He held her close, and she had also stilled, as if she were waiting for his answer. “Oh, Cassie,” he groaned, “let’s not go down that road again!”
“What’s so wrong with wanting to experiment a little?” She wriggled sensually against him, tempting him, but he felt her tense up. He felt like a bastard. He knew she was upset; he just wished to goodness he understood what it was she really wanted. Her need to experiment was starting to cause a rift in their relationship. He wished she would just open up a bit more and explain to him exactly what she hoped to achieve with role-play.
He pulled her closer, letting her feel his erection, and was gratified when he heard her soft moan of surrender as she rubbed herself in a slow grinding motion against him. Oh man, was she tempting him.
“What’s so wrong with what we have?” he cupped her bottom, pulling her up hard against his thighs as his hands slid sensually against the silk of her dress.
Disappointment crashed over Cassie. It didn’t matter that she had made an effort dressing to please him; she wasn’t going to be able to tempt him to indulge her. What was wrong with trying to bring a little spice to their love life? She had talked to her friends and a lot of them indulged in a little role-play. The romance novels she read were full of it. She nibbled her lip, worried that perhaps he just didn’t fancy her enough.
“Nothing’s wrong, but I don’t understand why you don’t want to play a little.” She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not like I’m asking you to beat me or anything. I just want to try a little role-play!”
“If there’s nothing wrong with what we have, why do you feel the need to play silly games?”
She pulled out of his arms as she fought to hide her tears. She held herself rigid as she tried to contain her anger. How dare he call her ideas silly? Why couldn’t he understand? “Well, I don’t think they are silly,” she returned snappily.
“Of course, they’re silly, Cassie.” He stepped back and raked his fingers through his hair, exasperation showing in every feature. “I’m not playing games with you.” His tone was unequivocal. “I love you. I want to make you happy. I just can’t see me dressing up in some stupid outfit, pretending to be someone I’m not. Why would you want that?” He stared at her.
“Role-play is meant to be exciting; to add a bit of spice.” she returned defiantly. “In some of my romance novels--”
“So now you’re saying I’m boring in bed!”
She was getting angrier by the minute. Of course she didn’t mean that. Why was he deliberately turning things around? The evening was going all wrong. She reached out to grab his hands.
“No, I’m not!” she returned quickly. “All I’m saying is that I don’t see any harm in experimenting a little! I just don’t understand why you won’t even try.” Christ, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings, but he just wasn’t listening to her.
Matt grabbed her hand and steered her away from the dance floor. “Let’s go,” he said. He sure as hell wasn’t having this conversation in the middle of a public place. They bade a goodnight to their friends and he hailed a cab. Cassie sat at the opposite end of the cab seat. He was irritated that she’s chosen to sit apart from him, but he was also annoyed with himself because he knew he’d disappointed her. Why had she had to bring the subject of role play up tonight when they had been having so much fun? Why did it mean so much to her? Damned if he knew!
They didn’t call him the ‘problem solver’ at work for nothing. On the ride back to Cassie’s place, he made up his mind to get her to open up, to talk to him about what she really wanted. If he understood exactly what it was she wanted, then he could set about solving their problem.
He watched her closely as her delicate brow puckered and she nibbled softly on her lower lip, her thoughts obviously troubling her. He only hoped it didn’t mean that she was having second thoughts about their relationship. His hands clenched at his sides and his jaw tensed just at the thought of losing her. He was going to make her sit down and talk to him as soon as they were alone.
They had practically grown up together, with their families being neighbors. He had watched her go through her teens dating other boys and not even seeming to notice that he was around. It wasn’t until she had started working at the same design company as he did, that she had appeared to see him as something other than the boy next door. His work as an architect meant he was often out on site; whereas her role as a buyer within the company meant they didn’t cross paths often within the office. However, when they did cross, he had done everything in his power to make sure that she connected with him. It had taken him nearly six months of office repartee to pluck up the courage to ask her out. They had now been dating for nearly ten months, and he had seriously been thinking about proposing. However, if they couldn’t get over this role-play issue, then he didn’t think it was going to happen. He loved her and he wanted nothing more than to make her happy.
He hoped that when he sat her down to talk about her desire to role-play, he could make her understand his reluctance.
The cab pulled to a stop outside her apartment and, as Matt followed her up to her door, he couldn’t help but notice how rigid she held herself as she marched up the path. He had a feeling that the evening was still going downhill. He was going to have to do something drastic to rescue it. Not only was the night going down the tubes, he had a feeling their relationship was going to bottom out fairly soon unless he did something to save it. He didn’t want their relationship to end. He knew he could make her happy again if she just gave him the chance. Trouble was, she was in such a bad mood now, he didn’t know if she would take a chance on him.
He grimaced as he resigned himself to the thought that he would have to give this role-play thing a try. How the hell he was going to convince her that he was getting into the idea, when he was still skeptical there was any aspect of role-play he liked, he wasn’t sure. He would have to tread carefully. Maybe if he agreed to try a little role-play tonight, he could coax her back into a better mood. He took the key from her hand and crowded her against the door as he reached over her shoulder to unlock the door to her apartment. He rubbed himself against her bottom, underlining his need for her, and reminding her that he was still there, still wanted her.
Cassie could hardly wait to get into her apartment. She felt like crying, she was so disappointed. How could he possibly think that she still wanted to make love to him tonight? How dare he rub himself up against?
“Matt, go and sit down in the living room,” she threw over her shoulder as he followed her into the apartment, “and I’ll go and make us a coffee.”
“I’ll help.” He started to follow her down the hall, toward the kitchen.
“No, please.” She turned and pointed towards the living room, “Just go and sit down, I need a few moments alone.” She walked away from him, and he was left with no choice but to do as she asked.
She needed a few minutes to get her act together or else she was going to end up losing her temper. As she walked into the kitchen, she rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension she felt in her muscles. Why could he not understand that she was trying to bring them closer? Every time she raised the subject of role-play he rejected it out of hand; she never would have believed that he would be so ‘straight’ and unwilling to experiment. She’d thought all men wanted a bit of spice. Why did he persist in seeing her desires as silly? In all the erotic romance books she read, the couples engaged in role-play; the eroticism in some of the stories had really turned her on. Stories of a tall, handsome Dom pleasuring his adoring submissive really got her juices flowing. All she wanted to do was act out some of these roles, with Matt playing the role of the Dom. She wasn’t really trying to change him. The way things were going, it didn’t look like she was going to get the chance.
As she moved around the kitchen, preparing their coffee, she had time to think about their relationship. He was the ideal partner for her in many ways; they had similar backgrounds and held the same values, so why did she feel like there was something missing? Why couldn’t she settle for what they had? You know why. Her conscience kicked in.
Reading romances filled with Domination and submission had turned her on more than she’d thought possible. Just the thought of letting Matt take complete charge and submitting totally to him filled her with sexual craving. A craving so intense she wanted to experience the submissive role for real.
Matt escaped to the living room, feeling like he had been granted a reprieve. He felt lousy because he knew she was upset, and it was his fault because he wouldn’t agree to her request to try a little role-play. He knew he needed to make it up to her; he just wasn’t sure how. When he had tried to rub himself up against her at the door, an action that would normally have been well received, she had stiffened her spine and pulled away from him. She was obviously still upset with him.
He hated disappointing her. He could have indulged her desire for role play if she’d picked different roles for him, but she always seemed to pick controlling, abusive roles for him to play. He just couldn’t imagine himself ever spanking her hard, which is what she had asked for one night when she wanted him to play a headmaster. He didn’t want to hurt her.
He wanted to pleasure her. If he remembered correctly, that night had ended up in an argument, with him back at his own apartment.
A few minutes later, Cassie entered the living room, two coffee cups balanced on a tray that she placed on the coffee table in front of him.
“Help yourself. I’m going to get changed.” She spun on her heel, turning her back on him.
Oh, no. He wasn’t going to make it that easy for her to avoid their problem. Leaping from his chair, Matt grabbed her by the wrist as she went to sweep away from him.
“Not so fast, sweetheart.” He pulled her toward him so that he could look into her eyes. “If trying this role-play idea means so much to you, we’ll give it a go.”
He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to give her what she wanted, but he couldn’t stand seeing her miserable, and he couldn’t contemplate the thought of losing her.
“Really?” Her eyes lit up with excitement; he was surprised it meant so much to her.
“Really.” He gathered her close to kiss her hard, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth as he stroked around her recess. God, he loved the taste of her. Her arms sneaked around his waist, pulling him in closer. He ground his growing erection against her soft mound. She moaned and whimpered the kitten-like sounds at the back of her throat he loved to hear.
He pulled back slowly, breathing hard. “So what role do you want me to play tonight?” he asked, praying that she didn’t ask him to play the headmaster again.
“Hmm… let me think a minute.” As she deliberated, her eyes glowed with excitement. A light flush washed over her face, and her nipples started to peak through the silk bodice of her dress.
