C.C. MacKenzie's Blog, page 3

It’s the Ludlow Hall short story… He’s the one – part one…

[image error]

Hellooooo,

I’ve been sick with a fever and the usual end of season bug. Roll on Spring!

And here’s the first part of this week’s Ludlow Hall short story…

It’s Friday and school’s out—The Dower house…

After she’d found Bronte sitting in a whimpering puddle on the kitchen floor this morning, and banging her head against the wall (more of why later) Rosie took firm control of the Ferranti household, then sent her best friend for a much needed pampering and massage at Ludlow Hall.

Now, Rosie was on children duty…

After auntie Rosie had ordered everyone upstairs to change out of their school uniforms and wash their mucky paws, Emily and Sophia are in Sophia’s bedroom. They’ve washed their hands as instructed, but had only got as far as removing their school tie, sweater and socks.

Emily reeeeeelaxed back on Sophia’s Princess bed and wiggled her little pink toes.

“We,” she began in her soft, breathy voice, “have the coolest mummies.”

Sophia, rummaging deep in her closet, tossed out a couple of pairs of pink thermal leggings, a pink hoodie with a unicorn on the front for Emily, and for herself a white hoodie with Elsa from Frozen. Once she’d hunted down two matching pair of thick socks, she turned to her best friend and smiled.

“We do.”

“My daddy says they always look well-put-together.”

“They do,” Sophia agreed again and tossed leggings and the pink hoodie on top of Emily’s face.

Best friends shared clothes, that was a rule.

Emily sat up and wriggled out of her pleated skirt of navy wool.

“They never let other people down.”

“They don’t,” Sophia concurred.

The girls stripped down to their underwear.

Emily tugged up leggings and checked out her skinny butt in the wall mirror.

She made a face.

“Did you see Carrie-Anne’s mummy today?”

Sophia’s blonde head popped out of the top of her white hoodie.

Carrie-Anne’s mummy was a hot mess these days, according to auntie Rosie.

“Yup. But auntie Rosie says if we can’t say anything nice, say nothing,” Sophia said, channelling her favorite person in the whole wide world.

Emily’s little mouth pouted in clear disappointment.

After a long while she said, “Can I just say two words?”

“Okay.”

Emily pointed to her own butt. “Panty. Line.”

Sophia made a face, and checked out her own skinny backside.

“Aunty Rosie calls it a Wardrobe Malfunction. Carrie-Anne’s mummy should have worn a thong or panties that don’t show a pantie line. My mama’s got lots of pretty silk panties in her pantie drawer.”

“Do they make them for girls?” Emily wanted to know.

“I dunno,” Sophia said, thinking about it. “But auntie Rosie says thongs are the work of the devil.”

Emily nodded. “My daddy loves my mummy in a thong. My mummy told him he should use dental floss on his ass because that’s how it feels.”

Sophia cringed at the thought. “Eww. That’s a disgusting thing to say in front of a child.”

“I was supposed to be asleep. They didn’t know I was listening.” Emily grinned. “I was quiet, like a ninja.”

Sophia stared hard at her friend, because out of the two of them Emily was the good girl.

“If they catch you your mummy will say I’m a bad influence.”

“Nah, how can you get the blame if you’re not even there? Anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of listening. Carrie-Anne’s mummy’s fighting the battle of the bulge to lose the baby weight. She told my mummy that her life has been transformed since her divorce.”

Feeling weary after another long week at school, Sophia settled back on her pink Fat-Boy beanbag. She thought about how desperately sad their friend Carrie-Anne had been for months and months.

Then she thought about the heated discussion between her parents in the kitchen this morning, and her belly ached. It had ached off and on all day.

And last night, for the first time ever, her papa had slept in the spare room.

Deep in her heart, Sophia wanted to talk to Emily about the argument and the weird mood that had descended on The Dower House recently, but she knew better. Anything that happened in The Dower House, stayed in The Dower House.

Her belly ache got worse.

She hoped her mama and papa never got a divorce.

Carrie-Anne and her baby sister had moved out of their house into a smaller one in the centre of town.

What if her papa and mama sold The Dower House?

Where would she and Luca and Tonio and baby Eve live?

The thought made her feel sick.

“How come?” she asked Emily.

“Carrie-Anne’s mummy said it was boring sleeping with the same man for ten long years.”

Sophia worked out how long her parents had been married—nearly nine years. Then she wondered if ten years was a bad omen or something. Meanwhile, Emily continued her story, “And she was fed up playing the Pirate and The Maiden game.”

“Never heard of it,” Sophia said.

Emily shook her head, her big blue eyes wide. “Me neither. Maybe it’s for Xbox? Do you think Tonio’s heard of it?”

Sophia was not fooled by that huge smile or big-eyed-innocent look.

Emily’s crush on her brother was totally lame as far as she was concerned.

On the other hand, Sophia was vastly intrigued by the idea of a pirates and maidens game.

“Let’s ask him,” she said.

The girls dashed out the door, across a wide landing, and knocked Tonio’s bedroom door.

“Enter,” Tonio called, channelling his papa.

 

They went in to find Tonio dressed in his favorite super-hero sweatshirt, navy sweatpants faded at the seams and too short in the legs, lying on his belly on a fluffy rug, reading a soccer magazine.

Inky curls flopped on his forehead, and his feet were bare.

Since she had no time for football, Sophia got right to the point of their visit.

“Have you ever heard of an Xbox or a PC game called the Pirate and the Maiden?”

Tonio’s brow creased as he stared into space, thought for a long while, then shook his head.

“Nope. Only pirate game I know is Pirates of the Caribbean.”

He returned to his magazine.

When Emily just stood there as if rooted to the spot staring dreamily at Tonio, Sophia grabbed her friend’s arm and dragged her out the door.

 

Back in Sophia’s bedroom, Emily collapsed on the Fat-Boy and lay back with a stupid moony expression.

Sophia sighed.

“Tonio’s voice is like warm chocolate poured over cream,” Emily whispered in her soft voice. “I love his face. I love his dark eyes and his thick lashes. He’s just so… Perfect. He makes me… Happy.”

Sophia rolled her eyes so far back in ahead she nearly lost her balance.

“Eww, Emily, that’s my brother you’re talking about. He’s got smelly feet and he farts and burps. He’s disgusting.”

“I’m going to marry him,” Emily said, clearly undeterred.

The martial gleam in her blue eyes seriously alarmed Sophia.

“You can’t get married until you are eighteen,” she said, trying to help her friend see sense. Then she added for good measure, “That’s eleven long years from now. And what if he’s not the one? Variety, auntie Rosie says, is the spice of life.”

Emily shot up to sit. “I just know he is the one,” she whispered and pressed her little fist to her chest. “In here.”

Sophia rubbed her nose—hadn’t they gone over this ground before?

“We need to speak to auntie Rosie. She loved uncle Alexander for ever and ever and ever,” she decided.

Emily sprang to her feet, her eyes bright.

“Maybe she’ll know how to make Tonio fall in love with me?”

“We can only hope,” Sophia said under her breath, and led the way downstairs.

***

Meanwhile in the kitchen-living-dining space, Rosie, and her trusty assistant Luca, were preparing hot milk for hot chocolate. Luca’s job was to test taste a dark chocolate brownie.

The place smelled of chocolate and fresh flowers crammed into a huge clear glass vase set on a wide sandstone window ledge.

Unlike his twin sister’s white blonde hair, Luca took after the Italian side of the Ferranti family. He was definitely, Rosie reckoned, going to be better looking than Tonio or his papa, Nico. At the moment Luca was perched on a bar stool, his bare feet swinging. He wore soft blue jeans and a Spiderman sweatshirt that had faded to pale blue from too many washes. And his mouth was rimmed with dark chocolate.

When Sophia and Emily skipped into the room, he turned to glower and glare at his sister.

“What do you want?” he said by way of a warm welcome.

As if he hadn’t spoken, Sophia hopped up on a bar stool on the opposite side of the granite worktop.

Meanwhile, Emily had wandered over to the huge playpen to give the toddlers, Eve and Mila, a hug and a kiss.

The girl was a complete sweetheart.

Rosie understood Emily’s attraction to the younger members of the family, she was an only child and often got lonely. As an only child herself, Rosie felt her pain.

Then again, Rosie couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the way her beloved niece and nephew constantly fought a cold war these days. Such was sibling life, she supposed. She’d already prepared five white china mugs which were lined up like soldiers standing at attention.

Testing the temperature of the milk and melted chocolate mix, she poured it carefully into the mugs and added three white marshmallows. When Tonio strolled through the door, she sent him a quick smile.

“Could you sit Eve and Mila in their highchairs for me?”

Tonio changed direction, plucked Mila from the playpen, sat her in her highchair and strapped her in, then repeated the routine with Eve who buried her hands in his hair and yanked hard.

“Ow,” he said, and carefully freed himself. He smacked a kiss on her hot cheek. “No pulling hair.”

In response, Eve grabbed his sweatshirt and yelled, “Batman!”

“No,” Luca said. “It’s the Incredible Hulk.”

Eve glared at her big brother. “Batman!”

Rosie shook her head and placed a Sippy cup of lukewarm milk on each tray and attached a bib on each child.

As she distributed the hot chocolate and treats, she wondered how she gathered herself to break the news that Nico and Bronte were having a night away from The Dower House. Not that her and Alexander doing baby sitting duty was anything new for the young Ferrantis. But the reason for this one was. It seemed Nico and Bronte were going through a tricky patch. It was amazing how something that hadn’t even been on Bronte’s radar had turned into a Big Deal. Frankly, Rosie laid the blame for the whole sorry mess at Nico’s door. Honestly, there were times when men were utterly clueless when it came to women.

Long story short, tabloid journalist Tabitha Crew had written yet another gossip piece taking a swipe at Nico’s past love life. Okay, the woman had crossed a line. Rosie got why Nico was seriously pissed, but to employ a PR consultant who was an old flame to fight the journalist had not been his smartest move. Not only that, it appeared the old flame wanted to reignite a fire between her and Nico. And just to add more fuel, yesterday, the woman had invited a clueless Bronte to lunch at Ludlow Hall.

Strong words had been exchanged.

Bronte had drawn a red line in the sand.

The woman had to go, she’d told Nico.

Nico, never one to take a demand on the chin, said no.

Now all hell had broken loose, and even though she’d never show it in front of the kids, Rosie was worried.

 

So when Alexander strolled through the door and his baby girl went crazy when he picked her up and gave her a cuddle, Rosie’s heart just melted.

He scrubbed his knuckles on his nephews’ heads and tickled Sophia and Emily before heading over to his wife.

Rosie read the worry in his emerald eyes, and her heart fell.

Looked like Nico and Bronte still hadn’t smoked a peace pipe.

“Where are they?” she asked as he pressed a kiss to the spot beneath her ear.

“In their cabin. I told them not to leave it until they’ve resolved this,” he said softly.

“Bronte’s really hurt and furious,” she whispered.

“Tell me about it. Last thing she was telling Nico as I left was that she was going to stay with her father.”

Rosie’s eyes went wide.

“Seriously?”

“Yup. That bad.”

“God, why on earth did Nico bring that bloody woman into Ludlow Hall?”

“She’s really good at her job,” he answered, trying to be fair.

Rosie just shook her head.

“She’s a Rottweiler.”

“Yup and that’s what makes her the best.”

Rosie caught the way Sophia’s wary eyes were zeroed in on them watching every single move.

God, her niece had a super-sensitive radar.

“We’ll talk after the kids have gone to bed.”

Alexander followed her gaze and nodded.

He shot Sophia a wink as he shrugged out of his coat, took off his suit jacket, his tie, and rolled up his sleeves.

Then he helped himself to a beer from the fridge, twisted open the top and took a sip.

“Gimme the skinny,” he said to the room at large. “Who did what to whom today?”

“Where’s mama and papa?” Sophia wanted to know.

The question seemed to turn everyone into a game of statues.

Tonio and Luca, their eyes filled with clear anxiety, examined Alexander’s face.

Oh, boy, this lot were as sharp as tacks.

He sent them a cheesy grin.

“They’ve having a date night,” he said.

Sophia blinked. “Where?”

“They’re not far,” Rosie said. “Just up the road in their cabin with candles, music, and romance.”

Emily, her blue eyes flicking between a serious looking Sophia and Rosie, said in her soft voice, “They’re probably playing The Pirate and The Maiden game.”

Alexander inhaled his beer.

His hand reaching for the box of tissues as he coughed up a lung.

Tonio narrowed his eyes as he watched his uncle fight to catch his breath and his aunt laugh so hard she cried real tears.

“Okay,” he asked in a growly voice that sounded just like Nico. “What’s the game?”

Once Rosie had got her breath back, and wiped her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“It’s a poem not a game.”

Tonio looked bitterly disappointed.

“Oh,” he said.

Thinking she’d dodged a bullet, Rosie clapped her hands.

“Have you washed your hands?”

Everyone, except Luca, nodded.

Rosie pointed to him. “Go!”

When Sophia smirked as he slunk off to do his auntie’s bidding, he shot his sister a black look.

 

Later, when everyone had finished their spaghetti and meatballs, and were taking a rest before pudding, Luca turned to eye Sophia across the table.

“Why aren’t you speaking to me?” he demanded.

Sophia sent him a bland look.

“I can’t find something nice to say.”

Luca’s brows rose.

“Good,” he said. “I like a quiet life.”

 

END for now

 

Ooooh… is it possible there’s trouble in paradise?

All y’all will get to read the back-story to this scene in ‘Hitched to the Italian’ which is in production at the moment. But part two of this short story is coming next week!

Christine xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drum roll… It’s the Ludlow Hall sneak peek…

[image error]

Hello, my darlings,

 

Welcome to Friday’s sneak peak – it’s time to kick back and reeeeeelaxed…

It’s a Saturday afternoon at The Dower house…

Bronte, Rosie and Janine, are enjoying some girl time in the kitchen–family–dining space.

