Ain’t Your Mama’s Bedtime Stories Compiled by Liquid Silver Books © 2003
Ain’t Your Mama’s Bedtime Stories Compiled by Liquid Silver Books Published 2003 ISBN 1-931761-75-2 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Compilation Copyright © 2003, Liquid Silver Books; stories Copyright © 2003 individual Authors. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com Email:
[email protected] Cover Art by Ariana Overton and Linnea Sinclair These are works of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
CONTENTS R. A. Punzel Lets Down Her Hair ... Dee S. Knight Beauty or the Bitch ... Jasmine Haynes Snow White and the Seven Dorks ... Dakota Cassidy Little Red, the Wolf and the Hunter ... Leigh Wyndfield Once Upon a Princess ... Rae Morgan Petra and the Werewolf ... Sydney Morgann Peter’s Touch ... Vanessa Hart
R. A. Punzel Lets Down Her Hair Dee S. Knight PROLOGUE "Excuse me, but what're you doing in my office?" I'd just sauntered in through the back entrance to see a lanky boy leaning over my desk using the tip of a pencil to pick up the edges of papers stacked there. Startled, he turned, blushing with embarrassment. As well he should. "Uh ... uh, waiting for you, sir." "That's nice, kid, but usually people wait in the outer office. What are you doing in here?" Casually, I hung my coat on the rack and moved behind the desk. Business was slow and I knew the only thing of any interest on this desk was yesterday's racing form. "I wanted to talk to you. To find out about being a detective. You are the famous detective, Sam Slade, aren't you?" His face brightened and I hated to quash his enthusiasm. "Sam's not here, kid. I'm Richard Hammer, his nephew. But I'm a detective, too." "Oh?" he studied me with a guarded look. His eyes narrowed. "If Mr. Slade is your uncle, why is your last name Hammer?" Now here was a kid who needed a lesson on family. "Mother's brother." "Oh." The suspicion didn't leave his face. "I wanted to see your uncle, but if you're a detective, too... What's the main difference between you and your uncle?" I rubbed a hand across my chin as I thought of the best way to describe how I differed from my uncle. "He's dead." "Dead? When?" "About a year ago." "Oh." With a look of dejection, the kid slumped into the chair that fronted my desk. "Don't take it so hard, kid. He lived a good life." His long face brightened again. "Did he get killed on a job?" "Nah. Just fell asleep one night and didn't wake up." No need disillusioning the boy by explaining that Uncle Sam had suffered a heart attack after he'd boinked a longshoreman's wife, and heard the guy's truck pull in the drive. "Death is usually not very adventurous." I sat forward. "What'd you want to see him about, anyway." "Oh, nothing." He looked so unhappy I just had to press. "Come on, kid," I said in my most avuncular tone. "What's the trouble?" "Well, I wrote Mr. Slade years ago when I was just a kid, you see. I'd read about him in the papers and always wanted to be just like him. I told him that I planned to go to school and learn all kinds of PI techniques and then I wanted to come out and join him. Be his apprentice, like. He said to come on. And, well, here I am." I hardly knew what to say. He couldn't be over twenty one, fresh-faced and enthusiastic as only someone who hasn't spent hundreds of nights sitting in a car
watching for something that never happens. He'd learn. If he stayed in this business, he'd learn. "Kid... Say, what's your name, anyway?" "Phil. That's what my friends call me back in Ohio." "Well, Phil, why do you want to be a detective, anyway? It's boring work most of the time. Sure you get to meet hot babes once in a while, but a lot of the time you don't even get paid because the assholes skip out. I do all right now, since the Golden Steps Spa case, but it's not so good when you're just starting out. You should consider that." He sighed with resignation. "But Mr. Hammer, it's all I've ever wanted to do. Tell me about it, won't you? I mean tell me about this ... what did you call it? The Golden Stairs..." "Golden Steps Spa. You mean you never heard of it?" I could see my incredulity showed, by his surprised expression. He shook his head. "Let me get us some coffee." "You'd think they'd have newspapers in Ohio," I muttered as I headed for the outer office. When I got settled again, I tried to decide how to tell the story. The Golden Steps Spa was unquestionably the biggest case of my career, but I didn't want it to be too romantically framed for his impressionable mind. Most of the work in this business is tedious. My secretary, Bunny, brought in the coffee. I could see Phil's eyes light up with interest. Bunny was a real looker, with legs that went from the floor all the way up to her ass, and it was a long trip. Plus, she didn't mind showing them off. Today she wore sandals with three inch heels, and a leather mini-skirt that barely reached milky white thighs. The white cotton blouse she wore had short sleeves and dipped in front, showing off deep cleavage. She leaned over the desk to set my cup down, giving me a view of a pair of great tits and Phil a view of an even greater ass. She winked at me, making me smile. I glanced at the kid and his tongue practically hung out of his mouth. After years of working with Bunny and her flirtatious ways, I was immune to those feminine charms. But it was always interesting to see their effects on clients. And when Bunny went into the field, she got more information out of people than I ever could—as long as they were of the male persuasion. She gave Phil a casual smile and a wink as she glided back to the desk in the outer office. He squirmed in the chair before he was able to pick up his cup and take a sip. "Oh! She's hot. I ... I mean it's hot, the coffee." "That's okay, kid. I know what you mean. Well, put up your feet and sip your coffee and I'll tell you about the Golden Steps Spa case." He did just that, holding his coffee cup gingerly as he propped his long legs on the edge of my desk and leaned back. "You find out something in this business, one thing usually leads to another. You never know where a clue will take you or what will come of a case. That was a fact with one big case I closed a few years ago. A big job. Pigs." I sat forward, leaning across the desk, drawing his eyes to me. When I was sure I had his attention, I enlightened him. "I don't mean pigs like you see in the barnyard. I mean pigs like fat, greedy businessmen. These pigs happened to be bankers who were being harassed and threatened. They called me in to find out who was causing the trouble and to help put a stop to it."
Phil nodded and his eyes sparkled, obviously appreciating the importance of the job. I couldn't help it, my chest puffed out a little. "Before I could do much, the junior guy on the totem pole had his double-wide pulled off the pilings one night. It was a total loss and no one saw a thing of course, although it had to be one big mother of a truck to do the job. Goes to show you, no one likes a banker." "Then I got information that pointed to a guy who had been turned down for a loan. These damn bankers. They'll only loan you money if you've got enough other money for collateral. I mean, if you've got other money, whaddaya need with theirs? If they hadn't been paying me so well, I probably woulda helped the guy, just on..." "Mr. Hammer? I think you're off the subject, sir." "Yeah, sorry." I grinned, shrugging. "Anyway, the first guy runs to the second guy's house to tell him to watch out, when BAM! the whole back side of the house gets blown up. It was a nice-looking cedar job and there were little toothpick-sized sticks everywhere after that bomb. But the two guys? Not a scratch. But now they're scared shitless and they run to the bank president's house. Nice brick job up in the Heights, know where I mean?" He nodded. "Luckily, I got there ahead of the poor slob and the cops arrived on time. Saved those pigs' bacon, I can tell you. They paid me nicely, and gave me a bonus, too. More than that though, was the publicity I got. TV interviews, newspaper stories. Magazines from the south side way up into the valley had articles about me, and a few covers, too." I could see admiration in his eyes. Uh-oh. I was laying it on a little thick. Time to back off. I cleared my throat. "And that's how the Punzels came to see me." I sat up. "Want some more coffee, kid?" He looked down into his cup then back up. "No sir, I'm fine." "Okay, because I'm about to let you in on the scoop behind the biggest kidnapping story of the century. Settle back, and learn how a pro works." Matching his position, I settled my feet on the desk and began my tale.
CHAPTER ONE It was a bright, sunny day. I'd just gotten back from the racetrack where I'd neatly won a couple of C-notes, and the world was looking good. The previous month I'd saved three executives of the Grimm Brothers Bank (slogan: "We take your money. Seriously."), and I was still basking in the glory of a job well done. And a job well compensated. I almost skipped through the outer office, already planning how I was going to spend my hard-earned winnings, when Bunny stopped me with a wave of her hand. I slid onto the edge of her desk and smiled at her. "What is it, sweetheart? I've got phone calls to make. Who should the lucky girl be tonight? Karo? She's so sweet. She says my green eyes make her insides melt and then she does things with her mouth that make my insides melt." I waggled my eyebrows at her. "It's a very good combination. Or should it be..." "Richard, will you shuddup and listen? You've got new clients in your office. A man and woman. Evidently they saw the story Channel Five did on you, and they need help real bad. Their daughter's been kidnapped." Well. I didn't need a 2X4 to knock me in the head. This was sober business. I tapped the tip of her nose with my finger, straightened my jacket and tie, and went through to my office. The couple sat straight-backed in two chairs pulled to the front of my desk. Bunny had brought them coffee, but it sat untouched, a light film of oil floating on the surface, indicating it was cold. They stood to face me when I entered, a cheerless looking pair, dressed in brown head-to-toe, with gray hair, tightly drawn lips and sad eyes. I held out my hand to the gentleman and introduced myself. He did the same, introducing the two of them. Stanley and Harriet Punzel. We sat as Bunny brought in another round of coffee. "Mr. and Mrs. Punzel, how can I help you?" I leaned forward a little, companionably, taking a sip of coffee and hoping it would encourage them to do the same. They needed something to focus on besides me and their trouble, and Bunny's coffee would do it. She was the hottest babe this side of the Mississippi, but her coffee was like oil sludge, a fact that seemed to bother Bunny not at all. It didn't bother the male friends she had, either. When guys went home with Bunny, it wasn't to sample her French roast. Mrs. Punzel picked up the cup but didn't venture a sip. Mr. Punzel concentrated on shifting his feet. Neither said a word. I smiled on the outside but groaned on the inside. This would be like pulling teeth. "Is this about your daughter?" Mrs. Punzel nodded. Mr. Punzel's lips compressed even more. "She disappeared?" I coaxed, leaning further forward. Another nod. I leaned forward even more. Soon my chin would be on the desk. "Recently?" "Two days ago." They speak! Thank God. I blew out a breath and sat up. "Two days ago. And do you have any reason to believe she was taken, as opposed to simply leaving?" "She would never leave on her own. She loved living with us. We are her family."
Well, yeah. Living with these two, a person could overdose on chuckles. Maybe she was lying somewhere trying to recover from laughing. "You saw the police?" A nod from Dad Punzel. "And they said..." "Not long enough. But I know something's happened." "It's all your fault," spat Mom Punzel, to Dad. Well, this is interesting. The Blands have some spark in them. "My fault? How's that?" "It was your kin that started all this trouble. They stole from that woman's family and there's been bad blood ever since." Anger put bright splotches of color on Harriet's face as she glared at her husband. "Oh, for Pete's sake," Stanley spat back, "that was years and years ago. That has nothing to do with what's happened to our baby. What's wrong with you, woman?" "Excuse me," I tried to interject. "You know that's what's happened. Didn't we get a warning letter a few months ago telling us that when Ramona turned thirty, something horrible would happen?" "A letter?" I tried again. "You don't have any idea who that was from. You're making things up while our baby's out there all alone." Pa Punzel looked ready to cry. Not so his wife. She was ready to go a few more rounds, but I finally put a stop to the squabbling. "Look, just start from the beginning and tell me everything." I looked at my cup. Jeez, I'd been so distracted by the Punzels that I'd actually drunk half a cup of Bunny's coffee. I'd pay for that later. I pushed the cup away and pulled a legal pad and pen toward me. After a stare first at Mr. Punzel and then at the Mrs., she finally started talking. Their daughter, Ramona Angelique Punzel, shortened to RA—and pronounced 'ray', I was informed, and not 'rah'—had been a child prodigy. A genius, really, and it wasn't just Mrs. P's opinion. No, Ray was a tried and tested, bona fide genius, classified as such by professors at the university. Got her first degree there when she was seventeen and went on to get several others. She was sought after in businesses all over the country, but she wanted to stay at home and live with her parents. (Note to self: I wrote, Woman is smart but is she intelligent?) "She got a very good job about five years ago, as the head of technology for the Golden Steps Spa." Mr. P spoke up again, after glancing at his wife as though for permission. "She does everything there. Made it the famous place it is." I did remember that the spa had come into its own just a few years ago. Before that, it hadn't been anything much more than a local place for facials and nails. "How did she do that?" You never knew, I might get a few tips on stock purchases here. "She wrote a program that individualized any treatment for any client. I don't really understand it." Mrs. P sniffed. "Of course you don't," she declared. "Me neither. Our baby's a genius. It's not for the likes of us to understand what she does." "Right," I said, printing G-E-N-I-U-S in big letters on my pad and drawing a circle around it. "I got the genius part. Now, what's this about a letter and a family feud?" Ma Punzel glared at Pa, her lips again compressed into a tight line and circles of color dotting her cheeks. "That's for him to tell you. It was his family."
Mr. P sighed resignedly. "Maybe eighty or ninety years ago, my family lived back east, on the same side of the mountain as a family named Harridan. The Harridans had some sort of medicinal plant they'd brought from the Old Country. One of my ancestors went over one night and picked it out of their garden to use for his sick wife. He got caught and offered to pay, but never did. The wife in the Harridan family died that winter, real young, thirty or so. They cursed us, saying that someday we'd have something of great value and we'd pay the price. But you know how people were back then. A curse." He flicked his hand to dismiss the thought. "And this letter?" "That came a while ago. But that was a prank of some sort." "Did you keep it?" "No." "Yes." Mr. Punzel looked at his wife in astonishment, and she looked back at him smugly, as she drew a sheet of paper from the pocketbook she had clutched in her lap. "Your daughter will soon be of age. Remember the item of value. Payment must be made." "I'd like to keep this," I said, and Mrs. Punzel nodded. "And you think the item of value is your daughter?" "Well, we've certainly never had anything else of value. Our Ray's got brains, and that's worth any amount of gold, just by itself." I hated to admit it, but I recognized the essential truth in what she said. "Do you have a picture of your daughter?" "Yes." It was said simultaneously, as both parents pulled photos from wallet and purse, and thrust them across the desk at me. Obviously, they did love their girl. I looked down. Two poses, two different occasions, but very definitely the same woman. The old ticker, normally thumping right along in a regular sort of way, did a sharp about face. My pulse raced and my breath quickened. From the moment my eyes met those of the blond-haired, blue-eyed angel who stared up at me out of those photos, I fell in love.
CHAPTER TWO I took the rest of the information I needed, told them to skip the retainer until I saw where it might lead, and hustled them out of the office. I took note however, that Ms. Punzel's boss was willing to pay a tidy sum to whoever got the little lady back behind her computer. He was backing the parents all the way in their search. That didn't mean he wasn't responsible for Ray's disappearance of course, but anyone willing to pay me a bundle got a little benefit of the doubt for their money, along with good work. I got the Punzels to leave me both photos, and had them propped in front of me so I could stare at them with a minimal amount of eye movement. That's what I was doing when Bunny flounced into the room to collect the coffee cups and see what I wanted her to do on the case. "Is this the girl?" she asked, leaning over my shoulder. If I turned my face slightly to the left my nose would bump her tit, and she knew it, so I stayed very still. For the years we'd worked together, Bunny'd played a game with me. When she first came to the office she let it be known that she'd welcome me if I wanted to get in her pants. I let it be known that I didn't think her pants would fit me. Back and forth, back and forth we went, until finally I flat-out said that I didn't dip my pen in indelible ink. I knew what she really wanted was a house, picket fence and two-point-five kids playing out back, and I was strictly an invisible ink kind of guy. I liked to make my mark and then disappear, if you know what I mean. Ever since then, she'd played flirting games, knowing that nothing would come of it. I knew she was playing, but I have to say, sometimes it got damned uncomfortable. I'm only a man, after all. Today though, all of my concentration was on that angel in the pictures. Innocence stared at me from those big blue eyes. Deep dimples indented perfect peaches-and-cream cheeks, and the tips of straight, white teeth showed between luscious, full lips. Golden hair piled on her head just screamed to be released. And so did my cock. I needed to focus. "Pretty," murmured Bunny. "Whoever'd believe she belonged to those two?" I wondered the same thing. The vision in the pictures was nothing like what I'd expected. She moved to the front of the desk, crossing those long legs as she sat. Fortunately, the chair was close enough to the desk so that I was spared having to distract myself from the view of creamy thighs and the thought of what was beyond them. "So. Where d'ya want me to start?" "At the Golden Steps. Talk to the people she worked with, find out who might have had it in for her. You know the drill." I looked at Bunny carefully. "And try to get in to see the owner, Armando Grande. I understand certain of his features are defined by his last name." A light of interest flickered in her eyes, and she smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Really? Well, I'll do my best to find out. About the girl, I mean." "I'm sure," I muttered. A soft chuckle accompanied her exit from the office.
My quarry was a descendant of the Harridan family. The missus was sure the Harridans were behind the threatening note and Ray's disappearance, and after seeing her in action, I didn't want to argue the point. It was a place to start, anyway. They told me that an S. M. Harridan had lived in the city a few years ago and worked in the office of a garment manufacturer. Bookkeeping, they said. Mrs. P said she thought the woman had gotten married but didn't know to whom. I looked up the garment factory address in the phone book, grabbed my hat and jacket, and headed for the south side. Rampion Clothing. The sign was centered over the door, the letters printed in plain block style. There was nothing else on it. Nothing to indicate that a business occupied the building; no welcome to salesmen or customers. Just a small buzz box with a button. Presumably, this would connect me with someone inside. I looked up and down the street. There was no traffic as far as I could see in either direction. Just a couple of blocks over, the street was packed with cars, delivery trucks and the Metro, but here there was nothing. Strange location for a business. The sun beat down like fire on the asphalt, but a small covering over the door provided a bit of shade. Still, it was damn hot. I pushed the brim of my hat up on my forehead and examined the building . Plain stucco, no windows, ironwork gate that was pulled over the doorway. Jesus! Why? There sure as hell was no way a person could break in through the heavy wooden door. A door that had no lock on it. That meant it was electronically controlled. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know there was something going on behind that door besides making tank tops and skivvies. I pushed the button beside the intercom. "Yes?" A polite female voice with a tinny echo spoke. "I'd like to speak to the owner or manager, please." There was silence for several seconds. "I'm sorry. You'll have to call and make an appointment." "Who..." It was obvious that no one was listening on the other end. Don't ask me how I knew. After you get enough doors slammed in your face, you develop a sixth sense for when you're talking to air. Before leaving I checked out the back of the building. One door opened into the alley, with another metal gate that closed over it. There was a van parked back there, but no other cars or trucks were around. Not much of a business, if you asked me. I took the license number and description of the van and went back to the office. You might not know it to look at us, but usually Bunny did all of the brain work. I could barely turn a computer on and she was a whiz. Give Bunny a partial license number, and she'd come up with the owner, after hitting the keys a few times. I had a full number and description, plus a possible name. Child's play. Three hours later I still didn't have a name. Shit! Just as I was about to swing the baseball bat I keep in the office, and give new meaning to the phrase "Hit any key," Bunny waltzed in. "About time," I growled. "This damn computer's broken." Her laugh made me even madder and I narrowed my eyes in a glare. "It's broken, I tell you. No matter how much gold I put in the damn thing, I get shit out."
