Richard Savage's Blog: The Anniversary, page 7
October 28, 2019
Perilous Love
Perilous Love
https://amzn.to/2rq5FDy
Jan Selbourne
Prologue
April, 1914
The beautiful woman with tawny eyes recoiled as he knew she would. Cupping her face with his hands he kissed her softly on her lips.
“This will be your most important assignment, my darling, and your last. You have my word and I will honor it.”
She pushed his hands away, her face clouding with anger and hurt. “You gave your word before the last assignment. You promised me we would live together in Bavaria, and I have done all you have asked.” She shuddered as tears filled her eyes. “It was vile, vile. I told you I would not endure such treatment again.”
“After you brilliantly extracted all I needed to know, that brutal ox was removed from this earth. Now, my dearest, this is extremely important, for, have no doubt, Europe will be at war. We have achieved so much, my darling, but without you I cannot continue to provide the vital information our great nation needs.” His eyes caressed her as he stroked her cheek. “There are two men, and I assure you both are thorough gentlemen and they will be most generous. Your exceptional skills will encourage both men to happily engage in conversations about themselves.”
Her mouth set in a stubborn line. “No. I want to live with you in Bavaria.”
His stomach churned with irritation and tension. It was imperative she agreed. He reached under his desk and held up a slim folder.
“These are the deeds to the home I have purchased. They are yours when you return.” With his other hand he placed a thick leather pouch on the desk. “Here is the information on the gentlemen and my instructions, as well as enough money to purchase whatever you need to enchant them. I shall, of course, transfer more funds when you begin sending your reports.”
“We will go to Bavaria when I return?”
“I will be waiting for you, my darling.”
He almost sagged with relief when her hand reached out and picked up the pouch. Their eyes met and his loins stirred with desire for the only woman he’d known whose body constantly craved sex while her mind stayed focused. He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers.
“Show me again what you do to enchant your gentlemen.”
She kissed him tenderly and he closed his eyes. This would be for her pleasure, rather than some onerous task performed for her country. She loved him, and her magnificent body belonged only to him.
Her mouth and hands knew exactly what to do to please him for, after all, he’d taught her everything. She fondled him, feeling his erection thicken in her hands. Smiling seductively, she shrugged her loose-fitting silk robe to the floor, and stood naked before the man she worshipped with all her being. Pushing him onto the sofa, she straddled him, igniting the passion in his middle-aged body as she knew no one else could. As she rose and fell on his erection she felt him hungrily grip her breasts and she knew his climax was close. She urged him on, feeling her own orgasm begin as he rasped her name over and over. She shuddered as the euphoria consumed her, gripping his shoulders tightly. Not wanting to let him go, she lay on top of his spent body whispering, “Oh God, my darling, I love you; you know I’ll do anything you ask of me, my darling.”
Chapter One
July, 1914
The soft glow from the lamp barely touched the thick drapes and elegant furniture, the ticking clock the only sound as another hour passed. On edge all evening, Gabrielle Bryce’s nerves were stretched to snapping point when she sensed rather than heard the door open. Almost crying with relief she held out her arms as he pushed his night clothes to the floor, then he was in her bed, holding her and inside her. Their climaxes were silent and urgent until, gasping, they fell back onto the pillows. She felt his fingers caress her as he told her he adored her, wanted her, and to hell with their spouses.
Thirty minutes later she felt him move and gripped his hand. “Please, not yet.” He kissed her, pulled on his clothes and opened the door. Casting a furtive glance along the darkened hallway, he hurried back to his room in the guest wing.
Gabrielle Bryce closed her eyes. She’d been in knots all evening worrying he wouldn’t come to her. She’d invited six guests to her country home for her friend and neighbor Jane’s birthday. Inviting Brian meant inviting his overbearing wife, now sleeping in the guest bedchamber next to his.
Tomorrow her guests would enjoy a leisurely morning, tennis in the afternoon, then drinks and dinner. The following day they would take their leave and return to their homes. Her hands moved down to where Brian had been, savoring his lingering maleness. God, she couldn’t wait for next week. It had been Brian’s idea for her to travel to London two days ahead of her children and their governess, and meet under assumed names at a private, discreet hotel. They’d have two glorious days to make luxurious love instead of the hurried, furtive trysts in each other’s homes when their spouses were absent. Then she and her children would depart for their obligatory trip to Brussels to visit the Belgian relatives. Each year she swore it would be the last, and this year she would make sure it was the last. She hated those visits with a passion. Turning her face into the pillow where Brian had been, she drifted into sleep.
***
At one pm the following day, Adrian Bryce nodded to the doorman of Number Two, Whitehall Court, Westminster and walked briskly towards the waiting car. While not handsome in the classical sense, his immaculate attire, bearing and manner was one of wealth, authority and confidence. He was a man who gives orders, never receives them. His dark eyes set in an angular face barely concealed his anger and worry. He knew, along with everyone else with a brain, that war was looming in Europe. Since the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, rumors and intrigue and political double-talk had been flying through Britain and the Continent. Now, because of his family connections in Europe, he’d been ordered to accompany his wife and children on their annual visit to her stifling Belgian relatives who’d never emerged from the Victorian era. It did not matter to the men at Whitehall Court that he and his plain, boring wife of eight years, the mother of his plain, boring children, had lived separate lives for five years. His wife was related to aristocratic families both here and in Europe, and had been introduced to him at a diplomatic reception and, as both were expected to marry well, he thought it a good match at the time. However, their honeymoon proved they had nothing in common except for them to do their duty and produce children. For the last five years they’d rarely spent time together, except for the annual Christmas rituals and the children’s birthdays. He preferred his townhouse in London, she and the children lived at their country home in Kent.
As the car turned in the direction of the small, elegant lodgings in Bruton Street, his mind and body were anticipating what would be waiting for him. Beautiful, voluptuous, passionate, pleasing Maryanne. Christ, he was becoming hard thinking about her. He couldn’t wait to push his head between her magnificent breasts and soak in her body. He’d enjoyed the charms of several women, but never before had he experienced anything like the heat and passion that Maryanne gave. She was expensive, but she was worth every penny he spent on her.
Stepping out of the car, he told the driver not to wait, opened the ornate door and strode up the thickly carpeted staircase and into the beautifully furnished rooms.
“Adrian, my darling.” She put out her hands to him. “You have kept me waiting, you dreadful man.” The beautiful, auburn-haired woman pouted playfully then smiled, highlighting her high cheekbones and tawny eyes. Her husky accent inflamed his lust even more and he pulled her to him. She mouthed “wait”, dropped her loose robe to the floor, and then her warm breath was against his ear.
“Darling, I cannot wait a minute longer.”
Taking his hand, she led him to the adjoining bedroom. Neither wanted foreplay; both desperately wanted release and it came quickly. Collapsing on the pillows, they smiled at each other.
“Why do you keep me waiting?” She tickled his chest. “Your note tells me one time and you arrive at another. Is there another woman you prefer to me?”
“I wouldn’t have the strength,” he chuckled. “I was delayed at a rather important meeting. I’m now obliged to travel to Brussels, my sweet. Will you miss me?”
“Brussels? Why must you go away?” She stroked his cheek. “I will be alone and so hot thinking of you.”
“Family duty. I must accompany my wife to visit her relatives.” He wanted to tell her more. She was intelligent and her conversation refreshingly different from the polished, elegant, brittle women of his class. But he couldn’t; the real reason was classified. He shrugged. “Some of my investments in Belgium and France need my personal attention.”
His fingers ran over her breasts and onto her stomach.
“You have so many investments. You will be away from me forever,” she sulked.
“I know what I’ll be thinking of while I’m away. Tell me where you were born.
France or Belgium?” His fingers went lower.
“On the border; I do not have happy memories. I have told you all this; my Papa was German. He lost all his money and disappeared. My mother struggled to feed and clothe us. Not one of his horrible family cared about us. I hated them all,” she pushed his fingers into her moist folds. “Why are you accompanying your wife? You never accompany her anywhere. Don’t you love me anymore?”
He watched her eyes glaze with pleasure as his fingers pushed deeper into her wetness, stroking and urging. His lips touched her nipples and he felt her hips grinding against him. Then she cried out and clutched at him as her body shuddered with its shattering climax.
“Mon Dieu, Je vous adore,” she whispered, and moved down his body to his painfully swollen organ. Her lips enclosed him, her tongue drove him up and up and he was lost.
God Almighty, she gave as good as she got every time. Slowly opening his eyes, he ran his fingers through her auburn hair, “Not love you? Christ, I can’t get enough of you.”
“Darling, let me get up so we may drink some wine.”
He lay back on the huge pillows and watched her naked body move to the bottle and crystal glasses waiting on the dressing table. She was beautiful.
“Who is so important you must visit in Brussels all of a sudden?” She pouted crossly, and handed a glass to him.
“The Comte de Meyvier, the patriarch of Gabrielle’s Belgian family. She spent a lot of her childhood in Belgium I can’t stand him and I’ve avoided most family occasions for years, but I’m afraid I must go this time,” he savored the wine on his tongue and gestured for her to refill his glass. “He has a lot of influence in banking and commerce.”
***
An hour later, he looked at his watch and at Maryanne. “I must leave, my sweet.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Will you think of me?”
“Think of you? I won’t think of anything else. I’ll send you a telegram to inform you when I’m due to return.” He pushed a little packet into her hands. “Don’t even think of looking at another man.”
Adrian walked back towards his club with a small smile on his face. Maryanne had been his mistress for three months and he was besotted with her. She instinctively knew what he wanted as soon as he walked in her door, whether it be passionate sex or to talk over a bottle of wine. His mind drifted back three months to that overcrowded reception for German and French industrialists. He’d turned and bumped into her standing behind him. She’d smiled at his profuse apologies and said she’d forgive him if he fetched her a glass of champagne. The next morning, he sent her a note with a posy of flowers, asking permission to call on her. A week later she was installed in the small but comfortable townhouse. Many times since then she’d asked him if he loved her and he always assured her he did. But he didn’t. He couldn’t remember loving any woman. Obsessed with lust over her, yes, but actually in love? No. And he would never fall into that trap. His satisfied smile disappeared. The meeting today had worried him intensely. Like it or not, he must travel to Brussels immediately.
***
Maryanne waited until she heard the front door close before opening the packet. A diamond and pearl necklace twinkled up at her. She kissed it lightly, murmuring in German how beautiful it was, then sat down and pulled the perfumed notepaper and pen towards her.
Chapter Two
The stately grandfather clock had just finished chiming ten o’clock as Gabrielle walked into the drawing room. Her guests’ luggage had been carried out to their waiting cars and she was more than ready to bid them farewell.
Charles reluctantly moved away from the gramophone, “If we weren’t your closest neighbors, Gaby, I’d run off with this masterpiece.” He touched the polished horn reverently. “Couldn’t hide it in my pocket, though.”
“Charles, do stop talking rubbish.” Jane’s powdered cheek touched Gabrielle’s. “Gaby darling, we’ve had a super weekend; thank you for helping me ease into another year.”
Gabrielle turned to embrace Pamela and George. “Thank you both for coming, my dears. I look forward to attending your garden exhibition next month.”
Gabrielle felt Brian’s eyes on her while twirling his brandy glass, before being caught in his wife’s glare. Waiting for the inevitable rebuke, he lifted the decanter.
“Brian, don’t you think you’ve had enough? You won’t be able to steer that car you are so proud of.” Irene smiled thinly before shaking hands with the departing guests. She turned back to Gabrielle. “I shall go upstairs to make sure I haven’t left something behind.”
Gabrielle felt Brian’s hand touch her elbow. “If I’d been able to come alone we could spend the rest of the day together,” he muttered as they walked to the front porch.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped under her breath, then smiled and waved to the cars pulling away. “The servants would have it around the village in no time. I’ll be in London two days before the children.”
They turned to see Irene walking towards them.
“Thank you for a most pleasant weekend, Gaby,” Brian shook her hand. “Are you ready to leave, Irene?”
Irene’s glittering eyes looked directly into Gabrielle’s. “Of course I am.”
Gabrielle stood back, allowing Irene to precede her to the front porch, and touched Brian’s hand. His eyes met hers then turned swiftly back to Irene, as she held out her hand to Gabrielle.
“Thank you for a most enjoyable weekend, Gaby, my dear,” Irene said coolly.
“It is always a pleasure, Irene,” Gabrielle responded, and held out her hand to Brian.
“Thank you Gaby,” he smiled, and one eyelid fluttered a tiny wink.
Gabrielle nodded to the butler waiting to close the door. “Thank the servants please, Adams; everyone enjoyed themselves enormously.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked into the large hall and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Five feet eight inches tall, fair hair, blue eyes, thin with narrow hips and small breasts. The word shapeless always came to her mind, although she’d been taking more care of her appearance since Brian. A voice from the staircase disturbed her thoughts.
“May we come down now, Mama?”
“Of course, my dearest children, come and join me for a walk in the garden. Then we’ll ask Cook for an early lunch.”
She watched her seven-year-old son and six-year-old daughter scamper down the stairs, and held out her arms to them. She loved them dearly, but insisted that they stay with their governess while she entertained her guests. She often wondered why she continued the stiff formality of her own childhood. The thought of a little cottage away from all the rules and traditions of her class was very enticing.
“I am traveling to London on Thursday to visit my hairdresser and dressmaker,” she lied. “Harper will drive you and Miss Billings to join me on Saturday.”
She closed her eyes at the loud protests; they hated visiting Uncle Henri who always insisted they recite in French to him, their Belgian cousins were mean and nasty, they hated their rooms and.... she put up her hand.
“My dear children, I promise you this will be our last visit,” she bent down and hugged them both. “Don’t tell anyone that I hate visiting Uncle Henri as well. Now, we shall speak French so you can impress your cousins.”
She took their hands as they walked through the gardens and pathways circling the large red brick house that had been her home for eight lonely, empty years. Her husband and his brother had inherited a fortune from their father who’d invested heavily in the British colonies of Australia and New Zealand. Her husband had doubled his inheritance by supplying the car manufacturing industry’s increasing demand for steel and other raw materials. To her, this home with its privilege and wealth, was as cold as the man who owned it.
A growling engine and tires crunching on the gravel driveway made them look back.
“Papa,” the two children said in unison, and looked at their mother anxiously.
“Ashley,” she touched her son on his shoulder. “You may tell Papa your riding lessons went very well. Mr.. Banks is very pleased with you.”
They walked across the terrace and into the house as Adrian, his face grim and unsmiling, strode through the front door.
“Adrian, this is a surprise, why are you here?”
“I happen to own the house, that’s why I’m here,” he replied dryly.
Gabrielle’s lips thinned. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. Actually, I find it surprising to see you in your own house.”
Adrian’s eyebrows rose. “Returning a little sarcasm? I wish to speak to you in private.”
Anger coursed through her. “May I suggest you greet your children first?” She had the satisfaction of seeing a glimmer of guilt cross her husband’s face as he turned to the quiet children.
“Hello Ashley, hello Emma,” he floundered, “What have you been doing today?”
“I had riding lessons with Mr.. Banks, he said I’m doing very well,” Ashley smiled up at his father. “Would you like to watch me tomorrow, Papa?”
Adrian pushed down his impatience. “Very well.” He looked at his daughter. “What about you, Emma?”
“Billie made me recite the alphabet and read to her while Mama was busy with her guests,” Emma smiled up at him proudly. “I didn’t make one mistake.”
Adrian’s brows drew together, “Guests?”
“I invited Irene, Brian, Pamela and George and, of course, Charles, to celebrate Jane’s birthday.” Gabrielle replied abruptly. “We played tennis, Pamela and Jane went riding, and the rest of the weekend we just enjoyed ourselves.”
“Enjoyed themselves on my best whiskey and brandy and cigars, no doubt,” he remarked caustically. “Watching grass grow would be preferable to an hour with them.”
He turned back to Emma. “Excellent, Emma, I am sure Miss Billings is very pleased with you.”
Gabrielle moved forward to ring the servants’ bell and shooed the two children upstairs for their lunch. She felt a pang of fear when Adrian turned away and walked into his study without waiting for her. Did he know about her and Brian? Surely not; he was hardly ever home to know what she was doing. She could be lying dead in her bed for all he cared.
“What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“I will be accompanying you and the children to Brussels.”
“What? Accompanying us to Brussels?” Gabrielle gripped the back of a chair as despair washed over her. Her carefully laid plans had just been destroyed by this unfeeling, horrible man. Her throat began to ache with unspoken angry words and now, somehow, she’d have to let Brian know she couldn’t meet him in London. She blinked and looked away, the last thing she wanted was traveling anywhere with Adrian.
“I’ve been warned the political turmoil in Europe could increase, and my business interests will suffer,” Adrian lied, watching her face carefully. “I had lunch with Mainwaring the other day. When I told him of my plans, he asked me to deliver an important letter to Meyvier; something confidential I presume.” He helped himself to a small whiskey.
“Sir Arthur Mainwaring? Why did he ask you to deliver a letter to Uncle Henri? Why not someone from the Embassy in Brussels; that’s what they are there for.”
Adrian looked at his wife. Fair hair pulled back into an unfashionable chignon at the nape of her neck, blue eyes, plain face. Her figure, clothed in a prim white blouse and blue skirt reaching to her ankles was thin and ordinary. That’s all she was; very ordinary, although he’d discovered over the years she was no fool. He’d have to be careful. He knew a little of the truth was better than a bagful of lies.
“A couple of our bumbling diplomats upset your uncle. You know what a stickler he is. I don’t know what happened, but he refuses to speak to anyone at our Embassy.”
“Oh, when Uncle Henri is put out he can be difficult,” Gabrielle clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
“We will be leaving on Tuesday, I cannot sit about until next weekend,” he said abruptly.
“Tuesday? That is impossible. There are preparations to make, clothes to pack; the children and Miss Billings. We have booked to leave Dover on Sunday!”
“You have servants, use them,” he replied brutally. “We leave on Tuesday for London, stay overnight at the Savoy, then travel to Dover on Wednesday. A telegram has been sent to your uncle advising the earlier arrival date. Now, I have much to do, so I suggest you make whatever preparations are necessary.”
He frowned at her stunned face. “What the devil is wrong? Leaving a few days earlier can’t be too difficult? You and I will travel in the Daimler. Harper will drive Miss Billings; Peters, the children and luggage in the Rolls-Royce. Two compartments on the train have been booked for us to travel to Dover.” He turned away. “I’ll be occupied for most of tomorrow, so make sure everything is in readiness for early Tuesday morning.”
Her icy voice made him turn back. “I hope you will spare your son fifteen minutes of your valuable time. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you graced us with your presence.”
He scowled angrily; the last time was over a month ago. It rained non-stop, he was bored out of his head, and forgot his son had asked him to look at his schoolwork. Christ, she never failed to remind him of his shortcomings as a father, even sending a telegram to his London townhouse telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him. As far as he was concerned, children and schoolwork belonged in the schoolroom. He could never wait to get away from this house and, when he did, Maryanne was the only thing on his mind.
“I won’t forget to watch him ride tomorrow,” he muttered and walked out of the room. The quicker this Brussels trip was concluded the better. Closeted for two weeks with this woman, two children and the Belgian in-laws would try the patience of a saint. Divorce was out of the question unless one of them could prove adultery against the other. Gaby had never questioned his private life, or accused him of anything, and he wouldn’t tolerate any scandal affecting his social and business standing in London.
Gabrielle’s shoulders slumped. The trip to Belgium will be unbearable. Adrian will be offhand and irritable. The children’s chatter will annoy him, and he’ll snap at them to be quiet. He’ll endure the heavy formal dinners with barely concealed boredom and avoid everyone during the day. Tears prickled in her eyes. She’d planned the two days with Brian so carefully, and the anticipation of their lovemaking had made her groin ache with longing. Two precious days with the man who made her feel wanted, made her feel desirable. The only man who’d ever told her he loved her. She’ll have to find an excuse to go into the village tomorrow and mail a note to him, care of his London hotel. Staring at the floor, she shook her head. That would be exceedingly stupid. The old busybodies at the village post office would gossip. She’d telephone Irene on the pretext the servants had found a scarf and she wondered if it was hers. She knew Irene hated using the telephone so perhaps Brian would pick it up. It was all she could do.
https://amzn.to/2rq5FDy
Jan Selbourne
Prologue
April, 1914
The beautiful woman with tawny eyes recoiled as he knew she would. Cupping her face with his hands he kissed her softly on her lips.
“This will be your most important assignment, my darling, and your last. You have my word and I will honor it.”
She pushed his hands away, her face clouding with anger and hurt. “You gave your word before the last assignment. You promised me we would live together in Bavaria, and I have done all you have asked.” She shuddered as tears filled her eyes. “It was vile, vile. I told you I would not endure such treatment again.”
“After you brilliantly extracted all I needed to know, that brutal ox was removed from this earth. Now, my dearest, this is extremely important, for, have no doubt, Europe will be at war. We have achieved so much, my darling, but without you I cannot continue to provide the vital information our great nation needs.” His eyes caressed her as he stroked her cheek. “There are two men, and I assure you both are thorough gentlemen and they will be most generous. Your exceptional skills will encourage both men to happily engage in conversations about themselves.”
Her mouth set in a stubborn line. “No. I want to live with you in Bavaria.”
His stomach churned with irritation and tension. It was imperative she agreed. He reached under his desk and held up a slim folder.
“These are the deeds to the home I have purchased. They are yours when you return.” With his other hand he placed a thick leather pouch on the desk. “Here is the information on the gentlemen and my instructions, as well as enough money to purchase whatever you need to enchant them. I shall, of course, transfer more funds when you begin sending your reports.”
“We will go to Bavaria when I return?”
“I will be waiting for you, my darling.”
He almost sagged with relief when her hand reached out and picked up the pouch. Their eyes met and his loins stirred with desire for the only woman he’d known whose body constantly craved sex while her mind stayed focused. He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers.
“Show me again what you do to enchant your gentlemen.”
She kissed him tenderly and he closed his eyes. This would be for her pleasure, rather than some onerous task performed for her country. She loved him, and her magnificent body belonged only to him.
Her mouth and hands knew exactly what to do to please him for, after all, he’d taught her everything. She fondled him, feeling his erection thicken in her hands. Smiling seductively, she shrugged her loose-fitting silk robe to the floor, and stood naked before the man she worshipped with all her being. Pushing him onto the sofa, she straddled him, igniting the passion in his middle-aged body as she knew no one else could. As she rose and fell on his erection she felt him hungrily grip her breasts and she knew his climax was close. She urged him on, feeling her own orgasm begin as he rasped her name over and over. She shuddered as the euphoria consumed her, gripping his shoulders tightly. Not wanting to let him go, she lay on top of his spent body whispering, “Oh God, my darling, I love you; you know I’ll do anything you ask of me, my darling.”
Chapter One
July, 1914
The soft glow from the lamp barely touched the thick drapes and elegant furniture, the ticking clock the only sound as another hour passed. On edge all evening, Gabrielle Bryce’s nerves were stretched to snapping point when she sensed rather than heard the door open. Almost crying with relief she held out her arms as he pushed his night clothes to the floor, then he was in her bed, holding her and inside her. Their climaxes were silent and urgent until, gasping, they fell back onto the pillows. She felt his fingers caress her as he told her he adored her, wanted her, and to hell with their spouses.
Thirty minutes later she felt him move and gripped his hand. “Please, not yet.” He kissed her, pulled on his clothes and opened the door. Casting a furtive glance along the darkened hallway, he hurried back to his room in the guest wing.
Gabrielle Bryce closed her eyes. She’d been in knots all evening worrying he wouldn’t come to her. She’d invited six guests to her country home for her friend and neighbor Jane’s birthday. Inviting Brian meant inviting his overbearing wife, now sleeping in the guest bedchamber next to his.
Tomorrow her guests would enjoy a leisurely morning, tennis in the afternoon, then drinks and dinner. The following day they would take their leave and return to their homes. Her hands moved down to where Brian had been, savoring his lingering maleness. God, she couldn’t wait for next week. It had been Brian’s idea for her to travel to London two days ahead of her children and their governess, and meet under assumed names at a private, discreet hotel. They’d have two glorious days to make luxurious love instead of the hurried, furtive trysts in each other’s homes when their spouses were absent. Then she and her children would depart for their obligatory trip to Brussels to visit the Belgian relatives. Each year she swore it would be the last, and this year she would make sure it was the last. She hated those visits with a passion. Turning her face into the pillow where Brian had been, she drifted into sleep.
***
At one pm the following day, Adrian Bryce nodded to the doorman of Number Two, Whitehall Court, Westminster and walked briskly towards the waiting car. While not handsome in the classical sense, his immaculate attire, bearing and manner was one of wealth, authority and confidence. He was a man who gives orders, never receives them. His dark eyes set in an angular face barely concealed his anger and worry. He knew, along with everyone else with a brain, that war was looming in Europe. Since the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, rumors and intrigue and political double-talk had been flying through Britain and the Continent. Now, because of his family connections in Europe, he’d been ordered to accompany his wife and children on their annual visit to her stifling Belgian relatives who’d never emerged from the Victorian era. It did not matter to the men at Whitehall Court that he and his plain, boring wife of eight years, the mother of his plain, boring children, had lived separate lives for five years. His wife was related to aristocratic families both here and in Europe, and had been introduced to him at a diplomatic reception and, as both were expected to marry well, he thought it a good match at the time. However, their honeymoon proved they had nothing in common except for them to do their duty and produce children. For the last five years they’d rarely spent time together, except for the annual Christmas rituals and the children’s birthdays. He preferred his townhouse in London, she and the children lived at their country home in Kent.
As the car turned in the direction of the small, elegant lodgings in Bruton Street, his mind and body were anticipating what would be waiting for him. Beautiful, voluptuous, passionate, pleasing Maryanne. Christ, he was becoming hard thinking about her. He couldn’t wait to push his head between her magnificent breasts and soak in her body. He’d enjoyed the charms of several women, but never before had he experienced anything like the heat and passion that Maryanne gave. She was expensive, but she was worth every penny he spent on her.
Stepping out of the car, he told the driver not to wait, opened the ornate door and strode up the thickly carpeted staircase and into the beautifully furnished rooms.
“Adrian, my darling.” She put out her hands to him. “You have kept me waiting, you dreadful man.” The beautiful, auburn-haired woman pouted playfully then smiled, highlighting her high cheekbones and tawny eyes. Her husky accent inflamed his lust even more and he pulled her to him. She mouthed “wait”, dropped her loose robe to the floor, and then her warm breath was against his ear.
“Darling, I cannot wait a minute longer.”
Taking his hand, she led him to the adjoining bedroom. Neither wanted foreplay; both desperately wanted release and it came quickly. Collapsing on the pillows, they smiled at each other.
“Why do you keep me waiting?” She tickled his chest. “Your note tells me one time and you arrive at another. Is there another woman you prefer to me?”
“I wouldn’t have the strength,” he chuckled. “I was delayed at a rather important meeting. I’m now obliged to travel to Brussels, my sweet. Will you miss me?”
“Brussels? Why must you go away?” She stroked his cheek. “I will be alone and so hot thinking of you.”
“Family duty. I must accompany my wife to visit her relatives.” He wanted to tell her more. She was intelligent and her conversation refreshingly different from the polished, elegant, brittle women of his class. But he couldn’t; the real reason was classified. He shrugged. “Some of my investments in Belgium and France need my personal attention.”
His fingers ran over her breasts and onto her stomach.
“You have so many investments. You will be away from me forever,” she sulked.
“I know what I’ll be thinking of while I’m away. Tell me where you were born.
France or Belgium?” His fingers went lower.
“On the border; I do not have happy memories. I have told you all this; my Papa was German. He lost all his money and disappeared. My mother struggled to feed and clothe us. Not one of his horrible family cared about us. I hated them all,” she pushed his fingers into her moist folds. “Why are you accompanying your wife? You never accompany her anywhere. Don’t you love me anymore?”
He watched her eyes glaze with pleasure as his fingers pushed deeper into her wetness, stroking and urging. His lips touched her nipples and he felt her hips grinding against him. Then she cried out and clutched at him as her body shuddered with its shattering climax.
“Mon Dieu, Je vous adore,” she whispered, and moved down his body to his painfully swollen organ. Her lips enclosed him, her tongue drove him up and up and he was lost.
God Almighty, she gave as good as she got every time. Slowly opening his eyes, he ran his fingers through her auburn hair, “Not love you? Christ, I can’t get enough of you.”
“Darling, let me get up so we may drink some wine.”
He lay back on the huge pillows and watched her naked body move to the bottle and crystal glasses waiting on the dressing table. She was beautiful.
“Who is so important you must visit in Brussels all of a sudden?” She pouted crossly, and handed a glass to him.
“The Comte de Meyvier, the patriarch of Gabrielle’s Belgian family. She spent a lot of her childhood in Belgium I can’t stand him and I’ve avoided most family occasions for years, but I’m afraid I must go this time,” he savored the wine on his tongue and gestured for her to refill his glass. “He has a lot of influence in banking and commerce.”
***
An hour later, he looked at his watch and at Maryanne. “I must leave, my sweet.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Will you think of me?”
“Think of you? I won’t think of anything else. I’ll send you a telegram to inform you when I’m due to return.” He pushed a little packet into her hands. “Don’t even think of looking at another man.”
Adrian walked back towards his club with a small smile on his face. Maryanne had been his mistress for three months and he was besotted with her. She instinctively knew what he wanted as soon as he walked in her door, whether it be passionate sex or to talk over a bottle of wine. His mind drifted back three months to that overcrowded reception for German and French industrialists. He’d turned and bumped into her standing behind him. She’d smiled at his profuse apologies and said she’d forgive him if he fetched her a glass of champagne. The next morning, he sent her a note with a posy of flowers, asking permission to call on her. A week later she was installed in the small but comfortable townhouse. Many times since then she’d asked him if he loved her and he always assured her he did. But he didn’t. He couldn’t remember loving any woman. Obsessed with lust over her, yes, but actually in love? No. And he would never fall into that trap. His satisfied smile disappeared. The meeting today had worried him intensely. Like it or not, he must travel to Brussels immediately.
***
Maryanne waited until she heard the front door close before opening the packet. A diamond and pearl necklace twinkled up at her. She kissed it lightly, murmuring in German how beautiful it was, then sat down and pulled the perfumed notepaper and pen towards her.
Chapter Two
The stately grandfather clock had just finished chiming ten o’clock as Gabrielle walked into the drawing room. Her guests’ luggage had been carried out to their waiting cars and she was more than ready to bid them farewell.
Charles reluctantly moved away from the gramophone, “If we weren’t your closest neighbors, Gaby, I’d run off with this masterpiece.” He touched the polished horn reverently. “Couldn’t hide it in my pocket, though.”
“Charles, do stop talking rubbish.” Jane’s powdered cheek touched Gabrielle’s. “Gaby darling, we’ve had a super weekend; thank you for helping me ease into another year.”
Gabrielle turned to embrace Pamela and George. “Thank you both for coming, my dears. I look forward to attending your garden exhibition next month.”
Gabrielle felt Brian’s eyes on her while twirling his brandy glass, before being caught in his wife’s glare. Waiting for the inevitable rebuke, he lifted the decanter.
“Brian, don’t you think you’ve had enough? You won’t be able to steer that car you are so proud of.” Irene smiled thinly before shaking hands with the departing guests. She turned back to Gabrielle. “I shall go upstairs to make sure I haven’t left something behind.”
Gabrielle felt Brian’s hand touch her elbow. “If I’d been able to come alone we could spend the rest of the day together,” he muttered as they walked to the front porch.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped under her breath, then smiled and waved to the cars pulling away. “The servants would have it around the village in no time. I’ll be in London two days before the children.”
They turned to see Irene walking towards them.
“Thank you for a most pleasant weekend, Gaby,” Brian shook her hand. “Are you ready to leave, Irene?”
Irene’s glittering eyes looked directly into Gabrielle’s. “Of course I am.”
Gabrielle stood back, allowing Irene to precede her to the front porch, and touched Brian’s hand. His eyes met hers then turned swiftly back to Irene, as she held out her hand to Gabrielle.
“Thank you for a most enjoyable weekend, Gaby, my dear,” Irene said coolly.
“It is always a pleasure, Irene,” Gabrielle responded, and held out her hand to Brian.
“Thank you Gaby,” he smiled, and one eyelid fluttered a tiny wink.
Gabrielle nodded to the butler waiting to close the door. “Thank the servants please, Adams; everyone enjoyed themselves enormously.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked into the large hall and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Five feet eight inches tall, fair hair, blue eyes, thin with narrow hips and small breasts. The word shapeless always came to her mind, although she’d been taking more care of her appearance since Brian. A voice from the staircase disturbed her thoughts.
“May we come down now, Mama?”
“Of course, my dearest children, come and join me for a walk in the garden. Then we’ll ask Cook for an early lunch.”
She watched her seven-year-old son and six-year-old daughter scamper down the stairs, and held out her arms to them. She loved them dearly, but insisted that they stay with their governess while she entertained her guests. She often wondered why she continued the stiff formality of her own childhood. The thought of a little cottage away from all the rules and traditions of her class was very enticing.
“I am traveling to London on Thursday to visit my hairdresser and dressmaker,” she lied. “Harper will drive you and Miss Billings to join me on Saturday.”
She closed her eyes at the loud protests; they hated visiting Uncle Henri who always insisted they recite in French to him, their Belgian cousins were mean and nasty, they hated their rooms and.... she put up her hand.
“My dear children, I promise you this will be our last visit,” she bent down and hugged them both. “Don’t tell anyone that I hate visiting Uncle Henri as well. Now, we shall speak French so you can impress your cousins.”
She took their hands as they walked through the gardens and pathways circling the large red brick house that had been her home for eight lonely, empty years. Her husband and his brother had inherited a fortune from their father who’d invested heavily in the British colonies of Australia and New Zealand. Her husband had doubled his inheritance by supplying the car manufacturing industry’s increasing demand for steel and other raw materials. To her, this home with its privilege and wealth, was as cold as the man who owned it.
A growling engine and tires crunching on the gravel driveway made them look back.
“Papa,” the two children said in unison, and looked at their mother anxiously.
“Ashley,” she touched her son on his shoulder. “You may tell Papa your riding lessons went very well. Mr.. Banks is very pleased with you.”
They walked across the terrace and into the house as Adrian, his face grim and unsmiling, strode through the front door.
“Adrian, this is a surprise, why are you here?”
“I happen to own the house, that’s why I’m here,” he replied dryly.
Gabrielle’s lips thinned. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. Actually, I find it surprising to see you in your own house.”
Adrian’s eyebrows rose. “Returning a little sarcasm? I wish to speak to you in private.”
Anger coursed through her. “May I suggest you greet your children first?” She had the satisfaction of seeing a glimmer of guilt cross her husband’s face as he turned to the quiet children.
“Hello Ashley, hello Emma,” he floundered, “What have you been doing today?”
“I had riding lessons with Mr.. Banks, he said I’m doing very well,” Ashley smiled up at his father. “Would you like to watch me tomorrow, Papa?”
Adrian pushed down his impatience. “Very well.” He looked at his daughter. “What about you, Emma?”
“Billie made me recite the alphabet and read to her while Mama was busy with her guests,” Emma smiled up at him proudly. “I didn’t make one mistake.”
Adrian’s brows drew together, “Guests?”
“I invited Irene, Brian, Pamela and George and, of course, Charles, to celebrate Jane’s birthday.” Gabrielle replied abruptly. “We played tennis, Pamela and Jane went riding, and the rest of the weekend we just enjoyed ourselves.”
“Enjoyed themselves on my best whiskey and brandy and cigars, no doubt,” he remarked caustically. “Watching grass grow would be preferable to an hour with them.”
He turned back to Emma. “Excellent, Emma, I am sure Miss Billings is very pleased with you.”
Gabrielle moved forward to ring the servants’ bell and shooed the two children upstairs for their lunch. She felt a pang of fear when Adrian turned away and walked into his study without waiting for her. Did he know about her and Brian? Surely not; he was hardly ever home to know what she was doing. She could be lying dead in her bed for all he cared.
“What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“I will be accompanying you and the children to Brussels.”
“What? Accompanying us to Brussels?” Gabrielle gripped the back of a chair as despair washed over her. Her carefully laid plans had just been destroyed by this unfeeling, horrible man. Her throat began to ache with unspoken angry words and now, somehow, she’d have to let Brian know she couldn’t meet him in London. She blinked and looked away, the last thing she wanted was traveling anywhere with Adrian.
“I’ve been warned the political turmoil in Europe could increase, and my business interests will suffer,” Adrian lied, watching her face carefully. “I had lunch with Mainwaring the other day. When I told him of my plans, he asked me to deliver an important letter to Meyvier; something confidential I presume.” He helped himself to a small whiskey.
“Sir Arthur Mainwaring? Why did he ask you to deliver a letter to Uncle Henri? Why not someone from the Embassy in Brussels; that’s what they are there for.”
Adrian looked at his wife. Fair hair pulled back into an unfashionable chignon at the nape of her neck, blue eyes, plain face. Her figure, clothed in a prim white blouse and blue skirt reaching to her ankles was thin and ordinary. That’s all she was; very ordinary, although he’d discovered over the years she was no fool. He’d have to be careful. He knew a little of the truth was better than a bagful of lies.
“A couple of our bumbling diplomats upset your uncle. You know what a stickler he is. I don’t know what happened, but he refuses to speak to anyone at our Embassy.”
“Oh, when Uncle Henri is put out he can be difficult,” Gabrielle clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
“We will be leaving on Tuesday, I cannot sit about until next weekend,” he said abruptly.
“Tuesday? That is impossible. There are preparations to make, clothes to pack; the children and Miss Billings. We have booked to leave Dover on Sunday!”
“You have servants, use them,” he replied brutally. “We leave on Tuesday for London, stay overnight at the Savoy, then travel to Dover on Wednesday. A telegram has been sent to your uncle advising the earlier arrival date. Now, I have much to do, so I suggest you make whatever preparations are necessary.”
He frowned at her stunned face. “What the devil is wrong? Leaving a few days earlier can’t be too difficult? You and I will travel in the Daimler. Harper will drive Miss Billings; Peters, the children and luggage in the Rolls-Royce. Two compartments on the train have been booked for us to travel to Dover.” He turned away. “I’ll be occupied for most of tomorrow, so make sure everything is in readiness for early Tuesday morning.”
Her icy voice made him turn back. “I hope you will spare your son fifteen minutes of your valuable time. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you graced us with your presence.”
He scowled angrily; the last time was over a month ago. It rained non-stop, he was bored out of his head, and forgot his son had asked him to look at his schoolwork. Christ, she never failed to remind him of his shortcomings as a father, even sending a telegram to his London townhouse telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him. As far as he was concerned, children and schoolwork belonged in the schoolroom. He could never wait to get away from this house and, when he did, Maryanne was the only thing on his mind.
“I won’t forget to watch him ride tomorrow,” he muttered and walked out of the room. The quicker this Brussels trip was concluded the better. Closeted for two weeks with this woman, two children and the Belgian in-laws would try the patience of a saint. Divorce was out of the question unless one of them could prove adultery against the other. Gaby had never questioned his private life, or accused him of anything, and he wouldn’t tolerate any scandal affecting his social and business standing in London.
Gabrielle’s shoulders slumped. The trip to Belgium will be unbearable. Adrian will be offhand and irritable. The children’s chatter will annoy him, and he’ll snap at them to be quiet. He’ll endure the heavy formal dinners with barely concealed boredom and avoid everyone during the day. Tears prickled in her eyes. She’d planned the two days with Brian so carefully, and the anticipation of their lovemaking had made her groin ache with longing. Two precious days with the man who made her feel wanted, made her feel desirable. The only man who’d ever told her he loved her. She’ll have to find an excuse to go into the village tomorrow and mail a note to him, care of his London hotel. Staring at the floor, she shook her head. That would be exceedingly stupid. The old busybodies at the village post office would gossip. She’d telephone Irene on the pretext the servants had found a scarf and she wondered if it was hers. She knew Irene hated using the telephone so perhaps Brian would pick it up. It was all she could do.
Patrick
Patrick
https://amzn.to/2D2BJFF
Callie Carmen
Prologue
Serial killer
I missed my lovelies.
I opened the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out my prized photo album letting my fingertips brush the steel finish of the Pierre Cardin signature embossed on the lower front of my dead mother’s antique table lamp. Not wanting to disappoint Mother more than I already had by not becoming a surgeon, I had taken to heart the need to be precise in my work with my lovelies.
I thought back on all the years when my mother had been training me, and she had brought home animals for me to work on. I’d been nervous because I knew how angry and then distant Mother got when I didn’t do a good job at my tasks. I needed to do my very best because someday when I was a brilliant surgeon, the cuts I made would save people’s lives.
Seldom did I receive praise from Mother, so when she approved of my surgical technique, joy vibrated throughout my entire body. I wanted more of that feeling; it was exhilarating. I’d once made the mistake of complaining about the smell.
Mother had called me weak and childish. She said that I’d never amount to even half the surgeon she was because I was a pathetic loser, like my father. He had left us when I was just a toddler. My mother said it was my fault because I wouldn’t stop my incessant crying and pathetic whining. After that I’d spent the next several years trying to please her, to prove her wrong, to get that exhilarating feeling from her admiration.
When I got older, I’d started bringing home what I thought most parents would have felt were the perfect women. They were good girls, girls that had been getting a higher education, staying away from drugs and any bad influences. Before Mother died, she had taken to calling them all whores. I’d broken it off with them because they weren’t good enough for her. Still, I strived to please her, and I’m certain my plan to create the perfect woman will do just that.
Flicking the lamp on, I looked heavenward and murmured, “Mother if you’re quiet you can watch over my shoulder as I savor time with my lovelies. Your demands for perfection I believe will be quenched.”
To make myself comfortable, I fluffed the pillows behind my back and leaned against the headboard. I placed the treasured album on my lap, rubbed my hand over the cover, and enjoyed the sense of calm that filled me.
I opened to the first picture, and a lock of hair fell from the page. I fingered it tenderly.
With reverence, I whispered, “Ahh, you were my first and my most special.”
I flipped the page and caught the next soft lock of hair and caressed it. I admired the fine lines that I had placed on her face as I ran my index finger over them. Her skin had been almost perfect. Now, with my superb marks, I’d made her flawless.
“My lovely, you must be so pleased with how beautiful I’ve made you.”
One by one, I gazed at three more images, honoring them for their beauty and perfection; delighted that the last two had been found and now others could see my meticulous work.
Chapter One
Jaq
I pressed the phone to my ear and spoke softly so the customers in the bookstore wouldn’t be disturbed by my conversation. “Hi, Violet, I’m so glad you called. It’s been so busy lately that we barely get to talk and we need to finalize our plans for later today.”
Forgetting that I was sitting in my open office, I spun around on my chair happy that I was finally getting together with my friends. It made the seat squeak and caused the customers in the cooking section closest to the register to turn to see what was going on. I gave them a little wave then whispered, “We’re still going shopping for me to get a new outfit after my shift ends, right?”
“Of course we are, but you should know that trying to get you on the phone lately has been almost impossible which is why I’m calling you at work. Have you considered that if you weren’t dating four men at once, we’d have more time to hang out together?”
I rubbed the nape of my neck in a soothing motion. “Oooh, burn. I’m not doing anything wrong, Violet. The guys all knew from day one that I was dating others, but it has gotten awkward at times.”
“What does that mean?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my brow at the stressful memory of those past dates, sighed and uttered, “Well, I was on a date and ran into one of the other guys I’m seeing.”
Opening my eyes, I looked around the store to make sure no one was paying attention to my conversation. Luckily for me, no one was watching, but I was instantly happy again as I saw a mother and her three little munchkins in the children’s section having a grand time with the story she recited for them. I turned away from their location, and my eyes landed on a couple of regulars.
“Ooh, Violet, those two geeks from the local engineering college are in the science fiction section again.”
“Like you should talk Ms. Star Trek geekazoid.”
“Guilty as charged. Love me some Captain Kirk, and Bones.” We both giggled.
“Enough with the geeks; I want to hear more about your run-in with two men at once.”
“Just last week I was at dinner with a guy when Jaden walked into the restaurant with his friends. He came right over to the table to say hello to me; then he got all possessive and asked me to introduce him to my ‘little’ friend. My date stood up like it didn’t faze him in the least. He put his hand out to shake Jaden’s and told him that it was nice to finally meet him as he’d heard so much about him. Of course, that wasn’t true, but you should have seen the surprised look on Jaden’s face. I just wanted to hide under the table.”
“Better you than me. There’s no freaking way I could deal with that crap.”
At that moment two women from the bestseller section headed for the check-out, both with a couple of books in hand. I stood up and started down the two steps from my mini office to the register.
“Hey, Violet, a couple of shoppers just walked up to the counter; I’ll tell you more when we see each other later. Got to go.”
“Looking forward to it just can’t wait to hear what happened next. See you later.”
Talking with my friend about Jaden reminded me that Jaden and I had been seeing each other for a year now. I’d been grateful that he’d seemed understanding about me dating others, but I wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be willing to do that. I loved being with him but kept my guard up because I didn’t trust him enough to fall completely in love.
My family seemed confident that I didn’t let anyone in because of my past relationship with my father and all of his lies. I thought it was because the right one hadn’t come along yet and there was no reason to rush into something that just didn’t feel right.
Tonight was going to be all about having fun with my friends; especially after my latest disastrous date with a lunatic. I still needed to tell Violet about that one. Thank God, I wouldn’t be going out with another potential crazy tonight. I was putting all the men in my life on hold and enjoying a stress-free evening with my girls.
***
When I entered the mall, Violet was coming my way. Few women could look sexy in work scrubs, but with her long silky hair up in a high bouncy ponytail and virtually no makeup on her gorgeous face, she was smoking hot. Walking up to me with a spring in her step, she grabbed my arm and immediately started dragging me toward the coffee shop. She claimed that she couldn’t do anything without her coffee fix.
She placed her order of a large dark coffee with two shots of espresso, paid the bill and then got right down to business. “Tell me all about your latest guy friend?”
“He’s the funniest person ever. He’s super smart, a chemical engineer. I told him everything about the other guys I’m dating because he asked. So he spent most of the few dates we went on determined to imitate every one of them to make me laugh and maybe to make himself seem a little more desirable. He had me cracking up the night Jaden came over to our table. He did a perfect impersonation of him. Of course, he waited until Jaden and his friends left the restaurant before he started.”
Violet gave me her ‘you’re nuts’ expression.
I shrugged my shoulders. "What?"
“Jaq! You told him about Jaden and the other men you've dated recently?”
“Why not? It's not like it's a secret.”
Holy smokes, between the strong coffee and the mounds of sugar she added to her drink, it was easy to see why Violet was always so high strung and full of energy. We sat for a bit while she sipped her coffee with gusto; she seemed immune to the burn from the high temperature.
Violet leaned in placing her elbows on the table and wrapped both hands around her cup. “Okay, if you’re having so much fun with this guy, why isn’t he the one?”
Putting my opened hand alongside my mouth to block the sound of my voice from traveling to nearby customers, I murmured, “Well, I'm a little ashamed to admit that as incredible as he is, I can't get used to his lanky frame. You know how we both like our men to have broad shoulders with a masculine build.”
“Sure do! The bigger a man’s chest and shoulders, the better.” Violet laughed, and a small spray of coffee landed on the table. She grabbed some napkins and wiped up the few dots before either one of us could get any of it on our clothes. The two older women at the table next to us made a tsk, tsk sound, letting us know that they disapproved of our uncouth behavior. We looked at each other and couldn’t help but crack up.
Not even bothering to whisper, I replied, “Well, he’s cute and all, and is good for a laugh, but he didn’t turn me on physically or make me feel safe, and I don’t trust him because of the way he talked behind other peoples’ backs. As a matter of fact, I broke it off with him yesterday.”
“You can’t judge all men by what your father did to you and your family. I get that you have an issue with them after one or two lies, but everyone tells a little fib now and then. You need to get past your daddy-daughter issues.”
“Yes, Mother dear,” she rolled her eyes at me. “Speaking of trust issues… Last week I went to an ROTC military ball with a lunatic. At first, we were having a great time. He had the photographer take our picture together then one of me alone. He informed me that since this was his Military ball, he needed to keep the originals as a keepsake for his photo album, but he was supposed to get me a copy. At the time I thought it odd but sweet.”
I batted my eyelashes and fanned myself. Violet giggled at my actions. “All the soldiers looked so handsome in their dress uniforms, and they were all so polite.” I slapped my hand on the table.
“My soldier started out that way too, but then, it went downhill.”
“What did the guy do?”
“It just got weird.”
Violet leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the open palms of her hands.
“Halfway through the evening, he introduced me to his father, a general and his mother. They both seemed nice to me. My escort told me he wasn’t feeling well most likely because his father was there and he always made his stomach turn with his overly controlling ways.”
I found myself rolling my eyes knowing now that he had been full of it and was a bold-faced liar which I refused to deal with in any man or woman. I’d had enough of that with the lies Dad had told about not drinking. The memory of Mom blocking our front door so he couldn’t go back out to drink more and him promising he’d stop came to mind. That had not turned out well as he climbed out their bedroom window, after telling us all that he was going to bed. I shook my head not wanting to dwell on the past and continued my crazy story.
“He gave his father his regrets, and we left early. Then instead of taking me back to my apartment, he pulled into the parking lot at his college fraternity house. That’s when I asked him, what the heck we were doing there.
“He had the balls to tell me that he wasn’t sick and had just used that as an excuse to leave the formal early so we could go back to his house and have sex.” I rubbed my temples, puffed out my cheeks and let out a huff.
“He’s a complete moron; without a clue,” declared Violet as she removed one hand from her chin and began to roll the tips of her fingers on the table like she did when she was annoyed.
“I agree. What would make the idiot think just because I went to his dance that I’d have sex with him? We barely even knew each other, which was pretty much what I told him with a few expletives thrown in for good measure.
“He not only had the nerve to get angry at me, but he drove me home speeding all the way. When we got to my street, he became more reckless; driving on the wrong side of the road for several blocks. It scared me out of my mind.”
My heart raced from the memory of that moment. I closed my eyes and released a noisy exhale.
“He parked in front of my place; I jumped out of the car and ran to the stairs with keys in hand. The guy had the nerve to call up to me how sorry he was and said he wanted to go out with me again.”
At that point, Violet stopped drumming on the table and abruptly blurted out, “Please tell me you told him to shove it?”
“In no uncertain terms. He heard loud and clear that he was out of his mind if he thought I would ever go out with a lunatic like him again.”
“Has he bothered you since? Did he use the need to give you the photo from the formal as an excuse to talk?”
“Yes, but I’ve ignored his calls. You can see why I’m looking forward to just being out with you and our friends tonight. I just need to chill.”
“God, yes.” She took her last sip of coffee, got up and threw the empty cup in the trash, turned back to me, and grabbed my elbow. “We are running out of time, need to get shopping and find you a killer outfit so we can have a little fun with our girls tonight.” She was right. I’d have to tell her about my other creepy date at the club.
We went into the mall to search for something tantalizing. After purchasing a pair of skinny jeans from my favorite store, we found a sexy top that showed off my figure. Shoes weren’t an issue; we both agreed that I already had a pair in my closet that would work just fine.
With a glance at her watch, Violet said, “We need to head home and get ready. Unless you think I look sexy in my work scrubs.” She did a little wiggle a few feet in front of me and then twirled around. We both laughed and headed for the parking lot.
We gave each other a goodbye hug, and as we were getting into our cars, I called over to her, “It’s my turn to be the designated driver. I’ll pick you and the others up later tonight.”
Chapter Two
Serial killer
I hadn’t had any success with the calls I’d made to Jaq, and I was frustrated about that. So I was pleased that luck had my back tonight. I walked into a cocktail party not knowing anyone in the place. My mood changed almost immediately. Across the room, stood a woman that would be beautiful enough for mother’s approval. She just needed me to fix a few imperfections. The woman went out onto the secluded deck to get some air and to get away from the large gathering that made her a bit uncomfortable.
After we talked a while, I learned that she was a good girl. She had been out with just a couple of men and broke it off when they tried to get into her pants. I convinced her that I was also uncomfortable in large group settings and asked her if she wanted to leave to go somewhere to talk and maybe get a bite to eat. It took some cajoling, but finally, she was persuaded. I met her in the parking lot so she could say goodbye to her friend that was inside with some guy she’d met that night. My motive for leaving separately was to be sure we weren’t seen together.
When we had driven a bit, I’d pulled over to a secluded spot down by a lake that I’d hung out at as a teenager so that we could talk. I looked over at her and saw her brown eyes were as large as chestnuts.
“What are we doing here,” she demanded with a shaky voice.
Calmly I answered, “You wanted to talk some more and get to know each other, and this is the perfect place for that. There’s no one around for miles.”
She put out her hand, and it shook. “This isn’t what I had in mind. I thought maybe a cute little diner would be nice, but this makes me uncomfortable. I barely know you.”
“Yes, well I’m about to change that.” It was time for me to run my usual test to see if the woman had been lying about being a good girl. I ran my left hand up her thigh while I clamped my other hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a hot, aggressive kiss. She immediately grabbed my hand that was about to touch her privates, stopped me in my tracks, and bit my bottom lip.”
I pulled back and yelled, “Son of a bitch.”
Between gasping sounds, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do; I didn’t mean to hurt you. But it’s far too soon for you to be doing things like that with me.”
I licked the metallic taste of blood off my lip. Then I slid my left arm down between my car door and my seat and smiled at her as I pulled my tie-downs to my lap. She had passed my good girl test, and I was exhilarated with joy that she might be the one to please Mother. My heart was beating so loud in my ears that I was sure she could hear it.
My little trip to the hardware store earlier in the day had paid off. The man at the retailer had explained that these tie-downs were reusable and incredibly versatile. They could secure just about anything. The bendable wires inside provided strength and holding power with a simple twist. No knots were required. It made it easy to put on and take off. As he explained the various sizes and uses for them, my mind had wandered to how I’d be using them, on all my lovelies.
Mmmm.
They were even waterproof and washable. I didn’t know how I had gotten by without them. Before I could count to two, I had the first tie-down wrapped around her wrists. My blood was pumping at a quickened pace, as she screamed. Euphoria took root and grew inside me like it had the few times I had pleased Mother. Quickly, I bent down and grabbed her ankles. She kicked at my hands and arms as I wrapped a tie-down around them; my fast, simple twist, locking her in.
God, I love these things.
When I got out of the car, I stopped and listened for a moment to the cricket’s chirp, and bullfrogs croak. It brought back memories of a few happy moments in my younger years. I chuckled to myself because this day just kept getting better. Instead of walking around the car to open the passenger door, I found myself skipping. She had leaned sideways as far as the seatbelt would allow and was kicking at me with her bound legs. It was too awkward of a position for her to make any real impact.
“Calm down my lovely this will all be over soon.” The latch of the seat belt clicked open for me; then I pulled her to the long grass a few feet away.
“Good girl, you please me.” I got to work on her imperfections those would never hold up under Mother’s judgmental examination.
There was only one more thing left to do I had to send my lovely off to Mother for her approval. Then we could all be together, one day, as a happy family. “You’ve done well my lovely. Rest now knowing if mother approves of my work, you’ll have the honor of joining her, up above.” A calm began to fall over me as my blood began to flow at a reasonable pace.
I pulled out my cell phone, aimed it at her face and clicked a picture for my photo album. Then I took my three tie-downs off of her wrists, ankles and lovely neck. I let out a long breath and enjoyed a moment of silence until the crickets began to chirp, and bullfrogs began to croak again.
Ah, all is right with the world.
https://amzn.to/2D2BJFF
Callie Carmen
Prologue
Serial killer
I missed my lovelies.
I opened the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out my prized photo album letting my fingertips brush the steel finish of the Pierre Cardin signature embossed on the lower front of my dead mother’s antique table lamp. Not wanting to disappoint Mother more than I already had by not becoming a surgeon, I had taken to heart the need to be precise in my work with my lovelies.
I thought back on all the years when my mother had been training me, and she had brought home animals for me to work on. I’d been nervous because I knew how angry and then distant Mother got when I didn’t do a good job at my tasks. I needed to do my very best because someday when I was a brilliant surgeon, the cuts I made would save people’s lives.
Seldom did I receive praise from Mother, so when she approved of my surgical technique, joy vibrated throughout my entire body. I wanted more of that feeling; it was exhilarating. I’d once made the mistake of complaining about the smell.
Mother had called me weak and childish. She said that I’d never amount to even half the surgeon she was because I was a pathetic loser, like my father. He had left us when I was just a toddler. My mother said it was my fault because I wouldn’t stop my incessant crying and pathetic whining. After that I’d spent the next several years trying to please her, to prove her wrong, to get that exhilarating feeling from her admiration.
When I got older, I’d started bringing home what I thought most parents would have felt were the perfect women. They were good girls, girls that had been getting a higher education, staying away from drugs and any bad influences. Before Mother died, she had taken to calling them all whores. I’d broken it off with them because they weren’t good enough for her. Still, I strived to please her, and I’m certain my plan to create the perfect woman will do just that.
Flicking the lamp on, I looked heavenward and murmured, “Mother if you’re quiet you can watch over my shoulder as I savor time with my lovelies. Your demands for perfection I believe will be quenched.”
To make myself comfortable, I fluffed the pillows behind my back and leaned against the headboard. I placed the treasured album on my lap, rubbed my hand over the cover, and enjoyed the sense of calm that filled me.
I opened to the first picture, and a lock of hair fell from the page. I fingered it tenderly.
With reverence, I whispered, “Ahh, you were my first and my most special.”
I flipped the page and caught the next soft lock of hair and caressed it. I admired the fine lines that I had placed on her face as I ran my index finger over them. Her skin had been almost perfect. Now, with my superb marks, I’d made her flawless.
“My lovely, you must be so pleased with how beautiful I’ve made you.”
One by one, I gazed at three more images, honoring them for their beauty and perfection; delighted that the last two had been found and now others could see my meticulous work.
Chapter One
Jaq
I pressed the phone to my ear and spoke softly so the customers in the bookstore wouldn’t be disturbed by my conversation. “Hi, Violet, I’m so glad you called. It’s been so busy lately that we barely get to talk and we need to finalize our plans for later today.”
Forgetting that I was sitting in my open office, I spun around on my chair happy that I was finally getting together with my friends. It made the seat squeak and caused the customers in the cooking section closest to the register to turn to see what was going on. I gave them a little wave then whispered, “We’re still going shopping for me to get a new outfit after my shift ends, right?”
“Of course we are, but you should know that trying to get you on the phone lately has been almost impossible which is why I’m calling you at work. Have you considered that if you weren’t dating four men at once, we’d have more time to hang out together?”
I rubbed the nape of my neck in a soothing motion. “Oooh, burn. I’m not doing anything wrong, Violet. The guys all knew from day one that I was dating others, but it has gotten awkward at times.”
“What does that mean?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my brow at the stressful memory of those past dates, sighed and uttered, “Well, I was on a date and ran into one of the other guys I’m seeing.”
Opening my eyes, I looked around the store to make sure no one was paying attention to my conversation. Luckily for me, no one was watching, but I was instantly happy again as I saw a mother and her three little munchkins in the children’s section having a grand time with the story she recited for them. I turned away from their location, and my eyes landed on a couple of regulars.
“Ooh, Violet, those two geeks from the local engineering college are in the science fiction section again.”
“Like you should talk Ms. Star Trek geekazoid.”
“Guilty as charged. Love me some Captain Kirk, and Bones.” We both giggled.
“Enough with the geeks; I want to hear more about your run-in with two men at once.”
“Just last week I was at dinner with a guy when Jaden walked into the restaurant with his friends. He came right over to the table to say hello to me; then he got all possessive and asked me to introduce him to my ‘little’ friend. My date stood up like it didn’t faze him in the least. He put his hand out to shake Jaden’s and told him that it was nice to finally meet him as he’d heard so much about him. Of course, that wasn’t true, but you should have seen the surprised look on Jaden’s face. I just wanted to hide under the table.”
“Better you than me. There’s no freaking way I could deal with that crap.”
At that moment two women from the bestseller section headed for the check-out, both with a couple of books in hand. I stood up and started down the two steps from my mini office to the register.
“Hey, Violet, a couple of shoppers just walked up to the counter; I’ll tell you more when we see each other later. Got to go.”
“Looking forward to it just can’t wait to hear what happened next. See you later.”