The men, meanwhile, are dressed down in a jogging pants/T-shirts/Thermals ensemble, in Nico’s new man-cave (formerly known as his study) having the time of their lives watching one of the legs of the European cup, live, on a five foot wide, state-of-the-art-with-surround-sound flat screen, a new addition along with a tall, glass fronted beer-cooler.

When the referee made a ‘crappola’ decision, the men were on their feet and they all wail, long and loud at the screen.

Back with the females, a dull roar came from the man-cave.

As one, their women look to heaven.

“Good God,” Rosie said. She wore skinny blue jeans and a ribbed over-sized sweater of ivory cotton. Her hair was tied in a loose plait that fell down her back. “They seem to forget we have children that understand every single bad word that comes out of their big mouths. They’re a disgrace.”

Bronte, dressed in chocolate brown yoga pants, a matching hoodie over a striped T-shirt and her blonde hair tied in a high tail, shook her head. She cuddled a dozing and rosy-cheeked Eve close. Her daughter wore her favorite fleecy pink bunny pj’s. Teething was not fun.

“Well,” said Janine, keeping a weather eye on Boo’s frantic coloring-in attempts with purple crayon. Mother and daughter wore soft denim jeans and bright pink hoodies. “I just don’t get it, when do we women ever make a howling racket over anything the way they do? They’re like wild beasts.”

Rosie, her eyes like pancakes, stared hard at Janine and said, “How soon you forget! We made plenty of noise when we watched Magic Mike Two.”

Bronte had to laugh.

“Ah yes. I’d forgotten all about that girly night.”

“Well, we did have a couple of bottles of wine,” Janine reminded her.

“Yeah, I remember the hangover. I also remember those awesome six packs, and I’m not talking about beer.” Rosie cackled like an evil witch. “Alexander was absolutely disgusted with me because I kept calling him a Joe Manganiello reject.”

“That was a good night. My favorite stripper, and don’t for the love of God tell Nico, is Channing Tatum. I LOVE Channing.” Bronte said.

“Matt floated my boat. Although not as much as Josh,” Janine said, loyal to the bone. “Where are the kids?”

“Well the boys are with the men,” Bronte said, “picking up all sorts of bad habits and foul language.”

“And my favorite bad girls?” Rosie asked, referring to Sophia and Emily.

“Upstairs. They’re practising with a new Boogie Box my dad sent Sophia for her birthday. It’s like a karaoke machine, except for kids. So the pair of them are pretending to be rock stars.”

“Do you remember when we were about five or six years old,” Rosie began. “We wanted to be Spice Girls. I used to sing into the hairdryer, and you sang into your hairbrush.”

Bronte laughed. “Those were the days.”

Rosie did a bum boogie. “Girl power!”

“I think that was the start of girl power,” Janine said, then send them a filthy look. “Neither of you would let me join your girl band. Bitches.”

“Well you were an absolute little bitch yourself,” Rosie said, as usual not mincing her words. “These days you’d be called a mean girl.”

Janine nodded. “Absolutely right. I was spoiled rotten.”

Bronte studied Janine’s face.

“How are things with your father these days?”

“Pretty good actually,” Janine said. “It helps smooth the path that he absolutely adores Boo, and he gets on incredibly well with Josh.”

“I love Josh,” Rosie said.

Unoffended, Janine grinned. “I know you do. And he loves you too.”

 

 

Meanwhile, in Sophia’s bedroom, a duet, wearing pink leggings and black and pink over-sized T-shirts that said, Girls Rule The World, were practising strutting their stuff to a Little Mix song…

“Do you think we could be on YouTube and make millions and millions of pounds and be superstars?” Emily asked Sophia when they took a well deserved break.

Sophia plopped onto a fat beanbag the color of hot pink, and thought about it.

“No. We’re not very good singers.”

“I don’t know,” Emily said. She sprawled on her belly on Sophia’s Cinderella Princess bed. “I think we could be, if we worked hard enough, be really good. I think all we need to do is practice.”

Sophia rubbed her chin. “You mean like have proper music lessons or singing lessons?”

“Yes. I wanna learn to play the guitar.”

Sophia made an I’m-gonna-be-sick face.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I come from a musical family. When he’s in a good mood, my papa likes to sing O sole mio, but mama says he can’t carry a tune in a rusty bucket.”

“Do you think that Tonio will could be a good singer?” Emily asked, her blue eyes all dreamy.

Sophia thought about it.

“You know I don’t think I have ever heard him sing. He whistles a lot though. Doesn’t sound very tuneful to me though.”

“Can he dance?” Emily asked in all seriousness.

Sophia shrugged, made big eyes. “Who knows?”

“The thing is, he’s got the look. He could be a huge, huge star—if only he could sing.”

“We can always ask him if he wants to be in our band,” Sophia said.

“What about Luca?”

Sophia pursed her pink lips, made a kissy sound.

“He looks pretty enough. He can always mime.”

So the girls made their way downstairs, along a narrow hallway, turned a corner, and entered—the man cave.

Stunned, they stopped dead.

 

 

Stony-faced, Sophia assimilated the entire scene.

Her narrowed gaze scanned a Big Mess.

The racket of the blaring TV, her papa blowing on some sort of horn, while the rest made a collective noise, which sounded exactly like  male gorilla’s mating call.

Her papa, her uncle Alexander and uncle Josh, AND Luca and Tonio, were all flushed and wild-eyed, and there was a lot of pushey-shovey going on.

Right then, Sophia and Emily shared a purely womanly look of utter disgust.

However, Sophia’s brows flew up when her papa and Tonio started speaking BAD words in Italian about the referee, as if not saying it in English made a difference.

Tonio jumped up and down like a lunatic, his socked feet crunching a bag of potato chips, cheese and onion by the stink, into crumbs that spilled all over an expensive Chinese rug.

There were three cans of what looked like beer on the glossy table, and they hadn’t used mats to protect the table top.

Mama would NOT be pleased.

 

Now Sophia also knew that her best pal Emily had a deep seated aversion to raised voices and too much noise—it had something to do with a small flaw with her hearing.

Sophia turned to a wide-eyed Emily.

“Show no weakness. They have reverted back, in millennia in human evolution, to knuckle-draggers.”

Emily looked alarmed. “What does that mean?”

Sophia shrugged. “Dunno. It’s what auntie Rosie says when they watch Italian football. Men! Pitiful, aren’t they?”

“Are they fighting?” Emily asked in a very small voice as Josh growled like a wild beast and caught Luca in an elbow lock and vigorously scrubbed his head with his knuckles.

“Nah. That’s just male posturing.”

Emily turned to stare at her. “What’s that?”

“Dunno. Auntie Rosie said it’s an alpha male thing.”

“I don’t like it.”

Sophia placed her arm around Emily’s shoulders and pulled her close.

“Don’t be scared. We have girl power.”

Emily hugged her back. “‘Kay.”

Sophia took a good long look at the male shenanigans and guided her best friend out the door.

It was time, she decided, for reinforcements.

***

Bronte, Rosie and Janine listened with deadly serious faces, their mouths tight, to the many sins of their men as listed by Sophia, and a very quiet and pale Emily.

Honestly, Bronte thought, what on earth was Nico thinking scaring Emily like that? The child was like a delicate little flower, all big violet eyes, a soft voice and riot of short red curls atop a creamy complexion kissed by a constellation of freckles. She simply wasn’t used to adults behaving like heathens on the war path. What on earth would her mother, Grace, say? In fact, how embarrassing was this? Now she narrowed her eyes as Sophia, her arms folded and her hip cocked, came to the end of her story.

“They’ve got beer cans on my table?”

Sophia nodded.

“Tonio’s ground chips into my good carpet?”

Sophia nodded.

Bronte handed a still dozing Eve to her auntie Rosie and stood.

“Right,” she brushed her hands together. “Let’s get this sorted.”

But just as she was about to head out the door, the sound of men and boys making their way toward the kitchen assailed their ears.

Nico Ferranti just loved Saturdays when live soccer from the Serie A and Legs of the European cup played on the sports channels. As a bonus, the boys not only had the time of their lives, but male bonding time, which was important and could only be good for them. Ah, he was a lucky man. However, he had a hitch in his stride when he walked into the family room and took one look at his wife’s face, a face that shot sheer terror into his heart.

He sent her his most charming smile with zero affect.

The boys, their antennae more attuned to Bronte’s expression than the laughing and joking Alexander and Joshua, slid towards the door on their socked feet.

Bronte’s arm shot out, her pointy finger zeroed on them.

The stopped dead, like stone statues.

“Don’t even think about it,” she growled.

By this time Alexander and Joshua had received the message that all was not well with their women.

Nico sauntered over to the love of his life, took the hand with the pointy finger and kissed the fingertip. “Problemo?”

“Where shall I begin?” she asked, her tone ice over steel.

Nico turned to his pals, his sons, and shrugged as if to say, What did we do?

“Were we too loud?” Joshua asked, his blue eyes the perfect picture of innocence.

“Well, let’s just say the language was colorful,” Janine told him.

He made an ouch face.

“The referee was a dick,” Alexander muttered.

“How terribly charming,” his wife told him, and jerked her chin towards two wide-eyed little boys. “Shame you couldn’t be an adult and come up with a better descriptive word, like useless, ineffective, or incompetent.”

He made an ouch face, too.

Nico rubbed the bridge of his nose, and his gaze caught the butter-wouldn’t-melt eyes of his eldest daughter.

Sophia raised her brows.

“You said bad words in Italian.”

“I knew it,” Luca said terribly, his dark eyes filled with rage. “You’re nothing but a tittle-tattle. What happens in the man-cave stays in the man-cave.”

In response, his twin sent him a look that would blister paint.

“We,” she said. “Have girl power.”

Nico stepped in before things got physical.

“It is half-time,” he said in a voice meant to soothe. “We are hungry.”

“After using all that adrenaline, I’m sure you are hungry. Help yourselves,” Bronte said and indicated the huge double door American sized refrigerator made of stainless steel.

“But if my table top is damaged by beer cans and my carpet by a packet of chips…” she eyed a pale-faced Tonio, “… there will be trouble.”

Nico held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

He knew when to pick his battles and this was not one he could win.

“We will clean up any mess.”

“This is because it was World Women’s Day this week, isn’t it?” Alexander muttered to Joshua. Unfortunately for him, his wife, his sister and his best friend’s partner heard him.

Rosie handed Eve to Bronte and strolled up to her husband like a gunslinger.

She poked him in his flat belly, and tipped back her head to stare into those twinkling green eyes.

“Excuse me?”

He poked her right back on the shoulder.

“This is you flexing your rights.”

“I don’t need to flex my rights. I own my rights,” she told him, but her dimples popped.

“Gimme a kiss,” he said, then he grabbed her.

Meanwhile, Nico wound his arms around his wife and child.

Then he went nose to nose with Bronte. “Forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Joshua grinned at Janine who grinned right back.

“It’s always fun with the Ferranti family isn’t it?”

 

***

 

It didn’t take long for peace to be restored to The Dower House, except not everyone was entirely happy.

“You’re a horrible, stinky, boy,” Sophia told her twin.

“And you have a mouth bigger than the Eurotunnel.”

Emily, her blue eyes wide with what looked like alarm, sat in the corner of the couch.

“Do not worry,” Tonio told her. His shoulder gently nudged hers. “They do not really mean it.”

“At least I don’t have a face like baboon’s butt,” his lovely sister said.

Luca went nose to nose with a narrow-eyed Sophia. “I’m a boy. Boys bathe in shark-infested waters.”

“Pooh,” she said, not once taking her eyes from his. Then her face went so fierce poor Emily sucked in a breath and her hand clutched her throat.

“I have girl power,” Sophia growled low in her throat. “I bathe in the blood of my enemies.”

FINE

Well, I’d say Sophia won that round.

LOL!

Until next week, spice up your life!

Christine x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the Sneak Peek…

[image error]

 

Greetings from a slightly milder UK!

It’s the sneak peek…..

The Dower House…

Welcome to Sophia’s Beauty Box.

Emily and Sophia, both wearing white aprons over their leggings and hoodies, stared critically at their handiwork.

The room smelled of nail varnish, cleansing wipes and candy.

Two-year-old Eve, sucking on a jelly bean, sat happily on a huge bean bag cushion with Jimmy Chew on her lap.

She wore navy colored tights beneath a smocked dress of pale soft denim edged with a denim frill. Tied in her glossy curls the color of jet were a wide and varied selection of skinny ribbons.

Around her shoulder she wore a hand towel.

A white cotton towel.

A white cotton towel covered with creams and lotions and potions.

“The thing is,” Sophia said. Her black eyeliner had been applied by a wonky hand, as had the fuchsia lipstick on her little mouth. She had lipstick on her teeth, too. Her blonde hair was caught up in a high tail with a hair tie and a variety of ribbons, which fell over her shoulder. “Babies are not supposed to wear makeup. But she’s too pale for what we need.”

Emily tipped her cropped red head.

Her cheeks had been ‘sculpted’ with dark brown bronzer down either side of her little nose, jaw line and cheekbones. She blinked lashes that had congealed into black mascara clumps, and considered the child. “I think just a teeny tiny amount of blush on her cheeks will look fine. Trouble is, we’ve used too much. She looks like a little clown.”

Sophia made a face, thought about it. “But any makeup is not natural in a baby, is it?”

“She’s not exactly a baby,” Emily said.

“True,” Sophia said. “But we can’t photograph her with makeup on her baby skin, it would look really dumb. What we need is something more natural, something that would give her a natural tint, like a little hint of the sun for example.”

Emily craned her neck to look out the window and the three foot deep snowdrift that the beast from the East had dumped on the whole of the United Kingdom this week.

“Well, were not going to get any sun today.”

Sophia nodded, thought for a while.

Then her eyes went big

“I know! What about the new fake tan stuff that auntie Rosie gave to mamma? She said it’s brilliant stuff. It’s called Luxury Tan and you put on with a little mitten thing so that your hands don’t go brown.”

Emily thought about it.

Her blue eyes went wide.