She shook her head, a big grin still lighting her face and took the paper with the information on it. "Do you want some coffee?" "Yours or the deli's?" "The deli's." Now a smile was on my face. "Go and get us some, while I do this. And bring me a turkey sandwich. I worked up an appetite." By the time I got back with two sandwiches and coffee, Bunny knew who owned the van and had her life history printed out and on my desk. "Must have started working again," I muttered, handing Bunny turkey on rye. While we ate, I looked over some of the information. The van was owned by Myra Jones, forty-two, lived here in the city and worked as a bookkeeper for Rampion Clothing. Hmm. She was a bookkeeper like Harridan? Then I saw something very interesting. Rampion Clothing was a subsidiary of Ramp Manufacturing, part of Campanula Industries, owned by ... the Harridans. The president of Rampion Clothing was none other than Susan M. Harridan-Jones. "In essence, Rampion Clothing is owned by the family of Myra Jones? Susan Myra Harridan-Jones?" Bunny nodded as she took a sip of coffee to wash down the bite of sandwich. "Evidently. There's more. In the past few years, Campanula Industries has been in big trouble. Their computer systems were upgraded and they got a lousy job. Since then, their system has been down almost as much as it's been up. And it affects all of the subsidiaries too, because they all tie in through the computers. They're about to file chapter eleven unless they get a big influx of cash." She took another bite. "I called Rampion to get an appointment, while I was waiting for that fuckin' thing..." I jabbed a finger in the air at the computer, "...to give me the information I wanted. I swear, if I'd had a chance to punch the jerk who thought up computers, I'd've..." "Yeah, I know. You'd've fixed him good and we'd never have gotten computers and the world would be a better place. Yada, yada." She knew the rant well. "Well, it would," I finished lamely. "Okay, this is what I found out. No enemies in her department or anywhere in the company that I could tell. People like her, she does a great job. Made the company what it is today." "Yeah, that's what her folks said." "Seems right. Nice girl, no messing around." "No boyfriends?" I couldn't help it. I heard a note of fear creep into my voice. Fear that Bunny would tell me she'd discovered a boyfriend Ray's parents hadn't known about. She shook her head and swallowed. "Ms. Punzel's co-workers all think she's pure as the driven snow. Beautiful. They all said that, even the women, but there's no jealousy or anything. The woman seems almost perfect." I breathed a sigh of relief. Noticing, Bunny shook her head. "You've got it bad, Richard. You've only seen a photo. What's wrong with you?" "Bunny, I think I'm in love." She snorted. "No, I mean it. From the moment I laid eyes on those pictures, the rhythm of my heart hasn't been the same." "Huh! More like the rhythm of some other part of your anatomy," she scoffed. She was right there, too. My cock twitched to life at the mere thought of Ray. Lord knows what it would do when I found her.
"So, you've just told me in two minutes what it took all afternoon to find out?" I raised my brows as I took another bite of smoked turkey, mustard and cheese on Brimburg's special rye. She smiled at me, and if I'd been some other man, one more interested in permanent ink, I would have had that beautiful body sprawled on the desk, legs spread wide, after a smile like that. "Well, let's just say that I didn't spend all afternoon interviewing her colleagues. I interviewed the boss, too." Ah, Armando Grande. "And?" "Hmm. Your sources were right. He lives up to his name. Grande means 'great' you know. In Spanish." She sighed. "And I could add to it." "What do you mean by that?" "Hard. I could add hard. And long, fast, deep, intense." I thought about it. Mr. Armando Grande-Hard-Long-Fast-Deep-Intense. Pretty soon the guy wouldn't have room on his business card. There was a dreamy look in Bunny's eyes I'd never seen before, and it worried me a little. "Bunny? You okay?" "Oh, yeah." She dragged the words out. If I'd had my eyes closed, I might have thought she was having sex, the way she sounded. "Just fine." Bunny started from her reverie and focused on me again. The smile faded. "He doesn't know where she is or why anyone would try to harm her. Good employee, great at her job. Very high salary and worth every penny, plus bonuses and whatever else he gives her." "And does he give her anything else, Bunny?" If looks could kill ... as the expression goes. "No, he doesn't give her anything else, and I'll thank you not to speak of him in those terms again." Damn! I heard that! "I guess I'm not the only one around here who has it bad." A tiny smile played on her lips. "No, I guess you're not." She glanced at her watch and jumped up. Wrapping the uneaten half of her sandwich, she took another sip of coffee and looked down at me. "Gotta go. Armando's picking me up in a little over an hour." She sighed and got that dreamy look in her eyes again. "We're going to dinner and a movie." "Dinner? But you just ate half of a Brimburg Deli sandwich." "I know, that's so I don't eat too much at dinner." She frowned at me. "Honestly, Richard. After all this time, don't you know anything about women?" She tossed the sandwich into the tiny refrigerator we keep for essentials like ... well, like leftover Brimburg Deli sandwiches, and hurried into the outer office. When she stuck her head back in she was ready to leave. "I might be late tomorrow, but don't send out the troops. I want to find this woman as much as you do now. It means a lot to Armando." She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers in my direction. "Bye." And in a flash, she was gone. "It means a lot to Armando," I mimicked. Obviously, the fact that my cock was aching for Ray didn't mean diddly to Bunny. Never mind. She could throw herself at the Grande jerk if she wanted to. I had work to do.
Before the Grimm Brothers Bank case, the cameras and microphones I used were okay. But since then I was able to get some fine pieces. Things I'd stared at with longing in the PI catalogues for years but couldn't afford. Now I had state-of-the-art toys, and tonight I was going to use them. Lugging several pieces down to my car, I left to set up surveillance at Rampion Clothing. If there was any activity around the place, I aimed to find out about it. The van was gone, so I quickly set up a camera pointed at the back door. The tape was activated by movement, allowing me to set it and leave it. I parked in an alley up the street from the front door where I could see anything that happened and still be out of sight. I aimed another camera and propped a directional mike out the window. Now, even if I had to take a leak I wouldn't miss anything. I settled in, pleased with myself. Less than an hour later the van pulled up to the building. I was listening to a little light jazz on the radio and glanced up to see Ms. Harridan-Jones get out, carrying a bag from a local restaurant. She had on slacks and jacket. With binoculars I could see the signature emblem of a plant—long, curved leaves and small bell-shaped flowers—on the jacket front when she turned around to survey the area. Her gaze was sharp but she must not have seen me because she walked to the door. The woman wasn't bad looking for a kidnapper, which I was certain now she was. I put on the headphones and adjusted the directional mike. She reached through the ironwork gate and pushed the intercom button. Yeah. I could hear loud and clear. Or as loud and clear as one can hear a raspy whisper. "Ray Punzel, Ray Punzel, I know you're adept." She leaned away slightly as click! the ironwork grill slid free. She pushed the button again. "Make us like the Golden Steps." What? As I watched, the door swung open and Ms. Harridan-Jones sashayed in. The door swung shut, the iron gate closed. I noted the time. An hour later, out she came, stomping rather than sashaying, slamming the van door and laying rubber as she peeled off. I noted the time again. There was no question in my mind that the object of my quest was in that building and I now knew the way in. Was there even a clothing manufacturer in the building? Who knew? But I was going to find out. I waited an hour to make sure Harridan-hyphenated-Jones was really gone. Locking the equipment in the car, I stole along the side of the building to the doorway of Rampion Clothing. Clearing my throat and taking a last furtive look around, I reached to push the button. I pitched my voice low and tried to make it rasp. Repeating the words I heard Ms Myra say, I was still somewhat surprised when the metal gate slid open. Filled with confidence, I pushed the button and repeated the second phrase. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. Well, damn! Seconds later, standing there with my thumb up my ass wondering what to do now, I heard a click and the door swung open. I didn't waste any time getting through it. It gave me pause listening to the clicks and slides from inside the building, not knowing what lay in store. One hall was lighted. I inched my way along, hugging the wall until I came to another door with a small window in it. There, staring out at me wide-eyed with shock, was R. A. Punzel.
CHAPTER THREE She spoke but I couldn't hear through the door. Then she held up a finger, telling me to wait. Across the room, she held her thumb against a pad and the door swung open. I edged forward, looking into the room before I actually got all the way in. "Hurry!" Obeying without thought, I jumped in and to the side, as the door slammed shut with a force that took me by surprise. It would have done more than bruise if I'd been caught in the doorway. "What the hell?" "It's controlled with magnets and electronics. It's a good thing you rushed in. You would have been hurt otherwise. Who are you?" "Your parents asked me to find you, Ray." "Oh!" Tears shimmered in Ray's lovely eyes. "Oh, mama and daddy must be so worried about me." As she looked up at me, quivering started in the cute little chin below the most scrumptious mouth I'd ever seen. What could I do but put my arms around her? Just to comfort her, of course. I rubbed her back with the palms of my hands and made shushing noises. I never knew how to handle crying women, but with this woman, what I was doing seemed just the ticket. We stood there for several minutes, then against every instinct in me, I pulled away. "Ray, we need to get out of here." She raised incredibly long lashes, dark with moisture, to look up at me. "There's no way. Don't you think that's what I've been trying to do here for the past three days?" She pushed away to walk back to the thumb pad. "This is the only thing that opens the door. There's not nearly enough time to get from here, across the room and through the door before it closes. The whole room is electronically controlled and managed by their mainframe computer. There's no way to get out that I can see, and I've run through a hundred possibilities and permutations." She sighed. "I appreciate your coming to rescue me, but you've gotten yourself just as trapped as I am." As I watched, the tears threatened again. "Don't cry, sweetheart, we'll get out of here." "How?" "Well, I'm not sure, but we will." I looked around the room, a small, square space with no windows. The walls were concrete, lined with a bed on one side of the door and a toilet on the opposite. A table was situated at the foot of the bed, and I saw the remains of what must have been in the bag Harridan-Jones had carried in, Ray's dinner. Another table held a computer keyboard and monitor, both secured to the table. The chairs in the room were connected to the floor on tracks that allowed movement toward the tables and away, but nothing else. The bed was bolted to the wall. There was nothing to use as a weapon or to jam the door open. "So, you open the door when Harridan-Jones comes?" "Yes. Do you know who she is? Why does she want me?" "It's a long story that your father will tell you when you get home. I think she wants your computer skills. What did she tell you?"
She shook her head. "She gave me a long list of things she wants me to program. None of it sounds legal, and I've tried to find ways to stall. She's threatened to harm my parents if I don't cooperate. The only time I see anyone is when she brings me food twice a day." With a cry of frustration, she fell back into my arms. "I could open the door for you. You can leave again." The comment was made softly, like she was trying out how it sounded before actually saying the words. "I'm not leaving you here now that I've found you. No way." "What are we going to do?" She relaxed against me. I thought about that, looking at the room again, trying to see anything I might have missed before. "You say she comes twice a day?" She nodded against my neck. "Hasn't deviated?" She shook her head against my neck. "So she won't be back until tomorrow morning?" My voice had deepened. Its raspiness surprised even me. She moved her lips against my neck. "Ray, we shouldn't." Her tongue darted out to lick my neck. My neck was the luckiest part of my body, but I aimed to change that. She pulled back to look me in the eye. "I know, but I feel this strange stirring. A stirring down deep inside. Do you know what I mean? You came to rescue me." Leaning forward, she whispered in my ear, warm breath teasing me as she spoke. "That does something to a girl." It was doing something to me, too. My arms tightened around her as though they had minds of their own. She melted against me, her full length pressing against my full length, and I don't just mean my legs. My flag was at full staff, hard and throbbing, and each tiny movement she made against me increased the pressure. "Sweetheart, we should be trying to get out of here." "I've tried and tried and there's no way out. When that old witch comes tomorrow she'll find you here and then I don't know what will happen to us. I want to enjoy myself tonight. It's like giving a dying person a last meal. You wouldn't deny me a last meal, would you?" She rimmed my ear with her tongue. I moved toward the bed, kind of herding Ray along with me. "No, that wouldn't be very nice of me, would it? But I'm here on a job. Your parents are clients. There's probably some ethical question I should be thinking about." "Screw ethics," she breathed into the same ear where she'd just stuck her tongue. I took a sharp breath and tried to concentrate. She'd said something, something about screwing. Screw ... screw what? "Don't you want to get in my pants?" The very words I'd heard some time ago from Bunny, but they sounded considerably different coming from this luscious beauty. "I don't think they would fit me." "How about me? Will I fit you?" Interesting how Bunny had never thought of that response. It must mean that I was meant to get in Ray's pants. I'd always been good at rationalizing. She stood back, giving me a long look at the kind of body every man dreams of. Curves, soft and round, golden hair and blue eyes, all conspired to turn my insides to a quivering, mindless blob—all except that one place between my legs. That was throbbing, not quivering, and it wasn't mindless. It had a mind, all right, all its own. "Oh, honey, I think you'd fit me perfectly." I was ready to give in. Wanted to give in, but there was one thing stopping me. "What about you, angel? You're so sweet and
innocent." All I could picture in my mind was Stanley and Harriet as they had been in my office: staunch, conservative, old fashioned. Again she stepped back and regarded me curiously. "Are you asking me if I'm a virgin?" I think I blushed. Jeez! I did blush. I couldn't remember the last time I'd blushed, but I was pretty sure I was wearing a diaper at the time. She reached a hand up to cup my cheek and smiled at me. "You're a nice man, aren't you?" "No, I'm not a nice man. I'm a man who wants to..." I blushed again. Damn, maybe I was a nice man. Fucking bad timing to find that out. "I was in college when I was fifteen. Got graduate degrees before I was twenty. I don't want you to think I'm promiscuous, but I was there with older guys, know what I mean? Not all of my learning came out of textbooks." She took a step toward me. "Not all of my teaching did either." She pulled my hat off and tossed it across the room before pushing me onto the bed. Surprised at her aggression, I sat and watched as she performed a strip tease, a cappella. Even without the heavy beat of drums, she knew how to bump and grind, kicking off polished loafers, unbuttoning a light green blouse and sliding tailored, pleated slacks slowly, inch by sexy inch, over her hips. I said and did nothing but watch. Hell, I couldn't. My cock was the only part of me able to move and it did, throbbing, pushing against the zipper of my slacks. Within minutes, wearing only panties and bra, Ramona Angelique Punzel stood before me. Her breathing was rapid, her face flushed. In a quick stroke, a pink tongue darted between her lips to wet them. That almost did me in. Sinuously, she walked forward and pushed my legs apart so she could stand between them. I could feel Ray's heat and smell the raw sexuality of her. This was no innocent angel, here to lead me from temptation. She was temptation. An angel of lust. And for whatever reason, she wanted me. Never breaking eye contact she reached up to remove pins from her hair. They dropped like rain in a storm—there must have been a hundred of them—and when she finished, that golden hair spilled over silky smooth shoulders and down that perfect body. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of all that gold. Her hair was so long it reached her hips, flaring from a narrow waist, yet it wasn't thin or straggly. It was thick, rich, full, and it covered her like a blanket. She reached behind and unhooked her bra. I knew only because I saw it fall to the floor. With a smile, she parted the sea of gold, revealing small, perfect breasts, tipped with rose. I dropped my eyes to look at them in their flawlessness. "Will you suckle me?" Would I! There was no need to answer with words. Without touching her, my tongue encircled a nipple, licking, stroking, bringing it to full attention. I moved to the second nipple. Ray's moans were soft and they made me bolder. I reached under that glorious hair and pulled her hard against me. She draped her hair over me, around me, and we held tightly to each other. I was sinking in a sea of golden silk while tasting the sweet body of a goddess. Finally she pulled away. But only to help me get undressed. I didn't need much, since in my state, how or where my clothes landed didn't matter. I did have enough sense to dig
a condom out of my wallet, where it'd been put a couple of years ago, in hopes that I'd get lucky some night. Lady Lust always seemed to ride with the other guy. But not tonight. I hoped it was still good. When I was naked as a babe, I looked at Ray. Using her thumbs under the waistband, she removed her panties, then held up the mass of hair and turned, letting me see all. When she stopped, she drew circles in the air with her index finger, and I turned, feeling a little foolish but willing to do anything she asked in order to get inside her. From the look on her face, she was pleased with what she saw. I knew I was. She took the condom from me and put it on, caressing my cock as she did it. Without a word, she lay on the bed and spread long legs in invitation. The soft, curly hair covering her mound proved that she was no Clairol blonde. I buried my face in her, letting the musky scent she gave off wash over me, before tasting the sweetness I imagined I would find. With my tongue centered on her clit, I let my fingers do the walking, stroking the insides of her soft thighs. When I thought she was ready, I inserted a finger in her channel. She was hot and oh so tight. I licked a little faster and moved my finger in and out until I felt the tightness give a bit with moisture. Another finger joined the first, and by then she wasn't moist, she was wet. Her hips moved against me as I set pace with fingers and tongue, and I heard a groan, "Please, please." An instant later she pushed against me and froze, her juices coated my fingers and the strongest contractions I'd ever felt trapped them inside her. Before she calmed, I slid up Ray's body and slipped inside. It was easy as pie, as wet as she was. Her legs spread even further apart, giving my cock full reign, so I pushed in to the hilt, pulling out far enough to rub her clit, before slamming into her again. God, she was still tight, but slick. Every time I sheathed myself she closed around me; the friction was too much to take. I had to hold steady twice to make sure I didn't come too soon. I wanted this to last and last. She looked up at me, but wasn't focused on me. Eyes dark as midnight, hair spread out like the rising sun chasing the night, and lips open, she was a vision I could only have dreamed. She panted, as I pushed her into the mattress time after time. Her passion built. I could tell by the tempo of her thrusts and the way she wrapped those long legs around mine. She pulled my head down and pushed her tongue into my mouth, inviting me to suck on it as I pushed into her. Jesus God! I came just as I felt her close around me. The spasms milking my cock were hard and long lasting, taking my breath and sapping whatever energy I had left. When I collapsed, I thought if I just died, right now up and died, I'd still be the happiest man on earth. After what felt like hours, I rolled to Ray's side. Dr. Willie, finished with his house call, fell out and laid against my leg, limp and useless. Although it had been a long time since he'd been called on to operate, he'd risen to the occasion and handled the patient splendidly. I was proud of him. Still, I was anxious to hear the patient's view. I looked at Ray, propped on her elbow beside me. "What did I do to deserve this?" She whispered the words with something like awe in her voice. Ah! The patient was happy. When she needed a doctor the next time, maybe she'd call Dr. Willie... "Get kidnapped?" She smiled. "Oh yeah, I forgot that we're trapped here and might be killed tomorrow."