He prayed she’d choose a role that he could feel the same level of anticipation about, as he waited to hear what she had planned for him. He wished he could look inside her head and work out exactly what it was that excited her so much.
“Don’t take too long.” He took her hand and rubbed it gently across the front of his pants, letting her feel how turned on he was. “I’m just about ready to burst.”
“Right… okay, let’s see.” He held his breath, wary of what she was going to suggest.
“You pretend to be the landlord come to collect my late rent. Of course, I haven’t got the rent money; I’m so poor, you see.”
He had trouble swallowing. Another abuser role, and he could see exactly where she was heading with it. He just hoped he could pretend to get into the role enough to convince her. Her smile was wicked as she continued, “You demand sexual favors in lieu of the rent payment. How does that sound?” she looked at him hopefully.
How did that sound? Awful, sleazy, like I’m some kind of Victorian pervert come to demand his wicked way. Crap, why did she always pick such lousy roles? Where was the romance in acting a scumbag? It was bloody stupid, but he wasn’t going to say that to her.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Her idea of role-play sure as hell wasn’t doing a lot for him.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
Shit. He had to at least try and persuade her to try and choose a less abusive role.
“Look, Cassie,” he pleaded, “do you not fancy trying something more traditional? Something a bit more...” he paused as he searched for the right word, romantic?” His tone hardened, “A bit less abusive?”
“What are you saying? I haven’t asked you to do anything abusive.”
She was looking at him warily, as if she expected him to back out at any minute. “What kind of role are you thinking of?” “Christ, I don’t know.” He paced, thinking for a few moments before turning back to her, “How about a boss and his secretary? Or a pirate and his captive?”
She was shaking her head, negating his suggestions. “Nope, don’t fancy either of those.”
“I’m not sure I can do this, Cassie. You always seem to pick abusive roles. I just can’t get turned on by them.”
“Well, you were turned on plenty when we got home!” Her tone was a combination of disappointment and belligerence, and he felt another row brewing. Were they ever going to be able to agree on this issue?
He held up his hands in surrender, hoping to avoid a repeat of their previous arguments.
“Well, it’s your choice. Still sure that’s the role you want me to play?” he asked, one last time.
“Certain,” she returned curtly.
“Fine, honey, if that’s what turns you on.” The idea sure as hell didn’t do a lot for him. He classed himself as gentleman. No real man would demand sexual favors in return for payment.
“Okay, you go outside and knock on the door and I’ll let you in as the ‘landlord’.” She giggled as she re-opened the front door.
Oh, Shit. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to play along!
It was clear Cassie could hardly contain her excitement. As she smoothed her hands down her body, lingering lightly on her breasts to rub her fingers over her already tightening nipples, she wriggled as though she could already feel the muscles of her sex starting to pulse with excitement. She was panting softly as she waited for the game to begin. Seeing her become so turned on made him determined to try and get it right this time. He really wanted to make her happy.
Wanting to make her happy didn’t make him feel any less of an idiot as he stood on the front step, knocking at the door. He looked around furtively, hoping none of the neighbors were about.
“Who’s there?” Cassie called from inside the apartment. “Cassie you know who’s here. Open the door!” Matt was irritated already. He let out a loud sigh, straightening away from the door to run his fingers through his hair.
“No. You’ve got to say, ‘it’s the landlord come to collect the rent’.”
Huh, landlord. Scumbag, more like! And he didn’t like it, not in the slightest. Hoping none of the neighbors heard him, he leaned toward the door and said quietly, “It’s the landlord come to collect the rent.”
“No, no … You have to be more forceful!” She didn’t unlock the door.
I’m going to throttle her before this night is through. He felt like a real idiot talking to her through the door, and he sure as hell didn’t want the neighbors coming out to see what was going on. He flushed, just imagining the embarrassment. Losing patience, he banged on the door loudly. “Open the door, Cassie.” He’d had enough of this game already. “I’m not standing out here any longer.”
The door opened slowly and he surveyed her. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest, and her lips were pinched with disapproval.
She obviously wasn’t happy. Oh shit, now he was in trouble! Maybe if she had picked a happier or more romantic role he might have been able to get into it, but he just couldn’t play someone out to take advantage. Morally it didn’t sit right.
“You’re not even trying to get into the role,” she accused, her lips pursed in displeasure.
“Well, it’s not a role I’m comfortable with,” he tried to explain. “Why can’t you pick something more conventional, something non-threatening?”
“Because that’s not what I fancy,” she snapped, her eyes flashing in anger.
“Well, I don’t fancy your roles, either.” They were going around in circles and getting nowhere. His temper was starting to fray with frustration at not being able to understand what she was looking for.
“Let’s forget it for tonight.” Knocking at the front door and feeling like an idiot had cooled his ardor. “It’s late, I’m tired.” Too bloody tired to play these kinds of games, but he didn’t say that to her.
“Well, maybe you should just go home now and get your beauty sleep!” She glared at him.
God that hurt. Matt closed his eyes in despair and took a deep breath, composing himself before he replied. “I think we should talk about this before you send me home.” He really needed to understand why role-play was so important to her. He had to make her open up and talk to him.
“What’s there to talk about?” With hands on her hips, she stood looking up at him. “I want to experiment a little, you obviously don’t!”
Shit! “It’s not that I don’t,” he tried reasoning, “It’s just that I don’t understand why you would want… that?” Why did all the roles she asked him to play have to be abusive? Why did she always cast him as the baddie? They really needed to talk about this.
“Want what?” Cassie fired back. “You’d think I was asking for something kinky; something dangerous. I’m only after spicing up our love life a little.”
He could tell she was getting up steam now. Perhaps if he could just get her to sit down and talk about it, she would realize that the roles she picked for him just weren’t him. He didn’t see himself in the role of abuser.
He imagined himself playing other roles; roles were he got to play the take charge lover and make mad passionate love to her. Sure didn’t look like it was going to happen tonight, though. He put his hands up in a sign of surrender and backed slightly away from her. “Look at it from my point of view, Cassie,” he started. “Think about it. If you were really behind with the rent and the landlord came demanding sexual favors, are you going to satisfy him?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, eyes blazing. “Don’t be stupid! It’s a game we’re playing.” She threw her arms up in the air as if she couldn’t believe he would ask something so stupid.
“Well, why not, if the idea turns you on?” he shouted at her.
“Because,” she took a deep breath before continuing through gritted teeth, as though he was being dense, “I don’t want to play games with my landlord. I don’t fancy him.”
“Listen to yourself,” he bit out. “If you did fancy him, would you oblige?” Christ, he hoped not!
“Now you’re being silly! It’s not like that; you’re just trying to twist my words,” she accused, and he felt guilty when he saw her eyes fill with tears.
He couldn’t bear the thought that he had reduced her to tears. He softened his tone, trying to reason with her, trying to get her to understand his point of view.
“No. I’m not trying to twist your words.” Matt shook his head, still trying to fathom her reasoning. “I’m just trying to make you understand why I can’t do this. It feels wrong, Cassie.” He held up his hand to stall her. “The thought of someone, the landlord, anyone demanding sexual favors because you owe them money turns my stomach.” He paced the room, unable to stand still in his agitated state. “I can’t get turned on by that idea, Cassie. Hell, I would want to beat crap out of the bastard; it’s abusive and immoral. I don’t understand how it can turn you on.” He looked at her perplexed.
Minutes before, her face had been flushed a becoming pale pink with arousal. Now it was stained a darker tone with anger. Her arms were folded across her chest, hiding the nipples that only moments before had been begging to be kissed, and she was glaring at him.
“It’s only role-play, nothing else. Why can’t you see that?” She was pouting again.
“I can see that!” he retorted sharply. “It’s the kind of role-play you want to try that bothers me!”
“You just don’t want to play, that’s what you are really saying. You are quite happy with a vanilla sex life!” She spat the words, clearly disgusted with him. “I’m not discussing this anymore tonight. I’m tired, I’ve had enough and I’m no longer in the mood.” Ouch, that hurt. “I’m going to bed.” She looked him straight in the eye and finished, “Alone.”
God, give me patience. Surely she wasn’t going to send him home just because he wouldn’t play along with her games. She was acting like a spoiled brat. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to get himself under control. At that moment, he could have quite happily put her across his knee and paddled her backside.
Never in his life had he thought she could tempt him to spank her, but at that moment she was acting like a child who deserved a good spanking. The way she had been behaving lately, she might just like it. And he certainly wasn’t about to indulge her while he was in a temper.
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it,” he said carefully. “We’ll talk about this another time when you’ve calmed down.”
She nodded, not speaking to him. Shit, she really did mean to send him home!
He hated the idea of going home now. She would be left on her own to worry about their argument, convince herself that they were not right together. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up losing her. “Is it okay if I call myself a cab?” he snapped. Fear that she was going to end their relationship churned his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his question was abrupt.