“That might be an idea,” she said, then her brows dipped. “But is it suitable for babies?”

“Lemme go check.”

Sophia raced out of the room and five minutes later came back with a box a silver box.

She squinted at the tiny writing on the back of the box and read, “Two to Three week tan— medium. This looks good. There’s nothing on here that says it can’t be used for Eve, and its for sensitive skin. She’ll have a sensitive skin because she’s a baby.”

While Sophia popped another candy into Eve’s little mouth, Emily opened the box, took out a dark brown plastic bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a sniff.

She put a tiny drop the color of dark chocolate on the back of her hand and rubbed, then checked her fingers.

Sophia handed her a Simple cleansing wipe—for sensitive skin—from the pale green pack.

The cleansing wipe didn’t take all of the tan off.

“How are you going to apply it?” Emily asked, not looking too sure about this bright idea.

Sophia plucked two skin wipes from the pack and tipped up her sister’s chin and gently removed the blush and makeup.

“First of all, we’ll cleanse her skin. Makeup doesn’t look right on her. Okay, Evie?” she said, and rubbed her nose against her sister’s little button nose.

Evie, happy as a clam since she was busy grooming a dozing Jimmy Chew’s fur with a with a soft brush, just smiled.

She lifted her chin and let her sister do her worst.

***

Half an hour later in the main family bathroom of The Dower House…

Sophia and Emily, now dressed in their underwear, used soap-laden sponges to desperately scrub their arms, legs and faces. Their skin had turned a dark brown color. Actually, to be truthful, dark brown streaks of color—and it wouldn’t come off.

Emily, her blue eyes more than a little frantic, caught Sophia’s panicked gaze in the vast wall mirror above the double white ceramic sinks set in a glittering granite the color of sand.

“What are we going to do?” she hissed at Sophia as she rinsed her hands for what felt like the hundredth time.

They stood on soft cotton bath towels, white, and now streaked with brown.

Everything was one hot mess.

Meanwhile, Sophia rummaged in the cupboards built beneath the sinks and came up with a blue bottle of bleach.

“This stuff should sort it,” she said.

However, no matter how hard they tried, neither of them could open the bottle top.

Emily, who by this time, reckoned they were in Big, Big Trouble, read as much as she could of the label.

“This stuff is dangerous. Look, it says so right here.”

A sudden knock at the door had both nearly jump out of their skin.

“What are you two doing?” Nine year old Tonio Ferranti asked?

“Maybe Tonio can open the bottle?” Emily suggested.

Sophia didn’t look as if she liked the idea, but when her brother knocked the door again, and tried the handle, she unlocked the door.

 

Tonio entered.

He wore dark blue jeans, a pale grey UCLA hoodie and thick thermal socks.

In the middle of a growth spurt, he was long and lean, with movie star tousled dark hair, olive skin and dreamy dark eyes. Dark eyes that now went wide.

He was, in the words of Emily’s mummy, Grace, a fine looking young man.

Emily, her little heart going pitty-pat, thought Tonio looked like a Rock Star.

His black brows rose as he took in the mess, and the state of the girls.

“Dio mio. Now what have you done?”

Emily held up the bottle of fake tan.

“We used this on Eve, and it looked really cool, so we thought we’d use it too. Except—”

Tonio blinked.

“It stinks in here.”

Sophia handed him the bottle of bleach.

“This will take it off. Can you open it?”

Tonio looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“No! This stuff is dangerous, that’s what the red cross means on the label. AND it says Keep Out Of The Reach of Children.” He glared at Sophia and yelled at the top of his voice, “That means YOU!”

The noise had attracted the attention of Sophia’s twin, Luca.

He popped his dark head through the door.

Dressed in navy sweatpants and his favorite Spiderman sweatshirt, faded from too many washes, he took in the scene and headed down the hall. All that could be heard were his bare feet thundering down the stairs.

Sophia made a face of sheer disgust.

“He’ll tittle tattle to mama.”

Tonio clutched the bottle of bleach to his chest.

“You know you’re gonna get into big trouble.” When Emily sniffed, he didn’t show her any mercy either. “Your mummy’s arrived. I wouldn’t want to be you two.”

At the sound of Bronte coming up the stairs and calling for Sophia and Emily, both girls simply clutched each other.

Their eyes wide, they stared at the door.

***

Bronte, wearing black leggings, thick socks and a huge woollen sweater over a white thermal, entered the family bathroom and stopped dead.

Omigod.

She took in the scene.

Both girls were streaked in fake tan from head to toe.

Her brand new towels were ruined.

And for a long moment, she was simply—speechless.

But when Eve toddled into the bathroom, her little face dark brown except for her eyes and mouth, and raised her hands to be lifted, Bronte couldn’t help the gasp of utter shock.

Then she spotted Tonio holding the bottle of bleach and her face paled.

“Tell me,” she whispered to him, “They were not going to use that?”

He nodded.

Bronte turned to the now weeping girls.

“Downstairs—NOW!”

 

***

Nico Ferranti, dressed for Arctic conditions in heavy boots and a Canadian parka, strolled through the door of The Dower House. The weather bomb had caused chaos for three long days. Guests couldn’t leave and guests couldn’t arrive. For the first time since he’d turned Ludlow Hall into a five star hotel and spa, he’d used all of their back-up generators when trees had brought down power lines. It had been one disaster after another. Thankfully, his staff had gone above and beyond. But Christ, the cold had frozen his bones right down to the marrow. Then he lifted his chin and sniffed the air like a starving wolf. He smelled his favorite red sauce, garlic and basil, and meatballs. Yay! He toed out of his boots, hung up his parka, and opened the door into the family-dining-kitchen room

His whole family sat at the long dining table.

He grinned.

It looked as if everyone had been bathed, dressed in pj’s and were ready for bed.

Seemed Bronte had got ahead of herself tonight.

Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d have an early night themselves?

Then it struck him that everyone was quiet.

Too quiet.

His eyes found Bronte’s and when her chin jerked to the high chair and his snoozing baby girl and her brown streaked little face, his brows flew into his hairline.

“What happened?”

Bronte simply turned her head to stare holes through Sophia.

A Sophia who had her chin on her chest.

Luca, eyeing his twin with deep dislike, said, “Sophia and Emily used fake tan on Eve and all over themselves and made a big mess in the bathroom.”

Sophia said nothing.

But her green eyes lifted to shoot a lethal warning to her brother.

Nico shook his head, went to wash his hands at the sink, then he helped himself to a warm pasta plate and helped himself.

It wasn’t until he sat at the table and had a taste of heaven, that he spoke.

“Were you bored, cara mia?” he asked Sophia.

Emerald eyes flicked to her mama and then to him.

She shook her head.

“We opened Sophia’s Beauty Salon.”

When Luca snorted, Nico gave his daughter credit for not rising to the bait.

“Eat your food, Luca,” he said.

Luca dug in.

“Maybe you’d like to explain to her the dangers of bleach?”

“I couldn’t open it,” Sophia whispered, her face flushed beneath brown streaks.

“That’s not the point, is it?” her mama snapped. “And if you’ve finished playing with your food, you can go upstairs, brush your teeth and go to bed.”

By the time Sophia, her feet dragging as she clutched her Raggedy Ann doll, walked out the door, Bronte looked as if she’d reached the end of her tether.

The boys, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt, scoffed their pasta and meatballs with a gusto that made Nico’s lips twitch.

Little devils.

They loved nothing more than to see Sophia sitting in the hot seat.

He shifted to top up his wife’s white wine and poured a Chianti into his glass.

Replete, he settled back and kicked out long legs.

“Perhaps,” he began, “we need to keep certain items under lock and key?”

She nodded.

“I’ve got the locksmith coming tomorrow to put a lock on the bathroom cupboards. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it in the first place. I’ll be glad when this weather eases and things get back to normal.”

“The weather is supposed to improve next week,” Tonio said, and beamed at Bronte.

Her mouth curved.

“Thank goodness.”

“Sophia and Emily are gonna look dumb if they can’t wash off that stuff before we back to school,” Luca said.

“Then let that be a lesson to them,” Bronte said, her eyes sparking.

Nico grinned.

“Ah, just another day in the life of the Ferranti family.”

 

FINE

 

The freezing weather from Siberia is actually an unusual occurrence for us at this time of year. It’s been an experience, that’s for sure. Can’t wait for Spring!

Christine x

 

Sneak Peek coming on Sunday, once my power is back up and running…

[image error]

The Beast from the East has brought an ice storm along with blizzards and high winds.

See you Sunday!

Christine x

Apologies for the glitch… two glasses of wine will do that…. LOL! Here’s Desert Orchid, and thank you, Jessie…….

[image error]
Oh my goodness, how on earth did I post the same chapter twice!

LOL!

My H is laughing.

Anyway, that’ll teach me to have two glasses of wine…

Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty Eight

Forty-eight hours later, Charisse received news that left her numb.

Wearing a long sleeveless tunic and fitted pants of lilac silk, she stood absolutely still on the balcony of her apartments.

And she didn’t feel grief or sadness or anger or relief.

She felt… nothing.

Her eyes were fixed, unseeing, over the mountains and the vast desert that spread to the ocean of Onuur.

“After everything my father did, he died in a car accident?”

Khalid stood behind her.

Even though he didn’t touch her, she still felt the heat, the connection.

“His car took a bend too fast and he crashed through the safety barrier. The vehicle fell two hundred feet down the mountainside and burst into flames. He’s gone, Charisse. You’re free of his influence, free of him.”

Was she?

Was she really?

She turned to the man she loved more than life and took a long, hard look at him.

Was she really free?

Did Khalid seriously believe that he could get away with not telling her that he’d headed an interrogation team in her palace? With her own father? And that she’d not hear about it? What was this? What did Khalid think he was doing?

His grey eyes were dark today and that told her he wasn’t telling her the truth.

“What did you do?” she asked him in a tone that made it very clear her demand was an order and not a polite request.

He blinked in surprise.

And after a couple of seconds he opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it.

“Do not even think to lie to me. Our relationship, personal and professional, will not thrive on a foundation built on untruths. Surely you have learned that lesson, Khalid.” She spun around and stalked past him into her rooms to find Arabella and Bruce Monroe standing to attention near the entrance doors. And one look at her bodyguard’s guilty face had a liquid anger roar through Charisse’s system.

How dare they keep secrets from her?

Khalid again stood behind her.

“I didn’t want you upset, or hurt, by him again,” he said.

She spun around and he flinched when his eyes met the fury in hers.

Good.

Her pointy finger poked his strong chest with each word.

“Sit down and tell me nothing but the truth, the whole truth.”

He sat.

Slumped on one of her sofas, he ran his hands through his hair in a move that signalled his utter frustration.

But before he could speak, Bruce Monroe stepped forward.

“Your Highness, your father was apprehended two days ago and brought here. You were asleep, resting after your ordeal.”

Khalid interrupted, “Arabella was not happy to keep you out of it, so don’t blame her or Bruce. The decision not to tell you was taken by me and me alone.” His eyes met hers and held. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Charisse. No way would I permit that man to hurt you again, to damage you, either physically or emotionally.”

She read the love, the utter devotion, in those dark eyes and found her anger with him slowly deflate like air releasing from a leaky tyre.

Now her gaze met Arabella’s.

“I want the truth. All of it.”

It was a command, and her bodyguard nodded once.

“Chanteluelle said he wanted to see you, to give you his condolences on the death of King Amir. When that didn’t fly, he then went on the attack and that in his opinion you were mentally unstable, yada, yada, yada.”

Bruce then took up the tale, “He clearly had an agenda. If we caught him, the decision had already been made to use Sodium Pentothal, the truth serum. I had a list of prepared questions regarding the timeline of how you came to be here. Who were the major players. And more importantly, what he wanted from you now, and why he wanted you dead.”

Khalid sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and nodded in agreement with everything Bruce said, and then he spoke,

“He told us that if he was hurt in any way then two young girls, your half-sisters, would disappear. It appears the leopard hadn’t change his spots. Under questioning, he admitted he was readying them to sell to the highest bidder. We have since learned that the warlord, Hussein Ba-Touma, believes he is now the rightful owner of the eldest girl.”

Charisse felt the numbness in her heart fade, and replaced by a fist of solid ice.

Hussein Ba-Touma was an Arab, true. But he was also regarded as a terrorist, a people-trafficker, drug dealer and worse. The man was more dangerous than Yusuf Hassam Nazari, Omar’s cousin. Was it possible the two warlords were working together?

Then horror of the plight of the girls gripped her heart.

She had half-sisters?

“He’s had plenty of time to make another family,” she whispered. Khalid looked at Bruce, and Charisse caught that look. “What is it?”

“The girls are seventeen and nineteen. The youngest’s name is Poppy and the eldest is Willow. He fathered them while he was still married to your mother,” Khalid said in a gentle voice, to soften the blow.

Charisse just shook her head.

“Nothing my father did would surprise me, Khalid. And that includes having affairs or fathering children out of wedlock.” But now her brow creased. “I find the fact that he fathered only daughters quite spooky.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Actually, he’s fathered a number of children with different women, including a son. They range in age from the two girls down to a twelve year old boy and a six year old girl. Four in total.”

Head spinning with all these revelations, Charisse sank to the edge of a sofa and simply stared at the soldier.

“I have four siblings?”

Khalid’s eyes searched her face.

“The girls look like you. It’s the eyes,” he explained.

Her heart was beating so fast Charisse pressed her fist against the spot.

“I remember my father once said that he’d chosen my mother very carefully. Natural blonde, willowy build, good genes. I suppose he did the same with theirs.”

Arabella crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed. “Like designer daughters?”

Exactly like designer daughters, Charisse realised. And now she wondered, had she lived, what might have happened to Mia, her twin? She felt physically sick.

“There’s a big market for slim, blue-eyed natural blondes, educated well, etc. If they’re untouched, they command a high price,” she whispered.

A bone-deep anger with her late father was now battling through shock.

Her head spun.

Could this nightmare possibly get any worse?