Talking with my friend about Jaden reminded me that Jaden and I had been seeing each other for a year now. I’d been grateful that he’d seemed understanding about me dating others, but I wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be willing to do that. I loved being with him but kept my guard up because I didn’t trust him enough to fall completely in love.
My family seemed confident that I didn’t let anyone in because of my past relationship with my father and all of his lies. I thought it was because the right one hadn’t come along yet and there was no reason to rush into something that just didn’t feel right.
Tonight was going to be all about having fun with my friends; especially after my latest disastrous date with a lunatic. I still needed to tell Violet about that one. Thank God, I wouldn’t be going out with another potential crazy tonight. I was putting all the men in my life on hold and enjoying a stress-free evening with my girls.
***
When I entered the mall, Violet was coming my way. Few women could look sexy in work scrubs, but with her long silky hair up in a high bouncy ponytail and virtually no makeup on her gorgeous face, she was smoking hot. Walking up to me with a spring in her step, she grabbed my arm and immediately started dragging me toward the coffee shop. She claimed that she couldn’t do anything without her coffee fix.
She placed her order of a large dark coffee with two shots of espresso, paid the bill and then got right down to business. “Tell me all about your latest guy friend?”
“He’s the funniest person ever. He’s super smart, a chemical engineer. I told him everything about the other guys I’m dating because he asked. So he spent most of the few dates we went on determined to imitate every one of them to make me laugh and maybe to make himself seem a little more desirable. He had me cracking up the night Jaden came over to our table. He did a perfect impersonation of him. Of course, he waited until Jaden and his friends left the restaurant before he started.”
Violet gave me her ‘you’re nuts’ expression.
I shrugged my shoulders. "What?"
“Jaq! You told him about Jaden and the other men you've dated recently?”
“Why not? It's not like it's a secret.”
Holy smokes, between the strong coffee and the mounds of sugar she added to her drink, it was easy to see why Violet was always so high strung and full of energy. We sat for a bit while she sipped her coffee with gusto; she seemed immune to the burn from the high temperature.
Violet leaned in placing her elbows on the table and wrapped both hands around her cup. “Okay, if you’re having so much fun with this guy, why isn’t he the one?”
Putting my opened hand alongside my mouth to block the sound of my voice from traveling to nearby customers, I murmured, “Well, I'm a little ashamed to admit that as incredible as he is, I can't get used to his lanky frame. You know how we both like our men to have broad shoulders with a masculine build.”
“Sure do! The bigger a man’s chest and shoulders, the better.” Violet laughed, and a small spray of coffee landed on the table. She grabbed some napkins and wiped up the few dots before either one of us could get any of it on our clothes. The two older women at the table next to us made a tsk, tsk sound, letting us know that they disapproved of our uncouth behavior. We looked at each other and couldn’t help but crack up.
Not even bothering to whisper, I replied, “Well, he’s cute and all, and is good for a laugh, but he didn’t turn me on physically or make me feel safe, and I don’t trust him because of the way he talked behind other peoples’ backs. As a matter of fact, I broke it off with him yesterday.”
“You can’t judge all men by what your father did to you and your family. I get that you have an issue with them after one or two lies, but everyone tells a little fib now and then. You need to get past your daddy-daughter issues.”
“Yes, Mother dear,” she rolled her eyes at me. “Speaking of trust issues… Last week I went to an ROTC military ball with a lunatic. At first, we were having a great time. He had the photographer take our picture together then one of me alone. He informed me that since this was his Military ball, he needed to keep the originals as a keepsake for his photo album, but he was supposed to get me a copy. At the time I thought it odd but sweet.”
I batted my eyelashes and fanned myself. Violet giggled at my actions. “All the soldiers looked so handsome in their dress uniforms, and they were all so polite.” I slapped my hand on the table.
“My soldier started out that way too, but then, it went downhill.”
“What did the guy do?”
“It just got weird.”
Violet leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the open palms of her hands.
“Halfway through the evening, he introduced me to his father, a general and his mother. They both seemed nice to me. My escort told me he wasn’t feeling well most likely because his father was there and he always made his stomach turn with his overly controlling ways.”
I found myself rolling my eyes knowing now that he had been full of it and was a bold-faced liar which I refused to deal with in any man or woman. I’d had enough of that with the lies Dad had told about not drinking. The memory of Mom blocking our front door so he couldn’t go back out to drink more and him promising he’d stop came to mind. That had not turned out well as he climbed out their bedroom window, after telling us all that he was going to bed. I shook my head not wanting to dwell on the past and continued my crazy story.
“He gave his father his regrets, and we left early. Then instead of taking me back to my apartment, he pulled into the parking lot at his college fraternity house. That’s when I asked him, what the heck we were doing there.
“He had the balls to tell me that he wasn’t sick and had just used that as an excuse to leave the formal early so we could go back to his house and have sex.” I rubbed my temples, puffed out my cheeks and let out a huff.
“He’s a complete moron; without a clue,” declared Violet as she removed one hand from her chin and began to roll the tips of her fingers on the table like she did when she was annoyed.
“I agree. What would make the idiot think just because I went to his dance that I’d have sex with him? We barely even knew each other, which was pretty much what I told him with a few expletives thrown in for good measure.
“He not only had the nerve to get angry at me, but he drove me home speeding all the way. When we got to my street, he became more reckless; driving on the wrong side of the road for several blocks. It scared me out of my mind.”
My heart raced from the memory of that moment. I closed my eyes and released a noisy exhale.
“He parked in front of my place; I jumped out of the car and ran to the stairs with keys in hand. The guy had the nerve to call up to me how sorry he was and said he wanted to go out with me again.”
At that point, Violet stopped drumming on the table and abruptly blurted out, “Please tell me you told him to shove it?”
“In no uncertain terms. He heard loud and clear that he was out of his mind if he thought I would ever go out with a lunatic like him again.”
“Has he bothered you since? Did he use the need to give you the photo from the formal as an excuse to talk?”
“Yes, but I’ve ignored his calls. You can see why I’m looking forward to just being out with you and our friends tonight. I just need to chill.”
“God, yes.” She took her last sip of coffee, got up and threw the empty cup in the trash, turned back to me, and grabbed my elbow. “We are running out of time, need to get shopping and find you a killer outfit so we can have a little fun with our girls tonight.” She was right. I’d have to tell her about my other creepy date at the club.
We went into the mall to search for something tantalizing. After purchasing a pair of skinny jeans from my favorite store, we found a sexy top that showed off my figure. Shoes weren’t an issue; we both agreed that I already had a pair in my closet that would work just fine.
With a glance at her watch, Violet said, “We need to head home and get ready. Unless you think I look sexy in my work scrubs.” She did a little wiggle a few feet in front of me and then twirled around. We both laughed and headed for the parking lot.
We gave each other a goodbye hug, and as we were getting into our cars, I called over to her, “It’s my turn to be the designated driver. I’ll pick you and the others up later tonight.”
Chapter Two
Serial killer
I hadn’t had any success with the calls I’d made to Jaq, and I was frustrated about that. So I was pleased that luck had my back tonight. I walked into a cocktail party not knowing anyone in the place. My mood changed almost immediately. Across the room, stood a woman that would be beautiful enough for mother’s approval. She just needed me to fix a few imperfections. The woman went out onto the secluded deck to get some air and to get away from the large gathering that made her a bit uncomfortable.
After we talked a while, I learned that she was a good girl. She had been out with just a couple of men and broke it off when they tried to get into her pants. I convinced her that I was also uncomfortable in large group settings and asked her if she wanted to leave to go somewhere to talk and maybe get a bite to eat. It took some cajoling, but finally, she was persuaded. I met her in the parking lot so she could say goodbye to her friend that was inside with some guy she’d met that night. My motive for leaving separately was to be sure we weren’t seen together.
When we had driven a bit, I’d pulled over to a secluded spot down by a lake that I’d hung out at as a teenager so that we could talk. I looked over at her and saw her brown eyes were as large as chestnuts.
“What are we doing here,” she demanded with a shaky voice.
Calmly I answered, “You wanted to talk some more and get to know each other, and this is the perfect place for that. There’s no one around for miles.”
She put out her hand, and it shook. “This isn’t what I had in mind. I thought maybe a cute little diner would be nice, but this makes me uncomfortable. I barely know you.”
“Yes, well I’m about to change that.” It was time for me to run my usual test to see if the woman had been lying about being a good girl. I ran my left hand up her thigh while I clamped my other hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a hot, aggressive kiss. She immediately grabbed my hand that was about to touch her privates, stopped me in my tracks, and bit my bottom lip.”
I pulled back and yelled, “Son of a bitch.”
Between gasping sounds, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do; I didn’t mean to hurt you. But it’s far too soon for you to be doing things like that with me.”
I licked the metallic taste of blood off my lip. Then I slid my left arm down between my car door and my seat and smiled at her as I pulled my tie-downs to my lap. She had passed my good girl test, and I was exhilarated with joy that she might be the one to please Mother. My heart was beating so loud in my ears that I was sure she could hear it.
My little trip to the hardware store earlier in the day had paid off. The man at the retailer had explained that these tie-downs were reusable and incredibly versatile. They could secure just about anything. The bendable wires inside provided strength and holding power with a simple twist. No knots were required. It made it easy to put on and take off. As he explained the various sizes and uses for them, my mind had wandered to how I’d be using them, on all my lovelies.
Mmmm.
They were even waterproof and washable. I didn’t know how I had gotten by without them. Before I could count to two, I had the first tie-down wrapped around her wrists. My blood was pumping at a quickened pace, as she screamed. Euphoria took root and grew inside me like it had the few times I had pleased Mother. Quickly, I bent down and grabbed her ankles. She kicked at my hands and arms as I wrapped a tie-down around them; my fast, simple twist, locking her in.
God, I love these things.
When I got out of the car, I stopped and listened for a moment to the cricket’s chirp, and bullfrogs croak. It brought back memories of a few happy moments in my younger years. I chuckled to myself because this day just kept getting better. Instead of walking around the car to open the passenger door, I found myself skipping. She had leaned sideways as far as the seatbelt would allow and was kicking at me with her bound legs. It was too awkward of a position for her to make any real impact.
“Calm down my lovely this will all be over soon.” The latch of the seat belt clicked open for me; then I pulled her to the long grass a few feet away.
“Good girl, you please me.” I got to work on her imperfections those would never hold up under Mother’s judgmental examination.
There was only one more thing left to do I had to send my lovely off to Mother for her approval. Then we could all be together, one day, as a happy family. “You’ve done well my lovely. Rest now knowing if mother approves of my work, you’ll have the honor of joining her, up above.” A calm began to fall over me as my blood began to flow at a reasonable pace.
I pulled out my cell phone, aimed it at her face and clicked a picture for my photo album. Then I took my three tie-downs off of her wrists, ankles and lovely neck. I let out a long breath and enjoyed a moment of silence until the crickets began to chirp, and bullfrogs began to croak again.
Ah, all is right with the world.
Paging Dr. Turov
Paging Dr. Turov
https://amzn.to/2PJ0xpD
Gibby Campbell
Chapter One
Abby was rushing. She had been taking a nap when the hospice call came in. The patient was not expected to make it through the night, and they needed her to sit vigil with the dying man. This would be her first to take place in a hospital. Most vigils occurred in nursing homes with older patients that had no family. This man was younger, and his family was not going to make it in time.
Abby hurriedly secured her dark blond hair in two long pigtail braids. It would have to do on such short notice. She did not have time for makeup, but she swiped some concealer under her eyes in a half-assed effort to perk them up. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. At twenty-nine she looked more like a nineteen-year-old. Her green eyes were too big in her narrow, heart-shaped face. Her figure was slight, and even though she was five feet nine, people often assumed she was much shorter.
Abby grabbed an apple and some crackers from the kitchen. She debated if she had time to swing through Starbucks, but then she realized the ICU probably had coffee. The information from hospice was on her printer. She grabbed that and the book she was currently reading. The patient would likely be unconscious, and the book would give her something to do.
Abby hopped in her car and plugged in the address on her GPS. The Cleveland Clinic was massive. Even though she volunteered there every Wednesday afternoon, she had no idea how to find the heart center. As she pulled into traffic, she called out the number for Rachel on her Bluetooth. Her friend would not be pleased she was canceling their craft get-together, but at least she had a good reason this time.
Rachel picked up on the first ring. “You had better not be canceling on me! I already bought the supplies.”
Abby sighed and tried to explain. “I’m sorry, Rach. Hospice just called, and they need someone to sit with a dying man. They can’t find anyone else to do it.”
She could sense Rachel’s disapproval through the silence. Then her friend’s lecturing voice came over the phone.
“Abby Shea, patients die all the time. He won’t be alone. There will be nurses around him. You have to quit doing this. It’s not healthy.”
She could hear the concern in her friend’s voice. Of course, Rachel would say that. She was a nurse practitioner at Fairview Hospital and saw more than her fair share of death. She was also a good friend and had been protective of Abby ever since the accident. She knew Rachel thought she was reliving her own experiences with Nate. But it was more than that. Abby wanted to help others, and she wanted to stay busy as much as possible. She could not explain it to her friend, but somehow she found stillness in her volunteer work.
She tried a peace offering. “How about I come over tomorrow night. I’ll buy us pizza, we can do the pumpkin craft, and we can drink wine. Joel can do his stargazing, and if it gets late I’ll just crash there.”
Rachel reluctantly agreed. “That’s fine. But if you cancel on me again, I am officially disowning you as a friend! Where is your vigil?”
Abby grinned. “The clinic. And yes, I will be safe. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They hung up, and Abby concentrated on the road. It was getting dark out, and Cleveland rush hour was in full force. The clinic was not in the safest neighborhood, but she trusted her car would get her there with no problem. She barely paid attention to the landmarks whizzing by. Her sense of direction was awful in the daylight, but at night it became so much worse. Her trusty GPS never let her down, though, and twenty minutes later Abby pulled to a stop in front of the clinic’s heart center. She had been lucky to obtain a parking spot right on the street. She hurried out of the car, pulled her hospice badge from her purse, and headed inside.
Chapter Two
Victor scowled at the latest lab reports. The patient wasn’t as stable as he would like him to be, but they had no choice. His aortic valve was a mess, and if they didn’t replace it now the man would surely die. Victor slugged down the remains of his coffee and looked at his watch. The anesthesia team should be about ready for him. He punched in Yuri’s phone number on the cell and impatiently waited for him to pick up. The asshole waited until the fourth ring.
“What the hell took you so long?”
Yuri responded calmly over the phone. “Dr. Turov. It’s always good to hear your friendly voice. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Listen, you sarcastic bastard. I have to cancel our dinner plans tonight. I have a patient I need to open up.” He glanced at his watch and stood to go.
Yuri tutted on the phone. “Victor. You need to slow down. You are the chief of cardiothoracic surgery now. Surely you can find someone else to do this procedure.”
“Not this one. It’s too risky, and the man is only forty-four.”
Yuri was unfazed. “You can’t save them all, my friend. And you need a life for yourself. I was going to tell you about a new woman I met at the club. I think she would be good for you.”
Victor paused halfway out the door. He thought about what his friend had said. Yuri understood his tastes when it came to women. It had been three years since his last real relationship. Lord knew he needed to get laid. But he had tired of the old lifestyle. The women he had dated were just in it for his money or his control. The older he got, the less alluring that became. Hell, he was thirty-seven now. It wasn’t worth it anymore, especially considering how busy his career had gotten.
“I’m not interested.”
He could hear the humor over the phone. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all soft and want a regular relationship? That would mean I’m a better psychiatrist than I thought.”
For the first time all day Victor laughed. Dr. Yuri Kopyev was an esteemed and excellent psychiatrist at the University Hospital. He spent his days helping bipolar and schizophrenic patients navigate their frightening worlds. He was also Victor’s best friend, and the two had traversed medical school in Moscow before moving to the States. Yuri had lectured him for years about the perils of his chosen lifestyle, but he had also accepted it as part of who Victor was.
Victor set the record straight. “No, you suck as a doctor. And I have no interest in some boring, nagging relationship. I still like my women soft, compliant, and wet. But I don’t have the time or the energy for any of that right now.”
There was silence over the line. Finally, Yuri spoke, but only to say, “Okay, my friend. Good luck with your surgery. We’ll reschedule when things are less hectic.”
The two hung up, and Victor headed to the prep room. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of it. Yuri had been bugging him more frequently about his lack of social life. This was hypocritical considering his friend hadn’t been on a date in over a year. But the esteemed psychiatrist made it his business to annoy Victor whenever possible. Two could play at that game, and Victor made a mental note to point out Yuri’s growing waistline the next time he saw him. It was, after all, a sign of future heart disease. As he walked into the surgery, he looked at his team and started barking out orders. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Three
It had been four hours since Abby had arrived at the clinic, and the patient showed no signs of slipping away. The nurse had been kind in getting her settled in the room. Normally the patient would have been transferred to the hospice floor, but they had no beds available, so he remained in the critical care unit. They had disconnected all of his equipment except for one oxygen tube and an IV for pain medication. Abby knew this had been the patient’s wish, and she watched as he continued to labor with his breathing.
The sound was awful, but she had gotten used to it and only tuned in when it stopped. Then he would draw in another shaky breath and continue on with his struggles. She marveled at the will of the human body to live. It had been so different with Nate. He had lain still in the bed, a ghost of the man she had known before the accident, and when he had died there had been no sound at all. The thought had always brought her peace. Nate had been a fighter in life, so she knew her decision had been the right one.
But Abby wasn’t going to think about that now. She stood up to stretch and walked around the room. In her hospice training, she had been told to follow her instincts when interacting with vigil patients. This man’s chart said he was Catholic, so she had said some prayers over him early on. She had also requested a visit from the hospice priest to anoint the man, but Father Thomas had yet to show up. Abby had tried talking to the patient and singing, but she got the sense he couldn’t hear. So instead she had been reading her book and holding the man’s hand. For the umpteenth time, she wondered if a vigil was necessary. But the patient had requested it, so she continued on.
Abby could have left at any time. A volunteer vigil was only meant to be a few hours. But there was no one to replace her, and she couldn’t leave the poor guy alone. She was an introvert at heart, but somehow the buzz of the hospital staff all around her that evening was comforting. It made her want to stay.
Abby peeked out and realized they were busy. There were twelve rooms total in the unit, and they all circled around the nursing station. Each room had a large glass window that spotlighted the bed inside. She could see all but one of the rooms were occupied.
The nurse assigned to her room was Mary. She had the look and smell of a heavy smoker, and Abby guessed her to be around fifty years old. Mary had confessed she was thrilled to have an easy patient for a change, and she had promised to stop in as much as possible to chat.
Sure enough, Mary poked her head in the room when she saw Abby up and about. “How are you doing, hon?”
Abby smiled and stretched. “Good. His breathing is starting to slow down a bit, but he’s still hanging in there.”
Mary nodded. “They go when the good lord is ready to take them, and not a moment sooner. I’ve got an admit coming in soon. Why don’t you take a break before he gets here, and I’ll stay and keep an eye on Mr. Jones?”
Abby gratefully accepted. She could use the toilet in the patient’s room, but she always felt guilty doing that. Instead, she grabbed her purse and headed to the public restrooms. On the way back she would grab a coffee from the kitchen Mary had shown her earlier. That should get her through the night.
Five minutes later Abby rounded the corner, balancing her coffee and a magazine she had found to read. She noticed a gurney being pushed down the hallway, and she realized Mary’s admit was on its way. She ducked back into her patient’s room and warned the nurse.
Mary grimaced. “Don’t worry, hon. I knew he was coming. I’d best get out there before Dr. Dictator has a stroke.”
“Dr. Dictator?”
Mary laughed. “Our lovely chief of cardiothoracic surgery. I was warned he would be escorting his patient to the floor.”
Abby grinned. Rachel had often told her tales about testy doctors and the egos they sometimes carried with them. She had cringed at the stories and secretly marveled at her friend’s ability to put up with it. But Rachel didn’t take shit from anyone. Now she looked at Mary curiously.
“That bad, eh?”
Mary nodded and made a face. “Dr. Turov is an excellent surgeon, and his patients usually survive. But he can be a prick on wheels to work with. I’ve been doing this for years, and he is the most controlling doctor I have ever met. He only uses specific meds and procedures, and if you disagree with him he will tear your head off. Not to mention he expects the labs and monitor set up immediately.”
Mary sighed.
“And here I thought I was going to have an easy night.” She gave Abby a wave and quickly ducked out of the room.
Abby watched her rush into the room next door. The gurney was being wheeled in, and she caught a brief glimpse of a tall man in scrubs following it. She presumed him to be the surgeon. Then she turned back to her patient. His breathing was definitely slowing down.
https://amzn.to/2PJ0xpD
Gibby Campbell
Chapter One
Abby was rushing. She had been taking a nap when the hospice call came in. The patient was not expected to make it through the night, and they needed her to sit vigil with the dying man. This would be her first to take place in a hospital. Most vigils occurred in nursing homes with older patients that had no family. This man was younger, and his family was not going to make it in time.
Abby hurriedly secured her dark blond hair in two long pigtail braids. It would have to do on such short notice. She did not have time for makeup, but she swiped some concealer under her eyes in a half-assed effort to perk them up. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. At twenty-nine she looked more like a nineteen-year-old. Her green eyes were too big in her narrow, heart-shaped face. Her figure was slight, and even though she was five feet nine, people often assumed she was much shorter.
Abby grabbed an apple and some crackers from the kitchen. She debated if she had time to swing through Starbucks, but then she realized the ICU probably had coffee. The information from hospice was on her printer. She grabbed that and the book she was currently reading. The patient would likely be unconscious, and the book would give her something to do.
Abby hopped in her car and plugged in the address on her GPS. The Cleveland Clinic was massive. Even though she volunteered there every Wednesday afternoon, she had no idea how to find the heart center. As she pulled into traffic, she called out the number for Rachel on her Bluetooth. Her friend would not be pleased she was canceling their craft get-together, but at least she had a good reason this time.
Rachel picked up on the first ring. “You had better not be canceling on me! I already bought the supplies.”
Abby sighed and tried to explain. “I’m sorry, Rach. Hospice just called, and they need someone to sit with a dying man. They can’t find anyone else to do it.”
She could sense Rachel’s disapproval through the silence. Then her friend’s lecturing voice came over the phone.
“Abby Shea, patients die all the time. He won’t be alone. There will be nurses around him. You have to quit doing this. It’s not healthy.”
She could hear the concern in her friend’s voice. Of course, Rachel would say that. She was a nurse practitioner at Fairview Hospital and saw more than her fair share of death. She was also a good friend and had been protective of Abby ever since the accident. She knew Rachel thought she was reliving her own experiences with Nate. But it was more than that. Abby wanted to help others, and she wanted to stay busy as much as possible. She could not explain it to her friend, but somehow she found stillness in her volunteer work.
She tried a peace offering. “How about I come over tomorrow night. I’ll buy us pizza, we can do the pumpkin craft, and we can drink wine. Joel can do his stargazing, and if it gets late I’ll just crash there.”
Rachel reluctantly agreed. “That’s fine. But if you cancel on me again, I am officially disowning you as a friend! Where is your vigil?”
Abby grinned. “The clinic. And yes, I will be safe. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They hung up, and Abby concentrated on the road. It was getting dark out, and Cleveland rush hour was in full force. The clinic was not in the safest neighborhood, but she trusted her car would get her there with no problem. She barely paid attention to the landmarks whizzing by. Her sense of direction was awful in the daylight, but at night it became so much worse. Her trusty GPS never let her down, though, and twenty minutes later Abby pulled to a stop in front of the clinic’s heart center. She had been lucky to obtain a parking spot right on the street. She hurried out of the car, pulled her hospice badge from her purse, and headed inside.
Chapter Two
Victor scowled at the latest lab reports. The patient wasn’t as stable as he would like him to be, but they had no choice. His aortic valve was a mess, and if they didn’t replace it now the man would surely die. Victor slugged down the remains of his coffee and looked at his watch. The anesthesia team should be about ready for him. He punched in Yuri’s phone number on the cell and impatiently waited for him to pick up. The asshole waited until the fourth ring.
“What the hell took you so long?”
Yuri responded calmly over the phone. “Dr. Turov. It’s always good to hear your friendly voice. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Listen, you sarcastic bastard. I have to cancel our dinner plans tonight. I have a patient I need to open up.” He glanced at his watch and stood to go.
Yuri tutted on the phone. “Victor. You need to slow down. You are the chief of cardiothoracic surgery now. Surely you can find someone else to do this procedure.”
“Not this one. It’s too risky, and the man is only forty-four.”
Yuri was unfazed. “You can’t save them all, my friend. And you need a life for yourself. I was going to tell you about a new woman I met at the club. I think she would be good for you.”
Victor paused halfway out the door. He thought about what his friend had said. Yuri understood his tastes when it came to women. It had been three years since his last real relationship. Lord knew he needed to get laid. But he had tired of the old lifestyle. The women he had dated were just in it for his money or his control. The older he got, the less alluring that became. Hell, he was thirty-seven now. It wasn’t worth it anymore, especially considering how busy his career had gotten.
“I’m not interested.”
He could hear the humor over the phone. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all soft and want a regular relationship? That would mean I’m a better psychiatrist than I thought.”
For the first time all day Victor laughed. Dr. Yuri Kopyev was an esteemed and excellent psychiatrist at the University Hospital. He spent his days helping bipolar and schizophrenic patients navigate their frightening worlds. He was also Victor’s best friend, and the two had traversed medical school in Moscow before moving to the States. Yuri had lectured him for years about the perils of his chosen lifestyle, but he had also accepted it as part of who Victor was.
Victor set the record straight. “No, you suck as a doctor. And I have no interest in some boring, nagging relationship. I still like my women soft, compliant, and wet. But I don’t have the time or the energy for any of that right now.”
There was silence over the line. Finally, Yuri spoke, but only to say, “Okay, my friend. Good luck with your surgery. We’ll reschedule when things are less hectic.”
The two hung up, and Victor headed to the prep room. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of it. Yuri had been bugging him more frequently about his lack of social life. This was hypocritical considering his friend hadn’t been on a date in over a year. But the esteemed psychiatrist made it his business to annoy Victor whenever possible. Two could play at that game, and Victor made a mental note to point out Yuri’s growing waistline the next time he saw him. It was, after all, a sign of future heart disease. As he walked into the surgery, he looked at his team and started barking out orders. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Three
It had been four hours since Abby had arrived at the clinic, and the patient showed no signs of slipping away. The nurse had been kind in getting her settled in the room. Normally the patient would have been transferred to the hospice floor, but they had no beds available, so he remained in the critical care unit. They had disconnected all of his equipment except for one oxygen tube and an IV for pain medication. Abby knew this had been the patient’s wish, and she watched as he continued to labor with his breathing.
The sound was awful, but she had gotten used to it and only tuned in when it stopped. Then he would draw in another shaky breath and continue on with his struggles. She marveled at the will of the human body to live. It had been so different with Nate. He had lain still in the bed, a ghost of the man she had known before the accident, and when he had died there had been no sound at all. The thought had always brought her peace. Nate had been a fighter in life, so she knew her decision had been the right one.
But Abby wasn’t going to think about that now. She stood up to stretch and walked around the room. In her hospice training, she had been told to follow her instincts when interacting with vigil patients. This man’s chart said he was Catholic, so she had said some prayers over him early on. She had also requested a visit from the hospice priest to anoint the man, but Father Thomas had yet to show up. Abby had tried talking to the patient and singing, but she got the sense he couldn’t hear. So instead she had been reading her book and holding the man’s hand. For the umpteenth time, she wondered if a vigil was necessary. But the patient had requested it, so she continued on.
Abby could have left at any time. A volunteer vigil was only meant to be a few hours. But there was no one to replace her, and she couldn’t leave the poor guy alone. She was an introvert at heart, but somehow the buzz of the hospital staff all around her that evening was comforting. It made her want to stay.
Abby peeked out and realized they were busy. There were twelve rooms total in the unit, and they all circled around the nursing station. Each room had a large glass window that spotlighted the bed inside. She could see all but one of the rooms were occupied.
The nurse assigned to her room was Mary. She had the look and smell of a heavy smoker, and Abby guessed her to be around fifty years old. Mary had confessed she was thrilled to have an easy patient for a change, and she had promised to stop in as much as possible to chat.
Sure enough, Mary poked her head in the room when she saw Abby up and about. “How are you doing, hon?”
Abby smiled and stretched. “Good. His breathing is starting to slow down a bit, but he’s still hanging in there.”
Mary nodded. “They go when the good lord is ready to take them, and not a moment sooner. I’ve got an admit coming in soon. Why don’t you take a break before he gets here, and I’ll stay and keep an eye on Mr. Jones?”
Abby gratefully accepted. She could use the toilet in the patient’s room, but she always felt guilty doing that. Instead, she grabbed her purse and headed to the public restrooms. On the way back she would grab a coffee from the kitchen Mary had shown her earlier. That should get her through the night.
Five minutes later Abby rounded the corner, balancing her coffee and a magazine she had found to read. She noticed a gurney being pushed down the hallway, and she realized Mary’s admit was on its way. She ducked back into her patient’s room and warned the nurse.
Mary grimaced. “Don’t worry, hon. I knew he was coming. I’d best get out there before Dr. Dictator has a stroke.”
“Dr. Dictator?”
Mary laughed. “Our lovely chief of cardiothoracic surgery. I was warned he would be escorting his patient to the floor.”
Abby grinned. Rachel had often told her tales about testy doctors and the egos they sometimes carried with them. She had cringed at the stories and secretly marveled at her friend’s ability to put up with it. But Rachel didn’t take shit from anyone. Now she looked at Mary curiously.
“That bad, eh?”
Mary nodded and made a face. “Dr. Turov is an excellent surgeon, and his patients usually survive. But he can be a prick on wheels to work with. I’ve been doing this for years, and he is the most controlling doctor I have ever met. He only uses specific meds and procedures, and if you disagree with him he will tear your head off. Not to mention he expects the labs and monitor set up immediately.”
Mary sighed.
“And here I thought I was going to have an easy night.” She gave Abby a wave and quickly ducked out of the room.
Abby watched her rush into the room next door. The gurney was being wheeled in, and she caught a brief glimpse of a tall man in scrubs following it. She presumed him to be the surgeon. Then she turned back to her patient. His breathing was definitely slowing down.
Out of the Shadows
Out of the Shadows
https://amzn.to/2PqtzIK
Gabriella Hewitt
Chapter One
The ache in his soul grew with each step.
His muscles bunched and released as his legs chewed up the distance. He barely felt the scorching desert sand beneath the pads of his paws. His canine nose held the scent of the enemy, unerringly tracking the demon through the sweltering heat and vast expanse of the Arizona desert.
Buried deep inside, Tomás let his wolf spirit take control. His animal spirit loved the chase, relished the moments when it was set free.
A demon had taken possession of a human’s body and had perpetrated ever-increasing horrors on unsuspecting mortals until his actions had caught the attention of Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec sun god. Tomás had been ordered to take down the demon and drag him back to the netherworld. After that, he would scout out this piece of land to determine why demons kept targeting it.
Basically, another mission that would play out like all the others—assuming he survived.
His wolf suddenly halted, head up, body alert. Tomás sought the link between man and beast to determine what had caught the animal’s attention.
A scent flowed in, light and crisp, like the air after a rain shower. It overrode the demon’s acrid, sulfuric smell.
Tomás forced his wolf spirit to pivot, employing all his senses to lock on to the elusive scent.
His heart stuttered. Could it possibly be? Was his spirit mate finally within reach?
Alarmed, his wolf spirit tried to call to him, to take control and order him to resume the chase. Tomás ignored the wolf, his entire focus bent on locating the source of that scent. It called to him in a way he couldn’t define, other than it touched a part of his soul he’d long thought dead. His head whipped left, right, his nostrils flaring, inhaling the odors of the desert. He could feel his wolf pulling at him, determined that they continue on to take down the demon. It was their primary mission.
At least it had been until that scent caught his attention. Hope flared within Tomás. A spirit mate would be his salvation.
His wolf growled, making its feelings clear. His human spirit struggled to override the animal spirit, a battle within one body between two powerful wills.
Was it happening? Had he finally lost the fight just when his spirit mate was so close? Would he spend the rest of eternity lost within the form of his wolf, his humanity subordinate to the will of the beast?
A harsh, painful cry erupted from within Tomás.
His wolf echoed the sound with a long howl.
His warrior’s heart beat strong, his determination resolute. Tomás gave one final tug, applying all his willpower, and then they were running flat-out, heading towards the vast unknown and an uncertain fate.
***
A wolf’s howl pierced the desert silence, causing the animals to stir restlessly in their stalls. Wolves had been reintroduced into Arizona, but she had yet to see or hear one so close to her ranch. Was it an omen?
Carolina paused in her chores to stare out the open barn door into the gathering darkness.
For a moment, she let herself get caught up in the long, solitary note. It felt like the cry of a kindred spirit. She knew loneliness intimately. Only her loneliness did not come from the vast miles of the sun-parched Sonoran desert that surrounded her, but out of the necessity to protect her goddess, her land’s secret. As one of the few amongst her people to become a guardian, her choices were limited.
The one occasion she’d invested herself in another, he’d betrayed her. She’d foolishly placed her hope and trust in Billy and she’d paid a horrendous price. Her desire to find someone to share the workload, her joy and sadness, and the burden of her secret—just as her parents had done—had blinded her to the trap she’d walked into. By the time she understood what was happening, it was too late. Her parents were dead.
Her heart weighed heavy in her chest as if it had happened recently and not five years ago. The memory of her parents lingered too close to the surface today. This had been their land, their dream, and now it was hers to fight for. She’d vowed never to fail them again. Above her own needs came the higher purpose of protecting her goddess at all costs.
Her mare, Mariposa, snorted and reared up, pulling Carolina from her thoughts. The animals had been growing edgier with each passing minute. They sensed the evil that blew in with the warm desert breeze. She berated herself for not paying more attention to them.
Goose bumps prickled her skin. Her tattoo, a gift from the goddess, began a slow burn on her shoulder, a sure sign that evil was approaching. She felt the heat radiating through the fabric of her denim shirt. The last time she’d experienced the odd sensation, her world had fallen apart.
Cautiously, she turned her head, seeking the source.
Her breath came out in a gasp.
Less than ten feet away sat a magnificent gray wolf, watching her. Waiting.
***
He detected no fear in the cihuatl, the woman. Surprise, wariness, yes, but not fear. How unexpected.
Even more unexpected was the crisp, refreshing scent of water that he’d caught out in the desert, surrounding her. He tested the air, his olfactory senses lingering over the fragrance, noting it smelled as pure now as it did then. His wolf remained alert, uninterested in the woman before it. Once more they were in complete disagreement.
Everything about the cihuatl interested Tomás.
She wore jeans long faded to a soft blue from years of use, topped with a denim shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. When she’d turned, he’d noted her lean, fit body, the smooth play of her muscles beneath the cloth. She’d pulled her long, dark hair back in a single braid that lay over her shoulder down to the slope of her breast. Her chestnut eyes watched him guardedly.
“I don’t know if you’re the reason my skin is on fire, but you need to leave.”
Her words floated across the distance.
His wolf pricked its ears up. Tomás did the same.
She stared at him with such seriousness that Tomás was entranced. She should be afraid of him, at least edging away to put distance between them. Yet, whether she’d realized it or not, she’d taken two steps closer.
There was harmony in her tones, the sound so clear it flowed through his tattered soul.
“Go.” Her arms hung loose at her sides, but ever so slowly she raised them. Her movements appeared smooth, like ripples across a pool of water, barely noticeable.
This unusual woman intrigued him. A vague memory passed over him like a cloud. And like a cloud, it was too insubstantial for him to hold on to. It had been so long since he had remembered his human past.
For centuries his life had revolved around duty and the constant fight to protect humanity from the demons unleashed by vengeful Aztec gods. He was a shadow warrior, one of the strongest, bravest souls chosen by Huitzilopochtli to defend humanity against evil. In his human life, he had been a seasoned, battle-hardened warrior who fought until the very end. In death, he continued the fight, never resting until he fulfilled his duty to his god. Tomás’s contact with humans remained minimal. He did his job and left. He mixed with humans insofar as it helped him get his target, but never had he cared to spend any time with one of them.
Until now.
This woman might be his spirit mate and that changed everything.
Even his wolf showed none of its prior urgency to chase the demon. Something about this woman held them both captive. Her expression remained intent and focused. She appeared to be a woman of strength wrapped up in an aura of innocence; a combination he found alluring. Confusion warred with rediscovered emotions. He wanted to reach out and touch the woman, connect with her somehow, the need overpowering. His wolf growled, warning him against such recklessness.
The woman stepped back as if she suddenly realized she should get to safety. Each movement flowed from the other and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
An animal squealed in pain and they both whipped their heads around. The animals in their stalls erupted into a wild frenzy. The woman spared him a brief glance before tearing down the center aisle.
The wolf picked up the scent and Tomás cursed. How had he and his animal spirit missed it? He’d been hunting the demon. It looked like the demon had found him instead.
Chapter Two
A muffled gurgle came from the far end of the barn. Carolina slowed her steps, recognizing the folly of running in blind. The sounds of an animal in distress made her stomach clench.
Did it have to do with the wolf? Had a second wolf slipped past her when her back had been turned to feed the horses? Only that didn’t explain the searing burn coming from her tattoo.
Slowly, she approached the last stall. From a window cut up high in the barn wall, the last remnants of daylight illuminated a crouched figure huddled over the prone body of her goat. She couldn’t see his face but his clothes were dusty and in tatters. He was most likely an illegal immigrant who had crossed the desert border between Mexico and America to seek a better life. A border crosser she could handle.
“Señor,” she spoke to the man softly in Spanish, “please keep your hands where I can see them.” She didn’t see a weapon, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Her tattoo burned red hot as the man turned partially around, so only half his face appeared. Carolina gasped. Even in the dim light, she recognized those features. “Billy? What are you doing here? You son of a bitch!”
She’d fallen for the ranch hand’s pretty face and honeyed words, certain she’d found her forever after. The bastard had lured her into the barn one day and tied her up. By the time she got loose, she’d found he’d disappeared while her parents lay in the desert sand, murdered. Signs of a demon attack had been everywhere.
“How dare you?” she spat at him.
He smiled, a slow stretching of his lips. She despised him. What a fool she’d been.
And then he turned completely around, letting her see him.
Charred skin disfigured one side of his face, while a black, fathomless pit filled one empty eye socket. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Tzitzimime!
Instinctively she chanted an ancient Aztec protection prayer, passed down by her ancestors. Tzitzimime were demons, evil spirits that preyed on the weak, stole their bodies and devoured their souls. All those years ago, Billy must have made a deal with a demon and now he was one. Billy shrieked, a high-pitched sound that agitated the horses, causing them to rear up in their stalls and kick the wood. She chanted louder, taking one step after another closer to the evil being who possessed her former boyfriend’s body. Her heart pounded in her chest.
“In the name of my goddess, leave my land!” Carolina threw out her hand. Upon her birth, the goddess had gifted her with the elemental power of water. The power built, then fizzled, too weak to answer her need. Stupid! She had gone too long without replenishing her water supply. As a guardian of the sacred land of the Tohono O’odham tribe, she knew better than to get into this shape. Overtaxing herself had rendered her unable to protect her goddess.
A large streak of fur barreled past her. A low, menacing growl indicated the wolf had joined her.
Backed into a corner, and with the wolf snapping at his heels, Billy clawed his way up the barn walls. He hissed and spewed black smoke. She needed a source of water and fast. Carolina drew her fingertips across her brow, wiping up the perspiration. She flung the water droplets into the air, capturing the smoke and trapping it.
“Clever trick, Carolina,” the tzitzimime hissed, “but you are weak and I can feel it.”
Billy’s charred jaw dropped to his chest and he let out an ear-piercing shriek. The maniacal sound brought her to her knees. In vain she tried to block the noise with her hands. Pain vibrated in her brain. Her ears rang and nausea churned in her stomach. She peeked over at the wolf to see how it was faring in the attack.
It was gone. In the animal’s place stood a large, equally imposing broad-shouldered man, entirely nude.
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes took in the hard, lean muscles, tan skin covered with nicks and scars. A body honed from battle and made to be a weapon.
His head turned and she stared into the golden eyes of the wolf, and for the first time she really tasted fear.
Her head whirling with the implications, she barely heard the whispered command that clothed him in boots and black jeans, but left him bare-chested.
A shadow warrior. A legend.
Her goddess had spoken of the shadow warriors with reverence and fear. A wave of trepidation gripped her. Was the shadow warrior’s presence a coincidence or did the Aztec sun god suspect the truth?
The high-pitched cackle of the demon grounded her.
Speculation would have to wait. Once again, her land and her life were being threatened. Tonight she would fight to protect her home and her secrets.
And, goddess willing, she wouldn’t die while doing it.
***
“Tzitzimime,” Tomás’s voice boomed inside the barn, “it’s my duty to see you back to where you belong.” The misshapen man spewing poison had once been human; only now the rotted corpse was a vessel filled by the demon’s spirit. The Aztec celestial demons were bent on destroying the world and his god, Huitzilopochtli.
The wolf in him raised its head, snarled and pushed for dominance. Tomás felt it clawing for freedom, the animal dangerously close to the surface. His fingers curled at his sides and the edges of his vision deteriorated. He battled his wolf for control. His body bowed forward, but he fought back.
His wolf retreated, yet Tomás knew they’d be at it again soon. One of these days, he’d lose the battle permanently. Then he would be no better than a tzitzimime, a spirit trapped within another body, traveling the world without purpose, without honor.
The demon made gibberish sounds as he climbed higher up the wall, obviously searching for a way to escape.
“Working together, we can box him in.” The woman’s bell-like tones cut through the demon’s harsh sounds, a soothing balm that touched Tomás’s soul and calmed the beast within.
“Get out of here, cihuatl. I will deal with him.” He didn’t wait to see if the woman obeyed.
With his feet braced apart, one arm raised, he let out a warrior’s cry that filled the night sky. “Macuahuitl!” Into his hand appeared a wooden sword with obsidian blades embedded along the sides, the volcanic flint sharpened to lethal points. He brought his other hand up and two-fisted the four-foot weapon, holding it like a bat just above his shoulder. The macuahuitl could decapitate a horse. Lately, Tomás preferred tearing into demons with claws and teeth and then dragging the broken, evil spirit back to the netherworld. This time, though, he had an audience. The sword produced less gore.
The demon hissed, his mouth a slash in the skin stretched tightly over one half of his skull, a stark contrast to the purity of the right side of his face. Tomás prepared to swing, when he realized the woman had not moved. “Stay back!”
He growled low in his throat. Why hadn’t she done as he ordered? Most humans did as he commanded, his will overriding theirs.
She shocked him further by chanting in the ancient language of his people. The words floated in the air, filling the chamber with power. How had she come by her knowledge? She chanted, her hands up, palms out as she walked directly towards the demon.
Tomás stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Do not!” Fury coursed through him at her recklessness. The move put him too close to the demon. With the woman directly behind him, he didn’t have enough room to maneuver his sword arm.
The demon’s mouth opened, his jaws unhinging like a snake’s, and a stream of fire burst forth. Tomás raised the macuahuitl to protect them both. The heat of the flames still managed to sear his skin as he used his free arm to sweep the woman out of harm’s way and throw them both to the floor. He twisted as they fell, tossing his weapon aside to prevent either of them being sliced open by the blades. He took the brunt of the fall, landing hard on his shoulder.
“Run,” he ordered. She was a distraction and she was in danger every second she spent around the demon.
“Not a chance,” she shot back as she scrambled to her feet. “He’s mine to fight.” Her eyes were wide and round—not with fear, but something else—determination and anger. In all the centuries of his existence, he’d never met a woman as bullheaded as her.
“Woman, move out of the way!”
The demon pounced. Tomás rolled over and kicked out his legs, slamming into the dead man’s ribs. Bone cracked and snapped, but it did little to faze the demon possessing the mortal’s body. As Tomás got to his feet, the demon attacked, slashing with his sharp claws. Tomás felt each jagged nail rip into his gut. Blood spurted and he staggered back.
***
Billy moved with incredible speed, grasping her neck with a one-handed grip and lifting her up into the air. His hot, foul breath poured over her. Carolina kicked out feebly. She called up her powers, but they were weak and unable to respond. She needed water. And he knew it.
Her breath labored as the tzitzimime squeezed. Clawed fingers sliced through her denim shirt, exposing her tattoo. Dainty and inked with the colors of the Sonoran desert, her hummingbird tattoo began to glow, the light brighter than the moon and twice as hot as the sun. Billy shrieked and tossed her. She hit a stall gate and slid down to the floor. Behind her, she heard a horse kick out, splintering the wooden slats. Something clattered to the ground—the feed bucket from the sound of grains spilling out in a loud whoosh. If she could reach the water bucket, she might have a chance.
She clutched her head and gasped for breath as pain from the knock on her head bounced around her skull. She had to get back up and fight. She had to protect her land. Billy had nearly destroyed her five years ago. His betrayal had cost her the lives of her parents and had almost led to the annihilation of her goddess. The ravages of that fateful day remained evident in the scars on the land, the drying up of large reservoirs of water and the gaping hole in her heart.
Rage flooded her system, giving her the energy to pull herself up from the floor, using the stall gate for support. There’d been lesser demons sniffing around since that day. She should’ve guessed it was in preparation for a big attack. Her mare lashed out again. Carolina had no time to calm the animal. She reached over the stall gate and dipped her hand in the horse’s water bucket hooked to the door. She soaked up the elemental power. Its energy renewed her and she headed once more into battle. She pitched like a baseball player. The demon shrieked and scurried to avoid being hit with the hard, speeding balls of water.
She would make Billy pay. For her parents, for her goddess, for herself, she would see him in hell.
***
Pain gripped Tomás, and he pressed his hand against the wound. Blood poured through his fingers. He was a warrior and the injury was not life-threatening. He had to secure the demon fast before he caused more damage.
His wolf snarled, moving under his skin, pushing its way up to the surface and blurring his vision. He fought the change. Hurt as he was, in wolf form, Tomás would be unable to control the beast and the wolf spirit did not discriminate. If he succumbed to the wolf, the woman would be in danger. Tomás got to his feet and forced his wolf to retreat temporarily.
The woman stood tall, without fear. As she lobbed water at the demon, she chanted louder, and the air swelled with power. Her words were like music to his ears—he could feel his body move with the rhythm and skill of his ancestors. He grabbed his sword and charged the demon. Raising the weapon above his head, he swung downward. The obsidian blades tore through skin and bone. The tzitzimime’s arm thudded to the ground. The tainted blood that spilled from the severed limb ignited the barn floor. Acrid black smoke rose rapidly, engulfing the barn. The animals panicked.
Water cascaded in an arc above his head and landed on the fire but did little to contain the blaze.
The red-hot inferno licked the sides of the barn. Smoke swirled around them. Tomás turned back to confront his enemy only to find the demon escaping, leaving the severed, bloody arm behind.
“Help me!” The woman had stopped hurling water and was trying to put the fire out with a blanket.
His number one duty was to capture the demon. Five hundred years ago, the Aztec sun god Huitzilopochtli had chosen him to join an elite cadre of warriors, called shadow warriors, to track down and fight evil spirits and to be a shield between humanity and evil. In all these centuries, duty had always come first.
“Please, hurry!”
Her voice pierced his heart, when he hadn’t thought he had a heart left. The beautiful woman with dark eyes pleading for his assistance had somehow claimed a part of his soul that he believed had been all but devoured by his wolf spirit. A small light of humanity remained like a tiny flicker in the distance. His wolf growled, pulling him towards the chase, but Tomás hesitated. He would risk Huitzilopochtli’s wrath with what he was contemplating.
He willed his sword away and ran to her side, and for the first time in centuries, he allowed his enemy to escape.
Chapter Three
Working together, they quickly put out the fire. Ashes and smoke made Carolina’s eyes water and a film of sweat covered her body. She ignored the discomfort. She also ignored the shadow warrior standing nearby. She appreciated his help, but she needed him gone. She turned her attention to the animals still spooked by the tzitzimime and the fire.
She spoke to each one gently before leading the animal outside to the corral. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the shadow warrior. No words left his lips, but she’d swear he communicated to the animals—their submissiveness was most unusual.
She latched the corral gate and took a deep breath. One…no, make that two more to go. A moan hitched in her throat and she hastily swallowed it.
She wanted to cry but refused to give in. Every drop of liquid was precious. She would need her strength if she were to fight the tzizimime again…Billy.
She’d thought that slimy bastard gone, maybe demon food. Now he was back in her life, her worst nightmare revisited, a vivid reminder of her biggest failure and all she still had to lose.
A demon. A shadow warrior. Both on her land. What had drawn them here? She wanted to believe in coincidence, but she wasn’t stupid.
The shadow warrior watched her, his gaze inscrutable. What was he thinking?
Really, it was all too much, she thought as she trudged back to the barn, her silent shadow following in her footsteps. She needed to find a way to make him leave.
Inside the barn, the stench of charred wood filled her nostrils. The electric lamp that hung on the wall cast a stark glare over the damage. It would require hard work and money she didn’t have to restore it. Carolina pushed aside her distress and headed directly for the last stall.
She slipped into the cubicle, found a spot in the hay not soaked in blood and knelt. Tears clogged her throat and swam in her eyes as she looked upon the slain corpse of Tito, her goat. Pepe, his brother, huddled in the far corner, bleating softly.
Memories of the last time she’d had to deal with death overcame her. Images of the broken, mutilated bodies of her parents strewn out on the hot desert floor were forever burned into her mind. She’d barely taken in their mangled condition, a cry torn from her lips, when the demon had pounced. She’d fought him off, but he’d been strong, stronger than any other she had ever fought, the infusion of death in the air lending the demon strength. She would have joined her parents that day had it not been for her goddess joining her in the fight. Carolina pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed deeply, forcing the memories to retreat. She reached down, intending to pick up the lifeless body, when she was brushed aside. Startled, she glanced up to see the shadow warrior squatting beside her.
“Why do you weep for this animal? It is just a beast.”
His tone held no condemnation, but she found herself bristling anyway. “I am not crying. That doesn’t mean Tito—”
“Your soul weeps for him. I can feel it in here.” He thumped his chest.
Anger and grief mixed together. “I raised him from a kid. I won’t let Billy, a tzitzimime, take another family member away from me. Tito was family.”
The shadow warrior nodded, but she sensed that family had little meaning to him, when to her it meant everything.
“You must destroy the carcass. The demon’s blood carries evil that can seep into the ground and spread its poison.”
“I know.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was holding on to her control by a thread. Her world felt bleak and desolate. Why had she been chosen as a guardian? Water was supposed to bring life, not destruction. She looked down at the small, helpless animal. Another life lost because she had failed. How much more devastation could she withstand? She reached out to put her hands under the body, only to find them trapped between the shadow warrior’s two larger ones.
“Cihuatl, were you not listening? It is poison.”
Carolina struggled to break free of his grip. She felt the strength in his hands, the roughness that was testament to the work he did. A tingle traveled up her palm and along her nerve endings. The hummingbird on her shoulder pulsated, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, she felt warm and fuzzy like she’d had one too many drinks at the local watering hole. She ignored the throb of her tattoo, glaring at him for all she was worth. “I am not stupid. I know very well what I am doing. And stop calling me woman,” she snapped. “My name is Carolina.”
“You do not fear me, do you? Nor do you cower in the face of a tzitzimime. Yet you are human. Why is that?”
Her breath caught in her chest. He was right. She didn’t fear him. Since the moment he’d stepped onto her land, he had mesmerized her. The heat of his hands warmed the cold thoughts of death and dissipated her anger.
Before she could sputter any kind of response, one of his hands whipped up and pushed the ripped material of her denim shirt aside, where it had been sliced open by the claws of the tzitzimime.
His gaze speared her in place. “You bear the mark of a warrior.”
***
The glowing mark of a hummingbird on the woman kept him transfixed. He needed to know more about her. In all his years, he had never stumbled upon a human who bore a warrior’s mark and had the power to call on the elements. She wielded water as masterfully as he wielded his weapon.
“You have power, elemental power that I have never seen in a human. Just who are you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice came out low and musical, and he found it arousing.
“You have power over the element of water and you bear a huitzilin, the hummingbird mark. You are no ordinary woman.”
She laughed at that, a melodic sound tinged with sadness. “Believe me, I am quite ordinary. From sunup to sundown I run this ranch. I rarely get into town and the last man I dated was someone I deeply regret.” She went to move, tugging at her hands still trapped within his one.
Tomás kept his grip firm. She had shown no fear or surprise at his appearance nor had she backed down from fighting an evil spirit. She was a puzzle he badly wanted to solve. He also didn’t like hearing about other men. A primitive sense of possessiveness swept over him.
“Tell me your name.” His words came out clipped, harsher than he intended. Thoughts of other men sniffing around her made his muscles tense and put his wolf on alert. He forced himself to relax slowly.
She narrowed her eyes and thrust her jaw out mulishly. “I told you already. Carolina.”
“Carolina.” Her name rolled off his tongue.
“And you are?”
“Tomás.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Somehow I doubt that is your first name, shadow warrior.”
Tomás felt the beast in him rise up in defense. It growled for caution. He paid no heed to the animal’s instinct. He was intrigued.
“How do you know of shadow warriors?” He pushed closer, almost on top of her, the wolf peering out through his eyes.
The woman didn’t back down. She showed strength.
“My mother was from the Tohono O’odham tribe—the people of the desert. She shared many stories about your kind from legends passed down from one generation to the next. Immortal warriors for the sun god, Huitzilopochtli, sent to earth to destroy the celestial demons, tzizimime.”
Tomás nodded. It explained why she had not turned and fled like most humans would have when he transformed from a wolf to a man. The heat of her mark drew him closer, the sensation searing his fingertips. The wolf knew only of survival, but this close to Carolina, the man in him knew of another instinct, a deeper hunger. He wanted to taste her lips and drink in her sweet power, which he could feel washing over him, calming the beast inside. In the five hundred years since giving his soul to Huitzilopochtli, he had never desired to get close to another human as he did with Carolina. He should be chasing a demon, not chasing a woman.
But she wasn’t just any woman. More than ever, he felt he had found his spirit mate.
The wolf pushed at his insides, reminding him that the beast was never far away and that he was never as free as he wished. “You seem to know much about me. But you have yet to tell me who you are.”
***
There was curiosity in his voice, and respect. His fingers lightly brushed her tattoo and she shivered in response. Her entire body reacted to this man. She didn’t understand any of it and she didn’t like being off balance. She needed time and distance to think.
“I need to tend to my goat.” She nodded towards the goat shaking in the corner.
She scrambled to her feet. This time he let her. She grabbed a lead and attached it to Pepe’s collar, using it to tug the goat out of the barn and into the corral with the others. Its pitiful bleating tore at her heart, reminding her of all she still had to lose if she let herself get distracted.
Tomás emerged from the barn doorway, the bloody corpse of Tito in his arms. She sucked in a breath to contain the pain ripping through her chest. How many of those she loved would she have to lose in this fight?
She shook the thought loose, feeling guilt for even thinking such a thing. Her role as guardian required sacrifice. There was no other way.
As Tomás approached Carolina, she turned on her boot heels and silently headed for a patch of land dominated by a huge juniper tree. Tall and strong, the tree had overseen the birth and death of generations of her people. It had managed to survive despite the scarcity of water, but each day the river dried up and the earth cried out in thirst, and Carolina knew their days were numbered.
She gestured to a spot far enough from the tree that it would not catch fire. Tomás laid his burden down. “I just realized I don’t even have kindling or a light. What was I thinking?” She hiccupped and blindly stared out across the dark desert horizon—anything to avoid looking down at the pet she’d raised from a baby.
“Your pain disturbs me. I do not like it.” As he frowned at her, his body bowed over and reshaped. Under the light of the full moon, Carolina watched in awe, unable to tear her eyes from the ripple of muscles, the incredible transformation taking place in front of her. One minute he was a man and the next he was a large gray wolf.
The wolf stared at her with such directness she felt a shiver rise from her toes and climb all the way up her spine. She backed up, allowing the beautiful beast room. Something in the wolf’s gaze reminded her that at heart it was a predator.
The wolf used its huge paws to dig a pit large enough to lay Tito to rest. Carolina watched, captivated by the animal’s power.
“Thank you.” Overcoming her unease, Carolina reached out her hand to touch the wolf. It laid its ears back and shied away. She dropped her hand to her side.
Carolina made a quick trip to the barn to grab a pair of work gloves she kept by the door and some matches. With her hands protected from the demon’s poison, she put her energy into rolling Tito into the grave. She gathered brush and bits of kindling to throw on top. The wolf aided her by clasping twigs and branches in its teeth and releasing them over the pit. She peeled off the gloves and tossed them in as well. Her fingers trembled as she lit a match and threw it on the wood. She chanted the words of an ancient Aztec prayer, determined to send the soul of her animal companion to a better place. When finished, she bowed her head and fought off the tears. Bathed by the light of the moon, the two of them waited for Tito’s body to be consumed by the flames. On her knees, she continued to pray to her goddess, asking for strength and wisdom in the fight ahead. Vaguely, she became aware of the wolf tossing dirt back into the hole once the fire had died out.
She raised her head and observed the transformation from beast to man. She realized he was again completely nude and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She had never seen a man naked before. Even with the four jagged claw marks marring his stomach, he had the kind of body artists immortalized in paint and clay. Embarrassment crept up into her cheeks.
His gaze rested on her thoughtfully before he clothed himself in black jeans, leaving his chest bare, his entire demeanor speaking loudly of his ease with nudity. She was both relieved and disappointed. Disturbed by her thoughts, she made to get up. Tomás held his hand out to her. She tentatively laid her palm on his and let him help her to her feet.
She’d been prepared for the tingle she’d felt before, not the surge of electricity that shot through her system. His eyes went from amber to golden and she thought she caught the sound of a growl in his throat.
She tried to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead he tugged her closer until she was scant inches from his chest. His hand slipped behind her neck to cup her nape.
“You are an unusual cihuatl.”
Carolina shook her head, which was difficult given her position. “You persist in saying that, but it is not true. I am a plain, simple woman.”
“There is nothing simple about you. I am determined to learn everything about you.”
“But you can’t—” Carolina cried, only to be cut off by Tomás’s mouth coming down on hers.
***
Sparks shot through his bloodstream, igniting a fire that could easily blaze out of control. He hadn’t kissed a woman in five centuries. Carnal thoughts had disappeared once he’d joined the ranks of the shadow warriors. Amazingly, those thoughts were now back with a vengeance.
Carolina melted into him.
She wound her arms around his neck. Her lips softened and opened, allowing him to slip inside. She tasted of innocence, determination and strength.
The air around them swirled with energy. The atmosphere crackled with it. Power seemed to move over and around them, weaving a spell they could not escape. Memories of his family, his childhood and his battles as an Aztec warrior flooded his mind in rapid succession, triggering an emotional tidal wave that threatened to engulf them both.
His wolf lunged to the surface, the move aggressive, instinctual and entirely territorial.
The unexpected action broke the spell. Tomás tore his lips away and stepped back from Carolina.
His wolf sought domination. Tomás struggled to keep his beast down.
For a moment the two battled. Tomás clung to the images of his humanity, allowing them to replay in his mind, to provide him with the grounding he needed. His wolf distrusted the changes it sensed happening. It wanted to chase the demon. It wanted to be in control. Tomás threw the power of his will against his beast and demanded obedience.
“What just happened?” Carolina’s voice held concern and a slight hint of fear. His wolf backed down but remained vigilant. Tomás tasted his humanity on his lips—a bittersweet recollection of hardship, battles and occasional glory. His eyes rested on the woman whose kiss had released a storm of memories buried under five hundred years of demon kills.
He had held on all these centuries for her.
https://amzn.to/2PqtzIK
Gabriella Hewitt
Chapter One
The ache in his soul grew with each step.
His muscles bunched and released as his legs chewed up the distance. He barely felt the scorching desert sand beneath the pads of his paws. His canine nose held the scent of the enemy, unerringly tracking the demon through the sweltering heat and vast expanse of the Arizona desert.
Buried deep inside, Tomás let his wolf spirit take control. His animal spirit loved the chase, relished the moments when it was set free.
A demon had taken possession of a human’s body and had perpetrated ever-increasing horrors on unsuspecting mortals until his actions had caught the attention of Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec sun god. Tomás had been ordered to take down the demon and drag him back to the netherworld. After that, he would scout out this piece of land to determine why demons kept targeting it.