"They won't kill you. They need you to write programs for them. The company's almost bankrupt and they need some fast and ready cash. You're their ticket to solvency." "But what about you?" "Me, they might kill." The concept was sobering. I had thought that having made love to Ray I could now die happy, but the more time that passed since that blissful event, the more I saw the error of my thinking. "I'll do my best to prevent that from happening." "Good." She reached a hand to stroke my chest. "So, money? That's what all this is about? Why do they think I can get them money?" "You're the secret behind the Golden Steps Spa. I'm sure Ms. Harridan-Jones thinks you can write something that will make her clothing line spit out styles for any customer who walks into a store. Or why stop with Rampion Clothing? Maybe they want you to do some fancy accounting for Campanula Industries. Hey!" I caught my breath. "Better be careful with that." Ray had found my nipple and she worried it between thumb and index finger. She reached down and pulled the condom off of me, tossing it under the bed. As she scooted further down the bed, I was speechless with wonder at what I thought she was going to do. "You don't have to do this." Despite its recent adventures, my cock stood tall and ready for more. That's the trouble with cocks. They never seem to get tired of playing. "Wait. It's messy. Just use your hand." She laughed. It was like a resonant bell, and I stopped talking just to enjoy the sound. "Don't worry," she whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR Reaching to the floor for her panties, she used them to clean up my pal, Willie Like a gentleman, he bowed and bobbed to thank her. Then like a brat he immediately let loose a drop of pre-cum. Ray licked it off. I arched off the bed when her tongue touched me, but that was nothing to what I wanted to do when warm, pliant lips slid over the head and down the shaft of my happy friend. She held still when she reached the base. I was long and thick—if I do say so myself—and wondered at her ability to take in all of me. I could feel the back of her throat, and shit! even at that her tongue stroked me. It occurred to me to wonder where she had learned to do this, but I pushed it out of mind, letting the incredible sensation overpower me. She raised up, licking and caressing me with her lips as she did. One hand squeezed my balls. I thought I would come off the bed. "Oh, baby," I cried, running my fingers through golden tresses, wanting to push that mouth over me again and hold it there until I spurted into her. As though she could read my mind, she thrust over me, taking me all the way. I couldn't hold much longer. Again, Ray sensed my need when she pulled her hair from her face and provided a clear view as she swallowed all I gave her. My pecker was perfectly clean when she climbed on top of me, nestling my bad boy between her legs and covering us with her hair. "You are the biggest, best fuck I've ever had," she said. The deep kiss she gave me seemed to confirm a pleased state of mind. "You should be ashamed, using words like that," I answered with a smile. "And thanks. I think the same of you. The part about being the best. Unfortunately, I don't have another rubber." I no sooner said the words than the lights went out in the room. "What the fuck!" "It's ten o'clock. Lights out at ten. I guess to make sure I get plenty of sleep. Lights on again at seven. She comes with food at seven thirty, and lets me go down the hall for a shower." She laid her head beside mine. I could feel soft breath on my neck and instinctively tightened my arms around her. "Don't be afraid. I've got a plan." "You do?" She raised her head. "Who are you, anyway?" "My name's Hammer." The sound started as a chuckle then grew to a full blown, deep laugh. She shook on my chest she laughed so hard, and rocked her hips against me. "Hammer, it can't be. Well, you've sure got proof of your name hanging right between your legs, and you know how to use it. What's your first name, Jack?" She shook with mirth again. "Richard." That stopped her, but only for a minute. "Dick Hammer? Your name is Dick Hammer? Oh my God, I can't believe it. I've been screwed by a dick that's better than any hammer."
"Richard is what people call me," I said indignantly. One of the reasons I could fight so well was growing up with a name like Dick Hammer, and although I loved my parents, I didn't think I'd ever forgive them my name. Although now that Ray mentioned the name Jack, I saw that things could have been worse. "I'll only call you Dick when we're alone. And when I want something special." She rocked her hips again. "Know what I mean, Mr. Hammer?" If I didn't, my friend did, and he was living up to his name again, hard and long, and doing his duty as she raised up to rub him between her lower lips. "Oh, God, Dick, I want you again." "Ray, I don't have anything..." "I don't care." She sat up and immediately impaled herself on me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She must have felt the same because she sat motionless. "Dick?" "What?" It was a strangled sound. I couldn't believe it came from me. So much for convincing Ray I was a man of the world. "Thanks for coming to rescue me." "My pleasure." Then I was able to rock my hips. She rocked back. I took both round tits in my hands and kneaded them as she rode me. The darkness meant that what we did, we did by touch and feel. It made it more sensuous, more intense, but I still wanted to see her. I had a fantasy that she would look like the famous painting of Lady Godiva, hair cascading around her as she rode a horse through the town. I wanted to see my beauty ride me with golden hair streaming down her back. The thought came to me that if she was willing, that's all the payment I would ask for, for finding her. To my mind, it would be more than enough. With quickened breath, she braced herself on my thighs. Her hair bounced against my legs as our pace increased, then I felt the contractions that signaled she was coming and I emptied into her. I'd felt nothing like it before in my life. Her contractions were so strong it was like being squeezed, in the best way imaginable. When she fell against me, she shivered. "Never. I've never imagined anything like you before. What's going to happen to us?" "Don't worry, Ray. I'll get you out of here." **** I didn't want to let Ray go. Holding her close to me as she slept, I knew it was wrong. I could get us out and yet I didn't want to leave. Once out of this prison, without necessity keeping us together, she would go back to her life and I'd go back to mine. I was a gumshoe, hardnosed and street savvy, with no class. She was a genius with degrees coming out the ying-yang, and the lifestyle to match it, despite still living with her parents. After tomorrow, she and I would probably never meet again. But having tonight would carry me a long way through lots of nights alone. "Princess? Wake up, Ray. I think we need to go now. No need to press our luck." She stirred and then sat up. Her hair brushed over me like silk, making me hard again, but I forced myself to think of what we needed to do rather than what I wanted to do. "What time is it?"
"Early morning. Can you get dressed in the dark?" "Yes." She scooted away from me, toward the edge of the bed. "Richard, I've been over every possible solution to getting out. I don't mean to brag, but I'm very smart. What can you think of that I haven't? "Never mind, just get dressed." I fumbled around for my clothes, regretting that I'd been so careless taking them off. I bumped into the table and a chair, stubbing my toe against one and knocking my shin against the other, cursing them both. "Are you ready?" I asked. "Almost. I need my shoes." She was more used to moving around in the darkened room than I was, and soon she whispered that she was ready. I felt the floor beside the bed until I found what I was searching for. Peeling the plastic tips off of a long hairpin, I exposed the metal ends. I wrapped my tie around the curved end. Then, feeling my way along the wall to where the computer monitor was plugged in, I stopped and unplugged it. Using touch, I pushed the metal ends of the hairpin into the outlet. Sparks flew, but my hand was protected by my tie. The door clicked open. "Ray? Say something so I can find you." "Here, Richard." She was just behind me. I felt for her hand and led my beauty out of the room, out of the building and—probably—out of my life. We went to the police immediately. Ray explained how she'd been lured out of the office with the story that her car had been bumped in the parking lot, and then pushed into a white van. The police were dispatched to the building and to pick up HarridanJones. By the time we finished the paperwork and Ray identified Susan Myra, it was after dawn. I offered to buy breakfast, but by then all she wanted was to go home. As soon as we pulled into the drive of the Punzel house and they came bursting out to hug her, I figured that our time together was over. As strange as it seemed, when she jumped out of the car and ran to them, the sex goddess of the previous night was gone, replaced by a girl who was simply happy to be home. Even thirty year old geniuses deserved to act like little girls once in awhile. Mr. Punzel tore himself away to shake my hand and insist that he would find some way to pay me. I brushed him off, telling him that it had been my pleasure to help. And I'd never meant anything more in my life.
CHAPTER FIVE "That's it, kid. The biggest case of my life." "But, Mr. Hammer. You didn't get paid. Well," he stammered, "not in money. How can that be your biggest case?" "Sure I got paid. Grande forked over a bundle to get Ray back. And didn't I already tell you that sometimes publicity is as important as money? When everything came out, I had more jobs than I could possibly handle. Why, for almost a year I hardly had time to go to the racetrack. Now I not only take on individual clients, but I'm on retainer for three major corporations." "Gosh." Phil slid his legs off the desk and sat forward in the chair. "But what happened to everyone? I see Bunny's still with you, but what happened to Ms. Punzel?" "First of all, Bunny's still with me two days a week, but only because we're friends. She and Armando Grande eloped the weekend the case was solved. My wife fills in the rest of the week. Thank God they're both good with computers. I never did get the hang of the things. If I could meet the guy who invented..." "Yeah, I remember. You'd punch him, save us all some grief." I looked hard at the kid. He was a smart-ass, but I was beginning to like him. "Yeah well, you get my drift." I flicked my hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Anyway, a couple of weeks after the case broke, I got a note under the door. It said to bet a hundred dollars on Happy Widow to win in the third race at Meadow Downs. I looked the horse up. She was a nag. I hadn't been paid yet and you wouldn't believe how deep I had to dig under the mattress to put a hundred bucks together, but I had a hunch who'd sent the note. "I laid down the bet and Happy Widow came in a winner at 20 to 1. The next week there was another note. Try five hundred dollars on Mercy Mine in the fifth race. That loser came in a winner at 30 to 1. I had four more notes like that, and each one paid off. As it turned out, Ray was a genius about horse flesh, too. She'd gotten one of her degrees in biology and the things she knew about horses would make you whinny. I got paid in more ways than one, kid, so don't you worry about that." Scraping my hand over the stubble on my chin, I made a snap decision. "Whaddya think of Bunny, kid?" "Oh, Mr. Hammer, she's gorgeous, but way out of my league. And besides, you know, you said she's married and all. She's real pretty, but..." he smiled shyly, "...I've got a girlfriend, and she frowns on me seeing other women, married or not." I wanted to laugh but kept my expression serious. "What do you think of Bunny's coffee?" He looked morosely at his cup, most of the coffee still there. "To tell the truth, it's awful. I could do much better." "Good. That's just what I wanted to hear. How'd you like to come and apprentice with me, kid? I've got more work than I can handle and you seem like a sharp enough guy. Plus, you make coffee. Can you work a computer, too?" His eyes lit up. "Yessir, I can. That'd be great. When can I start?" "Tomorrow is soon enough, I think. You can meet the wife then, and get settled in."
"Thanks, Mr. Hammer!" He jumped up, almost spilling the coffee. "Wait until I tell Jennie that I'm going to be working with the famous Richard Hammer!" He practically sprinted for the door before turning. "I'll see you tomorrow." And he was gone. I chuckled and sipped my coffee. It really wasn't all that bad once you got used to it. Glancing at my watch I saw that it was just about time to go home. Before I could get up though, my wife strolled through the door. My heart skipped a beat, as it always did when I saw her, and she smiled widely, as she always did when she saw me. "Hello, angel. How's my genius today?" I put my legs down and she settled herself on my lap. "Fine, sweetheart. How are you? Have you had a busy day?" "Not too bad. I hired an assistant today. Kid named Phil from Ohio. Thinks he wants to be a PI. I told him about the Golden Steps Spa case." I waggled my eyebrows. "Oh, Richard, you didn't tell him everything, did you?" At my nod, she shook her head. "What must he think of me?" "Well, I didn't tell him that you met me at the racetrack all those times and that we dashed through a whirlwind courtship. He doesn't know that it was you who finally gave in to my irresistible charms." She chuckled at that, leaning in for a quick kiss. "In other words, angel, he doesn't know it's you I'm married to. But he already thinks—A—you're wonderful, and—B—I'm the luckiest damn man on earth. He's right on both counts." I pulled her to me. "Is Bunny gone for the day?" "Mmm-hmm." She looked at me through long lashes. "And I locked the door." "Did I tell you today that you're a genius? And a mind reader. You always know what I want." I cupped a breast and kneaded it lightly through the thin blouse she wore. "Have I ever mentioned to you that these got bigger after Jack's birth?" "Only about a thousand times." She smiled. "Jack is getting so big. He's going to be just like his daddy." She moved her hips, adjusting herself over my hammer. "If he's lucky," she murmured. One thing, he was going to grow up fighting, just like his daddy. But I couldn't help that. Ray had insisted on the name. And whatever Ray insisted on... She wiggled her ass again. "Oh, baby. That feels good." I switched breasts. "And they got even bigger after Jesse was born. Damn, they're almost more than a mouthful now." "Well, thank heaven you have big hands then, because I've just come from the doctor's office. Guess what?" Her eyes wide as her smile, she leaned in to whisper. "He thinks twins." I'm sure shock showed in my face, but then I hoped the pure joy I felt came through. "Angel, I'm the luckiest man and the happiest man. We should get you home and off your feet." "I'm already off my feet, silly." She reached up and pulled pins out of her hair, letting the tresses fall over us. "But I'd be even more off my feet if I was sitting on your desk, supported by something long and hard, don't you think ... Dick?" Didn't I think? Didn't I think? "Oh, baby, do I ever." THE END
About the Author: Dee S. Knight hasn't led a dull life, she's led a lucky one. For instance, she was lucky enough to grow up in a military household where she got used to seeing lots of handsome men in uniform. Thus, at thirteen she was prepared when she met her future husband. He also grew up in a military family and then attended a military high school and college. Another handsome man in uniform—YES! Lucky Dee! For the past thirty years, as long distance truckers, teachers, computer trainers and consultants, she and her hubby have experienced many of their dreams and happily lived the adventure they call their life. Wanderlust strikes often, but fortunately they consider anywhere they're together, home. Yes, again. Very lucky, indeed. Please visit http://deesknight.com to see what's currently going on in Dee's world.
Beauty or the Bitch Jasmine Haynes CHAPTER ONE "I'm giving the Eden Alexander exclusive to Neal Pisquet." Dexter King jammed his fingertips to his temples to make sure his head didn't freaking explode. Fresh out of college, Pisquet had worked for the magazine less than a year. "You're doing what?" His editor, Baxter Blevins, didn't even look up from the copy page he was reviewing. "Neal needs a chance to hone his interviewing skills." "What interviewing skills?" Neal "Pipsqueak" Pisquet didn't know a colon—the punctuation part—from a colon—the body part. And Dex would do anything necessary to make sure Pipsqueak didn't get that interview. Eden Alexander was his. Not only was this the first interview she'd granted in ten years, an exclusive Blevins had secured God only knew how, she was also the most revered star in Hollywood, even if she hadn't made a film in that same amount of time. She was a screen legend. And Dex's secret teenage passion when she was at the height of her career. Doing the interview was more than the perfect professional move for him, it was a personal dream. "Baxter, you can't give this to Pipsqueak. You can't afford to let him blow it." Blevins looked up, raised one brow, then lowered his voice to a deadly note. "I can do anything I want, Dex." Dex usually knew how to manage Blevins better than this. But this was the most important interview of his career, maybe his life. And he was blowing it. Calm down. Manage the old geezer. "Of course, you can do whatever you want, Baxter. I was merely suggesting that perhaps Pipsqueak isn't the best choice for this. You need someone more seasoned." Dex had been doing interviews for years. He knew how to relax, how to cajole, how to wheedle out all the dirty little details that no one else could dream of getting. Not that someone like Eden Alexander had any dirty details to reveal. Blevins tapped his pencil on the blotter. "Tell you what I'll do, Dex. I'll make you a deal. I want to do a follow-up interview in the same issue. A whatever-happened-to kind of thing. You get me that interview, and I'll give you the Eden Alexander exclusive." Shit, that was it. Blevins had planned this all along. "Who do you want?" "Shelby Stewart." "What the hell for?" "Eden Alexander knew her. It'll make great copy. I want you to find her and get her to tell you the story of her fall from Hollywood grace." Ten years ago, Shelby Stewart had been flying high at the pinnacle of success. She'd reportedly commanded sixteen million a movie, rare at the time, especially for a female star barely twenty-five. She'd also earned a reputation as a prima donna, though Dex
would have used the word "bitch." And then, for no apparent reason, because no one cared if you were a prima donna bitch, or even a drug addict, as long as you made the producers big money, her career took a nosedive. She couldn't pay anyone to give her a part. The one B-movie she managed to get had tanked at the box office, going to video in less than a month. At the age of twenty-five, Shelby Stewart was cursed, her star falling far faster than it had risen. She'd reportedly fled to her mountain vacation home in the Sierras, far from Hollywood and the fairy tale life she'd once led. She hadn't been seen or heard from since. And no one really knew why. Because Shelby had been good, extraordinary. One day, she might have been the legend Eden Alexander was now. Dex resisted chewing the inside of his cheek to bits. "So, I get the Stewart story, you'll let me have Alexander?" "That's the deal." Blevins smiled. Like a shark. "After this length of time, she'll be a hard nut to crack. You're the only one I can trust to get the story." His editor was excellent at buttering up, his skill unparalleled. But Dex knew it would decrease his future bargaining power to give in too easily. "Let me think about it." "You give me Shelby Stewart, and I'll let you have complete editorial control over both interviews." Complete editorial control? Unheard of. "Why do you want Stewart so bad, Baxter? There's something you're not telling me." Blevins held out his hands, palms up. "Nothing up these sleeves, Dex. I just want both stories. And I trust you to get them." Trust? Baxter Blevins? He'd be out of his mind if he trusted his boss. But Dex could taste his by-line on the Eden Alexander exclusive. "You'll put that in writing?" "In writing, my man." "When do you want the Stewart story?" "Yesterday." Shit. Damn. Something was up. But if Dex wanted Eden Alexander, he didn't have much choice. After that interview, he could write his own ticket. It was even worth killing for. He sure as hell couldn't let Pipsqueak get to her first. "All right. I'll do it." But he had the sinking feeling he was selling his soul, and Shelby Stewart's, to the devil himself. **** He should have checked the weather report before heading out for the Stewart woman's mountain retreat. Mountains meant snow. Dammit. He didn't have chains, and the windshield wipers had proven only good enough to smear the falling snowflakes across his windscreen. He couldn't see a thing. But at least he was almost there. His car hit a patch of black ice, and the back end went into a skid. Dex whiteknuckled the wheel, over-corrected, sliding all the hell over the road, then slammed into a pile of rocks that had fallen off the side of the mountain. Totally out of control, the car flung itself into the opposite lane, then plunged down a steep embankment. He was a dead man. With branches flashing by the hurtling vehicle, he wished he'd called his mother before he'd left. And his sister. He regretted the time he'd told his best
friend about his sister's secret crush, was sorry they'd laughed at her and scarred her for life. Especially since she was only thirteen, had braces and no chest. What about the time he... Then the car slammed into a tree. **** Dex couldn't say how long he'd been out. Only that by some miracle, he was still alive. His head ached where he'd rammed it into the steering wheel. Why the hell hadn't he bought a new car with an airbag? What did money matter when you took your life in your hands? Christ, he was cold. His fingers had numbed, and the tips of his ears hurt like hell. Reaching for the cell phone in his inside pocket, he could barely feel it. And pushing the damn little on button ... nothing. When had he last charged it? What kind of idiot drove into the mountains in the dead of night with a dead cell phone? Dex groaned. How far had he fallen before the car hit the tree? He looked out the back window. Layered in snow, he couldn't see a thing through it. Opening the glove box, he grabbed his leather gloves and pulled them on. His fingers felt like fat sausages, weak at the joints and difficult to bend. He managed to pull up on the handle and shove the door open. His foot sank in ankle-deep snow. A deadly wind chopped at his bare face and sent ice shivers up his legs. Bracing himself on the open door, he stared up into the darkness. With the falling flakes swirling in the wind, he couldn't see the top of the embankment. Which meant no one would be able to see his car from the roadway. He'd bet the snow had completely covered his skid marks, eliminating the chance that someone would notice a car had gone over the side. The lighted dial of his watch said it was midnight. Fuck, fuck. No one expected him. He certainly hadn't called ahead to announce his arrival. He'd wanted to show up on Shelby Stewart's doorstep, figuring she wouldn't, or couldn't, send him away. No cell phone. A howling blizzard. A crumpled car. A mountain to climb. Soaked shoes, a light leather jacket, paper-thin gloves, and no hat to cover his frozen ears. On the bright side, he'd only been about two miles from Shelby Stewart's mountain hideaway. Two miles, and God knew how long a climb to get back to the road. He'd survived the crash, but he was a dead man for sure.