He hadn’t taken her need to experiment sexually seriously; it obviously meant a lot more to her than he’d thought. He would really have to think about what she wanted, if he was serious about taking their relationship a stage further.
“Help yourself. I’m going to bed, so let yourself out.” She sounded mad as hell. “Lock up when the cab gets here. Goodnight.”
She walked away, and he was left standing alone as he watched her retreating toward the bedroom. He was stunned that the evening had come to this and vowed that he would make her sit down and talk the issue through when they had both calmed down.
He couldn’t relax and sit, so he paced her living room while waiting for his cab to arrive. His muscles bunched tight with disappointment and frustration. He cast his eyes around the room and spied her stack of romance novels; the novels giving her all these stupid ideas. He felt like throwing them in the trash can, as if by getting rid of the books he would rid Cassie of the notion.
As he looked down at the stack, the cover on the top book snagged his attention. The title ‘The Dom Who Loved Me’ caused him to pause. The Dom? Like BDSM? Cassie hadn’t mentioned wanting to experiment in that direction; at least he didn’t think that was what she had been getting at. He decided to sit down and have a look through the titles she had been reading.
What an eye opener. Cassie obviously had desires he hadn’t yet explored. All the books appeared to have the same theme. He read through the titles; My Master, His to Command, Slave to Submission. There was a definite pattern emerging and he began to wonder about the stories contained within the pages of her books.
He grabbed a couple and put them in his jacket pocket. Maybe if he read them, he would figure out exactly what it was about the idea of role-play that turned her on. Perhaps then he could come up with a role-play scenario they could both enjoy.
He arrived back at his own apartment, bewildered, not able to believe the evening which had started off so well had ended so badly. Unable to even think about sleep as he was still so wound up, not to mention sexually frustrated, he poured himself a drink and settled down to have a look at the books which he blamed for all their troubles.
Several hours later, Matt finished the first of the books he had taken from Cassie’s apartment. The book had been an anthology of short stories, all of which were based around a BDSM club run by bikers. The men were all Dominant, the women submissive. No wonder she wanted to play. The stories she had been reading were sexy enough to turn a corpse on! He had taken himself in hand several times throughout the book, especially when the action heated up between a Master and sub.
Reading the book had done nothing to ease his frustration. Although some of the scenes had been, in his opinion, extreme and borderline abusive, a lot were more positive, emphasizing the fact that those within the BDSM scene had to have total trust in their partner. A submissive put all of her trust in her Dom; he, in return, ensured her sexual satisfaction and made sure that she was well taken care of in other ways. If what he had read was true, then a good Dom who knew what he was doing could actually get his submissive to orgasm on command. Christ, imagine that! Just the thought had him hard.
He vaguely recalled that on a guys’ night out several months earlier, a couple of his friends, slightly drunk at the time, had discussed the best clubs for those in the lifestyle. He did recall James saying that he and his girlfriend were stronger than ever before as a couple, once they had begun to explore the lifestyle, as he called it. He would give James a ring tomorrow and get more information from him.
His trousers were already undone; the hard on he had had all the way through reading the book had not dissipated. He leaned back into the chair; spreading his legs. He fisted his rigid cock and closed his eyes. He imagined Cassie down on her knees before him, her mouth wrapped around his rigid length as she took him deep into her throat. He stroked himself slowly at first, letting the fantasy carry him as he imagined the sensation of her tongue curling around his head, licking and kissing her way down the length of his erection. His legs trembled slightly and he smeared the bead of pre-cum down the length of his cock, before grasping himself tighter, imagining himself inside her warm moist body. As he stroked himself with greater urgency, he fantasized that he had Cassie kneeling between his legs as he commanded her to suck him faster and harder. Panting like he was running a marathon, he stroked himself quicker and quicker as he reached for his release. Shit, his orgasm was about to blow! His last thought, before his ejaculation brought his brain to a screaming halt, was that he would love to look in her eyes as she swallowed all he gave her.
As he lay in bed still unable to sleep, he pondered exactly what it was Cassie was looking for. All the subs in her book got really turned on just by the act of submission. He began to suspect that what Cassie was really looking for was domination in the bedroom. She really wanted to submit, not role-play!
“Well honey, if that’s what you want… that’s what you’re going to get,” he murmured, before he fell asleep, exhausted.
Chapter Two

It wasn’t quite what Cassie had expected. When Matt had said he was taking her away for her birthday, she had expected an upmarket hotel, roses, champagne, a romantic dinner followed by a night in his arms. After all, Matt was the traditional type – no matter how much she had tried to persuade him to experiment a bit in the bedroom. She had not expected to end up at a Gothic looking palace that looked like it had been stolen from the pages of a Steven King novel. The hotel sat in the middle of nowhere, an island in a vista of lush green foliage.
The patchwork of fields stretched as far as the eye could see, and she spied no other properties nearby. When he’d told her they were going to a costume party that night, she had wanted to turn around and ask him to take her home. For months she had been trying to tempt him into trying a little role-play. The last thing she wanted to have to take part in was some juvenile costume parade. Cassie felt like she had lost the prize and ended up with the consolation award. Her stomach was in knots. She was going to have a hard time hiding her disappointment.
She looked around the suite they had been shown to. There was a small lounge and a large bedroom, with a solid wood four-poster bed, decked out in crisp white linens, on a raised dais. This bed sat opposite a large picture window giving views across fields and woodland that seemed to stretch for miles. She felt a twinge of guilt. It had probably cost him a fortune for the weekend; suites in country hotels did not come cheap, but, for Lord’s sake, where was the romance in a costume party?
The bathroom was luxurious, with a large sunken Jacuzzi bath, easily big enough to accommodate two, twin washbasins and a shower enclosure. The walls and floor were black marble flecked with gold, and the shelves where filled with expensive toiletries which, had she not been feeling so disappointed, would have thrilled her. Maybe she could persuade him to join her in the large bath and they could have their own party up here in their room. Determined to try to rescue some romance from the weekend, she set about unpacking her bag and personal toiletries.
Matt had to struggle to keep the grin off his face as he leaned against the bedroom door frame, watching her unpack. He knew she was disappointed, but hoped that when he sprung his final surprise she would be pleased. Just the thought of her in the outfit he had ordered was enough to make his cock twitch. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to try to get himself back under control. Deep breaths; easy boy!
“Cassie, I’m going to nip downstairs and pick up our costumes. Why don’t you have your bath now while I’m gone, and you can get straight into yours when I get back? The party starts in about an hour.”
He knew she wasn’t excited by the idea of a costume party, but was trying to put a brave face on her disappointment. He was tempted to come clean and tell her exactly what he had planned for the evening, but he managed to contain himself, sure that a surprise would be better.
“Are you sure you want to go to the party?” she asked, her tone flirtatious. “Wouldn’t you rather order dinner and stay here and make our own party?”
Matt watched her saunter over to him, her lush hips swaying. Shit – he couldn’t wait to see her in her outfit. She stopped directly in front of him, her hands splaying out across his chest, her nails lightly raking his nipples. Down boy! It would have been so easy to take what she was offering; he could have quite happily thrown her down on the bed and made love to her, but he reminded himself this night was for her, about making her fantasies come true.
No vanilla sex tonight – he had planned this to the last detail and he would see it through even if she was killing him! He grabbed her hands and hauled them around his waist as he pulled her closer. Her breasts pushed up against his pecs and her mound rubbed against his hardening erection.
His mouth came down hard on hers, his tongue flicking across the seam of her mouth until, with a sigh, she sank into him and opened her mouth fully. He thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth, mimicking his desire to be buried deep inside her. His tongue tangled with hers as he ground his pelvis against her mound. She moaned softly, a whimper from the back of her throat as her body softened and pressed into him.
His left hand came up to grab her hair. The long wavy hair the color of mahogany was one of the first things he had noticed about her. He had fantasized about seeing it spread out on his pillows as she lay underneath him. He wrapped a handful in his fist and pulled back gently to expose her throat. Her skin was like satin and he left her mouth to trail kisses down her throat. At the junction of her neck and shoulder, he nibbled gently with his teeth, knowing she was sensitive in that area. He had the satisfaction of hearing her moan again.
He returned to her mouth, kissing her hard before forcibly putting her away from him. He felt bad about the disappointment in her eyes, but had to stick to his plan.
“We can’t miss the party, honey,” he told her. “You get in the bath while I go and sort things out. I promise I will make it up to you later.”
He turned away while he still had the strength and walked back into the lounge. His cock was throbbing and tenting painfully against his pants. He poured himself a drink from the mini bar and tried to calm down. He sure as hell couldn’t leave the room with his cock at half-mast!