Basically, another mission that would play out like all the others—assuming he survived.
His wolf suddenly halted, head up, body alert. Tomás sought the link between man and beast to determine what had caught the animal’s attention.
A scent flowed in, light and crisp, like the air after a rain shower. It overrode the demon’s acrid, sulfuric smell.
Tomás forced his wolf spirit to pivot, employing all his senses to lock on to the elusive scent.
His heart stuttered. Could it possibly be? Was his spirit mate finally within reach?
Alarmed, his wolf spirit tried to call to him, to take control and order him to resume the chase. Tomás ignored the wolf, his entire focus bent on locating the source of that scent. It called to him in a way he couldn’t define, other than it touched a part of his soul he’d long thought dead. His head whipped left, right, his nostrils flaring, inhaling the odors of the desert. He could feel his wolf pulling at him, determined that they continue on to take down the demon. It was their primary mission.
At least it had been until that scent caught his attention. Hope flared within Tomás. A spirit mate would be his salvation.
His wolf growled, making its feelings clear. His human spirit struggled to override the animal spirit, a battle within one body between two powerful wills.
Was it happening? Had he finally lost the fight just when his spirit mate was so close? Would he spend the rest of eternity lost within the form of his wolf, his humanity subordinate to the will of the beast?
A harsh, painful cry erupted from within Tomás.
His wolf echoed the sound with a long howl.
His warrior’s heart beat strong, his determination resolute. Tomás gave one final tug, applying all his willpower, and then they were running flat-out, heading towards the vast unknown and an uncertain fate.
***
A wolf’s howl pierced the desert silence, causing the animals to stir restlessly in their stalls. Wolves had been reintroduced into Arizona, but she had yet to see or hear one so close to her ranch. Was it an omen?
Carolina paused in her chores to stare out the open barn door into the gathering darkness.
For a moment, she let herself get caught up in the long, solitary note. It felt like the cry of a kindred spirit. She knew loneliness intimately. Only her loneliness did not come from the vast miles of the sun-parched Sonoran desert that surrounded her, but out of the necessity to protect her goddess, her land’s secret. As one of the few amongst her people to become a guardian, her choices were limited.
The one occasion she’d invested herself in another, he’d betrayed her. She’d foolishly placed her hope and trust in Billy and she’d paid a horrendous price. Her desire to find someone to share the workload, her joy and sadness, and the burden of her secret—just as her parents had done—had blinded her to the trap she’d walked into. By the time she understood what was happening, it was too late. Her parents were dead.
Her heart weighed heavy in her chest as if it had happened recently and not five years ago. The memory of her parents lingered too close to the surface today. This had been their land, their dream, and now it was hers to fight for. She’d vowed never to fail them again. Above her own needs came the higher purpose of protecting her goddess at all costs.
Her mare, Mariposa, snorted and reared up, pulling Carolina from her thoughts. The animals had been growing edgier with each passing minute. They sensed the evil that blew in with the warm desert breeze. She berated herself for not paying more attention to them.
Goose bumps prickled her skin. Her tattoo, a gift from the goddess, began a slow burn on her shoulder, a sure sign that evil was approaching. She felt the heat radiating through the fabric of her denim shirt. The last time she’d experienced the odd sensation, her world had fallen apart.
Cautiously, she turned her head, seeking the source.
Her breath came out in a gasp.
Less than ten feet away sat a magnificent gray wolf, watching her. Waiting.
***
He detected no fear in the cihuatl, the woman. Surprise, wariness, yes, but not fear. How unexpected.
Even more unexpected was the crisp, refreshing scent of water that he’d caught out in the desert, surrounding her. He tested the air, his olfactory senses lingering over the fragrance, noting it smelled as pure now as it did then. His wolf remained alert, uninterested in the woman before it. Once more they were in complete disagreement.
Everything about the cihuatl interested Tomás.
She wore jeans long faded to a soft blue from years of use, topped with a denim shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. When she’d turned, he’d noted her lean, fit body, the smooth play of her muscles beneath the cloth. She’d pulled her long, dark hair back in a single braid that lay over her shoulder down to the slope of her breast. Her chestnut eyes watched him guardedly.
“I don’t know if you’re the reason my skin is on fire, but you need to leave.”
Her words floated across the distance.
His wolf pricked its ears up. Tomás did the same.
She stared at him with such seriousness that Tomás was entranced. She should be afraid of him, at least edging away to put distance between them. Yet, whether she’d realized it or not, she’d taken two steps closer.
There was harmony in her tones, the sound so clear it flowed through his tattered soul.
“Go.” Her arms hung loose at her sides, but ever so slowly she raised them. Her movements appeared smooth, like ripples across a pool of water, barely noticeable.
This unusual woman intrigued him. A vague memory passed over him like a cloud. And like a cloud, it was too insubstantial for him to hold on to. It had been so long since he had remembered his human past.
For centuries his life had revolved around duty and the constant fight to protect humanity from the demons unleashed by vengeful Aztec gods. He was a shadow warrior, one of the strongest, bravest souls chosen by Huitzilopochtli to defend humanity against evil. In his human life, he had been a seasoned, battle-hardened warrior who fought until the very end. In death, he continued the fight, never resting until he fulfilled his duty to his god. Tomás’s contact with humans remained minimal. He did his job and left. He mixed with humans insofar as it helped him get his target, but never had he cared to spend any time with one of them.
Until now.
This woman might be his spirit mate and that changed everything.
Even his wolf showed none of its prior urgency to chase the demon. Something about this woman held them both captive. Her expression remained intent and focused. She appeared to be a woman of strength wrapped up in an aura of innocence; a combination he found alluring. Confusion warred with rediscovered emotions. He wanted to reach out and touch the woman, connect with her somehow, the need overpowering. His wolf growled, warning him against such recklessness.
The woman stepped back as if she suddenly realized she should get to safety. Each movement flowed from the other and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
An animal squealed in pain and they both whipped their heads around. The animals in their stalls erupted into a wild frenzy. The woman spared him a brief glance before tearing down the center aisle.
The wolf picked up the scent and Tomás cursed. How had he and his animal spirit missed it? He’d been hunting the demon. It looked like the demon had found him instead.
Chapter Two
A muffled gurgle came from the far end of the barn. Carolina slowed her steps, recognizing the folly of running in blind. The sounds of an animal in distress made her stomach clench.
Did it have to do with the wolf? Had a second wolf slipped past her when her back had been turned to feed the horses? Only that didn’t explain the searing burn coming from her tattoo.
Slowly, she approached the last stall. From a window cut up high in the barn wall, the last remnants of daylight illuminated a crouched figure huddled over the prone body of her goat. She couldn’t see his face but his clothes were dusty and in tatters. He was most likely an illegal immigrant who had crossed the desert border between Mexico and America to seek a better life. A border crosser she could handle.
“Señor,” she spoke to the man softly in Spanish, “please keep your hands where I can see them.” She didn’t see a weapon, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Her tattoo burned red hot as the man turned partially around, so only half his face appeared. Carolina gasped. Even in the dim light, she recognized those features. “Billy? What are you doing here? You son of a bitch!”
She’d fallen for the ranch hand’s pretty face and honeyed words, certain she’d found her forever after. The bastard had lured her into the barn one day and tied her up. By the time she got loose, she’d found he’d disappeared while her parents lay in the desert sand, murdered. Signs of a demon attack had been everywhere.
“How dare you?” she spat at him.
He smiled, a slow stretching of his lips. She despised him. What a fool she’d been.
And then he turned completely around, letting her see him.
Charred skin disfigured one side of his face, while a black, fathomless pit filled one empty eye socket. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Tzitzimime!
Instinctively she chanted an ancient Aztec protection prayer, passed down by her ancestors. Tzitzimime were demons, evil spirits that preyed on the weak, stole their bodies and devoured their souls. All those years ago, Billy must have made a deal with a demon and now he was one. Billy shrieked, a high-pitched sound that agitated the horses, causing them to rear up in their stalls and kick the wood. She chanted louder, taking one step after another closer to the evil being who possessed her former boyfriend’s body. Her heart pounded in her chest.
“In the name of my goddess, leave my land!” Carolina threw out her hand. Upon her birth, the goddess had gifted her with the elemental power of water. The power built, then fizzled, too weak to answer her need. Stupid! She had gone too long without replenishing her water supply. As a guardian of the sacred land of the Tohono O’odham tribe, she knew better than to get into this shape. Overtaxing herself had rendered her unable to protect her goddess.
A large streak of fur barreled past her. A low, menacing growl indicated the wolf had joined her.
Backed into a corner, and with the wolf snapping at his heels, Billy clawed his way up the barn walls. He hissed and spewed black smoke. She needed a source of water and fast. Carolina drew her fingertips across her brow, wiping up the perspiration. She flung the water droplets into the air, capturing the smoke and trapping it.
“Clever trick, Carolina,” the tzitzimime hissed, “but you are weak and I can feel it.”
Billy’s charred jaw dropped to his chest and he let out an ear-piercing shriek. The maniacal sound brought her to her knees. In vain she tried to block the noise with her hands. Pain vibrated in her brain. Her ears rang and nausea churned in her stomach. She peeked over at the wolf to see how it was faring in the attack.
It was gone. In the animal’s place stood a large, equally imposing broad-shouldered man, entirely nude.
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes took in the hard, lean muscles, tan skin covered with nicks and scars. A body honed from battle and made to be a weapon.
His head turned and she stared into the golden eyes of the wolf, and for the first time she really tasted fear.
Her head whirling with the implications, she barely heard the whispered command that clothed him in boots and black jeans, but left him bare-chested.
A shadow warrior. A legend.
Her goddess had spoken of the shadow warriors with reverence and fear. A wave of trepidation gripped her. Was the shadow warrior’s presence a coincidence or did the Aztec sun god suspect the truth?
The high-pitched cackle of the demon grounded her.
Speculation would have to wait. Once again, her land and her life were being threatened. Tonight she would fight to protect her home and her secrets.
And, goddess willing, she wouldn’t die while doing it.
***
“Tzitzimime,” Tomás’s voice boomed inside the barn, “it’s my duty to see you back to where you belong.” The misshapen man spewing poison had once been human; only now the rotted corpse was a vessel filled by the demon’s spirit. The Aztec celestial demons were bent on destroying the world and his god, Huitzilopochtli.
The wolf in him raised its head, snarled and pushed for dominance. Tomás felt it clawing for freedom, the animal dangerously close to the surface. His fingers curled at his sides and the edges of his vision deteriorated. He battled his wolf for control. His body bowed forward, but he fought back.
His wolf retreated, yet Tomás knew they’d be at it again soon. One of these days, he’d lose the battle permanently. Then he would be no better than a tzitzimime, a spirit trapped within another body, traveling the world without purpose, without honor.
The demon made gibberish sounds as he climbed higher up the wall, obviously searching for a way to escape.
“Working together, we can box him in.” The woman’s bell-like tones cut through the demon’s harsh sounds, a soothing balm that touched Tomás’s soul and calmed the beast within.
“Get out of here, cihuatl. I will deal with him.” He didn’t wait to see if the woman obeyed.
With his feet braced apart, one arm raised, he let out a warrior’s cry that filled the night sky. “Macuahuitl!” Into his hand appeared a wooden sword with obsidian blades embedded along the sides, the volcanic flint sharpened to lethal points. He brought his other hand up and two-fisted the four-foot weapon, holding it like a bat just above his shoulder. The macuahuitl could decapitate a horse. Lately, Tomás preferred tearing into demons with claws and teeth and then dragging the broken, evil spirit back to the netherworld. This time, though, he had an audience. The sword produced less gore.
The demon hissed, his mouth a slash in the skin stretched tightly over one half of his skull, a stark contrast to the purity of the right side of his face. Tomás prepared to swing, when he realized the woman had not moved. “Stay back!”
He growled low in his throat. Why hadn’t she done as he ordered? Most humans did as he commanded, his will overriding theirs.
She shocked him further by chanting in the ancient language of his people. The words floated in the air, filling the chamber with power. How had she come by her knowledge? She chanted, her hands up, palms out as she walked directly towards the demon.
Tomás stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Do not!” Fury coursed through him at her recklessness. The move put him too close to the demon. With the woman directly behind him, he didn’t have enough room to maneuver his sword arm.
The demon’s mouth opened, his jaws unhinging like a snake’s, and a stream of fire burst forth. Tomás raised the macuahuitl to protect them both. The heat of the flames still managed to sear his skin as he used his free arm to sweep the woman out of harm’s way and throw them both to the floor. He twisted as they fell, tossing his weapon aside to prevent either of them being sliced open by the blades. He took the brunt of the fall, landing hard on his shoulder.
“Run,” he ordered. She was a distraction and she was in danger every second she spent around the demon.
“Not a chance,” she shot back as she scrambled to her feet. “He’s mine to fight.” Her eyes were wide and round—not with fear, but something else—determination and anger. In all the centuries of his existence, he’d never met a woman as bullheaded as her.
“Woman, move out of the way!”
The demon pounced. Tomás rolled over and kicked out his legs, slamming into the dead man’s ribs. Bone cracked and snapped, but it did little to faze the demon possessing the mortal’s body. As Tomás got to his feet, the demon attacked, slashing with his sharp claws. Tomás felt each jagged nail rip into his gut. Blood spurted and he staggered back.
***
Billy moved with incredible speed, grasping her neck with a one-handed grip and lifting her up into the air. His hot, foul breath poured over her. Carolina kicked out feebly. She called up her powers, but they were weak and unable to respond. She needed water. And he knew it.
Her breath labored as the tzitzimime squeezed. Clawed fingers sliced through her denim shirt, exposing her tattoo. Dainty and inked with the colors of the Sonoran desert, her hummingbird tattoo began to glow, the light brighter than the moon and twice as hot as the sun. Billy shrieked and tossed her. She hit a stall gate and slid down to the floor. Behind her, she heard a horse kick out, splintering the wooden slats. Something clattered to the ground—the feed bucket from the sound of grains spilling out in a loud whoosh. If she could reach the water bucket, she might have a chance.
She clutched her head and gasped for breath as pain from the knock on her head bounced around her skull. She had to get back up and fight. She had to protect her land. Billy had nearly destroyed her five years ago. His betrayal had cost her the lives of her parents and had almost led to the annihilation of her goddess. The ravages of that fateful day remained evident in the scars on the land, the drying up of large reservoirs of water and the gaping hole in her heart.
Rage flooded her system, giving her the energy to pull herself up from the floor, using the stall gate for support. There’d been lesser demons sniffing around since that day. She should’ve guessed it was in preparation for a big attack. Her mare lashed out again. Carolina had no time to calm the animal. She reached over the stall gate and dipped her hand in the horse’s water bucket hooked to the door. She soaked up the elemental power. Its energy renewed her and she headed once more into battle. She pitched like a baseball player. The demon shrieked and scurried to avoid being hit with the hard, speeding balls of water.
She would make Billy pay. For her parents, for her goddess, for herself, she would see him in hell.
***
Pain gripped Tomás, and he pressed his hand against the wound. Blood poured through his fingers. He was a warrior and the injury was not life-threatening. He had to secure the demon fast before he caused more damage.
His wolf snarled, moving under his skin, pushing its way up to the surface and blurring his vision. He fought the change. Hurt as he was, in wolf form, Tomás would be unable to control the beast and the wolf spirit did not discriminate. If he succumbed to the wolf, the woman would be in danger. Tomás got to his feet and forced his wolf to retreat temporarily.
The woman stood tall, without fear. As she lobbed water at the demon, she chanted louder, and the air swelled with power. Her words were like music to his ears—he could feel his body move with the rhythm and skill of his ancestors. He grabbed his sword and charged the demon. Raising the weapon above his head, he swung downward. The obsidian blades tore through skin and bone. The tzitzimime’s arm thudded to the ground. The tainted blood that spilled from the severed limb ignited the barn floor. Acrid black smoke rose rapidly, engulfing the barn. The animals panicked.
Water cascaded in an arc above his head and landed on the fire but did little to contain the blaze.
The red-hot inferno licked the sides of the barn. Smoke swirled around them. Tomás turned back to confront his enemy only to find the demon escaping, leaving the severed, bloody arm behind.
“Help me!” The woman had stopped hurling water and was trying to put the fire out with a blanket.
His number one duty was to capture the demon. Five hundred years ago, the Aztec sun god Huitzilopochtli had chosen him to join an elite cadre of warriors, called shadow warriors, to track down and fight evil spirits and to be a shield between humanity and evil. In all these centuries, duty had always come first.
“Please, hurry!”
Her voice pierced his heart, when he hadn’t thought he had a heart left. The beautiful woman with dark eyes pleading for his assistance had somehow claimed a part of his soul that he believed had been all but devoured by his wolf spirit. A small light of humanity remained like a tiny flicker in the distance. His wolf growled, pulling him towards the chase, but Tomás hesitated. He would risk Huitzilopochtli’s wrath with what he was contemplating.
He willed his sword away and ran to her side, and for the first time in centuries, he allowed his enemy to escape.
Chapter Three
Working together, they quickly put out the fire. Ashes and smoke made Carolina’s eyes water and a film of sweat covered her body. She ignored the discomfort. She also ignored the shadow warrior standing nearby. She appreciated his help, but she needed him gone. She turned her attention to the animals still spooked by the tzitzimime and the fire.
She spoke to each one gently before leading the animal outside to the corral. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the shadow warrior. No words left his lips, but she’d swear he communicated to the animals—their submissiveness was most unusual.
She latched the corral gate and took a deep breath. One…no, make that two more to go. A moan hitched in her throat and she hastily swallowed it.
She wanted to cry but refused to give in. Every drop of liquid was precious. She would need her strength if she were to fight the tzizimime again…Billy.
She’d thought that slimy bastard gone, maybe demon food. Now he was back in her life, her worst nightmare revisited, a vivid reminder of her biggest failure and all she still had to lose.
A demon. A shadow warrior. Both on her land. What had drawn them here? She wanted to believe in coincidence, but she wasn’t stupid.
The shadow warrior watched her, his gaze inscrutable. What was he thinking?
Really, it was all too much, she thought as she trudged back to the barn, her silent shadow following in her footsteps. She needed to find a way to make him leave.
Inside the barn, the stench of charred wood filled her nostrils. The electric lamp that hung on the wall cast a stark glare over the damage. It would require hard work and money she didn’t have to restore it. Carolina pushed aside her distress and headed directly for the last stall.
She slipped into the cubicle, found a spot in the hay not soaked in blood and knelt. Tears clogged her throat and swam in her eyes as she looked upon the slain corpse of Tito, her goat. Pepe, his brother, huddled in the far corner, bleating softly.
Memories of the last time she’d had to deal with death overcame her. Images of the broken, mutilated bodies of her parents strewn out on the hot desert floor were forever burned into her mind. She’d barely taken in their mangled condition, a cry torn from her lips, when the demon had pounced. She’d fought him off, but he’d been strong, stronger than any other she had ever fought, the infusion of death in the air lending the demon strength. She would have joined her parents that day had it not been for her goddess joining her in the fight. Carolina pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed deeply, forcing the memories to retreat. She reached down, intending to pick up the lifeless body, when she was brushed aside. Startled, she glanced up to see the shadow warrior squatting beside her.
“Why do you weep for this animal? It is just a beast.”
His tone held no condemnation, but she found herself bristling anyway. “I am not crying. That doesn’t mean Tito—”
“Your soul weeps for him. I can feel it in here.” He thumped his chest.
Anger and grief mixed together. “I raised him from a kid. I won’t let Billy, a tzitzimime, take another family member away from me. Tito was family.”
The shadow warrior nodded, but she sensed that family had little meaning to him, when to her it meant everything.
“You must destroy the carcass. The demon’s blood carries evil that can seep into the ground and spread its poison.”
“I know.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was holding on to her control by a thread. Her world felt bleak and desolate. Why had she been chosen as a guardian? Water was supposed to bring life, not destruction. She looked down at the small, helpless animal. Another life lost because she had failed. How much more devastation could she withstand? She reached out to put her hands under the body, only to find them trapped between the shadow warrior’s two larger ones.
“Cihuatl, were you not listening? It is poison.”
Carolina struggled to break free of his grip. She felt the strength in his hands, the roughness that was testament to the work he did. A tingle traveled up her palm and along her nerve endings. The hummingbird on her shoulder pulsated, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, she felt warm and fuzzy like she’d had one too many drinks at the local watering hole. She ignored the throb of her tattoo, glaring at him for all she was worth. “I am not stupid. I know very well what I am doing. And stop calling me woman,” she snapped. “My name is Carolina.”
“You do not fear me, do you? Nor do you cower in the face of a tzitzimime. Yet you are human. Why is that?”
Her breath caught in her chest. He was right. She didn’t fear him. Since the moment he’d stepped onto her land, he had mesmerized her. The heat of his hands warmed the cold thoughts of death and dissipated her anger.
Before she could sputter any kind of response, one of his hands whipped up and pushed the ripped material of her denim shirt aside, where it had been sliced open by the claws of the tzitzimime.
His gaze speared her in place. “You bear the mark of a warrior.”
***
The glowing mark of a hummingbird on the woman kept him transfixed. He needed to know more about her. In all his years, he had never stumbled upon a human who bore a warrior’s mark and had the power to call on the elements. She wielded water as masterfully as he wielded his weapon.
“You have power, elemental power that I have never seen in a human. Just who are you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice came out low and musical, and he found it arousing.
“You have power over the element of water and you bear a huitzilin, the hummingbird mark. You are no ordinary woman.”
She laughed at that, a melodic sound tinged with sadness. “Believe me, I am quite ordinary. From sunup to sundown I run this ranch. I rarely get into town and the last man I dated was someone I deeply regret.” She went to move, tugging at her hands still trapped within his one.
Tomás kept his grip firm. She had shown no fear or surprise at his appearance nor had she backed down from fighting an evil spirit. She was a puzzle he badly wanted to solve. He also didn’t like hearing about other men. A primitive sense of possessiveness swept over him.
“Tell me your name.” His words came out clipped, harsher than he intended. Thoughts of other men sniffing around her made his muscles tense and put his wolf on alert. He forced himself to relax slowly.
She narrowed her eyes and thrust her jaw out mulishly. “I told you already. Carolina.”
“Carolina.” Her name rolled off his tongue.
“And you are?”
“Tomás.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Somehow I doubt that is your first name, shadow warrior.”
Tomás felt the beast in him rise up in defense. It growled for caution. He paid no heed to the animal’s instinct. He was intrigued.
“How do you know of shadow warriors?” He pushed closer, almost on top of her, the wolf peering out through his eyes.
The woman didn’t back down. She showed strength.
“My mother was from the Tohono O’odham tribe—the people of the desert. She shared many stories about your kind from legends passed down from one generation to the next. Immortal warriors for the sun god, Huitzilopochtli, sent to earth to destroy the celestial demons, tzizimime.”
Tomás nodded. It explained why she had not turned and fled like most humans would have when he transformed from a wolf to a man. The heat of her mark drew him closer, the sensation searing his fingertips. The wolf knew only of survival, but this close to Carolina, the man in him knew of another instinct, a deeper hunger. He wanted to taste her lips and drink in her sweet power, which he could feel washing over him, calming the beast inside. In the five hundred years since giving his soul to Huitzilopochtli, he had never desired to get close to another human as he did with Carolina. He should be chasing a demon, not chasing a woman.
But she wasn’t just any woman. More than ever, he felt he had found his spirit mate.
The wolf pushed at his insides, reminding him that the beast was never far away and that he was never as free as he wished. “You seem to know much about me. But you have yet to tell me who you are.”
***
There was curiosity in his voice, and respect. His fingers lightly brushed her tattoo and she shivered in response. Her entire body reacted to this man. She didn’t understand any of it and she didn’t like being off balance. She needed time and distance to think.
“I need to tend to my goat.” She nodded towards the goat shaking in the corner.
She scrambled to her feet. This time he let her. She grabbed a lead and attached it to Pepe’s collar, using it to tug the goat out of the barn and into the corral with the others. Its pitiful bleating tore at her heart, reminding her of all she still had to lose if she let herself get distracted.
Tomás emerged from the barn doorway, the bloody corpse of Tito in his arms. She sucked in a breath to contain the pain ripping through her chest. How many of those she loved would she have to lose in this fight?
She shook the thought loose, feeling guilt for even thinking such a thing. Her role as guardian required sacrifice. There was no other way.
As Tomás approached Carolina, she turned on her boot heels and silently headed for a patch of land dominated by a huge juniper tree. Tall and strong, the tree had overseen the birth and death of generations of her people. It had managed to survive despite the scarcity of water, but each day the river dried up and the earth cried out in thirst, and Carolina knew their days were numbered.
She gestured to a spot far enough from the tree that it would not catch fire. Tomás laid his burden down. “I just realized I don’t even have kindling or a light. What was I thinking?” She hiccupped and blindly stared out across the dark desert horizon—anything to avoid looking down at the pet she’d raised from a baby.
“Your pain disturbs me. I do not like it.” As he frowned at her, his body bowed over and reshaped. Under the light of the full moon, Carolina watched in awe, unable to tear her eyes from the ripple of muscles, the incredible transformation taking place in front of her. One minute he was a man and the next he was a large gray wolf.
The wolf stared at her with such directness she felt a shiver rise from her toes and climb all the way up her spine. She backed up, allowing the beautiful beast room. Something in the wolf’s gaze reminded her that at heart it was a predator.
The wolf used its huge paws to dig a pit large enough to lay Tito to rest. Carolina watched, captivated by the animal’s power.
“Thank you.” Overcoming her unease, Carolina reached out her hand to touch the wolf. It laid its ears back and shied away. She dropped her hand to her side.
Carolina made a quick trip to the barn to grab a pair of work gloves she kept by the door and some matches. With her hands protected from the demon’s poison, she put her energy into rolling Tito into the grave. She gathered brush and bits of kindling to throw on top. The wolf aided her by clasping twigs and branches in its teeth and releasing them over the pit. She peeled off the gloves and tossed them in as well. Her fingers trembled as she lit a match and threw it on the wood. She chanted the words of an ancient Aztec prayer, determined to send the soul of her animal companion to a better place. When finished, she bowed her head and fought off the tears. Bathed by the light of the moon, the two of them waited for Tito’s body to be consumed by the flames. On her knees, she continued to pray to her goddess, asking for strength and wisdom in the fight ahead. Vaguely, she became aware of the wolf tossing dirt back into the hole once the fire had died out.
She raised her head and observed the transformation from beast to man. She realized he was again completely nude and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She had never seen a man naked before. Even with the four jagged claw marks marring his stomach, he had the kind of body artists immortalized in paint and clay. Embarrassment crept up into her cheeks.
His gaze rested on her thoughtfully before he clothed himself in black jeans, leaving his chest bare, his entire demeanor speaking loudly of his ease with nudity. She was both relieved and disappointed. Disturbed by her thoughts, she made to get up. Tomás held his hand out to her. She tentatively laid her palm on his and let him help her to her feet.
She’d been prepared for the tingle she’d felt before, not the surge of electricity that shot through her system. His eyes went from amber to golden and she thought she caught the sound of a growl in his throat.
She tried to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead he tugged her closer until she was scant inches from his chest. His hand slipped behind her neck to cup her nape.
“You are an unusual cihuatl.”
Carolina shook her head, which was difficult given her position. “You persist in saying that, but it is not true. I am a plain, simple woman.”
“There is nothing simple about you. I am determined to learn everything about you.”
“But you can’t—” Carolina cried, only to be cut off by Tomás’s mouth coming down on hers.
***
Sparks shot through his bloodstream, igniting a fire that could easily blaze out of control. He hadn’t kissed a woman in five centuries. Carnal thoughts had disappeared once he’d joined the ranks of the shadow warriors. Amazingly, those thoughts were now back with a vengeance.
Carolina melted into him.
She wound her arms around his neck. Her lips softened and opened, allowing him to slip inside. She tasted of innocence, determination and strength.
The air around them swirled with energy. The atmosphere crackled with it. Power seemed to move over and around them, weaving a spell they could not escape. Memories of his family, his childhood and his battles as an Aztec warrior flooded his mind in rapid succession, triggering an emotional tidal wave that threatened to engulf them both.
His wolf lunged to the surface, the move aggressive, instinctual and entirely territorial.
The unexpected action broke the spell. Tomás tore his lips away and stepped back from Carolina.
His wolf sought domination. Tomás struggled to keep his beast down.
For a moment the two battled. Tomás clung to the images of his humanity, allowing them to replay in his mind, to provide him with the grounding he needed. His wolf distrusted the changes it sensed happening. It wanted to chase the demon. It wanted to be in control. Tomás threw the power of his will against his beast and demanded obedience.
“What just happened?” Carolina’s voice held concern and a slight hint of fear. His wolf backed down but remained vigilant. Tomás tasted his humanity on his lips—a bittersweet recollection of hardship, battles and occasional glory. His eyes rested on the woman whose kiss had released a storm of memories buried under five hundred years of demon kills.
He had held on all these centuries for her.
Out of the Ashes
Out of the Ashes
https://amzn.to/2w4lEd6
Keren Hughes
Prologue
The ink is dry. The decree absolute makes it final. The smile on my face says it all. Stanley Eugene Mason is out of my life once and for all. I changed my name by deed poll the moment the divorce papers got served. I no longer want any association with that man and that includes his name.
Going by my maiden name now makes me smile every time I think about it.
What’s in a name? It's just letters, right? But his boring name was also a reflection of his personality. He’d told me when we met that his name was Lee. Even he’d been loath to tell me his full name.
I pawned my engagement ring and my wedding band, not because I needed the money, but because I didn't know what else to do with them. It turned out that they weren’t worth much. Typical of my entire marriage. Turns out I wasn’t even worth a real diamond. The jeweller looked up at me over her horn-rimmed glasses and flashed me a sad smile as she told me it was a cubic zirconia.
I’m not a materialistic person by any means. But doesn’t every woman think she’s worth a decent engagement ring? It’s meant to symbolise the love between the couple. Instead this symbolised my cheap-ass ex who had only forked out for a gold-plated ring with a stone worth little more than if it had been a prize inside a Kinder Egg.
My wedding band had been bland. Just a plain, gold-plated band. I wasn’t even worth nine-carat gold, which isn't exactly expensive.
“Lee” had a friend who worked in the jewellery business and said he’d asked for only the best for the woman he loved. But that ended up being a lie, just like our marriage vows.
Lord help the woman he’s with now. I actually feel sorry for her. Not only is she lumbered with a man so boring he could be compared to watching paint dry, she’s with someone as cheap as those knock-off designer suits he wears.
I look at my beautiful house and smile. I finally have something that belongs only to me. Something he couldn’t take in the divorce because I didn’t sign on the dotted line until the divorce was final.
Two months ago, I moved into this place with only a few meagre belongings to my name. I didn't want anything more when I walked away from the marriage than when I had entered it. I took only what was my own. I gladly let him have everything else, even though the grounds for divorce was that he’d cheated on me and that made me entitled to more than I got.
Miss Perfect Tits, as I affectionately call her, is the latest in a long line of women he saw behind my back. What they all saw in him, I really don’t know. Any trace of what I saw in him disappeared the moment I found him in bed with some blonde with an inflated chest. He’d thought I was at work. Like that was an excuse to bring some whore to our marital bed. So yeah, I’d let him take everything, especially the bed.
Now here I am, alone and starting over. But it doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would. Instead I’m delighted to have my own space. I have room to breathe, unlike when I was being suffocated by my marriage. When I left, the day I’d found him with Miss Bottle Blonde, I looked around at the beautiful house we called home and it no longer looked like somewhere I remembered. When you leave someone, you can’t erase your memories and you can’t burn the whole place down. But you can move on. It was onwards and upwards for me from then on.
Here, in this new place I call home, I am no longer surrounded by things that remind me of my delightful ex-husband. There’s no wedding photo on the mantelpiece, happy smiling faces beaming at everyone. There are no belongings that we bought together, things that I had once thought meant something to us both. No, I left all that shit behind for him to do with as he pleased. I no longer want anything that is tainted with memories I’m trying my hardest to forget.
It's funny how “things” hold memories. Gifts you bought one another, items you picked out for your first home together. All of those things and more. They were contaminated the moment I saw Miss Bottle Blonde grinding her hips and moaning as her orgasm coated his cock. Jeez, what a thought. Now I look back and wonder if I ever really had an orgasm with him. Did I always fake it? Even the memories in my head became contaminated, an infection spread through them, tainting them all one by one.
At least here I am free to discover what truly makes me tick. I may not be able to forget my marriage, but I’m telling myself it was a learning curve. I remember all the good, the bad and the ugly because I don’t want my future to be the same old crap as my past. I want more for myself than a boring man, with a boring name and a tendency to fuck anything that moves.
“Lee” was a good man. He treated me like I was the only woman alive. He made me feel special. But once Stanley showed his true colours, Lee became but a distant memory.
I’m sitting at the kitchen island, drinking an iced coffee I grabbed from Starbucks on my way home. I almost want to frame my decree absolute, but instead I tuck it away in a drawer full of paperwork. I want to make something of my life now. I don’t know what, but having a blank canvas gives me the ability to be whoever I want to be, do whatever I want to do. So, I better get to thinking.
Grams left me this house in her will, along with an inheritance. So, I’m going to make a fresh start in a house I loved as I grew up. Where do I start?
Chapter One
Jenna
I’m nervously anticipating something I’ve wanted to do for years but have never had the courage to go through with. In fact, my ex, Stanley, was adamant that he wouldn’t allow me to go through with it, he even threatened divorce if I did. That goes to show how much of a prick he was. I just wish I’d learned that lesson sooner.
Why am I so nervous? I should be excited; there’s something freeing about being a single, independent woman, allowed to do whatever the hell she wants with her own body. What was I thinking when I decided to come alone? I should have had my friend, and assistant at the florist shop I own, Brogan come with me and hold my hand. I’ve always been a bit scared of needles, and here I am waiting to get not only a navel piercing, but a tattoo as well. I take a couple of deep breaths and mentally shake myself. No one can tell me what to do anymore; this is my life and I am going to get on with it the way I see fit.
“Jenna, Nate will see you now,” the receptionist with quirky rainbow-coloured hair says.
I stand and follow her to a room down a small corridor. She opens the door for me and steps back.
“Take a seat. Nate will only be a minute,” she says with a bright smile as I enter the room.
I look around as she leaves and closes the door behind her. There’s art on the walls and it’s as eclectic in style as the rest of Blank Canvas. There are some gorgeous drawings that look like tattoos Nate or someone working here may have done before, and then there are canvases dotted around that depict a mishmash of things.
Realising I need to pee, I walk to the door and open it a crack, looking up and down the corridor to see if there’s anyone around who can point me in the right direction. It’s empty, so I walk to the far end, knowing that the toilets weren’t anywhere in between the reception and the room the spunky young girl showed me to.
Seeing the toilets set at the very back of the shop, I enter and lock the door. Making sure to wash my hands, I check my makeup and hair in the mirror before walking back to the room for my tattoo.
Once I’m back in the corridor, I realise I didn’t count how many rooms were between mine and the toilet. Damn! I’m sure Nate is waiting impatiently for me to return. I open the door to my left and it takes my mind a moment to register what I have walked into.
There’s a man in a chair, and he’s got to have the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life—not hard when you consider Stanley was nothing but a little prick, pun fully intended—and he’s having it pierced. Not once, not twice, I can’t even count how many piercings line this guy’s privates. I feel my face blush red with embarrassment at having walked in on this guy, and, in that moment, he looks at me. He throws me a casual smirk before focusing his attention back on the blue-haired woman doing the piercing.
I can’t even begin to imagine how much the actual piercing hurts, but what worries me most is how it must feel for the woman in his life. Or guy, I guess. I don’t know his sexual orientation. But damn if it doesn’t give me phantom pains between my legs. I feel my private parts clench in silent protest. I could never sleep with a guy who had that many piercings. Yes, I slept with a guy before Stanley who had a ring in the end of his cock, but that was different. It was one piercing, not multiple.
“It’s called a Jacob’s Ladder,” a deep, sensual voice whispers in my ear, causing me to simultaneously break out in goosebumps and jump out of my skin.
I can’t take my eyes off the piercing going on in front of me, but that voice has me curious as to what its owner looks like. Mentally shaking myself, I pull my eyes away and turn to the guy behind me. I’m met with the most stunning blue-green gaze and I find I want to get lost in those eyes. They twinkle with mirth. I mean, he did just catch me staring at a guy’s cock. I may have even been drooling for all I know.
“I’m Nate, your tattooist,” he says in that sinfully seductive voice.
“Jenna.”
My voice betrays me by squeaking out my name in an unladylike way. Not the best way to impress the guy. Not that I should want to impress him, but damn if looking him over doesn’t make my ovaries want to spontaneously combust. He is the hottest guy I ever remember laying eyes on.
“Well, Jenna, it would appear you are in the wrong room; follow me,” he says as he turns on his heel and walks off towards the door to his room.
I follow him, making sure to quietly close the door behind me as I make a hasty retreat.
Once I am back in the room I started off in, I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived.
“Don’t worry; it happens all the time. Walking into the wrong room, that is. Plus, I’m sure the guy didn’t mind being watched. And he did know you were watching. I saw him smirk at you. Don’t mind him though; he’s harmless. He’s always in here getting a new piercing or tattoo.”
So much for not having to mention it. I feel myself heat as I blush for the second time in a short space of time. Nate smiles as the colour tinges my skin. His eyes are twinkling again, and I can’t help feeling hypnotised. He really is handsome. Now I have the time to look him over properly, I can see he’s at least six feet tall, has sleeves of tattoos down both arms, and damn if those arms don’t look like they could squeeze me deliciously. His dark brown hair is tousled, and it looks like he’s been raking a hand through it. Probably while waiting for me to hurry my ass up.
“Sit down. I won’t bite,” he says and chuckles at me as I walk to the leather chair in front of him.
Looking at his hands, I see yet more ink and I find myself wondering if I’ll be able to sit still throughout this tattoo. I didn’t know the guy who would have his hands on me would be this hot. Damn it, why does he have to have the most panty-melting smile known to man…or woman?!
I sit down, and Nate begins to pour ink into little pots beside him. I’ve never been into a tattoo shop before, I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t whatever this is. The sparks I can feel coming off him. That’s not natural. I never felt any sparks with my ex. My friends talk about sexual chemistry and, although I’m by far no virgin, I have never felt a chemistry like this. It’s like an electrical storm, gathering energy all around me, zapping me with high-wattage currents. I have to clench my legs to quell the feelings there. I hope Nate doesn’t notice. But what I wouldn’t give to have him feel the same way.
He’s a virtual stranger, albeit a handsome one. Why am I lusting after someone who I know nothing about, except his name and the fact that he has a sinfully sexy voice and a body carved of marble—or what I can see of it, at least.
His arms are muscular and tattooed. He has so many tattoos it’s hard to focus on just one. But his ink isn’t what I’m attracted to—well, it might be in part—it’s him as a whole. He’s nothing to me, but he makes me feel like a giddy teenager with her first crush.
Looking up at me, he flashes me a megawatt grin and I see he has a perfect “Hollywood” smile. There’s something more though. It’s in his eyes. I can’t name it. Is it lust? What I feel can’t be mutual, surely?!
“Ready?” Nate asks, startling me.
“Umm…” I ponder it for a moment before nodding.
“Then let’s get this stencil in place so you can be sure you like the positioning.”
“Oh, umm…”
I thought he was ready to begin tattooing me already. I’ve totally forgotten about the design. To tell the truth, I’d probably let him tattoo whatever the hell he liked on me.
Taking my sweater off, I reveal the tank top I’m wearing underneath. Noticing where Nate’s gaze is, I quickly realise I pulled up the tank as well as the sweater, baring my skin to him. I’m almost embarrassed, because not many men have seen so much of me. But considering a few moments ago when my face must have betrayed my embarrassment at seeing the guy with all the piercings, I’m sure I couldn’t blush much harder.
His hands are soft as he applies the stencil, pressing all over to make sure the ink is left on my skin. I find myself imagining what those hands would feel like if he was touching me somewhere lower.
“This is big for a first tattoo; you’re braver than some who come in here,” Nate says as he steps back to check the design looks right. “Check it out in the mirror and, if you’re happy, we’ll begin.”
Admiring the beauty of the piece on my right shoulder, I smile. This tattoo represents my freedom and my rebirth into the woman I was meant to be but, wasn’t ever allowed to be. I can just see it when Nate has finished—the fiery oranges, the bold yellows and reds that will replace the simple lines of the initial drawing. I smile, and Nate flashes me a salacious grin as he sits down next to me.
“Shall we begin?” he asks as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves.
I momentarily feel deflated, knowing that his skin won’t be pressed against mine. Smiling, I adjust my sitting position a little and get comfortable. This is going to take around four hours according to the person I spoke to when I booked myself in. I was nervous then, but now I know that it’s Nate that will be doing the tattoo, I feel better. I feel shy and yet somehow relaxed in his company. He seems to have an aura of peace around him. That seems kind of at odds with how imposing and beautiful he is but seems to fit perfectly at the same time.
As the needle is pressed to my skin, I suck in a sharp breath, bracing myself for the pain. But when it doesn’t come, I relax and enjoy the feeling in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Nate looks happy, like this is something he was born to do. And maybe he was. I know nothing about him. Not that I would mind getting to know him better, in more ways than one.
“So, Nate, how long have you worked here?” I find myself asking, wanting to know more about the alluring man with his hands on me.
“I’ve been here for about eight years now. I found this place empty and knew without a doubt it was perfect for my vision. I started working at Tattoo Envy when I was eighteen and just an apprentice. I honed my craft until I felt I was ready to open my own place when I was around twenty-eight. To be honest, I would have started out on my own before then, but I really loved the staff that had become like a family to me. I didn’t want to leave them. But they urged me to spread my wings and that’s when I started Blank Canvas. I had learned the business side of things from Hannah, the woman that owned Tattoo Envy, and so I had all the necessary skills to start this place. I just didn’t know if it would take off. I’m glad it did though.”
I hadn’t been expecting him to divulge so much information and, as he realised this himself, he apologised for oversharing. Smiling at him, I told him apologies weren’t necessary.
“Is there a story behind this?” he asks as he nods his head at where the wings are starting to really take shape.
“You know what they say about rising from the ashes,” I start. “Well, I guess it’s true. I’m making my fresh start. I should have done it a long time ago, but I didn’t possess the courage. Or at least I didn’t think I did. This tattoo represents me being stronger than I ever knew. I guess you could say the ashes and flames of the design represent Lee, my ex-husband. And the phoenix is me, rising from the past to a beautiful new future.”
There, I’d overshared in reciprocation. Though I didn’t admit Lee’s real name wasn’t in fact Lee, or Douchebag, or Cheating Asshole, or Serial Shagger. No, I’d kept that information to myself. Stanley Eugene “Douchebag” Mason was a part of my past I’d rather not discuss with the hot, muscular, tattooed guy with his hands on me. He’s not a therapist after all, just your run of the mill tattooist. Though I’m not sure anything about Nate could be classed as “run of the mill”.
“I know the feeling. And to think I almost married her. Thank goodness for small mercies.”
His statement has me curious, but his gaze collides with mine and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. There’s something like hunger in his gaze as his eyes roam over me. I cannot get entangled with any man, much less this incredibly hot specimen. I’ll end up hurt and my heart can’t take any more right now. I can sure dream about the hot guy who took my virginity though—ink virginity, that is.
My best friend, Brogan, has told me I have what she calls “virgin skin”. I laughed at the notion, but I guess it’s true.
“I did marry mine,” I reply after a pause. “I was young and naïve. There’s no chance of me making that mistake again. Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice, shame on me too. I couldn’t stick around for him to hurt me again. There are only so many chances you can give a person and, while I’m a believer in second chances, I don’t believe in twenty-second chances, you know?!”
Nate looks at me with something akin to pity in his gaze, but all traces of that vanish when he looks me square in the eye.
“I’m sorry he hurt you. I may not know who he is or what he did, but I do know if I had a woman like you, I wouldn’t want to hurt her for the world.”
My blood begins to sing in my veins and my heart beats faster at the sincere tone in his voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d make a play for him, let him know I was his to do with as he pleased. But sadly, I know better. I know that so many relationships end in bitter resentment. And I’m too old to want to “hook up” as the kids call it these days. I’m not interested in one-night stands or anything casual. But sadly, I’m also not interested in trying for anything more serious either.
Brogan would tell me to go for it. To make a move, be bold and just see where it takes me. But then, she’s a fair bit younger than me and hasn’t been married, let alone found her husband in bed with another woman. She says you never get anywhere in life if you don’t take a risk here and there. But I’d rather stay risk free and pain free too.
Nate and I make small talk as he continues with my tattoo. I close my eyes every so often as he brushes my skin, and it causes me to stifle a moan. He flirts with me, but I’m guessing that’s one way of getting repeat custom from women. Flirt and they’ll fall all over themselves for you. Well, not me. Although mental images assault me and tempt me with their soft allure.
When Nate clears his throat, it’s clear I was too lost in those mental images to notice he had finished the tattoo.
“Oh, Nate,” I gasp as I gaze down at my shoulder. It’s no longer bare. Now there is a stunning phoenix rising from the flames. I can’t wait for it to be healed, so I can walk around proudly with this reminder on my skin. I am the phoenix, and I fully intend to rise from everything Lee turned to ash.
“Stand up and get a better look in the mirror, then I’ll wrap it for you before giving you the aftercare instructions.”
I do as he says and look at the glorious ink in the mirror. I was right—the fiery oranges, bold yellows and reds, they mix to make the most amazing artwork I have ever seen. The graceful bird rises from the ashes and flames around her as she soars above it all. I gasp in astonishment and appreciation.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
“Truly stunning,” Nate replies, and I get an inkling he’s talking about more than just his artwork as his gaze looks appreciatively over me.
Goosebumps break out on my skin again as he comes to wrap the tattoo for me. It feels like the first time he’s touched my body, and yet it feels intimate and familiar at the same time. I really must get these kinds of thoughts out of my head.
“If you want to follow me, I’ll take you to Steph, the lady who’s going to do your piercing,” Nate says as he walks towards the door.
He stops short of opening the door and turns to face me. I stumble as I didn’t realise he was going to stop. With strong arms, Nate catches me before I face-plant the floor like a total idiot. Instead of letting me go, he looks down at me and roots me to the spot with just one look. His strong hands hold my hips, and his handsome, strong jaw dips towards me. I have only a moment to register what he’s asking without words. I nod infinitesimally and brace myself as his soft full lips close over mine.
My senses are on overload as Nate’s kiss sets me on fire. He licks at the seam of my mouth, seeking access to kiss me more deeply. For once, I go with my heart instead of my head, and I open my mouth to allow him to explore with his tongue. Our tongues dance together, and Nate’s hands play with the hem of the tank top I’m wearing, making me shiver in the most delicious way. Maybe I didn’t imagine the chemistry after all. A feeling I’ve never experienced before works its way up my spine as I allow him to take all I have to give in this one kiss—a kiss that sets a trail ablaze, searing its way across my heart and soul.
Chapter Two
Nate
Fuck! I don’t know what I was thinking. Kissing a customer could get me in all sorts of hot water. I have a feeling she wouldn’t report me for sexual harassment, but that feeling is more one of hope rather than based on actual facts.
She kissed me just as fervently as I kissed her. Those soft, full lips felt amazing as she opened her mouth to let me explore. Little tingles of electricity ran up and down my spine. The only thing that stopped me kissing her was Steph knocking on the door. She’d come to see how far along with the tattoo we were, as she had to pierce Jenna’s navel at some point.
Jenna followed Steph down the corridor, and I was left to my own devices. I had another client booked in but needed a few minutes to gather myself first.
The women round here see me as a bad boy. A total player. Whilst that isn’t true, I haven’t done much to try and dispel the rumours. It doesn’t hurt me to have them thinking whatever they like about me. I’m not looking for love, so it doesn’t really affect me. Or it didn’t. Until today. It’s not like I’m wanting to run off and marry Jenna, but fuck if I didn’t want her. My cock had been straining to be freed from the moment her lips seared mine in a kiss so passionate, so hungry it was like she was on death row and I was her last meal.
It took ten minutes for me to finally calm down enough to start my next client’s tattoo. Ten minutes of scrubbing my hands over my face, tugging my hair, pacing the length of my room. Ten minutes of wanting to rip open the door, race down the corridor to Steph’s room and see if they were done. I don’t know what would have happened if I had done that. She’d looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. She was skittish. After a kiss so deep my soul felt it, she was nervous enough to run behind Steph the second the door was open.
Something told me that as much as she’d wanted that kiss, she had also done everything possible to keep it from happening. Well, not quite everything as it had happened. But I knew she’d thought about it and was at war with herself over it. I don’t know how I knew; I just had a feeling that was the case.
I’d let her run off without so much as a glance over her shoulder, and I hadn’t gone after her. But now I’m regretting that decision because she’s gone, and I have no way of contacting her. I don’t even know her surname. There’s no way to look her up. I looked through the shop’s diary to see if she’d left a mobile number, but she hadn’t. That was unusual as our receptionist normally asks for one from every client. But I didn’t bother to question it. I just felt deflated as I walked back to my room to clean everything down before we closed.
Spraying the leather seat she’d been sitting on makes me think of her. I close my eyes and see her there. Such a gorgeous creamy expanse of skin. I only wished I hadn’t been wearing gloves so that I could have touched her properly. Damn hygiene rules! But no matter whether the gloves stopped me feeling her skin, they didn’t stop me from feeling the electricity that buzzed through my veins with every stroke I made. I feel it hum in my veins as I stand here with my eyes closed.
My grandfather would kick my ass and tell me to hunt her down, no matter what it took. He would no doubt say that any girl that makes you feel that way is one worth pursuing. He and my grandmother had such a beautiful relationship and had no problem with public displays of affection. They taught me what real love looks like. My grandmother’s death hit him hard. It hit both of us hard, but my grandfather has become a shell of his former self since she passed. He seems hollow and haunted every time I visit now. The smile he had permanently etched on his face when she was alive no longer touches his eyes and makes them sparkle. He’s lost that vitality. It makes me sad to think about how much he’s lost.
My grandmother was one of the most amazing women I have ever known. She and Gramps took me in when my parents died many years ago. They had been the best parental figures I could wish for after my real parents. I don’t have many memories of my mum and dad these days, just some old photos and stuff that was kept in the attic for me. My grandmother had made a memory box full of things from my childhood and as many things of my parents as she could. It’s painful to look through it, but it’s a welcome pain. It means I can still feel.
It hit me like an articulated lorry when my parents died. My life had been turned inside out, upside down and left in chaos. My grandparents took me in and were there for me when I had nightmares or wet the bed. They were the ones that soothed all my aches and pains, but I can’t do the same thing for Gramps now, and that kills me.
I finish cleaning down my room and turn out the light. I’ll pay Gramps a visit tonight. I’ll even swing by and grab him takeaway from his favourite restaurant. He’ll be happy to have real food compared to the slop they feed him at the home. Or at least that’s what he calls it. I’m sure it’s fine really, but he always moans that, no matter what he has to eat, it all tastes like the same crap. His words, not mine.
Closing the door behind me, I walk down the corridor to the front of the shop. Star, our receptionist, is just logging off her computer as I come up behind the counter.
“Hey, boss,” she says in that effervescent way of hers.
“Hey, Star.”
“You all finished up? Seems like everyone else has gone for the evening.”
“Yep. Just off to The Steakhouse to grab Gramps a T-bone.”
“That’s so sweet. You have a good night, boss,” she says as she grabs her coat and slips into it.
“You too, Star. See you tomorrow.”
I walk to the parking lot after locking up. My shiny black Miata MX-5 is waiting for me. I hop in and start the engine. She purrs like a kitten and I smile as I remember the last time I took Gramps out in her. He said that it was a good job my grandma wasn’t alive when I bought her, else she would have had a heart attack. She would’ve preferred me to drive something more “safe looking” according to Gramps. I told him that she was perfectly safe, and I had taken him on a ride out to prove my point. He’d fallen in love with my baby but said Grandma would have had kittens if I’d taken her out in it.
Laughing at the memory, I pull out of the car park and head for The Steakhouse. Prime T-bone steak with fat chips, mushrooms, and onion rings, with horseradish sauce, that was the order of the day. Gramps would cheer up a bit if I provided him with his contraband—you’re not supposed to smuggle food in to the patients at the home, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
The question is, do I tell him about Jenna and wait for him to impart me with a pearl of wisdom? It might do him good to think his grandson is interested in a woman after all this time. My ex put me off women for the longest time and although my reputation precedes me and labels me a player that couldn’t be further from the truth. There actually hasn’t been anybody since her. My heart wasn’t in the right place for anything with anyone. My grandma had died at around the same time, so I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for finding love when my Gramps had lost the love of his life. And she was his life. They had done everything together. They’d been together since they were sixteen and had a good, long life together before she passed. Lillian Peterson had been the life and soul of the party. Everybody naturally gravitated towards her. There was just something about her that everyone loved. My gramps especially.
He said the day he’d met her was the day he knew he was going to marry her. She’d come into his life like a gift from god. Gramps believed she’d been put in his path for a reason and they’d gone on to marry, then had a baby a couple of years later. He was their only child and I was their only grandchild. I had no other family to speak of which is why they’d been the ones to take me in when my parents died, even though they weren’t getting any younger and having an eight-year-old running them ragged must have been hard at times. But they never complained. They showered me with love and affection on a daily basis. Loving them had been so easy. The two of them were so special to me. Which is one of the reasons I had gone off the rails when my grandma died.
Heading into The Steakhouse, the owner sees me and walks to greet me.
“Nate, the usual is it?” he asks as he walks with me to the counter.
“Yep. I’m off to see the old man and I’m assuming that the food he was given this evening wasn’t up to his standards and he probably refused to eat it, the stubborn old git.”
Devin laughs as the guy behind the takeaway counter comes to take my order.
“He’s stubborn alright. Please pass on my regards. It’s been a while since we saw him. Do you think you’ll be able to sneak him out of there anytime soon to come and have a proper meal with us?”
“I’m not sure, Dev. It’s like trying to break out of prison. You’d think they’d let me take him out, being his grandson and all. But they say he needs twenty-four seven care and they seem to think he’d wander off if it was just the two of us.”
“That he might, lad. Dementia is a hard thing to deal with. I’m sure they don’t mean any offence in thinking you can’t look after him. They just mean that it’s possible he’ll get confused and end up giving you the slip.”
Devin must see the hard look in my eyes because he holds his palms up and gives me a small smile.
“I didn’t mean any offence, Nate. Your gramps, he’s a great guy. But the dementia does things to his mind, you know this. I’m not saying you wouldn’t keep careful watch over him. But what if you did something as simple as went to the toilet? You couldn’t take him with you. You’d be gone for all of sixty seconds maybe. But that’s enough time for him to wander off.”
“I guess. Sorry, Dev. I just get a bit … well, a bit touchy when it comes to him. Call me overprotective and sensitive. Okay, looking at me you wouldn’t think I’m so soft at heart. I look like a hard-ass guy who couldn’t give a fuck. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I love the bones of my gramps. I would give anything to take him out of the home, even if only for an hour. I’d drive us around, and he wouldn’t have chance to give me the slip. I’d take him cruising around the city he loves so much. But no. Rules are rules. Hence why I’m sneaking him this contraband tonight. They can stick that particular rule where the sun doesn’t shine!”
The server hands me the bag of containers and I hand over the cash. Devin walks me to the door, apologising again for any offence caused and I tell him to forget about it.
Climbing into my car, I set the takeaway bag on the passenger seat and bring the engine to life. I drive out of the car park and onto the main road, the one that leads me to Haven Lodge Residential Home.
***
Gramps is sitting in his chair facing out of the window when I arrive. He startles when he sees me in the reflection.
“Daniel, how good to see you son. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had, and I haven’t seen your mother all day. I don’t know where she’s got to.”
“It’s Nate, Gramps. I brought you a steak.”
A look ghosts across his face and I wish I’d played along and said I was my dad. Sometimes it’s easier, and I don’t like the thought of bursting his bubble. But sometimes I just want him to remember it’s me.
“Oh, Nathaniel, sorry, I thought you were your father. A steak, you say? It better be a T-bone!”
His face lights up as I place the bag on the table and begin to unpack its contents. I grab plates from the cupboard and cutlery from the drawer. He’s not supposed to have them in here, but I keep them hidden from the staff. Or at least I think I do. They haven’t said anything about them, yet.
“Damn, Nathaniel. I forgot how good a steak tastes,” he says around a mouthful of medium-well steak.
“It’s good, right, Gramps?” I reply as I tuck into my own.
We don’t talk much as we devour our meals. Gramps’s eyes are set alight as he enjoys every morsel. Comfortable silence has settled around us and I don’t know what to say for fear of setting him off this late in the evening. It only takes the slightest thing sometimes, and you never know when those times are going to be. I guess Devin was right about taking him out of the home, even for an hour. So much has the possibility of going wrong. That doesn’t mean I have to like their rules, but I know that Gramps isn’t going to get better. Eventually, the dementia will get worse, and instead of having days where he remembers who I am, I’ll be lost to him forever. So, I intend to make the very most of however long we have before that happens. And even when it does happen, I’ll still come to visit. Even if it means pretending to be my dad. As much as that will hurt me to imitate my dead father.
“I met a girl,” I say as I watch for his reaction.
His eyes twinkle and he smiles a mile wide. Boy I’ve missed that smile. It’s been too long.
“Tell me more, boy. Don’t miss out a single detail. I want to know everything,” he says, coercing me into spilling the beans about Jenna, even if there’s not that much to tell.
***
As I leave Haven Lodge, I smile to myself. Gramps was as much like his old self as he could’ve been, other than initially mistaking me for my father. I don’t have many memories of my parents, only photographs and the stories Gramps tells in his lucid times.
I know I look like my father though. I see it every time I look at my parents’ wedding photo. I have his eyes, my mum’s nose … It’s like looking in a mirror only now I’m looking at a ghost.
Gramps told me he thought I should do everything I could to track this girl down. He said that for all I know, she could be “the one”. I didn’t tell him I don’t believe in “the one”. I didn’t want to ruin the mood. But our conversation did light a fire in me. I want to find out more about this girl, this woman. Jenna. How the hell do I go about finding out though? We didn’t have a number listed for her, and the only thing I know is that she lives locally. I decide to ask Steph at work in the morning, just to see if she gleaned any information from her that would aid my search. I can trust Steph. She’s the only one of my employees that knows the real me. She knows I’m not the player everyone else takes me for.
Resolving myself to wait until morning rather than whipping out my phone and texting Steph to ask—because then I really might seem stalker-ish—I get into my car and make the short drive home.
The house is cloaked in darkness as usual. Nobody home to keep a light on. Nobody to come home to and talk about my day. Not that I’d want to talk about today, per se, but maybe what Gramps said rubbed off on me a little. Maybe I would rather come home to someone rather than the cold reality of being single. I told him that just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely, but he scoffed at me and told me to stop being so bullheaded.
Grabbing myself a beer out of the fridge, I flick the cap off the bottle and settle in on the big sofa. Turning on the television, I channel hop until something takes my interest. Nothing does, so I look up my recordings. I just need something to distract me for an hour or so before I go to bed.
Deciding to rewatch the latest season of Game of Thrones from the start, I press play on the first episode, “Dragonstone”.
An hour later and the house is cloaked in darkness once more as I ascend the stairs. Once in my room, I switch on my bedside lamp before going into my en suite. I turn on the water in my fancy shower. I’m not even sure what all the buttons and nozzles do, but I decided to splurge on a decent shower when the studio started making me some decent money.
Once my clothes are discarded in the laundry basket, I look at myself in the mirror on the cabinet above the sink. My two-day-old scruff needs a shave, but I can’t be bothered. It can stand to go another day.
Standing in the shower, underneath the most powerful jets, I make quick work of washing and then stand there for a few moments longer, letting the water pummel my aching muscles. The memory of Jenna’s lips and their powerful hold over me springs to mind. Her soft, full lips felt like heaven. My blood burned through my veins as her touch set me on fire. It’s been a long time since anybody made me feel so alive. What to do next is the question. Maybe she’ll get another tattoo. Maybe she felt the connection I felt and will come back to seek me out. But I get the hollow feeling that she won’t. During the kiss, all I felt was a searing connection, binding us together. But afterwards, she walked away with Steph and I didn’t see her again. Surely if she’d felt anything she felt was worth exploring further, she would have come back to my room.