CHAPTER TWO Shelby Stewart stared at the dead body on her front stoop. A grimace froze the once handsome face. A dusting of snow covered his brown hair and frost thickened the locks falling across his forehead. Black gloves hadn't protected fingers that curled into fists. The body moved. Just a twitch of one gloved hand. Maybe it was only a muscle settling. But then he moaned. Or was that the wind groaning in the evergreens? Shelby set the lamp down on the slate floor and stepped outside. Slushy snow seeped through her slippers, and icy wind ripped through her thick terry bathrobe. She knelt beside him and put her fingertips to his throat. Cold, moist skin, but beneath that, a hint of warmth. And there, a pulse. Faint, barely there, but definitely a flutter beneath her fingers. My God, he was alive. How was she supposed to get him inside? She tugged at his arms, but the man was a dead weight. She stepped over him, hunkered down at his back and pushed. "Come on," she urged. "You're going to have to help me." His eyelids trembled with effort. Then fell still. She couldn't just leave him out here to die. The phones were down, and the power was out. The man had only her. She didn't want anyone depending on her. That's why she lived alone and ordered everything she needed off the Internet. The UPS man was her closest friend. But she had a lot of sins on her head already, and letting a human being die on her front stoop wasn't one she wanted to add to the list. Shelby pushed and shoved, hoping to rock him closer to the doorstep. At least inside, she might be able to drag him across the slate. He moaned again. "Get. Up." She'd beg, plead, anything. She'd even pray. "Dear God, please help me get him inside." Short, simple, to the point. He fell forward onto his face. God wasn't listening. There was only one choice left. Get mad. "All right, asshole. It's three o'clock in the morning, I haven't been to bed, and you're lucky I even heard you out here with all that wind. Don't push your luck. I didn't invite you. I don't want you here. And if you die on my doorstep, I'm going to curse you into hell. Do you hear me? If you don't get up right this minute, I'm going to kick you all the way inside. Now. Get. Up." With a groan, he put one hand on the wet paving and pushed. Shelby stuck her hands under his armpits, and together they crawled through the open door. She collapsed on top of him in the front hall. The bottom half of his legs still lay outside. Rising, she hunkered in front of him, grabbed his upper arms and pulled. Her feet slipped, and her butt slammed down on the hard slate. But she rose, and did it again. And again. Until he was far enough in that she could close the door. She stood over him, hands on her hips. The light from the lamp fell across his pale, immobile face. Now what? Since the power was out, the house was cold. If she could get
him into the living room, she could dump him by the fire. Which she hadn't lit yet. He'd be better off upstairs in a bed, covered by mountains of blankets. She didn't know a thing about frost bite or hypothermia, except that she had to warm him up quick. Looking from him to the stairs and back again, she decided getting mad was good. It had worked on the porch. "If you think I'm carrying you up those stairs, think again. I'll let you die down here." She poked his hip with her foot. "I don't care if you die, you hear. I can just crawl into my nice, warm bed upstairs and sleep like a baby." She squatted beside him and lifted one of his eyelids. All she saw was white. She wanted to cry. Instead she jabbed his shoulder. "The rats will eat you. There are lots of them around here. They don't bother me because I move quickly, but you, they'll enjoy eating. And I better not have to clean up the mess, either. Yuk. Get up." She hadn't said this much aloud in ten years. Her voice sounded hollow, her throat felt scratchy. "Do it or die, bub. I don't really care either way." He heaved himself onto his side, his eyelids fluttered, then he reached one hand out to her, fingers grasping. Good boy. She put one arm across his back, tucking her fingers in his opposite armpit, and pulled. This time he helped, rising to his knees. She looked up at the stairs. When had they become so long and steep? She grabbed the newel post and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled four times going up. She cussed at him the whole way, her bones creaking, her arms and legs shaking with the effort. On the landing, he almost fell, but she threw her body in front of him. If he went down, she'd never get him up again. The house had several bedrooms, all of them unused except one. Her own. And it was the closest, only a few steps along the hall. Plus it had a fireplace. She headed toward the glow of the lamp she'd left burning on her bedside table. When she finally got him on the bed, her knees gave out and she tumbled to the floor beside him, resting her head on the coverlet next to his legs. Maybe God had answered, giving her the strength to get him all the way up here. Cold, wet jeans against her cheek forced her to rise to her feet. He wasn't out of danger yet. The frost on his hair had thawed, leaving it in wet tangles that dampened the pillow. Minus the grimace, he was actually quite ... beautiful. With sinfully long, dark lashes, an aristocratic nose, and full lips, he could have graced the cover of GQ. He shivered in his soggy black leather jacket. She started with that, rolling him over to remove first one arm, then the other. Underneath, he wore a beige Pendleton sweater. Though not soggy, it was still damp. Disposing of that, she undid his button-down shirt, revealing an impressive chest. Hairless, muscles well-defined. His breathing, she noted, was far too shallow. Next she removed his shoes, then stood back to study the belt and jeans. Jeans that were molded to hard thighs. Wet jeans stuck to skin like glue. She hadn't undressed a man in ten long, lonely years. The buckle was easy. The button fly popped open when she pulled. Once again, she rolled him from side to side, heaving with effort, but managing to shimmy the material off his hips. His briefs came with them. Oh my. The family jewel nestled in dark hair. Now that was worth a fortune, even in its dormant state. Shelby licked dry lips. Concentrate. She huffed and puffed, tugged and yanked, and finally the jeans slid off his feet, tumbling her off balance to the floor. Hard male flesh lay the length of her bed, his legs hanging over the edge.
On the other side of the bed, she threw the covers back, then, returning to him, proceeded to push, and roll him into the space. He landed on his side. God, if she had to move the man one more time, she'd break down. Her strength had rapidly dwindled, but at least the hard part was done. After easing him to his back and covering him with her usual three blankets and down comforter, she threw two more logs on the fire. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, then held her palms to the fresh blaze for a moment. In the bathroom, she grabbed one of her fluffy white towels and returned to rub his hair. He didn't move, his head flopping as she dried his luxurious abundance of silky brown hair. And then she noticed the blood all over her towel. God. His forehead was oozing. All the rubbing she'd done had broken open a cut. Rushing back into the bathroom, she dampened a washcloth with cold water, then returned to press it to his forehead. With a hand supporting the back of his head, she held the cloth, removed it, turned it inside out and repeated the procedure. The bleeding stopped shortly. She opened the butterfly bandage she'd brought with her and taped it to his skin. Done with that, she pulled the comforter to his chin. "There now, you'll be warm in no time." She threw his jeans over the back of the desk chair and pulled it in front of the fire, then laid his socks on the fireplace mantle, anchoring them with two small figurines. She put his shirt, which was almost dry, on a hanger and hung it on the bathroom doorjamb. She did the same with his damp sweater. The jacket was another story. The leather would likely crack as it dried. Then again, it might have that very expensive, beaten-to-death look that had been popular when she was out and about in the world. She shoved a sturdy hanger into the armholes, molded the shoulders to it, and attached it to the same chair on which she'd put his jeans. Did people get dehydrated in the severe cold? She couldn't remember, but a hot cup of soup to soothe his throat and warm his belly certainly couldn't hurt. She closed the door behind her, hoping the heat of the fire would permeate the room. Picking up the lamp she'd left in the downstairs hall, she followed the maze of corridors to her kitchen. At one time, her home had supported an extended family of eight and housed an army of servants. But that had been long ago. One of these days, it was going to fall down around her ears since she'd never completed any of the repairs that needed to be done. For ten years, no one but she had crossed its threshold. Until tonight. She lit the old gas stove with a match, then rummaged in the cupboard for a package of chicken soup. Just a broth, nothing that would inflame his innards. She boiled bottled water, then poured it over the mix, making a mug for herself as well. She'd lost more weight and had taken to tying her sweats up with a piece of rope these days. A nice cup of soup would soothe them both and fill her empty stomach. The room had warmed considerably by the time she got back upstairs. But the man's face was deathly pale, and beneath the covers, his body quaked. She sat on the bed beside him, lifting his head enough so that he could drink the soup. She'd put a little cold water in it to bring the temperature to tepid. Without opening his eyes, he took the liquid until it dribbled out the sides of his mouth. She patted his chapped lips with the wet washcloth. When she laid him back down, he still shook. She peeked beneath the comforter to find the shivers traveled throughout his body.
Dammit, without the power, she didn't have any heat. And she didn't think more blankets were going to help. The cold had burrowed into his bones. If she'd had her Internet connection she could have looked up hypothermia and researched what to do for him. Gee, she might even have used the phone to call a doctor. The man needed warmth, that much she knew. And she didn't have the means to give it to him, unless ... well, unless she gave him body heat. Her own. She couldn't do that. He'd never know. It wasn't as if he was aware of anything. And once he was warm again, she could leave without him even realizing she'd been there. He'd never have to see her. But she couldn't do that. She hadn't been in bed with a man since ... well, since the "incident." She'd never wanted to be in bed with a man again. It was one of the reasons she was here, far away from men, far away from temptation, from guilt, far away from anything that could touch her. Or hurt her. But if she didn't, this man might die. Dammit, dammit. She really didn't have a choice. So Shelby Stewart dropped her terry robe and her flannel nightgown, and, for the first time in ten years, climbed in bed beside a man.
CHAPTER THREE Shelby wrapped her arms around his cold, clammy flesh. He flopped like a fish as she tried to still his shakes. With no other method, she climbed on top of him, spreading her legs slightly to accommodate ... certain parts. She took his chill into her own body, then leached it out through her pores. Her nipples brushed his as he struggled. She resisted rubbing the tight buds against him. But God, how she'd missed the slide of flesh on flesh, the tantalizing sensation of a man resting between her legs. She caressed his legs with her calves, trying to calm him as much as warm him. Prickly hair abraded her skin, and she reveled in the sensitivity. He wouldn't know. She'd be gone when he woke. He'd never see her face. She would enjoy this moment, sure it would never come again. She lay her head against his shoulder, breathing in the sharp scent of evergreen that clung to him. The overwhelming desire to taste overcame her, and she put her tongue to the hollow at his throat. Clean male skin. His body jerked in response. She held his arms, soothed her fingers down the powerful biceps. She wriggled, searching for a better position. And then she felt his touch at the crease of her thigh. He was growing, a persistent erection that nudged her just short of the mark. She hadn't expected that outcome. She'd thought he was dead to his surroundings, that all of him was dead. She felt an answering rush of moisture, her body readying itself. Her breath caught in her chest, and a shudder rippled through her. It had been so long, so very long. Almost on their own, her hips adjusted, bringing him closer, until he just breached the folds. She moved. His tip rubbed her clitoris. And she almost came. God, she wanted to come so badly it was like a physical ache in her abdomen. In her heart. She wanted to feel him inside, his arms tight around her, holding her close, keeping her safe as she jumped into the deep end. He moaned against her ear, his breath warm. And she realized then that he'd ceased struggling. His movements became sinuous, caressing the length of her body. His hips lifted, finding that sweet little spot once more. Shelby raised her head to look at him. His lashes lay still. But he breathed deeply. His lips parted, then closed. She wanted to kiss that gorgeous mouth. But she didn't want to wake him. She didn't want to lose this feeling, not now. Trailing fingers down his chest, his side, she lifted enough to fit her hand between them. And she touched the velvet tip. He groaned, turned his head on the pillow. She took the crown between her fingers, rubbing the skin, and encountered a tiny drop of fluid. Sliding in it, she stroked the tiny slit. His body jerked in response, and he growled against her hair. One more look told her his eyes were still closed. He probably thought this was a dream, didn't even know he was in her bed, thought he was still out in that blizzard close to death. He'd find out later that he hadn't died. But she wouldn't tell him about this. She'd keep it for herself, for the oh-so-many cold, lonely nights that lay before her.
Shelby rose off his chest and skimmed down his body until her face rested close to his groin. Close to that beautiful tool of his. Did men think of themselves as beautiful? Surely not. But this man was. Long, thick, hard, sprouting from a nest of dark curls that sprang back when she touched them. The scent of man intoxicated her. A second bead of fluid beckoned. She put her lips to the pearl and drank it in, then closed her mouth around him and took him deeply. His hands found their way to her head, tangling in her hair. His hips arched, grinding against her. She took a little more, then let him slide out, dragging her teeth along the underside. He groaned and writhed on the bed. There wasn't a part of him that wasn't warm now, hot even. She'd done her job. She could stop. But Shelby wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. She wanted him. She didn't know his name. She didn't care. He was the only man in the world, she was the only woman, and he was hers. She would keep him forever. Or, at least until the morning light revealed whether he would live or die of hypothermia. But she wouldn't let him die. She'd take life from him in the form of his delicious taste, and she would give life back to him. Heat. Warmth. Sustenance. In this moment, she would give him everything. * She took him into her mouth once more. He pulsed at the back of her throat. He knew he was in heaven and that she was his midnight angel, stealing the chill from his body and replacing it with the warmth of her mouth. He strained against her. He captured silky hair between his fingers just as her tongue, lips, and teeth captured his cock. He wanted to climb inside her, take her warmth for his own. He wanted to come inside her. He had to come inside her. Or die. Except that he was already dead, his body lying somewhere out on the frozen ground. The bitch harpy's voice still rang in his ears, screaming at him to get up. But he wouldn't rise from that frozen ground, not now, not ever, never in the way she meant. Instead, he would get up for his midnight angel. He pulled her hair lightly until he popped free of her succulent mouth. Eyes the brightest of blues in the firelight, her hair a shimmering gold, she looked up at him. And then she smiled. Wine red lips and a hint of a chipped tooth that had hissed when she sucked him. He brought her up to his level and took those lips. She tasted like heaven, like life. And chicken soup. He swept his tongue into her mouth, took her with it, as he wanted to take her body. Skimming his fingers down her delicate throat to one small pebbled nipple, he squeezed, making her moan with pleasure. A touch wasn't enough. He had to taste. He left those luscious lips in search of the second nipple, his hands spanning her tiny waist as he lifted her to his mouth. She moaned again and squeezed him with her thighs. His cock trembled at her core. With one thrust, he could be home-sweet-home. But he wouldn't take his angel so quickly. He wanted, but even more he wanted to make her tremble as he did. Riding her body with his lips, he tasted every inch from the underside of her small delicate breasts, to the quivering muscles of her abdomen, to the fine curls covering her pussy. He entered her first with his fingers, tunneling into her moist heat, loving the carnal arch of her back as she took his touch. A beautiful, tight fit. Sliding out and up, he
circled her clit. Again, she arched, driving him crazy with her husky moan. He needed to know what she'd do when his tongue replaced his fingers. He rolled her to her back and went down on her. She cried out, tightened her legs around his head, and pulled on his hair. He loved it. He grabbed her butt, held her close, wouldn't let her get away. Her musky female scent clouded his mind. He sucked the sweet little button into his mouth and tongued. Her body rocked against him, and her cries begged for more. He gave it to her, and then he drank her cum, the nectar of his midnight angel, as potent as the moans she let loose into the night. When her shudders ended, he climbed her body and nestled his hips between her thighs, nudging her opening. Pinned to the bed beneath him, she opened her blue eyes, stared at him with a dreamy, unfocused look. "Do it again. Please do it again." He figured angels didn't get much chance to engage in this sort of activity. So he'd give her whatever she wanted. What he wanted. And he drove home, deep, hard, fast. She screamed. "Jesus, I'm sorry." Angels couldn't be virgins, could they? "I didn't know ... you were a..." "I'm not." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "It's just been a long, long time. And you're so ... big." "I'll go slow. Slower." He kissed her neck. "At least until you ask me to go faster." She laughed against his hair. "Okay. Do it." "That's my angel." He sank deeper into her. He couldn't help it, his eyes closed as he breathed in her scent and her tight passage closed around him. "I don't think it's ever felt like this before." "I really can't remember." "Then pretend it's the first time." She laughed again, arching and allowing, welcoming, another inch. "I really don't want to remember that." He buried his face in her hair and laughed with her. "I'm going to move now." "God, yes, I'd like that. Please make me come again. It's been so long." He would do that. Over and over. Her body hot and oh-so-tight, he flexed his butt, pushed into her heat, then pulled out. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she raised her hips to bring him back. He came into her, giving and taking all at the same time. His pace quickened, his breath came fast, and his heart pounded inside his chest. She urged him with her moans and her fingernails. Slipping a hand beneath her thigh, he pulled one leg higher, angling her for a tighter, deeper fit, pushing them both to the limit. The pain she'd felt was long past, and she cried out for him to move faster, harder. He climbed and took her with him. Then he dove off the high dive, slamming into orgasm as if it were the glassy surface of water. Plunging deep into her, he forced her to follow, and she screamed with her release, arms tight around him, legs clasping his waist. Then he fell asleep in his angel's arms, and he really didn't care that they'd be putting him in the ground by the end of the week. At least he'd died happy. Which was more than a lot of people got to say. ****
Just as the sun began to poke its head through the murky sky, Shelby rose from the warm bed and the even warmer body. At the window, she looked out on the snowbound countryside. She couldn't see further than the first pine of the grove that surrounded the house. The snow still fell, but with less swirling, less commotion. The wind, at least, had died down. She put two more logs on the fire and tested the man's brow. Neither sweaty nor cold. After his performance two hours ago, he was definitely on the road to recovery. She couldn't say the same for herself. But she would never forget those moments in his arms. Never forget the way he filled her, completed her, as if he were really and truly hers to have and to hold. When he was gone, which would happen as soon as the lights and the phones worked, she would hold that feeling close. It would have to sustain her the rest of her days.