By the time he returned from picking up the costumes, Cassie was already settled in the big bath with her hair pinned atop her head. The bubble bath she had added created a dense coating of bubbles and he couldn’t see below the water line. Her more than generous breasts with their darker, large nipples bobbed gently on the surface. She lay back in the bath with her eyes closed, a smile hovering on her lips. She obviously had not heard him enter the suite, and he took his time standing in the bathroom doorway just watching her.
Holy shit! It took him only a moment or two to realize that she was playing with herself. She had told him that whenever she was uptight she masturbated, as sexual release seemed to alleviate all the tension in her body. She had, however, never masturbated in front of him – and he had been too much of a gentleman to ask her to. Now he wished he hadn’t been so reticent. Watching her getting herself off was such a turn on. She lifted her left leg and placed it on the shelf of the bath, one hand was covered in soap as she gently massaged first one breast and then the other, her fingers plucking at her nipples until they stood at attention. Her other hand was below the water line, out of view, the bubbles denying him the sight he wanted so badly.
Seeing her hand bob up and down, moving faster and faster, and listening to her breathing becoming more ragged, knowing that she was going to come at any minute turned him on so fast it took his breath away. Jesus, he couldn’t breathe. He should make her aware that he was there – but there was no way on earth he was going to miss her finale – not when she was this close. His cock throbbed and he subconsciously rubbed himself in time with her movements.
Her fingers worked frantically below the water line, and he heard the little moans at the back of her throat, which he guessed was a scream she was trying to suppress. As her legs started to tremble, her green eyes opened suddenly. She dropped her left leg back into the bath and under the water and quickly averted her gaze.
“Don’t stop now, honey – you’re just getting to the best bit,” he drawled, his voice coming out more husky than usual.
“Go away, you’re embarrassing me!” she snapped back.
“I might be embarrassing you – but hell, you’ve got me turned on so much I can hardly think straight,” he said.
“Please Cassie, carry on – you must be feeling frustrated leaving off where you did. I loved watching you.” Shit, he hadn’t been this turned on since he was a teenager who couldn’t control his hormones.
“Look, I’ll strip and join you in the bath – you won’t be on your own.”
She looked up at him, embarrassment slowly fading from her face and softly muttered, “Okay.” But, she left her hands where they were resting along the sides of the bath.
He yanked his shirt off, not caring that buttons were popping left, right and center, and peeled down the zip of his slacks carefully over his erection. He toed off his shoes and socks, his eyes on Cassie as he undressed. He loved the way her eyes lit up as he slowly lowered his pants and boxers to reveal his fully erect state.
“See what you did to me,” he said. “How can you think watching you didn’t turn me on?”
Her eyes widened, and her tongue slipped between her teeth as she licked her lips. The thought of the havoc her tongue would evoke caused his cock to twitch.
“Move forward, sweetheart, and make some room for me.” He slipped into the bath behind her, pulling her onto his lap so that her firm bum cheeks sat on top of his cock. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and pulled her back so that she rested firmly against his chest. He brought his hands up to cover her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumb and index finger. God, her breasts were so responsive. The nipples were erect and pushing into his hands in moments. She arched her back and pushed her breasts towards his hands as she leaned back more fully against him with her head resting against his neck and shoulder. Her bum cheeks moved restlessly over his cock, as she pressed herself more firmly against him.
“Finish what you started, baby,” he murmured hoarsely.
“I can’t, not with you watching me.”
“Yes, you can.” He took her right hand in his while pushing her legs apart with his knees, and guided her hand between her legs. Cupping her hand in his larger one, he held open her fingers and guided her middle and index finger between her folds. Shit, she was swollen and hot. He only hoped he lasted until she came. His breath hissed between his gritted teeth as he fought for control.
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight refusing to let go.
“Relax, enjoy, baby.” He worked her fingers up and down against her swollen clit. He nibbled at her neck, sucking and biting at the same time as he stroked her fingers up and down. Her breathing became more labored, her moans echoing off the bathroom walls, and he was getting harder by the minute.
“I’m going to take my hand away now, baby, but I want you to continue.” He swallowed hard. “I want to hold you in my arms when you come apart.”
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She was normally so in control, so correct, so polite; never in a million years would she have imagined herself masturbating in front of someone else– but shit, she had been on at him to try something new in their love life. Perhaps it was time she tried something different herself. If it made him happy, and judging by what she was sitting on, it was making him very happy, then what the hell. She closed her eyes, snuggled her back against his chest. His arms were now around her middle, with his fingers playing a sweet tune on her nipples. He pulled and twisted them almost painfully and the sensation was spiraling straight to the folds between her thighs. The pulsing started deep inside and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she came. She plunged two fingers inside and continued to stroke up and down her outer folds and clitoris with her other hand. As the tension mounted, her fingers stroked more and more frantically as she reached for the release she needed.
“Oh God, Matt… Matt, I’m going to come!” she screamed. “That’s it, baby, let it go. Fly for me.” She heard how erratic his breathing had become and his hoarse entreaty spurred her toward her climax.
“Oh God, oh shit….” She was screaming her pleasure and bucking above him. She clamped around the fingers she had inserted, spasms of her release sucking and pulling them in, as her orgasm finally washed over her, leaving her jerking around on his lap.
Holy shit! Matt felt like he was going to explode. He was sure he had never witnessed anything sexier in his life.
He couldn’t wait another minute to be inside her; he surged out of the bath lifting her with him. They stood in front of the vanity units. She faced away from him. He grabbed her hands, planted them on the counter, and pulled her backside toward him. One hand slipped between her folds and two fingers went inside her where he still felt the spasms of her orgasm. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to control his mounting excitement.
He was so desperate for his own release that he pushed her head down and entered her fully in one strong surge. Shit, she was so hot, so tight, so slick… He leaned over and brushed her hair from her neck. He touched her throat first and then caressed lower to tease her nipples, all the while pumping into her as hard and as fast as he could. Christ, he wasn’t going to last long! Matt felt his release building, heard the slap of his balls against her moist opening.
“Harder…yes, oh yessss, harder.” He could hardly believe she was encouraging him; her pleas for him to take her harder came out breathy and eager as she panted in time to his thrusts. He had her pinned from behind, but she looked so passionate in the mirror, so turned on. Her eyes blazed with passion. He was thrilled with her response. He clenched his jaw as he fought for control. Matt grabbed her hips hard and continued slamming into her, almost as hard as Cassie herself was pushing back against him. Her pussy tightened around him, a sure sign that she was about to come again. He slipped his arm around her and rubbed her clit then pinched the erect bud tight between his fingers. She whimpered low in her throat. ‘Oh Christ…so good,” she gasped.
“Come with me, baby. I can’t hold on much longer,” he panted. “Now!” He threw back his head and let out a roar as his own completion tore through him.
Cassie screamed as she stiffened, then bucked. Matt knew that if he’d not been holding her, her legs would have buckled. He leaned over and kissed her gently, “Amazing, absolutely bloody amazing…” he whispered against her ear, as he surveyed her reflection in the mirror.
He felt her body trembling as she continued to hold onto the vanity unit. She lowered her head, causing her hair to fall forward, shielding her face from his view. She said nothing.
Her stillness was un-nerving. The strength of their passion had taken him by surprise and he had been a bit rougher with her than he would normally be. Guilt choked him.
“Are you okay, babe? I was a bit rough – sorry about that, but you got me so darned horny I couldn’t help myself.”
Her body slumped across the vanity unit and she gripped the sides tightly. She shook her head in reply to his question. He stroked her back in an attempt to comfort her. He felt the small tremors that still coursed throughout her body, as she fought to bring her labored breathing back under control. Crap! He had been too rough.

Playing By His Rules

Playing By His Rules
https://amzn.to/2QyVKdl
Glenda Horsfall

Chapter One
Shit. Shit. Shit! Xander couldn’t believe it. It was bad enough that the papers had published the story, but for it to come out now, when he was visiting his sister, was worse than bad luck. Sophia was going to kill him for bringing bedlam to her home.
He paced his brother-in-laws study like a caged animal. His cell phone had started ringing in the early hours of the morning; the newshounds were out for blood. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they tracked him to Sophia’s home. He wasn’t concerned for himself, Christ he couldn’t give a damn what they thought about him, but he needed to make plans to get away from his sister’s home before the paparazzi realized he was here and started camping on his sister’s doorstep. Getting away from here would ensure that the paparazzi now hounding him did not inadvertently get photographs of his niece and nephews. Therefore, he needed to remove himself from the vicinity of the family home as soon as possible. Sophia would never forgive him if his actions brought unwanted attention to her family. There had been numerous high profile kidnappings in Greece, and they had made the decision not to allow photographs of the children to appear in the press.
Deep in thought, he was less than cordial when his cell phone rang yet again. A quick glance at the display ascertained it was Giles, his security chief, based in Athens.
“What now?” He snapped, his tone harsh.
“We have a situation here–”
“Well, handle it. That’s what I pay you for!” Shit! He couldn’t hide out here and have his sister’s life disrupted.