Dragging my ass to bed, I towel off quickly, dump the used towel in the basket and then climb under the covers. I can’t wait for sleep to claim me. Maybe I’ll dream of Jenna. And maybe that will be a good thing. Or maybe it won’t. After all, what good can a dream do except haunt me at night?
https://amzn.to/2w4lEd6
Keren Hughes
Prologue
The ink is dry. The decree absolute makes it final. The smile on my face says it all. Stanley Eugene Mason is out of my life once and for all. I changed my name by deed poll the moment the divorce papers got served. I no longer want any association with that man and that includes his name.
Going by my maiden name now makes me smile every time I think about it.
What’s in a name? It's just letters, right? But his boring name was also a reflection of his personality. He’d told me when we met that his name was Lee. Even he’d been loath to tell me his full name.
I pawned my engagement ring and my wedding band, not because I needed the money, but because I didn't know what else to do with them. It turned out that they weren’t worth much. Typical of my entire marriage. Turns out I wasn’t even worth a real diamond. The jeweller looked up at me over her horn-rimmed glasses and flashed me a sad smile as she told me it was a cubic zirconia.
I’m not a materialistic person by any means. But doesn’t every woman think she’s worth a decent engagement ring? It’s meant to symbolise the love between the couple. Instead this symbolised my cheap-ass ex who had only forked out for a gold-plated ring with a stone worth little more than if it had been a prize inside a Kinder Egg.
My wedding band had been bland. Just a plain, gold-plated band. I wasn’t even worth nine-carat gold, which isn't exactly expensive.
“Lee” had a friend who worked in the jewellery business and said he’d asked for only the best for the woman he loved. But that ended up being a lie, just like our marriage vows.
Lord help the woman he’s with now. I actually feel sorry for her. Not only is she lumbered with a man so boring he could be compared to watching paint dry, she’s with someone as cheap as those knock-off designer suits he wears.
I look at my beautiful house and smile. I finally have something that belongs only to me. Something he couldn’t take in the divorce because I didn’t sign on the dotted line until the divorce was final.
Two months ago, I moved into this place with only a few meagre belongings to my name. I didn't want anything more when I walked away from the marriage than when I had entered it. I took only what was my own. I gladly let him have everything else, even though the grounds for divorce was that he’d cheated on me and that made me entitled to more than I got.
Miss Perfect Tits, as I affectionately call her, is the latest in a long line of women he saw behind my back. What they all saw in him, I really don’t know. Any trace of what I saw in him disappeared the moment I found him in bed with some blonde with an inflated chest. He’d thought I was at work. Like that was an excuse to bring some whore to our marital bed. So yeah, I’d let him take everything, especially the bed.
Now here I am, alone and starting over. But it doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would. Instead I’m delighted to have my own space. I have room to breathe, unlike when I was being suffocated by my marriage. When I left, the day I’d found him with Miss Bottle Blonde, I looked around at the beautiful house we called home and it no longer looked like somewhere I remembered. When you leave someone, you can’t erase your memories and you can’t burn the whole place down. But you can move on. It was onwards and upwards for me from then on.
Here, in this new place I call home, I am no longer surrounded by things that remind me of my delightful ex-husband. There’s no wedding photo on the mantelpiece, happy smiling faces beaming at everyone. There are no belongings that we bought together, things that I had once thought meant something to us both. No, I left all that shit behind for him to do with as he pleased. I no longer want anything that is tainted with memories I’m trying my hardest to forget.
It's funny how “things” hold memories. Gifts you bought one another, items you picked out for your first home together. All of those things and more. They were contaminated the moment I saw Miss Bottle Blonde grinding her hips and moaning as her orgasm coated his cock. Jeez, what a thought. Now I look back and wonder if I ever really had an orgasm with him. Did I always fake it? Even the memories in my head became contaminated, an infection spread through them, tainting them all one by one.
At least here I am free to discover what truly makes me tick. I may not be able to forget my marriage, but I’m telling myself it was a learning curve. I remember all the good, the bad and the ugly because I don’t want my future to be the same old crap as my past. I want more for myself than a boring man, with a boring name and a tendency to fuck anything that moves.
“Lee” was a good man. He treated me like I was the only woman alive. He made me feel special. But once Stanley showed his true colours, Lee became but a distant memory.
I’m sitting at the kitchen island, drinking an iced coffee I grabbed from Starbucks on my way home. I almost want to frame my decree absolute, but instead I tuck it away in a drawer full of paperwork. I want to make something of my life now. I don’t know what, but having a blank canvas gives me the ability to be whoever I want to be, do whatever I want to do. So, I better get to thinking.
Grams left me this house in her will, along with an inheritance. So, I’m going to make a fresh start in a house I loved as I grew up. Where do I start?
Chapter One
Jenna
I’m nervously anticipating something I’ve wanted to do for years but have never had the courage to go through with. In fact, my ex, Stanley, was adamant that he wouldn’t allow me to go through with it, he even threatened divorce if I did. That goes to show how much of a prick he was. I just wish I’d learned that lesson sooner.
Why am I so nervous? I should be excited; there’s something freeing about being a single, independent woman, allowed to do whatever the hell she wants with her own body. What was I thinking when I decided to come alone? I should have had my friend, and assistant at the florist shop I own, Brogan come with me and hold my hand. I’ve always been a bit scared of needles, and here I am waiting to get not only a navel piercing, but a tattoo as well. I take a couple of deep breaths and mentally shake myself. No one can tell me what to do anymore; this is my life and I am going to get on with it the way I see fit.
“Jenna, Nate will see you now,” the receptionist with quirky rainbow-coloured hair says.
I stand and follow her to a room down a small corridor. She opens the door for me and steps back.
“Take a seat. Nate will only be a minute,” she says with a bright smile as I enter the room.
I look around as she leaves and closes the door behind her. There’s art on the walls and it’s as eclectic in style as the rest of Blank Canvas. There are some gorgeous drawings that look like tattoos Nate or someone working here may have done before, and then there are canvases dotted around that depict a mishmash of things.
Realising I need to pee, I walk to the door and open it a crack, looking up and down the corridor to see if there’s anyone around who can point me in the right direction. It’s empty, so I walk to the far end, knowing that the toilets weren’t anywhere in between the reception and the room the spunky young girl showed me to.
Seeing the toilets set at the very back of the shop, I enter and lock the door. Making sure to wash my hands, I check my makeup and hair in the mirror before walking back to the room for my tattoo.
Once I’m back in the corridor, I realise I didn’t count how many rooms were between mine and the toilet. Damn! I’m sure Nate is waiting impatiently for me to return. I open the door to my left and it takes my mind a moment to register what I have walked into.
There’s a man in a chair, and he’s got to have the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life—not hard when you consider Stanley was nothing but a little prick, pun fully intended—and he’s having it pierced. Not once, not twice, I can’t even count how many piercings line this guy’s privates. I feel my face blush red with embarrassment at having walked in on this guy, and, in that moment, he looks at me. He throws me a casual smirk before focusing his attention back on the blue-haired woman doing the piercing.
I can’t even begin to imagine how much the actual piercing hurts, but what worries me most is how it must feel for the woman in his life. Or guy, I guess. I don’t know his sexual orientation. But damn if it doesn’t give me phantom pains between my legs. I feel my private parts clench in silent protest. I could never sleep with a guy who had that many piercings. Yes, I slept with a guy before Stanley who had a ring in the end of his cock, but that was different. It was one piercing, not multiple.
“It’s called a Jacob’s Ladder,” a deep, sensual voice whispers in my ear, causing me to simultaneously break out in goosebumps and jump out of my skin.
I can’t take my eyes off the piercing going on in front of me, but that voice has me curious as to what its owner looks like. Mentally shaking myself, I pull my eyes away and turn to the guy behind me. I’m met with the most stunning blue-green gaze and I find I want to get lost in those eyes. They twinkle with mirth. I mean, he did just catch me staring at a guy’s cock. I may have even been drooling for all I know.
“I’m Nate, your tattooist,” he says in that sinfully seductive voice.
“Jenna.”
My voice betrays me by squeaking out my name in an unladylike way. Not the best way to impress the guy. Not that I should want to impress him, but damn if looking him over doesn’t make my ovaries want to spontaneously combust. He is the hottest guy I ever remember laying eyes on.
“Well, Jenna, it would appear you are in the wrong room; follow me,” he says as he turns on his heel and walks off towards the door to his room.
I follow him, making sure to quietly close the door behind me as I make a hasty retreat.
Once I am back in the room I started off in, I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived.
“Don’t worry; it happens all the time. Walking into the wrong room, that is. Plus, I’m sure the guy didn’t mind being watched. And he did know you were watching. I saw him smirk at you. Don’t mind him though; he’s harmless. He’s always in here getting a new piercing or tattoo.”
So much for not having to mention it. I feel myself heat as I blush for the second time in a short space of time. Nate smiles as the colour tinges my skin. His eyes are twinkling again, and I can’t help feeling hypnotised. He really is handsome. Now I have the time to look him over properly, I can see he’s at least six feet tall, has sleeves of tattoos down both arms, and damn if those arms don’t look like they could squeeze me deliciously. His dark brown hair is tousled, and it looks like he’s been raking a hand through it. Probably while waiting for me to hurry my ass up.
“Sit down. I won’t bite,” he says and chuckles at me as I walk to the leather chair in front of him.
Looking at his hands, I see yet more ink and I find myself wondering if I’ll be able to sit still throughout this tattoo. I didn’t know the guy who would have his hands on me would be this hot. Damn it, why does he have to have the most panty-melting smile known to man…or woman?!
I sit down, and Nate begins to pour ink into little pots beside him. I’ve never been into a tattoo shop before, I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t whatever this is. The sparks I can feel coming off him. That’s not natural. I never felt any sparks with my ex. My friends talk about sexual chemistry and, although I’m by far no virgin, I have never felt a chemistry like this. It’s like an electrical storm, gathering energy all around me, zapping me with high-wattage currents. I have to clench my legs to quell the feelings there. I hope Nate doesn’t notice. But what I wouldn’t give to have him feel the same way.
He’s a virtual stranger, albeit a handsome one. Why am I lusting after someone who I know nothing about, except his name and the fact that he has a sinfully sexy voice and a body carved of marble—or what I can see of it, at least.
His arms are muscular and tattooed. He has so many tattoos it’s hard to focus on just one. But his ink isn’t what I’m attracted to—well, it might be in part—it’s him as a whole. He’s nothing to me, but he makes me feel like a giddy teenager with her first crush.
Looking up at me, he flashes me a megawatt grin and I see he has a perfect “Hollywood” smile. There’s something more though. It’s in his eyes. I can’t name it. Is it lust? What I feel can’t be mutual, surely?!
“Ready?” Nate asks, startling me.
“Umm…” I ponder it for a moment before nodding.
“Then let’s get this stencil in place so you can be sure you like the positioning.”
“Oh, umm…”
I thought he was ready to begin tattooing me already. I’ve totally forgotten about the design. To tell the truth, I’d probably let him tattoo whatever the hell he liked on me.
Taking my sweater off, I reveal the tank top I’m wearing underneath. Noticing where Nate’s gaze is, I quickly realise I pulled up the tank as well as the sweater, baring my skin to him. I’m almost embarrassed, because not many men have seen so much of me. But considering a few moments ago when my face must have betrayed my embarrassment at seeing the guy with all the piercings, I’m sure I couldn’t blush much harder.
His hands are soft as he applies the stencil, pressing all over to make sure the ink is left on my skin. I find myself imagining what those hands would feel like if he was touching me somewhere lower.
“This is big for a first tattoo; you’re braver than some who come in here,” Nate says as he steps back to check the design looks right. “Check it out in the mirror and, if you’re happy, we’ll begin.”
Admiring the beauty of the piece on my right shoulder, I smile. This tattoo represents my freedom and my rebirth into the woman I was meant to be but, wasn’t ever allowed to be. I can just see it when Nate has finished—the fiery oranges, the bold yellows and reds that will replace the simple lines of the initial drawing. I smile, and Nate flashes me a salacious grin as he sits down next to me.
“Shall we begin?” he asks as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves.
I momentarily feel deflated, knowing that his skin won’t be pressed against mine. Smiling, I adjust my sitting position a little and get comfortable. This is going to take around four hours according to the person I spoke to when I booked myself in. I was nervous then, but now I know that it’s Nate that will be doing the tattoo, I feel better. I feel shy and yet somehow relaxed in his company. He seems to have an aura of peace around him. That seems kind of at odds with how imposing and beautiful he is but seems to fit perfectly at the same time.
As the needle is pressed to my skin, I suck in a sharp breath, bracing myself for the pain. But when it doesn’t come, I relax and enjoy the feeling in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Nate looks happy, like this is something he was born to do. And maybe he was. I know nothing about him. Not that I would mind getting to know him better, in more ways than one.
“So, Nate, how long have you worked here?” I find myself asking, wanting to know more about the alluring man with his hands on me.
“I’ve been here for about eight years now. I found this place empty and knew without a doubt it was perfect for my vision. I started working at Tattoo Envy when I was eighteen and just an apprentice. I honed my craft until I felt I was ready to open my own place when I was around twenty-eight. To be honest, I would have started out on my own before then, but I really loved the staff that had become like a family to me. I didn’t want to leave them. But they urged me to spread my wings and that’s when I started Blank Canvas. I had learned the business side of things from Hannah, the woman that owned Tattoo Envy, and so I had all the necessary skills to start this place. I just didn’t know if it would take off. I’m glad it did though.”
I hadn’t been expecting him to divulge so much information and, as he realised this himself, he apologised for oversharing. Smiling at him, I told him apologies weren’t necessary.
“Is there a story behind this?” he asks as he nods his head at where the wings are starting to really take shape.
“You know what they say about rising from the ashes,” I start. “Well, I guess it’s true. I’m making my fresh start. I should have done it a long time ago, but I didn’t possess the courage. Or at least I didn’t think I did. This tattoo represents me being stronger than I ever knew. I guess you could say the ashes and flames of the design represent Lee, my ex-husband. And the phoenix is me, rising from the past to a beautiful new future.”
There, I’d overshared in reciprocation. Though I didn’t admit Lee’s real name wasn’t in fact Lee, or Douchebag, or Cheating Asshole, or Serial Shagger. No, I’d kept that information to myself. Stanley Eugene “Douchebag” Mason was a part of my past I’d rather not discuss with the hot, muscular, tattooed guy with his hands on me. He’s not a therapist after all, just your run of the mill tattooist. Though I’m not sure anything about Nate could be classed as “run of the mill”.
“I know the feeling. And to think I almost married her. Thank goodness for small mercies.”
His statement has me curious, but his gaze collides with mine and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. There’s something like hunger in his gaze as his eyes roam over me. I cannot get entangled with any man, much less this incredibly hot specimen. I’ll end up hurt and my heart can’t take any more right now. I can sure dream about the hot guy who took my virginity though—ink virginity, that is.
My best friend, Brogan, has told me I have what she calls “virgin skin”. I laughed at the notion, but I guess it’s true.
“I did marry mine,” I reply after a pause. “I was young and naïve. There’s no chance of me making that mistake again. Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice, shame on me too. I couldn’t stick around for him to hurt me again. There are only so many chances you can give a person and, while I’m a believer in second chances, I don’t believe in twenty-second chances, you know?!”
Nate looks at me with something akin to pity in his gaze, but all traces of that vanish when he looks me square in the eye.
“I’m sorry he hurt you. I may not know who he is or what he did, but I do know if I had a woman like you, I wouldn’t want to hurt her for the world.”
My blood begins to sing in my veins and my heart beats faster at the sincere tone in his voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d make a play for him, let him know I was his to do with as he pleased. But sadly, I know better. I know that so many relationships end in bitter resentment. And I’m too old to want to “hook up” as the kids call it these days. I’m not interested in one-night stands or anything casual. But sadly, I’m also not interested in trying for anything more serious either.
Brogan would tell me to go for it. To make a move, be bold and just see where it takes me. But then, she’s a fair bit younger than me and hasn’t been married, let alone found her husband in bed with another woman. She says you never get anywhere in life if you don’t take a risk here and there. But I’d rather stay risk free and pain free too.
Nate and I make small talk as he continues with my tattoo. I close my eyes every so often as he brushes my skin, and it causes me to stifle a moan. He flirts with me, but I’m guessing that’s one way of getting repeat custom from women. Flirt and they’ll fall all over themselves for you. Well, not me. Although mental images assault me and tempt me with their soft allure.
When Nate clears his throat, it’s clear I was too lost in those mental images to notice he had finished the tattoo.
“Oh, Nate,” I gasp as I gaze down at my shoulder. It’s no longer bare. Now there is a stunning phoenix rising from the flames. I can’t wait for it to be healed, so I can walk around proudly with this reminder on my skin. I am the phoenix, and I fully intend to rise from everything Lee turned to ash.
“Stand up and get a better look in the mirror, then I’ll wrap it for you before giving you the aftercare instructions.”
I do as he says and look at the glorious ink in the mirror. I was right—the fiery oranges, bold yellows and reds, they mix to make the most amazing artwork I have ever seen. The graceful bird rises from the ashes and flames around her as she soars above it all. I gasp in astonishment and appreciation.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
“Truly stunning,” Nate replies, and I get an inkling he’s talking about more than just his artwork as his gaze looks appreciatively over me.
Goosebumps break out on my skin again as he comes to wrap the tattoo for me. It feels like the first time he’s touched my body, and yet it feels intimate and familiar at the same time. I really must get these kinds of thoughts out of my head.
“If you want to follow me, I’ll take you to Steph, the lady who’s going to do your piercing,” Nate says as he walks towards the door.
He stops short of opening the door and turns to face me. I stumble as I didn’t realise he was going to stop. With strong arms, Nate catches me before I face-plant the floor like a total idiot. Instead of letting me go, he looks down at me and roots me to the spot with just one look. His strong hands hold my hips, and his handsome, strong jaw dips towards me. I have only a moment to register what he’s asking without words. I nod infinitesimally and brace myself as his soft full lips close over mine.
My senses are on overload as Nate’s kiss sets me on fire. He licks at the seam of my mouth, seeking access to kiss me more deeply. For once, I go with my heart instead of my head, and I open my mouth to allow him to explore with his tongue. Our tongues dance together, and Nate’s hands play with the hem of the tank top I’m wearing, making me shiver in the most delicious way. Maybe I didn’t imagine the chemistry after all. A feeling I’ve never experienced before works its way up my spine as I allow him to take all I have to give in this one kiss—a kiss that sets a trail ablaze, searing its way across my heart and soul.
Chapter Two
Nate
Fuck! I don’t know what I was thinking. Kissing a customer could get me in all sorts of hot water. I have a feeling she wouldn’t report me for sexual harassment, but that feeling is more one of hope rather than based on actual facts.
She kissed me just as fervently as I kissed her. Those soft, full lips felt amazing as she opened her mouth to let me explore. Little tingles of electricity ran up and down my spine. The only thing that stopped me kissing her was Steph knocking on the door. She’d come to see how far along with the tattoo we were, as she had to pierce Jenna’s navel at some point.
Jenna followed Steph down the corridor, and I was left to my own devices. I had another client booked in but needed a few minutes to gather myself first.
The women round here see me as a bad boy. A total player. Whilst that isn’t true, I haven’t done much to try and dispel the rumours. It doesn’t hurt me to have them thinking whatever they like about me. I’m not looking for love, so it doesn’t really affect me. Or it didn’t. Until today. It’s not like I’m wanting to run off and marry Jenna, but fuck if I didn’t want her. My cock had been straining to be freed from the moment her lips seared mine in a kiss so passionate, so hungry it was like she was on death row and I was her last meal.
It took ten minutes for me to finally calm down enough to start my next client’s tattoo. Ten minutes of scrubbing my hands over my face, tugging my hair, pacing the length of my room. Ten minutes of wanting to rip open the door, race down the corridor to Steph’s room and see if they were done. I don’t know what would have happened if I had done that. She’d looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. She was skittish. After a kiss so deep my soul felt it, she was nervous enough to run behind Steph the second the door was open.
Something told me that as much as she’d wanted that kiss, she had also done everything possible to keep it from happening. Well, not quite everything as it had happened. But I knew she’d thought about it and was at war with herself over it. I don’t know how I knew; I just had a feeling that was the case.
I’d let her run off without so much as a glance over her shoulder, and I hadn’t gone after her. But now I’m regretting that decision because she’s gone, and I have no way of contacting her. I don’t even know her surname. There’s no way to look her up. I looked through the shop’s diary to see if she’d left a mobile number, but she hadn’t. That was unusual as our receptionist normally asks for one from every client. But I didn’t bother to question it. I just felt deflated as I walked back to my room to clean everything down before we closed.
Spraying the leather seat she’d been sitting on makes me think of her. I close my eyes and see her there. Such a gorgeous creamy expanse of skin. I only wished I hadn’t been wearing gloves so that I could have touched her properly. Damn hygiene rules! But no matter whether the gloves stopped me feeling her skin, they didn’t stop me from feeling the electricity that buzzed through my veins with every stroke I made. I feel it hum in my veins as I stand here with my eyes closed.
My grandfather would kick my ass and tell me to hunt her down, no matter what it took. He would no doubt say that any girl that makes you feel that way is one worth pursuing. He and my grandmother had such a beautiful relationship and had no problem with public displays of affection. They taught me what real love looks like. My grandmother’s death hit him hard. It hit both of us hard, but my grandfather has become a shell of his former self since she passed. He seems hollow and haunted every time I visit now. The smile he had permanently etched on his face when she was alive no longer touches his eyes and makes them sparkle. He’s lost that vitality. It makes me sad to think about how much he’s lost.
My grandmother was one of the most amazing women I have ever known. She and Gramps took me in when my parents died many years ago. They had been the best parental figures I could wish for after my real parents. I don’t have many memories of my mum and dad these days, just some old photos and stuff that was kept in the attic for me. My grandmother had made a memory box full of things from my childhood and as many things of my parents as she could. It’s painful to look through it, but it’s a welcome pain. It means I can still feel.
It hit me like an articulated lorry when my parents died. My life had been turned inside out, upside down and left in chaos. My grandparents took me in and were there for me when I had nightmares or wet the bed. They were the ones that soothed all my aches and pains, but I can’t do the same thing for Gramps now, and that kills me.
I finish cleaning down my room and turn out the light. I’ll pay Gramps a visit tonight. I’ll even swing by and grab him takeaway from his favourite restaurant. He’ll be happy to have real food compared to the slop they feed him at the home. Or at least that’s what he calls it. I’m sure it’s fine really, but he always moans that, no matter what he has to eat, it all tastes like the same crap. His words, not mine.
Closing the door behind me, I walk down the corridor to the front of the shop. Star, our receptionist, is just logging off her computer as I come up behind the counter.
“Hey, boss,” she says in that effervescent way of hers.
“Hey, Star.”
“You all finished up? Seems like everyone else has gone for the evening.”
“Yep. Just off to The Steakhouse to grab Gramps a T-bone.”
“That’s so sweet. You have a good night, boss,” she says as she grabs her coat and slips into it.
“You too, Star. See you tomorrow.”
I walk to the parking lot after locking up. My shiny black Miata MX-5 is waiting for me. I hop in and start the engine. She purrs like a kitten and I smile as I remember the last time I took Gramps out in her. He said that it was a good job my grandma wasn’t alive when I bought her, else she would have had a heart attack. She would’ve preferred me to drive something more “safe looking” according to Gramps. I told him that she was perfectly safe, and I had taken him on a ride out to prove my point. He’d fallen in love with my baby but said Grandma would have had kittens if I’d taken her out in it.
Laughing at the memory, I pull out of the car park and head for The Steakhouse. Prime T-bone steak with fat chips, mushrooms, and onion rings, with horseradish sauce, that was the order of the day. Gramps would cheer up a bit if I provided him with his contraband—you’re not supposed to smuggle food in to the patients at the home, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
The question is, do I tell him about Jenna and wait for him to impart me with a pearl of wisdom? It might do him good to think his grandson is interested in a woman after all this time. My ex put me off women for the longest time and although my reputation precedes me and labels me a player that couldn’t be further from the truth. There actually hasn’t been anybody since her. My heart wasn’t in the right place for anything with anyone. My grandma had died at around the same time, so I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for finding love when my Gramps had lost the love of his life. And she was his life. They had done everything together. They’d been together since they were sixteen and had a good, long life together before she passed. Lillian Peterson had been the life and soul of the party. Everybody naturally gravitated towards her. There was just something about her that everyone loved. My gramps especially.
He said the day he’d met her was the day he knew he was going to marry her. She’d come into his life like a gift from god. Gramps believed she’d been put in his path for a reason and they’d gone on to marry, then had a baby a couple of years later. He was their only child and I was their only grandchild. I had no other family to speak of which is why they’d been the ones to take me in when my parents died, even though they weren’t getting any younger and having an eight-year-old running them ragged must have been hard at times. But they never complained. They showered me with love and affection on a daily basis. Loving them had been so easy. The two of them were so special to me. Which is one of the reasons I had gone off the rails when my grandma died.
Heading into The Steakhouse, the owner sees me and walks to greet me.
“Nate, the usual is it?” he asks as he walks with me to the counter.
“Yep. I’m off to see the old man and I’m assuming that the food he was given this evening wasn’t up to his standards and he probably refused to eat it, the stubborn old git.”
Devin laughs as the guy behind the takeaway counter comes to take my order.
“He’s stubborn alright. Please pass on my regards. It’s been a while since we saw him. Do you think you’ll be able to sneak him out of there anytime soon to come and have a proper meal with us?”
“I’m not sure, Dev. It’s like trying to break out of prison. You’d think they’d let me take him out, being his grandson and all. But they say he needs twenty-four seven care and they seem to think he’d wander off if it was just the two of us.”
“That he might, lad. Dementia is a hard thing to deal with. I’m sure they don’t mean any offence in thinking you can’t look after him. They just mean that it’s possible he’ll get confused and end up giving you the slip.”
Devin must see the hard look in my eyes because he holds his palms up and gives me a small smile.
“I didn’t mean any offence, Nate. Your gramps, he’s a great guy. But the dementia does things to his mind, you know this. I’m not saying you wouldn’t keep careful watch over him. But what if you did something as simple as went to the toilet? You couldn’t take him with you. You’d be gone for all of sixty seconds maybe. But that’s enough time for him to wander off.”
“I guess. Sorry, Dev. I just get a bit … well, a bit touchy when it comes to him. Call me overprotective and sensitive. Okay, looking at me you wouldn’t think I’m so soft at heart. I look like a hard-ass guy who couldn’t give a fuck. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I love the bones of my gramps. I would give anything to take him out of the home, even if only for an hour. I’d drive us around, and he wouldn’t have chance to give me the slip. I’d take him cruising around the city he loves so much. But no. Rules are rules. Hence why I’m sneaking him this contraband tonight. They can stick that particular rule where the sun doesn’t shine!”
The server hands me the bag of containers and I hand over the cash. Devin walks me to the door, apologising again for any offence caused and I tell him to forget about it.
Climbing into my car, I set the takeaway bag on the passenger seat and bring the engine to life. I drive out of the car park and onto the main road, the one that leads me to Haven Lodge Residential Home.
***
Gramps is sitting in his chair facing out of the window when I arrive. He startles when he sees me in the reflection.
“Daniel, how good to see you son. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had, and I haven’t seen your mother all day. I don’t know where she’s got to.”
“It’s Nate, Gramps. I brought you a steak.”
A look ghosts across his face and I wish I’d played along and said I was my dad. Sometimes it’s easier, and I don’t like the thought of bursting his bubble. But sometimes I just want him to remember it’s me.
“Oh, Nathaniel, sorry, I thought you were your father. A steak, you say? It better be a T-bone!”
His face lights up as I place the bag on the table and begin to unpack its contents. I grab plates from the cupboard and cutlery from the drawer. He’s not supposed to have them in here, but I keep them hidden from the staff. Or at least I think I do. They haven’t said anything about them, yet.
“Damn, Nathaniel. I forgot how good a steak tastes,” he says around a mouthful of medium-well steak.
“It’s good, right, Gramps?” I reply as I tuck into my own.
We don’t talk much as we devour our meals. Gramps’s eyes are set alight as he enjoys every morsel. Comfortable silence has settled around us and I don’t know what to say for fear of setting him off this late in the evening. It only takes the slightest thing sometimes, and you never know when those times are going to be. I guess Devin was right about taking him out of the home, even for an hour. So much has the possibility of going wrong. That doesn’t mean I have to like their rules, but I know that Gramps isn’t going to get better. Eventually, the dementia will get worse, and instead of having days where he remembers who I am, I’ll be lost to him forever. So, I intend to make the very most of however long we have before that happens. And even when it does happen, I’ll still come to visit. Even if it means pretending to be my dad. As much as that will hurt me to imitate my dead father.
“I met a girl,” I say as I watch for his reaction.
His eyes twinkle and he smiles a mile wide. Boy I’ve missed that smile. It’s been too long.
“Tell me more, boy. Don’t miss out a single detail. I want to know everything,” he says, coercing me into spilling the beans about Jenna, even if there’s not that much to tell.
***
As I leave Haven Lodge, I smile to myself. Gramps was as much like his old self as he could’ve been, other than initially mistaking me for my father. I don’t have many memories of my parents, only photographs and the stories Gramps tells in his lucid times.
I know I look like my father though. I see it every time I look at my parents’ wedding photo. I have his eyes, my mum’s nose … It’s like looking in a mirror only now I’m looking at a ghost.
Gramps told me he thought I should do everything I could to track this girl down. He said that for all I know, she could be “the one”. I didn’t tell him I don’t believe in “the one”. I didn’t want to ruin the mood. But our conversation did light a fire in me. I want to find out more about this girl, this woman. Jenna. How the hell do I go about finding out though? We didn’t have a number listed for her, and the only thing I know is that she lives locally. I decide to ask Steph at work in the morning, just to see if she gleaned any information from her that would aid my search. I can trust Steph. She’s the only one of my employees that knows the real me. She knows I’m not the player everyone else takes me for.
Resolving myself to wait until morning rather than whipping out my phone and texting Steph to ask—because then I really might seem stalker-ish—I get into my car and make the short drive home.
The house is cloaked in darkness as usual. Nobody home to keep a light on. Nobody to come home to and talk about my day. Not that I’d want to talk about today, per se, but maybe what Gramps said rubbed off on me a little. Maybe I would rather come home to someone rather than the cold reality of being single. I told him that just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely, but he scoffed at me and told me to stop being so bullheaded.
Grabbing myself a beer out of the fridge, I flick the cap off the bottle and settle in on the big sofa. Turning on the television, I channel hop until something takes my interest. Nothing does, so I look up my recordings. I just need something to distract me for an hour or so before I go to bed.
Deciding to rewatch the latest season of Game of Thrones from the start, I press play on the first episode, “Dragonstone”.
An hour later and the house is cloaked in darkness once more as I ascend the stairs. Once in my room, I switch on my bedside lamp before going into my en suite. I turn on the water in my fancy shower. I’m not even sure what all the buttons and nozzles do, but I decided to splurge on a decent shower when the studio started making me some decent money.
Once my clothes are discarded in the laundry basket, I look at myself in the mirror on the cabinet above the sink. My two-day-old scruff needs a shave, but I can’t be bothered. It can stand to go another day.
Standing in the shower, underneath the most powerful jets, I make quick work of washing and then stand there for a few moments longer, letting the water pummel my aching muscles. The memory of Jenna’s lips and their powerful hold over me springs to mind. Her soft, full lips felt like heaven. My blood burned through my veins as her touch set me on fire. It’s been a long time since anybody made me feel so alive. What to do next is the question. Maybe she’ll get another tattoo. Maybe she felt the connection I felt and will come back to seek me out. But I get the hollow feeling that she won’t. During the kiss, all I felt was a searing connection, binding us together. But afterwards, she walked away with Steph and I didn’t see her again. Surely if she’d felt anything she felt was worth exploring further, she would have come back to my room.
Dragging my ass to bed, I towel off quickly, dump the used towel in the basket and then climb under the covers. I can’t wait for sleep to claim me. Maybe I’ll dream of Jenna. And maybe that will be a good thing. Or maybe it won’t. After all, what good can a dream do except haunt me at night?
Only the Lonely
Only the Lonely
https://amzn.to/2PokwIo
Susan Gabriel
Only The Lonely
“Live in three…two…one.” The countdown reverberated through her headphones, triggering ritual actions that were so automatic she scarcely noticed performing them: a quick sip of tepid coffee, an imperceptible uptake of heart rate and a straightening of her spine as she leaned into the microphone.
The studio was her domain; familiar and empowering. She could say whatever she wanted, minus a few words prohibited by the FCC. The time slot was perfect, too. Conversing with her faceless friends and followers allowed her to forget about the empty spaces in her life and in her bed, but tonight the void coursed through her veins with a prickly agitation.
Her lips brushed the cold steel, as the timbre of her voice made love to the airwaves.
“Hello, darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. You’re listening to KJZM late night talk radio. I’m your host, Summer Solstice, and this is: Only the Lonely. We have about an hour and a half remaining in tonight’s show. I’m reaching out to touch all of the lonely people - you know who you are - so call and tell me your story. Are you sighing in the solitude of a darkened room, like some long-forgotten ghost trying to make contact with the human world? Are you in bed, wrapped in the warmth of a dependable blanket instead of in the protective arms of a lover? I want you to use your finger and push my buttons. You know what I’m talking about, St. Louis - I crave to learn every last detail of what landed you in the mournful condition that you now find yourself in. Our phone lines are open, and we’ll be taking our next caller right after a few words from Naughty by Night Oils and Unguents; creator of the most requested brand of lubricant; Snake-eye and Slick.”
Summer removed her headphones and shook her ash blonde hair into place. The leather of the studio chair creaked like a rusty hinge as she leaned back and propped her black-stockinged legs on the console.
Glancing at the clock, weariness settled over her. It had been a long night of characterless callers, full of insipid platitudes. No one wanted to admit how truly miserable they were, so they justified it with clichéd references about the fortitude-building benefits of solitude.
Being alone was sometimes a very good thing; being lonely always sucked. After doing this gig for so many years, Summer sensed that it had begun to take its toll. Cynicism was wrapping its roots around her soul. So many sad stories…so many miserable lives…so much misery and too few solutions.
“Hey, Summer, you’re sounding great tonight.” A voice echoed from behind the glass of the control room.
Summer peered past the soundproof glass into the blue light of the control room. Reliable Melody…always good for an encouraging comment. Summer grinned at her production assistant, who was smiling and signaling the ‘thumbs up’ sign. At least Summer thought that she was smiling. It might have been the light glinting off of one of her lip piercings.
Summer knew she couldn’t do this show without Melody. She and Melody had been a team for over twelve years - moving from one radio market to the next, like a pair of gypsies, until finally landing at KJZM. Now they hosted the top Arbitron rated late night show in the Midwest market.
Closer than sisters, they knew and kept each other’s secrets. They truly were the oddest of pairs, Summer thought. Even when she stretched herself to her full five foot four inches, she was dwarfed by Melody, who towered nearly five foot ten in her combat boots. Summer frequently wore her hair twisted carelessly around a number two pencil at the nape of her neck, preferring the classic look of a simple pencil skirt, a couture blouse and a stylish pair of pumps, while Melody was all leather and metal, studs and tats.
Melody was in-your-face brash sensuality. She was tough as nails, but with the heart of a lion.
Summer couldn’t afford such self-expression. As the front woman for their team, she needed to be taken seriously. She consciously chose to tone down her own sexuality for a more buttoned-up, naughty school teacher appearance.
“Who’s cued up on the lines?” Summer asked, while reaching for her coffee mug.
“Let’s see, I have Jerry, of course, on line one,” replied Melody, her tongue ring softly clacking against her teeth as she spoke.
Jerry...Summer banged her head once softly on the back of her chair. She was in no mood for Jerry’s antics tonight, but if she didn’t take his call, he would only harass Melody, whining and pleading that he had to get through tonight, claiming falsely that it was a matter of life and death.
“There’s a Bob from Creve Couer on line two, and Lucien from Lafayette Square on three. He sounds very cute, and has a super sexy French accent.”
“Well, I suppose we should get Jerry over with for the night, so put him through first.” Summer winced. “Save Lucien from Lafayette Square for last.”
“OK, Summer. Your lead-in ad copy is lying on the console,” directed Melody, her tattooed hands throwing switches in the sound booth. “I’m cuing the jingle.”
Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop, droned the jingle, don’t be a Sexual Nincompoop!
Pressing her lips closely to the microphone, Summer recited, “Augustus Gloop condoms wants to remind you that, the next time you stop by the candy store, or pay a visit to the chocolate factory, remember to wrap your Willie Wonka in an Augustus Gloop condom -now in two new flavors; blueberry and ever-lasting-gob-stopper.”
Summer shook her head and rolled her eyes. Lord, what a girl had to do to make a living. Who thinks up this shit, she wondered. It was the curse of the late-night time slot - adult advertising that would have every prude in a hundred mile radius picketing the station if they aired during regular hours.
Summer smoothly transitioned into a call. “Hello, caller,” she cooed. “Tell me why you’re lonely tonight.”
“Hi, Summer, it’s Jerry, remember me?” squeaked the voice on the line.
She wasn’t up for playing his game. Her feet hurt, her stomach was empty and she needed a smoke.
“Let’s see...now let me think… Jerry… Jerry… hmmm… Oh wait! Are you the Jerry that calls me every single night and says, ‘Hi Summer, it’s Jerry, remember me?’ That Jerry - is that the one?” Summer honestly did not know what to do with Jerry. On the one hand, his pervy little calls could be as annoying as sand in your pants. On the other hand, he was peculiarly popular with her listeners. He even had his own fan club of sorts. Jerry never missed an opportunity to hitch his wagon to Summer’s star, frequently showing up at appearances and live remotes.
Summer often bantered with Jerry and egged him on in the name of ratings, but tonight she found the sound of his nasally voice beyond irritating.
“Oh, you remember me then?”
What a dork.
“Yes, Jerry, I remember you. What’s on your mind tonight?” Summer glanced at Melody, curling her lip in an exaggerated sneer. Melody responded with a full body shiver.
“What color underwear are you wearing?”
Oh, Christ. How many ways and how many times can I answer that question from him? At least once a week, he used the underwear question as his opener…or maybe it was his erection trigger. Either way, he was a bore.
“Oh, now there’s a fresh one. Who did you borrow that from Jerry? Noah?”
Summer wanted to put an end to this ridiculousness once and for all. She enjoyed healthy banter as much as the next gal, but she was fed up, and she bet that her listeners were too. She could almost hear her numbers tanking as she spoke.
“See, the problem here is, Jerry - when you call me every night, eventually you are going to run out of interesting new ways to talk dirty to me, so that’s when you are forced to resurrect the same lines that didn’t work for you ‘back in the day’ when you were just a fledging pervert, trying out your wings by pestering the Prom Queen of your high school.”
Oh, this felt good. Time to wake up those sleepy listeners. If Jerry thinks he can embarrass me and put me on the spot, I’ll just have to teach him who runs this show.
For a moment, every creep that had ever made a power play on her swam through her mind…the little nerd at the donut shop who told her with a wink that he had filled an éclair especially for her…the squirrelly little mongoose of a shoe salesman who ran his hand up her skirt, and a thousand other nameless douche bags that got off on seeing her squirm. Enough was enough.
“Let’s face facts. We both know, Jerry, that you are forty-seven years old and still beating the bishop in your mother’s basement.” Summer spit the retort in a single breath.
“I, um…” Jerry mumbled.
Summer leaned closer to the mike. “Listen very closely, Jerry-- “
“Yeah, Summer, I…”
“Ah-ah! No talking, Jerry, just listening.” Summer glanced in Melody’s direction. Melody curled her fingers into the “rock-on” gesture.
“Jerry, you will never, I repeat never, have the privilege of knowing the color, type, brand or cut of my underwear. Never, ever. I don’t want to have to screen out your calls, Jerry. Sometimes you aren’t so bad to talk to. But do the city a favor and either stay on your meds, or stay off the phone.”
Her manicured finger decisively pressed a small white button, effectively ending the call.
It felt satisfying. Just like that, bam, no Jerry.
“Hello…hello…aw, so sorry, it looks like Jerry was disconnected.”
Summer snickered.
“We’ll just have to go to our next caller; Bob, from Creve Couer.” She consciously sweetened her tone of voice. “Hello Bob.”
“Hello, Summer,” croaked Bob.
“Bob, tell our listeners what made you the lonely person you are today.” “Well, Summer. I wasn’t always lonely.” His voice cracked with an odd desperation. “I used to have a family. I even had a dog - a beagle. That was a great dog. I lost everything; my wife, my kids, and my dog. There’s something wrong with me. I don’t know what it is…”
Why do we always blame ourselves when things turn to shit? Summer wondered.
“Now wait, Bob. Perhaps it isn’t your fault. It does take two to tango. You say that there is something wrong with you. What do you think that something might be?”
Bob took in a sharp breath, held it for a moment and then slowly exhaled. “I’m not well, Summer. I see things. Things that are there, but aren’t there.”
“Hallucinations, Bob? Like big pink elephants and monsters under the bed?” This one might be above my pay grade, thought Summer.
“Not exactly, but sort of…at least the monster part. I see vampires.”
Summer’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes darted to the control booth, but Melody wasn’t paying attention. Pursing her lips, she prodded, “I’m listening, Bob. Go on.”
“I know that there’s no such thing, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing them - everywhere.”
Summer reached for her cold coffee, trying to drown away the turmoil that began to swirl in her stomach.
“Summer,” he went on. “I see them everywhere. Nobody else sees ‘em. When I point them out, other people just see a regular person, but I don’t, Summer - I see a vampire!”
Could Bob from Creve Couer be a fellow Perceiver? No wonder his wife and kids left him. Poor bastard. His shrink probably had him on cures that were worse than the disease.
Summer had found out personally that the first step in coming to grips with being a Perceiver was assurance that you aren’t insane, and that vampires are a fact of life. Once that sinks into your brain, then you have a whole new set of issues to deal with. It’s an altered reality. The world is turned upside down. Death, life, good, evil, God, or no God… nothing is as it was. No black, no white, only varying shades of gray.
But first comes assurance.
Cautiously, Summer opened the subject. “I don’t know about everyone, Bob, but I believe in vampires.”
Simply knowing that another person believes you can do wonders. If Bob truly was a Perceiver, and he wasn’t sick or a nutbag, he needed to know that. In fact, there was nothing wrong with him that a few vodka tonics wouldn’t cure. The truth be told, he should be celebrating his ability. St. Louis was an antique city where creatures of the night abounded in a limitless supply. Better to perceive than not to perceive.
“You do?” he asked.
“Yes, Bob, I do believe in vampires. I do because I, too, can see vampires.” Summer tried to sound cheerful and matter-of-fact. Act like it’s all much ado about nothing. As easy as saying that you see butterflies in spring. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that, but it’s true. I can spot ‘em a mile away.
That is, when they choose to make themselves visible. I haven’t become quite skilled enough to see them when they don’t want to be seen.”
She probably should be keeping her mouth shut. St. Louis could also be a dangerous place for an outed Perceiver. She knew Vamps didn’t want to be seen; they wanted to blend.
However, it was the very wee hours of the morning, and Summer figured the vamps were drinking their last-call Bloody Mary right about now. She needed to help this guy out in some small way…give him some advice to calm his fears without giving away too much of herself.
“Listen to me, Bob. Vampires are real...as real as you or me. You are not cuckoo. You are not delusional. You are just different, and that’s not a bad thing. So take heart, and take my advice. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, or you are going to end up in the psych ward of St John’s Mercy Hospital.”
Melody tilted her head, giving Summer a “what the fuck” look.
Summer gave a “what the fuck, it’s true” shrug of her shoulders. Melody followed that by slicing her finger across her throat in a warning, her eyes bulging out like a bush baby.
Melody was mothering her again. Summer knew that, behind that tough exterior, lay a frustrated Jewish nana. Melody was probably right. Talking about her ability over the air was not the best idea she had ever had. Damn, wouldn’t this night ever be over with? She was bone-tired and not thinking clearly. Melody held up a typed page pointing at it, indicating that it was time for a commercial break.
Thank God, a convenient way to get off of this subject.
Summer smoothly segued. “But, Bob, enough about you; let’s talk about me, and how much I love Frigamajig Adult Toys. As my listeners know, I only endorse and rate the Frigamajig toys that I have personally tested on myself or others, and I want to introduce you to the newest addition to Frigamajig’s Small and Discreet line: The Pocket Porpoise.”
Gotta love the perks of this job, she thought with a sly smile, remembering her own little porpoise with a purpose in her bedside drawer.
“The Pocket Porpoise is the perfect companion for coast to coast flights. You will find that it is barely audible above the roar of the jet engines. I give this product four out of five Gloryholes. It didn’t rate a full five Gloryholes because of battery life - they burned out within a few short days, so be sure to keep extra double As on hand.
The Pocket Porpoise - pick it up at any Frigamajig Adult Toy location.”
Pushing her chair away from the console, she spun it around once and drummed her palms on the desk in a finale.
She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. It had been a long weird night and she was ready to wrap it up. An hour left in the show, and only one blinking line. The rain must have lulled everyone to sleep. Perhaps the next caller would provide some amusement.
Summer didn’t get many calls from Lafayette Square. It was a desirable neighborhood of posh restored town homes that was studded with strategically placed manicured green spaces - an oasis amid the smoke-belching factories of the city.
Summer depressed the lone lighted button which connected her to her lone, lonely caller.
“Lucien from Lafayette Square is on the line. Lucien, I didn’t think the privileged people in Lafayette Square were ever lonely. Isn’t it just a party twenty-four seven up there?”
Summer grudgingly acknowledged to herself that she had often passed by the stately old homes, their lamplight glittering from the hand blown glass windows, and secretly wished that she could be part of it all. The sad truth of the matter was that she could live a dozen lifetimes and still not be able to afford the luxury of the Square.
She bit her tongue and resolved to stop acting like such an envious bitch.
“But I’m being presumptuous and unfair. I’m sure that privileged people get lonely. Everyone is lonely sometime. Are you lonesome tonight, Lucien from Lafayette Square?”
“It seems as if I have been lonely for centuries.”
The voice on the line was heart-rendingly forlorn. Its tone conveyed the sorrow of certainty that whatever circumstances had caused its distress would never change, never look brighter, but instead would remain exactly as they were until the day he died. It was a type of poignant gloom that chilled Summer to the marrow of her bones.
“Oh, I’m sure it couldn’t have been actual centuries. That’s a little dramatic,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I thi—“
His voice broke in, melodious with richly rounded tones and a strong, yet not thick, accent that made every word sound like poetry.
“No, it has. It has been centuries,” Lucien corrected. “Since, oh, 1789… so, let’s see…1789, 1889, 1989, two thousand eighty-ni—oh, alright, two and a quarter centuries. Is my math correct?”
For the first time in her loquacious life, Summer was rendered mute. Was this guy pulling her leg? Summer had a subtle suspicion that he wasn’t. She could smell bullshit like a fart in an elevator, and this didn’t reek of a lie.
“Summer, are you there?” Lucien asked, his voice disturbingly haunting. Blinking her eyes, Summer straightened her spine, as if roused from a daydream. “Yes, yes, I’m here.”
“Summer, imagine how it might feel if you knew that you were going to live forever - always remaining in the shadows, never capable of forming lasting relationships. You have lifetimes of love to share, but know that love will forever and ever remain unrequited. So, all you see unfolding in your future is oceans of loneliness.” The hypnotic quality of his voice drew Summer in and for a small moment she felt a strange emptiness of spirit, as if she were only a casual and constant observer of life; detached from all emotion, a wandering specter amid the toils and tears of humanity.
The soothing notes of the caller’s voice played on. “It’s a strange suffering, knowing with certainty that, year after year, century after century, there is nothing but solitude stretching out from here to eternity.”
A stinging began to burn behind Summer’s eyes. Somehow, the caller had awakened her to the reality of her own solitude. She had always just assumed that one day she would find the right person to share her life. But what if there was no fairy tale ending for her? Would there be a day when, like Lucien, she would resign herself to the realization that she was, and always would be utterly alone? Summer choked back a lump in her throat.
What the heck was going on? Surely he was pulling her leg. None of this could be true, yet, without a doubt, she felt that it was. His voice, his words, they were like glistening ribbons of spider silk weaving through her brain, and drawing her ever deeper into his world.
No one was meant to walk a lifetime of solitary confinement, let alone dozens of lifetimes. She didn’t have a clue what to say next. Whenever her friends needed cheering up, they called on good old Summer, who was always ready with a lighthearted approach. Comfort wasn’t her shtick, nor was it her occupation. Glibness was her claim to fame.
“That’s pretty heavy stuff, Lucien. But, hey, no one lives forever, so that’s a plus.” She knew it was a poor attempt at a joke and cringed even as the words left her mouth.
“Well, one can hope,” the caller replied with sly sarcasm. “I heard your previous call, Summer and I am wondering, can you truly see vampires? If a person passed you on the street, could you tell if they were a vampire?”
Summer did not want to tackle that subject again -especially with this caller. Her intuition told her to proceed with caution.
“Lucien, if you are as old as you say you are, then you should have learned by now not to believe everything that you hear.” “Of course. I was just hoping that we might have some special ability in common. I have an interesting parlor trick that I like to perform. I can look at people and discern what they have been drinking. Jack Daniels for this one, Coors Light for that one, and you, for instance, you drink Cutty Sark on the rocks - doubles.”
A stinging shock rippled up Summer’s spine, causing her to snatch her hand away from the microphone. Her mind felt muddy and confused. The radio business has a term for what happened next: Dead Air.
Her eyes darted back and forth over the pulsing red and green lights of the soundboard. She tried frantically to recall if she had met this man before. Was his voice familiar? Surely she would have remembered him.
Her face was on billboards and buses all over town. He could have recognized her any number of places ordering her favorite drink. Maybe she should think about getting a bodyguard. The notion made her shiver.
An insistent rapping reverberating on the glass of the sound booth returned Summer to her senses.
Crap, she’d been sitting there like a mute. For how long? She scrambled to shake the confusion from her head. Her reflection on the control room glass displayed the panicked look on her face.
Melody was whipping her index finger in rapid, tight circles, signaling for her to wrap it up.
“I’m sorry, but it’s time to go to a commercial break, so…” Summer tentatively recovered.
“One more thing, Summer,” Lucien interrupted. “Your top button is undone.” The floating melody of words caressed her ears and glided through her brain, shattering in a million pieces with the stereophonic buzz of a dial tone.
Melody quickly cued a commercial for Rex Railback’s Herbal Male Enhancers. Summer removed her headphones. Glancing downward, she saw that her top button was open, exposing a small bit of white lace. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck with the eerie suspicion that she was being watched. She twisted her chair in the direction of the lone window of the studio. The notion that anyone could see her was ridiculous; the studio was on the fifth floor and looked out upon the blankness of a brick wall across the alleyway.
She re-buttoned her blouse, her trembling fingers betraying her struggle to regain composure.
“Hey, are you okay?” Melody’s voice called out over the intercom.
Shit, she had to get a grip. She was feeling a bit unhinged, and oddly emotional, as if she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. And that voice…that voice. Summer tried to recall it, but it kept drifting just out of reach, like a long-forgotten dream. She’d been too long without the comfort of a cigarette and some fresh air.
Gathering her things, Summer waved her hand, nodding her head. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You know what, Melody? Put on something canned for a while, I need a smoke, maybe two.”
“What do you want me to air?”
Summer didn’t give a fisherman’s fuck what she aired. She wanted to separate herself from that last call as fast as her legs could carry her.
“I don’t give a shit. Put on the Best of Jerry.” Summer flung her arms wide, palms upturned. “Whatever, Melody…just put on anything.”
Summer felt a momentary pang of regret. She didn’t like the churlish way she sounded just now, snapping at Melody.
“Sounds like somebody just let a caller get the best of her,” Melody grumbled under her breath.
Smoke and Mirrors
Claustrophobia strangled her with a suffocating embrace. The walls grew closer, squeezing the stale oxygen from the narrow hallway. Driven to fill her lungs with long gulps of fresh air, Summer jogged down five flights of metal stairs; the echo of her footsteps filled the stairwell with a metallic, booming clatter which assaulted her ears like the tolling of an out-of-tune bell.
What she needed most right now was a few moments of solitude, and the comforting ritual of feeding her nicotine addiction.
Lucien…the mere recollection of his name and her heart began to race. Like a song that repeats and repeats in your head, the beautiful melody of his voice floated hauntingly through her mind. Making her way to the exit door, she tried to piece together the moments of their brief conversation - the business about him being lonely for centuries and the other clever parlor tricks he had played on her. Playing! Yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing. He had been playing her - messing with her head like a master manipulator of minds.
He sounded beautiful and tragically sad, and she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She wanted to kick her own ass for being suckered into his shell game like some just-off-the-turnip-truck rube.
Nice job of letting your imagination get the better of you, she thought, as she pushed the security bar on the back exit. Swinging the door wide, she filled her lungs with the moist air of the damp alleyway. Bracing her back against the heavy steel door to hold it open, she surveyed the darkened path, which was as empty as a poor man’s pocket. It had rained earlier and now the street shimmered with oily pools of water that somehow appeared luminously bewitching in the moonlight; quite opposite of the dreary pot-holed cement sprawl which it actually was.
She struck a match and lit a Marlboro Light. The yellow flame cast an inky, exaggerated shadow of her figure on the wet pavement.
It’s funny, she thought, how one thing is so dreadful in the harsh glare of day, yet enchantingly beautiful in the light of the moon.
“Like this city for instance, when you view it from a very high place.” The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. For a split second, Summer thought she felt a warm rush of breath in her ear, accompanying the man’s murmured voice.
She pivoted on her toes, adrenaline coursing through her veins, her eyesight and hearing as keen as an eagle, as she searched for the source of the voice.
Across the alley, she spied a young man leaning idly against the brick wall, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, European style. He made no move toward her, only offering the smallest wave of hello with his hand. Summer narrowed her eyes, attempting to bring his face into focus in the dim light, but it remained obscured in shadow. She, on the other hand, realized she was fully illuminated by the light pouring through the open doorway.
How strange she hadn’t heard him approach or noticed him when she had stepped outside. Dropping her gaze towards the ground, why she hadn’t detected him became clear. In the glistening, rain-filled pothole which separated them, he cast no reflection, except for the tell-tale bluish soul-flame which floated above his unseen body.
He was a vampire—a vampire smoking a cigarette.
Swallowing the stone in her throat, she talked herself down by mentally issuing orders to play it cool, even though she felt anything but. Her whole life, she’d longed to meet one of these creatures in person, and now one simply shows up smoking a cigarette and making casual conversation. Digging in her heels, she willed herself to remain rooted. She would not allow fear to chase her away from this once-in-a-lifetime occasion.
There is nothing to fear, she told herself even as she leaned harder against the exit door, and placed one foot inside of the building. She eased her hand to the door lever which pressed against her lower back, ready to pull it closed behind her in the event a hasty retreat might be required.
“In the glare of day, the city is dirty and belching clouds of toxic waste into the sky.” He paused to drag on his cigarette, flaring it with a red-orange glow, briefly illuminating the lower half of his face. “But at night, when the lights of the city are sparkling from the windows of the high-rises, and the radiance of the moon is reflected in the churning currents of the Mississippi; now that’s magic, pure magic.”
Even as he spoke in softened tones, Summer detected a charming, almost musical accent. The cadence of his speech was like a long-forgotten lullaby spilling from his lips, which were not pale as she knew his flesh must be, but full and blushing with the vigor of youth.
He flicked his cigarette into the black puddle. It sizzled briefly before surrendering its fire to the water.
“It’s all in the perspective, you know, mon petite.”
Mon petite? Ah, of course, the accent was French; but not the thick, indecipherable accent of a recent immigrant, instead one that comes after many years of acclimation to the English language. The vampire didn’t merely speak English; he purred it. Just like…no, exactly like her caller.
This night was getting freakier by the minute. Certainly, this was no coincidence. Lucien of Lafayette Square and the vampire standing before her must be one and the same.
She wondered what his purpose might be, and whether it was benign or treacherous. He’d sought her out for a reason, and, despite the feeling that there was a hamster ball rolling around in her stomach, she wanted desperately to know what he wanted.
The vampire withdrew a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket, and from across the narrow alleyway, he stretched out his arm and offered her one.
“Thanks, but I already have one,” Summer deferred, displaying what was left of her cancer stick. She wouldn’t have taken one, even if she wanted - candy from strangers and all. Clinging to the semi-safety of the doorway, she refused to be so easily lured from its false sense of security, although she was certain that if he chose, he could be on top of her faster than she could blink.
He tapped a single cigarette from the pack and slipped two fingers inside of his pants pocket, withdrawing a silver lighter. He remained relaxed against the brick wall as he lit another, casually blowing smoke rings as if he had all the time in the world, although now that she thought about it, he probably did.
“I’m trying to quit, or at a least cut back,” Summer remarked, pointing to his cigarette. She tried her best to appear laissez-faire and not tip him off that she knew his secret. Releasing the spent butt from her hand, she ground it out with the toe of her shoe. The vampire remained silent, raising his cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply.
“I’m down to less than half a pack a day now,” she offered. The vampire responded by puffing out a series of tight smoke rings that orbited skyward, before dissipating into the darkness. “You know you really shouldn’t chain smoke. It’s very bad for your health,” she heard herself ramble. The stranger threw his head back and laughed. Summer glimpsed the points of his fangs glinting in the light of the full moon, a momentary reminder that this was no ordinary man. She wondered if the display was deliberate, or if he simply didn’t care if she knew.
Even without seeing his fangs or the flame, she would have known. Over the years, she had learned to recognize a physical response whenever a vampire came in close proximity - twenty feet or less. As if they were a magnet and she was steel, her body would respond with a sense of being pulled towards them, and she felt this reaction now. Although she knew with certainty what he was, there wasn’t yet any indication that he was aware she knew.
“You are probably right.” He tossed his cigarette to the pavement. “I suppose there are many things that are bad for our health, but it doesn’t stop us from being attracted to them nevertheless.”
With languid strides he crossed the alley, holding out his hand and saying, “Forgive me for not formally introducing myself. I am Lucien du Charmont.”
So there it was - the caller and the vampire were one and the same. She reflexively offered her hand and, when she did, he raised it to his mouth; his touch not deathly cold as she had expected, but warm with life-blood.
He pressed his lips to her skin with such great reverence and refinement that Summer nearly expected him to genuflect before her.
In that moment, it was as if he wrapped her in the comfort of a warm blanket. She felt no fear, only the magnetic pull growing ever stronger, swelling until her ears rang as it pushed against her eardrums.
His lips lingered on her flesh for a long moment. As he began to release his hold on her hand, a wave of head-spinning vertigo swam through her with such a force that she clutched tightly onto his fingers to steady her legs, lest she crumple to the ground. His hand slipped to the small of her back, supporting her while she regained her balance, strength radiating from his fingertips as if he might sweep her up effortlessly with a single hand.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Perhaps you should sit down for a minute.”
As suddenly as it had come, the vertigo vanished. In its wake, a searing rush of embarrassment crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.
“No, no, I think I’m okay now.” Summer dropped her head so he wouldn’t see her go red in the face. “I promise that I don’t usually have fainting spells every time someone introduces themselves.”
“Ah, well then, should I be flattered or insulted?”
“Uh, probably neither,” she replied, flustered. “It’s just been a long, weird night. I’m pretty tired, I guess.”
She was tired, true, but also confused and unnerved by the vampire Lucien du Charmont. He seemed in no hurry to confess his purpose, and Summer was impatient and curious by nature.
“Are you…did you call me tonight?” she asked, raising her gaze to finally meet the vampire face to face.
He was a good foot taller, and she had to tilt her chin upward to scan his face, which was fully visible now in the light that spilled through the doorway. He had the sort of male beauty which is so smooth and delicate it is nearly feminine. He was youthful, perhaps no more than twenty-one or two. His features quite defined; chiseled cheekbones, angular jaw line, aquiline nose and full, pouty lips punctuated by a small cleft in his chin. Locks of sandy-colored hair cascaded in long waves which framed his face, imparting him with a leonine appearance. She found his eyes to be most fascinating, as she could not discern with certainty the exact color of the mystifying orbs. They appeared to frequently change - always subtly altering so you could never really get a good look at them.
She mentally awarded him a full five out of five “Glory holes with a Reach-Around” - the highest score of hotness she’d ever bestowed upon a man.