CHAPTER FOUR He wasn't dead. Dex didn't feel all that great. His head ached, and his fingers were stiff. But he wasn't dead, by any means. A soft, gray light shone through open curtains. A fire burned beneath the ornate mantel of the fireplace. Blankets and a comforter weighted down his body, providing warmth, but suffocating him. His clothes hung in various places all over the definitely feminine room with its drape of red lace over the bedside lamp and little figurines on every available flat surface. Ceramic teapots, horses, dogs, vendors with balloons or flower baskets, women in long skirts and men in fancy pants. Firelight danced on the shiny exteriors. All that prissy stuff made his eyeballs hurt. He threw the covers aside and sat for a minute on the edge of the bed as his head swam. So, if he wasn't dead—and he was naked—did that mean his midnight angel was real? Dex stood, swaying a little, his need to know greater than his lack of strength. His jeans were stiff but warm from the fire. He eased into his briefs, then the jeans, found his shirt on the bathroom doorjamb, and slipped the sweater on over it. With the movement, pain pulsed through his sternum. He'd slammed his ribs into the lower half of the steering wheel when he hit the tree. Which reminded him he'd hit his head, too. No wonder he had a headache. Following a splash of sunlight through a window, he went into the bathroom to examine his forehead in the mirror. But none hung over the pedestal sink. What kind of woman didn't have a mirror in her bathroom? A woman like his midnight angel who didn't have to admire her looks. He put a hand to his forehead and tested the skin. She'd covered the cut with a bandage. No sign of swelling beneath the thin plastic. Perhaps the extreme cold had acted like some weird compress. Or his angel had kissed it and made it better. He sat on the edge of a dainty chair to put on his still-damp shoes. Pushing aside the lace under-curtain over the window, he surveyed the expanse of white. Though not falling as heavily as last night, the snow still piled up, flakes dancing in wispy arcs, but coming down steadily. He didn't know how long it would take for the plows to get up this far, or even if someone would see his car down the embankment. The interior of the bedroom had been toasty, but a blast of cold air swept in as he opened the door to an outer hallway. The house itself lay in darkness, a musty smell permeating the long corridor, the downstairs depths gloomy. He realized then that the power must be out. Only the bedroom retained any heat, and that only from the blazing fire. The power must have gone out sometime after he'd found his way up the drive. He'd followed a light, followed it all the way from the main road where he'd gone over the embankment to the tangled, weed-choked garden in the center of the circular drive. And there it had winked out. But that light had saved his life. And somewhere in the house was the angel who had made love to him and brought him back from the brink of death. He had to find her. Gripping the banister, he took the stairs slowly, heading down into the dimness. No sound broke the silence except the ebb
and flow of tree branches scraping the sides of the old house and the occasional scrabble of small clawed feet somewhere in the walls. With light and voices and the echo of laughter, the place must have been magnificent. The front hall ceiling rose to the floor above, where an ornate chandelier dangled tear-drop crystals. Lit, it would have sparkled. As it was, the crystals appeared covered with years of grime. Dust layered the marble tops of three round half-tables against the walls. Dirt crusted the slate floor except in a wide stripe from the front door to the bottom of the stairs. To his left, the hall opened into a large parlor or living room, its furniture covered with dingy sheets. Gray morning light spilled out at his feet. To his right lay a study of some sort, the walls filled with bookshelves, a desk to one side and chairs in front of a cold, empty fireplace. At the back, beside the stairway, an open door led into a narrow hallway. Shivering in the damp cold, he headed that way, following another path worn through the dirt covering the flooring. The musty smell grew, as if the walls of the narrow hall were streaked with mold, but beneath the odor lay the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He followed the scent as he'd followed the light last night. He passed small empty rooms, the corridor jigged and jagged, and he was sure he was lost until suddenly he stepped through a door into a large room, windowless except for one opening above a sink. The kitchen. The home of rich coffee scent. His stomach gurgled. A round table and chairs sat beside him, near the door. A long stainless steel counter passed down the middle of the room, sink, butcher's block, and cupboards to one side, refrigerator and freezer on the other. A large stove with a counter beside it filled the back wall. His angel stood next to the ancient stove in the shadows cast by her oil lamp. Busying herself with a coffee cup, she hummed. The sound reached right up inside him, twisting around his heart, a pure, sweet tone filling him with her joyful melody. The hem of her robe dragged on the floor, and the material engulfed her delicate frame. Her blonde hair wasn't as long as he'd thought, reaching only to her thin shoulders. Her body swayed to the rhythm of her humming. The ache started in his fingertips, fingertips that wanted to touch her, in his lips that wanted to kiss, a mouth that wanted to taste her, and a cock that wanted to fill her again and again. Words failed him. Good morning, nice to meet you, thanks for saving my life, thanks for making me come so hard I passed out. None of those trite phrases were enough to express his feelings for his midnight angel. In the end, he didn't have to say anything. Instead, she turned, saw him, and her spoon clattered to the cracked tile floor. With the lamp behind her silhouetting her face and body, he was forced to take several steps into the room to see her. She sidled along the counter, deeper into shadow. "What do you want?" A huskier, raspier voice, she didn't sound like the angel that had whispered, please make me come. "I woke up and smelled coffee." And was driven to find her. He took another step. She backed up until her hip hit a doorknob, presumably a pantry door. "You should have waited until I'd finished." "I don't expect you to wait on me."
Her spine stiffened. "I had no intention of doing that. I was only going to let you know it was here." He trailed a hand along the counter's smooth stainless steel surface—surprisingly clean, considering the state of the front hall—as he approached her. She squeezed into the corner. "I need to thank you." "Don't bother. It's not like I invited you or anything." The words rang a bell. But he couldn't quite remember where he'd heard something similar. "Well, just the same, I followed your lights from the road below. If they hadn't been there, I think the state troopers would have been digging my defrosting body out of the snow come spring." "What light? I haven't had lights since four o'clock yesterday afternoon. And I certainly wouldn't have left one burning for you if I had." He cocked his head to the side, thinking he must have imagined that caustic tone. "Nevertheless, I saw it. Maybe it was your oil lamp there." "My room is in the back. I had the curtains closed. And you know what? I think you're lying. I think you weren't frozen on my doorstep at all. It was just a trick to get inside. Who are you, and what do you want?" She had the tone and pitch of a harpy. If it were louder, it would have been a screech or a banshee wail. A bitch harpy. Jesus. This wasn't his midnight angel, it was the harpy who had cursed him all the way up the stairs, her shrill tone splitting his head open. "Where's the other one?" "What other one?" "The blonde. With the blue eyes." Close enough to grab the lamp, he held it up so the light fell across her. Though her hair might once have been blonde, it had now dulled to a shade of translucent white, almost colorless, bland, the ends of it shaggy, as if she'd whacked at it with a dull knife. Her eyes, not the mesmerizing blue he'd been looking for, but a washed-out shade of gray. Maybe it was only the light, or lack of it, but this woman, this harpy, was in fact the ugliest creature he'd ever seen. Her eyes appeared overlarge in her painfully gaunt face. Dark circles ringed them, the flesh slightly puffy. Her face was all sharp angles and straight lines, her lips so thin and pale, they almost disappeared, and her flesh sallow as if she never went out into the sun. And the shoulders he'd characterized as thin? Her bones almost poked through the terry robe she'd wrapped herself in. She wasn't delicate, fragile, or even thin, but emaciated. "And just who the hell are you? The housekeeper?" While at first, she'd shrunk from the light, now that she'd been exposed, she straightened against the wall and glared at him. "I'm Shelby Stewart. This is my house and my coffee. Now get that light out of my eyes. It hurts." Dex lowered the lamp. Shelby Stewart? It couldn't be. He'd watched a lot of her movies, perused magazines her visage graced, and sneaked a few of his own paparazzi pictures to sell. He was a writer, not a photographer. His pictures hadn't sold, but his words had. While she'd never been one of his favorites—prima donnas got on his nerves even if they only lived for him up on the screen or within glossy pages—he'd never
argued that she was magnificent, somehow ultra-worldly and ultra-innocent all the same time. Though how the hell she'd managed that, he'd never known. She'd been all of twenty-five when Hollywood threw her out. She wasn't past thirtyfive now. And yet ... she was ancient. Not wise, just old. Maybe she'd lied about her age, maybe she'd had plastic surgery gone bad. Maybe that was the story behind her flight from the fairy-tale Hollywood life. In the loss of light, he thought he saw her lip tremble. But when he raised the lamp again, she stared at him with a blaze in her eyes. It was the only sign of life in that haggard face. "I want you gone. Now," she said. "My phones are out. Don't you have a cell phone or something you can use?" Thinking of his stupidity, a faint flush he hoped she couldn't see crept into his cheeks. "It's in my car. It didn't work this far up." "You have a car out there? Well, we can bundle you up in some blankets, and you can walk right back to it." "It's several hundred feet down an embankment with its front end wrapped around a tree." "You can sit in it until a tow truck comes to pull you out." She didn't even ask if he was all right after the accident. "Jesus, lady," and lady was the polite term, because Shelby Stewart was a bitch, ice queen enough to freeze a man's balls off, "what the hell is your problem? In case you hadn't noticed, there's a frigging snowstorm out there, and I'm not going back out into it. So we're stuck together." She pressed her already thin lips together, glared at him. "Not together. You stay in the bedroom I put you in, and we won't have to see each other. Let's just say everything else is off limits to you. And don't swear at me." That last thing he wanted was to see this bitch again. "Christ. All I wanted to do was thank you for saving my life and ask for a cup of coffee." "Fine. You're welcome. Help yourself. Now get out of my way." Then she elbowed past him.
CHAPTER FIVE She had to get out of there, away from him. Before she did something desperate, like break down in tears. Shelby ran down the corridor, bumping into the wall, then dashed up the stairs to her only other hideaway in the house. He'd seen her face, her horrible, ruined face. She'd tried to hide in the corner, out of the light, but he'd held it right up to her, shone it on her hideousness. He didn't even realize he'd made love to her last night. Okay, she hadn't expected him to remember. But standing alone in the kitchen, coffee tantalizing her senses, she'd fantasized that in the light of day, he'd take her face in his big hands and tell her how beautiful she was. That he'd see what was on the inside and never notice the ravages on the outside. She ran to the back of the house, to her special place, and slammed the door. He'd think she was mad, angry-mad or crazy-mad, either of which was good, squashing any ideas he might have entertained about following her. It had once been the children's playroom, off the nursery. The closed curtains shrouded the room in almost total darkness. But she knew it so well, three steps forward and two to the right, she'd find another lamp and a box of matches. The power went out often, and she was always prepared. She'd found the lamps on eBay, along with a good supply of the scented oil they used. eBay had saved her life many a time. She even ordered her groceries over the web. The match flared, she lifted the glass and lit the wick. Over the small vanity table hung a picture. Of Shelby Stewart at twenty-five. Perpetually young. Perpetually beautiful. Shelby, a very different Shelby from the one on the wall, wiped a dust cloth over the frame, then put the small square of material into the drawer. In the back of her mind, she knew it was sick to build a shrine to a woman who no longer existed. Especially when you'd once been that woman yourself. Except she'd never really been Shelby Stewart. She'd been a frightened ugly teenager living inside a beauty's body. She'd lived in terror that one day someone would figure it out. And someone had. So she'd built this room, and in it, she pretended that had never happened. She had the entire collection of her movies, all on DVD. Except for the last one, which never made it past video. She always critiqued herself when she watched, not a "you are so stupid" kind of critique but one where she gently directed the young woman on the screen to do this in a slightly different manner, tilt her head that way, or say the words with just a slight change in inflection that altered the meaning entirely, made it more poignant or more frightening, whatever the role called for. She became her own director, the kind she'd always dreamed of having. A Svengali with all the good stuff and none of the obsession. Other pictures graced the walls and the tabletops. Some were stills taken by professionals, others were candid—at the beach, on the tennis court, playing dress-up
before the Oscars. Shelby had always felt like she was playing at dress-up. Her friend Eden had taken that picture, laughing at the way Shelby stuck her butt out, put her hand on her hip and pretended she was smoking one of those long cigarettes like Marlene Dietrich. And then Shelby had painted a mustache above Eden's lip. That picture sat next to the Marlene look-alike. She'd neither seen nor heard from Eden in over ten years. Sometimes she missed her. Eden was old enough to be her mother, but they'd been more like sisters. They'd always laughed when they were together. Eden was the only person she'd trusted with her littlegirl fears and her little-girl anxieties. Eden didn't laugh at those, and Shelby had always believed that, deep down inside, Eden understood because she'd had them herself. She sat down in her favorite chair with the padded ottoman in front. In this room, she'd rewritten her life, erased her mistakes. She'd been happy watching movies and reliving the good times. She'd been happy sitting at her state-of-the-art computer and surfing the web. She'd been happy until the man came. She hadn't asked his name. She'd made love to him, but she hadn't even asked his name. She should have thought ahead to what would happen in the morning. Somehow, she'd just figured he'd do a fade-out or ride off into the sunset. Instead, he'd held the light up to her face. All she could do now was stay in this room until the phone and the lights came back on. And he left. She was afraid, though, that just the few hours he'd been here had changed her life irrevocably. Again. **** After scrounging some dry bread to fill his stomach and spending most of the morning in Shelby's bedroom—and he did know this was her room—Dex was sure he'd go insane. He didn't have his laptop, but he'd ransacked the desk and found a writing tablet and some pens. He wrote it all down, except for the part where he'd made love to a woman in the middle of the night who might or might not have been Shelby Stewart. He noted the décor of her bedroom, the rundown condition of everything in the house except the kitchen and this room, and a verbal picture of the woman he'd encountered downstairs. He'd finished his notes over an hour ago and left to prowl the halls. But he'd seen neither hide nor hair of the harpy. Not even a peep. Dammit, he had a story to write, and the perfect situation in which to write it, snowbound and stuck together. It would make great copy. He knew he could wheedle all of her secrets out of her. If he could find her. She was somewhere on the second floor on the left side of the house, opposite to the kitchen. The slamming door had reverberated through the old building. He'd been back there, along the hallway, and into each room. All were empty, without any furnishings. But she was somewhere. Maybe there was a hidden room. He held up the oil lamp, walking the corridor, looking for any strange moldings that would indicate a doorway he'd missed. He found nothing. He went into each of the rooms, repeated the same procedure as he worked his way back. Dammit, nothing. In the
last room, he turned in a circle, confounded. She had to be here somewhere. Back out in the hall, he stood, looking first to the far end, then facing the window opening. The snow still fell, buying him time. And then he picked up on something curious. Maybe it was only an illusion, but the bedroom he'd just stood in looked a helluva lot smaller than the length of the hallway. Poking his head in, he confirmed the notion. He moved beside the windows in the hall and looked over every inch of the wall. There was no opening. Back inside the room, he checked it once more. It should have been at least fifteen feet longer. But there was only a closet door at that end, and he'd already checked it. Well, nothing like checking it twice. But inside, he found no secret doorway. On the outside of the closet again, he ran a hand along the wall, feeling for any suspicious indentations. He put his ear to the wood paneling, but heard nothing. And then he felt it, a small handle low on the wall, much lower than he would have expected. When at rest, it fell neatly into a slot, further disguised by the improper lighting. Pulling it up and twisting, a door suddenly opened in the wall. The room beyond was almost pitch black, just a sliver of gray light pushing through the closed curtains at the window. For some odd reason, he felt like an invader taking over a place he would never really belong. But then he remembered the mission. And the Eden Alexander interview. And what it would mean to his career. She'd curled into a chair, her feet tucked beneath her, her face in complete shadow. He wondered how long she'd been sitting in the dark. Setting the lamp on a small table by the door, he looked around the room, at least what he could make out in the poor light. Just as knick-knacks covered every flat surface in her bedroom, photos filled every space here. Photos of the starlet Shelby Stewart. He turned, backed into the room, Shelby's face staring up at him with a myriad of expressions from laughter to grief to joy to despair. Shelby in every incarnation. And nothing like the woman sitting in the chair. No one would have recognized her. He hadn't, not until she told him her name, though he'd been in her house and slept in her bed. "It's a shrine," she said. "To the woman who was me, but is no longer. Kind of frightening, isn't it?" Unbearably sad, is what he thought. "I'm going to open the curtains." She didn't say anything, not yes, not no. He pushed back the plush velvet and let the light in. Her photographs covered the walls, too. DVDs, all with titles he recognized as hers, filled a small shelf above the desk. From the shadows of her chair, Shelby said, "I'm searching for something. I haven't found it yet." Her lost youth? Or her lost beauty? She'd never find the former. And the latter? Not if she stayed in this room and this house. But maybe that was the plan. "Who are you really?" He'd already decided not to lie. "My name's Dexter King. But you can call me Dex. I'm a reporter. I came to do a story on you." She didn't trust him now, but if she thought he was lying, she'd trust him even less. She was silent a long moment. "Well, I think you've seen and heard enough to write your story."
"I want—I mean, my readers want to know why you left Hollywood." "You already know that. My career tanked." Always tell the who, what, how, when, and why. That's what he'd been taught in journalism school a long time ago. But sometimes one was more important than all the others. "Why?" "You know that, too. You especially know that. Because I was a bitch. I didn't take direction well. I was unreliable." Dex closed his eyes, drinking in the soft low voice of his dreams. Gone was the harpy, now he heard only the angel. "That's the story I've heard. But you could clear up the misconceptions." "There were no misconceptions. That's how I was." But he knew there was more. Just as he knew his midnight angel and the harpy were one and the same. She was an actress now, perhaps a much better one than she'd been ten years ago. And the harpy was just another variation on the prima donna theme. He wanted to find the real woman, the one he'd taken in his arms last night. "I don't believe you. There's another story, and that's the one I want to write." "Why?" She turned his own question back on him. Because he needed to know. He needed to. Not his readers. At this moment, he didn't give a damn about his readers. And the only way he'd get the truth from her was to give it in return. "My editor gave me a choice. Do this story on you, and he'll give me another exclusive that I want very badly." "So, I'm second fiddle." She wasn't second to anything, not even herself. "It's a good professional move for me." "It's very important then? This other interview?" "Yes." "With whom?" "Eden Alexander." He thought she held her breath, was sure when he heard her long exhale. "I knew her." "I know." "And she wants you to interview her?" "Not me specifically. But she's granted the exclusive to my magazine." "Eden Alexander. She would make you a star in your field, especially if it's an exclusive." "Yes." "And if you don't do me, so to speak, you don't get her either?" He didn't comment on her double entendre. The weariness in her voice stopped him. "That's about the size of it." "So, I hold your career in the palm of my hand." "Yes, Shelby, you do." "Then I'll have to be very careful with it, won't I?" She rose, brushed past him, the lingering scent of coffee still clinging to her hair, and left him alone in her shrine. ****
Dex didn't see her for the rest of the day, nor did he go in search of her. She knew what he wanted, she'd either consent or not. And he was no longer sure he could write her story. The pain in that room had been palpable. He ached to understand it, but he wasn't sure he could do it justice. In that room, he felt he knew her inside and out. He'd held her in his arms last night, but in her small hidey-hole, he'd truly seen the thing she'd lost. Herself. What do you do when you lose yourself? Life ends. Shelby was just marking time before her body succumbed. At 5'6", he figured she couldn't weigh more than ninety-five pounds, if that. This morning, she'd gone without leaving any evidence of a meal. He wondered how many days she went without eating. He wondered why she wasn't dead already. He might lose the Alexander interview, his career might "tank," but he'd never lose himself over it. He would always find a way to start over, even if he had to write for some tabloid rag or choose another line of work. He'd never run away from life as Shelby had. And the question that burned inside him was ... Why?
CHAPTER SIX Shelby shivered on the hardwood floor by the window in one of the empty bedrooms until the murky light of the sun faded. She hadn't gotten dressed, just tugged her robe tightly around her, trying to keep out the cold. When darkness came, it came deeply. The snow had stopped falling, but it would be another day, maybe two before the lights and phones were back. Eden wanted to do an interview. The implications were enormous. Because David Hume had died three months ago. She'd seen the obituary on the Internet. David. At one time, he'd been Eden's lover. At the end, he'd been Shelby's. Not his end, hers. The old pipes clanked along the floorboards. Dex was running the shower. The water would be almost cold by now, since the gas water heater wouldn't be able to start up again until the electricity came on. She should get dressed, take a shower, something. But her clothes were in that room, and she couldn't go in there. She'd have to look at the bed where she'd lain with him. She sat there long after the shower stopped and her joints had stiffened with cold. Dex no longer moved about the bedroom, at least she couldn't hear him. Rising, the creaks and pops of her body loud in the otherwise quiet room, she lit her lamp and padded downstairs to the kitchen. A glass of water didn't quench her thirst. Nor did the second. She'd been thirsty and hungry all her life, had gotten used to it. Dragging the huge old tub from the pantry, she set four large pots of water to boil and filled a quarter of the tub with cold water. Its sides had been worn smooth with the many bodies it had bathed. She'd found it in the old garage, scrubbed off the years of grime and rust and used it when the electricity failed. Sometimes she took it outside in the summertime, after the sun went down, loving the feel of fresh air and hot water on her skin. It would have been more practical to install a hot tub, but somehow the antique cleansed not only her body, but her soul. Pouring the four boiling pots in, she filled them once more and set them back on the stove top, then sat by the tub, swirling her hands through the hot water, cooled to bearable by the cold water with which she'd started. When the pots hissed, she repeated the procedure. By the time the last four were added, the tub would be a hair short of scalding. Throwing her robe on the floor, she climbed in and pulled her knees to her chest. When she slid down, there was just enough room to wash her hair. After, she finger-combed the tangles and draped the tresses over the side to drip on the floor. The last pots reached the boil. She stepped naked from the tub, filled, and then sank once more into its depths. Water almost sloshed over the sides. Steam rose in the cold kitchen air. But Shelby was warm and content. Until she thought once again of David. She'd loved him, God, how she'd loved him. At least she'd loved the man she thought him to be. She'd have done anything for him, did do anything for him. Then her life fell apart at the seams. Even Eden couldn't help her.