“How do you know this?” Bruce Monroe stepped forward.

Charisse raised her head to look up at his face.

And she read a fury that matched her own.

“Amir was a collector of information. He kept a database of who, and how, they run their business. As a trade, human trafficking spans the globe. He believed it flourishes in the twenty-first century because too many people in positions of great power have an interest in its continued success. It’s not just people who are traded. There are weapons, drugs, money laundering and information, too. However, finding the heart, the person or persons controlling the global trade is almost impossible.

“Amir believed that, he or they, are based in Afghanistan and have safe houses, or hubs as he liked to call them, in the mountains of the Hindu Kush and Pakistan. And people like my late father, powerful and corrupt in deed and in heart, are perfectly placed to ensure trade flows smoothly.”

Now she looked at Bruce. “You believe Hussein Ba-Touma is the mastermind?”

“According to your father, Ba-Touma is the spider in the middle of the web. The money-man. The power. He’s the best lead we have. Your Highness, I need all of King Amir’s notes and the database.”

She nodded. “Of course. But first we must find my sisters.”

“Their mother is dead,” Bruce told her. “They attend a boarding school in Switzerland. Since we released your father, we’ve been in a race against time. Wallace is leading a team to retrieve the girls and bring them here.”

Charisse wasn’t stupid.

She understood exactly what the soldier wasn’t saying.

“You knew my father was going to die?”

Khalid heaved a big sigh.

“Sheik Abbas made sure a recording of part of Bruce’s conversation with your father, and your father’s confession, reached Ba-Touma. It was only a matter of time. I doubt his death was an accident. As far as I’m concerned none of us has blood on our hands.” He paused to look her dead in the eye. “I’d do it again, Charisse.”

For a never-ending moment, she simply stared at the man she loved.

A man who was prepared to take a terrible risk to ensure the safety of his wife and his country.

And all the while Charisse asked herself if what Khalid had done was wrong.

Perhaps.

However, justice had been served.

And searching her heart, she found she was not sorry.

“Chanteluelle wanted you dead or silenced,” Bruce Monroe told her. “I’m no psychologist, Your Highness, but I command men. And I know how to read the good and the bad. I’d say your father was almost certainly a psychopath. Do not mourn him.”

She nodded in agreement.

“I feel glad he’s dead. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Nope,” Arabella stated. “It makes you human.” Her bodyguard shuffled her feet. “May I speak with you, alone?”

Charisse nodded in agreement, wondering what was coming next.

As Khalid led Bruce from her apartments, she indicated that Arabella take a seat.

“I just want to say that I was wrong to ask you to help me leave the palace. I was wrong to put you in an untenable position with the El Haribe family. I am responsible for the situation I now find myself in. And it’s up to me to fix it.”

Arabella’s cheekbones were hot, and so were her eyes, with something that looked like shame and a deep remorse.

Charisse nodded. “I’m a firm believer that some things in life happen for a reason. If you hadn’t left, you’d never have found Omar’s spoor. You saved my life, Bella. None of us, and especially Khalid, will forget it.”

Dark eyes met hers.

“He’s a good man, Highness. Khalid held firm with your father. Never wavered from his course. He will make a fine King.”

Charisse smiled. “He has found himself.”

“He found someone to love with all his heart. Someone to care about before himself.” Then Arabella gave a softly deprecating laugh. “Jeez, listen to me having a Hallmark moment.”

Her queen wasn’t fooled, she could see the underlying anxiety, the worry, on her friend’s face.

“Sarif is a good man, too. He deserves the truth. What are you going to do?”

“After I’ve spoken to him, I’m going home. Not to my family… I can’t face them yet. I’ve saved enough money to be independent until the baby comes and until it starts school.”

Charisse let out a breath she’d no idea she’d been holding.

Thank God Arabella was going to keep her baby. But the logistical complications of such a decision gave her a headache. And she realised that whatever her friend decided for her future, and her child’s future, was none of her business. However, she was able to offer practical and financial help.

“Your baby is part of our family. I have an apartment in London. You are free to use it for as long as you wish. And Amir left you a legacy in his will, to be given to you when you left my service. You must realize, I will check in with you on a regular basis.”

Arabella opened her mouth, probably to refuse, but then her eyes filled and she nodded once.

“Thank you. I accept… I’m going to miss you, this place.”

They rose and Charisse hugged her friend, held her close.

“And we are going to miss you. May God go with you and keep you safe, Bella.”

Hours later, she and Khalid were alone in her apartments, and Charisse felt that hot, hard, little bubble in her throat beat back the pain, the anxiety.

There was still no news of her sisters.

What if they were too late?

What if Hussein Ba-Touma had got to them first?

“We need to find them, Khalid.”

He took her face in his hands.

“I will take you wherever, and whenever, you want to go. Can you trust Wallace Monroe and his team to find them?”

“Yes.” Charisse struggled for calm and found it when he pressed his mouth to hers. “I need you. I couldn’t do this without you.”

He raised his head, eyes twinkling into hers.

“Twice in as many days, must be a record.”

At her blank look, he smiled.

His nose nudged hers. “You said you need me. You’ve had a miserable day. But, baby, you’ve made mine.”

“Because I need you?”

“Because you need me. And, I have Laurel Ashford flying in to talk to us. She’s on her way.”

Shock made her eyes too big. “What?”

“I don’t care if you’re annoyed. She’s a wonderful therapist and you need her help. Actually, I need her, too.”

And just like that, Charisse fell a little bit more in love with her husband. He’d admitted for the first time that he needed to talk to a professional, to get closure.

“She’s the best.”

Khalid nodded. “I know. I read Amir’s letters in his files. It seemed like a good plan for me to talk about… stuff. Charisse, you’re hurt, mentally if not physically. You need help to handle what your father and Omar did to you this time. Finish it. Laurel can help you. Help both of us.”

She hugged him tight.

And couldn’t find the words to tell him how far he’d come in such a short time, of how terribly, terribly proud she was of him.

“You’re right. Good thinking, Rock Star. It’s good she’s coming. No point in me putting it off. It will hurt to talk about what happened, to relive it, but hen the healing can begin.”

Khalid kissed her again.

And before everything got too hot and heavy he lifted his head and stared into those big blue eyes.

“I’m going to talk to my parents,” he admitted.

The pride and the love in her eyes for him made his heart beat that little bit faster.

How the hell had he got so lucky to have her in his life?

“You’re lucky to have them,” she said, plucking the thought right out of his head.

Guilt nagged his conscience.

He bit his bottom lip.

“I had the best of everything and messed up my life. You had a living nightmare, and yet you created your own future and came out of it whole.”

Standing on her tiptoes, Charisse kissed him back.

Once they got their breath back, she said, “With a lot of help from Amir.”

He grinned at her flushed face, at her hard nipples, and the way she was watching him through drowsy eyes filled with lust as well as love.

His woman needed him.

And as he pressed his hard length into her soft belly, Khalid knew he needed her, too.

“Yeah. God bless Amir.”

 

Epilogue

The cry high in the sky above had Charisse tip back her head to watch the huge raptor glide in the up draft of a searing desert heat.

The child tucked safely in her belly shifted.

Her hand stroked her swollen tummy as a happiness, a completeness, she’d never known filled her lungs.

In two months their baby would be born, and she prayed for a strong son. A son as strong and as wonderful as his daddy.

Khalid had taken to impending parenthood like a duck to water, stating he didn’t care what the sex of their child was, as long as it was healthy. And as he was sharing the father-to-be experience with his brother, it had brought them closer.

Sarif had managed to swallow a colossal amount of pride, with Arabella still refusing to marry him, even for the sake of their child. He still had a battle on his hands and had taken the fight to win over Arabella all the way to London. Charisse wished him all the luck in the world. Knowing her friend, he was going to need it.

There was one dark cloud marring the sunny skies of her happiness.

The disappearance of her sisters.

It appeared Ms. Willow Chanteluelle was one brave and intrepid young lady. She’d absconded from her boarding school and taken her sister with her, just six hours before Wallace Monroe and his team had arrived. Where the girls were, no one knew. The Monroe brothers were on the case, the latest lead having taken them to Ireland. The only blessing was that the girls were free and not in the clutches of a beast.

But for how long would they remain free?

She rose from the daybed tucked in the shade on her balcony and wandered over to the edge, to stare unseeing over the mountains and to the sea beyond. Her late father had left one big mess behind him. But she wouldn’t think of that now.

Rufus and Boris sprawled themselves at her feet.

It was the dog’s yip of welcome that alerted her to the presence of her husband.

Strong arms wound around her belly.

Khalid’s big hands held the outline of their child.

“What are you doing standing in the sun? Why are you not resting?”

His mouth nuzzled the soft spot under her ear and she tipped her head to give him better access.

“I’ve just this minute got up from my lazy afternoon reading on my Tablet.”

It cost her, but she didn’t ask the question trembling on the tip of her tongue.

His soft sigh told her he knew what was in her mind.

“No news. It’s not good for you or for the baby for you to be anxious like this. Bruce told me they have the best lead they’ve had for months. He’ll bring them home to you safe and sound. Have faith.”

Resting her head against his shoulder, Charisse El Haribe let her gaze roam over her land and her people. There would still plenty be of challenges ahead to be overcome, for Onuur, and for her family.

“I do have faith. Our Willow is giving them a run for their money.”

Researching her sisters, she’d found out that her sibling was a very well organised thinker, with a logical brain, who was incredibly intelligent. Amazing. And she couldn’t wait to meet her. But for the moment, she’d learn patience and pray that the girls remain safe and well.

She had Khalid. A man who grew as a person every single day. With him at her side, there was nothing they could not do. Together. She was blessed.

Turning in his arms, she let her gaze linger over the strength of purpose in those dark eyes as they, too, scanned their land.

He’d filled out.

No longer too thin.

And he’d cut his hair.

Now he looked more like his father and his brother.

But she missed being able to run her fingertips through those silky locks.

Maybe one day she’d persuade him to grow it once more.

She missed her Rock Star.

“If it bothers you so much, I will grow it again,” he said without looking at her.

The twitch at the corner of his mouth made her smile.

Now he watched her through thick black lashes.

And she didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye, a constant presence when he looked at her these days.

“I love you just the way you are,” she told him.

As they strolled into their apartment, they halted before the vivid painting of her that never failed to capture her breath.

In colours of swirling gold, the painting was huge.

Her face and hair blended into the desert as her eyes, a shocking blue, gazed into the person looking at the painting. And she read a happy contentment that echoed the feeling in her heart.

Desert Orchid

 

“I’m not that beautiful,” she spoke the thought.

Khalid held her close. “I could never capture how beautiful you are. And you’re all mine. My Desert Orchid.”

 

The End

 

But, it’s not really the end….

Stay tuned for an exclusive excerpt from Desert Captive tomorrow.

And remember that The Monroe Brothers trilogy coming later in the year will feature not only Charisse and Khalid, but Coco Monroe and Rafe and the Ferranti family and Ludlow Hall.

Christine X

Desert Orchid… Chapter Twenty Seven…

[image error]

Hello, my darlings,

It’s the last Saturday of February, and March is about to bring the beast from the east to the UK, which means cold dry temperatures from Siberia.

I want to thank all of you for the amazing feedback and kind words about Desert Orchid, the setting and the characters. Khalid has stepped up to his responsibilities, at last.

Enjoy!

 

 

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

Chapter Twenty Seven

“Something’s off,” Bruce Monroe muttered to Khalid as they strode through the palace. “He came along with us like a lamb. He’s under armed guard and by his behaviour  you’d think he was out for a quiet stroll in the country.”

Eyes narrowed, Khalid nodded.

As much as he wanted to tear the man limb from limb, he was in no rush to meet Pascal Chanteluelle. Let him sweat. And Khalid decided he’d take his own sweet time in coming up with a plan.

When they reached Khalid’s study he gave them an edited version of how much Charisse had suffered at the hands of her own father.

And then he laid out his plan.

Bruce folded his muscled arms.

His hard eyes were a cold blue and utterly ruthless.

“When she is up to it I will need to talk to Her Royal Highness about that time, who took her, and where she was taken. I’ll need the timeline, the journey that brought her here. In all truth, King Amir should have brought in the relevant authorities to deal with these men.”

“King Amir took detailed notes after Charisse arrived,” Arabella said. “But you must remember, Bruce, that for months she was very sick, too emotionally fragile to handle an enquiry. The King’s focus was on getting her well.”

“She is one special lady,” Bruce admitted.

Khalid nodded. “She is. And she’s been through enough. That’s why I do not want her to suffer more heartache at the hands of this man. I want her kept out of this.”

By Arabella’s expression, she wasn’t too happy about that part of their agenda.

However, although she nodded her agreement her reluctance was clear.

 

One hour later.

“If we do this we’re breaking international law. There is no going back, Khalid. It’s a man’s life we’re talking about here,” Bruce stated, stressing the point.

“Once I’m finished with him, he’s all yours,” Khalid growled. “Make the most of it. You’ll get names, dates, and the timeline of what happened to Charisse and Chanteluelle’s involvement. Sheik Abbas will be more than happy to assist us. The video recording of Chanteluelle’s confession will be sent to the right people. We’ll let his business partners deal with him. His blood will not be on our hands.”

Bruce nodded once, his eyes flat and cold as ice.

“I’m in. Just remember that no plan is ever foolproof. Shit happens.”

Khalid smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then it will be up to me to deal with it.”

Deep in the bowels of the white palace, Prince Sarif El Haribe stood outside heavy double doors and watched his brother stride down the corridor with Bruce Monroe and Arabella at his side. The walls were thick, muffling the sound of their footsteps. Khalid wore a thwab under a flowing full-length besht of black edged with gold. On his head was a white ghutra held in place by a gold igaal which denoted his royal status.

But it was his brother’s grey eyes that held his attention.

They were filled with an icy purpose and a single minded determination that had pride fill Sarif’s heart.

At last, Khalid was channelling his inner Sheik. And by the look on his face, his baby brother was in a kick-ass mood.