The vampire placed his hand over his heart. “I confess, I called you,” he said as if he were a wayward boy coming clean about some shameful act.
“It’s not my fault, really,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Summer with an intensity that caused her to squirm.
“Your dazzling voice is the culprit. One word and I was a fan.”
It wasn’t the first time she had heard similar remarks, her voice being deep, sultry and a tad breathy… the best sort of female voice for radio… or phone sex. Summer raised an eyebrow knowingly and chuckled.
“Oh, you’ve heard this before,” he said, dejectedly. “I know that it sounds clichéd,” he went on. “but it speaks to me.”
She didn’t see it happen, but in less than an instant the space between them had grown smaller. He was so near that she could see the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his breathing.
“It arouses my passions,” he whispered, “and my passions are so rarely aroused these days.”
She felt the stroke of his fingers on her cheek, but when she reached to brush his touch from her face, she saw that both of his hands were shoved inside of his pockets. A wicked smile crossed his face.
Tiny shivers tiptoed across her shoulders. He was fucking with her mind again - putting her off guard with his discomforting tricks. She should be pissed off, but he was so unapologetically bold, and she liked it more than a little bit. In fact, it was turning her on, and erotic imaginings flashed through her mind…the weight of his body crushing hers, fingers and tongues roaming one another’s landscape, the feel of his…
“Summer, I hope my honesty hasn’t made you uncomfortable.” The vampire peered deeply into her eyes, and then dropped his gaze, moving backward a single pace; the distance just enough to break the mounting sexual tension and put her back to rights.
Straightening her backbone, she mustered what was left of her courage. “Frankly, it does. It makes me a little uncomfortable.” Vampire or no vampire, she wasn’t someone he could play with. “And if we are being honest here, certain parts of your call made me uncomfortable too.” Summer squared her shoulders. “I have never met you before, and it seems you know a little too much about me.”
She tried to speak politely - didn’t want to piss him off - but despite of his head-turning allure, she was tiring of this cat and mouse game.
The vampire crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. “What’s the expression?” He raised his eyes in thought. “Oh yes. Tit for tat!” he exclaimed, snapping his finger and pointing at her. “It seems that you know a great deal about me as well. A great deal that I am not terribly comfortable with either.”
Summer swallowed, her throat feeling drier than mummy pussy, and she cursed herself for opening her big, stupid mouth on the air tonight. So much for trying to hide being a Perceiver; the cat was out of the bag. Perhaps this was his mission; he was an envoy from the undead community. A warning, a threat or two, and he would be on his way. If being a Perceiver put her in danger she couldn’t be sure, but her instincts detected no immediate threat from the vampire Lucien du Charmont.
She stared him squarely in the face. “I guess what we have here is a Mexican standoff.”
The vampire knitted his brow in confusion. “I don’t think I understand this Mexico standoff reference.”
Summer laughed and slapped her hand on his shoulder. “It’s a Mexican standoff, and it means that we are in a situation where no one can win…like two people who each have a gun pointed at the other’s head.” The vampire seized Summer’s hand from his shoulder, shocking her from her laughter. She tried to pull away, but he held a beggar’s grip on her arm. Recalculating her position in the situation, she wondered if she’d been too hasty with her trust, as a ribbon of perspiration trailed the length of her spine.
“Are you frightened of me?” he asked.
Her heart thumped against her ribcage as his grip constricted the blood flow, numbing her fingers. “Should I be?” she breathed.
“That depends.” He brought her wrist near his mouth. Summer wanted to cry out, but only a small croak came from her throat. “On whether I’m here to fuck you or feed on you.”
The vampire loosened his grip, and turned her hand to his mouth, placing a kiss in the center of her palm, and she found her entire body once again swooning to his touch. A sigh, wistful as an April breeze, sang from her lips, as she said dreamily, “I didn’t know those two options were mutually exclusive.”
The vampire briefly patted the back of her hand before releasing it from custody. “They aren’t; however, I am a man of chivalry.” Placing his right hand over his heart, he dipped his head in deference. “I never feed on what I fuck.” “Well then, my guess is that I have nothing to fear,” she bantered, tossing her hair and looking him in the eye.
His gaze roamed undaunted over her face and body, making her want to cover her breasts with her arms, as if she were naked.
“You are very beautiful, but you do not have the slightest idea of it.” A flush of heat inched up Summer’s neck. “Excuse me, Mr. du Charmont, but are you trying to seduce me?” “Yes, Mademoiselle, I am. Is it working?” Oh, it was working alright. Most men bought her a drink or two - if she was lucky - then tried to dry hump her on the dance floor and expected her to swoon at their feet. But this guy, he was old school - flowery phrases and smoldering gazes - which delighted and bewitched her. He knew how to make her feel special and admired, like something precious.
“Would you walk awhile with a lonely vampire and allow me the opportunity to know you better?” he asked.
Her heart yearned to go with him. Her head, on the other hand, needed some convincing. To be so close to one of these creatures; not only close, but also seduced by one of them, was like a waking dream. Was she perhaps so enraptured as to be mortally foolish? She felt like Alice, perched on the edge of the rabbit hole, wavering on whether to take the plunge into the dark, mysterious unknown, and she was almost there… almost there…almost there…
“I can’t. I have a show.” Summer protested, mentally pulling her foot from the hole at the last minute. Her work responsibilities were her last line of defense against his irresistible persuasion.
“Melody can handle the callers,” Lucien said hypnotically, hooking her arm in his. “She’s obviously into pain.”
“No, I can’t…really…” she pulled back toward the building, making one final weak protest.
“I promise you will be safe,” he reassured, his ever-changing eyes entreating her more urgently.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…famous last words.” The vampire’s eyes scanned her from head to toe like some unearthly MRI machine,
“Frankly, for feeding purposes, you are not at all my type,” he said.
Not his type? Should she be relieved or insulted? She supposed that if his plan was to attack her, he wouldn’t waste time with all of this coaxing. He could have pounced, fed, and tomorrow she’d be merely another missing person.
“Okay, you win,” she acquiesced. “But not too long or too far; I’m on the clock, you know.”
“As am I,” he said, indicating the moon which bowed towards the horizon.
Summer viewed the sinking orb, and her heart sank a bit too, as she realized that her time with the vampire was ticking away.
She allowed herself to be led, peering over her shoulder with a final fleeting look, as the exit door slowly swung closed and Alice plummeted into Wonderland.
***
As Summer strolled down the narrow street on the arm of Lucien du Charmont, the clip-clop of their footsteps echoed through the cement canyon. Inexplicably, she wasn’t the least bit frightened. She was fascinated.
Despite his preternaturally pale flesh, his touch was warm. With her peripheral vision, she tried to inconspicuously scrutinize him.
“Trying to determine how I differ from mortal men?”
Summer rapidly averted her gaze, embarrassed that he’d caught her looking.
“Here, let’s step under this streetlamp,” he continued, guiding her into the illumination. “Look at me, Summer, go on. Here, take my hand and examine it. Is it the hand of a man or a monster?”
She held his hand in hers. His long tapered fingers tickled the sensitive flesh on the underside of her wrist. The polished glass appearance of his fingernails glinted in the lunar light. Blue veins criss-crossed his hand, a blood-filled road map of watery streams coursing beneath his skin. A gold signet ring impressed with a fleur de lis adorned his index finger.
There was something so overtly sexual about him. She’d heard the term “animal magnetism” but never encountered it until now. He threw off this vibe which made her want to knock his gorgeous ass down on the pavement and fuck him six ways to Sunday.
“Mr. du Charmont,” she challenged, “what exactly do you want from me?”
The vampire brushed the back of his fingers along her neck, and it was as if a thousand spiders crawled down her spine.
Lucien gazed into her icy-blue eyes and wondered how he might possibly explain to her his desperate craving for companionship. Loneliness stalked him like a persistent panhandler, and too long he’d denied himself the warmth and comfort of mortals. He yearned to recall the willing touch of a human - to sense something other than fear seeping from their skin - to feel like a man again. He had once been mortal, and remembered all too well the terror that his kind struck into the hearts of the living.
In this woman he recognized a kindred spirit. She, too, dwelt in the seclusion of the darkened hours, reaching out to those she could never truly know. She fed on her callers’ miserable lives, as he might feed on their miserable blood, both solitary creatures with insatiable appetites to comprehend the void which existed in their lives.
When Summer had revealed that she was a Perceiver, he had known that he could wait no longer. He had to meet her.
Lucien was certain she would recognize him for what he was - that her curiosity would be piqued long enough for him to steal a few precious moments with her -sufficient time to coax her out of fear and into the light of knowledge.
“Please call me Lucien,” he implored, cradling her hand in his; her pulse beating determinedly beneath the supple flesh.
“Night after night I listen to people revealing their secrets to you,” he sighed. “I also need to unburden my soul, and I need you to be my confessor of sorts because,” he continued. “too long, I have walked in the shadows, keeping my secrets, both wonderful and terrible. I want to know you and for you to know me.” The subtle aroma of her female musk wafted into his nostrils, distracting him, his ultra-keen senses exposing what she concealed between her thighs. His cock stirred, nagging for release from the snug confines of his jeans. “You want to get to know me?” she asked, arching her eyebrow in suspicion.
Lucien placed his palms flat against the brick wall on either side of her shoulders. “Intimately,” he whispered. “I want to know what you think, what you feel, and how you taste when I kiss you. I want to learn what you like and what you don’t, what makes you laugh and what makes you weep.” He heard the beating of her heart quicken to a fevered pace. It fluttered against the silk of her white blouse as she swallowed hard, her trachea rising against the gulp.
“Why me?” her husky voice was barely audible.
If she hadn’t worn heels, he would have towered over her petite frame, but as he stood with his body inches from hers, his chest was even with the level of her eyes. He smelled her hair, and it was like crisp green apples. Lucien recalled the scent but not the taste.
He sighed deeply. “I chose you because you are a collector of stories.”
She shifted her stance, her knee lightly brushing against his thigh as she propped her foot on the wall behind her. “I chose you because I sensed that you would not fear me and because I don’t have to pretend I am something I am not with you.”
She was very quiet and attentive, her eyes focused on the movement of his lips.
Lucien cupped her chin, tilting her eyes towards his. “You already see what I am. I want you to see who I am.”
See me, he willed. Perceive beyond your fascination, and witness what lies at the heart of me.
A shallow pool of tears welled in her eyes, a salty drop running down her cheek. He caught it with the tip of his finger, his long-dead heart leaping with gratitude for that single tiny tear.
“I want to take you into my world and prove to you and to myself that I am more than my thirst, more than the murderer the world believes me to be.”
She knitted her brow, nodding her head in understanding. Lucien felt that his secrets would be safe with her. He longed for the absolution of the confessional, and she would be his confessor.
“I seek redemption for the things that I have done and those that I have failed to do.”
He detected no trace of judgment in her eyes. Her face bore only lovely compassion.
“Oh, Mr. du Charm...” She stumbled on the words as if she weren’t certain if she should speak his name.
“You are beautiful, and daring, and exciting to me.” He pressed his body nearer to hers, and it emboldened him when she did not protest or recoil.
“You are also solitary and thoughtful…and lonely. You see what others do not, and I hope that you may see something in me that I cannot.”
The warmth of her eyes reminded him of the warmth of the sun which had not touched his face since that fateful day so long ago. He recalled the bright colors of a long-forgotten garden of his youth, nestled in a green hillside above a wide, wandering stream. Summer - it was more than her name - it was her definition. With her, he felt as if he might once again experience that most glorious of seasons, where he basked in a sun-dappled meadow, the hum of bees buzzing from blossom to blossom, songbirds calling to their mates from distant branches…the entire world stirring with warmth and life.
Lucien felt a desire that he had not known for many lifetimes. He wanted to roll in verdant groves with this woman, to feel the cool dewiness of grass on his naked skin, to nestle in the gentleness of her form, inhaling her scent and savoring her flavors. Over the centuries, he had not denied himself female comforts, but it had always been only a necessary thing - lustful encounters serving to satisfy physical needs. This felt different. He wasn’t compelled to dive headlong into possessing her. He knew that, by consuming her blood, all of her secrets would be revealed, but he didn’t want them that way. He yearned to coax them from her slowly and deliberately - to touch that place where the human heart lies and to prove to himself that, somewhere, his heart still beat with a similar cadence.
Summer tried to wrap her mind around the emotions that she was feeling. This man was a monster - a hunter of humans. Yet she felt profound compassion and attraction. Was it the work of his unholy magic or something real?
https://amzn.to/2PokwIo
Susan Gabriel
Only The Lonely
“Live in three…two…one.” The countdown reverberated through her headphones, triggering ritual actions that were so automatic she scarcely noticed performing them: a quick sip of tepid coffee, an imperceptible uptake of heart rate and a straightening of her spine as she leaned into the microphone.
The studio was her domain; familiar and empowering. She could say whatever she wanted, minus a few words prohibited by the FCC. The time slot was perfect, too. Conversing with her faceless friends and followers allowed her to forget about the empty spaces in her life and in her bed, but tonight the void coursed through her veins with a prickly agitation.
Her lips brushed the cold steel, as the timbre of her voice made love to the airwaves.
“Hello, darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. You’re listening to KJZM late night talk radio. I’m your host, Summer Solstice, and this is: Only the Lonely. We have about an hour and a half remaining in tonight’s show. I’m reaching out to touch all of the lonely people - you know who you are - so call and tell me your story. Are you sighing in the solitude of a darkened room, like some long-forgotten ghost trying to make contact with the human world? Are you in bed, wrapped in the warmth of a dependable blanket instead of in the protective arms of a lover? I want you to use your finger and push my buttons. You know what I’m talking about, St. Louis - I crave to learn every last detail of what landed you in the mournful condition that you now find yourself in. Our phone lines are open, and we’ll be taking our next caller right after a few words from Naughty by Night Oils and Unguents; creator of the most requested brand of lubricant; Snake-eye and Slick.”
Summer removed her headphones and shook her ash blonde hair into place. The leather of the studio chair creaked like a rusty hinge as she leaned back and propped her black-stockinged legs on the console.
Glancing at the clock, weariness settled over her. It had been a long night of characterless callers, full of insipid platitudes. No one wanted to admit how truly miserable they were, so they justified it with clichéd references about the fortitude-building benefits of solitude.
Being alone was sometimes a very good thing; being lonely always sucked. After doing this gig for so many years, Summer sensed that it had begun to take its toll. Cynicism was wrapping its roots around her soul. So many sad stories…so many miserable lives…so much misery and too few solutions.
“Hey, Summer, you’re sounding great tonight.” A voice echoed from behind the glass of the control room.
Summer peered past the soundproof glass into the blue light of the control room. Reliable Melody…always good for an encouraging comment. Summer grinned at her production assistant, who was smiling and signaling the ‘thumbs up’ sign. At least Summer thought that she was smiling. It might have been the light glinting off of one of her lip piercings.
Summer knew she couldn’t do this show without Melody. She and Melody had been a team for over twelve years - moving from one radio market to the next, like a pair of gypsies, until finally landing at KJZM. Now they hosted the top Arbitron rated late night show in the Midwest market.
Closer than sisters, they knew and kept each other’s secrets. They truly were the oddest of pairs, Summer thought. Even when she stretched herself to her full five foot four inches, she was dwarfed by Melody, who towered nearly five foot ten in her combat boots. Summer frequently wore her hair twisted carelessly around a number two pencil at the nape of her neck, preferring the classic look of a simple pencil skirt, a couture blouse and a stylish pair of pumps, while Melody was all leather and metal, studs and tats.
Melody was in-your-face brash sensuality. She was tough as nails, but with the heart of a lion.
Summer couldn’t afford such self-expression. As the front woman for their team, she needed to be taken seriously. She consciously chose to tone down her own sexuality for a more buttoned-up, naughty school teacher appearance.
“Who’s cued up on the lines?” Summer asked, while reaching for her coffee mug.
“Let’s see, I have Jerry, of course, on line one,” replied Melody, her tongue ring softly clacking against her teeth as she spoke.
Jerry...Summer banged her head once softly on the back of her chair. She was in no mood for Jerry’s antics tonight, but if she didn’t take his call, he would only harass Melody, whining and pleading that he had to get through tonight, claiming falsely that it was a matter of life and death.
“There’s a Bob from Creve Couer on line two, and Lucien from Lafayette Square on three. He sounds very cute, and has a super sexy French accent.”
“Well, I suppose we should get Jerry over with for the night, so put him through first.” Summer winced. “Save Lucien from Lafayette Square for last.”
“OK, Summer. Your lead-in ad copy is lying on the console,” directed Melody, her tattooed hands throwing switches in the sound booth. “I’m cuing the jingle.”
Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop, droned the jingle, don’t be a Sexual Nincompoop!
Pressing her lips closely to the microphone, Summer recited, “Augustus Gloop condoms wants to remind you that, the next time you stop by the candy store, or pay a visit to the chocolate factory, remember to wrap your Willie Wonka in an Augustus Gloop condom -now in two new flavors; blueberry and ever-lasting-gob-stopper.”
Summer shook her head and rolled her eyes. Lord, what a girl had to do to make a living. Who thinks up this shit, she wondered. It was the curse of the late-night time slot - adult advertising that would have every prude in a hundred mile radius picketing the station if they aired during regular hours.
Summer smoothly transitioned into a call. “Hello, caller,” she cooed. “Tell me why you’re lonely tonight.”
“Hi, Summer, it’s Jerry, remember me?” squeaked the voice on the line.
She wasn’t up for playing his game. Her feet hurt, her stomach was empty and she needed a smoke.
“Let’s see...now let me think… Jerry… Jerry… hmmm… Oh wait! Are you the Jerry that calls me every single night and says, ‘Hi Summer, it’s Jerry, remember me?’ That Jerry - is that the one?” Summer honestly did not know what to do with Jerry. On the one hand, his pervy little calls could be as annoying as sand in your pants. On the other hand, he was peculiarly popular with her listeners. He even had his own fan club of sorts. Jerry never missed an opportunity to hitch his wagon to Summer’s star, frequently showing up at appearances and live remotes.
Summer often bantered with Jerry and egged him on in the name of ratings, but tonight she found the sound of his nasally voice beyond irritating.
“Oh, you remember me then?”
What a dork.
“Yes, Jerry, I remember you. What’s on your mind tonight?” Summer glanced at Melody, curling her lip in an exaggerated sneer. Melody responded with a full body shiver.
“What color underwear are you wearing?”
Oh, Christ. How many ways and how many times can I answer that question from him? At least once a week, he used the underwear question as his opener…or maybe it was his erection trigger. Either way, he was a bore.
“Oh, now there’s a fresh one. Who did you borrow that from Jerry? Noah?”
Summer wanted to put an end to this ridiculousness once and for all. She enjoyed healthy banter as much as the next gal, but she was fed up, and she bet that her listeners were too. She could almost hear her numbers tanking as she spoke.
“See, the problem here is, Jerry - when you call me every night, eventually you are going to run out of interesting new ways to talk dirty to me, so that’s when you are forced to resurrect the same lines that didn’t work for you ‘back in the day’ when you were just a fledging pervert, trying out your wings by pestering the Prom Queen of your high school.”
Oh, this felt good. Time to wake up those sleepy listeners. If Jerry thinks he can embarrass me and put me on the spot, I’ll just have to teach him who runs this show.
For a moment, every creep that had ever made a power play on her swam through her mind…the little nerd at the donut shop who told her with a wink that he had filled an éclair especially for her…the squirrelly little mongoose of a shoe salesman who ran his hand up her skirt, and a thousand other nameless douche bags that got off on seeing her squirm. Enough was enough.
“Let’s face facts. We both know, Jerry, that you are forty-seven years old and still beating the bishop in your mother’s basement.” Summer spit the retort in a single breath.
“I, um…” Jerry mumbled.
Summer leaned closer to the mike. “Listen very closely, Jerry-- “
“Yeah, Summer, I…”
“Ah-ah! No talking, Jerry, just listening.” Summer glanced in Melody’s direction. Melody curled her fingers into the “rock-on” gesture.
“Jerry, you will never, I repeat never, have the privilege of knowing the color, type, brand or cut of my underwear. Never, ever. I don’t want to have to screen out your calls, Jerry. Sometimes you aren’t so bad to talk to. But do the city a favor and either stay on your meds, or stay off the phone.”
Her manicured finger decisively pressed a small white button, effectively ending the call.
It felt satisfying. Just like that, bam, no Jerry.
“Hello…hello…aw, so sorry, it looks like Jerry was disconnected.”
Summer snickered.
“We’ll just have to go to our next caller; Bob, from Creve Couer.” She consciously sweetened her tone of voice. “Hello Bob.”
“Hello, Summer,” croaked Bob.
“Bob, tell our listeners what made you the lonely person you are today.” “Well, Summer. I wasn’t always lonely.” His voice cracked with an odd desperation. “I used to have a family. I even had a dog - a beagle. That was a great dog. I lost everything; my wife, my kids, and my dog. There’s something wrong with me. I don’t know what it is…”
Why do we always blame ourselves when things turn to shit? Summer wondered.
“Now wait, Bob. Perhaps it isn’t your fault. It does take two to tango. You say that there is something wrong with you. What do you think that something might be?”
Bob took in a sharp breath, held it for a moment and then slowly exhaled. “I’m not well, Summer. I see things. Things that are there, but aren’t there.”
“Hallucinations, Bob? Like big pink elephants and monsters under the bed?” This one might be above my pay grade, thought Summer.
“Not exactly, but sort of…at least the monster part. I see vampires.”
Summer’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes darted to the control booth, but Melody wasn’t paying attention. Pursing her lips, she prodded, “I’m listening, Bob. Go on.”
“I know that there’s no such thing, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing them - everywhere.”
Summer reached for her cold coffee, trying to drown away the turmoil that began to swirl in her stomach.
“Summer,” he went on. “I see them everywhere. Nobody else sees ‘em. When I point them out, other people just see a regular person, but I don’t, Summer - I see a vampire!”
Could Bob from Creve Couer be a fellow Perceiver? No wonder his wife and kids left him. Poor bastard. His shrink probably had him on cures that were worse than the disease.
Summer had found out personally that the first step in coming to grips with being a Perceiver was assurance that you aren’t insane, and that vampires are a fact of life. Once that sinks into your brain, then you have a whole new set of issues to deal with. It’s an altered reality. The world is turned upside down. Death, life, good, evil, God, or no God… nothing is as it was. No black, no white, only varying shades of gray.
But first comes assurance.
Cautiously, Summer opened the subject. “I don’t know about everyone, Bob, but I believe in vampires.”
Simply knowing that another person believes you can do wonders. If Bob truly was a Perceiver, and he wasn’t sick or a nutbag, he needed to know that. In fact, there was nothing wrong with him that a few vodka tonics wouldn’t cure. The truth be told, he should be celebrating his ability. St. Louis was an antique city where creatures of the night abounded in a limitless supply. Better to perceive than not to perceive.
“You do?” he asked.
“Yes, Bob, I do believe in vampires. I do because I, too, can see vampires.” Summer tried to sound cheerful and matter-of-fact. Act like it’s all much ado about nothing. As easy as saying that you see butterflies in spring. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that, but it’s true. I can spot ‘em a mile away.
That is, when they choose to make themselves visible. I haven’t become quite skilled enough to see them when they don’t want to be seen.”
She probably should be keeping her mouth shut. St. Louis could also be a dangerous place for an outed Perceiver. She knew Vamps didn’t want to be seen; they wanted to blend.
However, it was the very wee hours of the morning, and Summer figured the vamps were drinking their last-call Bloody Mary right about now. She needed to help this guy out in some small way…give him some advice to calm his fears without giving away too much of herself.
“Listen to me, Bob. Vampires are real...as real as you or me. You are not cuckoo. You are not delusional. You are just different, and that’s not a bad thing. So take heart, and take my advice. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, or you are going to end up in the psych ward of St John’s Mercy Hospital.”
Melody tilted her head, giving Summer a “what the fuck” look.
Summer gave a “what the fuck, it’s true” shrug of her shoulders. Melody followed that by slicing her finger across her throat in a warning, her eyes bulging out like a bush baby.
Melody was mothering her again. Summer knew that, behind that tough exterior, lay a frustrated Jewish nana. Melody was probably right. Talking about her ability over the air was not the best idea she had ever had. Damn, wouldn’t this night ever be over with? She was bone-tired and not thinking clearly. Melody held up a typed page pointing at it, indicating that it was time for a commercial break.
Thank God, a convenient way to get off of this subject.
Summer smoothly segued. “But, Bob, enough about you; let’s talk about me, and how much I love Frigamajig Adult Toys. As my listeners know, I only endorse and rate the Frigamajig toys that I have personally tested on myself or others, and I want to introduce you to the newest addition to Frigamajig’s Small and Discreet line: The Pocket Porpoise.”
Gotta love the perks of this job, she thought with a sly smile, remembering her own little porpoise with a purpose in her bedside drawer.
“The Pocket Porpoise is the perfect companion for coast to coast flights. You will find that it is barely audible above the roar of the jet engines. I give this product four out of five Gloryholes. It didn’t rate a full five Gloryholes because of battery life - they burned out within a few short days, so be sure to keep extra double As on hand.
The Pocket Porpoise - pick it up at any Frigamajig Adult Toy location.”
Pushing her chair away from the console, she spun it around once and drummed her palms on the desk in a finale.
She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. It had been a long weird night and she was ready to wrap it up. An hour left in the show, and only one blinking line. The rain must have lulled everyone to sleep. Perhaps the next caller would provide some amusement.
Summer didn’t get many calls from Lafayette Square. It was a desirable neighborhood of posh restored town homes that was studded with strategically placed manicured green spaces - an oasis amid the smoke-belching factories of the city.
Summer depressed the lone lighted button which connected her to her lone, lonely caller.
“Lucien from Lafayette Square is on the line. Lucien, I didn’t think the privileged people in Lafayette Square were ever lonely. Isn’t it just a party twenty-four seven up there?”
Summer grudgingly acknowledged to herself that she had often passed by the stately old homes, their lamplight glittering from the hand blown glass windows, and secretly wished that she could be part of it all. The sad truth of the matter was that she could live a dozen lifetimes and still not be able to afford the luxury of the Square.
She bit her tongue and resolved to stop acting like such an envious bitch.
“But I’m being presumptuous and unfair. I’m sure that privileged people get lonely. Everyone is lonely sometime. Are you lonesome tonight, Lucien from Lafayette Square?”
“It seems as if I have been lonely for centuries.”
The voice on the line was heart-rendingly forlorn. Its tone conveyed the sorrow of certainty that whatever circumstances had caused its distress would never change, never look brighter, but instead would remain exactly as they were until the day he died. It was a type of poignant gloom that chilled Summer to the marrow of her bones.
“Oh, I’m sure it couldn’t have been actual centuries. That’s a little dramatic,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I thi—“
His voice broke in, melodious with richly rounded tones and a strong, yet not thick, accent that made every word sound like poetry.
“No, it has. It has been centuries,” Lucien corrected. “Since, oh, 1789… so, let’s see…1789, 1889, 1989, two thousand eighty-ni—oh, alright, two and a quarter centuries. Is my math correct?”
For the first time in her loquacious life, Summer was rendered mute. Was this guy pulling her leg? Summer had a subtle suspicion that he wasn’t. She could smell bullshit like a fart in an elevator, and this didn’t reek of a lie.
“Summer, are you there?” Lucien asked, his voice disturbingly haunting. Blinking her eyes, Summer straightened her spine, as if roused from a daydream. “Yes, yes, I’m here.”
“Summer, imagine how it might feel if you knew that you were going to live forever - always remaining in the shadows, never capable of forming lasting relationships. You have lifetimes of love to share, but know that love will forever and ever remain unrequited. So, all you see unfolding in your future is oceans of loneliness.” The hypnotic quality of his voice drew Summer in and for a small moment she felt a strange emptiness of spirit, as if she were only a casual and constant observer of life; detached from all emotion, a wandering specter amid the toils and tears of humanity.
The soothing notes of the caller’s voice played on. “It’s a strange suffering, knowing with certainty that, year after year, century after century, there is nothing but solitude stretching out from here to eternity.”
A stinging began to burn behind Summer’s eyes. Somehow, the caller had awakened her to the reality of her own solitude. She had always just assumed that one day she would find the right person to share her life. But what if there was no fairy tale ending for her? Would there be a day when, like Lucien, she would resign herself to the realization that she was, and always would be utterly alone? Summer choked back a lump in her throat.
What the heck was going on? Surely he was pulling her leg. None of this could be true, yet, without a doubt, she felt that it was. His voice, his words, they were like glistening ribbons of spider silk weaving through her brain, and drawing her ever deeper into his world.
No one was meant to walk a lifetime of solitary confinement, let alone dozens of lifetimes. She didn’t have a clue what to say next. Whenever her friends needed cheering up, they called on good old Summer, who was always ready with a lighthearted approach. Comfort wasn’t her shtick, nor was it her occupation. Glibness was her claim to fame.
“That’s pretty heavy stuff, Lucien. But, hey, no one lives forever, so that’s a plus.” She knew it was a poor attempt at a joke and cringed even as the words left her mouth.
“Well, one can hope,” the caller replied with sly sarcasm. “I heard your previous call, Summer and I am wondering, can you truly see vampires? If a person passed you on the street, could you tell if they were a vampire?”
Summer did not want to tackle that subject again -especially with this caller. Her intuition told her to proceed with caution.
“Lucien, if you are as old as you say you are, then you should have learned by now not to believe everything that you hear.” “Of course. I was just hoping that we might have some special ability in common. I have an interesting parlor trick that I like to perform. I can look at people and discern what they have been drinking. Jack Daniels for this one, Coors Light for that one, and you, for instance, you drink Cutty Sark on the rocks - doubles.”
A stinging shock rippled up Summer’s spine, causing her to snatch her hand away from the microphone. Her mind felt muddy and confused. The radio business has a term for what happened next: Dead Air.
Her eyes darted back and forth over the pulsing red and green lights of the soundboard. She tried frantically to recall if she had met this man before. Was his voice familiar? Surely she would have remembered him.
Her face was on billboards and buses all over town. He could have recognized her any number of places ordering her favorite drink. Maybe she should think about getting a bodyguard. The notion made her shiver.
An insistent rapping reverberating on the glass of the sound booth returned Summer to her senses.
Crap, she’d been sitting there like a mute. For how long? She scrambled to shake the confusion from her head. Her reflection on the control room glass displayed the panicked look on her face.
Melody was whipping her index finger in rapid, tight circles, signaling for her to wrap it up.
“I’m sorry, but it’s time to go to a commercial break, so…” Summer tentatively recovered.
“One more thing, Summer,” Lucien interrupted. “Your top button is undone.” The floating melody of words caressed her ears and glided through her brain, shattering in a million pieces with the stereophonic buzz of a dial tone.
Melody quickly cued a commercial for Rex Railback’s Herbal Male Enhancers. Summer removed her headphones. Glancing downward, she saw that her top button was open, exposing a small bit of white lace. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck with the eerie suspicion that she was being watched. She twisted her chair in the direction of the lone window of the studio. The notion that anyone could see her was ridiculous; the studio was on the fifth floor and looked out upon the blankness of a brick wall across the alleyway.
She re-buttoned her blouse, her trembling fingers betraying her struggle to regain composure.
“Hey, are you okay?” Melody’s voice called out over the intercom.
Shit, she had to get a grip. She was feeling a bit unhinged, and oddly emotional, as if she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. And that voice…that voice. Summer tried to recall it, but it kept drifting just out of reach, like a long-forgotten dream. She’d been too long without the comfort of a cigarette and some fresh air.
Gathering her things, Summer waved her hand, nodding her head. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You know what, Melody? Put on something canned for a while, I need a smoke, maybe two.”
“What do you want me to air?”
Summer didn’t give a fisherman’s fuck what she aired. She wanted to separate herself from that last call as fast as her legs could carry her.
“I don’t give a shit. Put on the Best of Jerry.” Summer flung her arms wide, palms upturned. “Whatever, Melody…just put on anything.”
Summer felt a momentary pang of regret. She didn’t like the churlish way she sounded just now, snapping at Melody.
“Sounds like somebody just let a caller get the best of her,” Melody grumbled under her breath.
Smoke and Mirrors
Claustrophobia strangled her with a suffocating embrace. The walls grew closer, squeezing the stale oxygen from the narrow hallway. Driven to fill her lungs with long gulps of fresh air, Summer jogged down five flights of metal stairs; the echo of her footsteps filled the stairwell with a metallic, booming clatter which assaulted her ears like the tolling of an out-of-tune bell.
What she needed most right now was a few moments of solitude, and the comforting ritual of feeding her nicotine addiction.
Lucien…the mere recollection of his name and her heart began to race. Like a song that repeats and repeats in your head, the beautiful melody of his voice floated hauntingly through her mind. Making her way to the exit door, she tried to piece together the moments of their brief conversation - the business about him being lonely for centuries and the other clever parlor tricks he had played on her. Playing! Yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing. He had been playing her - messing with her head like a master manipulator of minds.
He sounded beautiful and tragically sad, and she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She wanted to kick her own ass for being suckered into his shell game like some just-off-the-turnip-truck rube.
Nice job of letting your imagination get the better of you, she thought, as she pushed the security bar on the back exit. Swinging the door wide, she filled her lungs with the moist air of the damp alleyway. Bracing her back against the heavy steel door to hold it open, she surveyed the darkened path, which was as empty as a poor man’s pocket. It had rained earlier and now the street shimmered with oily pools of water that somehow appeared luminously bewitching in the moonlight; quite opposite of the dreary pot-holed cement sprawl which it actually was.
She struck a match and lit a Marlboro Light. The yellow flame cast an inky, exaggerated shadow of her figure on the wet pavement.
It’s funny, she thought, how one thing is so dreadful in the harsh glare of day, yet enchantingly beautiful in the light of the moon.
“Like this city for instance, when you view it from a very high place.” The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. For a split second, Summer thought she felt a warm rush of breath in her ear, accompanying the man’s murmured voice.
She pivoted on her toes, adrenaline coursing through her veins, her eyesight and hearing as keen as an eagle, as she searched for the source of the voice.
Across the alley, she spied a young man leaning idly against the brick wall, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, European style. He made no move toward her, only offering the smallest wave of hello with his hand. Summer narrowed her eyes, attempting to bring his face into focus in the dim light, but it remained obscured in shadow. She, on the other hand, realized she was fully illuminated by the light pouring through the open doorway.
How strange she hadn’t heard him approach or noticed him when she had stepped outside. Dropping her gaze towards the ground, why she hadn’t detected him became clear. In the glistening, rain-filled pothole which separated them, he cast no reflection, except for the tell-tale bluish soul-flame which floated above his unseen body.
He was a vampire—a vampire smoking a cigarette.
Swallowing the stone in her throat, she talked herself down by mentally issuing orders to play it cool, even though she felt anything but. Her whole life, she’d longed to meet one of these creatures in person, and now one simply shows up smoking a cigarette and making casual conversation. Digging in her heels, she willed herself to remain rooted. She would not allow fear to chase her away from this once-in-a-lifetime occasion.
There is nothing to fear, she told herself even as she leaned harder against the exit door, and placed one foot inside of the building. She eased her hand to the door lever which pressed against her lower back, ready to pull it closed behind her in the event a hasty retreat might be required.
“In the glare of day, the city is dirty and belching clouds of toxic waste into the sky.” He paused to drag on his cigarette, flaring it with a red-orange glow, briefly illuminating the lower half of his face. “But at night, when the lights of the city are sparkling from the windows of the high-rises, and the radiance of the moon is reflected in the churning currents of the Mississippi; now that’s magic, pure magic.”
Even as he spoke in softened tones, Summer detected a charming, almost musical accent. The cadence of his speech was like a long-forgotten lullaby spilling from his lips, which were not pale as she knew his flesh must be, but full and blushing with the vigor of youth.
He flicked his cigarette into the black puddle. It sizzled briefly before surrendering its fire to the water.
“It’s all in the perspective, you know, mon petite.”
Mon petite? Ah, of course, the accent was French; but not the thick, indecipherable accent of a recent immigrant, instead one that comes after many years of acclimation to the English language. The vampire didn’t merely speak English; he purred it. Just like…no, exactly like her caller.
This night was getting freakier by the minute. Certainly, this was no coincidence. Lucien of Lafayette Square and the vampire standing before her must be one and the same.
She wondered what his purpose might be, and whether it was benign or treacherous. He’d sought her out for a reason, and, despite the feeling that there was a hamster ball rolling around in her stomach, she wanted desperately to know what he wanted.
The vampire withdrew a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket, and from across the narrow alleyway, he stretched out his arm and offered her one.
“Thanks, but I already have one,” Summer deferred, displaying what was left of her cancer stick. She wouldn’t have taken one, even if she wanted - candy from strangers and all. Clinging to the semi-safety of the doorway, she refused to be so easily lured from its false sense of security, although she was certain that if he chose, he could be on top of her faster than she could blink.
He tapped a single cigarette from the pack and slipped two fingers inside of his pants pocket, withdrawing a silver lighter. He remained relaxed against the brick wall as he lit another, casually blowing smoke rings as if he had all the time in the world, although now that she thought about it, he probably did.
“I’m trying to quit, or at a least cut back,” Summer remarked, pointing to his cigarette. She tried her best to appear laissez-faire and not tip him off that she knew his secret. Releasing the spent butt from her hand, she ground it out with the toe of her shoe. The vampire remained silent, raising his cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply.
“I’m down to less than half a pack a day now,” she offered. The vampire responded by puffing out a series of tight smoke rings that orbited skyward, before dissipating into the darkness. “You know you really shouldn’t chain smoke. It’s very bad for your health,” she heard herself ramble. The stranger threw his head back and laughed. Summer glimpsed the points of his fangs glinting in the light of the full moon, a momentary reminder that this was no ordinary man. She wondered if the display was deliberate, or if he simply didn’t care if she knew.
Even without seeing his fangs or the flame, she would have known. Over the years, she had learned to recognize a physical response whenever a vampire came in close proximity - twenty feet or less. As if they were a magnet and she was steel, her body would respond with a sense of being pulled towards them, and she felt this reaction now. Although she knew with certainty what he was, there wasn’t yet any indication that he was aware she knew.
“You are probably right.” He tossed his cigarette to the pavement. “I suppose there are many things that are bad for our health, but it doesn’t stop us from being attracted to them nevertheless.”
With languid strides he crossed the alley, holding out his hand and saying, “Forgive me for not formally introducing myself. I am Lucien du Charmont.”
So there it was - the caller and the vampire were one and the same. She reflexively offered her hand and, when she did, he raised it to his mouth; his touch not deathly cold as she had expected, but warm with life-blood.
He pressed his lips to her skin with such great reverence and refinement that Summer nearly expected him to genuflect before her.
In that moment, it was as if he wrapped her in the comfort of a warm blanket. She felt no fear, only the magnetic pull growing ever stronger, swelling until her ears rang as it pushed against her eardrums.
His lips lingered on her flesh for a long moment. As he began to release his hold on her hand, a wave of head-spinning vertigo swam through her with such a force that she clutched tightly onto his fingers to steady her legs, lest she crumple to the ground. His hand slipped to the small of her back, supporting her while she regained her balance, strength radiating from his fingertips as if he might sweep her up effortlessly with a single hand.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Perhaps you should sit down for a minute.”
As suddenly as it had come, the vertigo vanished. In its wake, a searing rush of embarrassment crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.
“No, no, I think I’m okay now.” Summer dropped her head so he wouldn’t see her go red in the face. “I promise that I don’t usually have fainting spells every time someone introduces themselves.”
“Ah, well then, should I be flattered or insulted?”
“Uh, probably neither,” she replied, flustered. “It’s just been a long, weird night. I’m pretty tired, I guess.”
She was tired, true, but also confused and unnerved by the vampire Lucien du Charmont. He seemed in no hurry to confess his purpose, and Summer was impatient and curious by nature.
“Are you…did you call me tonight?” she asked, raising her gaze to finally meet the vampire face to face.
He was a good foot taller, and she had to tilt her chin upward to scan his face, which was fully visible now in the light that spilled through the doorway. He had the sort of male beauty which is so smooth and delicate it is nearly feminine. He was youthful, perhaps no more than twenty-one or two. His features quite defined; chiseled cheekbones, angular jaw line, aquiline nose and full, pouty lips punctuated by a small cleft in his chin. Locks of sandy-colored hair cascaded in long waves which framed his face, imparting him with a leonine appearance. She found his eyes to be most fascinating, as she could not discern with certainty the exact color of the mystifying orbs. They appeared to frequently change - always subtly altering so you could never really get a good look at them.
She mentally awarded him a full five out of five “Glory holes with a Reach-Around” - the highest score of hotness she’d ever bestowed upon a man.
The vampire placed his hand over his heart. “I confess, I called you,” he said as if he were a wayward boy coming clean about some shameful act.
“It’s not my fault, really,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Summer with an intensity that caused her to squirm.
“Your dazzling voice is the culprit. One word and I was a fan.”
It wasn’t the first time she had heard similar remarks, her voice being deep, sultry and a tad breathy… the best sort of female voice for radio… or phone sex. Summer raised an eyebrow knowingly and chuckled.
“Oh, you’ve heard this before,” he said, dejectedly. “I know that it sounds clichéd,” he went on. “but it speaks to me.”
She didn’t see it happen, but in less than an instant the space between them had grown smaller. He was so near that she could see the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his breathing.
“It arouses my passions,” he whispered, “and my passions are so rarely aroused these days.”
She felt the stroke of his fingers on her cheek, but when she reached to brush his touch from her face, she saw that both of his hands were shoved inside of his pockets. A wicked smile crossed his face.
Tiny shivers tiptoed across her shoulders. He was fucking with her mind again - putting her off guard with his discomforting tricks. She should be pissed off, but he was so unapologetically bold, and she liked it more than a little bit. In fact, it was turning her on, and erotic imaginings flashed through her mind…the weight of his body crushing hers, fingers and tongues roaming one another’s landscape, the feel of his…
“Summer, I hope my honesty hasn’t made you uncomfortable.” The vampire peered deeply into her eyes, and then dropped his gaze, moving backward a single pace; the distance just enough to break the mounting sexual tension and put her back to rights.
Straightening her backbone, she mustered what was left of her courage. “Frankly, it does. It makes me a little uncomfortable.” Vampire or no vampire, she wasn’t someone he could play with. “And if we are being honest here, certain parts of your call made me uncomfortable too.” Summer squared her shoulders. “I have never met you before, and it seems you know a little too much about me.”
She tried to speak politely - didn’t want to piss him off - but despite of his head-turning allure, she was tiring of this cat and mouse game.
The vampire crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. “What’s the expression?” He raised his eyes in thought. “Oh yes. Tit for tat!” he exclaimed, snapping his finger and pointing at her. “It seems that you know a great deal about me as well. A great deal that I am not terribly comfortable with either.”
Summer swallowed, her throat feeling drier than mummy pussy, and she cursed herself for opening her big, stupid mouth on the air tonight. So much for trying to hide being a Perceiver; the cat was out of the bag. Perhaps this was his mission; he was an envoy from the undead community. A warning, a threat or two, and he would be on his way. If being a Perceiver put her in danger she couldn’t be sure, but her instincts detected no immediate threat from the vampire Lucien du Charmont.
She stared him squarely in the face. “I guess what we have here is a Mexican standoff.”
The vampire knitted his brow in confusion. “I don’t think I understand this Mexico standoff reference.”
Summer laughed and slapped her hand on his shoulder. “It’s a Mexican standoff, and it means that we are in a situation where no one can win…like two people who each have a gun pointed at the other’s head.” The vampire seized Summer’s hand from his shoulder, shocking her from her laughter. She tried to pull away, but he held a beggar’s grip on her arm. Recalculating her position in the situation, she wondered if she’d been too hasty with her trust, as a ribbon of perspiration trailed the length of her spine.
“Are you frightened of me?” he asked.
Her heart thumped against her ribcage as his grip constricted the blood flow, numbing her fingers. “Should I be?” she breathed.
“That depends.” He brought her wrist near his mouth. Summer wanted to cry out, but only a small croak came from her throat. “On whether I’m here to fuck you or feed on you.”
The vampire loosened his grip, and turned her hand to his mouth, placing a kiss in the center of her palm, and she found her entire body once again swooning to his touch. A sigh, wistful as an April breeze, sang from her lips, as she said dreamily, “I didn’t know those two options were mutually exclusive.”
The vampire briefly patted the back of her hand before releasing it from custody. “They aren’t; however, I am a man of chivalry.” Placing his right hand over his heart, he dipped his head in deference. “I never feed on what I fuck.” “Well then, my guess is that I have nothing to fear,” she bantered, tossing her hair and looking him in the eye.
His gaze roamed undaunted over her face and body, making her want to cover her breasts with her arms, as if she were naked.
“You are very beautiful, but you do not have the slightest idea of it.” A flush of heat inched up Summer’s neck. “Excuse me, Mr. du Charmont, but are you trying to seduce me?” “Yes, Mademoiselle, I am. Is it working?” Oh, it was working alright. Most men bought her a drink or two - if she was lucky - then tried to dry hump her on the dance floor and expected her to swoon at their feet. But this guy, he was old school - flowery phrases and smoldering gazes - which delighted and bewitched her. He knew how to make her feel special and admired, like something precious.
“Would you walk awhile with a lonely vampire and allow me the opportunity to know you better?” he asked.
Her heart yearned to go with him. Her head, on the other hand, needed some convincing. To be so close to one of these creatures; not only close, but also seduced by one of them, was like a waking dream. Was she perhaps so enraptured as to be mortally foolish? She felt like Alice, perched on the edge of the rabbit hole, wavering on whether to take the plunge into the dark, mysterious unknown, and she was almost there… almost there…almost there…
“I can’t. I have a show.” Summer protested, mentally pulling her foot from the hole at the last minute. Her work responsibilities were her last line of defense against his irresistible persuasion.
“Melody can handle the callers,” Lucien said hypnotically, hooking her arm in his. “She’s obviously into pain.”
“No, I can’t…really…” she pulled back toward the building, making one final weak protest.
“I promise you will be safe,” he reassured, his ever-changing eyes entreating her more urgently.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…famous last words.” The vampire’s eyes scanned her from head to toe like some unearthly MRI machine,
“Frankly, for feeding purposes, you are not at all my type,” he said.
Not his type? Should she be relieved or insulted? She supposed that if his plan was to attack her, he wouldn’t waste time with all of this coaxing. He could have pounced, fed, and tomorrow she’d be merely another missing person.
“Okay, you win,” she acquiesced. “But not too long or too far; I’m on the clock, you know.”
“As am I,” he said, indicating the moon which bowed towards the horizon.
Summer viewed the sinking orb, and her heart sank a bit too, as she realized that her time with the vampire was ticking away.
She allowed herself to be led, peering over her shoulder with a final fleeting look, as the exit door slowly swung closed and Alice plummeted into Wonderland.
***
As Summer strolled down the narrow street on the arm of Lucien du Charmont, the clip-clop of their footsteps echoed through the cement canyon. Inexplicably, she wasn’t the least bit frightened. She was fascinated.
Despite his preternaturally pale flesh, his touch was warm. With her peripheral vision, she tried to inconspicuously scrutinize him.
“Trying to determine how I differ from mortal men?”
Summer rapidly averted her gaze, embarrassed that he’d caught her looking.
“Here, let’s step under this streetlamp,” he continued, guiding her into the illumination. “Look at me, Summer, go on. Here, take my hand and examine it. Is it the hand of a man or a monster?”
She held his hand in hers. His long tapered fingers tickled the sensitive flesh on the underside of her wrist. The polished glass appearance of his fingernails glinted in the lunar light. Blue veins criss-crossed his hand, a blood-filled road map of watery streams coursing beneath his skin. A gold signet ring impressed with a fleur de lis adorned his index finger.
There was something so overtly sexual about him. She’d heard the term “animal magnetism” but never encountered it until now. He threw off this vibe which made her want to knock his gorgeous ass down on the pavement and fuck him six ways to Sunday.
“Mr. du Charmont,” she challenged, “what exactly do you want from me?”
The vampire brushed the back of his fingers along her neck, and it was as if a thousand spiders crawled down her spine.
Lucien gazed into her icy-blue eyes and wondered how he might possibly explain to her his desperate craving for companionship. Loneliness stalked him like a persistent panhandler, and too long he’d denied himself the warmth and comfort of mortals. He yearned to recall the willing touch of a human - to sense something other than fear seeping from their skin - to feel like a man again. He had once been mortal, and remembered all too well the terror that his kind struck into the hearts of the living.
In this woman he recognized a kindred spirit. She, too, dwelt in the seclusion of the darkened hours, reaching out to those she could never truly know. She fed on her callers’ miserable lives, as he might feed on their miserable blood, both solitary creatures with insatiable appetites to comprehend the void which existed in their lives.
When Summer had revealed that she was a Perceiver, he had known that he could wait no longer. He had to meet her.
Lucien was certain she would recognize him for what he was - that her curiosity would be piqued long enough for him to steal a few precious moments with her -sufficient time to coax her out of fear and into the light of knowledge.
“Please call me Lucien,” he implored, cradling her hand in his; her pulse beating determinedly beneath the supple flesh.
“Night after night I listen to people revealing their secrets to you,” he sighed. “I also need to unburden my soul, and I need you to be my confessor of sorts because,” he continued. “too long, I have walked in the shadows, keeping my secrets, both wonderful and terrible. I want to know you and for you to know me.” The subtle aroma of her female musk wafted into his nostrils, distracting him, his ultra-keen senses exposing what she concealed between her thighs. His cock stirred, nagging for release from the snug confines of his jeans. “You want to get to know me?” she asked, arching her eyebrow in suspicion.
Lucien placed his palms flat against the brick wall on either side of her shoulders. “Intimately,” he whispered. “I want to know what you think, what you feel, and how you taste when I kiss you. I want to learn what you like and what you don’t, what makes you laugh and what makes you weep.” He heard the beating of her heart quicken to a fevered pace. It fluttered against the silk of her white blouse as she swallowed hard, her trachea rising against the gulp.
“Why me?” her husky voice was barely audible.
If she hadn’t worn heels, he would have towered over her petite frame, but as he stood with his body inches from hers, his chest was even with the level of her eyes. He smelled her hair, and it was like crisp green apples. Lucien recalled the scent but not the taste.
He sighed deeply. “I chose you because you are a collector of stories.”
She shifted her stance, her knee lightly brushing against his thigh as she propped her foot on the wall behind her. “I chose you because I sensed that you would not fear me and because I don’t have to pretend I am something I am not with you.”
She was very quiet and attentive, her eyes focused on the movement of his lips.
Lucien cupped her chin, tilting her eyes towards his. “You already see what I am. I want you to see who I am.”
See me, he willed. Perceive beyond your fascination, and witness what lies at the heart of me.
A shallow pool of tears welled in her eyes, a salty drop running down her cheek. He caught it with the tip of his finger, his long-dead heart leaping with gratitude for that single tiny tear.
“I want to take you into my world and prove to you and to myself that I am more than my thirst, more than the murderer the world believes me to be.”
She knitted her brow, nodding her head in understanding. Lucien felt that his secrets would be safe with her. He longed for the absolution of the confessional, and she would be his confessor.
“I seek redemption for the things that I have done and those that I have failed to do.”
He detected no trace of judgment in her eyes. Her face bore only lovely compassion.
“Oh, Mr. du Charm...” She stumbled on the words as if she weren’t certain if she should speak his name.
“You are beautiful, and daring, and exciting to me.” He pressed his body nearer to hers, and it emboldened him when she did not protest or recoil.
“You are also solitary and thoughtful…and lonely. You see what others do not, and I hope that you may see something in me that I cannot.”
The warmth of her eyes reminded him of the warmth of the sun which had not touched his face since that fateful day so long ago. He recalled the bright colors of a long-forgotten garden of his youth, nestled in a green hillside above a wide, wandering stream. Summer - it was more than her name - it was her definition. With her, he felt as if he might once again experience that most glorious of seasons, where he basked in a sun-dappled meadow, the hum of bees buzzing from blossom to blossom, songbirds calling to their mates from distant branches…the entire world stirring with warmth and life.
Lucien felt a desire that he had not known for many lifetimes. He wanted to roll in verdant groves with this woman, to feel the cool dewiness of grass on his naked skin, to nestle in the gentleness of her form, inhaling her scent and savoring her flavors. Over the centuries, he had not denied himself female comforts, but it had always been only a necessary thing - lustful encounters serving to satisfy physical needs. This felt different. He wasn’t compelled to dive headlong into possessing her. He knew that, by consuming her blood, all of her secrets would be revealed, but he didn’t want them that way. He yearned to coax them from her slowly and deliberately - to touch that place where the human heart lies and to prove to himself that, somewhere, his heart still beat with a similar cadence.
Summer tried to wrap her mind around the emotions that she was feeling. This man was a monster - a hunter of humans. Yet she felt profound compassion and attraction. Was it the work of his unholy magic or something real?
Only A Good Man Will Do
Only A Good Man Will Do
https://amzn.to/2q7ovi4
Dee S. Knight
Chapter One
“Look! It’s Mr. Goodman.” The young boy stage-whispered but didn’t bother to hide his incredulity. “I wonder why he’s sitting out here? He looks like he’s sleeping.”
The man on the bench knew his long legs stretched almost to the middle of the sidewalk, and he judged the kid stood practically on the toes of his boots, exposed below worn and faded jeans. His bristled chin rested on his flannel-encased arms, folded high on his chest. “NASCAR: Then, Now, Forever” emblazoned the cap pulled low on his face, and his hair brushed the back of his neck and tickled his ears. He figured he didn’t look too bad for someone who’d been up all night traveling to New Hampshire from South Carolina, but he wasn’t what these rich kids were used to.
“No, it’s not, dufus. Mr. Goodman wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that in public, and this guy looks too old. Besides, the first form boys haven’t been let out yet, so Mr. Goodman’s still in class.”
Firm, commanding. This kid sounded older—at least nine or ten.
Damn. Mr. Goodman wouldn’t be caught dead looking like him? Had no one ever arrived on the campus of Westover Academy dressed in jeans and flannel? Maybe he was blazing a trail.
And old? Hell, as one of triplets, he and Daniel were the same thirty-six years of age. The kid obviously needed glasses.
Meanwhile, the man fought the urge to smile as he listened to his two examiners.
One of the boys advanced to bend over and peek under the brim of the cap. His breath smelled like butterscotch.
“It is too Mr. Goodman. He’s my dormitory master, so I guess I know what he looks like,” the less fervent voice intoned with more confidence.
“Is not! Why would Mr. Goodman be sleeping outdoors on a bench like a bum? Headmaster wouldn’t allow it and Mr. Goodman has too much pride to look so … so … shabby.”
Why, the little shit! He’d like to bend the twerp over his knee and—
“Quite right, Mr. Wainwright. I certainly would not be sleeping on a bench dressed thusly.”
The man heard at least one gasp and the rapid shuffling of feet.
“Ha! I told you, Torrington, that this wasn’t Mr.—”
“And you were quite right, Mr. Torrington, when you insisted this poor example of a gentleman is Mr. Goodman. It’s not your fault you have the wrong Mr. Goodman.”
There, Wainwright! Take that, you big bully. Jonah Goodman thumbed the brim of his cap up high on his head to gaze at the boys and the tall man—his mirror image as far as facial features were concerned—standing behind them.
The boys shifted their stares between Jonah and his brother, Daniel, who was dressed in a way that surely pleased even young Mr. Wainwright. Trim, short hair gleamed in the sun. Although the afternoon wore on, there was no five o’clock shadow marring the sharp angles of his jaw. A black, wool, three-piece suit covered a pristine shirt, with a blood red and gray striped tie knotted under the chin. A flowing dark blue silk gown, opened in the front, topped all of that. Three orange velvet chevrons piped in dark blue satin striped the gown’s sleeves. Last but not least, if the sun shone just right, they could all be blinded by the reflection from Daniel’s shoes. And the hell of it was, Jonah suspected Daniel dressed like this every day.
What a way to live!
***
“Gentlemen,” Daniel said, addressing the boys. “May I present my brother?”
“Hello, sir.” The taller boy bowed slightly. Wainwright tended to push the propriety envelope, but Daniel had always felt the boy’s heart was in the right place. Lucky for him he wasn’t as much of a bully as his father, though he had all the tendencies.
The smaller boy practically bounced with unconcealed excitement.
“Is your hat about the racing cars, sir?”
Daniel hid his smile. He loved Torrington. The boy’s enthusiasm for life and adventure always reminded him of Jonah, in fact. But, in all things, Westover Academy demanded proper behavior. He lightly touched the boy’s shoulder and pursed his lips when Torrington looked up. Having been reminded he’d once again stepped out of bounds, Torrington heaved a sigh before turning back to face Jonah , this time more sedately.
The object of Torrington’s curiosity stretched his arms over his head, then scraped his hand over his roughened chin and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Even sitting, Jonah and the boy didn’t meet gazes. Torrington was a long way from his growth spurt and his small size often earned him scorn even from those the same age. Another reason why Daniel had a soft spot for the boy.
“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you.” Like Wainwright, Torrington dropped a quick bow before staring longingly at Jonah’s cap.
“Hello, men,” Jonah said in his deep, clear voice. The voice that sounded exactly like Daniel’s, but without the cultured tone and sophisticated verbiage. He addressed Torrington. “What’s your name, son?”
For a moment, the boy looked puzzled. “Torrington, sir.”
Jonah smiled. “No, I mean your real name. Whaduz your mama call you?”
Torrington’s face brightened and he opened his mouth to speak.
“Sweetie pie,” Wainwright interrupted in a taunting tone.
“Mr. Wainwright, please go to the dining hall and inform Miss Nilson that I will be absent for the evening meal.” There was no sharpness to Daniel’s tone, but the dismissal was unambiguous.
Wainwright looked unhappy that he would miss the remainder of the conversation, but he said, “Yes, sir,” turned on his heel and marched off.
“Now, Mr. Torrington, I believe you were asked your name.” Daniel touched his shoulder again, this time as a sign of support and permission.
“Yes, sir.” Torrington looked first to Daniel with respect in his eyes, then to Jonah with open interest. “It’s Jeffrey, sir.”
“Well, Jeff,” Jonah replied, removing his hat and handing it to Torrington to study up close. “You were right about this hat. It is about the racing cars and stuff. Do you like racing?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” His eyes glowed and he touched the satin-stitched, embroidered words with reverence. “I’ve only been to a race once. My Uncle Neil took me when we visited family down in South Carolina.”
“Why, Jeff, I believe you were at the racetrack near where I live, in Darlington. Did you like the race?”
“It was … wonderful! So loud, and fast. And my uncle bought me hot dogs and candy and even let me sip his beer—”
He jerked around and stared at Daniel in wide-eyed shock.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
Daniel nodded sagely. “I can see why; it wasn’t a very good idea. But I don’t believe we need to say anything, do we Jonah?”
“Absolutely not.” Jonah winked at Torrington. “It’s a secret between us men.”
Torrington’s shoulders relaxed, and a grin crossed his face.
“Mr. Torrington, my brother is an ace mechanic. He works on those race cars. In fact, teams fight for him, he’s so good. So, when you visited Darlington, Mr. Goodman was most likely in the pits for one of the famous drivers.”
“Wow!” Torrington regarded Jonah with something close to hero worship. “Gosh, wow!”
Jonah chuckled. “I don’t do that work anymore, but I’d sure be happy to introduce you to a few of the drivers.”
He didn’t do that work any longer? Had Jonah left yet another position? The man had no staying power. Sighing inwardly, Daniel clucked his tongue.
“Yes, well. I suppose you’d better go along now. It’s almost time for lacrosse practice and you still must change.”
At the boy’s obvious reluctance to leave, Jonah added, “Hey, Jeff, you know how important sports are to us guys. Lacrosse is fun—you don’t want to be late.”
“No, sir—I mean yes, sir.”
He slowly handed back the cap and began to turn when he cast a quick glance at Daniel. Standing straight with hands folded in front, he looked at Jonah and politely said, “I enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Goodman.”
Jonah held out his hand, and, with another grin, Torrington took it for a manly shake.
“It was a pleasure, Jeff. You know, if I had another cap with me, I’d leave you this one. But I promise to send one up to you. And if your uncle ever brings you back to Darlington, let Daniel—uh, Mr. Goodman—know, and I’ll find some time to show you around.”
“Oh! Oh, sir.” In a rush, Torrington threw his arms around Jonah’s neck then dashed off before the surprised man could hug him back.