And Dexter King wanted to know why she'd run away. She'd been so afraid to talk ten years ago. Maybe it was time now. David was gone. Eden was doing her own interview. Shelby didn't necessarily want to tell the world, but she wanted to tell somebody. She wanted to tell Dex. She'd lived with the burden of guilt for so long, if you could call hiding in this mausoleum living. Let Dex write it, let him tell the world, let her be judged. And be done with it all forever. **** The door opened, letting in a rush of cold air that washed over him all the way in the bed. Her scent swept in with it. A clean fragrance, like soap or shampoo, but no less erotic than the sultriest of perfumes. She entered the room naked, like a queen or a goddess or a virgin sacrifice. By the light of the fire, he could make out the protruding bones as they cast shadows over her body. Cheeks, collar bone, hips. She wasn't beautiful. He wanted her anyway. She would always be his midnight angel. The nipples of her small breasts strained against the cold. Dex held the covers out. "Get in bed. You'll freeze out there." She did, facing him and snapping the comforter down across her throat, trapping their body heat inside. "Touch me first, come inside me." "First?" "Before I tell you." He skimmed a finger down her cheek. The firelight played with her hair, catching the strands and turning them golden. She arched to let him touch her neck, her lips plumping with need and pleasure. "I'll touch you and make you come whether you tell me your story or not." She kissed him, lightly, caressing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. He was already hard. He could have taken her right then. He moved, sliding down to taste her neck, her cherry nipples, sucking on them like sweet fruit. Though he wanted to taste her pussy again, to give her ecstasy with his tongue, he returned to her lips, taking them, taking her. She moaned into his kiss. "I want to watch you come," he said, trailing his fingers over her small exquisite breasts to the quivering muscles of her stomach. He pushed the blankets aside so that he could see her perfect triangle of blonde curls and his fingers as they dipped inside her. He brought her knee up, opening her to his gaze. Then he stopped, looking at her, waiting for permission. "Yes, please." Her entered the delicate lips, found her already wet. And hot. "Have you been fantasizing about this?" She nodded. "I took a bath. I touched myself beneath the water. But I didn't let myself come. I wanted that to happen with you." His cock leaped with the thought of her in warm water and bubbles, her hand between her legs, her head thrown back in abandon. He rubbed himself against her hip. "You better not tell me anymore or I won't be able to hold out." "I don't want you to hold out. Isn't foreplay just for getting ready? Well, I'm ready."
He kissed her, short and sweet. "No, foreplay isn't just for getting ready. It's to be savored all on its own. It can take hours, and the longer it goes on, the better the end can be." She raised both brows. "Hours?" "Yeah, hours." He pecked a kiss to her nose. "But don't worry, I don't think I'm up to taking hours to get inside you. Next time." She didn't smile, and if she heard the promise in the words, she ignored it. He slid from her warm channel to the little button just within the folds. She made a sound like a purr. "Does that feel good?" he whispered into her hair. "Yes." He circled. "How good?" "It feels like more than..." "More than what?" He rubbed a little harder, sliding over the very bud of her clitoris. "Just more." He gave her more, gliding back and forth and around her clitoris, concentrating on just that one small spot until her body jerked and she gasped in a breath. Her lids closed. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, biting down. Hips lifting to his touch, she begged him to ride her over the edge. She took a puckered nipple between her fingers and pinched. He bent his head and suckled the other. But not for long. He didn't want to miss a moment of the beauty of pleasure filling out her cheeks and breathing life back into her. She put her hand on his, showing him that she wanted faster, harder. Her moans filled the room, filled him. Then she flung back an arm, arched her sweet pussy into his hand and came. He didn't stop touching, forcing her to climax again and again, until he was sure neither of them could tell where one ended and the next began. Then he put two fingers deep inside her, her body swallowing him, and he could no longer hold back his own need. Rolling on top of her, he found her, entered her, and thrust deep into her. His body fused to her at the hips, she came again with the friction of his pumping. With only three deep plunges, he lost it, coming hard inside her, bringing her off once more before he collapsed. **** It took forever to come down, to breathe again. Shelby held him tight when he tried to roll off her. She didn't want it to end, not yet. She wanted a few more minutes, to bask in the afterglow, to relish a man's weight on her, to feel his skin beneath her fingers, and his roughened chin in the crook of her neck. More memories to store for the long, lonely nights, like a squirrel hoarding nuts to get through the winter. And for her, all seasons were winter. Once he was gone ... no, once he heard what she'd done, there would be no more memories to gather. At least, not any good ones. When he finally pulled out of her, slipping to the side and tucking her to his body, she knew it was time to tell him her story. And there would be no going back once he knew the truth.
CHAPTER SEVEN With a finger beneath her chin, Dex tipped her head up. Shelby stared at him from deep blue pools of anguish. "I don't need to know," he told her. "I need to tell you." A single tear escaped her eye and trickled into the hair at her temple. Dex licked it away, her salt remaining on his tongue. "Then tell me, and let's get over it." Silent for a long moment, he knew she was thinking there would be no getting over it. Ever. She'd spent ten years alone trying. And failed. "But you're not alone anymore, Shelby," he said, as if she'd uttered those words aloud. With a deep breath, and a sigh, she let it begin. "It was about a man." It always was. Though Dex remembered no rumors. "And you were in love with him?" "Yes. He was a powerful man. A producer. And he knew so much I needed to learn." She closed her eyes, nestled against him, her head on his shoulder, lips close to his chest, her warm breath caressing him. "He wanted to guide my career. He helped me get the best parts, the parts that really showed what I could do. Critics stopped calling me a blonde bimbo. Meaty parts flowed my way. It was all so good. He was so very good to me. In every way. I felt cherished. He believed I was meant to be a star. A great star. We used to sit for hours talking about how it would be. That by the time I was thirty, people would be coming to me, begging me to be in their movie. I would be able to chose whatever I wanted. I would be whomever I wanted up on that screen, and no matter what I did, people would love me, adore me." She pulled back, touched two fingers to his chin, and searched his face. "I'd never felt that way before, never believed I could really make it happen." He kissed her forehead. "You were great, Shelby. Always." "But I needed him to keep telling me." She burrowed back into his chest, her words a murmur he felt inside. "But the problem was I never did believe it. I was so afraid that the next one would be a total flop, and he would be disappointed in me." "If he loved you, he could never have been disappointed." "But I was never good enough, not then, not even before when I was modeling." He sensed she'd grown up not being good enough. And she'd never left that little girl behind. "Sometimes, I'd shoot a scene that I knew was total crap, and I was terrified of what he'd say. So I did anything to make it look like someone else's fault. It was the makeup or the costar or the director or ... it didn't matter who as long as it wasn't me." Hence the prima donna reputation. "And everybody would placate me, because they were afraid, too. Afraid he'd believe what I said." She put her arms around him, hugging him close. "I got a girl fired once. She wasn't even important to the movie. Just a gopher. But I'd tripped, and I said she'd left—whatever the hell it was, I can't even remember—I said she did it. And they
fired her. For weeks, I thought about how badly she might have needed that job. I tried to find her, to apologize, but I never did. I was awful to people, Dex." He stroked the back of her head, cuddled her close. She didn't realize how truly simple and uncomplicated her story was. He'd be willing to bet that ninety percent of the people in Hollywood felt the same way, terrified that this movie was their last, terrified that someone would realize they weren't worth even close to the millions or the hundreds of thousands or even the thousands they were paid. The struggle to stay on top killed a lot of them, spiritually or physically, or both. "If someone had offered me drugs, I would have taken them, anxiety pills, whatever. But no one offered because he would have killed them. Not literally, but life as they knew it would have ended. But he was still so good to me. Really good. And when he told me I needed to change something, he was so sweet about it. He never said it was my fault. But I knew it was." She fell silent, the moment lasting so long, he thought she'd fallen asleep, but then her eyelashes fluttered against his chest. "What happened then?" He didn't really need to ask. The man had gotten tired of his "possession" and cast her out, just the way Shelby'd feared. And she'd believed in herself so little that failure had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. "I walked in on him with an eight-year-old girl. Doing awful things to her." She paused, letting out her breath against his skin in a long sigh. "That poor girl. I'll never forget her eyes when I turned on the light. I didn't know a little kid's eyes could look so ... dead." Holy Christ. Jesus. Shelby shuddered against him. "And the first thought I had, was that he would throw me out now that I knew. I wasn't supposed to be there. I was supposed to be on location. I'd disobeyed by flying home for the weekend." Dex felt the struggle as her throat muscles fought to swallow. "But he didn't throw me out. He just hustled that little girl away and told me I hadn't seen what I'd seen. That the girl had a nightmare and he was trying to comfort her." "Jesus, baby. I am so sorry." He'd imagined so many things, but never this. He pulled her flush up against his body, stroked her, gave her his warmth. Still she shivered. "The girl's parents were at the other end of the house. I should have told them. But I didn't." Her voice rose to contain her tears. "I went back to my movie. But I kept thinking about that child. And I kept thinking about that girl I got fired. And I saw what horrible people we all were. What a horrible person I was. Sacrificing everyone else to save my career." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just a movie career." Dex rocked her, absorbing her tremors, trying to feed her his warmth. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. "He came to the set, after I got back from location. And I looked in his eyes, and I swear, they were as dead as that little girl's. I knew he'd done this before, he'd do it again. Maybe he'd make sure I didn't find out. But he'd never stop. He'd never stopped at anything in his life. We went home. We pretended." She drew in a deep breath. It trembled out. "I even let him make love to me. But not in that same bed. He acted like it had never happened."
He held her to him, wrapped his legs around her calves and his arms around her shoulders. "You don't have to do this, Shelby. It's over. You don't have to relive it. I understand now why you came here. Leave it alone. It's okay." He was the one who couldn't stand anymore. Shelby pulled back, turning to capture his gaze, her eyes filled, tears staining her gaunt cheeks. "I've left it alone for too long. I need to tell you. I have to." She pulled free of him and sat up, turning her face to the fire. The light flickered across her breasts, her nearly concave abdomen. She wasn't starving herself; she was fasting, praying for expiation. She'd been doing it for ten long years. And now he was her confessor. "I left the next morning and went to the police station. I told them what I'd seen. I gave them my lover's name. And I gave them the little girl's name. And her address. Her parents came to the house often. They were good friends. I owed it to that little girl to let them know." She drew in a breath, shifted away from him when she felt his movement towards her. God, he needed to touch her, to help her. Yet, all he could do was listen. And maybe that was the most important thing he could give. "The next day the cops called and said they'd talked to the parents. They said I was lying. They'd spent the night, just like I said, but their little girl had slept with them in their bed. She'd never left. I told the cops he'd paid them off. They said there was nothing else they could do." She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugged them to her chest. "But I knew the truth. Those people spent the night so that he could have their baby. They were just like me, doing anything they had to for their careers." "You aren't like them, Shelby." She turned, leaned down, and shot him with the harpy voice. "I should have gone to the newspapers, the tabloids, the TV stations. I should have told everyone what he was." "But you didn't have any proof." Aching for her deep in his bones, his heart, he tried to touch her. She jerked away. "Who needs proof? All you have to do is say it, and people believe. And he would have had to stop." "Maybe he did stop." She looked at him, her eyes a frozen wasteland. "He didn't stop. But he did ruin my career. Just the way I'd always feared he would. I couldn't get a movie. No, excuse me, there was one. So forgettable even I can't remember the title." Dex couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand her living in that place again, even if it was only in her mind. He wanted, needed the midnight angel back. "Shelby, please, let it go. It's long over." She tilted her chin up. "But you haven't heard why I left." "You just told me. It's all I need to know." And he would never write it. He couldn't. She wouldn't survive it. "I didn't tell you what happened to the little girl." Jesus, God, no. He didn't think he could take anymore. But he would, because she had to tell him. "Her name was Cynthia. And one day, less than a year after I last saw her, she got her fifteen minutes of fame. They found her in the bathroom at a mall in Beverly Hills. She'd slashed her wrists and bled into the toilet. She hadn't even turned nine yet. Tell me,
Dex, how does a little kid who isn't even nine years old know the most effective way to slash her wrists?" He couldn't breathe, as if she punched him in the gut and taken his breath away. He reached for her, but she stood. Firelight traced her outline. She was the ice queen, the harpy of his nightmares, the prima donna who blamed everyone else. But this time, she blamed herself. "I left. I never went back. I never will. That place breeds monsters. That's what all of us were." "Shelby." She held up a hand. "His name was David Hume." Jesus Christ. He knew the name. Everyone knew the name. "He died three months ago. And I want you to write this story." He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. "No." "You owe me this. I didn't let you die on my front porch. I could have. But I dragged you inside, and I screamed and yelled at you to get you up those stairs, because I sure as hell couldn't carry you." The harpy cussing at him in his dreams. He should have known she'd done it to save him. "Please don't ask me." They were dead, Hume, the girl, but Shelby was alive, and if he did this, she might never leave this house again. She'd run from her memories ten long years ago, had tried to starve them from her body ever since. This story was her swan song. Once told, he feared no one would ever hear from her again. She would wither and die. "I want you to tell everyone what we did. I don't want there to be any documentaries on A&E or the Biography Channel glorifying David Hume or Shelby Stewart. I want everyone to know that we murdered Cynthia Martin, even if she took the razor blade to her own wrists." She left. Left him, the bed, the room, the fire, and the warmth he could have given her. "You didn't kill her," he whispered. "You tried to save her." Her voice drifted in from the hall. "But I failed. And that's just as bad."
CHAPTER EIGHT He found her in the kitchen by the stove. She'd lit it, wrapped her robe around her, then slid down the front. Leaning against the metal for warmth, she hugged her knees to her chest. Dex squatted beside her, not touching, but very there. "Come to bed, Shelby." "In a little while." He ran a finger down her cheek. She wanted to curl into the touch. "I'm sorry I was such a ... bitch up there." "It was the only way you could get it out." That sweet understanding was almost her undoing. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and feel safe, warm, and loved again. Not again. She'd never really felt that way before, not ever, so there was no again about it. What she'd had with David was an illusion. "It took a lot of courage to go to the police." "I know." It was the other part that hadn't taken courage, the hiding from what David was when her first plan didn't work. "I'll never forget her picture on the TV." Most little kids wore smiles big enough to show the gaps in their teeth. But Cynthia didn't smile. Her eyes hadn't sparkled. "She was so little." She'd managed to forget most of what she'd seen in David's bedroom that night. But she would never, ever forget Cynthia's face on that TV screen. Dex took her by the shoulders. "Come on, baby. Let's go upstairs. I put more logs on the fire." More logs on the fire. The room would be toasty warm. Maybe he would make love to her again. Had he used that term, making love? Maybe not. Making love was another of her fantasies. But just a fantasy. She put a hand on his arm, digging her nails in. "Will you hold me until I fall asleep?" "Yes, I'll hold you." So she let him take her into his arms. For tomorrow, or the next day, he would be gone. **** Dex didn't know what woke him. Maybe it was the rising cold in the room as the fire died down. On her side, Shelby curled into him, her breath fanning his chest. Her gaunt face seemed almost peaceful in sleep, though he doubted she had ever felt truly peaceful in her entire life. He eased away from her, and once outside the bed, pulled the comforter over her thin shoulders, his fingers brushing her warm flesh. Putting two more logs onto the fire, he padded to the bathroom. A nightlight burned in the socket, guiding his way.
A nightlight. Jesus. He flipped the bathroom switch, and the overhead light blazed. Christ. Staring at Shelby from the doorway, he picked up the phone on her nightstand. A dial tone buzzed in his ear. No. It was too soon. Not yet. He wasn't ready for the outside world. He needed time with her, time to convince her to leave this place with him. He put the phone down, relieved himself in the bathroom, then climbed into the warm bed, pulling her close, back into his arms. She muttered something unintelligible and rubbed her nose against him. He hugged her fiercely despite the delicacy of her body. She wriggled her arms free and wrapped them around his neck, burying her face in his hair. "Let me make love to you, Shelby." Once more, God, before he had to leave. She stilled in his arms. "Are you sure?" He knew what she meant. Was he sure he still wanted her after the "awful" thing she'd revealed? He could tell her over and over that it wasn't her fault, but he could prove it to her with his body, with his love. "Yes. I am so sure I want to make love with you." She sucked in two breaths, one quickly after the other, as if she stifled a sob. Then she kissed his ear. "I'd like that very much." He pulled back, took her face in his hands and stroked her lips with his tongue. She opened, taking him inside, playing with him, tasting him, moaning against his mouth. "By the fire," he said, pulling her from the bed. "I want you in the light and the heat of the fire." He laid her down against the carpet, the firelight caressing her belly and breasts, then came down beside her. "God, you are so beautiful." She turned away to stare at the flames. "No. Don't. Look at me." He tilted her chin towards him. Moisture glistened in her eyes. He licked the corners, tasting her saltiness, her fear, her sadness. "You are beautiful. Believe that." He wanted to draw the sadness out of her, destroy it in the heat of the fire, in the heat they would make between them. And he wanted to memorize every inch of her. He traced the lines of her cheekbones with his fingertips, the shell of her ear, the fine skin of her neck. Leaving her mouth, he buried his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat, trailing along her collar bone. She was so thin, so fragile. He dipped into every indentation. He teased her arm with his teeth, licked the sensitive crease at her elbow until she squirmed. "Dex, please, make love to me." "I am making love to you," he whispered against the flesh at her wrist. "It's gotta be slow this time. It has to last forever." Just the way he'd promised her earlier. She sighed and relaxed, turning slightly towards him. He kissed his way across her palm, then sucked her index finger into his mouth, mimicking the movements of that glorious blow job she'd given him the night before. He repeated with each finger, then crawled across her body and worked his way back up her other arm. Her soft sighs and gentle moans made him hard, but he wouldn't take his own satisfaction until he'd exhausted her with orgasm overload. He tasted the sweetly scented skin above her breasts, feeling every bone through her flesh. He could count her ribs with his fingertips. If he pressed too hard, she might break. But Shelby needed his loving. He took the rosy peak of her breast in his mouth, swirling
his tongue around the beaded nipple. She arched, tossed her head, then put a hand in his hair and pulled. The slight pain shivered through his body to the tip of his cock. Christ. He blew a breath on her hot, wet nipple, then dragged in air to hold himself in check. "Dex, please." She alternately pulled and pushed at him. He wanted to bring her higher, make her fly, keep her up there on that ridge of desire until she was mindless. He sucked her other nipple and played with her belly button, then teased the fringe of curls at the juncture of her thighs. "Is this where you want me?" She moaned. "Yes. Oh yes, please." He moved down her body, his tongue and lips glued to her as he traversed her belly, her prominent hipbones, the joint where hip met leg. She wriggled beneath him, trying to direct him. He held her still and moved on to the creamy flesh of her thighs. His hair brushed the silky curls, and she opened her legs. He licked down the sensitive inner thigh, reached her knee, and tilted it to the find the hollow beneath. Her whole body quivered. God, she had sensitive skin. Her tremble only heightened his own needs. He took her calf, her ankle, her feet and finally her toes. She quaked and laughed and tried to crawl away from him. He dragged her back. "But that tickles." "A good tickle or a bad one?" Pushing herself up on one elbow, she looked down the length of her body to where he lay at her feet. "Good," she whispered. "Then don't tell me to stop." "But I want..." "So do I. But we both have to wait." She threw herself back against the carpet, an arm across her eyes. "I think I might actually come before you even get back up there." "That's fine." He licked the arch of her foot, then sucked her big toe. Her back bowed off the carpet, and she pressed her thighs together as she let out a long low moan. "Was that what I thought it was?" he asked as she subsided back against the carpet, moisture between her thighs glistening in the firelight. She laughed with a hitch, an uneven, almost embarrassed sound, then covered her mouth. "Yes." "Wow. That was beautiful." She put her hand over her eyes. "Dex." He worked his palms up her legs, stopping at her knees for a moment. "I mean it. I never made anyone come like that before. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She rolled her head, buried her face in the carpet. "You're not embarrassed, are you?" He climbed the rest of the way up her thighs, hovering over that sweet place between, inhaling her tantalizing scent. She hadn't answered. "God, I loved it, don't be embarrassed. I want you to do it again." She looked at him. "It's your turn this time." He wagged a finger at her. "I haven't tasted you yet." "You've tasted just about every square inch." He put his palm to her, slipping a finger between her folds. "I haven't tasted here yet. The other stuff was just appetizer."