Then Sarif studied Arabella.

His fiancée wore her usual military uniform of combat boots, khakis and a muscle shirt— all in black—with a weapon harness holding her machine pistol. She held a small metal box the size of a paperback book. With a reluctance that made his eyes narrow, she met his gaze before her eyes slid from his.

A hot flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks.

That was a guilty look if ever he saw one.

Hmm.

The time was coming, very soon, when they’d need to sit down and have a long talk about where their relationship was going. For hours she’d managed to avoid being alone with him. She was beautiful, brave and loyal. Everything he’d need in a wife. And she would be his wife. His honour demanded it. Making love to her had been unlike anything in his experience. And by her shocked gasps and cries of pleasure when they’d had sex, unlike anything in her experience, too. He was over his surprise of finding her untouched. She was a strange mix of sexual awareness and a carnal innocence that was incredibly arousing. However, something was a little off with her. She was a woman of mystery. And there was nothing that Sarif loved more than solving a mystery.

Arabella understood protocol, understood the politically sensitive pressures and issues of the region. She might not have royal blood flowing through her veins, but she did come from an old and illustrious military family. She’d make the perfect consort. He wasn’t in love with her, Khalid assured himself. The ache in his groin was simply sexual attraction, nothing more. But his gut asked why she’d run from him earlier today and Sarif always listened to his gut. However, the explosive events of today had overtaken their own personal issues—there was nothing he could do about them now.

Khalid was in charge of whatever was about to happen to Chanteluelle.

Sarif needed to keep his focus on supporting his brother.

And as for Arabella?

Well, he’d deal with her later.

Now he turned to Khalid. “Are you heading up the interrogation?”

His brother’s eyes were laser sharp, his voice cold. “Not quite. I’m heading up the meet and greet. I want you to bear witness.”

Bruce and Arabella opened the doors and stepped into the room first, dismissing the four armed guards.

Sarif followed Khalid as he strode into the room, his younger brother projected a man already in charge, one who wore his authority well, as King of Onuur.

And Sarif realised his brother was no longer a lost cause.

He’d put Charisse and Onuur before all, and in the process, he’d found himself.

No matter the outcome of this meeting, Sarif couldn’t be more proud.

Khalid settled himself in a high backed chair behind a large desk of carved oak.

Then he took his time to study the man who lounged in the wooden chair in front of the desk. Pascal Chanteluelle was a young looking fifty-eight. A man still in his prime of life, lean and tall and dressed as if he was about to play a game of golf. Legs crossed, arms folded, he wore slim chinos, a short-sleeved polo shirt, and cashmere vest all in the colour of unrelieved pewter. The designer logo on the collar of his shirt and vest wasn’t in-your-face. But from the cut of his silver hair to the leather soles of his black loafers the man oozed money and breeding from every pore.

He had the face of a fox, Khalid decided. The grey brows were too close together. The cheekbones high. He had a narrow jaw, and a very weak mouth. But it was in the eyes, those cold, cold, eyes, that Khalid caught a glimpse of the monster.

Their eyes locked.

And without blinking Khalid waited.

After thirty seconds had ticked by the Frenchman’s brow rose and he gave a Gallic shrug of his right shoulder.

“I am here to visit with my daughter,” Chanteluelle said. His voice was soft as silk. The French accent was faint, but the sound reminded Khalid quite forcibly of a snake. The man paused, waiting for a response that never came. He heaved a sigh before continuing, “To help her in her hour of need, in her distress at losing her husband.”

“Her husband,” Khalid’s voice held a warning. “Is speaking to you now. And he’s wondering why you have bypassed passport control and used a helicopter to illegally enter his country. Surely, if you truly desired to help your daughter in her hour of need, all you had to do was lift up a telephone and arrange a visit?”

Chanteluelle’s eyes appeared to twinkle merrily as his thin lips curved.

“My daughter was very young when she ran away. A small family misunderstanding,” he spoke as if he and Khalid were all men together and good buddies. A tone that tested Khalid’s ability to remain unmoved. And that twinkle was still in his eyes. “Women, I find, tend to have a flair for the dramatic gesture. Perhaps she was mentally unsound with the hormones of youth? Unhinged by the death of her sister and mother?” Again the shrug as if to say, ‘Who knows?’ Then Chanteluelle’s blue eyes went wide. “You must understand there is a well-documented history of psychological instability in the family. A genetic disorder that can be passed from mother to daughter.” He paused and those blue eyes went wide with a false empathy. “I trust my daughter is carefully watched?” All this was delivered in a tone dripping with parental anxiety.

Out of the corner of his eye, Khalid spotted Arabella’s hand slowly fist.

And he knew the feeling. The man gave a truly Oscar winning performance of the misunderstood father.

“You are one piece of work,” Khalid said in a silky voice.

Then he nodded to Bruce and Arabella.

They stepped forward.

Bruce held four thick leather straps.

“Sit nice and still,” he ordered the Frenchman.

He bent down and began to bind the Frenchman’s left ankle to the chair, while Arabella went to work on the right.

For the first time Chanteluelle’s bravado slipped.

His eyes went too wide.

Then he reached into his trouser pocked, took out a USB thumb drive and placed it on the desk.

Khalid handed the device to Sarif who slid it into the USB port on a desktop PC.

Once he’d opened the file, Sarif turned the monitor to the room.

The picture of two young women filled the screen. Sisters. And for the first time since he’d entered the room Khalid felt his belly plunge. Their resemblance to Charisse could not be coincidental. Their hair colour was not silver, but pale blonde, and their eyes were not blue but green. A hauntingly vivid green.

“If I do not make contact in…” Chanteluelle checked the time on his platinum Rolex. “Three hours. Then they will be lost to their half-sister forever.” The light chuckle and the ‘I win, and what are you going to do about it?’ tone told Khalid the real man was now revealed. Chanteluelle flinched as Bruce made sure the leather was tight at the ankle before he and Arabella moved to the man’s wrists. Now the monster flickered again as his eyes went sly and calculating. “Don’t you think you have caused my daughter enough heartbreak? How will you explain to her that you have not only taken one sister from her, but three?”

Khalid’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“If it is true that Charisse has two half-sisters, then you are going to tell me where they are.” Khalid checked his own watch. “We have plenty of time.”

The scent of antiseptic filled the room as Bruce swiped a wet cotton swab across the bulging vein on Chanteluelle’s arm.

For the first time the Frenchman’s bravado slipped and his eyes slitted.

With efficiency and precision, Arabella inserted the needle into his vein, and the man’s face went too pale.

Khalid stood, moved around to stand in front of the man tied to the chair.

He rested his hip on the desk.

Folding his arms, he watched as the drug began to take effect.

“You will never use the horror of her past against my wife. You will never rub salt into that wound. Neither will I tolerate you playing mind games with Charisse, using those girls to hurt her as you did with Mia. You are in my playground now, Chanteluelle. And I make the rules.”

Khalid turned to Arabella and Bruce as he rose.

“Get me answers.”

Bruce’s grin reminded Khalid forcibly of a great white shark.

“It will be my pleasure.”

 

 

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

 

To give you an insight into what’s coming….. Desert Captive is Arabella and Sarif’s story and is coming later this year. Then The Monroe Brothers stories, all romantic suspense and feature Charisse’s half-sisters and is set two years after Desert Orchid.

Chapter Twenty Eight tomorrow.

Christine X

Desert Orchid… Chapter Twenty Seven…

[image error]

KOBO  iBOOKS  GOOGLE PLAY  BARNES & NOBLE  AMAZON USA  AMAZON UK

Happy Friday, my darlings,

Aww, this is our last few days with Desert Orchid.

Enjoy!

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

Chapter Twenty Seven

“Something’s off,” Bruce Monroe muttered as they walked at a fast clip through the palace. “He came along with us like a lamb. He’s under armed guard and by his behaviour, you’d think he was out for a little stroll in the country.”

Eyes narrowed, Khalid nodded.

As much as he wanted to tear the man limb from limb, he was in no rush to meet Pascal Chanteluelle. Let him sweat. And Khalid decided he’d take his own sweet time in coming up with a plan.

When they reached Khalid’s study he gave them an edited version of how much Charisse had suffered at the hands of her own father.

And then he laid out his plan.

Bruce folded his muscled arms.

His hard eyes were a cold blue and utterly ruthless.

“When she is up to it I will need to talk to Her Royal Highness about who took her, and where she was taken. I’ll need the timeline, the journey that brought her here. In all truth, King Amir should have brought in the relevant authorities to deal with these men.”

“King Amir took detailed notes after Charisse arrived,” Arabella said. “But you must remember, Bruce, that for months she was very sick, too emotionally fragile to handle an enquiry. The King’s focus was on getting her well.”

“She is one special lady,” Bruce admitted.

Khalid nodded. “She is. And she’s been through enough. That’s why I do not want her to suffer more heartache at the hands of this man. I want her kept out of this.”

By Arabella’s expression, she wasn’t too happy about that part of their agenda.

However, she nodded her agreement.

 

One hour later.

“If we do this we’re breaking international law. There is no going back, Khalid. It’s a man’s life we’re talking about here,” Bruce stated, stressing the point.

“Once I’m finished with him, he’s all yours,” Khalid growled. “Make the most of it. You’ll get names, dates, and the timeline of what happened to Charisse and Chanteluelle’s involvement. Sheik Abbas will be more than happy to assist us. The video recording of Chanteluelle’s confession will be sent to the right people. We’ll let them deal with him. His blood will not be on our hands.”

Bruce nodded once, his eyes flat and cold as ice. “I’m in. Just remember that no plan is ever foolproof. Shit happens.”

Khalid smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then it will be up to me to deal with it.”

Deep in the bowels of the white palace, Prince Sarif El Haribe stood outside heavy double doors and watched his brother stride down the corridor with Bruce Monroe and Arabella at his side. The walls were thick, muffling the sound of their footsteps. Khalid wore a thwab under a flowing full-length besht of black edged with gold. On his head was a white ghutra held in place by a gold igaal which denoted his royal status.

But it was his brother’s grey eyes that held his attention.

They were filled with an icy purpose and a single minded determination that had pride fill Sarif’s heart.

At last, Khalid was channelling his inner Sheik. And by the look on his face, his baby brother was in a kick-ass mood.

Then Sarif studied Arabella.

His fiancée was wearing her usual military uniform of combat boots, khakis and a muscle shirt – all in black – with a weapon harness holding her machine pistol. She held a small metal box the size of a paperback book. With a reluctance that made his eyes narrow, she met his gaze before her eyes slid from his.

A hot flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks.

That was a guilty look if ever he’d saw one.

Hmm.

The time was coming, very soon, when they’d need to sit down and have a long talk about where their relationship was going. He might be attracted to the woman – a woman who at the moment was driving him crazy. For hours she’d managed to avoid being alone with him. She was beautiful, brave and loyal. Everything he’d need in a wife. And she would be his wife. His honour demanded it. Making love to her had been unlike anything in his experience. And by her shocked gasps and cries of pleasure when they’d had sex, unlike anything in her experience, too. He was over his surprise of finding her untouched. She was a strange mix of sexual awareness and a carnal innocence that was incredibly arousing. However, something was a little off with her. She was a woman of mystery. And there was nothing that Sarif loved more than solving a mystery.

Arabella understood protocol, understood the politically sensitive pressures and issues of the region. She might not have royal blood flowing through her veins, but she did come from an old and illustrious military family. She’d make the perfect consort. He wasn’t in love with her, he assured himself. The ache in his groin was simply sexual attraction, nothing more. But his gut was telling him that she’d run from him earlier today and Sarif always listened to his gut. However, today’s events had overtaken their own personal issues – there was nothing he could do about them now.

Khalid was in charge of whatever was about to happen to Chanteluelle.

Sarif needed to keep his focus on supporting his brother.

And as for Arabella?

Well, he’d deal with her later.

Now he turned to Khalid. “Are you heading up the interrogation?”

His brother’s eyes were laser sharp, his voice cold. “Not quite. I’m heading up the meet and greet. I want you to bear witness.”

Bruce and Arabella opened the doors and stepped into the room first, dismissing the four armed guards.

Sarif followed Khalid as he strode into the room, his younger brother projected a man already in charge, one who wore his authority well, as King of Onuur.

And Sarif realised his brother was no longer a lost cause. He’d put Charisse and Onuur before all, and in the process, he’d found himself. No matter what the outcome of this meeting, Sarif couldn’t be more proud.

Khalid settled himself in a high backed chair behind a large desk of carved oak.

Then he took his time to study the man who lounged in the wooden chair in front of the desk. Pascal Chanteluelle was a young looking fifty-eight. A man still in his prime of life, lean and tall and dressed as if he was about to play a game of golf. Legs crossed, arms folded, he wore slim chinos, a short-sleeved polo shirt, and cashmere vest all in the colour of unrelieved pewter. The designer logo on the collar of his shirt and vest wasn’t in-your-face. But from the cut of his silver hair to the leather soles of his black loafers the man oozed money and breeding from every pore.

He had the face of a fox, Khalid decided. The grey brows were too close together. The cheekbones high. He had a narrow jaw, and a very weak mouth. But it was in the eyes, those cold, cold, eyes, that Khalid caught a glimpse of the monster.

Their eyes locked.

And without blinking Khalid waited.

After thirty seconds had ticked by the Frenchman’s brow rose and he gave a Gallic shrug of his right shoulder.

“I am here to visit with my daughter,” Chanteluelle said. His voice was soft as silk. The French accent was faint, but the sound reminded Khalid quite forcibly of a snake. The man paused, waiting for a response that never came. He heaved a sigh before continuing, “To help her in her hour of need, in her distress at losing her husband.”

“Her husband,” Khalid’s voice held a warning. “Is speaking to you now. And he’s wondering why you have bypassed passport control and used a helicopter to illegally enter his country. Surely, if you truly desired to help your daughter in her hour of need, all you had to do was lift up a telephone and arrange a visit?”