Jonah stood to face his brother squarely at last. He held out his hand again, and Daniel took it then pulled him up for a quick pat on the shoulders.
“What a kid,” Jonah said, watching Torrington flee across the grass fronting the administration building.
“His parents are deceased. His uncle has custody but he lives out in Oklahoma and the boy doesn't see him often.” Daniel sighed and shook his head. “He shouldn’t be running, and he especially shouldn’t be running on the grass. And if he was going to run on the grass, he shouldn’t be doing so in front of the administration building. He’s a good boy, but I see extra duties in Mr. Torrington’s future.”
“You won’t turn him in!”
“Lord, no! But there are eyes everywhere, and there are standards. At Westover Academy, as in life, there is a proper way to behave. Parents send their sons here for consistency, to have those standards of behavior applied and instilled, as well as to receive a first-class education.”
“Sounds boring as hell,” Jonah muttered.
“Yes, well…” Daniel turned away from the retreating figure of Torrington and led Jonah toward the dormitory where he had a kitchenette, a small sitting room, a bedroom, and bath in a building with thirty lower form boys.
Jonah jammed his hands in his pockets as he strolled beside Daniel. “What’s lacrosse, by the way?”
“A game with a net at the end of a stick. The ball moves down the field by being tossed from net to net. It can be pretty fast and sometimes kind of violent.”
Jonah’s face creased into a frown. “Jeff looked too young to be involved in something like that.”
“He’s not very good at it,” Daniel admitted, “but then none of the boys in his age group are, so they’re all equally safe. Mostly they miss the ball and spend their time simply running from one end of the field to the other.”
Jonah’s frown disappeared. Nothing bothered him for long. “That’s okay, then. You know, it’s pretty up here in the fall.”
“Yes, isn’t it? You came at the perfect time, too. Good thing you can stay with me. During foliage, when the leaves are turning, you can’t get a hotel room from here to Connecticut.”
“Oh, I can’t stay, Daniel. In fact, right after dinner I have to make the train to Boston so I can catch the six a.m. flight back to Charleston.”
Daniel stopped and spun toward his brother in amazement.
“What? Jonah, your note didn’t say you’d only be here a couple of hours. I would have made arrangements for someone to take my classes. We could have had more time. Jesus, it’s been two or three years since we’ve seen each other.”
With a concerted effort, he refrained from raking his hand through his hair, a nervous habit from childhood it had taken him years to break. His near relapse must be due to the emotion he felt seeing Jonah again. If it was true that a special bond existed between twins, then an even stronger tie bound the set of rare, identical triplets. And while he, Mark, and Jonah had gone their separate ways since high school—almost twenty years ago—he always felt incomplete when they weren’t in contact, as though a small piece of him was missing. Being with Jonah now made him realize how alone he was. Not for companionship, but for someone who understood the soul of him, without words or judgments or questions. No one did that but his brothers.
Jonah laid his hand on Daniel’s arm. “I know. I feel the same.” Their telepathic communication always surprised, and in some cases frightened, friends and relatives. But Jonah and Daniel took it as a matter of course.
They began walking again.
“What do you hear from Mark?” Daniel asked.
“Nothing much.” Jonah frowned. “Why don’t we stay in better touch?”
“Because we’re guys? I don’t know.”
“Well, as far as I know, Mark is still in Richmond, being a nerd.” Jonah flicked a leaf that had drifted into his hair to the ground.
“Still with that same finance company?”
“Hell, you probably know as much as I do. But gossiping about Mark is not why I came up. I came up to deliver a message. It’s something I didn’t think you should hear over the phone. It’s about Mom and Dad .”
Daniel stopped again and grabbed Jonah’s arm to halt his progress. “Oh, my God! They’re not—”
“No, sorry, no. Nothing like that.”
Daniel blew a breath of relief. “Then what could be so important you’d fly all the way to New Hampshire to tell me?”
Jonah grinned. “Well, Daniel, it’s like this.”
He pulled himself to his impressive full six feet two inches, clasped his hands in prayer and recited, “Friends, we are gathered here in the presence of God and this company, to witness—”
“What!?”
“Yeah! Isn’t it great? This November we can give thanks that our parents are finally getting married.”
Jonah, the idiot, grinned even wider, like a puppy who’d just been tossed a big old steak bone. Obviously, he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“And they’re not keeping it quiet, either. Nope, they’re doing it up right. Turns out, one of the men who knew Mom from her days in show business—”
Daniel closed his eyes. “She was a stripper, Jonah, not a movie star.”
Jonah flapped his hand. “Whatever. Anyway, he’s arranged for them to use the country club. And you know Dad’s old friends at the bank never held his troubles against him—”
“His troubles? He stole money, Jonah. It was only because the bank president liked Dad and the money was returned that he didn’t spend hard time in federal prison.”
Jonah put a hand on his shoulder, thinking to calm him, no doubt. Too late for that.
“I know. But the fact remains, Dad’s well-liked, so they’ve got a big bachelor party planned.”
The groan he heard had to have come from him. His brother was having too much fun to make a sound filled with such angst.
“They’ve scheduled the whole shebang for over the Thanksgiving holidays. I don’t have to work and you won’t have school, so we can both be there. The local paper’s already featured them in the society section. Couple Finally Ties Knot After Thirty-Seven Years Together. Sons Serve As Witnesses. You should see them, Daniel. They’re like kids.”
Yes, he could just imagine. The stripper and the embezzler. Sounded like a farce from a burlesque show. Daniel frowned. How was it Jonah didn’t see the ridiculousness of the situation? Daniel loved his parents dearly, but really, what was the point in getting married now? Why hadn’t they committed to each other when it could have served some purpose? Like before their sons were born.
Life had always been like this for him. Calling his parents free spirits would meet no contradiction. His mother had “danced” in the top clubs all over the country, and even in Paris. His dad had met her in New York where he was attending a finance conference. They always told him and his brothers that they’d fallen in love immediately. Their mom had followed their dad back to Lucky Strike, North Carolina where he handled business accounts in a regional bank, and a few months later, Daniel, Mark, and Jonah had entered the world.
Unfortunately, a few years after that, a bank audit had revealed their dad had been regularly skimming from two or three accounts. Not much, only enough to tide them over now and then. “Takes a lot a money to raise three strong ‘good men’,” their dad had declared at the trial, and their mom had smiled at his pun, telling the boys later that their father was a “good man” and so were they, and they should never forget it.
Their dad waved and made funny faces through the window of the bus taking him to Cabarrus Correctional Center in Mt. Pleasant. (“Doesn’t that sound like Daddy is going to have a wonderful time?” their mother cooed in their four-year-old ears. “Who wouldn’t want to go to a place called Mt. Pleasant?”)
In the meantime, their mom put Captain Crunch on the table by going back to New York, where she was hailed and declared to be “the greatest exotic dancer in three decades.”
As children, they thought their mama danced in Broadway plays with loud music and lots of men in the audience, and their dad was teaching arithmetic to bad men in prison and having fun in a happy place called Mt. Pleasant. Not until years later, when teased by kids at school, did they ever see a different view of their life. By then, they’d moved back to Lucky Strike, where their dad joined them in a pretty little double-wide next to an apple orchard. The boys were spoiled on hugs and kisses and lots of apple cobbler.
When kids taunted them about having a criminal father and stripper mother, and that their parents weren’t even married, the boys sat down and discussed what they knew to be true. Their dad, a smiling, hardworking man, managed the orchard next to them and three others besides, but still found time to toss a football and tell corny old jokes during dinner. Their beautiful, graceful mother made them laugh instead of cry when they had scrapes and bruises, and always sang when she cooked, using fancy little dance steps when she moved from the sink to the stove. They didn’t know for sure if their parents were married, but there was no question but that they loved each other, and Daniel, Mark, and Jonah.
Jonah settled the taunts with his fists or by brushing off the insults. Daniel blotted out the jeers by reciting a poem or the multiplication tables to himself and then withdrawing into books. Mark, genius as he was, might not even have understood the snide comments. The effect was that he looked down his nose at the bullies and blithely showed them up in every classroom subject.
As he withdrew from the taunts and jeers at school, Daniel withdrew from his family, too. Years later, he realized how different from his parents and brothers he’d become. Serious and more sensitive than he cared to admit, he found himself the lonely outsider in a family of carefree extroverts. Even Mark was more easygoing. By the time Daniel wanted to be more like them he didn’t know how, so he moved into a world where he felt more comfortable.
The strange thing was that, despite their past, his parents were well-liked—his dad respected and his mom embraced by the town. They were happy and still in love. Nothing had changed. So why did they feel the need to marry, something sure to draw gossip again? He knew no one would understand how he felt—what else was new?—but he couldn’t help wondering why now, when their actions would cause irreparable damage to his career, just as he was reaching the pinnacle of his dreams?
Daniel was so engrossed in his internal analysis that he almost missed the bombshell.
“The reporter said the story had enough appeal to attract international attention. Mom and Dad are both kind of famous, after all,” Jonah chuckled. “Won’t they get a kick out of that? Having their story on cable news?”
“No!”
Daniel hoped no one saw him, looking as though he’d had the worst shock of his life. Which, of course, he had.
The blood drained from his face, his eyes popped open wide, and so did his mouth. He’d probably laugh if he could see himself. Or maybe not. This was horrible.
His parents were getting married on international TV.
Chapter Two
Daniel drove Jonah to a restaurant in the village, not far from Westover Academy, and parked his Volvo in the cobblestone lot’s only vacant space. Judging from the building’s exterior, Freddie’s Tavern had once been a roomy clapboard home. The entrance led downstairs to a dark, paneled room. The after-work crowd gathered for drinks; some unwinding, others networking. A muted, wall-mounted TV aired a news program with stock market results ticker-taping the bottom of the screen.
Daniel led him past the bar to the hostess.
“Two for dinner, please.”
Jonah removed his NASCAR cap.
“Guess I’m underdressed, bro.”
“No, this is a casual place.”
Jonah knew better. In the south, flannel shirts and blue jeans worked in most restaurants. He’d even gone to church dressed this way, although only to the contemporary service. But this was New Hampshire, the heart of New England, home to bluebloods, not rednecks. He smiled, thinking of the picture he and Daniel presented. Daniel was the polished, finished version of Jonah, right down to the perfect eyebrows and flawless hair. Jonah had a scar over one eye from a childhood daredevil stunt, a mechanic’s rough hands, and nails severely trimmed to prevent them from collecting grease.
“Your waitress will be right with you.” The hostess stopped beside a small table draped in white linen and handed them tall menus. “The special this evening is veal scaloppini.”
“Thank you,” Daniel answered.
Jonah claimed the chair opposite him. “Veal scaloppini, eh? Sounds great.”
Daniel reached for the wine list with his perfectly manicured hand. “How about a nice—”
“Samuel Adams. I’m dying for a longneck.”
Clearing his throat, Daniel abandoned the wine menu. “They have it on draught.”
Jonah took the hint. God forbid Daniel be seen with his brother guzzling beer from a bottle.
“Great.”
The perky waitress, a college student he’d guess, arrived with a pitcher of iced water, and filled their goblets.
“You guys care for a drink before dinner?”
Daniel answered. “Two Sam Adams. I think we’re ready to order, too.”
They each ordered the special. The red-haired waitress collected their menus and disappeared.
“You ready to tell me why you were apoplectic earlier about our parents getting hitched?” Jonah asked.
Daniel’s eyes widened and he glanced around the room.
“Lower your voice, please.”
Jonah choked back laughter at the stricken look on his brother’s face.
“Why?”
“Discretion is important at a place like Westover. What would the parents say, or the board of directors, if they—”
“If they what? See your parents married on television? It has nothing to do with you or your proper conduct. You’re just attending the wedding—”
“I can’t. You don’t understand the situation, Jonah.”
Daniel exhaled a long, weary sigh.
Jonah almost sympathized with his brother’s distress. Almost.
“You’re right, I don’t understand. The three of us are their only children. They love us unconditionally. How can you even consider skipping out on something so important to them?”
“And I love them unconditionally. My not attending the wedding of the century isn’t going to change that, and they know it. Besides, it’s assumed that my parents are married. That is the proper order of things in a civilized society.”
He stared off into space for a moment, then looked back.
“Furthermore, I found out last month that I’m being considered for the position of headmaster of the school. Headmaster! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked—”
“To become a class A prig? Christ, Daniel, listen to yourself.”
“No, you listen. I love Mom and Dad, and I know they’re good people. But the perception of them is the issue. Dad may be the most lovable man in the world, but is that going to be the focus of the TV reports? No, it’ll be that, no matter what spin you put on it, he’s still an ex-con embezzler.”
“He paid his debt to society—”
“And while I’d vote for Mom to be Mother of the Year, she was a stripper, and a famous one. You can’t expect that’s going to be overlooked.”
“Exotic dancer. She also gave birth to us—”
“Without benefit of a marriage license, which makes the three of us illegitimate. And there we’ll be, smiling in the background like Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and Tweedlenerd. Their backgrounds and our legitimacy are now going to be blasted internationally.”
Was this guy for real? Is this what happened when they stayed apart too long? Jonah needed to spend quality time with his anal-retentive brother, loosen him up a bit.
“Bastards, huh? Well, it makes us lucky bastards, if you ask me. Who could ask for more loving, devoted parents?”
“I don’t argue that. But why the spectacle? Why, after almost thirty-seven years, do they have to publicly flaunt their indiscretion and embarrass—” Daniel stopped, as if sensing he’d said too much.
“Are you saying you’re ashamed of our parents?”
“I’m not! Not exactly.” Daniel sighed and rubbed his temple. “It’s complicated. There are things you don’t—”
The waitress saved Daniel from answering further by delivering their drinks. She placed two pilsner glasses at each place setting—Happy Hour.
Jonah needed both beers. One to quench his thirst and one to wash down the load of crap Daniel had just fed him. What had happened to the fun-loving brother who’d shared so many adventures with him? They’d never been well-off financially as kids, but they had a wealth of good memories. Was it too late to recapture that camaraderie? He had to try. No way he’d disappoint Mom and Dad with a no-show brother.
Changing his approach, Jonah said, “She sort of looks like Kelly Shepherd, doesn’t she?”
“Who, the waitress?”
“Yeah. Picture her with lighter, longer hair, and eyeglasses.”
“Kelly Shepherd. You mean our senior class president, back in high school? Jesus, I hardly remember anyone from high school.”
No surprise there. Daniel seemed to have abandoned everything from his past. He hadn’t been home to Lucky Strike, North Carolina, since two years ago last Christmas.
Jonah, on the other hand, remembered Kelly too well. She’d never forgiven him, not that he blamed her. Or had she? Jonah had been home for graduation, but she’d disappeared soon thereafter. He hadn’t had contact with her since. For all he knew, she was probably dumpy and dowdy now.
Daniel snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it! Kelly Shepherd! Strawberry blond hair, big green eyes, and a nice set of—”
“Yeah. Don’t forget the freckles and skinny legs.”
Daniel grinned.
“You didn’t complain about her skinny legs when you two were going together. You took her to the homecoming game, right? And the dance after?”
So, he did remember.
“We double-dated.”
Daniel sipped his beer.
“We had just the one car, if you could classify that heap as a car.”
“Heap? It was a one-of-a-kind classic. Nobody else had an AMC Pacer with a 327 Corvette engine. Manual fuel injection, too. That baby would run!”
“When it ran at all.”
Jonah chuckled.
“Okay, maybe it was temperamental, but we had a lot of good times in that Pacer.”
“We had a lot of fun building it, too,” Daniel said. “We were the star pupils in shop class.”
“The three of us are a good team.”
Or were. He hoped the trip down memory lane would rekindle Daniel’s nostalgia for family and home.
“Now that I think about it, you had all the fun that particular night. Left me stranded with Marilyn Taylor at the homecoming dance. Wasn’t that the night you ... you know.”
“Lost my cherry?”
Jonah hid a grin behind his pilsner glass at Daniel’s grimace.
“That’s one way of putting it. With Kelly Shepherd. Right, it’s coming back to me now. Later, I begged you for details and you claimed there wasn’t much to it.”
That was the problem. There hadn’t been much to it. Thanks to his inexperience and hormones, Jonah managed to score but only after fumbling. He’d been too embarrassed to face Kelly afterward. She’d called him a dickhead, which shocked the hell out of him since she never spoke crudely, further proof of how much he’d upset her. Or disappointed her. He’d never been clear on her exact feelings since he’d dropped out of school shortly after the fiasco and moved down to South Carolina to live with his uncle.
He’d all but forgotten her until he’d seen the resemblance in the tavern waitress. Who was he kidding? He could never forget Kelly Shepherd. Even after all these years and a number of women. Although his sexual prowess had improved, his women had not. None held a candle to the intelligent, pretty Kelly. Adding insult to injury, he’d not only lost a high school sweetheart but a good friend, too.
“Whatever happened to you two, anyway? At one point you were inseparable—until after homecoming.”
Jonah took his time, drinking a long swallow of his Sam Adams.
“I think we were just too immature for sex. Of course, I didn’t believe so at the time. So what about Marilyn Taylor? You took her to the prom, too, right?”
“We were friends. I was comfortable around her because we weren’t trying to impress each other. Less pressure. And who did Mark take?”
“No one. Mark wasn’t into things like school dances. By then he was concerned with theoretical mathematics and unconcerned with girls.”
“That’s right.” Daniel rotated his pilsner, drawing a line in the condensation. “You know I was jealous as hell of you.”
“No, I didn’t know. Why?”
“You got laid first.” His grin broadened. “You and I may be identical, but I never had your smooth charm with the ladies.”
Jonah ignored the charm reference. “You have anyone special up here?”
“No. It’s not easy. I don’t exactly see a lot of women at a boys’ academy.”
“You get lonely?”
Daniel held his gaze. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do. That’s why I’m asking. Over the years it seems we go through various stages in life at about the same time.” Jonah paused to give his brother a minute to tune in. “You are lonely without a woman. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit it. The living quarters at the school are great, don’t get me wrong. But how do you entertain a lady friend in a dormitory full of boys?”
“Major Payne did it.”
“Who?”
Jonah sighed. He doubted Daniel knew Damon Wayans or any of his films.
“It’s a movie. Never mind. I have my own place but can’t seem to find the right woman.”
“Really, Jonah. I’ve watched NASCAR. You have nearly as much celebrity as the drivers. Women throw their motel keys at you.”
An exaggeration, but Jonah wasn’t going to debate the issue. He didn’t want his brother’s envy. He wanted him to come home for Thanksgiving and the wedding, to be part of the family again. Besides, he’d outgrown the NASCAR groupies scene.
“Threw their keys. I must be getting pickier in my old age.”
“Speak for yourself,” Daniel said. “I’m not admitting to middle age yet, and certainly not to old age.”
But Daniel already seemed far too old.
“Not middle age? You drive a Volvo station wagon, for Chrissakes.”
What pushed Daniel to be staid and proper? True, he’d been the more serious brother growing up, but never Volvo-driving-serious. At least he could’ve bought a Jaguar or something a tad younger and sportier.
Daniel shook his head. “I see you’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Judging people by their vehicles. Not everyone follows your automotive mentality.”
“They don’t?” Jonah deadpanned.
Daniel shook his head. “And why have you given up NASCAR? I thought you loved it.”
“Been there, done that. Ready to try something new.”
“One of these days you’ll have to commit to something, brother.”
“Maybe, but not today.”
Their dinner arrived, derailing further conversation about women, family, cars, or old girlfriends. Surreptitiously checking his watch, Jonah renewed his determination to lure Daniel to their parents’ wedding. He’d have to be careful, though. Daniel could be a stubborn ass sometimes. Just like his brothers.
***
With a disquiet feeling, Daniel dropped Jonah off at the station just minutes before the train for Boston arrived.
“Take care,” he said. “Let’s not go so long without talking.”
Jonah took him in a hug and slapped his back.
“Let’s not go so long without seeing each other. Like next month at home at Thanksgiving.”
Daniel frowned. “Don’t count on it, Jonah. But don’t worry. I’ll call Mom and Dad and let them know I won’t be there. You came up to do the asking. I won’t make you the bearer of bad news.”
“Daniel, I’m not above bribery to get you there. Or guilting you.”
Daniel snorted a laugh. “You can try but I daresay it won’t work.”
Jonah stared at his brother for long seconds and then shrugged. “Well, can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Nope, can’t blame you. I hope eventually you can understand my side of things.”
The look on his brother’s face was all the evidence he needed to know that, true to form, Jonah would never understand. Fuck it. He could only be who he could be.
The train pulled into the station, initiating a spurt of people rushing toward the doors.
“Better get on and get a good seat. Hope you make all your connections for your flight home.”
Now that he knew where he stood in Jonah’s estimation, Daniel was ready for his brother to hurry back to his part of the country and leave Daniel in his. Obviously they were worlds apart, and never the twain shall meet.
***
“Mr. Goodman?”
Daniel looked up from his desk where he sat grading papers.
“Mr. Torrington, you should be asleep. Do you feel unwell?”
He rose and went to the open doorway where Jeffrey Torrington stood, looking a mess. His slippers were on the wrong feet and his bathrobe hung half open, showing that his pajama top was buttoned incorrectly. Daniel sighed. Some housemasters would give him demerits for sloppiness, even around the dorm, and maybe for the older boys—those the age of his students—it would be warranted. But not for Jeffrey. He was just a second grader, for God’s sake. To his way of thinking, the kids his age shouldn’t even be in a residential school. They should still be home with their mothers.
Torrington shook his head. “I’m just worried, sir.”
“What are you worried about, Mr. Torrington?”
Daniel opened the boy’s robe and rebuttoned his pajama top. Then he retied the robe and led Torrington in to sit on the sofa where he reversed his slippers.
“Do you think Mr. Goodman will forget to send the NASCAR cap, sir?”
That was what worried the kid?
“I don’t think so, Mr. Torrington. He won’t be home for a day or two but he’s good about fulfilling his promises. Don’t you worry. He’ll send the cap.”
The boy heaved a sigh and twisted his hands in his lap.
“Thank you, sir!”
Daniel fought a smile.
“Think you can sleep now?”
Jeffrey nodded so hard he nearly knocked himself off the edge of the sofa.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go and do it right now!”
“Good man! I’ll see you at breakfast then.”
The boy tore off up the hallway.
“No running,” Daniel murmured, knowing it did no good. The boy was just a … boy, after all.
Settling at the desk again, he continued on with his paperwork.
https://amzn.to/2q7ovi4
Dee S. Knight
Chapter One
“Look! It’s Mr. Goodman.” The young boy stage-whispered but didn’t bother to hide his incredulity. “I wonder why he’s sitting out here? He looks like he’s sleeping.”
The man on the bench knew his long legs stretched almost to the middle of the sidewalk, and he judged the kid stood practically on the toes of his boots, exposed below worn and faded jeans. His bristled chin rested on his flannel-encased arms, folded high on his chest. “NASCAR: Then, Now, Forever” emblazoned the cap pulled low on his face, and his hair brushed the back of his neck and tickled his ears. He figured he didn’t look too bad for someone who’d been up all night traveling to New Hampshire from South Carolina, but he wasn’t what these rich kids were used to.
“No, it’s not, dufus. Mr. Goodman wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that in public, and this guy looks too old. Besides, the first form boys haven’t been let out yet, so Mr. Goodman’s still in class.”
Firm, commanding. This kid sounded older—at least nine or ten.
Damn. Mr. Goodman wouldn’t be caught dead looking like him? Had no one ever arrived on the campus of Westover Academy dressed in jeans and flannel? Maybe he was blazing a trail.
And old? Hell, as one of triplets, he and Daniel were the same thirty-six years of age. The kid obviously needed glasses.
Meanwhile, the man fought the urge to smile as he listened to his two examiners.
One of the boys advanced to bend over and peek under the brim of the cap. His breath smelled like butterscotch.
“It is too Mr. Goodman. He’s my dormitory master, so I guess I know what he looks like,” the less fervent voice intoned with more confidence.
“Is not! Why would Mr. Goodman be sleeping outdoors on a bench like a bum? Headmaster wouldn’t allow it and Mr. Goodman has too much pride to look so … so … shabby.”
Why, the little shit! He’d like to bend the twerp over his knee and—
“Quite right, Mr. Wainwright. I certainly would not be sleeping on a bench dressed thusly.”
The man heard at least one gasp and the rapid shuffling of feet.
“Ha! I told you, Torrington, that this wasn’t Mr.—”
“And you were quite right, Mr. Torrington, when you insisted this poor example of a gentleman is Mr. Goodman. It’s not your fault you have the wrong Mr. Goodman.”
There, Wainwright! Take that, you big bully. Jonah Goodman thumbed the brim of his cap up high on his head to gaze at the boys and the tall man—his mirror image as far as facial features were concerned—standing behind them.
The boys shifted their stares between Jonah and his brother, Daniel, who was dressed in a way that surely pleased even young Mr. Wainwright. Trim, short hair gleamed in the sun. Although the afternoon wore on, there was no five o’clock shadow marring the sharp angles of his jaw. A black, wool, three-piece suit covered a pristine shirt, with a blood red and gray striped tie knotted under the chin. A flowing dark blue silk gown, opened in the front, topped all of that. Three orange velvet chevrons piped in dark blue satin striped the gown’s sleeves. Last but not least, if the sun shone just right, they could all be blinded by the reflection from Daniel’s shoes. And the hell of it was, Jonah suspected Daniel dressed like this every day.
What a way to live!
***
“Gentlemen,” Daniel said, addressing the boys. “May I present my brother?”
“Hello, sir.” The taller boy bowed slightly. Wainwright tended to push the propriety envelope, but Daniel had always felt the boy’s heart was in the right place. Lucky for him he wasn’t as much of a bully as his father, though he had all the tendencies.
The smaller boy practically bounced with unconcealed excitement.
“Is your hat about the racing cars, sir?”
Daniel hid his smile. He loved Torrington. The boy’s enthusiasm for life and adventure always reminded him of Jonah, in fact. But, in all things, Westover Academy demanded proper behavior. He lightly touched the boy’s shoulder and pursed his lips when Torrington looked up. Having been reminded he’d once again stepped out of bounds, Torrington heaved a sigh before turning back to face Jonah , this time more sedately.
The object of Torrington’s curiosity stretched his arms over his head, then scraped his hand over his roughened chin and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Even sitting, Jonah and the boy didn’t meet gazes. Torrington was a long way from his growth spurt and his small size often earned him scorn even from those the same age. Another reason why Daniel had a soft spot for the boy.
“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you.” Like Wainwright, Torrington dropped a quick bow before staring longingly at Jonah’s cap.
“Hello, men,” Jonah said in his deep, clear voice. The voice that sounded exactly like Daniel’s, but without the cultured tone and sophisticated verbiage. He addressed Torrington. “What’s your name, son?”
For a moment, the boy looked puzzled. “Torrington, sir.”
Jonah smiled. “No, I mean your real name. Whaduz your mama call you?”
Torrington’s face brightened and he opened his mouth to speak.
“Sweetie pie,” Wainwright interrupted in a taunting tone.
“Mr. Wainwright, please go to the dining hall and inform Miss Nilson that I will be absent for the evening meal.” There was no sharpness to Daniel’s tone, but the dismissal was unambiguous.
Wainwright looked unhappy that he would miss the remainder of the conversation, but he said, “Yes, sir,” turned on his heel and marched off.
“Now, Mr. Torrington, I believe you were asked your name.” Daniel touched his shoulder again, this time as a sign of support and permission.
“Yes, sir.” Torrington looked first to Daniel with respect in his eyes, then to Jonah with open interest. “It’s Jeffrey, sir.”
“Well, Jeff,” Jonah replied, removing his hat and handing it to Torrington to study up close. “You were right about this hat. It is about the racing cars and stuff. Do you like racing?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” His eyes glowed and he touched the satin-stitched, embroidered words with reverence. “I’ve only been to a race once. My Uncle Neil took me when we visited family down in South Carolina.”
“Why, Jeff, I believe you were at the racetrack near where I live, in Darlington. Did you like the race?”
“It was … wonderful! So loud, and fast. And my uncle bought me hot dogs and candy and even let me sip his beer—”
He jerked around and stared at Daniel in wide-eyed shock.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
Daniel nodded sagely. “I can see why; it wasn’t a very good idea. But I don’t believe we need to say anything, do we Jonah?”
“Absolutely not.” Jonah winked at Torrington. “It’s a secret between us men.”
Torrington’s shoulders relaxed, and a grin crossed his face.
“Mr. Torrington, my brother is an ace mechanic. He works on those race cars. In fact, teams fight for him, he’s so good. So, when you visited Darlington, Mr. Goodman was most likely in the pits for one of the famous drivers.”
“Wow!” Torrington regarded Jonah with something close to hero worship. “Gosh, wow!”
Jonah chuckled. “I don’t do that work anymore, but I’d sure be happy to introduce you to a few of the drivers.”
He didn’t do that work any longer? Had Jonah left yet another position? The man had no staying power. Sighing inwardly, Daniel clucked his tongue.
“Yes, well. I suppose you’d better go along now. It’s almost time for lacrosse practice and you still must change.”
At the boy’s obvious reluctance to leave, Jonah added, “Hey, Jeff, you know how important sports are to us guys. Lacrosse is fun—you don’t want to be late.”
“No, sir—I mean yes, sir.”
He slowly handed back the cap and began to turn when he cast a quick glance at Daniel. Standing straight with hands folded in front, he looked at Jonah and politely said, “I enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Goodman.”
Jonah held out his hand, and, with another grin, Torrington took it for a manly shake.
“It was a pleasure, Jeff. You know, if I had another cap with me, I’d leave you this one. But I promise to send one up to you. And if your uncle ever brings you back to Darlington, let Daniel—uh, Mr. Goodman—know, and I’ll find some time to show you around.”
“Oh! Oh, sir.” In a rush, Torrington threw his arms around Jonah’s neck then dashed off before the surprised man could hug him back.
Jonah stood to face his brother squarely at last. He held out his hand again, and Daniel took it then pulled him up for a quick pat on the shoulders.
“What a kid,” Jonah said, watching Torrington flee across the grass fronting the administration building.
“His parents are deceased. His uncle has custody but he lives out in Oklahoma and the boy doesn't see him often.” Daniel sighed and shook his head. “He shouldn’t be running, and he especially shouldn’t be running on the grass. And if he was going to run on the grass, he shouldn’t be doing so in front of the administration building. He’s a good boy, but I see extra duties in Mr. Torrington’s future.”
“You won’t turn him in!”
“Lord, no! But there are eyes everywhere, and there are standards. At Westover Academy, as in life, there is a proper way to behave. Parents send their sons here for consistency, to have those standards of behavior applied and instilled, as well as to receive a first-class education.”
“Sounds boring as hell,” Jonah muttered.
“Yes, well…” Daniel turned away from the retreating figure of Torrington and led Jonah toward the dormitory where he had a kitchenette, a small sitting room, a bedroom, and bath in a building with thirty lower form boys.
Jonah jammed his hands in his pockets as he strolled beside Daniel. “What’s lacrosse, by the way?”
“A game with a net at the end of a stick. The ball moves down the field by being tossed from net to net. It can be pretty fast and sometimes kind of violent.”
Jonah’s face creased into a frown. “Jeff looked too young to be involved in something like that.”
“He’s not very good at it,” Daniel admitted, “but then none of the boys in his age group are, so they’re all equally safe. Mostly they miss the ball and spend their time simply running from one end of the field to the other.”
Jonah’s frown disappeared. Nothing bothered him for long. “That’s okay, then. You know, it’s pretty up here in the fall.”
“Yes, isn’t it? You came at the perfect time, too. Good thing you can stay with me. During foliage, when the leaves are turning, you can’t get a hotel room from here to Connecticut.”
“Oh, I can’t stay, Daniel. In fact, right after dinner I have to make the train to Boston so I can catch the six a.m. flight back to Charleston.”
Daniel stopped and spun toward his brother in amazement.
“What? Jonah, your note didn’t say you’d only be here a couple of hours. I would have made arrangements for someone to take my classes. We could have had more time. Jesus, it’s been two or three years since we’ve seen each other.”
With a concerted effort, he refrained from raking his hand through his hair, a nervous habit from childhood it had taken him years to break. His near relapse must be due to the emotion he felt seeing Jonah again. If it was true that a special bond existed between twins, then an even stronger tie bound the set of rare, identical triplets. And while he, Mark, and Jonah had gone their separate ways since high school—almost twenty years ago—he always felt incomplete when they weren’t in contact, as though a small piece of him was missing. Being with Jonah now made him realize how alone he was. Not for companionship, but for someone who understood the soul of him, without words or judgments or questions. No one did that but his brothers.
Jonah laid his hand on Daniel’s arm. “I know. I feel the same.” Their telepathic communication always surprised, and in some cases frightened, friends and relatives. But Jonah and Daniel took it as a matter of course.
They began walking again.
“What do you hear from Mark?” Daniel asked.
“Nothing much.” Jonah frowned. “Why don’t we stay in better touch?”
“Because we’re guys? I don’t know.”
“Well, as far as I know, Mark is still in Richmond, being a nerd.” Jonah flicked a leaf that had drifted into his hair to the ground.
“Still with that same finance company?”
“Hell, you probably know as much as I do. But gossiping about Mark is not why I came up. I came up to deliver a message. It’s something I didn’t think you should hear over the phone. It’s about Mom and Dad .”
Daniel stopped again and grabbed Jonah’s arm to halt his progress. “Oh, my God! They’re not—”
“No, sorry, no. Nothing like that.”
Daniel blew a breath of relief. “Then what could be so important you’d fly all the way to New Hampshire to tell me?”
Jonah grinned. “Well, Daniel, it’s like this.”
He pulled himself to his impressive full six feet two inches, clasped his hands in prayer and recited, “Friends, we are gathered here in the presence of God and this company, to witness—”
“What!?”
“Yeah! Isn’t it great? This November we can give thanks that our parents are finally getting married.”
Jonah, the idiot, grinned even wider, like a puppy who’d just been tossed a big old steak bone. Obviously, he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“And they’re not keeping it quiet, either. Nope, they’re doing it up right. Turns out, one of the men who knew Mom from her days in show business—”
Daniel closed his eyes. “She was a stripper, Jonah, not a movie star.”
Jonah flapped his hand. “Whatever. Anyway, he’s arranged for them to use the country club. And you know Dad’s old friends at the bank never held his troubles against him—”
“His troubles? He stole money, Jonah. It was only because the bank president liked Dad and the money was returned that he didn’t spend hard time in federal prison.”
Jonah put a hand on his shoulder, thinking to calm him, no doubt. Too late for that.
“I know. But the fact remains, Dad’s well-liked, so they’ve got a big bachelor party planned.”
The groan he heard had to have come from him. His brother was having too much fun to make a sound filled with such angst.
“They’ve scheduled the whole shebang for over the Thanksgiving holidays. I don’t have to work and you won’t have school, so we can both be there. The local paper’s already featured them in the society section. Couple Finally Ties Knot After Thirty-Seven Years Together. Sons Serve As Witnesses. You should see them, Daniel. They’re like kids.”
Yes, he could just imagine. The stripper and the embezzler. Sounded like a farce from a burlesque show. Daniel frowned. How was it Jonah didn’t see the ridiculousness of the situation? Daniel loved his parents dearly, but really, what was the point in getting married now? Why hadn’t they committed to each other when it could have served some purpose? Like before their sons were born.
Life had always been like this for him. Calling his parents free spirits would meet no contradiction. His mother had “danced” in the top clubs all over the country, and even in Paris. His dad had met her in New York where he was attending a finance conference. They always told him and his brothers that they’d fallen in love immediately. Their mom had followed their dad back to Lucky Strike, North Carolina where he handled business accounts in a regional bank, and a few months later, Daniel, Mark, and Jonah had entered the world.
Unfortunately, a few years after that, a bank audit had revealed their dad had been regularly skimming from two or three accounts. Not much, only enough to tide them over now and then. “Takes a lot a money to raise three strong ‘good men’,” their dad had declared at the trial, and their mom had smiled at his pun, telling the boys later that their father was a “good man” and so were they, and they should never forget it.
Their dad waved and made funny faces through the window of the bus taking him to Cabarrus Correctional Center in Mt. Pleasant. (“Doesn’t that sound like Daddy is going to have a wonderful time?” their mother cooed in their four-year-old ears. “Who wouldn’t want to go to a place called Mt. Pleasant?”)
In the meantime, their mom put Captain Crunch on the table by going back to New York, where she was hailed and declared to be “the greatest exotic dancer in three decades.”
As children, they thought their mama danced in Broadway plays with loud music and lots of men in the audience, and their dad was teaching arithmetic to bad men in prison and having fun in a happy place called Mt. Pleasant. Not until years later, when teased by kids at school, did they ever see a different view of their life. By then, they’d moved back to Lucky Strike, where their dad joined them in a pretty little double-wide next to an apple orchard. The boys were spoiled on hugs and kisses and lots of apple cobbler.
When kids taunted them about having a criminal father and stripper mother, and that their parents weren’t even married, the boys sat down and discussed what they knew to be true. Their dad, a smiling, hardworking man, managed the orchard next to them and three others besides, but still found time to toss a football and tell corny old jokes during dinner. Their beautiful, graceful mother made them laugh instead of cry when they had scrapes and bruises, and always sang when she cooked, using fancy little dance steps when she moved from the sink to the stove. They didn’t know for sure if their parents were married, but there was no question but that they loved each other, and Daniel, Mark, and Jonah.
Jonah settled the taunts with his fists or by brushing off the insults. Daniel blotted out the jeers by reciting a poem or the multiplication tables to himself and then withdrawing into books. Mark, genius as he was, might not even have understood the snide comments. The effect was that he looked down his nose at the bullies and blithely showed them up in every classroom subject.
As he withdrew from the taunts and jeers at school, Daniel withdrew from his family, too. Years later, he realized how different from his parents and brothers he’d become. Serious and more sensitive than he cared to admit, he found himself the lonely outsider in a family of carefree extroverts. Even Mark was more easygoing. By the time Daniel wanted to be more like them he didn’t know how, so he moved into a world where he felt more comfortable.
The strange thing was that, despite their past, his parents were well-liked—his dad respected and his mom embraced by the town. They were happy and still in love. Nothing had changed. So why did they feel the need to marry, something sure to draw gossip again? He knew no one would understand how he felt—what else was new?—but he couldn’t help wondering why now, when their actions would cause irreparable damage to his career, just as he was reaching the pinnacle of his dreams?
Daniel was so engrossed in his internal analysis that he almost missed the bombshell.
“The reporter said the story had enough appeal to attract international attention. Mom and Dad are both kind of famous, after all,” Jonah chuckled. “Won’t they get a kick out of that? Having their story on cable news?”
“No!”
Daniel hoped no one saw him, looking as though he’d had the worst shock of his life. Which, of course, he had.
The blood drained from his face, his eyes popped open wide, and so did his mouth. He’d probably laugh if he could see himself. Or maybe not. This was horrible.
His parents were getting married on international TV.
Chapter Two
Daniel drove Jonah to a restaurant in the village, not far from Westover Academy, and parked his Volvo in the cobblestone lot’s only vacant space. Judging from the building’s exterior, Freddie’s Tavern had once been a roomy clapboard home. The entrance led downstairs to a dark, paneled room. The after-work crowd gathered for drinks; some unwinding, others networking. A muted, wall-mounted TV aired a news program with stock market results ticker-taping the bottom of the screen.
Daniel led him past the bar to the hostess.
“Two for dinner, please.”
Jonah removed his NASCAR cap.
“Guess I’m underdressed, bro.”
“No, this is a casual place.”
Jonah knew better. In the south, flannel shirts and blue jeans worked in most restaurants. He’d even gone to church dressed this way, although only to the contemporary service. But this was New Hampshire, the heart of New England, home to bluebloods, not rednecks. He smiled, thinking of the picture he and Daniel presented. Daniel was the polished, finished version of Jonah, right down to the perfect eyebrows and flawless hair. Jonah had a scar over one eye from a childhood daredevil stunt, a mechanic’s rough hands, and nails severely trimmed to prevent them from collecting grease.
“Your waitress will be right with you.” The hostess stopped beside a small table draped in white linen and handed them tall menus. “The special this evening is veal scaloppini.”
“Thank you,” Daniel answered.
Jonah claimed the chair opposite him. “Veal scaloppini, eh? Sounds great.”
Daniel reached for the wine list with his perfectly manicured hand. “How about a nice—”
“Samuel Adams. I’m dying for a longneck.”
Clearing his throat, Daniel abandoned the wine menu. “They have it on draught.”
Jonah took the hint. God forbid Daniel be seen with his brother guzzling beer from a bottle.
“Great.”
The perky waitress, a college student he’d guess, arrived with a pitcher of iced water, and filled their goblets.
“You guys care for a drink before dinner?”
Daniel answered. “Two Sam Adams. I think we’re ready to order, too.”
They each ordered the special. The red-haired waitress collected their menus and disappeared.
“You ready to tell me why you were apoplectic earlier about our parents getting hitched?” Jonah asked.
Daniel’s eyes widened and he glanced around the room.
“Lower your voice, please.”
Jonah choked back laughter at the stricken look on his brother’s face.
“Why?”
“Discretion is important at a place like Westover. What would the parents say, or the board of directors, if they—”
“If they what? See your parents married on television? It has nothing to do with you or your proper conduct. You’re just attending the wedding—”
“I can’t. You don’t understand the situation, Jonah.”
Daniel exhaled a long, weary sigh.
Jonah almost sympathized with his brother’s distress. Almost.
“You’re right, I don’t understand. The three of us are their only children. They love us unconditionally. How can you even consider skipping out on something so important to them?”
“And I love them unconditionally. My not attending the wedding of the century isn’t going to change that, and they know it. Besides, it’s assumed that my parents are married. That is the proper order of things in a civilized society.”
He stared off into space for a moment, then looked back.
“Furthermore, I found out last month that I’m being considered for the position of headmaster of the school. Headmaster! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked—”
“To become a class A prig? Christ, Daniel, listen to yourself.”
“No, you listen. I love Mom and Dad, and I know they’re good people. But the perception of them is the issue. Dad may be the most lovable man in the world, but is that going to be the focus of the TV reports? No, it’ll be that, no matter what spin you put on it, he’s still an ex-con embezzler.”
“He paid his debt to society—”
“And while I’d vote for Mom to be Mother of the Year, she was a stripper, and a famous one. You can’t expect that’s going to be overlooked.”
“Exotic dancer. She also gave birth to us—”
“Without benefit of a marriage license, which makes the three of us illegitimate. And there we’ll be, smiling in the background like Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and Tweedlenerd. Their backgrounds and our legitimacy are now going to be blasted internationally.”
Was this guy for real? Is this what happened when they stayed apart too long? Jonah needed to spend quality time with his anal-retentive brother, loosen him up a bit.
“Bastards, huh? Well, it makes us lucky bastards, if you ask me. Who could ask for more loving, devoted parents?”
“I don’t argue that. But why the spectacle? Why, after almost thirty-seven years, do they have to publicly flaunt their indiscretion and embarrass—” Daniel stopped, as if sensing he’d said too much.
“Are you saying you’re ashamed of our parents?”
“I’m not! Not exactly.” Daniel sighed and rubbed his temple. “It’s complicated. There are things you don’t—”
The waitress saved Daniel from answering further by delivering their drinks. She placed two pilsner glasses at each place setting—Happy Hour.
Jonah needed both beers. One to quench his thirst and one to wash down the load of crap Daniel had just fed him. What had happened to the fun-loving brother who’d shared so many adventures with him? They’d never been well-off financially as kids, but they had a wealth of good memories. Was it too late to recapture that camaraderie? He had to try. No way he’d disappoint Mom and Dad with a no-show brother.
Changing his approach, Jonah said, “She sort of looks like Kelly Shepherd, doesn’t she?”
“Who, the waitress?”
“Yeah. Picture her with lighter, longer hair, and eyeglasses.”
“Kelly Shepherd. You mean our senior class president, back in high school? Jesus, I hardly remember anyone from high school.”
No surprise there. Daniel seemed to have abandoned everything from his past. He hadn’t been home to Lucky Strike, North Carolina, since two years ago last Christmas.
Jonah, on the other hand, remembered Kelly too well. She’d never forgiven him, not that he blamed her. Or had she? Jonah had been home for graduation, but she’d disappeared soon thereafter. He hadn’t had contact with her since. For all he knew, she was probably dumpy and dowdy now.
Daniel snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it! Kelly Shepherd! Strawberry blond hair, big green eyes, and a nice set of—”
“Yeah. Don’t forget the freckles and skinny legs.”
Daniel grinned.
“You didn’t complain about her skinny legs when you two were going together. You took her to the homecoming game, right? And the dance after?”
So, he did remember.
“We double-dated.”
Daniel sipped his beer.
“We had just the one car, if you could classify that heap as a car.”
“Heap? It was a one-of-a-kind classic. Nobody else had an AMC Pacer with a 327 Corvette engine. Manual fuel injection, too. That baby would run!”
“When it ran at all.”
Jonah chuckled.
“Okay, maybe it was temperamental, but we had a lot of good times in that Pacer.”
“We had a lot of fun building it, too,” Daniel said. “We were the star pupils in shop class.”
“The three of us are a good team.”
Or were. He hoped the trip down memory lane would rekindle Daniel’s nostalgia for family and home.
“Now that I think about it, you had all the fun that particular night. Left me stranded with Marilyn Taylor at the homecoming dance. Wasn’t that the night you ... you know.”
“Lost my cherry?”
Jonah hid a grin behind his pilsner glass at Daniel’s grimace.
“That’s one way of putting it. With Kelly Shepherd. Right, it’s coming back to me now. Later, I begged you for details and you claimed there wasn’t much to it.”
That was the problem. There hadn’t been much to it. Thanks to his inexperience and hormones, Jonah managed to score but only after fumbling. He’d been too embarrassed to face Kelly afterward. She’d called him a dickhead, which shocked the hell out of him since she never spoke crudely, further proof of how much he’d upset her. Or disappointed her. He’d never been clear on her exact feelings since he’d dropped out of school shortly after the fiasco and moved down to South Carolina to live with his uncle.
He’d all but forgotten her until he’d seen the resemblance in the tavern waitress. Who was he kidding? He could never forget Kelly Shepherd. Even after all these years and a number of women. Although his sexual prowess had improved, his women had not. None held a candle to the intelligent, pretty Kelly. Adding insult to injury, he’d not only lost a high school sweetheart but a good friend, too.
“Whatever happened to you two, anyway? At one point you were inseparable—until after homecoming.”
Jonah took his time, drinking a long swallow of his Sam Adams.
“I think we were just too immature for sex. Of course, I didn’t believe so at the time. So what about Marilyn Taylor? You took her to the prom, too, right?”
“We were friends. I was comfortable around her because we weren’t trying to impress each other. Less pressure. And who did Mark take?”
“No one. Mark wasn’t into things like school dances. By then he was concerned with theoretical mathematics and unconcerned with girls.”
“That’s right.” Daniel rotated his pilsner, drawing a line in the condensation. “You know I was jealous as hell of you.”
“No, I didn’t know. Why?”
“You got laid first.” His grin broadened. “You and I may be identical, but I never had your smooth charm with the ladies.”
Jonah ignored the charm reference. “You have anyone special up here?”
“No. It’s not easy. I don’t exactly see a lot of women at a boys’ academy.”
“You get lonely?”
Daniel held his gaze. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do. That’s why I’m asking. Over the years it seems we go through various stages in life at about the same time.” Jonah paused to give his brother a minute to tune in. “You are lonely without a woman. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit it. The living quarters at the school are great, don’t get me wrong. But how do you entertain a lady friend in a dormitory full of boys?”
“Major Payne did it.”
“Who?”
Jonah sighed. He doubted Daniel knew Damon Wayans or any of his films.
“It’s a movie. Never mind. I have my own place but can’t seem to find the right woman.”
“Really, Jonah. I’ve watched NASCAR. You have nearly as much celebrity as the drivers. Women throw their motel keys at you.”
An exaggeration, but Jonah wasn’t going to debate the issue. He didn’t want his brother’s envy. He wanted him to come home for Thanksgiving and the wedding, to be part of the family again. Besides, he’d outgrown the NASCAR groupies scene.
“Threw their keys. I must be getting pickier in my old age.”
“Speak for yourself,” Daniel said. “I’m not admitting to middle age yet, and certainly not to old age.”
But Daniel already seemed far too old.
“Not middle age? You drive a Volvo station wagon, for Chrissakes.”
What pushed Daniel to be staid and proper? True, he’d been the more serious brother growing up, but never Volvo-driving-serious. At least he could’ve bought a Jaguar or something a tad younger and sportier.
Daniel shook his head. “I see you’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Judging people by their vehicles. Not everyone follows your automotive mentality.”
“They don’t?” Jonah deadpanned.
Daniel shook his head. “And why have you given up NASCAR? I thought you loved it.”
“Been there, done that. Ready to try something new.”
“One of these days you’ll have to commit to something, brother.”
“Maybe, but not today.”
Their dinner arrived, derailing further conversation about women, family, cars, or old girlfriends. Surreptitiously checking his watch, Jonah renewed his determination to lure Daniel to their parents’ wedding. He’d have to be careful, though. Daniel could be a stubborn ass sometimes. Just like his brothers.
***
With a disquiet feeling, Daniel dropped Jonah off at the station just minutes before the train for Boston arrived.
“Take care,” he said. “Let’s not go so long without talking.”
Jonah took him in a hug and slapped his back.
“Let’s not go so long without seeing each other. Like next month at home at Thanksgiving.”
Daniel frowned. “Don’t count on it, Jonah. But don’t worry. I’ll call Mom and Dad and let them know I won’t be there. You came up to do the asking. I won’t make you the bearer of bad news.”
“Daniel, I’m not above bribery to get you there. Or guilting you.”
Daniel snorted a laugh. “You can try but I daresay it won’t work.”
Jonah stared at his brother for long seconds and then shrugged. “Well, can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Nope, can’t blame you. I hope eventually you can understand my side of things.”
The look on his brother’s face was all the evidence he needed to know that, true to form, Jonah would never understand. Fuck it. He could only be who he could be.
The train pulled into the station, initiating a spurt of people rushing toward the doors.
“Better get on and get a good seat. Hope you make all your connections for your flight home.”
Now that he knew where he stood in Jonah’s estimation, Daniel was ready for his brother to hurry back to his part of the country and leave Daniel in his. Obviously they were worlds apart, and never the twain shall meet.
***
“Mr. Goodman?”
Daniel looked up from his desk where he sat grading papers.
“Mr. Torrington, you should be asleep. Do you feel unwell?”
He rose and went to the open doorway where Jeffrey Torrington stood, looking a mess. His slippers were on the wrong feet and his bathrobe hung half open, showing that his pajama top was buttoned incorrectly. Daniel sighed. Some housemasters would give him demerits for sloppiness, even around the dorm, and maybe for the older boys—those the age of his students—it would be warranted. But not for Jeffrey. He was just a second grader, for God’s sake. To his way of thinking, the kids his age shouldn’t even be in a residential school. They should still be home with their mothers.
Torrington shook his head. “I’m just worried, sir.”
“What are you worried about, Mr. Torrington?”
Daniel opened the boy’s robe and rebuttoned his pajama top. Then he retied the robe and led Torrington in to sit on the sofa where he reversed his slippers.
“Do you think Mr. Goodman will forget to send the NASCAR cap, sir?”
That was what worried the kid?
“I don’t think so, Mr. Torrington. He won’t be home for a day or two but he’s good about fulfilling his promises. Don’t you worry. He’ll send the cap.”
The boy heaved a sigh and twisted his hands in his lap.
“Thank you, sir!”
Daniel fought a smile.
“Think you can sleep now?”
Jeffrey nodded so hard he nearly knocked himself off the edge of the sofa.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go and do it right now!”
“Good man! I’ll see you at breakfast then.”
The boy tore off up the hallway.
“No running,” Daniel murmured, knowing it did no good. The boy was just a … boy, after all.
Settling at the desk again, he continued on with his paperwork.
Night Angel
Night Angel
https://amzn.to/2PsU6oS
Renee Reeves
Chapter One
Keeping an eye on the side view mirror and steady light pressure on the truck’s gas pedal, Nick smoothly backed the silver two-horse trailer into the small opening of the round pen. His brother, Jake, stood next to the corral fence, frowning and staring at the trailer. Each kick from the horse inside rocked the trailer side to side. Nick shifted the truck into park, but kept his foot on the brake and then waved his arm out of the driver’s side window to get his brother’s attention.
“He’s not tied, so when you open the door, be ready to get the hell out of the way,” he shouted.
Jake nodded, then squeezed between the fence and the trailer, and Nick heard the harsh clangs of numerous locks being thrown. A loud squealing of metal hinges sounded, combining with the clattering of sharp hooves. The horse let out a high-pitched scream before jolting the trailer up and down as the animal lunged out of the trailer. Nick heard the trailer door slam shut and put the truck into drive, pulling the rig quickly away so Jake could close the corral gate. He pulled the truck and trailer around to the side of the barn, then came back to stand beside Jake, who stood with his elbows and one booted foot propped on the corral railing, watching with narrowed eyes as the horse careened around the enclosure.
“Jesus Christ, Nick.” Jake’s usually level voice was hard. “The bastard that did this should have been shot.”
“Trust me, I was tempted.”
“There’s not an inch on him that’s not scarred. Even his ears. How the hell did you get close enough to get the halter on him?”
Nick sighed, suddenly feeling very, very tired. “I tranqed him with the dart gun. Hated to do it, but it was the only way.” He clucked and the big-boned quarter horse draft cross twitched his ears towards him. For a second, Nick saw something soft flicker in the horse’s eyes, but then it was gone and the madness was back. Lowering his head, the horse charged to the center of the enclosure and struck out aggressively with both front legs.
“Looks like it’s worn off, though.”
Jake snorted, watching the gelding’s dramatic display. “Ya think?” He double checked the latch on the pen gate, “You’ve got your work cut out for you with this one, Nick, maybe more than you realize. I hope he’s worth it.”
Nick looked into huge brown eyes, seeing nothing but fear and distrust, but he also saw beneath the scars and misbehavior to the proud beauty the horse had probably been before he’d been bought and misused by a cruel owner.
“They’re always worth it, Jake.”
***
The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck prickled and he reined to a halt just outside of the hidden copse.
She was here again.
He exhaled silently, ignoring his now racing heart. Moving carefully, he dismounted and ground tied his horse, knowing the abundance of grass would keep the animal quiet and satisfied. Stepping off the path, he moved quickly to the shelter of a huge hemlock tree and relaxed against its trunk, crossing his arms over his chest. The moon was full overhead but shadows cast by the enormous, low-hanging limbs would keep him hidden from her view. The low gurgling of the stream she sat beside would absorb any slight noise.
God, she was beautiful.
Wrapped in a light colored shawl because of the cool night, she sat at the edge of his stream, knees drawn up to her chin, dangling a leafy vine in the water, completely oblivious to his presence. Thick dark hair trailed loosely down her back and Nick saw that a portion of it was trapped beneath her. Modern women just did not have hair like that, not without hundreds of dollars’ worth of styling help. Gut instinct told him that the gorgeous mass cascading to the ground was real. Nick could almost feel the silky-smooth texture of it trailing over his jaw and across his chest as her mouth moved down to his stomach, his abs...
Shit… He shifted slightly, trying to ease the sudden heaviness in his groin.
She sighed, turning her head slightly in his direction and resting her right cheek against her knees. Moonlight painted her skin so translucent it appeared lit from within. She had a fragile bone structure; sweet, very delicate features; high forehead, dark arching brows and eyes a color he couldn’t make out… Full, sensuous lips had him clenching his jaw against a groan of intense longing.
She shivered and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, but her small shoulders continued to tremble. Nick frowned; the thought of her being cold bothered him, although why he should care was beyond him. After all, she was trespassing on his land, invading his private domain.
And he didn’t give a shit.
He wanted to take her in his arms. Share his body heat until both of them were burning.
The urge was insane. Coming out here in the middle of the night just to see her was insane.
She walks in beauty, like the night…The words popped into his mind, a poem he had heard once but was damned if he remembered where or when. Most likely from a movie, since reading poetry was not high on his list of good times, although he had to admit that the line was certainly beautiful…like her. Nick rolled his eyes at himself; waxing poetic at his age wasn’t a very good sign.
Soft undulations reached his ears. Humming. She was humming, for
Christ’s sake. Low, slightly husky, the soothing rhythm floated to him, vaguely foreign sounding. Sort of like a lullaby. Leaning towards the stream she plucked a blade of grass from between two rocks and ran the tip of it around her open palm, following the outline of each finger with the slender blade. Long, slow, stroking caresses. Up, down, and around.
His throat tightened and his fingers clenched tightly against the wave of lust that gripped him. He imagined her hands upon his skin, slowly caressing…and then her lips following their path downward…
Suddenly she froze, her hum cut off in midstream. The blade of grass fell forgotten to the ground as she subtly cocked her head to one side, listening.
Muscles tensing, Nick wrapped his palm around the hilt of his knife.
He stood tense, ready for trouble until she finally relaxed and focused her gaze on something near the water. Soon he was able to see what had her attention. A black-crowned night heron had landed in the stream about thirty feet from where she sat, an unlucky fish dangling from his wet beak. She smiled at the bird, a truly genuine smile that dimpled her cheek and flashed small white teeth. Nick caught his breath— He wanted her smiling at him that way, pure, open and trusting. Jesus! What the hell is wrong with me? Now I’m jealous of a damn bird!
Spreading its wings, the heron flew away to enjoy its prize and, with childlike enthusiasm, she busied herself digging in her pack, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil and beginning to draw by moonlight. The pencil moved quick and sure and Nick guessed she was capturing her memory of the bird while still fresh. He craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of her drawing.
Oh Christ! His mouth went dry when in one of the most unintentionally seductive displays he had ever seen, she stood and used both hands to massage her butt, arching her back and causing her breasts to thrust out against her shawl. Full and natural, they were more than enough to fill his hands and more than made up for her lack of stature. She might be small but she had more than enough to satisfy him. Her wet dream hair fell long and wavy down her back, past her thighs to almost touch the ground. Her soft appreciative sigh as the stretch loosened tight muscles reached him all the way across the clearing and he bit back a growl.
He wanted her now; soft and wet, stretched out naked in his bed, up against the wall; bent over a chair with her ass in the air, or hell, out here would do just fine too.
He sucked in a deep breath, knowing he was in deep shit when the flood gate of erotic images opened. When it came to her, his body seriously overruled his brain, and if he had to endure much more of this torture, he was definitely going to explode.
Chapter Two
Morgan stood slowly, balancing herself with a palm against a nearby tree. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she groaned, biting her lip as her cramped and kinked muscles gave and stretched. Seeing the bird had been so exciting that she had forgotten to massage and stretch her leg, and had been sitting, caught up in sketching, for far too long. Hesitantly, afraid to move too suddenly, Morgan leaned back against the tree, glad for its rough support, while she waited for her leg to relax and be able to take her weight. Finally, the cramping eased and she could stand on her own. The walk home would be slow, especially since she had to carry her full backpack, and she dreaded the night to come. She bent to grab her pack, gasping as a sharp pain jerked her back upright. After a moment she tried again, this time successfully.
“Well,” she grumbled while adjusting the pack onto her shoulder, “you did it to yourself, Morgan. At least you have a few painkillers left.” The tiny pills were in the bottle on the nightstand beside her bed. She hadn’t taken one in over a week, preferring to just cope with the constant, dull ache in her hip and thigh, but tonight, because of her overexertion, she knew she would not be able to rest without them.
She sighed, absorbing the dark, glistening beauty of the stream and surrounding thicket of trees with their huge, weighted branches and thick, egg-shaped cones. She loved it here. For some reason the place made her feel safe, protected...embraced. Nothing could hurt her here.
She liked to pretend she had entered a long forgotten realm; one where time and reality ceased to exist and it was only her and the creatures of nature. It was a completely different world. One where her past did not matter and she was safe.
Safe. The word had been a mantra in her brain for a long time now. No more holding her breath and walking on tiptoes, dreading what would happen if that fourth stair squeaked and she woke him up. Finally she was alone and safe.
She glanced around, taking in the crumbling, moss covered, faded grey bricks of a long abandoned wall behind her. Vines grew up the inside of it, reaching towards the bright moonlight overhead. It had been the first thing she had sketched when she had happened upon this place several nights ago during her walk. Everything had looked so beautiful that night, more…serene. She loved the quiet, the solitude, the moon’s gentle light. Most people loved the sun, lived their lives in its shining rays and she had been no different…but that had been in her previous life. The life before her accident. Now…now she loved the night, with its concealing shadows and forgiving darkness.