“Look Giles, you’ll have to excuse me, it’s been quite a night and I’ve had no sleep.” He continued in a more even tone, “Whatever is going on down there, just sort it. You have carte blanche to take whatever action you deem necessary.”
“Very well, Mr. Doumas,” Giles came back sounding his normal controlled self, “I’ll order extra security for the house and have Mrs. Stephanos transferred to her sister’s.”
Damn, it looked like he wasn’t going to return to his Athens home either. According to Giles, the press were already camped on the doorstep there and his elderly housekeeper had been forced to lock herself inside the house. What a bloody mess!
“I have a few things to tie up here before I leave,” Xander returned, “but I want you to send the helicopter to Santorini to pick me up at noon. Have the jet on standby at the airport. I’ll let you know later where we’re headed so that the pilot can file a flight plan.”
“Very well, Sir.”
Feeling relieved now that he had arranged to remove himself from Santorini, he sat down heavily in the large leather chair behind the desk. Once again, he cast his eyes over the computer screen where he had pulled up copies of the newspaper articles published that morning. Just the sight of the newspaper headlines was enough to have his temper spiking. “Billionaire with Perverted Tastes” and “CEO with Kinky Sex Life” were two of the milder ones. The accompanying pictures which showed the inside of his private play room along with a photo of his ex-girlfriend, nude and tied to the St Andrews Cross, had him cursing as he thumped the desk in frustration. He hoped the thump he had inflicted on the table had not woken the household. Nursing his aching knuckles, which would surely show bruises within a few hours, he cursed Marie under his breath. The bitch would not get away with this. He would make her pay for the havoc she had brought down upon his head. He had no doubt that Marie herself had provided the pictures because she had threatened to go to the media.
He wished now he had taken her blackmail attempt more seriously. He really hadn’t believed she would have the nerve to go through with a ‘kiss and tell all’ story. Now look at the bloody mess he was in. What was worse was that gut instinct told him it was going to get worse before it got better.
Outside, all still appeared quiet, but he had taken the additional precaution of calling in extra security to patrol the perimeter of his sister’s property. Dawn would be breaking soon, and tired as he was, he still had a lot to do before noon, when the helicopter would be arriving to pick him up.
He spent the next hour on the phone putting his plans into action. He didn’t think twice about getting his lawyer out of bed in the middle of the night, giving him terse instructions with regard to the newspaper editors and his ex-girlfriend. They would all be sorry that they had crossed him. By the time he finished with them they would wish they had never heard his name.
He looked up as the study door opened and Georgiou entered carrying a couple of large coffee mugs.
“I heard you up and about. Problems?” He crossed the room to place a welcome cup of coffee on the desk in front of him.
“Sorry I disturbed you. Is Sophia–”
“Sophia is still asleep,” Georgiou cut in, “and by the look of you I would say that’s a good thing. You look like hell. What’s going on?”
“That!” He pointed towards the computer screen, before twisting it around in order that Georgiou could read it from the opposite side of the desk. He watched the emotions flicker across his brother-in-law’s face.
Xander remained silent as his brother-in-law read the articles, occasionally stopping to glance across at him. He did not have to say anything, the looks he threw Xander’s way spoke volumes. His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as he glanced between him and the computer screen, as though he could not believe what he was reading. His face occasionally broke into a spontaneous grin as he cast Xander a quick sideways glance. It was obvious to Xander that his brother-in-law found his predicament amusing.
“Well, well. I never would have believed it, you always seemed so straightforward.” Georgiou grinned, before he continued, “Never would have had you down for one to play kinky games.” He held up his hands in an open gesture. “Not that it bothers me. What you do behind closed doors is your own business. However, I don’t think your sister is going to be too amused when she sees the papers.”
Looking over at him, Xander grimaced as he raked his fingers back through his hair, “Tell me about it, that’s one conversation I’m not looking forward to. She’s going to give me hell!”
‘Hell’ was an understatement. When Sophia finally tracked him down in the study, she looked like she wanted to commit murder. He was, most definitely, not her favorite person at the moment. That shook Xander to his core. Her look of disappointment made his stomach churn, and he held himself rigid as he struggled not to turn away from her. The guilt he felt at disappointing her gnawed away at his insides until he felt sick. He was used to Sophia looking at him with something akin to hero worship. The look of disdain on her face hurt far more than he could have imagined. He held his breath and braced for her attack.
“What have I told you in the past about the types of girlfriends you choose?” Christ, she sounded more like his mother than his younger sister, not surprising really, as she had tried to mother him ever since they had lost their parents in an accident when she was just seventeen. Xander had been twenty-one at the time and had become the head of their small family, taking guardianship of his sister and raising her as his parents would have wished. Sophia had clung to him at first, but over time had settled into running their small household, keeping the home they shared comfortable and trying to fill her mother’s role.
At that moment, he was grateful his mother wasn’t around to witness his fall from grace. He could only imagine what she would have had to say. It was bad enough that Sophie was here to witness the media coverage of his sex life. Christ, could there be anything worse than having your sex life laid out for public discussion? Was nothing sacred any more?
His thoughts were all over the place and he battled to keep his emotions in check. He was angry with Marie for discussing their private life. Hell, there was nothing wrong with his sex life, he knew that. He was not a sadist or into pain, he enjoyed giving women pleasure. He knew however that many people didn’t understand the BDSM lifestyle and mistook it for abuse. He was irritated and embarrassed to be put in the position of having to explain his lifestyle to his sister of all people.
Hardly pausing for breath she continued, her voice rising with every word until she was shouting at him. “Why can’t you find a decent girl and settle down, instead of cavorting with bimbos?” Her tone betrayed her disgust at the types of women he dated as much as the newspaper headlines.
“What’s wrong with you?” She continued to rant, “Why can’t you date a nice Greek girl, a girl from a good family? One who would look after you?” She turned away from him as she paced the study.
“They’d bore me to death.” He responded automatically, without giving himself time to consider his answer or her reaction.
She spun on her heel, glaring at him and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Hah! And you’re telling me the air heads you date don’t?” She shook her head, obviously deeply saddened by his plight. Crossing the room, she reached towards him, and grasped his hands. Softly, she asked, “What’s wrong with dating a decent girl, one who will make a good wife? You need a proper girlfriend, someone who can converse intelligently and help you at business functions. You need someone who will be happy to have a family and make a home for you.”
“I don’t date them for their conversation,” he responded dryly, exasperated. The last thing he needed was Sophia feeling sorry for him, “And I can handle my business perfectly well without saddling myself with a wife.”
“Why bother dating them if you have no intention of taking the relationship any further?”
Surely, she wasn’t that naïve? He said nothing only raised his brow in reply as he looked at her. He knew she had understood his silent answer when he saw the tell tale flush of embarrassment on her face.
Looking more distressed by the minute, she choked, “You should be ashamed of yourself, having a room like that built in your home. I am never going to live this down! How am I going to face my friends after this?”
She was clearly upset, her cheeks glowed and he was, for once in his life, at a loss for words. He did not want to discuss his lifestyle with his sister, nor did he want her to have to explain his behavior to her friends. He struggled to keep his temper in check; irritated at the predicament Marie had caused. It would be better for Sophia if he took himself out of circulation for a while. Maybe the old saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ would be true. If the media couldn’t track him down the story would die a natural death.
“So, what are you going to do?” She glared at him from across the room. “Have you seen the circus outside? The paparazzi are gathering at the gates. They are like vultures. Two helicopters have already flown low over the gardens. I’ve had to order all the drapes kept closed and confine the children to the nursery for the day!”
Shit! The newshounds hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought they would to find out his whereabouts. He had really hoped that he would have left Santorini before they realized he was visiting with Sophia.
“I’m sorry, Sophia,” he whispered, his voice full of remorse. All his life he had done everything he could to protect his younger sister. Christ, it was just his luck that the story had broken while he was here.
“Sorry is not going to fix this!”
“Listen to me, Sophia,” he said, his voice now firm. “I’ve made arrangements to leave. I’ll be out of your hair within the next couple of hours. As soon as they see me leave the paparazzi will disperse and leave you in peace.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “The bastards will be too busy chasing me to bother you.”
For the first time she looked sympathetic. “Where are you going to go?”
“Scotland. The house there is remote and the press is a lot less intrusive there than they are on the Continent. The story will be a ten day wonder, it will all be forgotten about in a few weeks.”
“But it’s so isolated!” She cried. Grasping his hands tight, and with tears in her eyes, she pleaded with him to reconsider. “What the hell are you going to do there on your own? It’s not going to be much fun!” She shook her head. “Stay here with us. The paps will soon get sick of hanging around.”
Xander sighed, “Don’t be silly Sophia, I can’t stay here now. That lot,” he said through gritted teeth, as he pointed towards the window behind the closed drapes, “will never give you peace while I am here. There is no way I’m taking any chances with the children.”