Chanteluelle’s eyes appeared to twinkle merrily as his thin lips curved.

“My daughter was very young when she ran away. A small family misunderstanding,” he spoke as if he and Khalid were all men together and good buddies. A tone that tested Khalid’s ability to remain unmoved. And that twinkle was still in his eyes. “Women, I find, tend to have a flair for the dramatic gesture. Perhaps she was mentally unsound with the hormones of youth? Unhinged by the death of her sister and mother?” Again the shrug as if to say, ‘Who knows?’ Then Chanteluelle’s blue eyes went wide. “You must understand there is a well-documented history of psychological instability in the family. A genetic disorder that can be passed from mother to daughter.” He paused and those blue eyes went wide with a false empathy. “I trust my daughter is carefully watched?” All this was delivered in a tone dripping with parental anxiety.

Out of the corner of his eye, Khalid spotted Arabella’s hand fist.

And he knew the feeling. The man was giving an Oscar winning performance of the misunderstood father.

“You are one piece of work,” Khalid said in a silky voice.

Then he nodded to Bruce and Arabella.

They stepped forward.

Bruce held four thick leather straps.

“Sit nice and still,” he ordered the Frenchman.

He bent down and began to bind the Frenchman’s left ankle to the chair, while Arabella went to work on the right.

For the first time Chanteluelle’s bravado slipped.

His eyes went too wide.

Then he reached into his trouser pocked, took out a USB thumb drive and placed it on the desk.

Khalid handed the device to Sarif who slid it into the USB port on a desktop PC.

Once he’d opened the file, Sarif turned the monitor to the room.

The picture of two young women filled the screen. Sisters. And for the first time Khalid felt his heart drop. Their resemblance to Charisse could not be coincidental. Their hair colour was not silver, but pale blonde, and their eyes were not blue but green. A hauntingly vivid green.

“If I do not make contact in…” Chanteluelle checked the time on his platinum Rolex. “Three hours. Then they will be lost to their half-sister forever.” The light chuckle and the ‘I win, and what are you going to do about it?’ tone told Khalid the real man was now revealed. Chanteluelle flinched as Bruce made sure the leather was tight at the ankle before he and Arabella moved to the man’s wrists. Now the monster flickered again as his eyes went sly and calculating. “Don’t you think you have caused my daughter enough heartbreak? How will you explain to her that you have not only taken one sister from her, but three?”

Khalid’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“If it is true that Charisse does have two half-sisters, then you are going to tell me where they are.” Khalid checked his own watch. “We have plenty of time.”

The scent of antiseptic filled the room as Bruce swiped a wet cotton swab across the bulging vein on Chanteluelle’s arm.

For the first time the Frenchman’s bravado slipped and his eyes slitted.

With efficiency and precision, Arabella inserted the needle into his vein, and the man’s face went too pale.

Khalid stood, moved around to stand in front of the man tied to the chair.

He rested his hip on the desk.

Folding his arms, he watched as the drug began to take effect.

“You are not going to use the horror of her past against my wife. I will never permit you to rub salt into that wound. Neither will I tolerate you playing mind games with Charisse, using those girls to hurt her as you did with Mia. You are in my playground now, Chanteluelle. And I make the rules.”

Khalid turned to Arabella and Bruce as he rose.

“Get me answers.”

Bruce’s grin reminded Khalid forcibly of a great white shark.

“It will be my pleasure.”

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

 

The messages and feedback the team and I have received have been amazing. Readers rock!

Christine X

It’s the Ludlow Hall Sneak Peek…. Peace…

[image error]

 

It’s Friday… and time for the Ludlow Hall sneak peek!

Time for a pow-wow at The Dower House…

Bronte, Rosie and Janine had just finished a Sweet Sensations business meeting in Bronte’s kitchen-dining-living space. Eve and Boo are building a tower with huge plastic bricks, and Jimmy Chew was snoozing on his doggie bed, exhausted after a hectic morning with the Ferranti kids.

A fresh pot of coffee sat on the worktop, along with a large plate of mini-muffins, white chocolate and fudge, ready for the hungry hordes who are sure to descend at any moment. The place smells of fresh coffee, spun sugar, chocolate and fresh flowers.

Bronte, dressed in black stretchy pants and an oversized ribbed polo neck cashmere sweater the color of apricot, stretched, rolled her shoulders and wiggled toes all toasty inside thick socks. “In spite of replacing a double oven, we’re well in the black.”

Janine, wearing skinny blue jeans and a white T-shirt beneath a pale grey hoodie, closed her laptop with a satisfied snap. “Yup and our tax reserve account can handle those inland revenue new changes that come into force at the end of April, so we’re cool.”

Rosie, comfy in her usual black yoga pants and huge matching sweater, snuggled a rosy-cheeked Mila who was in the middle of teething hell.

“Thank goodness you have a business brain, Jan. Those excel spreadsheets make my eyes bleed.”

Jan grinned. “And yet I can’t bake or cook the way you two can. Poor Josh fires up his grill more times than not.”

Bronte scooped up Mila and popped a soft kiss on her hot cheek. “Josh loves his grill.”

Rosie, busy with a spoon and Calpol, had to agree. “I’ve never seen a BBQ that big and shiny. I caught Josh patting it once.”

Jan had to laugh. “He calls it darling. How are you this morning, darling.”

Mila opened her mouth like a good girl and took all her medicine, and then snuggled right in for a cuddle with her auntie Bronte.

Eve, dressed in thick tights the color of cream beneath a smocked dress of navy velvet, spotted her mama with her cousin and toddled over to give Mila a hug.

Her little hand patted Mila’s leg. “Aww, poorly, mama?”

“Just a little bit. She has sore teeth.”

“Kiss it better?”

Bronte shifted so Eve could drop a soft kiss on Mila’s cheek.

Then Eve went back to construction with Boo.

“Eve’s speech is coming on,” Rosie said as she topped up their coffees from the pot.

“Yup, better than Batman every five minutes. We all got tired of it after a while.”

“Talking of the super-heroes, where are they?”

Bronte lifted her eyes to heaven.

“Upstairs. Emily and Sophia are quiet, so I’ll check on them in a minute. The boys are watching a movie. Luca’s got a cold.”

“Another one?”

Bronte nodded a response to Jan. “Yup. Third one this winter. Doctor can’t find anything wrong with him, except he’s had a growth spurt. Poor child.”

 

She’d just finished speaking when the poor child in question barrelled through the door, and by the fierce look on his flushed face, he was not happy.

Wearing navy sweatpants and a grey UCLA hoodie, Luca Ferranti, stood with his legs spread on bare feet and folded his arms. “Mama!” he said, his throat scratchy and rough. “Sophia and Emily won’t let me play with their campfire.”

Rosie, dark brown eyes went wide and blinked.

Her fist pressed against her heart.

“Omigod.”

Jan shook her head. “No. It’s a campfire made of fabric cushions designed as stones, flames and logs.”

Rosie turned amazed eyes on her friend. “You made them a campfire?”

“She did,” Bronte said. “The girls had seen it on Amazon and Jan reckoned she could make it for less, and you know what she’s like, she did. AND she made them a wigwam, too. You should see it.”

Luca turned to Jan, his dark eyes pleading. “Sophia said that they’re playing Pocahontas and I can’t play because I have a… I have a… a… willie.”

Bronte ignored Rosie’s snort of laughter.

“Did she use exactly that word?”

Luca’s gaze flicked to his mother.

He shook his head.

“What word did she say?”

He shook his head again, this time so hard his dark curls bounced.

“Uh-uh. If ever I tattle-tale again, Sophia said that she’ll divorce me and I can speak to the hand.”

Jan, wiping her eyes, cleared her throat. “The hand?”

Luca held up his hand in the universal sign for stop.

“She put it right in my face.”

 

And just at that moment, two Pocahontas sauntered into the room.

Rosie had to laugh.

Sophia and Emily looked amazing.

Both wore black long wigs, head bands with brightly colored feathers stuck in the back, and two cute mustard colored fringed dresses over their leggings. The dresses had lots of multi-colored glass beads sewn on them. But it was the war paint on their faces that made her grin like a loon. She turned laughing dark eyes on Jan. “Did you make those outfits, too?”

Jan shrugged. “I have the best time practising this stuff on these two.”

Sophia marched up to her brother, got right up into his space, tipped her head back, and said. “HOW!”

Luca simply glared into her eyes, there was notta lotta love between the siblings at the moment.

Sophia made an are-you-beyond-stupid face. “You’re supposed to say, HOW back. It’s how an American Indian say hello.”

“I don’t need to say hello to you. I know who you are. The sister from hell,” Luca’s sore throat by this time was no more than a vehement whisper.

Emily eased her way between the war party and studied Luca’s flushed face.

“You’re sick. You need to see the medicine man,” she said in her soft breathy voice.

 

Bronte handed Mila to Jan and moved to press the back of her hand to Luca’s forehead.

“Pocahontas is right. Lemme check your temperature.”

“I’m the chief,” Sophia told her brother.

He didn’t look impressed.

“You’re a girl, so how come you’re the chief?”

Bronte, who by this time had found the digital thermometer, slipped it beneath his armpit and told him to sit quietly for five minutes.

Sophia sent him another look, and said, “Equal rights. This is woman’s liberation house. Mama’s the boss, which means I’m an Indian chief.”

By this time, Bronte checked his temperature and nodded.

“It’s up. Calpol for you as well.”

“I don’t like Calpol,” Luca whined.

Undeterred, his mama handed him a glass of water and told him to open his mouth.

After two spoonfuls, and making a horrible face, Luca took his medicine.

Then he sat at the table and simply stared holes through his twin.

Jan moved to stroke his hair.

“Did you really think that I’d made Sophia and Emily a wigwam and forget my Indian brave?”

Luca blinked.

His dark eyes went huge.

“Did you make me a wigwam?”

Jan nodded. “I did. AND I made you a campfire AND a headband and feathers. You can be two tribes.”

“Did you make me a hatchet and I can scalp Pocahontas?”

Jan rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately I didn’t. However, the two tribes might think about peace talks. Come and help me get them out of the car.”

She headed out the door with Luca hot on her heels.

In the boot room he crammed his feet into Wellington boots.

His face beamed as he hefted a huge black plastic bin bag filled with log, stones and flame cushions.

“Can we put the wigwam up in here, Mama?”

Bronte nodded, happy to see his color was better and so was his mood.

“Sure. Knock yourself out. Maybe Tonio could help?”

Luca raced out the room and up the stairs.

 

Sophia, sitting at the table, drinking a glass of milk and nibbling on a mini-muffin, her emerald eyes watchful as she observed her brother’s excitement, turned to her best friend.

“It might be time for a pow-wow, what do you think?”

Emily, enjoying her milk and mini muffin, her legs swinging under the chair, nodded like a wise owl.

“Okay. We’ll need war paint if we’re going to war with the boy tribe.”

“We’re the Pamunkeys.”

Luca arriving with Tonio in time to hear this, turned to his twin and curled his lip.

“We’re Apaches. Warriors,” he rasped.

Tonio eyed the girls, and grinned.

Emily simply sighed and gazed longingly at her idol.

When she gave Tonio googly eyes, Sophia shook her head.

“If we’re gonna wipe them from the face of the earth, you can’t look at him like that,” she said in a tone of utter disgust.

Emily turned to stare hard at her.

“We’re not going to wipe him from the face of the earth. Aren’t we talking peace?”

Sophia, her gaze on her twin, curled her lip.

“We don’t have a peace pipe.”

 

Meanwhile, Bronte, listening to the debate with a riveted Rosie and Jan, staged an intervention.

“As the big boss of this house,” she began. “I actually have a genuine peace pipe that the Pamunkeys and Apaches may use if they really and truly want to live in peace.”

Tonio, who by this time was laughing softly, turned to her.

“Seriously? You have a peace pipe?”

Bronte send him a cheesy smile.

“I do. It belonged to my dad. He used to enjoy the odd pipe, and I have one never used before. However, you must all promise me to take very great care with it.”

Luca, who by this time wore his hair band and three feathers, whirled to face her.

“I promise we’ll take good care of it,” he whispered.

“Okay. But, you must come to a peaceful agreement between the tribes.” She turned to a thoughtful looking Sophia, and raised her brows in a silent question. “Well?”

Sophia pursed her lips and turned to Emily.

Emily nodded.

Sophia turned back to her mama. “Okay. We agree to talk peace.”

Tonio rubbed his hands as the wigwam, with the help of Jan, was assembled, along with the campfire.

The two Indian braves, grabbed a couple of big cushions from the couch dropped them next to the campfire and crossed their legs.

“Can we bring down our wigwam and campfire too?” Emily suggested.

Bronte lifted her hands.

“The more the merrier. Need some help?”

 

Twenty minutes later the family room resembled an Indian settlement with a river (thanks to two blue yoga mats) running through it. On one side were the Pocahontas Pamunkeys and on the other were the Apache braves.

Luca stood, legs spread, on one side of the river and Sophia, arms folded, stood on the other.

“Are you coming to our camp for peace talks, or are we coming across the river to you?”

“We’ll come to you in case you burn our camp to the ground,” Sophia said.

Meanwhile, three year old Boo and Eve appeared to walk on water, carrying a selection of huge bricks back and forth to build their version of a wall.

As Bronte, Rosie watched the peace talks, Jan sewed feathers onto headbands for Boo and Eve to join the tribes.

 

“It’s absolutely fascinating to watch, isn’t it?” Rosie said, her brown eyes twinkling madly.

“Sophia rules that particular roost,” Bronte muttered.

Jan grinned.

“And she does it so well. We could do with her in parliament, she’d sort that lot out in quick order.”

Raised voices from the peace talks had Bronte clear her throat.

 

“Don’t be ridicalus,” Sophia said to her twin. “There weren’t iPads in the olden days.”

His eyes shooting daggers right back at her, Luca retorted, “I know that monkey-butt-face. But, we can have Indian music, can’t we?”

“Here’s some flute, forest and river music,” Tonio interrupted, and played it.