Her cousin Lisa had been right in convincing her to find a new life for herself. Trying to escape the memories had caused her to move from Chicago to wide-open Montana. But leaving the memories behind had been impossible. There were still times when she woke up screaming from one of the nightmares, and the pain in her leg and hip were constant reminders. Not to mention her face. She had almost— but not quite— gotten over her hatred of mirrors. It was not their fault they told the truth. And one could never avoid the truth for long, no matter how hard they tried.
But at least she had her freedom and finally her own place.
Morgan smiled, remembering Lisa’s excitement that night in Chicago when she had found the small cottage on the internet…
“It’s absolutely perfect, Morgan! Look!”
“Just a second, the popcorn’s almost ready.” Morgan grabbed an oven mitt from the counter and then opened the microwave door, inhaling the strong aroma of freshly popped cheese popcorn.
“Come on!” Lisa called. “It even has a barn. You always wanted a horse.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and set the steaming container on the stool next to her cousin. “Yes, when I was seven and still believed in Santa Claus. I’ve grown up since then.” She sat down and watched as Lisa scrolled the mouse across the page, then clicked on a picture. At first all she saw were mountains broadcast against a bright blue sky… and then the picture finished loading.
“Oh…” she breathed, “it’s so beautiful…”
Lisa grinned, “Cheap too.”
Situated on four acres of land and surrounded by forest, the small cream-colored cottage looked like something out of a children’s storybook. The three rail wood fencing looked on the verge of falling down, but the old barn behind the house looked in reasonably good condition. Morgan closed her eyes, picturing newly planted flowers under each of the windows, and maybe a swing hung from the roof of the front porch…the isolating woods would be filled with singing birds and she could sit forever and just listen…and sketch…
Lisa grabbed the phone off its cradle beside the computer and shoved it at her. “Call the realtor right now, before someone else grabs this.”
Morgan glanced at the clock. Darn. “It’s after midnight, Lisa.”
“So? They have answering machines. Call and leave a message or I will.” Lisa pushed the phone into her limp hand and dialed the number on the screen. “Don’t let this pass you by Morgan, start living your dreams.”
And so, after a long flight to see the property in person, she had signed all of the paperwork. A week later she put her husband’s glass and steel monstrosity on the market, hired a moving company, loaded her little Volvo station wagon to its limit and never looked back. Twelve-hundred miles and a load of worries, and her dream had become reality.
A branch cracked, jerking Morgan back to the present. She glanced around but saw nothing but tree limbs moving with a slight breeze. She shivered, noticing that the temperature had dropped a few degrees, and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
She sighed deeply. Moving here had been her first grab at recovery, but she knew deep inside that she might never be fully healed; the trauma and humiliation ran way too deep. The knowledge that there were indeed evil people in the world had been made very clear to her, over and over again. And the things she had done. Her throat tightened and she swiped at her eyes, wiping away the sudden tears that, once started, would go on until depression had her so weakened that she locked herself in her room, hiding away from her new life and letting him take control once more. She sucked in a big breath, held it for a moment and then exhaled slowly.
Wasted years, all of them.
Out of habit, she pulled several thick pieces of hair over her shoulder until the right side of her face was covered, then slowly limped to the path behind the stone wall and into the woods toward the trail home.
***
“Heard Eliza Ramsey’s place was sold.”
Nick glanced up from the bin of nails. Ben, the owner of Grenners’ Feed and Hardware, the only hardware store in town, was standing beside him, an obvious question in his old blue eyes.
He shrugged his shoulders, knowing the old man was one step away from talking his ear off. “I guess, saw a moving truck there last week or so.”
“Come on, Nick. Ramsey’s place is right behind yours. How can you not be interested in what’s goin’ on or who’s goin’ to live there?”
Nick sighed in irritation; he really did not need Ben hounding him this early in the morning. “First, it’s none of my business; people come and go all the time and I could care less. Second, it’s on the other side of my woods, completely out of view, so it’s not like I’ll have an immediate neighbor I have to associate with. And thank God for that.” Yeah right, Nick. Long dark hair, a ‘take your sweet time and kiss me all over figure’…One look from your new neighbor and you’d be standing on her front porch with roses in hand, hoping to do more than just ‘associate’. Annoyed at his wayward thoughts, Nick focused on the task at hand, which was picking out the nails he would need to fix the board that Sultan had kicked out of the back wall of his stall. “You know as long as nobody messes with me I mind my own business.”
“I know,” Ben said, nodding. “I know. Too bad you moved to a town full of biddies and gossips.” He shuffled out of Nick’s way, using his cane to point down the aisle towards the back of the store. “By the way, got that new load of rubber pads if you need ‘em.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take a couple, just in case. It’ll save me a trip back if he tears one up again.” And keep me from having to drive past the Ramsey place, he thought to himself.
Ben grinned, hobbling along beside Nick as they made their way to the back wall. “Maybe you should put pads on that horse’s hooves instead of the walls. I know they have somethin’ like that out now, saw one in a magazine. How’s Jake doin’? Ribs still botherin’ him?”
Nick nodded, “Yeah, it’s called a ‘hoof boot’ and they’re not meant for leaving on the hoof permanently. It’s more for medicinal treatment.” He bent down and examined the rubber pads, pressing his fingers into the material to judge thickness and durability. “Jake’s doing better, back to helping with the barn some. He’s staying away from the pony for a while though. He’s convinced she’s out to get him.” Satisfied that the pads would do the trick, Nick easily hefted one of the six-foot long, seventy-five pound bulk packages onto his shoulder. “These pads might work out
better anyway. He only acts up when I’m late feeding him.” They walked back to the front of the store where Ben rang up the purchases. “Okay, let’s see. Fifty-five bags of horse feed, two bags of dog food, one carton of three-inch nails, one pack of rubber and a hose nozzle. Anythin’ else?” “Yeah, I almost forgot, throw in a bag of cat food. The barn cat finally had her kittens.”
Ben shook his head, flashing gleaming dentures. “Total is two-hundred eighty-nine dollars and ninety-two cents. Nobody lookin’ at you would ever believe you’re such a softy.”
Nick grimaced, giving the old man a pointed look. “Yeah, well do me a favor and keep it to yourself. I like my privacy. Keeps things smooth and quiet.” He handed Ben three hundred dollars, then put the change in the back pocket of his blue jeans.
“I know that. You forget that I know your history, but too much privacy ain’t good, Nick.”
Nick’s whole body tensed, every fiber of his being hating that his ‘history’ as Ben put it, had been brought up, but then Ben had known him for almost ten years and, while others barely had the courage to look him in the face, Ben had never once been intimidated. In fact he was about the only person Nick would go so far as to call a friend.
“Get that look off your face, Nick,” Ben said, “you know I didn’t mean anythin’ by that.
“Yeah, well, in my opinion, too many people are what’s not good. I learned that lesson the hard way, and that’s why I’m here.”
Ben shook his head but kept his mouth shut, then just as quickly latched onto the previous topic. “Hey, let me know if you meet whoever bought the Ramsey place.” Nick watched as Ben placed a gnarled hand over his heart in mock dismay. “That’s about the most interestin’ news an old man like me has to look forward to right now.”
Nick sighed and rolled his eyes, then pulled his truck keys out of his pocket. “I’ll pull over to the loading dock. Tell Chris I’ll need his help securing the tarp.” He hoisted the bulk rubber onto his shoulder again, then gathered the bag of cat food under his arm to protect it from the rain. “Thanks Ben.”
“No problem. Say ‘hi’ to that brother of yours for me.”
“Will do.”
Before the old man could say another word he was out the door, striding quickly through the downpour.
Chapter Three
Morgan came awake by degrees, dread lying like a cold stone in her stomach. She was always tense for those first few seconds before she realized where she was. A blurry-eyed glance at her surroundings instantly reassured her. The aged white walls in desperate need of paint were becoming increasingly familiar and the yellow oversized armchair with burgundy floral pattern sitting in the far corner was immediately comforting. It had been her mother’s, as was the antique French dresser across the room. Morgan sat up in bed, focusing on the two items and letting the well-loved pieces ground her to a past that only included her mother and that was warm and filled with loving memories.
She stretched, letting the feelings of freedom and independence loosen her muscles and relax her mind. Relief settled in. She was in Montana, not Chicago, and had awakened in the bedroom of her new home, not in her husband’s. She had waved goodbye to the movers two weeks ago.
The bedside clock read six forty-six A.M; she had a doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty for a check-up on her leg, and to renew her pain prescription. Crap! She hated meeting new doctors; hated having to pretend she didn’t see the suspicious looks at her face, or the way they murmured and gestured to their associates when they were in the hallway and thought she couldn’t see them. The worst was having to try to explain if they asked how she had been scarred…it never stopped and always managed to make her feel low, like her disfigurement somehow made her less of a person. Why couldn’t they just take a look at her, examine her leg and hip, and give her their usual advice, which she already knew backwards and forwards. Stretches, massages, daily aspirin, use a cane if she needed, more check-ups and to take her pain meds only when the pain became intense. That was all they could do for her and, after months of painful physical therapy, both she and the doctors knew it. There was
no changing the fact that she would always be partially crippled. But at least she had survived. Morgan constantly told herself that was all that mattered. Not looks, not material things, and definitely not men. No way. Not ever again. Men were sly, brutal animals…no, no, she shouldn’t think that. Men were much worse than any animal could be.
Not that any would want her even if she was interested. By now she was used to ‘the looks’—as she had come to think of them—and tried not to let them hurt her. But it was definitely hard to deal with. People were naturally mean, critical and judgmental, especially when someone was different. The killer had been when people had started quickly looking the other way when she happened to look at them…and then she noticed that no one would look her in the eyes anymore. Several times she had toyed with the idea of putting a gun to her head, just so she would no longer be in the world and those people—the ones that treated her like a side-show freak— could get on with their lives. Luckily, Lisa had stepped in with the idea of her moving away from everything, hence the fresh start out here where there were fewer people and more open space. She had no direct neighbors except for the large farm across the woods; access to the internet and TV allowed her to shop from home if she preferred, and she only had to go out when she felt like it or when she had an appointment, such as today.
She sighed in resignation, knowing that she had to get her butt moving. The trip into the neighboring city would take at least an hour and a half, and then she had to allow herself time to find the doctor’s office.
Throwing the sheet back, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and tentatively put weight on her bad leg. These first few minutes always told her how the day would go. When all she felt was a slight pull she let out a relieved sigh. Grabbing up her yellow robe from the back of the armchair she shrugged into it and moved to pull up the wooden blinds covering her huge picture window. Her reflection, all pale skin and shadowed eyes, stared back at her, while rain splattered heavily against the glass and ran in rivulets along the pane.
Crying…Her fingers came up, trembling as they traced the tears on the glass. So much time spent crying… Thunder rumbled, shaking the small cottage, and then lightning flashed, streaks of yellow and white striking deadly and to the point in her field; she jumped, startled back into the present. Morgan dropped the blind back down, knowing that the storm was not going to let up anytime soon and dreading having to go out in it. Crawling back into bed, safe and snug under the covers sounded so much better, and she would have if she hadn’t needed to renew her darn pain prescription.
Turning away from the window, she moved slowly across her bedroom to the small adjoining bathroom. She was proud of her place; even though the walls were ugly and discolored and the “who-knew-how-old” wallpaper was peeling off in various rooms, it was still all hers. A pang of sorrow jolted her and she blinked back tears. Her mother would have loved it here, and Morgan would have loved having her here to help fix it up. More tears tightened her throat, the ache so bad she could barely swallow.
Not now, Morgan. Biting her lip, she hurried into her bathroom and started running water for a bath, adding a good amount of Epsom salts and fragrance to the warm water. The bathroom was next on her mile-long list of projects, and she couldn’t wait to find time to go to the huge expo she had seen signs for. Her husband would have had a fit if she had tried to bring items from a flea market, or any secondhand store, into their home. It had been only the newest and most expensive modern furniture for him, hand-picked by an even more expensive designer.
Cold, hard furnishings that suited her husband’s cold, hard demeanor. Morgan had hated every single piece in the house.
Shuddering, she looped her hair up on the top of her head and secured the heavy mass with several clips, then sank down into the almost full tub, sighing deeply as the warm water seeped into her muscles. Morgan loved taking long hot baths, but this morning was not the time to dally, and so she scrubbed quickly and thoroughly before climbing out and toweling off. Spending as brief amount of time as possible looking at her reflection, she applied heavy concealer to her cheek and color to her eyes and lips. The camouflage wouldn’t fool a close look by a doctor, but it did help her avoid being scrutinized by the unfailingly rude public.
Leaving the bathroom, she chose a white t-shirt and loose jeans from the closet, then pulled on her low-heeled supportive boots. The reinforced arches helped buffer the strain on her leg and she preferred them when she wasn’t sure how much walking she would have to do. Making her way down the hall, she tucked in her shirt and grabbed an umbrella and light rain jacket out of the front hall closet, along with her purse. Taking her keys off the hook by the front door, she stepped out onto her porch and locked the door behind her.
***
Dr. Bessick had been nice enough, and not easily fooled. Morgan had sat through the usual questioning; what types of exercises was she doing? How often did she need to take her pain medication? Had there been any worsening of pain? How long ago had the accident happened… and Morgan had answered them as she always did; with lies. Or, as she preferred to think of it, an altering of the truth. She was under no illusion that Dr. Bessick had believed her, but at least the female doctor had been less intrusive than most. She had simply examined her and seen no new injuries to be concerned about; only the older ones that had healed over as best they could and Morgan had honestly assured her that she now had nothing to worry about. She had left with a renewed prescription, an appointment for three months from today, and a special cream that the doctor said might help diminish her scarring a little.
There was always room for cautious hope.
Rain pelted her umbrella and soaked her boots as Morgan hurriedly unlocked her car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, then scrambled in, shaking and closing her umbrella after her. The storm had yet to diminish and she wanted nothing more than to get home and curl up in front of her TV or with a good book to wait out the remnants.
Pulling out of the parking lot, she passed a McDonald’s on her left and, as if on cue, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was half past one o’clock and she had yet to eat anything. Since her husbands ‘lessons’, food had never been high on her priority list and she had a tendency to keep herself in a mild state of hunger. It was unconsciously habitual and something she was definitely trying to change, but her husband had been an effective teacher and she a very quick learner. He had made it clear in more ways than one that he wanted her thin and that she had damn well better get thin and stay that way. Or else.
A thin line of sweat broke out over her forehead. It had not taken her long to become extremely familiar with the ‘or else’ part.
Stop it. He can’t hurt you now. He’s dead, Morgan.
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and she drew in a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. Yes, he was. She had claimed the body herself and made all of the funeral arrangements. But memories were powerful, and at times it seemed that his hold was just as strong from the grave as it had been when he had lived. God knew she woke up in a cold sweat often enough.
Turning the wipers on high, she slowly drove through town, slow enough that even with the rain she noticed things she hadn’t before, like the buildings that were made of huge timber logs, just as they would have been back in the old west, situated amongst larger stone and brick structures. Trees lined the walkways and on sunny days would provide shade to people browsing the boardwalk storefronts. There were signs directing tourists to the local ‘watering holes’ and hotels, and signs for the upcoming rodeos, festivals and annual celebrations of just about everything the population could think of.
Even on a thoroughly soaking day like today, the town was quaint and beautiful. Stopping for a red light, Morgan sat nibbling on her bottom lip. On green, she pulled her car into a parking area and grabbed her digital camera from the glove box, then locked her purse in the space vacated by the camera. Then she opened the car door and shook open her umbrella. Camera ready, she made her way through the rain and across the road, dodging puddles here and there until she reached the covered boardwalk. She leaned her umbrella against a wall and started snapping pictures.
An hour later the camera was full and she was feeling surprisingly revitalized. Her mind drifted back over some of the images she had captured, like the one she caught of a young cowboy dressed head to toe in a slicker riding his soaked horse down the middle of Main Street. It would make a great subject for one of her paintings. She’d blushed when he caught her photographing him and tipped his hat, and had been half afraid that he would ride over to her and, coward that she was, she’d smiled shyly and turned away to start snapping shots of the cloud shrouded hills in the background. Her cousin would be thrilled with a series of paintings based on Montana. Lisa had been hounding her to start some new paintings for several upcoming gallery shows, and now Morgan had the perfect subject.
After putting away her camera, Morgan browsed several shops while waiting for the rain to lessen, and ended up buying several unnecessary souvenirs, plus munching on two hamburgers. Finally, after two hours of waiting and wandering, Morgan was exhausted and her leg was starting to spasm. She could feel the dull prickling of pain starting in her hip; on top of that, she knew she still had the hour and a half drive home before she could relax in a warm tub. Limping slowly along the wooden walkway, she sighed in relief when she spotted her car and was finally able to climb inside and relax against the supple leather seats. After starting the car she turned the air on, letting it cool the humid interior while she massaged her aching muscles. Dealing with the small pinpricks was easy enough; it was the bigger, cramping spasms she knew were coming that were killers, and she prayed to God she could make it home before those came.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot into traffic. Once hitting the highway she rolled the driver’s side window down, letting in the sharp, crisp mountain air. Even though pain was now dulling her pleasure, she had not felt this alive—this free— in over six years.
The wind brought in sharp droplets of rain and blew her hair in all directions, wildly whipping the long dark strands, almost making them seem alive, like Medusa with her tangled head of snakes. Morgan laughed at the image, feeling a kinship to the poor woman and, on impulse, rolled down all of the car’s windows so that gusts of damp air came from all directions.
This…this was living.
https://amzn.to/2PsU6oS
Renee Reeves
Chapter One
Keeping an eye on the side view mirror and steady light pressure on the truck’s gas pedal, Nick smoothly backed the silver two-horse trailer into the small opening of the round pen. His brother, Jake, stood next to the corral fence, frowning and staring at the trailer. Each kick from the horse inside rocked the trailer side to side. Nick shifted the truck into park, but kept his foot on the brake and then waved his arm out of the driver’s side window to get his brother’s attention.
“He’s not tied, so when you open the door, be ready to get the hell out of the way,” he shouted.
Jake nodded, then squeezed between the fence and the trailer, and Nick heard the harsh clangs of numerous locks being thrown. A loud squealing of metal hinges sounded, combining with the clattering of sharp hooves. The horse let out a high-pitched scream before jolting the trailer up and down as the animal lunged out of the trailer. Nick heard the trailer door slam shut and put the truck into drive, pulling the rig quickly away so Jake could close the corral gate. He pulled the truck and trailer around to the side of the barn, then came back to stand beside Jake, who stood with his elbows and one booted foot propped on the corral railing, watching with narrowed eyes as the horse careened around the enclosure.
“Jesus Christ, Nick.” Jake’s usually level voice was hard. “The bastard that did this should have been shot.”
“Trust me, I was tempted.”
“There’s not an inch on him that’s not scarred. Even his ears. How the hell did you get close enough to get the halter on him?”
Nick sighed, suddenly feeling very, very tired. “I tranqed him with the dart gun. Hated to do it, but it was the only way.” He clucked and the big-boned quarter horse draft cross twitched his ears towards him. For a second, Nick saw something soft flicker in the horse’s eyes, but then it was gone and the madness was back. Lowering his head, the horse charged to the center of the enclosure and struck out aggressively with both front legs.
“Looks like it’s worn off, though.”
Jake snorted, watching the gelding’s dramatic display. “Ya think?” He double checked the latch on the pen gate, “You’ve got your work cut out for you with this one, Nick, maybe more than you realize. I hope he’s worth it.”
Nick looked into huge brown eyes, seeing nothing but fear and distrust, but he also saw beneath the scars and misbehavior to the proud beauty the horse had probably been before he’d been bought and misused by a cruel owner.
“They’re always worth it, Jake.”
***
The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck prickled and he reined to a halt just outside of the hidden copse.
She was here again.
He exhaled silently, ignoring his now racing heart. Moving carefully, he dismounted and ground tied his horse, knowing the abundance of grass would keep the animal quiet and satisfied. Stepping off the path, he moved quickly to the shelter of a huge hemlock tree and relaxed against its trunk, crossing his arms over his chest. The moon was full overhead but shadows cast by the enormous, low-hanging limbs would keep him hidden from her view. The low gurgling of the stream she sat beside would absorb any slight noise.
God, she was beautiful.
Wrapped in a light colored shawl because of the cool night, she sat at the edge of his stream, knees drawn up to her chin, dangling a leafy vine in the water, completely oblivious to his presence. Thick dark hair trailed loosely down her back and Nick saw that a portion of it was trapped beneath her. Modern women just did not have hair like that, not without hundreds of dollars’ worth of styling help. Gut instinct told him that the gorgeous mass cascading to the ground was real. Nick could almost feel the silky-smooth texture of it trailing over his jaw and across his chest as her mouth moved down to his stomach, his abs...
Shit… He shifted slightly, trying to ease the sudden heaviness in his groin.
She sighed, turning her head slightly in his direction and resting her right cheek against her knees. Moonlight painted her skin so translucent it appeared lit from within. She had a fragile bone structure; sweet, very delicate features; high forehead, dark arching brows and eyes a color he couldn’t make out… Full, sensuous lips had him clenching his jaw against a groan of intense longing.
She shivered and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, but her small shoulders continued to tremble. Nick frowned; the thought of her being cold bothered him, although why he should care was beyond him. After all, she was trespassing on his land, invading his private domain.
And he didn’t give a shit.
He wanted to take her in his arms. Share his body heat until both of them were burning.
The urge was insane. Coming out here in the middle of the night just to see her was insane.
She walks in beauty, like the night…The words popped into his mind, a poem he had heard once but was damned if he remembered where or when. Most likely from a movie, since reading poetry was not high on his list of good times, although he had to admit that the line was certainly beautiful…like her. Nick rolled his eyes at himself; waxing poetic at his age wasn’t a very good sign.
Soft undulations reached his ears. Humming. She was humming, for
Christ’s sake. Low, slightly husky, the soothing rhythm floated to him, vaguely foreign sounding. Sort of like a lullaby. Leaning towards the stream she plucked a blade of grass from between two rocks and ran the tip of it around her open palm, following the outline of each finger with the slender blade. Long, slow, stroking caresses. Up, down, and around.
His throat tightened and his fingers clenched tightly against the wave of lust that gripped him. He imagined her hands upon his skin, slowly caressing…and then her lips following their path downward…
Suddenly she froze, her hum cut off in midstream. The blade of grass fell forgotten to the ground as she subtly cocked her head to one side, listening.
Muscles tensing, Nick wrapped his palm around the hilt of his knife.
He stood tense, ready for trouble until she finally relaxed and focused her gaze on something near the water. Soon he was able to see what had her attention. A black-crowned night heron had landed in the stream about thirty feet from where she sat, an unlucky fish dangling from his wet beak. She smiled at the bird, a truly genuine smile that dimpled her cheek and flashed small white teeth. Nick caught his breath— He wanted her smiling at him that way, pure, open and trusting. Jesus! What the hell is wrong with me? Now I’m jealous of a damn bird!
Spreading its wings, the heron flew away to enjoy its prize and, with childlike enthusiasm, she busied herself digging in her pack, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil and beginning to draw by moonlight. The pencil moved quick and sure and Nick guessed she was capturing her memory of the bird while still fresh. He craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of her drawing.
Oh Christ! His mouth went dry when in one of the most unintentionally seductive displays he had ever seen, she stood and used both hands to massage her butt, arching her back and causing her breasts to thrust out against her shawl. Full and natural, they were more than enough to fill his hands and more than made up for her lack of stature. She might be small but she had more than enough to satisfy him. Her wet dream hair fell long and wavy down her back, past her thighs to almost touch the ground. Her soft appreciative sigh as the stretch loosened tight muscles reached him all the way across the clearing and he bit back a growl.
He wanted her now; soft and wet, stretched out naked in his bed, up against the wall; bent over a chair with her ass in the air, or hell, out here would do just fine too.
He sucked in a deep breath, knowing he was in deep shit when the flood gate of erotic images opened. When it came to her, his body seriously overruled his brain, and if he had to endure much more of this torture, he was definitely going to explode.
Chapter Two
Morgan stood slowly, balancing herself with a palm against a nearby tree. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she groaned, biting her lip as her cramped and kinked muscles gave and stretched. Seeing the bird had been so exciting that she had forgotten to massage and stretch her leg, and had been sitting, caught up in sketching, for far too long. Hesitantly, afraid to move too suddenly, Morgan leaned back against the tree, glad for its rough support, while she waited for her leg to relax and be able to take her weight. Finally, the cramping eased and she could stand on her own. The walk home would be slow, especially since she had to carry her full backpack, and she dreaded the night to come. She bent to grab her pack, gasping as a sharp pain jerked her back upright. After a moment she tried again, this time successfully.
“Well,” she grumbled while adjusting the pack onto her shoulder, “you did it to yourself, Morgan. At least you have a few painkillers left.” The tiny pills were in the bottle on the nightstand beside her bed. She hadn’t taken one in over a week, preferring to just cope with the constant, dull ache in her hip and thigh, but tonight, because of her overexertion, she knew she would not be able to rest without them.
She sighed, absorbing the dark, glistening beauty of the stream and surrounding thicket of trees with their huge, weighted branches and thick, egg-shaped cones. She loved it here. For some reason the place made her feel safe, protected...embraced. Nothing could hurt her here.
She liked to pretend she had entered a long forgotten realm; one where time and reality ceased to exist and it was only her and the creatures of nature. It was a completely different world. One where her past did not matter and she was safe.
Safe. The word had been a mantra in her brain for a long time now. No more holding her breath and walking on tiptoes, dreading what would happen if that fourth stair squeaked and she woke him up. Finally she was alone and safe.
She glanced around, taking in the crumbling, moss covered, faded grey bricks of a long abandoned wall behind her. Vines grew up the inside of it, reaching towards the bright moonlight overhead. It had been the first thing she had sketched when she had happened upon this place several nights ago during her walk. Everything had looked so beautiful that night, more…serene. She loved the quiet, the solitude, the moon’s gentle light. Most people loved the sun, lived their lives in its shining rays and she had been no different…but that had been in her previous life. The life before her accident. Now…now she loved the night, with its concealing shadows and forgiving darkness.
Her cousin Lisa had been right in convincing her to find a new life for herself. Trying to escape the memories had caused her to move from Chicago to wide-open Montana. But leaving the memories behind had been impossible. There were still times when she woke up screaming from one of the nightmares, and the pain in her leg and hip were constant reminders. Not to mention her face. She had almost— but not quite— gotten over her hatred of mirrors. It was not their fault they told the truth. And one could never avoid the truth for long, no matter how hard they tried.
But at least she had her freedom and finally her own place.
Morgan smiled, remembering Lisa’s excitement that night in Chicago when she had found the small cottage on the internet…
“It’s absolutely perfect, Morgan! Look!”
“Just a second, the popcorn’s almost ready.” Morgan grabbed an oven mitt from the counter and then opened the microwave door, inhaling the strong aroma of freshly popped cheese popcorn.
“Come on!” Lisa called. “It even has a barn. You always wanted a horse.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and set the steaming container on the stool next to her cousin. “Yes, when I was seven and still believed in Santa Claus. I’ve grown up since then.” She sat down and watched as Lisa scrolled the mouse across the page, then clicked on a picture. At first all she saw were mountains broadcast against a bright blue sky… and then the picture finished loading.
“Oh…” she breathed, “it’s so beautiful…”
Lisa grinned, “Cheap too.”
Situated on four acres of land and surrounded by forest, the small cream-colored cottage looked like something out of a children’s storybook. The three rail wood fencing looked on the verge of falling down, but the old barn behind the house looked in reasonably good condition. Morgan closed her eyes, picturing newly planted flowers under each of the windows, and maybe a swing hung from the roof of the front porch…the isolating woods would be filled with singing birds and she could sit forever and just listen…and sketch…
Lisa grabbed the phone off its cradle beside the computer and shoved it at her. “Call the realtor right now, before someone else grabs this.”
Morgan glanced at the clock. Darn. “It’s after midnight, Lisa.”
“So? They have answering machines. Call and leave a message or I will.” Lisa pushed the phone into her limp hand and dialed the number on the screen. “Don’t let this pass you by Morgan, start living your dreams.”
And so, after a long flight to see the property in person, she had signed all of the paperwork. A week later she put her husband’s glass and steel monstrosity on the market, hired a moving company, loaded her little Volvo station wagon to its limit and never looked back. Twelve-hundred miles and a load of worries, and her dream had become reality.
A branch cracked, jerking Morgan back to the present. She glanced around but saw nothing but tree limbs moving with a slight breeze. She shivered, noticing that the temperature had dropped a few degrees, and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
She sighed deeply. Moving here had been her first grab at recovery, but she knew deep inside that she might never be fully healed; the trauma and humiliation ran way too deep. The knowledge that there were indeed evil people in the world had been made very clear to her, over and over again. And the things she had done. Her throat tightened and she swiped at her eyes, wiping away the sudden tears that, once started, would go on until depression had her so weakened that she locked herself in her room, hiding away from her new life and letting him take control once more. She sucked in a big breath, held it for a moment and then exhaled slowly.
Wasted years, all of them.
Out of habit, she pulled several thick pieces of hair over her shoulder until the right side of her face was covered, then slowly limped to the path behind the stone wall and into the woods toward the trail home.
***
“Heard Eliza Ramsey’s place was sold.”
Nick glanced up from the bin of nails. Ben, the owner of Grenners’ Feed and Hardware, the only hardware store in town, was standing beside him, an obvious question in his old blue eyes.
He shrugged his shoulders, knowing the old man was one step away from talking his ear off. “I guess, saw a moving truck there last week or so.”
“Come on, Nick. Ramsey’s place is right behind yours. How can you not be interested in what’s goin’ on or who’s goin’ to live there?”
Nick sighed in irritation; he really did not need Ben hounding him this early in the morning. “First, it’s none of my business; people come and go all the time and I could care less. Second, it’s on the other side of my woods, completely out of view, so it’s not like I’ll have an immediate neighbor I have to associate with. And thank God for that.” Yeah right, Nick. Long dark hair, a ‘take your sweet time and kiss me all over figure’…One look from your new neighbor and you’d be standing on her front porch with roses in hand, hoping to do more than just ‘associate’. Annoyed at his wayward thoughts, Nick focused on the task at hand, which was picking out the nails he would need to fix the board that Sultan had kicked out of the back wall of his stall. “You know as long as nobody messes with me I mind my own business.”
“I know,” Ben said, nodding. “I know. Too bad you moved to a town full of biddies and gossips.” He shuffled out of Nick’s way, using his cane to point down the aisle towards the back of the store. “By the way, got that new load of rubber pads if you need ‘em.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take a couple, just in case. It’ll save me a trip back if he tears one up again.” And keep me from having to drive past the Ramsey place, he thought to himself.
Ben grinned, hobbling along beside Nick as they made their way to the back wall. “Maybe you should put pads on that horse’s hooves instead of the walls. I know they have somethin’ like that out now, saw one in a magazine. How’s Jake doin’? Ribs still botherin’ him?”
Nick nodded, “Yeah, it’s called a ‘hoof boot’ and they’re not meant for leaving on the hoof permanently. It’s more for medicinal treatment.” He bent down and examined the rubber pads, pressing his fingers into the material to judge thickness and durability. “Jake’s doing better, back to helping with the barn some. He’s staying away from the pony for a while though. He’s convinced she’s out to get him.” Satisfied that the pads would do the trick, Nick easily hefted one of the six-foot long, seventy-five pound bulk packages onto his shoulder. “These pads might work out
better anyway. He only acts up when I’m late feeding him.” They walked back to the front of the store where Ben rang up the purchases. “Okay, let’s see. Fifty-five bags of horse feed, two bags of dog food, one carton of three-inch nails, one pack of rubber and a hose nozzle. Anythin’ else?” “Yeah, I almost forgot, throw in a bag of cat food. The barn cat finally had her kittens.”
Ben shook his head, flashing gleaming dentures. “Total is two-hundred eighty-nine dollars and ninety-two cents. Nobody lookin’ at you would ever believe you’re such a softy.”
Nick grimaced, giving the old man a pointed look. “Yeah, well do me a favor and keep it to yourself. I like my privacy. Keeps things smooth and quiet.” He handed Ben three hundred dollars, then put the change in the back pocket of his blue jeans.
“I know that. You forget that I know your history, but too much privacy ain’t good, Nick.”
Nick’s whole body tensed, every fiber of his being hating that his ‘history’ as Ben put it, had been brought up, but then Ben had known him for almost ten years and, while others barely had the courage to look him in the face, Ben had never once been intimidated. In fact he was about the only person Nick would go so far as to call a friend.
“Get that look off your face, Nick,” Ben said, “you know I didn’t mean anythin’ by that.
“Yeah, well, in my opinion, too many people are what’s not good. I learned that lesson the hard way, and that’s why I’m here.”
Ben shook his head but kept his mouth shut, then just as quickly latched onto the previous topic. “Hey, let me know if you meet whoever bought the Ramsey place.” Nick watched as Ben placed a gnarled hand over his heart in mock dismay. “That’s about the most interestin’ news an old man like me has to look forward to right now.”
Nick sighed and rolled his eyes, then pulled his truck keys out of his pocket. “I’ll pull over to the loading dock. Tell Chris I’ll need his help securing the tarp.” He hoisted the bulk rubber onto his shoulder again, then gathered the bag of cat food under his arm to protect it from the rain. “Thanks Ben.”
“No problem. Say ‘hi’ to that brother of yours for me.”
“Will do.”
Before the old man could say another word he was out the door, striding quickly through the downpour.
Chapter Three
Morgan came awake by degrees, dread lying like a cold stone in her stomach. She was always tense for those first few seconds before she realized where she was. A blurry-eyed glance at her surroundings instantly reassured her. The aged white walls in desperate need of paint were becoming increasingly familiar and the yellow oversized armchair with burgundy floral pattern sitting in the far corner was immediately comforting. It had been her mother’s, as was the antique French dresser across the room. Morgan sat up in bed, focusing on the two items and letting the well-loved pieces ground her to a past that only included her mother and that was warm and filled with loving memories.
She stretched, letting the feelings of freedom and independence loosen her muscles and relax her mind. Relief settled in. She was in Montana, not Chicago, and had awakened in the bedroom of her new home, not in her husband’s. She had waved goodbye to the movers two weeks ago.
The bedside clock read six forty-six A.M; she had a doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty for a check-up on her leg, and to renew her pain prescription. Crap! She hated meeting new doctors; hated having to pretend she didn’t see the suspicious looks at her face, or the way they murmured and gestured to their associates when they were in the hallway and thought she couldn’t see them. The worst was having to try to explain if they asked how she had been scarred…it never stopped and always managed to make her feel low, like her disfigurement somehow made her less of a person. Why couldn’t they just take a look at her, examine her leg and hip, and give her their usual advice, which she already knew backwards and forwards. Stretches, massages, daily aspirin, use a cane if she needed, more check-ups and to take her pain meds only when the pain became intense. That was all they could do for her and, after months of painful physical therapy, both she and the doctors knew it. There was
no changing the fact that she would always be partially crippled. But at least she had survived. Morgan constantly told herself that was all that mattered. Not looks, not material things, and definitely not men. No way. Not ever again. Men were sly, brutal animals…no, no, she shouldn’t think that. Men were much worse than any animal could be.
Not that any would want her even if she was interested. By now she was used to ‘the looks’—as she had come to think of them—and tried not to let them hurt her. But it was definitely hard to deal with. People were naturally mean, critical and judgmental, especially when someone was different. The killer had been when people had started quickly looking the other way when she happened to look at them…and then she noticed that no one would look her in the eyes anymore. Several times she had toyed with the idea of putting a gun to her head, just so she would no longer be in the world and those people—the ones that treated her like a side-show freak— could get on with their lives. Luckily, Lisa had stepped in with the idea of her moving away from everything, hence the fresh start out here where there were fewer people and more open space. She had no direct neighbors except for the large farm across the woods; access to the internet and TV allowed her to shop from home if she preferred, and she only had to go out when she felt like it or when she had an appointment, such as today.
She sighed in resignation, knowing that she had to get her butt moving. The trip into the neighboring city would take at least an hour and a half, and then she had to allow herself time to find the doctor’s office.
Throwing the sheet back, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and tentatively put weight on her bad leg. These first few minutes always told her how the day would go. When all she felt was a slight pull she let out a relieved sigh. Grabbing up her yellow robe from the back of the armchair she shrugged into it and moved to pull up the wooden blinds covering her huge picture window. Her reflection, all pale skin and shadowed eyes, stared back at her, while rain splattered heavily against the glass and ran in rivulets along the pane.
Crying…Her fingers came up, trembling as they traced the tears on the glass. So much time spent crying… Thunder rumbled, shaking the small cottage, and then lightning flashed, streaks of yellow and white striking deadly and to the point in her field; she jumped, startled back into the present. Morgan dropped the blind back down, knowing that the storm was not going to let up anytime soon and dreading having to go out in it. Crawling back into bed, safe and snug under the covers sounded so much better, and she would have if she hadn’t needed to renew her darn pain prescription.
Turning away from the window, she moved slowly across her bedroom to the small adjoining bathroom. She was proud of her place; even though the walls were ugly and discolored and the “who-knew-how-old” wallpaper was peeling off in various rooms, it was still all hers. A pang of sorrow jolted her and she blinked back tears. Her mother would have loved it here, and Morgan would have loved having her here to help fix it up. More tears tightened her throat, the ache so bad she could barely swallow.
Not now, Morgan. Biting her lip, she hurried into her bathroom and started running water for a bath, adding a good amount of Epsom salts and fragrance to the warm water. The bathroom was next on her mile-long list of projects, and she couldn’t wait to find time to go to the huge expo she had seen signs for. Her husband would have had a fit if she had tried to bring items from a flea market, or any secondhand store, into their home. It had been only the newest and most expensive modern furniture for him, hand-picked by an even more expensive designer.
Cold, hard furnishings that suited her husband’s cold, hard demeanor. Morgan had hated every single piece in the house.
Shuddering, she looped her hair up on the top of her head and secured the heavy mass with several clips, then sank down into the almost full tub, sighing deeply as the warm water seeped into her muscles. Morgan loved taking long hot baths, but this morning was not the time to dally, and so she scrubbed quickly and thoroughly before climbing out and toweling off. Spending as brief amount of time as possible looking at her reflection, she applied heavy concealer to her cheek and color to her eyes and lips. The camouflage wouldn’t fool a close look by a doctor, but it did help her avoid being scrutinized by the unfailingly rude public.
Leaving the bathroom, she chose a white t-shirt and loose jeans from the closet, then pulled on her low-heeled supportive boots. The reinforced arches helped buffer the strain on her leg and she preferred them when she wasn’t sure how much walking she would have to do. Making her way down the hall, she tucked in her shirt and grabbed an umbrella and light rain jacket out of the front hall closet, along with her purse. Taking her keys off the hook by the front door, she stepped out onto her porch and locked the door behind her.
***
Dr. Bessick had been nice enough, and not easily fooled. Morgan had sat through the usual questioning; what types of exercises was she doing? How often did she need to take her pain medication? Had there been any worsening of pain? How long ago had the accident happened… and Morgan had answered them as she always did; with lies. Or, as she preferred to think of it, an altering of the truth. She was under no illusion that Dr. Bessick had believed her, but at least the female doctor had been less intrusive than most. She had simply examined her and seen no new injuries to be concerned about; only the older ones that had healed over as best they could and Morgan had honestly assured her that she now had nothing to worry about. She had left with a renewed prescription, an appointment for three months from today, and a special cream that the doctor said might help diminish her scarring a little.
There was always room for cautious hope.
Rain pelted her umbrella and soaked her boots as Morgan hurriedly unlocked her car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, then scrambled in, shaking and closing her umbrella after her. The storm had yet to diminish and she wanted nothing more than to get home and curl up in front of her TV or with a good book to wait out the remnants.
Pulling out of the parking lot, she passed a McDonald’s on her left and, as if on cue, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was half past one o’clock and she had yet to eat anything. Since her husbands ‘lessons’, food had never been high on her priority list and she had a tendency to keep herself in a mild state of hunger. It was unconsciously habitual and something she was definitely trying to change, but her husband had been an effective teacher and she a very quick learner. He had made it clear in more ways than one that he wanted her thin and that she had damn well better get thin and stay that way. Or else.
A thin line of sweat broke out over her forehead. It had not taken her long to become extremely familiar with the ‘or else’ part.
Stop it. He can’t hurt you now. He’s dead, Morgan.
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and she drew in a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. Yes, he was. She had claimed the body herself and made all of the funeral arrangements. But memories were powerful, and at times it seemed that his hold was just as strong from the grave as it had been when he had lived. God knew she woke up in a cold sweat often enough.
Turning the wipers on high, she slowly drove through town, slow enough that even with the rain she noticed things she hadn’t before, like the buildings that were made of huge timber logs, just as they would have been back in the old west, situated amongst larger stone and brick structures. Trees lined the walkways and on sunny days would provide shade to people browsing the boardwalk storefronts. There were signs directing tourists to the local ‘watering holes’ and hotels, and signs for the upcoming rodeos, festivals and annual celebrations of just about everything the population could think of.
Even on a thoroughly soaking day like today, the town was quaint and beautiful. Stopping for a red light, Morgan sat nibbling on her bottom lip. On green, she pulled her car into a parking area and grabbed her digital camera from the glove box, then locked her purse in the space vacated by the camera. Then she opened the car door and shook open her umbrella. Camera ready, she made her way through the rain and across the road, dodging puddles here and there until she reached the covered boardwalk. She leaned her umbrella against a wall and started snapping pictures.
An hour later the camera was full and she was feeling surprisingly revitalized. Her mind drifted back over some of the images she had captured, like the one she caught of a young cowboy dressed head to toe in a slicker riding his soaked horse down the middle of Main Street. It would make a great subject for one of her paintings. She’d blushed when he caught her photographing him and tipped his hat, and had been half afraid that he would ride over to her and, coward that she was, she’d smiled shyly and turned away to start snapping shots of the cloud shrouded hills in the background. Her cousin would be thrilled with a series of paintings based on Montana. Lisa had been hounding her to start some new paintings for several upcoming gallery shows, and now Morgan had the perfect subject.
After putting away her camera, Morgan browsed several shops while waiting for the rain to lessen, and ended up buying several unnecessary souvenirs, plus munching on two hamburgers. Finally, after two hours of waiting and wandering, Morgan was exhausted and her leg was starting to spasm. She could feel the dull prickling of pain starting in her hip; on top of that, she knew she still had the hour and a half drive home before she could relax in a warm tub. Limping slowly along the wooden walkway, she sighed in relief when she spotted her car and was finally able to climb inside and relax against the supple leather seats. After starting the car she turned the air on, letting it cool the humid interior while she massaged her aching muscles. Dealing with the small pinpricks was easy enough; it was the bigger, cramping spasms she knew were coming that were killers, and she prayed to God she could make it home before those came.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot into traffic. Once hitting the highway she rolled the driver’s side window down, letting in the sharp, crisp mountain air. Even though pain was now dulling her pleasure, she had not felt this alive—this free— in over six years.
The wind brought in sharp droplets of rain and blew her hair in all directions, wildly whipping the long dark strands, almost making them seem alive, like Medusa with her tangled head of snakes. Morgan laughed at the image, feeling a kinship to the poor woman and, on impulse, rolled down all of the car’s windows so that gusts of damp air came from all directions.
This…this was living.
Nicolas
Nicolas
Book Two of the Risking Love series
https://amzn.to/2GkldCD
Callie Carmen
Chapter One
Carlie
“Carlie, I see you eyeing that guy on the dance floor. I thought you swore off men after your ex made you feel like a sex freak for wanting more than the missionary,” Bella teased.
I almost groaned out loud from having to look away from him. “Very funny. Just because my focus is on my studies instead of dating, doesn’t mean I can’t observe and enjoy from afar. Does it?”
“Seriously, you should forget the nonsense your ex put in your head and enjoy a little male companionship. You’re taking this all ‘work and no play’ too far. It’s so depressing for us ladies to watch.” She puffed out her lips and gave me sad eyes.
It made me laugh.
“We all know how important good grades are to you, and God forbid you stray from your two-year success plan. But at least tonight you could lighten up a bit and have some fun. If not for you, do it for your friends.” She patted her chest.
Bella was one of the few friends that knew about the horrible poverty I had grown up in. She understood why my ultimate goal of leaving that world behind was so important. Her heart was in the right place as she once again lectured me on having some fun, but men just didn’t fit into my plans. At least not for the next year or so.
I figured it was best to stop her from worrying about me, and said, “Maybe if the man that dances like a professional dance instructor was interested in applying for the position, I’d change my mind.”
I smiled.
She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Now you’re talking.”
We both laughed.
“I’ve spotted a Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome I’m going after,” declared Bella. “Later.” She headed off in the direction of a man that our friend Violet had shown interest in when we had first arrived at the club. Violet liked men to come to her, as they almost always did. But it looked like this time she’d waited too long.
I turned back to the dance floor, and to the man I’d been watching. He moved a beautiful woman around like they had been dancing together for years. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Anyone who could move their hips the way he did, and glide a woman around with the ease he did, had to be an amazing lover. I imagined what it would be like to have sex with him and not have to fake an orgasm. My body heated.
Faking it had been required most of the time with my ex. But this man might be worth a bit of my study time. I fanned myself just as he made eye contact with me. I felt a shiver up my spine.
Of course, I shouldn’t have been having such thoughts. Being out with my friends for a bit of fun before diving back into my studies should have been all that concerned me. I’d learned my lesson in junior college that having a boyfriend interfered with my studies. Now, I had straight A’s with just two semesters to go. Thank goodness the transfer credits didn’t affect my GPA. My plan to graduate at the top of the class was definitely in reach. Any distraction could jeopardize that goal.
Yet, as he left the dance floor alone, I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d dance with next.
Nicolas
I’d gone to the club just to blow off some steam after another long medical residency shift at the local hospital. Besides long distance running, dancing was my favorite way to leave work behind. As I spun the woman in my arms around the dance floor, a gorgeous woman with sandy blond hair, dressed in a conservative pencil skirt and white blouse, caught my eye. She watched my every move. The more she watched, the more I wanted it to be her in my arms. When our eyes met, it felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
I wasn’t at the club to meet anyone. I was far too busy trying to impress the powers that be at the hospital. There was only one surgical position available—and I wanted it. It was down to one other resident and me, and I’d already decided I’d do whatever I needed to do to make sure the position was mine. Being a surgeon—saving lives—had been all I’d ever wanted. If I got to do it right here in my hometown, near my close-knit family, all the better.
As the song ended, I thanked the young lady for the dance and then went in search of the woman I’d been drawn to. She was too neat and tidy, with perfect hair, perfect makeup, and a professional outfit. It was almost business attire, except for the killer black stilettos and the extra unbuttoned button showing the start of her cleavage. I headed down the crowded aisle toward where I had last seen her. As I searched, I reminded myself that I was not in the market for a relationship.
Then I spotted her and observed those wary, beautiful blue eyes—and knew I was lost. I made my way through the sea of Friday night partiers. The closer I got to her, the faster my heart raced.
I had dressed in a dark navy suit, and I could see her taking in every inch of my attire. Hopefully, the spark that flashed in her eyes as she looked into mine meant that she liked what she saw and felt the intense attraction between us. I straightened my tie and gave her a slow, sexy smile.
Her eyes darkened.
When we were just inches apart, I took her hand, and spun her around. “My name is Nicolas Antonis. What’s yours?”
She cleared her throat. “If you must know, it’s Carlie Keith.”
Her sharp tone may have turned another man off, but not me. I wanted her.
“Carlie, this next song is ours.”
I tugged her toward me and started for the dance floor. The closer we got, the more she seemed to hesitate. I stopped abruptly and turned to see why she was straining to get away. But then she must have changed her mind, because instead of wrenching away she moved forward and fell into my arms.
Her eyes squeezed closed, and her arms wrapped around me. I told myself that I kept her tight against my body to keep her from falling. What I was actually doing was seeing if my touch could melt a bit of her coolness.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the heat coming from them nearly burned me. I was sure what they were saying was, ‘My name is Carlie Keith. Please take me.’ The fire building between us was melting her frost.
I leaned in and whispered against her ear, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like dancing?”
Her eyes drooped closed, and she gasped as a strand of hair on her neck stirred in the slight breeze created by my breath. Her reaction caused my dick to get semi-hard, and I still hadn’t moved away.
She exhaled and bobbed her head. “Yes, I do, but I’m afraid of looking foolish; I can’t do what you were doing.”
“So you were watching me?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. Ugh.”
I chuckled at her indecision over whether to tell the truth or not. I was glad truth had won out.
“There’s no way I’ll be able to keep up with you. Please,” she whispered back, and my semi-hard erection got full-on hard.
What was it about this woman? She drove me crazy, and I didn’t even know her.
“Please what, Carlie?”
“Please don’t make me go out there.” She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“I’ll make you a promise. Your body will move in ways you never thought it could. You’ll look gorgeous out there. All the women will wish they could dance like you, and the men will want you, but none of them will touch you.”
She puffed out air and said, “Baloney.”
“You’ll see,” I smiled. “If I prove you wrong, then tonight, for as long as we’re here, you’ll be mine.” I arched a brow and gave her my most charming smile. “Trust me?” I gave her earlobe a soft, quick nip and leaned back enough to explore her eyes. Her pupils were huge.
Chapter Two
Carlie
God, I’d sounded so snotty when he’d introduced himself and asked for my name. What was wrong with me? Had I put men off for so long that I just couldn’t help myself anymore? I thought I’d blown it with him. That was what I should want, so I could stick to my plan with no messy relationship gunk to distract me. But a jolt of lightning had shot through me when he’d held my hand.
Nicolas still seemed interested, and now my body heated from his closeness, and the nip had made me quiver. It was extremely forward of him to do such a thing. One more reason why I should run for my life. There was too much at stake, and he would definitely distract me.
It had been over a year since I’d been tempted to spend time with a man. What was so different about this one that I’d consider getting to know him? It didn’t matter; I wouldn’t chance failure. I refused to go back to the roach-infested hellhole that I’d clawed out of.
There was no way I could keep up with Nicolas on the dance floor, so I’d have to use that to wiggle my way out of his proposal. I’d accept his challenge, live through the embarrassment of looking like a novice on the dance floor, then get safely away from him.
“Fine. I’ll make a fool of myself, but when I prove you wrong, you have to leave me be for the rest of the night. You promise?”
He made an X over his heart and said, “Promise.”
In seconds, the next song started, and Nicolas spun my body into his. He used his strong arms and hands to move me every which way he wanted. I couldn’t believe what I saw each time I looked at the mirrored wall at our reflection. We danced magnificently together. He was amazing.
I felt so free—like a bird gliding on air—and was having so much fun. Until I remembered that this meant he was going to spend the rest of the evening with me. I kept my promises, so there would be no way to run when the song ended. Darn it. I’d have to let him in just enough to be polite, but not enough to make him want more. This had to end tonight.
Nicolas
Carlie and I spent several fantastic—and sometimes frustrating—hours together. She’d open up a little and cuddle in close to me. Then she’d clam up and move away—a pattern that repeated over and over throughout the evening. She was a dichotomy. I was certain she wanted more from me, but it felt like she was fighting to resist those needs.
I felt like I was on a roller coaster all night long. One moment I’d be full of joy and excitement, my blood rushing through me. Then she’d pull away and stab me in the heart. I’d never been a masochist, but I was along for the ride with this woman. After spending four hours together, she refused to give me her phone number and left with her friends. I was brokenhearted.
***
Since that night, I’d taken a few drives around her college campus on my days off, praying that we’d run into each other. No such luck. What the heck was I going to do? When I wasn’t working or sleeping, she was on my mind. Well, that was not quite true. She also starred in all of my erotic dreams. There was no doubt Carlie was the one.
God, I didn’t need this in my life right now. My residency was too important to allow distractions. Maybe it was time to give up finding her. Yep, that was what I was going to do. I acted like it was no big deal, but I felt my stomach drop.
With that settled, my errands became my main focus. I had to get to the bank and the grocery store. My refrigerator was down to one slice of bread and two eggs. Definitely not enough to survive on. There was always the option to stop at our family restaurant and load up on meals to go, but my brother Damon would bust my butt for needing him to survive, or some stupid crap like that. No thanks—grocery store it was.
Once at the corner bank, I got into line. The woman in front of me turned around and began to flirt. I wasn’t interested, but being polite was important to me. We chatted until it was her turn, then I gazed forward and couldn’t believe my eyes. Carlie was one of the tellers, and the man she had helped had just finished. My heart raced as I took my place at the counter and watched as she stored the last customer’s paperwork.
Carlie said, “Hello, may I—”
She swallowed her last words as she looked up.
“Nicolas,” she whispered, regarding me with those same wary eyes as when we’d first met.
Unfortunately for Carlie, I could also see the passion she had for me in those blue eyes.
I spoke a mile a minute. “Carlie, when do you get off work? We need to meet after, or I need your phone number. It’s time we talk.”
She rolled a paper bill band back and forth. “Nicolas, I can’t. I told you at the club that I had too much going on in my life. I can’t start a relationship with anyone right now. And I can’t talk about this at work, so you need to leave.”
I held out my deposit slip with a couple of checks. She snatched them out of my hand and started to enter them into my account.
“I’m not leaving until I have your number or you agree to meet me after work.”
She shoved a receipt at me. “Nicolas, there’s a line behind you.” She puffed out air, and her lips vibrated.
“Yes, I know. So you’d better decide soon, or you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.” I gave her a sly smile.
She tossed the paper band into the trash and, with an indignant tone, said, “Fine. I’ll meet you outside in the parking lot in one hour.”
“Carlie, you just made my day.”
I turned around, apologized to those still in line, then left before she could change her mind.
Chapter Three
Carlie
Being true to my word, we met in the parking lot. Nicolas convinced me to go on a dinner date Friday at his family’s restaurant. He told me that some of his family members would be working there that night, including his brother Damon and his parents. By the time Friday came around, I was a bundle of nerves.
As soon as we arrived, several members of Nicolas’s family got up from various tables and surrounded us. I wanted to run for my life, but I’d promised I’d give him this one date to get to know each other better, and I was going to keep my word if it killed me.
His mother shooed all the relatives back to their tables and pulled her Nicky in for a hug.
“I love you, Mom,” Nicolas said as he kissed her cheek.
Then they both turned to me.
“Mom, I want you to meet someone special. This is Carlie.”
Before I could get a word out, Nicolas’s mother grabbed me in a warm, bear hug. “We’re so happy you’re here. You must be precious because my Nicky hasn’t brought a girlfriend home to meet us since high school.”
That statement completely overwhelmed me. I glanced over at Nicolas and saw that he had a beautiful, bright smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
I couldn’t believe he had given his mother that impression of us. There was no us. He was no help at all. I wanted to roll my eyes and stick out my tongue at him.
She showed us to our table and almost immediately we were surrounded again, only this time by his brothers and his father.
His gorgeous brother, Seth, pulled me from my seat, and kissed and hugged me. “You weren’t kidding, bro, she’s beautiful. Look me up, Carlie, if you get tired of my brother here,” he said, with a wink and a smile.
I felt a blush run up my body as Aaron, the youngest brother, grabbed me from Seth’s arms. He was also gorgeous, but not yet as filled out as Seth and Nicolas. He kissed me on the lips and said, “Ooh, Nick, she is definitely too good for you. I’ll have to step in and take over.” He dipped his head. “Just getting a rise out of him. Love to bust his butt,” he whispered in my ear.
I giggled.
Nicolas growled.
A large shadow hung over me. I looked up and saw who I assumed was another brother—the most gorgeous brother of them all. His shoulders were even broader than Nicolas’s. Even through the white chef’s jacket, I saw he had a strong muscular build. His brooding face and silence were a bit intimidating though. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when we locked eyes I saw that he was judging me. He made me shiver.
Their father saved me from his scrutiny as he swooped in and kissed me first on one cheek, then the other.
“Carlie, it’s so nice to meet you. Welcome to our home away from home. Nicolas has told us so much about you. I hope you enjoy your dinner, and if my Nicky gives you any trouble you come and see me,” his dad said with a wink.
I could see where his sons got their charm. I thanked him and took my seat, completely overwhelmed with the warmth of Nicolas’s family. They were all so outgoing, so accepting, and I could tell they were a close-knit family that loved to razz each other. I glanced back up and found that the shadow-maker still stood there with his stoic stare. Well, maybe they weren’t all warm and accepting.
Nicolas introduced his brother Damon.
“I’ll be making your dinner personally. If you don’t see what you want on the menu, feel free to make a special request,” Damon said, though it sounded more like a command.
“That’s so generous of you, Damon. I appreciate it. Nicolas told me that you’re an amazing chef. I’d love to hear what you recommend.”
I saw a little sparkle in his eyes as he gave Nicolas a smidgeon of a smirk. God forbid he lose the brooding look entirely.
“In that case, I’ll start you off with Garides Tourkolimano Shrimp cooked in a spicy tomato sauce, covered in feta cheese, and served with crusty bread to sop up the delicious sauce, with a drink of ouzo.”
I rubbed my hands together and said, “Yummy.”
“Next, I’ll serve a mix of side dishes and main entrées that you can both share—Souvlaki marinated pork tenderloin and grilled veggie skewers. Also Spanakopita —a rich pie stuffed with spinach, onions, cheese, and herbs in flaky phyllo dough. Then Baked Asparagus and Feta, with lemon and a little chili pepper kick.”
My eyes felt like they were growing bigger by the second as I rubbed my tummy and licked my lips.
“You have to try Chicken Kozani with prunes and onions to lend sweetness; paprika adds a smoky flavor served over steamed rice. Then I can’t let you miss out on Lamb Feta Peppers—a savory combination of lamb, rice and feta cheese, stuffed in sweet green peppers and smothered with sauce. All served with Greek wine.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“And for dessert, Baklava—a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of phyllo filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with honey.”
I slumped down in my chair like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. How was I supposed to walk after eating all that delicious food?
“Damon, that all sounds amazing, but there’s only two of us. How could we possibly eat all that?”
“No worries. My brothers will stop by and pick at the food, as they torture Nicolas about bringing home a special woman for the first time. Don’t be surprised when Mom and Dad stop by again too. Anything you don’t finish I can send home with you in a doggie bag.”
At that point, my mouth hung open in disbelief. Here I was in a sea of gorgeous Greeks, with a man I’d only spent four hours with the night we met, yet they were treating me like I was someone special. I didn’t even know Nicolas. How on earth was meeting his entire family a good idea for a first date?
Nicolas reached over and gently closed my mouth by pushing my chin up. Then he chuckled.
One dish after the next came out of the kitchen, always with a different member of the family. Each time they’d tease and bust Nicolas’s chops, and the ouzo and wine just kept coming. I enjoyed the food and company so much; I couldn’t believe how relaxed and at home I felt with these boisterous, loving people.
My family was nothing like this. We were less talkative and a lot less outgoing and friendly. We were usually wary of strangers. Of course, in the neighborhood where my family lived, that was necessary, or you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.
One family member after the next had told me a hilarious story about Nicolas—from his diaper days all the way through his high school years. I learned so much about him. The more I learned, the more my heart softened toward him.
My favorite was the one Seth told about when they went to visit the Easter bunny at the mall. Nicolas, eight at the time, had claimed he was too old to believe in the Easter bunny. To prove his point, when the man wearing the suit bent down to pick up little Aaron, Nicolas had pulled the bunny head off the guy. There were screams from all the young children that were standing in line. Nicolas had been so proud of himself for being right that he hadn’t noticed his actions had terrorized all the other kids. He’d stood with his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face, and eyes that had twinkled up at his mother and father. Priceless.
My sides ached from all the laughing I did. I could only imagine how his brothers were going to pay for their embarrassing storytelling. If they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t bring a woman home anytime soon. Nicolas would make sure that what they’d dished out would be given back tenfold.
When I stood up to say my goodbyes, my body swayed a bit. Nicolas took me by the elbow and walked me over to each family member. When I reached Damon, he still had a brooding face, but I didn’t care one bit. His food had been too magnificent not to give the man a big hug and a kiss on the cheek to thank him.
He stood there, not making a move, except for a flinch of his cheek when I stood on my toes and kissed him. Aaron and Seth busted his butt, and Nicolas pulled me back to his side mouthing a silent “Mine” to his older brother.