“But who will look after you?”
He couldn’t help but laugh, “I’m a big boy, Sophia, and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I have already advertised for help.” He pulled her close to hug her tight, and felt guilty all over again when he felt her tremble. He bent and kissed her gently on her forehead, “I’ll be fine Sophia, stop worrying. A few weeks on the island will give me a break. You keep telling me I should have a holiday.”
She pulled away from him and hugged herself as she rocked back and forward on her feet. He cursed Marie for causing his sister distress. “I know I told you to take a break, but I was thinking more a month here at home relaxing, sailing, sun bathing. I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about you going to Scotland in March on your own. It will be cold and miserable!”
“It will be a peaceful and refreshing. All that sea air will be invigorating,” he assured her. In truth, he relished the prospect of a few weeks of isolated peace and quiet. He enjoyed his downtime on the island as it was one of the few places where he could have total privacy.
***
Xander shook his head in dismay. Leaving Santorini and shaking the paparazzi off his tail had been the easy bit. Getting staff to join him in his isolation was proving harder than he had thought. The advert had been running for ten days nationwide and he was surprised at how few applications he had received. Looking at the cover letters with résumés attached he was dismayed at his lack of choice. He could have flown in a secretary or bookkeeper from any of his offices around the world but, thinking about the high end corporate offices in some of the most vibrant cities in the world, he didn’t think any of them would take too kindly to working on an isolated island for more than a brief time. He was also absolutely positive that they wouldn’t be prepared to do housework or cooking. He wanted someone who would be content and who was happy to entertain themselves; after all, the island was no metropolis and there was certainly no night life.
Reading through the applications again it looked like his choice was down to one of three applicants, all of which looked suitable on paper and had the necessary qualifications to do what he required. As the applicants all lived in different areas of the country he decided on a central location and fired off replies to all three stating that he would arrange overnight accommodation and cover travelling expenses. Interviews were set for three days hence and he prepared himself for a trip to London.
He opted to stay at his apartment above the London office at Canary Wharf as he could take the helicopter from the airport, land on the roof, and enter the building unseen. Even though the media frenzy had died down, he still didn’t want the attention. He would be in and out of town before the press even knew he had left the island.

Chapter Two

‘Craftsman requires Housekeeper/Girl Friday. Must be efficient, able to work without supervision. Computer literate helpful. Irregular working hours occasionally required but plenty of down time. Live-In position due to rural location. Good remuneration package for the right candidate. Immediate start required. Must be free to travel. Apply by email to Xander@islandcrafts.com’
Chloe had been trawling the net for days looking for a suitable position and had almost given up when the advert, in bold print, jumped out at her. It looked like the answer to all her prayers, an income and accommodation. She would be able to leave town quickly and have the means to relocate.
Nick, her shit of an ex-boyfriend, was due to be released from prison in just twenty-one days, after serving six months jail time for his assault on her. At the time he’d been sentenced she’d estimated three months would give her plenty of time to recover her strength and vanish before his release, but she had taken longer to heal than anticipated and now she was starting to panic that he would be free before she could make her escape. She had to move soon; staying where she was, was no longer an option and unless she secured a job soon she would have no funds to relocate and would be trapped. The position advertised promised funds and a roof over her head, with the added bonus of being far away from Nick.
The very thought of having to face him again made her feel sick. With trembling fingers she swiftly typed a response to the advert and fired off her résumé to the unknown Xander. Chloe only hoped that when he said ‘immediate start’ he meant now!
Three days later, she received the reply she had been anxiously awaiting. She had been invited to attend an interview at a well-known upmarket London hotel. She was to present herself at reception at the given time and would be met by a member of staff and escorted to the interview suite. Her excitement blended with the first hope she’d felt in a long time and blossomed in her chest. She was determined to make a good impression and secure the position she so desperately needed.
Xander entered the hotel lounge and sat down at the bar. It was nearly midnight and the area was reasonably quiet. At least he didn’t expect to bump into any newshounds at this time of night, and especially not here. It wasn’t the kind of place the rich and famous frequented, more a local hotel.
After ordering his usual, Jack Daniels on the rocks, he casually looked around surveying the other occupants. There were several men in a booth in the corner. It was obvious from their dress and snippets of their conversation that they were City bankers. The empty champagne bottles on their table hinted at some sort of celebration. There were a few couples at tables around the lounge. He expected they were finishing off their night with a drink before retiring.
Tucked away in the corner by herself, he spotted a blond. Her long hair shielded her face as she sat head down, book in one hand drink in the other. She seemed oblivious to the raucous conversation going on in the booth next to her as the bankers backslapped and congratulated each other on the deal they had closed. He was intrigued. It was unusual to see a lone woman in a hotel lounge this late in the evening. Well, unusual if they weren’t hookers.
He watched her for a while expecting a partner or friend to join her, but it became obvious that she was alone. Something about her stillness appealed to him and he continued to watch her as he sipped his drink. She seemed to be an oasis of calm in the middle of a storm. His curiosity about her grew and he wished she would lift her head so he could see her face.
A loud crash reverberated around the room as one of the bankers knocked an empty champagne bottle off the table. The woman jumped and dropped her book. The drink she had been holding sloshed and spilled across her lap. Her head snapped around turning towards the sound. For the first time he was able to get a look at her face. He caught his breath at her exquisite features. The long wavy blond hair framed a heart shaped face with high cheekbones. Her delicate shaped brows the perfect outline for her vivid blue eyes, which reminded him of the blue sky of Santorini in summer. She had a perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth and he found himself imagining how she would taste. Would she taste cool and refreshing, a balm to his troubled spirit, or would she burn like the Mediterranean sun?
From across the room, he could see her visibly relax when she realized the crash was caused by no more than a careless accident. She continued to scan the room as if checking that there were no other threats present. Seeming satisfied, she bent to pick up the book she had dropped. Looking at the wet table, she shook her head, before turning to place the book on the chair at her side. Lifting her purse, she rummaged through the contents with one hand while she shook the other.
Grabbing a towel from the bar, he walked across the room to introduce himself and help her clean up. Raising her head, as though she had sensed him, her clear blue eyes met his as he advanced. She quickly glanced around as if to see where he was heading. He watched as she nibbled at her lip and a small frown furrowed her brow. His imagination went into overdrive at the thought of what her mouth could do to him. As he continued his approach, time seemed to slow. Although she now met his eyes, her look was wary and she held herself completely still. Her posture immediately brought to mind a small doe he had spotted in the forest around his home. He had come across the doe accidently and she had frozen on the spot, sniffing the air around her, before turning and running in the opposite direction. If he didn’t know better he would say the woman was preparing to take flight and he wondered what or who had made her so edgy. He raised an eyebrow in query, wordlessly requesting permission to come closer, and she blushed delicately in response.
The light flush betrayed her vulnerability and brought out his need to protect. Up close, he was even more enamored. He stopped at her table, handing her the towel to blot up the drink she had spilled as he stood looking down at her. At her shy smile of thanks he murmured, “I thought you could do with some help.”
“Thanks, again.” Her voice was soft and low, and he once again felt desire unfurl low in his stomach.
“As we’re apparently the only two singles in the bar do you mind if I join you?”
Her gaze once again flicked to the hotel security at the door. He was glad that she was being cautious. He extended his hand, “I’m harmless,” he assured her.
With a little nod in his direction, she extended her hand towards him. Her handshake was firm, but he was aware of the feel of her satin soft skin, before she gently pulled her hand free and indicated the free stool at the opposite side of the table. She was a shy little thing, obviously unaware of her own appeal. She nibbled on her bottom lip, an action he found incredibly erotic. Shit, he really had been too long without a woman if such a small thing could turn him on.
Straddling the stool, he was caught unaware when he tried to introduce himself. “I’m--”
“No names. We’re strangers meeting in a bar.” She held up her hands to forestall him. The tip of her tongue slipped out to delicately moisten her lips. “You don’t need to know my name.”
“What?” What the hell did that mean? What was she hiding? “I have to call you something--”
“‘Something’ will do.” She giggled.
“Now, you’re being silly,” he teased, as he wondered how much of a night cap she had actually had.
“No, I’m not.” For the first time she looked directly at him, and he caught a flash of irritation in her eyes. She hadn’t appreciated being called silly, and he cursed himself for being an idiot. She obviously had her reasons for making her request, and he had just belittled them. She continued, with a hint of determination, “I like my privacy and a girl has to think about her safety nowadays.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain. “I’m quite happy to have a drink and a chat, but that’s as far as it goes. You don’t need to know my name for that.”
Surprise shot through him. If the bar hadn’t been so quiet, he would have thought he had misheard her. In his normal circle, women clamored to know everything they could about him. They sure as hell made sure he knew exactly who they were and how he could find them again. His wealth seemed to draw them like a magnet. Even though he had intended nothing more than a half hour or so of convivial company, he wasn’t used to being dismissed so casually. He wanted her to want to know more about him.