She closed her eyes, bit down on her lip. "Taste me, Dex, please taste me. I think I'll die if you don't." "Anything you want, baby." He pushed her thighs apart, crawled between them, and settled his mouth on her clitoris. She rocked. He tasted, drank, licked, sucked, and nibbled. Then he eased two fingers into her and gave her dual action. She moaned, writhing against his mouth. He held her down with the flat of his hand on her abdomen. Her belly quivered beneath his touch, and he knew the first orgasm would be nothing compared to this one. Her hands clutched at her breasts. She pinched her nipples, something he was sure she wasn't even aware of. And then she screamed. She grabbed his head and bucked against him. He held her to his tongue, wanting, needing every one of those gasps, moans, screams, and quakes of her body. Her taste filled his mouth, he lapped at the cream. If he could have given her another, he would have, but Dex needed to be inside her. Needed to bury himself in her sweet body. Needed to fill her up. He'd sell his soul to make her feel whole again. * She knew she must be hurting him. She practically tugged the hair from his scalp. "Now, please, I need you now." The second orgasm hadn't quite subsided. She wanted him inside her before the feeling faded away. His lips came down on hers, and he entered her at the same time. She took his tongue and tasted herself. She took his hard cock and gloried in his fullness. He held her hips and pounded into her. It lacked gentleness, but it wasn't gentle she wanted. She wanted his hunger. For her. She wanted to be wanted, needed, desired, reveled in. She wanted passion. Because you couldn't find passion all by yourself. She wanted to remember the taste, texture, sound, and heat of his passion. Her own musk filled her mouth as he kissed her. His fingers dug into her butt, and she knew his nails would leave marks. She wanted those marks to last an eternity. The carpet raked her back as his powerful thrusts drove her closer to the fire. He groaned, whispered words against her lips that she couldn't understand. She held on with everything she had, her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and locked her mouth to his. She would remember this forever, replay it, savor it, and take it to her grave. Her body swelled, heated, moistened. She lifted to bring her clitoris in contact with the rough hair at his groin. He plunged, and she clung. Until the throbbing took over, until she ground mindlessly against him, until colors and shapes exploded behind her eyelids and heat burst between her legs and his hot wet cum pumped inside her. Sated, they lay silent for a long time. She drank in the feel of his body. Then finally, she needed to tell him what he'd done for her. "That was the most perfect thing I've ever had." She kissed him, then kept her cupped hand to his cheek. "Thank you." He nuzzled her nose. "Was it making love?" "Yes. It was." And she'd never made love before in her life, never, she knew that now. She'd felt his love. And his forgiveness. But she knew once he went back to his L.A. life, what had happened between them would lose its significance. Still, she would have this memory. He wrapped his arms around her, pushing her head to his shoulder. "I won't do that story, Shelby. I swear I won't. Not now. I can't."
She sighed, snuggled closer. "Yes, you will," she whispered to his throat. "Because I need you to." She could never forgive herself unless he did. And maybe not even then. **** She cooked him breakfast. But she didn't eat. Not even the piece of toast she'd made for herself. He'd arranged for a tow truck and a rental car. He'd be leaving within the hour. "I'll be back in four days, I promise." "I know," she said, staring at the swirling milky coffee in her mug. "We don't need to do this." "We've been over all this. I trust you to write the truth. And the truth is all I want. Don't white-wash me or make it sound all noble or anything." "I won't." There was nothing to white-wash. She had been noble. And frightened and alone. He was going to make sure she never felt that way again. Whatever came of the story, he would protect her. He took her hand, forcing it open, and laced his fingers through hers. "I'll call. Answer the phone, okay?" She smiled, wistfully, almost sadly. "How do you know I never answer the phone?" "It's obvious. But answer it for me. Promise." "I'll answer. Unless the phones go out again." "They won't." "I saw in the Internet that another storm's coming. They might." He looked straight into her blue eyes, so blue they burned him. "I love you, Shelby." She squeezed his hand. "I know. And that's why you're going to do this for me." "Yes. That's the only reason I'm going to do it." **** "I can't print that. We'll get our balls sued to hell." "The guy's dead. We've got Shelby Stewart's permission." Baxter Blevins stared at the copy Dex had stayed up the entire night and most of the morning writing. He hadn't slept since getting out of Shelby's bed yesterday. Setting his briefcase on the small conference table, Dex pulled out his copy of the agreement. "Complete editorial control, Baxter, over both interviews. That's what's in the contract you signed. Print it the way I wrote it, or I take my marbles and play elsewhere." Across the expanse of his oak desk, Blevins glared at him. "You're a fucking bastard. You know that, Dex?" "Yeah, I know it, Baxter. And I also know you need this story on Shelby. I don't know why, and I don't care why. But you'll print what I wrote because you need it." "I could always get Pisquet to do the Eden interview, and he wouldn't mind a little trip into the mountains to redo the Stewart thing." "She won't talk to him. She's done talking." "Why?" Blevins sneered. "Because you fucked it out of her?"
Dex shot out of his chair and grabbed Blevins by the knot in his ridiculous bow tie. "Don't piss me off. She deserves more respect." Then he let him go. His almost-former boss straightened his tie, laughed, a hint of nervousness hitting a flat note. "Shit, just kidding, Dex. But you always did know your way around the females. Fine, we'll do it your way. But if anyone sues, I can bring out the contract, too, and prove you had final word." "Whatever." Dex packed up his briefcase and left. It was done. The story would appear in the same issue as Eden Alexander's interview. Shelby would finally be free. He'd called when he'd reached L.A. yesterday. She'd answered. He called her three more times last night and once this morning. All four times she'd answered, just as she'd promised. But Shelby on the phone was like talking to a mannequin. She just kept thanking him. He wanted to get back. The storm the Internet predicted had hit. Shelby said it was a blizzard outside like the night he arrived. "I'll be fine," he could hear her saying again. "You need to get some rest. I'll be here when you get back." And Jesus, he did need that rest. He'd call her once more before he hit the rack, then he'd head out in the morning. No way was he waiting four fucking days. Eden Alexander could wait until he checked on Shelby. But sleep first. Because if he didn't get a little shut-eye, he'd fly off the embankment just as he had the night he arrived at her house. **** The phone rang well after midnight. Dex rolled out of bed, his knees hitting the floor hard, and reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Is this Dexter King?" "Yeah." A woman's voice. Familiar, but, still groggy with sleep, he couldn't place it. "This is Eden Alexander." Holy shit. "Hi, Miss Alexander." Jesus, that sounded stupid. He leaned back against the bed, cradling the receiver between his shoulder and ear. "Mr. Blevins said you'd seen Shelby." "Yes, I have." "He also said you wrote a rather provocative story." He was sure that wasn't the word Blevins had used. Inflammatory. Hair-brained. Something like that. "It's the truth." "I'm glad. How is she?" He cocked his head at a note in her voice. Tentative. Wistful. "I think she's lonely." "But she did agree to talk with you." "Agreed" really didn't describe it. So much more had played into it. "She did." "Do you think she'll come down off the mountain now?" "I don't know." But he was going to give it one helluva college try. "Mr. King, could you do my interview tonight?" Tonight? It was almost one in the morning. "Ah, sure. I can be there in an hour." "Good. Just buzz at the gate, and someone will let you in."
She hung up. Dex stared at the receiver. What's up with that? She'd sounded like her phone call and her request were nothing out of the ordinary. It was one-fricking-o'clock in the morning. Dex rose, went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He'd gone to sleep a little after four. Surely those nine hours of rest would carry him through to make it back to Shelby's tomorrow. In fact, he'd leave right after he saw Eden Alexander. Depending how long that took, he could be at Shelby's by noon. Standing under the stinging shower spray, it hit him. The legendary Eden Alexander had just called him on the phone. He'd watched every one of her movies. He lusted after her as a horny teenager. He'd revered her class as an adult. Yet he felt nothing more than curiosity. Shelby had taken up all the rest of his emotions.
CHAPTER NINE Eden Alexander opened the door wearing a turquoise pantsuit that gloved her stilltrim figure. She had the body of a woman fifteen years younger than fifty-five. Her skin glowed, a flawless make-up job concealed any imperfections age might have wrought, and her auburn hair sparkled in the light from the chandelier above her. Eden did not need to hide beneath muted lighting. Five days ago, Dex would have been enchanted. Now, he merely wanted the story done so he could get back to Shelby. He'd left her alone almost two days. Two days was too long. His bag already lay in the trunk of the rental car. "Mr. King, thank you for coming." Five days ago, her melodious voice would have struck a chord deep inside him, a reminder of the hours he'd spent in darkened theaters listening to her. Now, he thought only of Shelby's cries as she came undone in his arms. Eden waved a hand. "Come in. I've made us some tea. I hope you like tea. If not, I can have coffee made instead. Or perhaps you'd like something stronger? Brandy?" They stood in the large foyer, the light dancing across the cream walls. He wanted to bring back the light to Shelby's front hall, to Shelby's life. "Tea's fine, thanks." "Well. Well, fine. Let's ... ah ... get started then. This way." She extended one elegant jeweled hand for him to precede her. Her fingers trembled. She'd stumbled over her words. Eden was nervous. She'd granted the interview—requested it actually—but her nerves seemed to overcome her. In the room she directed him to, a tray filled with fragile teacups and a dainty pot sat in the center of a glass table. Steam drifted from the spout. Dex took a seat in a spindly, uncomfortable antique, forced to sit on the edge in case his weight crushed the legs. Eden perched at the edge of hers and lifted the teapot. "Cream and sugar?" He hated tea. "Just sugar." "I prefer it the way the British do. Sweet and milky." Very milky, he noted. She handed him a cup he was afraid would break in a clumsy grip. She sipped, closed her eyes, savored, like a woman enjoying an orgasm. Or one trying to calm herself. Then she took a deep breath and set the cup back in its saucer. "So, you've spoken to Shelby." "Yes." He waited for her next comment. Allowing the subject to do the talking and saying as little as possible sometimes drew them out. And sometimes not. But Eden Alexander hadn't called him over here in the middle of the night because she didn't want to talk. "Mr. Blevins faxed me your story." He didn't make a single movement that would betray his surprise. "Oh?" "Yes. That was part of our arrangement. I got to see what you wrote." He put his own untouched cup on the table. Awkward and tense, he was going to break it if he kept on holding it. "What exactly was the arrangement?"
She fluttered a hand. "Oh, just that Mr. Blevins would find someone persistent enough to get into Shelby's house, and that I would see the story before it went out to the public. If he didn't agree, I'd give my exclusive to another magazine." She didn't look him in the eye. Shit, he'd known Blevins had an agenda. Why not just spell it out in the beginning? "Why would you do that, Miss Alexander?" Why would she care? "You'll know that once we finish our interview." He knew Shelby and Eden had once known each other. But what the hell was going on? "Then, by all means, let's get started." "Did you bring a tape recorder?" "Yes." "Then we should use that. I don't want you to get distracted trying to take notes." He picked up the briefcase he'd set down by the side of the chair and took out his micro-recorder. "I'm just going to tell you my story. You can ask questions to clarify anything you don't understand, but let me finish before you ask anything else. Afterwards, I'll answer whatever you want to know. Does that sound equitable?" "Very equitable." What the hell was the woman up to? "Well then." She fluttered, her gaze flashing around the room, then she settled back into the delicate chair. Dex moved the recorder closer to her. "I introduced Shelby to David Hume." His gut clenched. If the man were still alive, Dex would gladly have beaten him to a bloody pulp. "At one time, David and I were lovers. But that ... ended." Dex noted the slight pause. "Shelby needed a mentor. That was David's ... expertise." Again, he noted the pause. And the way her gaze dropped to her clasped hands. He wouldn't forget the small details when it came time to write her story. "I believed Shelby needed that. She had so little confidence in herself, her acting, her own special beauty. She was the ugly duckling who turned into the swan, but never learned to be the swan. Inside, she always remained the ugly duckling." He remembered Shelby's lack of mirrors. Even in the bathroom. Even now, Shelby was unable to look at herself. "I loved her so much. She was like the sister I never had. I wanted her to have everything. And David helped her. I knew he would. You could see the difference. Her acting before was ... hesitant. After ... I never saw Shelby in those characters, only the characters themselves." Eden closed her eyes as if remembering Shelby up on the screen. "She could play the innocent ingenue, the bitch, the drug addict, even an old woman." Focusing on Dex once more, she met his gaze straight on. "David taught her to believe in herself. And I was grateful to him for that." Eden stopped, fortified herself with another sip of tea, giving Dex the sense that the meat of her story was about to come. "But she never should have fallen in love with him. He loved women too much, all women. I don't think she could handle it when he paid anyone else attention. She never said anything, not to me, and certainly not to him, but ... I saw the change. If I hadn't known her as well as I did, I would have thought she'd gotten hooked on uppers. She had
this sort of..." She stopped, waved her hand in the air as if searching for the word. "...manic look in her eye. She fluttered and flitted, like a hummingbird that has to keep beating its wings to stay alive. She hated going on location because she had to leave him. She picked fights with everyone. No one did anything right. And if David came to the set?" She rolled her eyes. "I tried to talk to her, tried to tell her, God, I don't know, something to make her feel better. But she'd just deny she was worried about anything." She stopped again, stared at the bank of windows, or maybe off into space. "Then something happened. Something awful. She'd been on location, but when she got back, she wouldn't take my calls anymore. I don't think she took anybody's calls. Her career started to fall apart. No one wanted her, everyone whispered that she was having a nervous breakdown." Eden closed her eyes again, her nostrils flaring slightly with the breath she drew in. "One day, I heard she was gone. I haven't seen her since." "And now, since you've read her story, you know exactly why she left. I don't think you can blame her, can you?" "Yes, I know." She shook her head, eyes remaining closed. "And you're right, I can't blame her." "But Miss Alexander, I don't see why you called me here tonight. I don't even see why you wanted to do this interview at all." She opened her eyes, slowly, like someone waking from a long sleep. "Don't you?" He cocked his head in question. "I knew why she left long before you ever wrote that article. I knew it ten years ago." "But you said she wouldn't take your calls." "David told me." His heart started to pound. And for a moment, the woman's eyes looked akin to the dead eyes of the child Shelby keep seeing in her mind. "He told you she'd found him with..." "With eight-year-old Cynthia Martin." "And what he was doing to her?" "He didn't have to tell me that. I knew. You see, I'd found him in precisely the same ... situation three years before that. With ... someone else." Jesus Fucking Christ. "You knew he abused little girls?" She rolled her lips together, smudging her lipstick. "He told me it was only that one time. That it was a terrible mistake. That he was going to seek treatment, and it would never happen again." "And you believed that monster?" She bowed her head. "I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him." And he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He balled his hands into fists, fought the rage in his heart and the bile rising in his throat. "You stayed with him, even after that?" "Yes." She let out the breath she'd been holding. "Two more years. It never happened again." "How do you know that?" "Because I didn't come home unexpectedly. I always called him to make sure he knew when I'd arrive." "In other words, you gave him time to cover his fucking ass." Her chest shuddered with the breath she took. "Yes."
The only things he wanted to say to this woman were not repeatable. But before he ripped her to shreds, he wanted the rest of her story. He had to have it, for Shelby. "So, you left him after two years?" "No. I introduced him to Shelby. And I knew the moment he set eyes on her that I had been replaced." "And you didn't care, did you? You thought that saved you?" Christ, he wanted to smash something. She'd pimped for Hume, sold Shelby to him. "No. I truly had convinced myself that what I saw was just an aberration. I remembered all the wonderful things he'd done for me, for my career. And I wanted that for Shelby. I knew David could make her a star. And she deserved it. She was good enough for it." "But you didn't tell her, did you?" She bowed her head once more. "Look at me and tell me." He clenched his teeth painfully to hold in the real words he wanted to say. When she met his gaze, tears shimmered in her eyes. But Dex was immune. He stared, hard, forced her to answer. "No. I didn't tell her." "Do you know what you did? Do you have any idea?" He thought of the brokendown woman hiding in her house in the mountains, of the ten years she'd lost, the life she'd lost. All because this woman hadn't told her the truth. "Yes, Mr. King. I know exactly what I did. And I have lived with that for a long time." He snorted. "I don't expect you to understand. I don't even want you to understand. I just want you to tell it." He asked her the same thing he'd asked Shelby as she sat in her shrine. "Why?" "Because Shelby needs to know. And you're the only way I have of telling her." "You could just drive up there and spill your guts." "No. It has to be this way." "Going public?" "There's more, Mr. King. I won't ask you not to judge me. You already have. You should. But you need to know everything." "It's not going to change my mind." "No, it'll make you think even worse of me. But you can't possibly blame me more than I blame myself." "Spare me the drama. Just tell me the rest." God, he'd revered this woman. But she'd led Shelby to David Hume like a lamb to the slaughter. And she'd allowed that monster to touch another child. Her best friend and an innocent child. What could she tell him that would be worse?