Emily, sitting cross legged on a cushion with Jimmy Chew snoring on her lap, began to sway from side to side. “Oooooh, I love it. I feel like I’m in the Rocky mountains.”

On his side of the river, Tonio did a hop-hop-hop dance in time to the drumbeat.

 

Out of the corner of her mouth, Jan muttered to Rosie who was sneakily videoing  it on her cell phone. “Aren’t they fabulous?”

“Yup. Adorable.”

When the howl of a lone wolf came over flute music, Emily’s eyes grew huge.

“Oh my.”

“And owls,” Sophia whispered.

When more drums and tambourines began, all native Americans got into the spirit of things. At last, an uneasy peace prevailed across the bad lands.

***

When Nico, Josh and Alexander strolled through the kitchen door, as one they stopped and surveyed the scene.

The lights in the family room were dimmed.

LED candles flickered in the middle of a huge campfire set in the middle of two wigwams. And all the Indian braves were fast asleep, with Jimmy Chew curled up in the middle of the fire that did not burn. Soft meditation nature music played.

And from the looks of things, they’d all had pizza for dinner.

Josh found Boo snoring among the bodies and started to laugh softly.

Bronte popped her head into the kitchen-dining-living space and whispered,

“We’re in here.”

The men tip-toed past those resting, through the hall and into the sitting room where a real log fire sparked and hissed behind a glass screen.

Josh scooped up his woman, sat her on his knee and gave her a hard kiss.

“Love the wigwams and the log fire.”

Jan’s blue eyes danced. “So worth it to see them have such a great time.”

Alexander shrugged off his suit jacket, his tie, and scooped up his sleepy daughter for a kiss. Then he gave one to a Rosie who’d lifted her face in clear invitation.

Meanwhile Nico grabbed Bronte and spun her around.

“Had a busy day?”

“Jan deciphered excel for Rosie and I and then we witnessed peace talks between the tribes. And Luca’s got a sore throat and a temperature.”

Nico made a face.

He turned to his guests.

“Need a drink? Wine? Beers?”

Once he’d served everyone, taken off his suit jacket and tie and reeeeeelaxed in his favorite comfy chair, he raised his glass.

“Here’s to peace.”

Bronte lifted her glass of wine.

“Here’s to Janine, according to Pocahontas, the best auntie in the whole wide world and the universe and beyond.”

 

FINE

 

Aww, if anyone’s interested there are actually cushions that resemble logs, fire and stones available for sale on Amazon…. just thought you’d like to know!

And for those who need rest, relaxation and probably a glass of wine, here’s the music the kids were listening to:  https://youtu.be/5TNNEw2PiyQ

PEACE and LOVE.

Christine X

Desert Orchid… Chapter Twenty Six…

[image error]

 

KOBO   GOOGLE PLAY   iBOOKS   BARNES & NOBLE  AMAZON USA  AMAZON UK

 

Happy Thursday, my darlings,

Friday is nearly here, and I’ve another Ludlow Hall sneak peek coming….

Here’s Desert Orchid, Chapter Twenty Six…

 

Desert Orchid – Copyright

By CC MacKenzie

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

 

Chapter Twenty Six

“I can still smell him on me,” Charisse whispered into her husband’s warm neck.

She couldn’t help the little break in her voice or the horrible shudder that convulsed her body. His arms tightened around her as he carried her through her bedroom, into the bathroom, and placed her on her feet.

Still holding her close, he slapped on the power shower.

Her legs refused to support her.

The room spun as she sank to the wide edge of the bath, while he tugged his sweater over her head before making short work of the rest of her clothes. As he touched her, his hands trembled, as if he had a fever. He ran them over her naked body, checking for hurts, for marks, on her delicate skin. When he came to her wrists, the flesh rubbed raw, he placed a tender kiss on the spot, to make it better.

Without saying a word, he stripped.

Lifting her in his arms, he stepped into the shower.

How long they stood holding on tight to each other with hot water pounding them, Charisse never knew, it might have been hours or minutes.

As if she was a child he picked up one arm and then the next and washed her thoroughly.

All she could do was simply stand there and let him look after her.

He was so gentle, especially when he knelt and pressed a single kiss to her belly and then her bruised hips, as he washed between her legs. There was nothing sexual in his touch as his big hands swept over her body. Taking great care he rose and washed her hair, rinsing until it squeaked. All she could do was close her eyes as he massaged oatmeal scented conditioner into her scalp, his fingertips easing away the shock, fear and confusion from her mind. The way he rinsed and slid his fingers through the silver strands made her realise just how much she meant to him. Using a cloth, he carefully cleaned her face.

The hitch in his breath had her open her eyes to stare into his fabulous face. Those dark eyes never left hers. And she realised there were tears as well as water streaming down his face.

Undone, her hand cupped his cheek.

“He scared me, but he didn’t hurt me, Khalid. Arabella didn’t hesitate. He’s dead.” Then the horror of the day made her voice hoarse. “He said… he said my father paid him to bring me to him.”

“Hush,” he said. Then his mouth moved across hers. A kiss so soft and so tender that the horrible ache in her heart eased.

He lifted his head and his eyes stared dead into hers.

“How did you come to Onuur, Charisse? Are you ready to talk about what happened to you?”

She nodded even as a shudder of revulsion ran through her body.

 

Too pale, he decided.

Khalid wrapped her in a thick towel, wound another around her hair in a turban and carried her through to her bedroom.

Placing her on the bed, he blotted her hair with the towel and ran a brush through it, taking great care not to tug. The simple task settled them both.

After rummaging through her closet, he dressed her in panty shorts and a T-shirt, all the while holding close a fury that threatened to overwhelm him. When he got his hands on Chanteluelle he’d fucking kill him with his bare hands.

Once they’d settled into her bed, she crawled onto his lap and he held her close.

On the opposite wall, the huge black and white photograph of Mia and Jamila made him catch his breath. Closing his eyes, his mouth nuzzled her hair, and her arms wound around his waist.

“When you love someone, they need to know who you are now, today, even though you’re no longer who you were. Does that make sense?” she whispered.

He swallowed the hot rock in his throat, nuzzled her damp hair.

“Yeah, it does. Who were you, baby? What happened to you?”

The shaky sigh that escaped from her throat had him hold her tight.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

And Charisse began her story.

“To the outside world our family appeared perfect. A powerful, successful man with a beautifully fragile wife and obediently docile daughters. In public my… he was Mr. Nice Guy. The perfect father. The perfect husband. The perfect example of a man who worked for the greater good. He’s charismatic, loves to be at the centre of attention, at the centre of any drama he creates. Over time, I’ve come to realise that my father is the perfect sociopath.

“Adults can control children by placing emotional restraints upon them and socially isolating them. When we were small, my… he kept us in line by not punishing Mia if she did something he didn’t like… instead he punished me. Mia was not like me. She was feisty and very stubborn. But he never lifted his hand to Mia, only to me. And because Mia loved me, that way he was punishing her but more importantly, controlling her. As twins we were already connected, but living with a constant fist of anxiety in our belly brought us even closer. We never knew who he was going to be from one day to the next.”

“What about your mother?” Khalid wanted to know.

Reluctant to go there, to try to explain the love she still had for her mother in spite of everything, Charisse gave a weary sigh. “She wasn’t a strong personality. Certainly not strong enough to cope with a man like my father. Only once did she get her own way about us going away to boarding school in England. I think she realised that by mixing with other girls, by seeing how a normal family functions, we would be strong enough to break free. She fought for us, but ultimately it was an act that destroyed my mother. Basically, he wore her out, sucked the energy, the hope, the joy out of her life.”

“Didn’t she try to stop him abusing you?”

“No. And for a long time I couldn’t forgive her for that. But now I realise she was as much a victim as we were. But I still cannot get over the sense that after Mia died, she simply abandoned me to him.

“You see, Mia had been his life. After her death his behaviour became more erratic. At the time of the accident I was attending summer school and I believe my mother took the brunt of his behaviour. She’d always been slim, but after the accident she appeared emaciated. She couldn’t cope. She couldn’t break away and be free from him… except by taking her own life.

“At my mother’s funeral even the eulogy was all about him and how much he had suffered. I didn’t shed a tear, because I was happy she was at last free of living with a monster. He removed every single photograph of her from the house, tossed them in the trash. You see, he was furious that she’d gone, escaped from him via the ultimate act of suicide. And all that he had left was… me. The one person he did not want in his life.

“There are many people in the world – women and children – who are locked away without bars on the windows. Controlled, trained, not only by cruelty but by acts of kindness, too. I lived for each tiny moment of kindness he might show me.”

She shuddered.

“Now I was his focus. I was so afraid all the time. One night he woke me up in the early hours of the morning. It was the middle of January. He was angry, and this time he was sweating and stank of alcohol.”

She broke, stopped to swallow, to take a shaky inhale.

And this time the breath Charisse let out scraped over her throat like acid.

“He had scissors and grabbed my hair and cut it all off. It was even shorter than Arabella’s. He said I was vain. That I wore it long to tempt men. He had that strange look in his eyes that always terrified me. He…”

She trembled and Khalid held her tight.

“Two men, strangers, came into my bedroom. And he made me stand and he cut off my nightgown and panties. He made me turn around while they took pictures with their cell phones.”

“Dear Christ.”

“All I can remember thinking is that I should have run away sooner. I’d been planning it for weeks. I was waiting for spring and now it was too late. He made me face the wall. And I heard one of the men talk on the phone. He was running an auction. When I realised it was an auction for me my legs gave way.

“Then they were arguing about money. I started to cry. And I remember he told me to be silent or he’d give me something to cry for. One of the men made me swallow pills and water. I couldn’t stop crying. And it felt as if I was floating outside my body. My father went wild. And I watched as he used his fists, his feet, until I bled.

“He wasn’t finished. I was bent over the arm of a chair and he used a horse whip on my buttocks. He didn’t stop until blood was pouring down between my legs…”

She couldn’t tell him the part where her father had tried to have sex with her. She just couldn’t do it.

“And then I passed out. When I awoke I was so cold and starving and thirsty and didn’t know where I was. But I think I was on a boat. Then one of the men, a stranger, came into the room with a syringe and gave me a shot. Amir believed it was heroin. I don’t know how long they held me. Everything’s a blur.”

It was hard, but she took a couple of deep breaths that hurt her chest.

“Then I came to Amir. At first I refused to eat or drink because I was scared they might drug me. But eventually Yasmin got through to me. Every day she bathed me, brushed my hair and sang to me.”

Tipping back her head, her eyes met Khalid’s and she read nothing but an unwavering support and unconditional love. No matter what had happened to her, those events had brought him into her life. And for that she’d be forever grateful.

“Wounds – whether emotional or physical – and how we come by them never truly heal. Each touch triggers the memory of how those marks on my skin were made,” she admitted now.

His lips whispered over hers. “Then together we will make new memories, good memories, when I touch you.”

With a nod, she rested her head on his chest, and listened to the solid beat of his strong heart. She was safe with him.

Khalid turned his head, brushed a kiss over her hair. A silent message of understanding, of comfort.

And then Charisse continued her story,

“I used to have terrible nightmares. Amir helped me talk through the dreams. To help me heal, he brought in the psychologist Laurel Ashford.”

“The Laurel Ashford?”

“Yep. She is an amazing woman. It took three years before I slept through the night.” She paused, rubbed her cheek on his strong chest. “You know what that feels like.”

“I do.”

“She taught me that shutting bad things away in our mind doesn’t help us heal—it only makes the burden weigh heavier and heavier, until we can no longer carry it. We need to talk out what happened to us. Accept it. Face it. Deal with it. And let it go. You know all about that.”

“I do.”

“Amir gave my life a structure, and most important of all, a purpose. He gave me puppies to care for, Boris and Rufus. They were twelve weeks old and my responsibility. After Mia died, I never had anything, didn’t want anything that was mine because I knew my father would use it against me, to control me. Until the dogs… I made them mine.”

Now she sat bolt upright.

“Oh God. The dogs.”

“They’re safe, baby. And they’re going to be fine,” Khalid assured her as he brought her back to the safety of his strong arms. “Your father’s dick deserves to be dipped in oil and set alight. And let me tell you that while he burns, all our people will cheer. Maybe I’ll content myself with killing him with my bare hands.”

“I want you with me for the rest of my life, Khalid. I don’t want to visit you in prison.”

“I’m the king. I can kill the son-of-a-bitch if I want to.”

“You’re just trying to make feel better.”

“Is it working?”

The hot lump in her throat made it difficult to speak as her eyes met his and she saw the unconditional love and support.

“No matter how hard I try, I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much.”

His brows winged into his hairline. “Didn’t you tell me not to take responsibility for another person’s actions?” She nodded. “Then take your own advice. Trying to use logic for behaviour that defies logic is crazy stupid.”

She blinked.

“Crazy stupid?”

He was trying to make her feel better.

She managed a small smile as her heart rate steadied.

And she took up her story.

“Amir gave me Diablo and we worked with a trainer all the way from Ireland. And then Amir… he became so very sick.”

Her voice broke.

Khalid nuzzled her hair. “And in the meantime, you studied hard. Developed educational programmes?”

She nodded and snuggled into his chest. His heart beating against her cheek and the scent of him calmed her bruised heart.

“‘Literacy For All’. Especially girls. Our women need all the help they can get. If the man of the house leaves, or dies, it is always the women and children who suffer. If they can read they have a chance to learn new skills, to succeed in life.

“One of the greatest gifts Amir gave me was the gift of self-esteem. ‘Choose you,’ he used to say. ‘You look after you for me and I’ll look after me for you.’ I loved him so much. He was the father I never had.” She tipped back her head to look into his eyes. “Can you understand? He made me believe I was worth something. And made me realise I would find joy in the service of my people. He was right.

“And he also believed in you, too, Rock Star. Let me show you his letter.”

She got out of bed.

On long legs she padded over to her bureau, opened a slim drawer and plucked out the thick envelope. She returned and handed it to him and knelt on the bed while he read it.