Nicky’s mother smiled at her sons’ antics as she packed up enough food to last me the rest of the week.
I sighed. What I wouldn’t give to have a family like that.
Book Two of the Risking Love series
https://amzn.to/2GkldCD
Callie Carmen
Chapter One
Carlie
“Carlie, I see you eyeing that guy on the dance floor. I thought you swore off men after your ex made you feel like a sex freak for wanting more than the missionary,” Bella teased.
I almost groaned out loud from having to look away from him. “Very funny. Just because my focus is on my studies instead of dating, doesn’t mean I can’t observe and enjoy from afar. Does it?”
“Seriously, you should forget the nonsense your ex put in your head and enjoy a little male companionship. You’re taking this all ‘work and no play’ too far. It’s so depressing for us ladies to watch.” She puffed out her lips and gave me sad eyes.
It made me laugh.
“We all know how important good grades are to you, and God forbid you stray from your two-year success plan. But at least tonight you could lighten up a bit and have some fun. If not for you, do it for your friends.” She patted her chest.
Bella was one of the few friends that knew about the horrible poverty I had grown up in. She understood why my ultimate goal of leaving that world behind was so important. Her heart was in the right place as she once again lectured me on having some fun, but men just didn’t fit into my plans. At least not for the next year or so.
I figured it was best to stop her from worrying about me, and said, “Maybe if the man that dances like a professional dance instructor was interested in applying for the position, I’d change my mind.”
I smiled.
She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Now you’re talking.”
We both laughed.
“I’ve spotted a Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome I’m going after,” declared Bella. “Later.” She headed off in the direction of a man that our friend Violet had shown interest in when we had first arrived at the club. Violet liked men to come to her, as they almost always did. But it looked like this time she’d waited too long.
I turned back to the dance floor, and to the man I’d been watching. He moved a beautiful woman around like they had been dancing together for years. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Anyone who could move their hips the way he did, and glide a woman around with the ease he did, had to be an amazing lover. I imagined what it would be like to have sex with him and not have to fake an orgasm. My body heated.
Faking it had been required most of the time with my ex. But this man might be worth a bit of my study time. I fanned myself just as he made eye contact with me. I felt a shiver up my spine.
Of course, I shouldn’t have been having such thoughts. Being out with my friends for a bit of fun before diving back into my studies should have been all that concerned me. I’d learned my lesson in junior college that having a boyfriend interfered with my studies. Now, I had straight A’s with just two semesters to go. Thank goodness the transfer credits didn’t affect my GPA. My plan to graduate at the top of the class was definitely in reach. Any distraction could jeopardize that goal.
Yet, as he left the dance floor alone, I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d dance with next.
Nicolas
I’d gone to the club just to blow off some steam after another long medical residency shift at the local hospital. Besides long distance running, dancing was my favorite way to leave work behind. As I spun the woman in my arms around the dance floor, a gorgeous woman with sandy blond hair, dressed in a conservative pencil skirt and white blouse, caught my eye. She watched my every move. The more she watched, the more I wanted it to be her in my arms. When our eyes met, it felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
I wasn’t at the club to meet anyone. I was far too busy trying to impress the powers that be at the hospital. There was only one surgical position available—and I wanted it. It was down to one other resident and me, and I’d already decided I’d do whatever I needed to do to make sure the position was mine. Being a surgeon—saving lives—had been all I’d ever wanted. If I got to do it right here in my hometown, near my close-knit family, all the better.
As the song ended, I thanked the young lady for the dance and then went in search of the woman I’d been drawn to. She was too neat and tidy, with perfect hair, perfect makeup, and a professional outfit. It was almost business attire, except for the killer black stilettos and the extra unbuttoned button showing the start of her cleavage. I headed down the crowded aisle toward where I had last seen her. As I searched, I reminded myself that I was not in the market for a relationship.
Then I spotted her and observed those wary, beautiful blue eyes—and knew I was lost. I made my way through the sea of Friday night partiers. The closer I got to her, the faster my heart raced.
I had dressed in a dark navy suit, and I could see her taking in every inch of my attire. Hopefully, the spark that flashed in her eyes as she looked into mine meant that she liked what she saw and felt the intense attraction between us. I straightened my tie and gave her a slow, sexy smile.
Her eyes darkened.
When we were just inches apart, I took her hand, and spun her around. “My name is Nicolas Antonis. What’s yours?”
She cleared her throat. “If you must know, it’s Carlie Keith.”
Her sharp tone may have turned another man off, but not me. I wanted her.
“Carlie, this next song is ours.”
I tugged her toward me and started for the dance floor. The closer we got, the more she seemed to hesitate. I stopped abruptly and turned to see why she was straining to get away. But then she must have changed her mind, because instead of wrenching away she moved forward and fell into my arms.
Her eyes squeezed closed, and her arms wrapped around me. I told myself that I kept her tight against my body to keep her from falling. What I was actually doing was seeing if my touch could melt a bit of her coolness.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the heat coming from them nearly burned me. I was sure what they were saying was, ‘My name is Carlie Keith. Please take me.’ The fire building between us was melting her frost.
I leaned in and whispered against her ear, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like dancing?”
Her eyes drooped closed, and she gasped as a strand of hair on her neck stirred in the slight breeze created by my breath. Her reaction caused my dick to get semi-hard, and I still hadn’t moved away.
She exhaled and bobbed her head. “Yes, I do, but I’m afraid of looking foolish; I can’t do what you were doing.”
“So you were watching me?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. Ugh.”
I chuckled at her indecision over whether to tell the truth or not. I was glad truth had won out.
“There’s no way I’ll be able to keep up with you. Please,” she whispered back, and my semi-hard erection got full-on hard.
What was it about this woman? She drove me crazy, and I didn’t even know her.
“Please what, Carlie?”
“Please don’t make me go out there.” She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“I’ll make you a promise. Your body will move in ways you never thought it could. You’ll look gorgeous out there. All the women will wish they could dance like you, and the men will want you, but none of them will touch you.”
She puffed out air and said, “Baloney.”
“You’ll see,” I smiled. “If I prove you wrong, then tonight, for as long as we’re here, you’ll be mine.” I arched a brow and gave her my most charming smile. “Trust me?” I gave her earlobe a soft, quick nip and leaned back enough to explore her eyes. Her pupils were huge.
Chapter Two
Carlie
God, I’d sounded so snotty when he’d introduced himself and asked for my name. What was wrong with me? Had I put men off for so long that I just couldn’t help myself anymore? I thought I’d blown it with him. That was what I should want, so I could stick to my plan with no messy relationship gunk to distract me. But a jolt of lightning had shot through me when he’d held my hand.
Nicolas still seemed interested, and now my body heated from his closeness, and the nip had made me quiver. It was extremely forward of him to do such a thing. One more reason why I should run for my life. There was too much at stake, and he would definitely distract me.
It had been over a year since I’d been tempted to spend time with a man. What was so different about this one that I’d consider getting to know him? It didn’t matter; I wouldn’t chance failure. I refused to go back to the roach-infested hellhole that I’d clawed out of.
There was no way I could keep up with Nicolas on the dance floor, so I’d have to use that to wiggle my way out of his proposal. I’d accept his challenge, live through the embarrassment of looking like a novice on the dance floor, then get safely away from him.
“Fine. I’ll make a fool of myself, but when I prove you wrong, you have to leave me be for the rest of the night. You promise?”
He made an X over his heart and said, “Promise.”
In seconds, the next song started, and Nicolas spun my body into his. He used his strong arms and hands to move me every which way he wanted. I couldn’t believe what I saw each time I looked at the mirrored wall at our reflection. We danced magnificently together. He was amazing.
I felt so free—like a bird gliding on air—and was having so much fun. Until I remembered that this meant he was going to spend the rest of the evening with me. I kept my promises, so there would be no way to run when the song ended. Darn it. I’d have to let him in just enough to be polite, but not enough to make him want more. This had to end tonight.
Nicolas
Carlie and I spent several fantastic—and sometimes frustrating—hours together. She’d open up a little and cuddle in close to me. Then she’d clam up and move away—a pattern that repeated over and over throughout the evening. She was a dichotomy. I was certain she wanted more from me, but it felt like she was fighting to resist those needs.
I felt like I was on a roller coaster all night long. One moment I’d be full of joy and excitement, my blood rushing through me. Then she’d pull away and stab me in the heart. I’d never been a masochist, but I was along for the ride with this woman. After spending four hours together, she refused to give me her phone number and left with her friends. I was brokenhearted.
***
Since that night, I’d taken a few drives around her college campus on my days off, praying that we’d run into each other. No such luck. What the heck was I going to do? When I wasn’t working or sleeping, she was on my mind. Well, that was not quite true. She also starred in all of my erotic dreams. There was no doubt Carlie was the one.
God, I didn’t need this in my life right now. My residency was too important to allow distractions. Maybe it was time to give up finding her. Yep, that was what I was going to do. I acted like it was no big deal, but I felt my stomach drop.
With that settled, my errands became my main focus. I had to get to the bank and the grocery store. My refrigerator was down to one slice of bread and two eggs. Definitely not enough to survive on. There was always the option to stop at our family restaurant and load up on meals to go, but my brother Damon would bust my butt for needing him to survive, or some stupid crap like that. No thanks—grocery store it was.
Once at the corner bank, I got into line. The woman in front of me turned around and began to flirt. I wasn’t interested, but being polite was important to me. We chatted until it was her turn, then I gazed forward and couldn’t believe my eyes. Carlie was one of the tellers, and the man she had helped had just finished. My heart raced as I took my place at the counter and watched as she stored the last customer’s paperwork.
Carlie said, “Hello, may I—”
She swallowed her last words as she looked up.
“Nicolas,” she whispered, regarding me with those same wary eyes as when we’d first met.
Unfortunately for Carlie, I could also see the passion she had for me in those blue eyes.
I spoke a mile a minute. “Carlie, when do you get off work? We need to meet after, or I need your phone number. It’s time we talk.”
She rolled a paper bill band back and forth. “Nicolas, I can’t. I told you at the club that I had too much going on in my life. I can’t start a relationship with anyone right now. And I can’t talk about this at work, so you need to leave.”
I held out my deposit slip with a couple of checks. She snatched them out of my hand and started to enter them into my account.
“I’m not leaving until I have your number or you agree to meet me after work.”
She shoved a receipt at me. “Nicolas, there’s a line behind you.” She puffed out air, and her lips vibrated.
“Yes, I know. So you’d better decide soon, or you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.” I gave her a sly smile.
She tossed the paper band into the trash and, with an indignant tone, said, “Fine. I’ll meet you outside in the parking lot in one hour.”
“Carlie, you just made my day.”
I turned around, apologized to those still in line, then left before she could change her mind.
Chapter Three
Carlie
Being true to my word, we met in the parking lot. Nicolas convinced me to go on a dinner date Friday at his family’s restaurant. He told me that some of his family members would be working there that night, including his brother Damon and his parents. By the time Friday came around, I was a bundle of nerves.
As soon as we arrived, several members of Nicolas’s family got up from various tables and surrounded us. I wanted to run for my life, but I’d promised I’d give him this one date to get to know each other better, and I was going to keep my word if it killed me.
His mother shooed all the relatives back to their tables and pulled her Nicky in for a hug.
“I love you, Mom,” Nicolas said as he kissed her cheek.
Then they both turned to me.
“Mom, I want you to meet someone special. This is Carlie.”
Before I could get a word out, Nicolas’s mother grabbed me in a warm, bear hug. “We’re so happy you’re here. You must be precious because my Nicky hasn’t brought a girlfriend home to meet us since high school.”
That statement completely overwhelmed me. I glanced over at Nicolas and saw that he had a beautiful, bright smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
I couldn’t believe he had given his mother that impression of us. There was no us. He was no help at all. I wanted to roll my eyes and stick out my tongue at him.
She showed us to our table and almost immediately we were surrounded again, only this time by his brothers and his father.
His gorgeous brother, Seth, pulled me from my seat, and kissed and hugged me. “You weren’t kidding, bro, she’s beautiful. Look me up, Carlie, if you get tired of my brother here,” he said, with a wink and a smile.
I felt a blush run up my body as Aaron, the youngest brother, grabbed me from Seth’s arms. He was also gorgeous, but not yet as filled out as Seth and Nicolas. He kissed me on the lips and said, “Ooh, Nick, she is definitely too good for you. I’ll have to step in and take over.” He dipped his head. “Just getting a rise out of him. Love to bust his butt,” he whispered in my ear.
I giggled.
Nicolas growled.
A large shadow hung over me. I looked up and saw who I assumed was another brother—the most gorgeous brother of them all. His shoulders were even broader than Nicolas’s. Even through the white chef’s jacket, I saw he had a strong muscular build. His brooding face and silence were a bit intimidating though. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when we locked eyes I saw that he was judging me. He made me shiver.
Their father saved me from his scrutiny as he swooped in and kissed me first on one cheek, then the other.
“Carlie, it’s so nice to meet you. Welcome to our home away from home. Nicolas has told us so much about you. I hope you enjoy your dinner, and if my Nicky gives you any trouble you come and see me,” his dad said with a wink.
I could see where his sons got their charm. I thanked him and took my seat, completely overwhelmed with the warmth of Nicolas’s family. They were all so outgoing, so accepting, and I could tell they were a close-knit family that loved to razz each other. I glanced back up and found that the shadow-maker still stood there with his stoic stare. Well, maybe they weren’t all warm and accepting.
Nicolas introduced his brother Damon.
“I’ll be making your dinner personally. If you don’t see what you want on the menu, feel free to make a special request,” Damon said, though it sounded more like a command.
“That’s so generous of you, Damon. I appreciate it. Nicolas told me that you’re an amazing chef. I’d love to hear what you recommend.”
I saw a little sparkle in his eyes as he gave Nicolas a smidgeon of a smirk. God forbid he lose the brooding look entirely.
“In that case, I’ll start you off with Garides Tourkolimano Shrimp cooked in a spicy tomato sauce, covered in feta cheese, and served with crusty bread to sop up the delicious sauce, with a drink of ouzo.”
I rubbed my hands together and said, “Yummy.”
“Next, I’ll serve a mix of side dishes and main entrées that you can both share—Souvlaki marinated pork tenderloin and grilled veggie skewers. Also Spanakopita —a rich pie stuffed with spinach, onions, cheese, and herbs in flaky phyllo dough. Then Baked Asparagus and Feta, with lemon and a little chili pepper kick.”
My eyes felt like they were growing bigger by the second as I rubbed my tummy and licked my lips.
“You have to try Chicken Kozani with prunes and onions to lend sweetness; paprika adds a smoky flavor served over steamed rice. Then I can’t let you miss out on Lamb Feta Peppers—a savory combination of lamb, rice and feta cheese, stuffed in sweet green peppers and smothered with sauce. All served with Greek wine.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“And for dessert, Baklava—a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of phyllo filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with honey.”
I slumped down in my chair like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. How was I supposed to walk after eating all that delicious food?
“Damon, that all sounds amazing, but there’s only two of us. How could we possibly eat all that?”
“No worries. My brothers will stop by and pick at the food, as they torture Nicolas about bringing home a special woman for the first time. Don’t be surprised when Mom and Dad stop by again too. Anything you don’t finish I can send home with you in a doggie bag.”
At that point, my mouth hung open in disbelief. Here I was in a sea of gorgeous Greeks, with a man I’d only spent four hours with the night we met, yet they were treating me like I was someone special. I didn’t even know Nicolas. How on earth was meeting his entire family a good idea for a first date?
Nicolas reached over and gently closed my mouth by pushing my chin up. Then he chuckled.
One dish after the next came out of the kitchen, always with a different member of the family. Each time they’d tease and bust Nicolas’s chops, and the ouzo and wine just kept coming. I enjoyed the food and company so much; I couldn’t believe how relaxed and at home I felt with these boisterous, loving people.
My family was nothing like this. We were less talkative and a lot less outgoing and friendly. We were usually wary of strangers. Of course, in the neighborhood where my family lived, that was necessary, or you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.
One family member after the next had told me a hilarious story about Nicolas—from his diaper days all the way through his high school years. I learned so much about him. The more I learned, the more my heart softened toward him.
My favorite was the one Seth told about when they went to visit the Easter bunny at the mall. Nicolas, eight at the time, had claimed he was too old to believe in the Easter bunny. To prove his point, when the man wearing the suit bent down to pick up little Aaron, Nicolas had pulled the bunny head off the guy. There were screams from all the young children that were standing in line. Nicolas had been so proud of himself for being right that he hadn’t noticed his actions had terrorized all the other kids. He’d stood with his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face, and eyes that had twinkled up at his mother and father. Priceless.
My sides ached from all the laughing I did. I could only imagine how his brothers were going to pay for their embarrassing storytelling. If they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t bring a woman home anytime soon. Nicolas would make sure that what they’d dished out would be given back tenfold.
When I stood up to say my goodbyes, my body swayed a bit. Nicolas took me by the elbow and walked me over to each family member. When I reached Damon, he still had a brooding face, but I didn’t care one bit. His food had been too magnificent not to give the man a big hug and a kiss on the cheek to thank him.
He stood there, not making a move, except for a flinch of his cheek when I stood on my toes and kissed him. Aaron and Seth busted his butt, and Nicolas pulled me back to his side mouthing a silent “Mine” to his older brother.
Nicky’s mother smiled at her sons’ antics as she packed up enough food to last me the rest of the week.
I sighed. What I wouldn’t give to have a family like that.
Naval Maneuvers
Naval Maneuvers
https://amzn.to/2q7Jp0S
Dee S. Knight
Weighing Anchor
Chapter One
"And what is your name, pretty?" Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.
"Roger," a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.
The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn't disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.
As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm before she "saw" them. She noticed if a man's eyes were dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that's just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.
Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. "I wonder what you looked like," she murmured. "What color were you, what did you eat, and what's your name?" She bent to read the exhibit information.
"Gray. Grass." That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. "Annnd, Roger."
Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. "And you are–"
"Roger."
He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. "Stop following me," she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.
The guy said, "Hold it."
Hold it? Hold it, as in "Wait a minute, little lady?" She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she'd ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.
"I'm sorry, what?"
In a lower voice, she said, "You're following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop."
"I didn't realize…" He wiggled the glasses at her. "I'm working here and I'm afraid I didn't notice you."
Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn't a perv and hadn't even noticed her?
His brow furrowed while he studied her. "Yes. Yes." Then he shook his head. "Roger."
Again, with that Roger.
"Gotta go. Later." Then he smiled at her. "Just a minute, okay?" He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud? —protected it and also put it in the case.
Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.
And good God. He hadn't been talking to her, he'd been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were…" She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.
"No," he said. "I apologize. I shouldn't be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger." His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.
Stop that! She laughed. "I thought you were naming each dinosaur." He smiled, and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel's breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.
He held out his hand. "David Stimson."
She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. "Melissa Crandall."
"Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?" Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly, he moved to the left of her.
"No, please. It's a free country." She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. "And this one is…" She half waited for his pronouncement.
"Not Roger," he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. "Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal."
"Well, I guess that's something to be proud of," Mel responded. David laughed, and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her, hands behind his back.
He pointed to the next specimen. "Poor guy. Starved to death."
"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"
"Can't you tell? He's all bones."
Mel covered her face, groaning. "Oh my gosh, that's so bad." She looked up into his smiling eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. "Admit it. You've been wanting to say that ever since you came in. You just needed a straight man."
Giving a one-shoulder shrug he said, "And here you are."
He took her elbow and she had to admit, while there was still no flash of electricity, she did feel a change. His hand was warm and there was a tingle going on. Yeah, definitely a tingle.
"Let's go and see if that guy over there is named Roger."
"David, truthfully? I don't think any of these guys are named Roger."
"Oh." He slowed to a stop. "Well, I guess that decides it then."
"Decides what?"
"Since I inadvertently caught you up in my test, I think I owe you lunch."
"You don't, really."
His face fell just a little. "I wish you'd let me buy you lunch. Or… let me put it this way, would you please have lunch with me? I heard about a great burger place just a little way up Pennsylvania Avenue. Nothing fancy but good, I heard." David stood back and held his hands up. "Totally platonic, all public."
That voice. Mel was lost in the rich body of it, the smooth softness of the rounded consonants and muted vowels, like being in the embracing mists that creep through mountain glens, until one doesn’t know which way is front or back. If she didn't watch it, she'd be falling in lust with the man just because of the way he sounded. She was not that kind of crazy woman.
Mel stared up into his hopeful expression. "If you make me go to lunch by myself," he said, "I'll only have my earbud and Roger to talk to."
She took a moment. This was so like nothing she ever did. But he was cute and funny, and they'd be in public. Plus, his voice alone moistened her panties. She wanted to go, to see if that tingle remained. Certainly, she'd never met anyone quite like him or anyone who made such a huge impression—in more than one way. She didn't live in D.C. and never had to see him again if she didn't want to.
But… Taking his outstretched hand, she admitted that if tonight went well, she just might want to.
***
Melissa's auburn hair had swished her shoulders when she tossed back her head to stare up at him when she thought he was following her on purpose, and her green eyes had glittered with indignation. But the magnetism that held his gaze had much more to do with her curves than with her eyes, beautiful as they were. David's immediate reaction had been to wrap his arms around her and haul her up against his body. They were in the Museum of Natural History, and what could be more natural than a man's instinct when it came to a woman?
They'd moved from exhibit to exhibit in a leisurely fashion until he couldn't stand not touching her anymore. He'd taken her elbow to get closer and that bare touch tightened his groin. He wasn't looking for any action while in D.C.—he was there for work, not play. Getting laid had been the furthest thing from his mind when he entered the museum to test their new equipment. Until he'd met the gaze of the woman he'd inadvertently stood beside.
As she'd turned back to give the last dinosaur and parting look, David had given her one. Curvy in all the right places, she showed her shape to good effect in tailored tan slacks and a green, fitted knit top. She wore low-heeled shoes and her head fit under his chin. In heels, he'd barely have to bend down to kiss her. She'd fit him well, body parts to body parts. Or close enough.
David couldn't believe Melissa had agreed to lunch. She hadn't let him hold her hand all the way to the restaurant, but he could wait for that. There was something about this woman, something special. He'd felt it right off the bat, and he sure as hell meant to stay around her long enough to figure out what she was all about.
They ordered burgers at a bar table while sipping a red wine for her and a beer for him. "To Roger," he said holding his glass up to toast.
She gave a wry smile. "You didn't make up that whole routine, did you?"
Grinning, David said, "What? Just to meet you, you mean?" Holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "I swear I did not pretend to be running a test just to meet you." They clinked glasses and he tasted the draft beer he'd ordered. "I would have made something up to meet you," he said, his voice low and a little growly. "But I'm ashamed to admit I truly didn't notice you were there until you accused me of stalking you."
"That's not very satisfying to a woman's ego," Mel replied. "Suppose I'd been standing next to someone else who wanted me to believe he knew the names of all the dinosaurs in the exhibit?"
"If I'd seen you as you'd been walking off with someone else, I would have thought he was some damn lucky guy. Then I'd have had to trick him into trading places."
"Trick him?"
"How else would a guy willingly leave you?"
Blushing, she focused on her wine. "Now I've embarrassed you," he said. Hesitantly, he reached across the small table to wrap the ends of her fingers in his. To his relief, she didn't pull back. "Sorry. When I see something I like, I tend to get carried away."
Her lips turned up. "You see something you like?"
"I think you know I do." With a great deal of willpower, he removed his hand and picked up his glass again. "Tell me about yourself. Do you live here in town?"
"No, in Virginia. How about you?"
"Also in Virginia. What do you do?"
Mel twirled her wine and David tried not to envy the glass as she raised it to her lips. This attraction made no sense. He didn't know the woman yet instinctively knew they'd launch fireworks in the bedroom. The question was, did she feel anything like the same?
"Let's not talk about jobs," she said. "Let's guess what we each do. Since you were testing some new gadget, you must be a mad scientist working on a device that will control colors."
David rested his chin on his fist. "Colors? Why would anyone want to do that?"
"To change perceptions. I heard you say 'Grass. Gray.' Obviously, you are trying to make us all see things in grayscale. It would make the whole world grumpy." She jerked up in her seat and snapped her fingers. "Oh! You work for a pharmaceutical company that produces anti-depressants. So first you make us all depressed, living without color and then your company sells the pills to correct the problem they created."
"Damn! Now I'll have to kidnap you because you've guessed our nefarious plans." Actually, running off with her didn't sound like all that bad a plan.
"Smart ass," she said with a laugh. "So, what do you think I do?"
"Novelist, obviously. You have an active imagination." He took up his beer.
Melissa preened. "I did win my fifth-grade writing award."
He tipped his glass to her. "See? I read people very well. And what do you write?"
"Romance," she said. "Sexy, steamy romance." She smiled at him from under her lashes. His cock rose at record speed, crashing into the zipper of his jeans. He held his breath for a moment, willing himself to relax and knowing he couldn't arrange himself without her noticing.
"I'll have to get you back for that, Melissa," he whispered.
Impishly she smiled. "Call me Mel," she said.
"I'll definitely be calling you. Mel." He flashed her a smile.
Thankfully, their food arrived, giving him a needed distraction. "Man, that is good," David said after taking a bite and swallowing. "So, are you visiting our nation's capital for the day or longer?" Say longer.
Mel used her napkin to dab at her mouth. "I was in town for a lecture and decided to take a few extra days. I'll be leaving on Sunday."
Sunday. Two days away. "Do you have plans?"
"Not really. Whenever I'm up here I like to hit whatever special exhibit the museum has going. But today that was interrupted by a man who likes to name the dinosaurs."
"Sorry," he said sheepishly.
She laughed and picked up her burger. "No worries. I'm enjoying this. And it's not like I haven't been to the museum before. I like archaeology and paleontology and all that old stuff, so I take advantage whenever I can to learn about it."
"Me, too. It's one of the great things about living in Virginia—history of all kinds is everywhere. Have you visited the Ruther Glen site?"
"No, but I've read about it. Fascinating." She picked up her wine glass and looked at him over the rim. He couldn't help but feel that he was being studied, just like those whale and dolphin remains in Ruther Glen. "So, are you a Virginia native?"
David couldn't hold back a tiny internal smile. She was interested in him as more than a specimen to examine. Thank you, God! He liked this woman—her scent, her smile, her intellect. "West-by-God-Virginia."
"Ah! Country roads lead you home much?" She bit into a French fry.
He held out his hands to stop her. "Please! There should be a limit to the number of times any West Virginian has to be reminded of that song."
She glanced down and then back up, looking a little shy and ridiculously sexy. "What are your plans? Are you going to be in town for a while?"
I definitely have plans. "I still have a bit more work to do, but just for the afternoon. I'm free for the rest of the weekend. Can I see you later, maybe take you to dinner?"
Mel rested her wrists against the table edge, hands on the table. Leaning forward she focused her gaze on his and he felt the intensity. "I don't do this, you know. I don't go out to lunch with strange men and certainly not to dinner. But…" She bit her bottom lip and David couldn't help but focus his gaze there. He wanted to do that. He wanted to take that full bottom lip between his lips and bite down gently. And then he wanted to take her mouth and stroke her with his tongue. The whole notion was fucking crazy.
Instead, he reached across the table and took her hand. "Look, Mel. I feel something going on between us. You might not believe this, but I don’t do this kind of thing either. I have never asked a woman I don't know—someone I just met—out to lunch."
She choked out a laugh. "Somehow I doubt that!"
David shook his head and tightened his grip on her fingers. "I don't, I promise. But with you…? It's like I've known you forever. Like we aren't strangers. Do you feel anything like that?"
It felt like forever before she squeezed his fingers and nodded. "I like you, too. Where would you like to meet for dinner?"
Relief rushed through him. "Where are you staying?"
"In Georgetown."
"Hey, me, too. I just arrived yesterday and wanted to try that place on M Street. It's… um… Hmm. It's a guy's name. It's…"
"Clyde's?"
"Yes! Actually, I already have reservations there for seven. Will that suit?"
She raised her brows. "You have reservations for a place but can't remember the name?"
He smiled. "Don't need to know the name. I know how to get there."
"Touché." She thought a moment. "I think seven will suit."
"Great. That's great." David hoped his grin didn't look too stupid. He was a grown man but for the first time, he felt something settle inside. This woman was special. He could see a relationship in her. Hell, if he were more romantically inclined, he might see his future in her, but it remained to be seen if anything could take root. Maybe tonight she'd give him a reason to find out.
Chapter Two
"You're doing what?" Sissy Buchanan's disbelief came through loud and clear. "Tell me you're kidding."
"I'm not," Mel told her. Trying to hold a cell phone conversation while dressing for dinner was no easy feat but she was managing. Until time to add earrings. "Sissy, I'm putting the phone on speaker."
Since she seemed to be throwing caution to the wind by dining with a man she'd just met that afternoon, she'd decided to pamper herself—something she rarely did. She'd had a manicure and facial in a day spa up the street from her hotel and then luxuriated in a long bath with a floral bath salt. After adding the dressiest outfit she'd brought with her—a black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk blouse—she felt special and beautiful and ready for whatever the night could hold. And she hoped that by dessert she would know what she wanted the night to hold.
"He's nice," she told Sissy while attaching the back to a gold love-knot stud earring. "And if you met him, you'd know he was okay. I feel it. I'm a good judge of character, you know."
"No, I don't know. Let's see. Was it you or me who dated that guy in med school who said he was a graduate student in anthropology but ended up being a junior who wanted to date an 'older woman' in order to get some sexual experience? You. And who fell hard for the lifeguard at the beach last time we went because he seemed so nice? You again. And who–"
"I get it, thanks." Mel huffed out a breath. "But this guy, I don't know. There's just something about him, something I like."
"You mean," Sissy said in a gentler voice, "that since you spit up with Tony you're lonely."
"Tony was almost a year ago, Sissy. I think if I were going to freak out over someone because I was lonely it would have happened before now."
Her friend heaved a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I've done all a best friend who's not there to tie you down can do. Speaking of doing something, what does this Prince Charming do?"
Ah, there's a good question. "Don't know. We didn't get into jobs."
"Good God, Mel, what did you get into?"
"Well, I think he works for some research company. He was testing a pretty specialized gadget when we met. His name is David Stimson and he's from West Virginia, although he lives in Virginia now."
"Where in Virginia?"
"Um… Don't know?" Sissy sent another of those sighs through the phone. "Look, when we finish I'll send you his phone number. And we're going to Clyde's tonight. That's a restaurant in Georgetown. Everything in public and safe."
"I want to hear from you tomorrow morning. Or tonight. Call me tonight before you go to sleep, no matter how late."
"That will disturb Mike."
"Mike isn't going to mind. By the time I finish with him, he'll sleep like a baby right through a nuclear attack. I'm going to–"
"Lalalalala! No sex talk, please. For those of us not getting any, it's depressing."
"Okay. I give. Have fun tonight. Be careful!"
"I will. I'll be back at work on Monday morning and tell you all about it." She pressed End, took another check in the mirror, picked up her bag, and left to find a taxi. She planned to arrive early and maybe have a glass of wine at the bar to gain a little courage.
Despite what she'd told Sissy, it did make her nervous knowing she was going out with a man she knew absolutely nothing about. But in the past, she'd gathered all kinds of information on the men she dated—well with the exceptions Sissy had made her recall—and look where it had gotten her. Not that she was dying to have a man, but she was thirty-three and one of the few single or unattached women she knew. The only thing worse than being a third (or fifth) wheel at dinners and parties was being set up, something she'd strongly discouraged for the past year. She wanted to be part of a couple but not if it meant blind date after blind date with men she had nothing in common with.
She didn't know anything about David but at least she chose him as her date, her walk on the wild side. No doubt this was a one-time thing, but if she were ever going to form a loving duo with someone, she first had to get used to dating again. David seemed safe and she sensed he'd be fun to spend time with. The best part was, after she went home she'd probably never see him again. It might be mercenary, but she could use him for practice and hopefully have a nice evening, too. She couldn't deny that there was something about him that attracted her.
When she arrived, the hostess directed her to the bar. Before she found a seat, however, she found David. He was just lifting a glass of something amber to his mouth when he spotted her. Carefully, he set down the glass and stood, a look of pure appreciation on his face. He raised his hand in greeting and she started forward. When she reached him, he took both of her hands and leaned in for a kiss on her cheek.
"You look beautiful," he said, mouth to her ear.
"Thanks," she said, returning the kiss to his cheek. "You clean up nicely, too." And indeed he did. Simple, navy blue slacks paired with a white button-down shirt and blue blazer would seem preppy on some men, but on him the look was easy sophistication.
"You're early," she added.
He smiled. "You, too. I'd like to think that's because you couldn't wait to see me again."
"Of course." She looked to his glass and then smiled up at him. "Also, maybe I needed a little Dutch courage."
He laughed. "Join the club. What would you like to drink?"
"White wine, please."
David raised his finger to the bartender and asked for the wine. "So, what did you do this afternoon?"
The rightness of the question struck Mel immediately. It didn't feel forced. The tone was friendly, familiar. No Dutch courage needed after all. She felt totally comfortable.
The bartender brought her drink and she took a sip before answering. "Nothing too much. Some reading and relaxing." No way would she spill the beans that she'd primped for their date. "How about you?"
"I've seen more of D.C. basements than I ever wanted to. Then I switched places with my partner. We were supposed to test the equipment outside the city, too, but I couldn't have made it out to Leesburg and back in time to meet you."
"What in the world are you testing?"
Waggling his brows, he said, "You know I can't divulge any more of the secret plan than you've already guessed."
"Okay, I give. Please thank your partner for making the trek in your place so we could have dinner."
"You're also taking his place at dinner. And I did thank him for that. I'd much rather sit across the table from you than from Todd, believe me. No comparison!"
"Wait! He gave up dinner?"
"He'll grab something on his way back. A burger and beer will make him as happy as eating here."
"Hmm, I think I like this Todd character," Mel said. "And I think I like you, too, David Stimson."
He took her hand and pulled her in for a soft kiss. His lips caressed hers with only a slight pressure and then he pulled back, not demanding anything, just giving pleasure. A very subtle scent—woodsy and fresh—enveloped her. She wanted more.
"I know I like you, Melissa Crandall."
His words sent a warmth throughout her body. His look sent a flood of heat to the spot between her thighs. What she wanted from the night was becoming more apparent by the minute. An end to her long dry spell. With this man. Only with this man.
Mel had never been one to throw caution to the wind. But tonight, she just might.
***
When Mel walked into the restaurant in that form-fitted black skirt and slinky white blouse, David had nearly dropped the glass of scotch he'd been nursing. Her hair skimmed her shoulders and she wore minimal makeup and little jewelry. Nothing took away from her stunning good looks. He'd bussed her cheek when what he'd wanted to do was take her lips in a heated kiss and mate his tongue with hers. Then he'd wanted to lift her onto a bar stool, spread her legs and play a little hide-and-seek with his cock and her pussy. But… They were in public and he limited himself to holding her hands and giving her a quick, admiring glance to show her how much he appreciated her. In a polite, gentlemanly way, of course, no matter how his blood had heated and started flowing to the lower regions with his first glance.
Drinks had been fun, dinner really excellent with superb service and food. Conversation had flowed as it never had with any woman on a first date. David couldn't believe his luck. How many women had he met in the last few years and felt no connection? Well, no emotional connection. He'd had plenty of physical connections, but nothing beyond a series of one-night stands and a couple of girlfriends he'd hung out with—fun times with a bit of fucking in between. Nothing serious. Nothing he'd wanted to be serious. But now, this woman fell into his lap, and he knew an instant closeness.
"Do you want to walk up the street and see what's what?" he asked as they left Clyde's. With only a little second guessing he reached down for her hand and happily noted that she linked her fingers with his. When had he ever hesitated over something as simple as reaching for a woman's hand? This weird attraction was turning him into a pussy.
"Sure. Georgetown at night is fun." They strolled along, wending through Friday night crowds and eventually mixing with a younger set wearing Georgetown University tee shirts. They found a table in a dinky bar that featured music.
"I remember these days," Mel shouted over the music. She used her pointer finger to sweep over the crowd, indicating the youth of the audience.
"Fondly?" David shouted back, struggling to scoot out of the aisle as a burly young man pushed past to reach a table nearer the stage.
She smiled and leaned forward to reach his ear. Her breath warmed his neck as her lips brushed his earlobe. His cock sprang to life. He gripped his beer bottle so as not to slide his hand around her waist and pull her onto his lap. "Oh yeah. It was great then. Now? Now, I just feel old."
David met her gaze. "No way," he mouthed. Then he leaned closer to her ear, hoping he aroused the same feelings in her that she had in him. "I don't know how old you are, but you aren't old, you're mellow. You're refined." He leaned back far enough to see her face but not so far as to miss her scent. The soft flowery fragrance had driven him and his cock crazy all night.
"Mellow and refined. Is that supposed to be a compliment?" She smiled, and God help him, her gaze dropped to his lips for a brief moment.
That was all the invitation David needed. He took her mouth in a firm but gentle kiss, giving her the chance to step back mentally if she chose to. To his relief, far from breaking the kiss, Mel slipped her hand to the back of his neck and held him where he was.
David tilted his head for better access and drove his fingers into her hair. Using his lips to explore every inch of her lips, he felt rather than heard her moan. Without his asking, she opened her mouth and gave him her tongue. He sucked in a breath and moved closer, brushing her breasts with the back of his hand as he moved his arm up and over the top of her chair to brace her back and pull her even closer. Exploring her mouth, his tongue stroked and tangled with hers, stoking the raging fire inside him and causing his cock to ache like a son of a bitch. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
Breaking the kiss on a gasp, Mel leaned forward, her mouth to his ear. "I don't know how much more of this I can take." David smiled. She'd just read his mind. He hoped she couldn't read too much of what he was thinking, or she'd run for the hills.
He nuzzled her delicate jaw up to her ear. "Want to get out of here?"
She nipped his ear lobe. "Roger," she said.
He pulled away and laughed, gazing down at her, stroking his thumb across her cheek. "I'm at the Marriott, not far from here." Mel's eyes lit up. He hated having to squelch her enthusiasm. He held up a finger. "But… I have a roommate." He couldn't help it much if he sounded like a pussy, it was the truth. The government didn't squander money. At least not on him and Todd. "Sorry."
"It's okay. We'll go to my hotel?"
Instead of answering, he grinned and pulled her to her feet. Taking her hand, he steered them through the crowd and to the front door. Once on the sidewalk, he noticed her flushed cheeks and the glimmer in her eyes. She was beautiful and for tonight she was all his. He grinned at the thought and leaned down to take her mouth again, hoping his damn dick would cooperate until they reached his hotel room. Then he stepped to the curb and held up his arm for a passing cab.
In the back seat, Mel reached for him immediately and he embraced her. "You must think I'm pretty fast," she said.
"You're perfect. I think this taxi is too damn slow, though." He nipped at her neck until he reached her ear. "I want you, Melissa."
"I hope so," she whispered against his neck. "I think tonight is a pretty sure thing."
https://amzn.to/2q7Jp0S
Dee S. Knight
Weighing Anchor
Chapter One
"And what is your name, pretty?" Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.
"Roger," a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.
The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn't disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.
As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm before she "saw" them. She noticed if a man's eyes were dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that's just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.
Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. "I wonder what you looked like," she murmured. "What color were you, what did you eat, and what's your name?" She bent to read the exhibit information.
"Gray. Grass." That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. "Annnd, Roger."
Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. "And you are–"
"Roger."
He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. "Stop following me," she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.
The guy said, "Hold it."
Hold it? Hold it, as in "Wait a minute, little lady?" She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she'd ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.
"I'm sorry, what?"
In a lower voice, she said, "You're following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop."
"I didn't realize…" He wiggled the glasses at her. "I'm working here and I'm afraid I didn't notice you."
Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn't a perv and hadn't even noticed her?
His brow furrowed while he studied her. "Yes. Yes." Then he shook his head. "Roger."
Again, with that Roger.
"Gotta go. Later." Then he smiled at her. "Just a minute, okay?" He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud? —protected it and also put it in the case.
Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.
And good God. He hadn't been talking to her, he'd been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were…" She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.
"No," he said. "I apologize. I shouldn't be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger." His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.
Stop that! She laughed. "I thought you were naming each dinosaur." He smiled, and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel's breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.
He held out his hand. "David Stimson."
She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. "Melissa Crandall."
"Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?" Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly, he moved to the left of her.
"No, please. It's a free country." She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. "And this one is…" She half waited for his pronouncement.
"Not Roger," he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. "Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal."
"Well, I guess that's something to be proud of," Mel responded. David laughed, and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her, hands behind his back.
He pointed to the next specimen. "Poor guy. Starved to death."
"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"
"Can't you tell? He's all bones."
Mel covered her face, groaning. "Oh my gosh, that's so bad." She looked up into his smiling eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. "Admit it. You've been wanting to say that ever since you came in. You just needed a straight man."
Giving a one-shoulder shrug he said, "And here you are."
He took her elbow and she had to admit, while there was still no flash of electricity, she did feel a change. His hand was warm and there was a tingle going on. Yeah, definitely a tingle.
"Let's go and see if that guy over there is named Roger."
"David, truthfully? I don't think any of these guys are named Roger."
"Oh." He slowed to a stop. "Well, I guess that decides it then."
"Decides what?"
"Since I inadvertently caught you up in my test, I think I owe you lunch."
"You don't, really."
His face fell just a little. "I wish you'd let me buy you lunch. Or… let me put it this way, would you please have lunch with me? I heard about a great burger place just a little way up Pennsylvania Avenue. Nothing fancy but good, I heard." David stood back and held his hands up. "Totally platonic, all public."
That voice. Mel was lost in the rich body of it, the smooth softness of the rounded consonants and muted vowels, like being in the embracing mists that creep through mountain glens, until one doesn’t know which way is front or back. If she didn't watch it, she'd be falling in lust with the man just because of the way he sounded. She was not that kind of crazy woman.
Mel stared up into his hopeful expression. "If you make me go to lunch by myself," he said, "I'll only have my earbud and Roger to talk to."
She took a moment. This was so like nothing she ever did. But he was cute and funny, and they'd be in public. Plus, his voice alone moistened her panties. She wanted to go, to see if that tingle remained. Certainly, she'd never met anyone quite like him or anyone who made such a huge impression—in more than one way. She didn't live in D.C. and never had to see him again if she didn't want to.
But… Taking his outstretched hand, she admitted that if tonight went well, she just might want to.
***
Melissa's auburn hair had swished her shoulders when she tossed back her head to stare up at him when she thought he was following her on purpose, and her green eyes had glittered with indignation. But the magnetism that held his gaze had much more to do with her curves than with her eyes, beautiful as they were. David's immediate reaction had been to wrap his arms around her and haul her up against his body. They were in the Museum of Natural History, and what could be more natural than a man's instinct when it came to a woman?
They'd moved from exhibit to exhibit in a leisurely fashion until he couldn't stand not touching her anymore. He'd taken her elbow to get closer and that bare touch tightened his groin. He wasn't looking for any action while in D.C.—he was there for work, not play. Getting laid had been the furthest thing from his mind when he entered the museum to test their new equipment. Until he'd met the gaze of the woman he'd inadvertently stood beside.
As she'd turned back to give the last dinosaur and parting look, David had given her one. Curvy in all the right places, she showed her shape to good effect in tailored tan slacks and a green, fitted knit top. She wore low-heeled shoes and her head fit under his chin. In heels, he'd barely have to bend down to kiss her. She'd fit him well, body parts to body parts. Or close enough.
David couldn't believe Melissa had agreed to lunch. She hadn't let him hold her hand all the way to the restaurant, but he could wait for that. There was something about this woman, something special. He'd felt it right off the bat, and he sure as hell meant to stay around her long enough to figure out what she was all about.
They ordered burgers at a bar table while sipping a red wine for her and a beer for him. "To Roger," he said holding his glass up to toast.
She gave a wry smile. "You didn't make up that whole routine, did you?"
Grinning, David said, "What? Just to meet you, you mean?" Holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "I swear I did not pretend to be running a test just to meet you." They clinked glasses and he tasted the draft beer he'd ordered. "I would have made something up to meet you," he said, his voice low and a little growly. "But I'm ashamed to admit I truly didn't notice you were there until you accused me of stalking you."
"That's not very satisfying to a woman's ego," Mel replied. "Suppose I'd been standing next to someone else who wanted me to believe he knew the names of all the dinosaurs in the exhibit?"
"If I'd seen you as you'd been walking off with someone else, I would have thought he was some damn lucky guy. Then I'd have had to trick him into trading places."
"Trick him?"
"How else would a guy willingly leave you?"
Blushing, she focused on her wine. "Now I've embarrassed you," he said. Hesitantly, he reached across the small table to wrap the ends of her fingers in his. To his relief, she didn't pull back. "Sorry. When I see something I like, I tend to get carried away."
Her lips turned up. "You see something you like?"
"I think you know I do." With a great deal of willpower, he removed his hand and picked up his glass again. "Tell me about yourself. Do you live here in town?"
"No, in Virginia. How about you?"
"Also in Virginia. What do you do?"
Mel twirled her wine and David tried not to envy the glass as she raised it to her lips. This attraction made no sense. He didn't know the woman yet instinctively knew they'd launch fireworks in the bedroom. The question was, did she feel anything like the same?
"Let's not talk about jobs," she said. "Let's guess what we each do. Since you were testing some new gadget, you must be a mad scientist working on a device that will control colors."
David rested his chin on his fist. "Colors? Why would anyone want to do that?"
"To change perceptions. I heard you say 'Grass. Gray.' Obviously, you are trying to make us all see things in grayscale. It would make the whole world grumpy." She jerked up in her seat and snapped her fingers. "Oh! You work for a pharmaceutical company that produces anti-depressants. So first you make us all depressed, living without color and then your company sells the pills to correct the problem they created."
"Damn! Now I'll have to kidnap you because you've guessed our nefarious plans." Actually, running off with her didn't sound like all that bad a plan.
"Smart ass," she said with a laugh. "So, what do you think I do?"
"Novelist, obviously. You have an active imagination." He took up his beer.
Melissa preened. "I did win my fifth-grade writing award."
He tipped his glass to her. "See? I read people very well. And what do you write?"
"Romance," she said. "Sexy, steamy romance." She smiled at him from under her lashes. His cock rose at record speed, crashing into the zipper of his jeans. He held his breath for a moment, willing himself to relax and knowing he couldn't arrange himself without her noticing.
"I'll have to get you back for that, Melissa," he whispered.
Impishly she smiled. "Call me Mel," she said.
"I'll definitely be calling you. Mel." He flashed her a smile.
Thankfully, their food arrived, giving him a needed distraction. "Man, that is good," David said after taking a bite and swallowing. "So, are you visiting our nation's capital for the day or longer?" Say longer.
Mel used her napkin to dab at her mouth. "I was in town for a lecture and decided to take a few extra days. I'll be leaving on Sunday."
Sunday. Two days away. "Do you have plans?"
"Not really. Whenever I'm up here I like to hit whatever special exhibit the museum has going. But today that was interrupted by a man who likes to name the dinosaurs."
"Sorry," he said sheepishly.
She laughed and picked up her burger. "No worries. I'm enjoying this. And it's not like I haven't been to the museum before. I like archaeology and paleontology and all that old stuff, so I take advantage whenever I can to learn about it."
"Me, too. It's one of the great things about living in Virginia—history of all kinds is everywhere. Have you visited the Ruther Glen site?"
"No, but I've read about it. Fascinating." She picked up her wine glass and looked at him over the rim. He couldn't help but feel that he was being studied, just like those whale and dolphin remains in Ruther Glen. "So, are you a Virginia native?"
David couldn't hold back a tiny internal smile. She was interested in him as more than a specimen to examine. Thank you, God! He liked this woman—her scent, her smile, her intellect. "West-by-God-Virginia."
"Ah! Country roads lead you home much?" She bit into a French fry.
He held out his hands to stop her. "Please! There should be a limit to the number of times any West Virginian has to be reminded of that song."
She glanced down and then back up, looking a little shy and ridiculously sexy. "What are your plans? Are you going to be in town for a while?"
I definitely have plans. "I still have a bit more work to do, but just for the afternoon. I'm free for the rest of the weekend. Can I see you later, maybe take you to dinner?"
Mel rested her wrists against the table edge, hands on the table. Leaning forward she focused her gaze on his and he felt the intensity. "I don't do this, you know. I don't go out to lunch with strange men and certainly not to dinner. But…" She bit her bottom lip and David couldn't help but focus his gaze there. He wanted to do that. He wanted to take that full bottom lip between his lips and bite down gently. And then he wanted to take her mouth and stroke her with his tongue. The whole notion was fucking crazy.
Instead, he reached across the table and took her hand. "Look, Mel. I feel something going on between us. You might not believe this, but I don’t do this kind of thing either. I have never asked a woman I don't know—someone I just met—out to lunch."
She choked out a laugh. "Somehow I doubt that!"
David shook his head and tightened his grip on her fingers. "I don't, I promise. But with you…? It's like I've known you forever. Like we aren't strangers. Do you feel anything like that?"
It felt like forever before she squeezed his fingers and nodded. "I like you, too. Where would you like to meet for dinner?"
Relief rushed through him. "Where are you staying?"
"In Georgetown."
"Hey, me, too. I just arrived yesterday and wanted to try that place on M Street. It's… um… Hmm. It's a guy's name. It's…"
"Clyde's?"
"Yes! Actually, I already have reservations there for seven. Will that suit?"
She raised her brows. "You have reservations for a place but can't remember the name?"
He smiled. "Don't need to know the name. I know how to get there."
"Touché." She thought a moment. "I think seven will suit."
"Great. That's great." David hoped his grin didn't look too stupid. He was a grown man but for the first time, he felt something settle inside. This woman was special. He could see a relationship in her. Hell, if he were more romantically inclined, he might see his future in her, but it remained to be seen if anything could take root. Maybe tonight she'd give him a reason to find out.
Chapter Two
"You're doing what?" Sissy Buchanan's disbelief came through loud and clear. "Tell me you're kidding."
"I'm not," Mel told her. Trying to hold a cell phone conversation while dressing for dinner was no easy feat but she was managing. Until time to add earrings. "Sissy, I'm putting the phone on speaker."
Since she seemed to be throwing caution to the wind by dining with a man she'd just met that afternoon, she'd decided to pamper herself—something she rarely did. She'd had a manicure and facial in a day spa up the street from her hotel and then luxuriated in a long bath with a floral bath salt. After adding the dressiest outfit she'd brought with her—a black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk blouse—she felt special and beautiful and ready for whatever the night could hold. And she hoped that by dessert she would know what she wanted the night to hold.
"He's nice," she told Sissy while attaching the back to a gold love-knot stud earring. "And if you met him, you'd know he was okay. I feel it. I'm a good judge of character, you know."
"No, I don't know. Let's see. Was it you or me who dated that guy in med school who said he was a graduate student in anthropology but ended up being a junior who wanted to date an 'older woman' in order to get some sexual experience? You. And who fell hard for the lifeguard at the beach last time we went because he seemed so nice? You again. And who–"
"I get it, thanks." Mel huffed out a breath. "But this guy, I don't know. There's just something about him, something I like."
"You mean," Sissy said in a gentler voice, "that since you spit up with Tony you're lonely."
"Tony was almost a year ago, Sissy. I think if I were going to freak out over someone because I was lonely it would have happened before now."
Her friend heaved a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I've done all a best friend who's not there to tie you down can do. Speaking of doing something, what does this Prince Charming do?"
Ah, there's a good question. "Don't know. We didn't get into jobs."
"Good God, Mel, what did you get into?"
"Well, I think he works for some research company. He was testing a pretty specialized gadget when we met. His name is David Stimson and he's from West Virginia, although he lives in Virginia now."
"Where in Virginia?"
"Um… Don't know?" Sissy sent another of those sighs through the phone. "Look, when we finish I'll send you his phone number. And we're going to Clyde's tonight. That's a restaurant in Georgetown. Everything in public and safe."
"I want to hear from you tomorrow morning. Or tonight. Call me tonight before you go to sleep, no matter how late."
"That will disturb Mike."
"Mike isn't going to mind. By the time I finish with him, he'll sleep like a baby right through a nuclear attack. I'm going to–"
"Lalalalala! No sex talk, please. For those of us not getting any, it's depressing."
"Okay. I give. Have fun tonight. Be careful!"
"I will. I'll be back at work on Monday morning and tell you all about it." She pressed End, took another check in the mirror, picked up her bag, and left to find a taxi. She planned to arrive early and maybe have a glass of wine at the bar to gain a little courage.
Despite what she'd told Sissy, it did make her nervous knowing she was going out with a man she knew absolutely nothing about. But in the past, she'd gathered all kinds of information on the men she dated—well with the exceptions Sissy had made her recall—and look where it had gotten her. Not that she was dying to have a man, but she was thirty-three and one of the few single or unattached women she knew. The only thing worse than being a third (or fifth) wheel at dinners and parties was being set up, something she'd strongly discouraged for the past year. She wanted to be part of a couple but not if it meant blind date after blind date with men she had nothing in common with.
She didn't know anything about David but at least she chose him as her date, her walk on the wild side. No doubt this was a one-time thing, but if she were ever going to form a loving duo with someone, she first had to get used to dating again. David seemed safe and she sensed he'd be fun to spend time with. The best part was, after she went home she'd probably never see him again. It might be mercenary, but she could use him for practice and hopefully have a nice evening, too. She couldn't deny that there was something about him that attracted her.
When she arrived, the hostess directed her to the bar. Before she found a seat, however, she found David. He was just lifting a glass of something amber to his mouth when he spotted her. Carefully, he set down the glass and stood, a look of pure appreciation on his face. He raised his hand in greeting and she started forward. When she reached him, he took both of her hands and leaned in for a kiss on her cheek.
"You look beautiful," he said, mouth to her ear.
"Thanks," she said, returning the kiss to his cheek. "You clean up nicely, too." And indeed he did. Simple, navy blue slacks paired with a white button-down shirt and blue blazer would seem preppy on some men, but on him the look was easy sophistication.
"You're early," she added.
He smiled. "You, too. I'd like to think that's because you couldn't wait to see me again."
"Of course." She looked to his glass and then smiled up at him. "Also, maybe I needed a little Dutch courage."
He laughed. "Join the club. What would you like to drink?"
"White wine, please."
David raised his finger to the bartender and asked for the wine. "So, what did you do this afternoon?"
The rightness of the question struck Mel immediately. It didn't feel forced. The tone was friendly, familiar. No Dutch courage needed after all. She felt totally comfortable.
The bartender brought her drink and she took a sip before answering. "Nothing too much. Some reading and relaxing." No way would she spill the beans that she'd primped for their date. "How about you?"
"I've seen more of D.C. basements than I ever wanted to. Then I switched places with my partner. We were supposed to test the equipment outside the city, too, but I couldn't have made it out to Leesburg and back in time to meet you."
"What in the world are you testing?"
Waggling his brows, he said, "You know I can't divulge any more of the secret plan than you've already guessed."
"Okay, I give. Please thank your partner for making the trek in your place so we could have dinner."
"You're also taking his place at dinner. And I did thank him for that. I'd much rather sit across the table from you than from Todd, believe me. No comparison!"
"Wait! He gave up dinner?"
"He'll grab something on his way back. A burger and beer will make him as happy as eating here."
"Hmm, I think I like this Todd character," Mel said. "And I think I like you, too, David Stimson."
He took her hand and pulled her in for a soft kiss. His lips caressed hers with only a slight pressure and then he pulled back, not demanding anything, just giving pleasure. A very subtle scent—woodsy and fresh—enveloped her. She wanted more.
"I know I like you, Melissa Crandall."
His words sent a warmth throughout her body. His look sent a flood of heat to the spot between her thighs. What she wanted from the night was becoming more apparent by the minute. An end to her long dry spell. With this man. Only with this man.
Mel had never been one to throw caution to the wind. But tonight, she just might.
***
When Mel walked into the restaurant in that form-fitted black skirt and slinky white blouse, David had nearly dropped the glass of scotch he'd been nursing. Her hair skimmed her shoulders and she wore minimal makeup and little jewelry. Nothing took away from her stunning good looks. He'd bussed her cheek when what he'd wanted to do was take her lips in a heated kiss and mate his tongue with hers. Then he'd wanted to lift her onto a bar stool, spread her legs and play a little hide-and-seek with his cock and her pussy. But… They were in public and he limited himself to holding her hands and giving her a quick, admiring glance to show her how much he appreciated her. In a polite, gentlemanly way, of course, no matter how his blood had heated and started flowing to the lower regions with his first glance.
Drinks had been fun, dinner really excellent with superb service and food. Conversation had flowed as it never had with any woman on a first date. David couldn't believe his luck. How many women had he met in the last few years and felt no connection? Well, no emotional connection. He'd had plenty of physical connections, but nothing beyond a series of one-night stands and a couple of girlfriends he'd hung out with—fun times with a bit of fucking in between. Nothing serious. Nothing he'd wanted to be serious. But now, this woman fell into his lap, and he knew an instant closeness.
"Do you want to walk up the street and see what's what?" he asked as they left Clyde's. With only a little second guessing he reached down for her hand and happily noted that she linked her fingers with his. When had he ever hesitated over something as simple as reaching for a woman's hand? This weird attraction was turning him into a pussy.
"Sure. Georgetown at night is fun." They strolled along, wending through Friday night crowds and eventually mixing with a younger set wearing Georgetown University tee shirts. They found a table in a dinky bar that featured music.
"I remember these days," Mel shouted over the music. She used her pointer finger to sweep over the crowd, indicating the youth of the audience.
"Fondly?" David shouted back, struggling to scoot out of the aisle as a burly young man pushed past to reach a table nearer the stage.
She smiled and leaned forward to reach his ear. Her breath warmed his neck as her lips brushed his earlobe. His cock sprang to life. He gripped his beer bottle so as not to slide his hand around her waist and pull her onto his lap. "Oh yeah. It was great then. Now? Now, I just feel old."
David met her gaze. "No way," he mouthed. Then he leaned closer to her ear, hoping he aroused the same feelings in her that she had in him. "I don't know how old you are, but you aren't old, you're mellow. You're refined." He leaned back far enough to see her face but not so far as to miss her scent. The soft flowery fragrance had driven him and his cock crazy all night.
"Mellow and refined. Is that supposed to be a compliment?" She smiled, and God help him, her gaze dropped to his lips for a brief moment.
That was all the invitation David needed. He took her mouth in a firm but gentle kiss, giving her the chance to step back mentally if she chose to. To his relief, far from breaking the kiss, Mel slipped her hand to the back of his neck and held him where he was.
David tilted his head for better access and drove his fingers into her hair. Using his lips to explore every inch of her lips, he felt rather than heard her moan. Without his asking, she opened her mouth and gave him her tongue. He sucked in a breath and moved closer, brushing her breasts with the back of his hand as he moved his arm up and over the top of her chair to brace her back and pull her even closer. Exploring her mouth, his tongue stroked and tangled with hers, stoking the raging fire inside him and causing his cock to ache like a son of a bitch. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
Breaking the kiss on a gasp, Mel leaned forward, her mouth to his ear. "I don't know how much more of this I can take." David smiled. She'd just read his mind. He hoped she couldn't read too much of what he was thinking, or she'd run for the hills.
He nuzzled her delicate jaw up to her ear. "Want to get out of here?"
She nipped his ear lobe. "Roger," she said.
He pulled away and laughed, gazing down at her, stroking his thumb across her cheek. "I'm at the Marriott, not far from here." Mel's eyes lit up. He hated having to squelch her enthusiasm. He held up a finger. "But… I have a roommate." He couldn't help it much if he sounded like a pussy, it was the truth. The government didn't squander money. At least not on him and Todd. "Sorry."
"It's okay. We'll go to my hotel?"
Instead of answering, he grinned and pulled her to her feet. Taking her hand, he steered them through the crowd and to the front door. Once on the sidewalk, he noticed her flushed cheeks and the glimmer in her eyes. She was beautiful and for tonight she was all his. He grinned at the thought and leaned down to take her mouth again, hoping his damn dick would cooperate until they reached his hotel room. Then he stepped to the curb and held up his arm for a passing cab.
In the back seat, Mel reached for him immediately and he embraced her. "You must think I'm pretty fast," she said.
"You're perfect. I think this taxi is too damn slow, though." He nipped at her neck until he reached her ear. "I want you, Melissa."
"I hope so," she whispered against his neck. "I think tonight is a pretty sure thing."