“Well then, Angel,” there was no way he was going to call her ‘something’ and the endearment just tripped off his tongue, “can I get you a refill?” he asked, indicating her now near empty glass.
Chloe picked up her glass and drained the remaining contents slowly, as she surveyed him over the rim.
“Yes, please.” She handed over the now empty vessel, “Another dark rum and cola would be great. No ice.”
“Back shortly.” She watched as he strode towards the bar to place their order. He briefly acknowledged others in the bar as he passed them, but did not stop to chat. Even from the rear, he was an attractive man. Now that he was not watching her, she allowed herself a moment to admire him. His broad shoulders tapered to a neat waist. He had long muscular legs and a tight butt, all of which were encased in black denim. She found herself wondering what he did for a living. Was it something physical which kept him in such good shape or did he work out to maintain his sculpted physique?
Delicious tingles vibrated through her as she recalled the sound of his voice. He spoke perfect English but with a slight accent and she surmised he was European, possibly Italian or Greek, judging by his coloring. He had a light tan and raven black hair, which he wore slightly longer than collar length. She gave herself a mental pat on the back, feeling very pleased with herself for being able to attract the interest of such a gorgeous man. He had taken her request for ‘no names’ in his stride apparently and he seemed to still want her company.
Things were looking up. For so long she had felt unattractive and had deliberately dressed down to appease Nick. Now it was time for her to please herself, to do what she wanted to do, to go where she wanted to go. No longer would she take orders from a control freak.
If her interview in the morning went well, she would be on her way to creating a new life for herself. A life free of restriction and fear. For tonight, she was going to allow herself a little light flirtation.
He had his back turned towards her as he ordered their drinks at the bar. She found herself watching his interaction with the barman. From her seat, she couldn’t hear what they were discussing but, from the sound of the laughter she caught, she surmised they were exchanging jokes.
He turned suddenly to glance in her direction, breaking into a large grin when he caught her eye. Mortified to be caught staring, she glanced away quickly, but not before she saw the wink he threw in her direction. Confident bastard. He was looking very pleased with himself whereas she was feeling flustered. Butterflies flitted around in her stomach and she took a deep breath. It had been so long since she had felt this pull of attraction, so long since she had even dared to look at a man other than Nick. The last time she had glanced at a man, well, a waiter to be honest, Nick had broken her arm. She shuddered at the memory.
She reminded herself that she had an interview to attend in the morning. If she got the post, and she desperately hoped she was successful, then she wasn’t going to be around to see tall, dark and gorgeous again. She couldn’t afford to get involved with anyone.
She was glad now that she hadn’t divulged her name. Even if he wanted to see her again, he wouldn’t be able to find her. The idea was kind of liberating. Tonight she could be anyone or anything she wanted. She could allow herself to enjoy her time with him and leave when it was over with no strings.
Watching as he returned, she couldn’t help but notice other women following him with their eyes. It wasn’t only because he looked good, it was his designer clothes, his discreet gold jewelry, it was the confident way he carried himself. All of which marked him as a wealthy man. His long legged stride soon ate up the distance between them. He gave no indication that he saw the admiring glances of the women in the room. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on her and the butterflies in her stomach took flight at the gleam in his eyes.
When he reached the table, he handed over her drink and placed a large bowl of fat olives on the table between them.
“Help yourself.” He indicated the dish, before straddling the stool opposite her. He appeared totally relaxed and at ease with himself as he snagged a plump olive, biting it in half between his even white teeth, before popping the second half into his mouth. He chewed slowly as though savoring the taste, and her eyes were drawn to his lips, now lightly coated with olive oil. They looked full and inviting and she wondered how it would feel to have those lips upon her own. Would he be the type to offer soft teasing kisses, which seduced her into surrender? On the other hand, would he be demanding, the take control, sure of himself, alpha male?
Raising her eyes, she felt her stomach flip as she saw him looking at her as though he had read her thoughts. Nervous tension raced through her as they regarded each other silently. In the end, she was unable to hold his gaze. He was just too overwhelming and she rushed into conversation to break the silence.
“So, umm… Are you in town on business or do you live locally?” she asked.
He smiled widely, as if he was aware he had knocked her equilibrium off balance. “I travel a lot,” he told her, “but my main home is in Athens.” This didn’t really answer her question. Main home. How many homes did he have?
“So, you are here on business?”
“No. Not this time.” The smile slipped from his face, and for just a second he appeared grim. “I am taking a little time out. Having a short break.” His voice was clipped, making her think there was something about the break he found unpleasant.
“And you choose to holiday in Britain? In March?” she asked in disbelief. Why the hell would someone with a home in the sun, and obviously the means to go anywhere he wanted, choose to visit London where the weather was miserable at this time of year?
He shrugged his shoulders. “A change is as good as a rest, or so they tell me.” His chocolate brown eyes were alight with humor, as if her questions amused him.
She loved the sound of his voice. The deep timbre reverberated, causing small tremors of desire to course through her and she held her breath as his gaze locked on to hers. Leaning on muscular forearms, lightly sprinkled with hair, he stretched across the table towards her. Her senses were bathed in the warm, inviting smell of sandalwood. Quietly, his gaze intent, he asked, “Now, tell me about you. What’s a beautiful lady doing sitting in a hotel lounge, late in the evening, alone?” His eyes roamed down her body and desire coursed through her. She could do nothing to prevent her nipples beading as his eyes skimmed her chest before returning to focus on her face.
Christ, Chloe. Get a grip of yourself. You would think you had never seen a man before. She chided herself.
“But, I’m not alone.” At his small frown, she rushed to quantify her statement, “I’m sitting with you.”
He grinned at her attempt to tease him, raising an eyebrow in query he prompted, “Well?”
“Pardon?” Her mind had turned to mush and she couldn’t remember his question. She cursed her libido. Why the hell did it have to kick in tonight?
“I said,” he was now openly grinning at her, as if he knew that she was flustered, and was amused by her reaction to him, “what are you doing in town?”
“Oh, hmm…sorry. I’m in town for the night as I have an appointment early in the morning.”
“You don’t live locally then?”
“Well… yes and no.” She twirled a long strand of her hair around her fingers.
“I live on the outskirts of London. My appointment is early and rather than have to face the commuter rush it was easier to stay in town overnight.” She didn’t tell him that the appointment was actually an interview or that her prospective employer had arranged and paid for the hotel room.
“This appointment is important to you?” He was studying her face intently as if her reply really mattered to him. “Business or pleasure?”
She felt herself stiffen in response to his query and had to make a conscious effort to relax. She couldn’t go through life thinking every man was like her ex or that every question was fodder for a jealous rage. Even so, she felt defensive. “Does it matter?” she replied quickly.
“No. It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head slightly, obviously bemused at her response. He was studying her intently, and she shuffled in her chair, uncomfortable that she hadn’t answered his question. “I was only making small talk.”
She felt mean. He’d meant no harm and she hadn’t meant to, but she had probably offended him. Impulsively she stretched her arm across the table, bringing her hand to rest on top of his. He turned his hand and grasped her hand in his own. His hold was firm, but gentle. Mesmerized by the desire in his eyes, she could only sit and watch as he slowly raised her hand to his lips.
“I’m sorry.” His tone was quiet, but sincere, as if he was aware that somehow he had upset her.
He had done nothing wrong; he had only been trying to make small talk. His apology filled her with guilt and her conscience forced her to defend him. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one that was rude!”
He brushed off her attempt to apologize, taking all of the blame on himself. “No, I obviously said something that triggered unpleasant memories. I could see it in your eyes.”
She was surprised at how perceptive he was and wondered if he ever missed anything.
Releasing her hand, he slapped his forehead. “Ah, now I get it.” He grinned at her broadly, his eyes alight with humor. “You’re famous, travelling incognito, and you’re piqued because I didn’t recognize you.”
The idea was so absurd she couldn’t help but giggle.
“Hardly,” she said dryly. What would he say if he realized she was a nobody, so down on her luck she was willing to take a job on a remote island, just to have a roof over her head?
His banter had lightened the mood and she realized how long it had been since anyone had made her laugh. Her spirits felt lighter and she determined that she would make the most of the short time she had with him.
“Your face lights up when you laugh.” His eyes roamed her face as though memorizing all her features. “You should do it more often.”
“And what makes you think that I don’t?”
He shrugged. “Call it intuition. I get the feeling you haven’t had a lot to laugh about lately.”
No way was she going to discuss her past problems with him. “So… tell me about you. Are you married, do you have family?” she asked, attempting to change the subject.
“You want to know if I’m married, but you don’t want to know my name?” He gave her a wicked grin before he threw her own words back at her. “What difference does it make?”
He had her there. She could hardly say ‘I don’t flirt with married men’ without him taking it as some kind of come on.