Khalid shook his head as he read the letter twice before handing it back to her.

And tried to make light of the feelings whirling around in his chest.

“You mean I can’t have concubines? Hell, that’s a deal breaker.” Then he found his emotions were locked in a tight fist in his throat. His eyes stayed on hers. “You’ve taken away the darkness and brought the light back into my life. When you hurt, I hurt. I love you, Charisse. And I promise I will do my best never to let you down.”

Her amazingly blue eyes shone, filled to the brim with emotions that tipped over and ran down her soft cheek.

Khalid’s hand rose and his finger smoothed away the tear.

She smiled.

“When you hurt, I hurt, too, Rock Star. That’s what love is all about, sharing the burden of hurt and finding the light in the darkness. You are the light of my life,” she whispered.

He opened his heart and let the light of her love for him expose his deepest fear.

“Know what scares me? Screwing this… us… up,” he admitted.

She shook her head, nuzzled the warm spot under his ear.

“We won’t. You won’t. We got lucky in love.”

He grinned. “Can’t argue with that.”

Turning her to face him, they lay body to body and simply settled in for a long cuddle.

She looked up at him; everything inside Khalid ached for her, for everything she’d been through.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

He then placed his lips on hers.

Her response was instant. “I love kissing you.”

Since he couldn’t resist the plea in her voice for more, he deepened the kiss. And gave himself permission to simply fall into the moment with her warm body pressed tight against his, with the heady scent of soap and something that was pure Charisse clinging to her skin.

They didn’t speak; they’d both had enough of words. Enough of tempests and dramas. Now was the time to soothe, time to love. She was wrapped around him in her bed, binding him tight, so tight, while her lips explored his face. And he was lost, in her. So stirred, by her. He slid his hands over her warm skin. He tried to go slow with her, but his hands were too quick. Too quick to take care as his fingers pushed aside her panties and plunged into her and took her up, up, up, felt her body arch back, felt her shudder. Felt her surrender.

He needed this. She needed this, he thought, as he stripped her. Just for a moment, they’d escape, while the vile events and the bloodstains of the day would be washed away.

Maybe joy and love would crush some of life’s hurts.

His heart beat a hard tattoo against hers. The feel of it gave Charisse such an electric charge, that strong, wild beat vibrated through her body. She brought that excitement to him and revelled in it. But more, she felt renewed. This was their lives now. And nothing and no-one could change that, no nightmare, no shame, no guilt. By finding each other, loving each other, they’d brought themselves out of the dark and into the light.

Now he was inside her, stretching her, taking her to that place only they could find. And the light exploded behind her eyes as he took her higher, to a climax that made her back arch.

She screamed, and Khalid heard the joy and the piercing edge of triumph in her voice. And he empathized. No matter what had been done to her, what had been taken from her, she would survive victorious. More, she would live and thrive and love. She wanted him. She needed him.

And that fact alone would always weaken him. Delight him.

Then she rolled on top of him. The scent of her slippery hair, and aroused woman, his woman, stirred him. And just like that he was hard as a rock again. Christ, how did she do this to him? All long limbs and smooth skin as her body was sliding over his, her mouth hungry as it feasted on his until he was crazy stupid for her. When he hauled her up, she took him into her, so tight, so hot, so wet, so deep he gasped. And then she took him on the wildest ride of his life. Her thighs, slim and strong, gripped him as she rode him like Diablo.

Even as his vision clouded with an orgasm that was going to be fucking outstanding, he watched the expressions on her face, joy and a fierce determination, took her up as her mouth went wide in an O shape. Then their climaxes went critical when she arched back and he roared his release.

Charisse was sprawled on top of him, boneless, breathless.

“What on earth was that?” she asked in a voice full of wonder.

“God, God, God,” he gasped.

His heart was thundering under hers.

They were slick with sweat and she didn’t give a damn as she kept her face buried in his neck. His big hand stroked her backside, over her scars, in lazy circles, in a way that made her smile.

“I think we’ve just made a good start on making new memories. What a perfect end to a perfectly horrible day,” she said.

They lay quietly for a moment, and all the while his hands stroked her back, her buttocks.

“All I’d planned to do to you was to hold you. But I can’t help myself but make wild, passionate love to you.”

“I love it when you can’t help yourself. I don’t know if I can sleep yet,” she admitted.

“We could watch a movie. One of those French movies with lots of sex and subtitles.”

She laughed. “I thought you liked action movies, with lots of explosions and special effects.”

He rolled and she was caught under him, his big body pressing her into the mattress and she loved it. He kissed her.

“We don’t need special effects,” he growled and pretended to bite her neck.

God, she smelled fantastic.

Then his teeth nibbled on her pouty bottom lip.

Khalid lifted his head and big blue eyes stared into his.

Her eyes were clearer, less haunted, less sad.

“How about ‘Pretty Woman’ —the story of a hooker with a heart?” she suggested.

Not one of his favourites, but for her he’d watch anything, even Disney.

His heartfelt groan made her smile.

“All right.”

Once the movie was playing on the huge flat screen that rose from a cleverly designed cabinet at the bottom of her bed, he drew the comforter over them.

She lasted until the bath scene.

And Khalid wondered how she’d managed to hold out that long.

He slid out of bed.

Turning the light low in case she awoke, he turned off the TV.

Watching her carefully, he dressed and padded out of her bedroom.

And found Yasmin on a sofa stroking the dogs dozing at her feet.

Bruce Monroe and Arabella also waited for him in the dining area of the suite.

They spoke in hushed tones as they studied architectural plans of the palace spread out on the table.

They stood as he approached.

“We’ve got him. Chanteluelle is under close guard,” Arabella said.

Khalid kept a firm grip on a fury that roared through his system like a tornado. On the one hand, he felt relief that at last he’d meet the son-of-a-bitch and make him pay, and on the other he knew he’d be dealing with a clever and manipulative bastard who liked to play mind-games. No way was he going to let Charisse anywhere near the animal who had almost destroyed her.

He turned to Yasmin and held out his arms for her embrace.The elderly woman hugged him tight even though she was trembling.

“Is she hurt?” Yasmin whispered.

“Pretty shaken-up,” Khalid told her. Then he leaned back to look into her eyes so that she could read the truth. “But she’s already bouncing back. She’s asleep. Will you stay with her while we deal with…?”

Yasmin’s chin rose and he saw a rage enter her eyes that matched his own as well as a determination for justice.

“Of course I’ll stay. And, Khalid, I don’t care what you have to do. I do not want her anywhere near that monster.”

He nodded, bent his head to kiss a cheek as fragile as tissue paper.

“If she wakes, tell her I’m helping co-ordinate the search. Don’t let her leave the apartment.”

 

Desert Orchid – Copyright

By CC MacKenzie

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

 

Only four more to go until The End…..

Christine x

Desert Orchid… Chapter Twenty Five… it’s all happening…

[image error]

KOBO    GOOGLE PLAY     iBOOKS   BARNES & NOBLE   AMAZON USA  AMAZON UK

 

Greetings, my darlings,

It’s getting colder, with the weather forecasters calling what’s coming at the weekend and into next week, The Beast From The East, meaning a freezing wind from Siberia. Something to do with a warming in the stratosphere above the jet stream…. We’re wrapping up nice and warm to prepare for it.

We’re coming to the end game of the story…..

Enjoy!

Desert Orchid – Copyright

By CC MacKenzie

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

Chapter Twenty Five

 

The Monroe brothers took the lead through the tunnels.

They moved fast, with grace and stealth, like big black cats.

Their men followed, with Khalid and Sarif bringing up the rear. The smell of dank earth, and a darkness relieved only by the torches lighting the way, plus it was ice cold, all conspired to make Khalid feel he’d entered a tomb. A place where the dead reigned supreme. A couple of times he was certain he’d felt a ghostly fingertip slide down his cheek before realising it was a spider’s web. His fertile imagination seemed to torture him with thoughts of what Charisse was going through, down here all alone, in the clutches of a monster.

His belly seemed to plunge, as if dropped down an elevator shaft, at the thought of her.

The too loud explosion of a single gunshot made him jolt before the Monroes and their team sprinted ahead.

Khalid was right on their heels with Sarif at his shoulder as they ran into scene of utter chaos.

Bats, thousands of them, whirled crazily in the air. Their too high cries rang in his ears.

The amonia scent of their guano made his eyes water.

But then he saw Arabella untying Charisse.

His beloved’s face was filthy and streaked by tears.

She wore one shoe, and why that made him sob in his throat he had no fucking idea.

Within seconds she was in his arms, her body plastered against his, and he just held on tight.

“See you haven’t lost your eye. Nice shot, Bella.” Bruce Monroe squatted over a very dead Omar studying the hole in his forehead, then he shifted out of the way of the blood pooling at the back of the bastard’s head. “Could have done with him alive, darling.”

Since there was no response, he glanced up to find a very tense and flustered Arabella being held too close by a Prince who was inspecting her face.

“What happened? Are you unhurt?” Sarif asked her in a gruff voice.

“I’m fine,” she told him. Sliding out of his arms, pink cheeked, she turned to Bruce. “I had no choice. He was about to rape Charisse. The man is built like a tank, if I’d injured him, he would have killed her. I couldn’t take the chance.”

Khalid searched his wife’s face, and Charisse read alarm mixed with a furious outrage that burned as hot as the sun.

“Did he touch you?”

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “He was about to sodomise me.” The shudder that rocked her made her teeth rattle. “Arabella killed him, thank God.”

A soft whoop of glee from the other side of the cave made them turn.

“The mother lode.” Wallace Monroe held up two cell phones, a short-wave radio and a satellite phone. “I’ll get these to the tech guys. Hopefully we’ll find out who was paying him.”

“It was my father,” Charisse told them. “He must be here because Omar was going to take me to him after he…” Her voice wobbled in a way that seriously annoyed her. The time had come for her to fight back. Anger, the need for vengeance, burned nice and bright in her heart. She refused to be a victim. She refused to live in fear. But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t stop the awful trembling.

Then she found herself wearing Khalid’s sweater, being lifted in his strong arms. The sweater drowned her. His scent and the wonderful warmth of his body made her snuggle her face into his neck.

“She’s freezing,” Khalid said. “I need to get her out of here.”

It was clear that Bruce Monroe had everything under control. So Khalid turned, nodded to a couple of soldiers who lit the way with their torches, and took his wife home.

Arabella turned to the Monroe brothers, and Sarif.

“Find Pascal Chanteluelle. This thing will never be over until we do.”

Bruce Monroe’s dark eyes went fierce before he blew out a long whistle.

“Chanteluelle? Fuck’s sake, Bella. He’s been on Interpol’s radar for years. He’s untouchable. What the hell have you got us into here?”

“Scared, soldier boy?” Arabella taunted.

“How do you know this?” Sarif’s hawk like features were sharp as he fired the question at Bruce.

“We have family who work for the National Central Bureau of Interpol, cousins,” Bruce responded. And then flashed super-white teeth. His smile didn’t reach his Celtic blue eyes. “Can’t tell you any more than that, otherwise I’d have to kill you.”

Sarif returned the smile, shark to shark. “Quite a family you have, Monroe.”

Still kneeling on the filth on the floor, Wallace Monroe gave a snort as he rifled through Omar’s possessions. “You have no idea, Your Highness.”

Omar’s body was being lifted into a black rubber body bag and zipped up.

Six of the men grabbed a handle and hefted it onto their shoulders, and one grunted, “Heavy bastard, isn’t he?”

Bruce flicked back the cover on his wrist watch, checked the time on the luminous dial.

“Spread out and search the rest of the caves. It’s possible he had more than one nest. Find anything, tag me immediately.”

He turned to Arabella, and flashed her a big grin.

“So, where would a man safely hole up in these mountains? He’d need shelter. The ability to get in and out fast. I’m thinking helicopter. And that means a pilot and maybe a couple of grunts with guns, too. Unless he’s using a military bird, he’d want room for Omar and the queen.”

Arabella shook her head.

“He wanted Charisse dead. And I’ll bet Omar would have been surplus to requirements once he’d delivered his prize. Too many people in the know means more people to pay to keep quiet. Chanteluelle’s a greedy bastard. I’m thinking it will be just him and the pilot. Unless of course he can fly a chopper.”

“Hey, Wall,” Bruce yelled to his brother who was bagging up Omar’s devices. “Speak to the spook. Find out if Chanteluelle has a pilot’s license.”

Wallace checked the time on his wrist watch, grinned.

“Oh, man. It’s the middle of the night in Vegas. He’ll be so pissed. It’ll be my pleasure.”

They all moved to leave with Sarif taking the lead.

Hanging back with Bruce, and keeping a wary eye on Sarif, Arabella muttered, “Ethan’s in Vegas?”

“On vacation with a very nubile brunette. She’s got huge…” With his hands he made the shape of large breasts.

Arabella rolled her eyes. “I thought he had a thing for Coco’s pal Louise?” she said, referring to Bruce Monroe’s sister.

“Nope. Seems that on-again-off-again relationship is off for good.” Now he frowned and slowed his pace. His eyes were serious when they found hers. “What’s going on with you and Sarif?”

Opening her mouth to tell him her private life was none of his business, Arabella changed her mind. Bruce Monroe had trained her. He knew her too well. And she’d never been a particularly good liar.

Now his sharp eyes studied her face carefully.

His eyes narrowed.

Before she could respond, he said, “That bad, eh?”

“I’m in deep shit.”

“Want help getting out of Dodge?”

“I was already on my way out of Dodge when I came across evidence of Omar in the tunnels. I turned back.”

“Just as well you did. Did I tell you it was a nice shot?”

Her shoulder nudged his. “You did.”

He nudged her back. “Seriously, if you want out we’ll get you out.”

Sarif had halted, waiting for them, she realised.

And those sharp dark eyes were watching her and Bruce like a raptor.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I might take you up on that.”

 

Desert Orchid – Copyright

By CC MacKenzie

Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2014

 

Chapter Twenty Six tomorrow, and