“Mmm, well… I wouldn’t want to be taking up your time if you have a partner or a family waiting up at home for you.” She had noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that meant nothing nowadays.
He was openly grinning at her now and she felt mildly embarrassed. She had made it obvious that she wanted to know if he was single and therefore available.
“You can stop fretting, Angel.” He gave her a slow smile. “I’m as free as a bird. No wife, no girlfriend, and no children waiting up for me at home.”
The butterflies in her stomach took flight as desire for him soared.
“What would you have said if I was married?” He tipped his head to one side, as he watched her closely.
What could she say? “Probably, goodnight,” she murmured softly. “I wouldn’t want to hold you up.” She would have felt keen disappointment at the loss, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“A girl with morals and principles. I like that!” His eyes were alight with pleasure and she felt inordinately pleased with herself as she basked in his approval.
They passed a pleasant half hour chatting generally about theatre shows on in London and places they had visited. At her insistence, they avoided personal topics and he knew no more than she was in town for the night and that she had an appointment the following morning.
No matter how devastatingly sexy she found him, she still refused to give her name. The desire in his eyes was obvious and she hadn’t yet decided whether or not she would accept the promise they offered. She was tempted. What girl wouldn’t be? If he didn’t have her name and no way of contacting her again after the night was over, she could walk away without entanglements.
It was getting late and she was conscious of the fact that she needed to get a good night’s sleep in order to be at her best for her interview in the morning, but she was reluctant to draw the evening to a close. She was having fun. He was an intelligent and entertaining conversationalist. When his opinion on a play or a film they had both seen, differed from her own, he would debate good humoredly with her. Not once did he belittle her ideas. It had been so long since she’d been able to express her own opinions without fear of being mocked and doing so felt good. For the first time in months, she felt light hearted and relaxed, euphoric almost.
If he made her feel this good just talking, how good would he make her feel if he took her to bed? The thought alone had her insides trembling and she squirmed in her seat as her internal muscles pulsed. Damn, her panties were wet now. What would she say if he asked if he could spend the night with her? Did she dare accept? She caught herself looking at his hands. They were large with long fingers; his nails were square cut and looked immaculate. What would it feel like to have those hands on her skin, cupping her breasts? Her nipples beaded in anticipation and moisture pooled at the juncture of her thighs as her wayward thoughts caused her to tremble in anticipation.
If she was successful at her interview then she would be out of circulation for a while as the position she had applied for was located on a remote island. It could be a long time before she had the opportunity to have male company and she doubted she would ever meet anyone as gorgeous as this man. Surely it couldn’t be wrong to enjoy just one night of passion before she cloistered herself away?
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly as she clenched her thighs together. She had to get herself under control. Maybe he didn’t want to spend a night with her. She was surprised at the disappointment that thought caused. She cast a quick look at her watch. It was nearly midnight and she really must be thinking of calling the evening to a close soon. She realized that her internal thoughts had caused a lull in their conversation and cursed herself when she realized he was watching her quizzically. She felt herself blush and hoped he hadn’t guessed what she was thinking.
“Feeling tired?” he asked.
“A little…” she answered, and then wondered why she’d said that. Now he would be thinking she wanted to call it a night and she wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.
Xander looked towards the sound of breaking glass and noticed the bankers were starting to get rowdy. Reluctantly, he decided it was time to leave the bar before things got out of hand. Despite all his requests she had refused to reveal her name or hand over her phone number.
What was she hiding? There had to be some reason she refused to acknowledge the chemistry between them. He had not been the only one to experience the pull of sexual attraction, he assured himself, it was definitely mutual. The signs of her arousal had been unmistakable. Even so, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn’t going to give in to it. He was surprised at the disappointment that crashed over him with that thought. Why didn’t she want to see him again? They were both free agents, over the age of consent, with nothing to stop them indulging their mutual attraction. What was she afraid of?
Rising from his seat, he gave a mocking bow as he held out his hand to her. “Well then, Angel. I would consider it an honor to see you safely to your room.”
She collected her purse from under the table and rose slowly before putting her hand in his. He was elated at her tacit acceptance of his offer. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she would invite him to stay. He had enjoyed his time with her. She was intelligent and quick-witted. It had taken a little coaxing to bring her out of herself. At first, she had been wary, her opinions expressed stiltedly as though she expected rebuke but when she had finally let go and relaxed he had watched in amazement as she blossomed before his eyes. Her face was very expressive and betrayed her emotions. She would never make a poker player, because her eyes gave away her every thought. Those same eyes would make her a great submissive though. She would be so easy to read, so easy to pleasure. He was forced to bite the inside of his cheek in order to stifle the moan of desire that thought conjured up.
He held her hand as they crossed the foyer to the lifts in silence. When they entered the lift, she slowly withdrew her hand from his, as if she was reluctant to let him go. She leaned against the back wall, wrapped her arms around her middle and studied her shoes as if she suddenly found them fascinating. The way she nibbled on her lower lip made him wonder whether she was worried that he was going to pounce on her. Maybe she was right to be worried. He was struggling to control the urge to place his mouth over hers and soothe the spot she’d nibbled.
She was a mass of contradictions, a puzzle he needed to solve. With the resources he had at his disposal, it wouldn’t take him long to find out everything he needed to know about her. One phone call was all it would take to find out her name, and once he knew that he could run a full background check. He didn’t want to go down that route though. He was still hoping that she would volunteer the information, thereby indicating that she wanted to see him again.
As the lift bumped to a halt at her floor, she lifted her head and met his gaze. His eyes locked onto hers, and he found himself holding his breath as he waited to see what her next move would be. She was as still as a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights.
The lift doors opened and she swung her gaze towards the low-lit corridor. With eye contact now broken, his tension eased and he let go of the breath he’d been holding.
“Come on, Sleepyhead.” He held out his hand towards her, “Time to get you into bed.”
He kept his free hand anchored to her lower back as they walked silently down the corridor to her room. The lights in the corridor were set low and the thick carpet underfoot allowed no sound from their footsteps. When they arrived at her door, she turned her back to him as she rummaged in her purse searching for her key. He noticed that her hand was unsteady as she struggled to insert the key into the lock. When he put a steadying hand on her shoulder, she jumped as though startled. He reached over and took the key from her trembling fingers, opened the door, and handed the key back to her.
He was uncertain whether she was nervous or trembling in anticipation. He prayed it was the latter. He had every intention of kissing her and finding out. She had been driving him mad for the last hour and he was desperate to taste her, even if it was just a goodnight kiss at the door.
She straightened her shoulders and he heard her take a deep breath. Then she turned once again to face him. She was suddenly formal as she extended her hand. “Thank you for the company. It’s never very pleasant to sit alone in a hotel and I enjoyed our chat.”
Shit…. he hadn’t seen that coming and he was surprised at the depth of disappointment that crashed over him. He needed to think fast and find something to break the sudden tension between them. Aware that she couldn’t see him as a threat if he wanted to see her again, he decided to try a little humor. Clutching his hands to his chest, over his heart, he presented her with a crestfallen face. “Do I not even get a goodnight kiss?” he asked, as he struggled to contain his disappointment.
She laughed gently at him, her eyes aglow with mischief and he sighed with relief, grateful that she appeared to appreciate his sense of humor.
“Oh, I think I can manage that.” She tilted her head to one side and he was captivated by her lopsided smile.
She stood on tiptoe and appeared to be aiming for his cheek as she leaned toward him. No way was he going to settle for a peck when he had been burning for a taste of her. He turned his head and caught her lips, slowly caressing them with his own, savoring the taste of the woman and the drink she had consumed. He needed more and he pulled her unresisting body closer, enfolding her against his chest, as he gave into his craving. He ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth and she opened giving him access, allowing him to plunder and stroke her tongue with his own. Her arms crept up and around his neck in apparent surrender. He struggled to keep his kiss light and teasing, aware of the need to tread gently. She was still skittish, as though unaware of her appeal, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.
He couldn’t get her close enough. He skimmed his hands down her sides and loved the delicious way she trembled when he brought her up against his erection. He cupped her bottom firmly enjoying the moans and whimpers of pleasure emanating from her throat. The sound of her desire fed his passion and he ground himself against her, letting her know how much he wanted her. Even as they kissed, he was aware of her hands digging into his shoulders as she clenched her fingers and tugged on his shirt encouraging him closer.
How long they stood necking like teenagers in the hallway he couldn’t say, but when he raised his head, they were both panting heavily and her eyes were slumberous with desire.
“Invite me in,” he growled, desperate now to bury himself within her body.
Christ, he was acting like a horny schoolboy. He could normally control his impulses. What the hell was it about this woman that fired him up so quickly? He fought to get himself back under control.
“Angel?” he questioned. He felt slightly nervous as he awaited her answer. He wasn’t used to having to persuade women into his bed. He tried to appear calm as he didn’t want to unsettle her, but his stomach muscles were clenched tight as he waited on her response.