CHAPTER TEN "David came to me after Shelby went to the police. He asked me to talk to her, tell her it was a mistake. I told him I would. It was always best just to do what David said. I called her. She never answered. And she didn't call me back." "What did he do?" "He didn't know. I lied and said I'd talked to her. But that she wouldn't agree to anything. He ground at me for every detail. I made it all up. If I'd told him she said she'd be quiet, then she turned around and told the newspapers, he'd know I'd lied. So saying I'd talked to her and she'd refused to keep quiet was the only thing I could do." "Why didn't you just tell him to go fuck himself?" "I should have. But I didn't." Christ Almighty. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the breath out of her. "Then what?" "Then he told me to tell Shelby that if she didn't keep her mouth shut, he'd ruin her. He'd make sure no one believed her, and then he'd drive her into the ground." "And you didn't tell her that either, but you told him you did." "Yes." "Jesus Christ, why didn't you at least warn her what he planned to do? You were supposed to be her friend." He ached for Shelby. She must have been so alone, even in a city of hundreds of thousands. "Because I was afraid of him. I was afraid he'd do the same thing to me." "So you let her sink." "Yes. I did. I did do that, Mr. King. And I'm sure, over the last ten years of his life, David Hume killed the spirit of many other little girls, if not their bodies, as he did with Cynthia. I did that, too. I let that happen. For a long time, I believed that we were the monsters. People like me who didn't say anything, people like the Martins who let him have their little girls, because we were scared of what would happen if we didn't. You see, we were the sane ones." She held her palm to her chest. "So didn't that make us more responsible? But then I realized that David was the master, and we were only the puppets. He knew the thing we wanted, needed, craved the most. And he made sure we knew he could take it just like that." She snapped her fingers. "That doesn't make us better than him, it only makes us weaker. But there is one thing I did learn. I learned to spot them a mile away, the users, the manipulators. And I want to tell the world that there are people like David Hume out there. And God forbid, don't let your child near them." Dex laughed, bitterly. "You really think your story is going to stop men like him?" "No. They'll never stop. But if one parent takes their child and runs for the hills, it's the most I can ask for." But she'd asked for it years too late. "What did he have on you, Eden? What was your button?" She brushed her cheek with a finger, touched her hair. "I wanted to be a goddess. A goddess at any age. He would have taken that. He would have ruined my reputation. And
then he would have taken all my money. He would have turned me into a bag lady living on the street. And I would have done anything for that not to happen." "And you did do just about anything." He let the knife slide deep. He had no sympathy. He had no remorse. "So you want me to write all this? You want me tell everyone you were living with a child molester, and you didn't do a damn thing about it?" "Yes, Mr. King, I do." "Anything else you haven't told me? Like maybe you brought home little girls for him?" She winced. "I deserve that. I didn't do that, but I can't mitigate the things I did do. The only thing I'd like to add for your story is that I've thought often about going up to see Shelby. I never did." "Why?" "I was afraid of him until the day he died." Dex blew out a derisive puff of air loud enough for her to hear. "You're still afraid of him. Otherwise you would have skipped the melodramatic exclusives and gone up there to see her yourself." "It's Shelby I'm afraid of now." He rose, picking up the recorder with her confession and stuffing it into his briefcase. "Oh, my dear Eden, I think it's me you ought to be afraid of." She looked up at him. "You're in love with Shelby, aren't you?" "Yes." "I'm glad. She's always needed a knight in shining armor." "All she ever needed was to believe in herself." "So right you are. When you see her, will you tell her something for me?" "Yes." Before or after he told Shelby what Eden had done to her, he wasn't sure. "Tell her I always believed she was courageous. Much more so than I could ever be. You see, I don't even have the courage to tell her that myself." **** He called Shelby as the car glided through Eden Alexander's security gate. Shelby didn't pick up. It was three o'clock in the morning. She was probably asleep. He shouldn't even have called. But the phone was right by her bed. And she'd know it was him. Dex got a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Maybe it was only his conversation with Eden eating at his gut, but he didn't like that Shelby hadn't answered the phone. He got out of L.A. long before the rush hour started. And he made good time getting to the foothills. But as he climbed, the sky got darker, the sun disappeared, and the snow fell steadily. He wasted precious time putting chains on, but he didn't want to end up like he had the last time, nor could he afford to get stuck. Shelby needed him. He sensed it, felt it in the pit of his stomach, the ache around his heart. He called every half hour before his cell phone lost its signal. She never answered. He could barely see six feet in front of him. He didn't even know for sure if he was on the right road. All he could do was trust that he'd get there. Once he made it to the high road, the only thing he could be grateful for was the tow truck he'd had up there days
ago had tamped down the original snowfall. He followed the quickly disappearing tracks. His head pounded, his neck ached from leaning forward to see out the windshield, and his knuckles were permanently bent to the shape of the steering wheel. But at least he was within two miles of her. Finally, the car chugged up her long driveway. He thought he'd surely die before he got there, but soon he pulled into the circular drive nestled beneath feet of snow. It was just past two in the afternoon. The sky was so dark and the snow so heavy, it seemed like midnight. When he climbed out, the wind howled past his ears. No lights glowed in the windows. The electricity must have gone out again. The door wasn't locked. He'd never asked, but he didn't think Shelby ever bothered to lock up. In the front hall, he stamped his feet and shook snow from his hair. Deathly cold. And silent. His breath formed a vapor in the air. "Shelby!" His voice echoed eerily. "Honey, I'm home." Like the father in Leave It To Beaver, an icon from way before his time. He took the stairs two at a time, rammed his hip into the newel post at the top, and crashed into the doorjamb as he went into her bedroom. "Shelby?" He fumbled to her bedside, felt around the covers, but the bed was made. And empty. The nightlight in the bathroom was out. He flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He checked the phone. Dead again. No fire in the hearth. No glowing embers. He searched the bedside table with his hands, found the lamp and the matches, lit it. A crust had covered the embers as they'd died and cooled. She hadn't fed the fire after he left. Even here, in her room, he could see his own breath. He tamped down the panic as he dashed down the stairs once more and along the corridor to the kitchen. It was as cold and silent and empty as the rest of the house. Jesus, where are you? Please be all right. Dear God, please be all right. He wasn't a praying man, but he prayed as he took the stairs yet another time. In the nursery, he fumbled at the door to the playroom. The damp and the cold made it stick. In another second, he would have beaten it down with his fists, but it finally gave. She was in the same chair he'd found her in that last night. Legs curled beneath her, feet tucked in, she wore only her pink robe. A blanket lay beside the chair, but she hadn't covered herself. "Shelby?" He touched her cheek. Her cold, cold cheek. Her hair hung in limp strands across a face marred by dry, cracked lips and red nose. Jesus, oh, Jesus, she was dead. She was gone. He'd left her, and she hadn't survived. Jesus. He should have taken her with him. He should never have left. He should have... A light puff of air from her lips vaporized in the cold room. "Shelby?" He wanted to shake her. Instead, he gathered her cold body into his arms and hugged her to him, rocking her. "Dear God, thank you." Cradling her in his arms, he grappled with the lamp. He accidentally banged her feet into the wall, but he got her back to her room. Managing to set the lamp down without either knocking it over or dropping her, he pushed the bedclothes aside and placed her between the sheets. Before he covered her again, he removed her robe. In the bathroom,
he wet a washcloth, using it to soothe her face, moisten her lips, and dribble water into her mouth. She hadn't moved, but when he felt her throat, he detected a thin pulse. He jabbed at the hard crust of embers, then piled on two logs and some kindling. He'd never been a Boy Scout, but he did get a fire going. With one last touch to her face, he picked up the lamp and headed for the kitchen. She'd had little to eat or drink since he'd left, if her dried lips meant anything. Remembering how Shelby lit the stove that last morning, he managed to start it and set the kettle to boil. He opened and closed cupboards until he found a soup mix. All it required was water. He readied two mugs. The soup made, he put the cups on a plate in lieu of a tray and climbed the stairs once more. The room was infinitely warmer, the blaze in the fireplace doing an excellent job. Crawling on the bed beside her, he slipped an arm beneath her head and lifted her. "Come on, baby, drink this," he urged, holding the mug to her lips. He'd cooled it with tepid water from the sink so that she wouldn't burn her tongue. She opened neither her eyes nor her lips. He didn't know how to reach her. And if he didn't do something soon, he feared she wouldn't make it through the night, let alone the rest of the day. Maybe a little tough love was what she needed. "Listen. I'm not going to put up with this shit. Open your fucking mouth and drink this fucking soup or I will fucking pour it down your throat for you." She murmured. He almost cried. Then she opened her lips and tested with her tongue. He angled the cup to give her small sips. "That's it, baby, come on. Just a little more." In the end, he got half the mug down her. It was enough for now. Her eyes fluttered open. Dazed at first, she finally focussed on him. "Dex." Her voice cracked. He soothed her neck with his fingers. "You came back." "I told you I would." "I thought ... once you got your story ... and you got back to your life in L.A..." "That I'd change my mind? No way. And I'm not leaving you again." She traced his bottom lip with her fingertip. "But I don't think I can ever leave here, Dex. I'm afraid." "We'll take it one day at a time, baby. You'll leave when you're ready. But I'm not going anywhere without you ever again." He lifted the mug once more to her lips. "I don't trust you to eat enough when I'm gone. Here, have some more." She finished the whole mug, then held onto his wrist. "I love you, Dex. I didn't say that before you left. I should have." He tunneled a hand beneath her hair and held her close. "You didn't have to tell me, Shelby, I knew. I wish you'd believed me." "I will," she said. "I promise I will from now on."
CHAPTER ELEVEN Three months later... "You don't owe her anything, Shelby." Dex drove through the wrought-iron security gate and up the long drive to the white portico. "She was my friend. And if she hadn't sent you up there to write my story, I wouldn't have you. And I would still be living in that cold, old house." Or she'd be dead. He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. She was still of the starlet school where a lady waited for a gentleman to open her car door. She took the hand he offered. Shelby Stewart was magnificent in a flirty little blue polka dot skirt and white fitted blouse. Her cheeks had filled out, and though he still felt she had more weight to gain to be truly healthy, she was no longer gaunt, but the delicate, fragile midnight angel he'd made love to that first night. And many nights since. Long walks and lots of fresh air had added color to her face. Upon her return to L.A., she'd had her hair cut. Just a cute little bob, but the shaggy ends were now gone, and her hair framed her perfect oval face. Her eyes reflected the color of the sky, bright and open. She smiled now, almost all the time, and he couldn't resist kissing her deliciously ripe mouth. "Stop that. Someone will see." But she leaned in for another. "Will you hold my hand while I do this?" "Always. You know that." Since returning, Shelby had stoically braved the media frenzy, answered reasonable questions and scorned those that weren't. She'd become the woman of the hour, her ordeal would be a TV movie next season, though she'd flatly refused to endorse it. Movie offers abounded, talk shows, the world was once again her oyster. But Shelby had turned it all down. She wanted her mountain home and she wanted him, and that was enough for Dex. They'd spent most of the time arranging for repairs to the old mansion. It needed one helluva lot of work. But Shelby had been no fool with her money, and the house would once again become what it had been decades ago. And Dex, he'd have to travel sometimes, but he could do a lot with his computer right from the house. When he had to go, she'd agreed to go with him. The doorbell chimed. He stroked her hand, feeling the tremble. "We can still leave." "I don't want to." She melted him with her clear blue gaze. "I'm not running again, Dex. Not ever." She hadn't let him trash Eden in the article the way he'd wanted to. Vengeance had been in his heart, not Shelby's. And as she helped him write, she'd softened him. He wouldn't ever forgive Eden Alexander for feeding Shelby to the lions, but he didn't hate her either. The grand lady opened the door herself. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, as if she couldn't bother to dress up. Or as if her public persona, her reputation, no longer had the same meaning it once did.
She seemed to drink in the sight of Shelby on her doorstep. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. Dex wanted to believe it was an act, she was, after all, legendary. But the woman had only an audience of two. "Hello, Eden." "Shelby." "You remember Dex, right?" Shelby's fingers tightened around his. "Of course." Eden looked at him just as a single tear escaped and trickled down the side of her face. He realized then that she wore no make-up. "Well, won't you come in? I've made some tea." Shelby smiled. "You know I hate tea, Eden. What about one of those iced coffees? With the whipped cream on top? I always loved them." "I think I can provide that." Then she took Shelby's other hand and pulled her inside. Shelby didn't let go of him. He laced fingers with her and soothed the slight quiver. And then he followed her. He always would. Wherever she needed him to go. THE END About the Author: Jasmine Haynes—who also writes for Liquid Silver Books as JB Skully—lives in the California mountains, the perfect retreat for writing hot, sexy romance, the stuff from which fantasies are made. Especially her own. For something no less hot but with a darker edge, try a JB Skully novel. You can visit Jasmine and JB at www.skullybuzz.com.
Snow White and the Seven Dorks Dakota Cassidy PROLOGUE Once upon a time in a land far, far away—okay, not so far away; New York City, to be exact—there was a beautiful, single white chick named Snow White. Snow White lived with her very rich father and her wicked stepmother. Snow White's great beauty and kind nature were known throughout the land. She donated her time to working with the homeless and in animal shelters. She was also well known at Saks Fifth Avenue, where she was a frequent shopper. One dark and gloomy day, Snow's father died, leaving her in the hands of her wicked stepmother. Snow White's wicked stepmother was wicked indeed. As executor of her husband's will, she took away all of Snow's credit cards and froze her bank accounts. She forced Snow to work in the kitchen as a maid, while she went on spending sprees and lived the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Snow White's evil stepmother had a secret that no one knew about. She had a magic mirror that she consulted daily for hair and makeup tips. But Wicked Stepmother was so vain she fretted constantly over Snow's beauty, worrying that she might not be able to snare another rich man for marriage once a potential new prospect took a look at Snow. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most booty-licious of them all?" The large oval mirror shimmered and groaned to life. "Well, honey, it ain't you," it moaned. "And what exactly does that mean?" Wicked Stepmother screamed. "It's like this, honey. You're pushing forty, your boobs are going south and your ass is headed for no-man's land. So, booty-licious you ain't. Now that Snow White? Well, sister, she's somethin' else. And if that guy Prince Charming ever gets a good gander at her, it's all over for you." Wicked Stepmother's eyes narrowed in fury as a diabolical plan began to form in her twisted mind. She summoned her butler. "Gordon! Gordon, come here NOW," she bellowed. "Yes, mistress?" "I have a plan, Gordon. One that will make me richer than I ever dreamed. A way to marry Prince Charming and be rid of that pain in the ass, Snow White." Gordon shuddered. He really dug Snow, she was cool. "A plan, mistress?" And so it was. Gordon set about putting his mistress' plan in motion. Hell, he made only minimum wage, and she'd promised a big, fat bonus if he pulled it off. Tahiti didn't seem so far away now. Snow was cool, but she wasn't cool enough to pass up Tahiti.
So, he talked Snow out of watching the latest Discovery Channel's release and into taking a spin with him one night after he got off work. Snow jumped at the chance to get out of the house. They stopped for a drink or two where Gordon slipped her a Mickey while she was off powdering her nose. When Snow was finally three sheets to the wind, he carried her out to the car, planning to kill her and dump her body. But seeing Snow's sweet face, so peaceful in sleep, tore at his heart. Besides, her wicked stepmother was a bitch on wheels. And Snow was hot. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't bring himself to kill her. As he drove along the streets of the city, inspiration struck him like lightning. He had to hurry though; snow was coming down in thick sheets of white. Well shit, the radio announcer was predicting a blizzard. Gordon found a dark parking lot. A neon sign blinked weakly in the frosty night, above an old weathered building. Gordon parked his beat-up Chevy a block or so away. Scooping Snow in his arms, he carried her to the deserted parking lot of a gay bar, The Backdoor Bar and Grill. Damn. Snow was getting a bit chunky, he thought, as he laid her down on the pavement. Gordon covered her with his coat. Taking a quick look around, he was about to scurry off. Now he'd go home and tell the jealous old bag he'd done the job, and book the first flight outta there. Snow stirred and called his name. He leaned down. "Gordon," she whispered weakly. Shit, could nothing ever be easy? "Run away, Snow, run far away. Your stepmother has it in for you bad, baby." "Run!" he called to her over his shoulder, as he faded into the darkness. **** "C'mon, you guys. If we don't get home soon Bashful will freak. You know how he gets when we're late." "Ya know, he needs therapy! I mean for crap's sake, a guy can't even go out and..." The man's voice ended abruptly as the speaker hit the snow-covered pavement with a thud. "Holy dead chick." "Aw, man, you had too much to drink. It's just some bum sleeping it..." another man said, his voice rising an octave. "Look man, he's right, it is a chick." A large man knelt beside the still form over which his idiot brother had tripped. "She has a pulse. C'mon guys, help me get her up and out of here." "Shouldn't we like, take her to the hospital?" "Yeah, we could if I still had privileges, I guess. But look at her. She's not some homeless woman." he pointed out. "No," she whispered weakly. "No hospital ... please."
CHAPTER ONE "Hookay, who left Happy's Prozac out on the counter?" Snow White called to her fellow roommates. "How many times have I told you guys that if you're not careful we could lose them, or worse, the cat might eat one again? Do you remember what happened to the cat the last time he chowed down on one of those pills?" Grumpy scrunched his handsome face into the perpetual frown he always wore. "It was me," he grumbled. "Sorry. I just really needed one to help me get through Anger Management 101. I mean, all this breathing in and out just doesn't do it when you're workin' on a good pissed off." "Is that sarcasm I hear in your tone, Mr. Attitude?" Snow held out her hand for the missing Prozac. Grumpy dug around in his jeans and produced the pill, muttering as he handed it to Snow. "Don't let me catch you with these again, Grumpy. Hear me? I'll tell your therapist, I swear I will. You don't want another intervention now, do you? "Now, did Sneezy get his allergy meds? You know, I heard about a new allergist whomight be able to help..." she trailed off as she dug around the pantry for some tissues to pack with Sneezy's lunch. Dopey popped his handsome head into the room, his sparkling blue eyes crinkled at the corners. God, he was fabulous! Utterly and completely without two brain cells to rub together, but fanfreakintastic. Snow mentally smacked her forehead. No lustful thoughts about your roommate's package. It wasn't allowed. "Did you remember to pack the hair gel, Snow? I mean, by like the end of the day, my hair is just flat." He shuddered, his gorgeous blond hair falling in thick locks over his tanned forehead. And we couldn't have that now, could we? "Look in your lunch bag sweetie, it's there. Is Sleepy up yet? If we don't get him moving and get his medication in him, who knows when the narcolepsy will hit. I mean we can't have him falling over in the middle of a staff meeting again. There will be hell to pay if we're not careful." Dopey shrugged his massive shoulders at her. "I hate that stupid place, Snow. Can't we like, quit?" Snow ran a hand over his well-muscled back to soothe him. Or herself, she wasn't sure which. Oh hell, yes she was. Who was she kidding? He was hot. "Look, handsome, we do what we have to do to pay the rent, right? If it means working long hours then that's what we have to do. So no whining today, okay? "Where the hell is Bashful? Oh hell's bells, please don't tell me he's hiding in the bathroom again." Dopey shrugged his wide shoulders, more concerned with his reflection in the handle on the fridge. Snow sighed loudly and set off toward the one and only bathroom that the eight of them somehow managed to share. Her knuckles rapped sharply on the thin door. "Bashful, honey, we need to get moving here. C'mon now, sweetie, I know you're in there." What had the therapist said about his agoraphobia? No sudden moves, slow, deep breaths. Oh, for crap's sake. She
couldn't do this every day. Was there a single brother out of seven who didn't need intense therapy? She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming her frustration. She had no right to complain. If it hadn't been for them she would be dead. Shut up, Snow, and be grateful. Even though they all belong in the loony bin, with their cute butts firmly planted in a therapist's office doing the couch patrol, they found you and brought you home. They're all you have. Doc flew around the corner at breakneck speed. "Is he in there again, Snow? I really have to go. Here. Lemme see what I can do." He moved her aside. "Bashful, get your scaredy-cat ass out here, now! I have to pee so bad my eyeballs are floating." Snow glared at Doc's back. No wonder he'd been sued. His bedside manner sucked. The bathroom door cracked open a smidge. Snow held out her hand to Bashful. "Deep breaths, honeybunch, c'mon," she coaxed in a soothing tone. Bashful charged her, slamming into her at full force and burying his head in her neck. His body trembled. "See now? Look at you, such a big guy," she crooned. "Okay, I need you to go get dressed and wake up Sleepy for me." Giving him a quick hug and a gentle shove, she sent him on his way. Snow flew to the mirror in the hall to freshen her makeup and comb out her hair. She ran her fingers through the thick sable tresses. A finger fluff would have to do for today. Her dark, chocolate brown eyes looked even darker against the pale white of her skin. She blew a kiss at her reflection, with a pucker of her full, crimson lips. Living with the seven Dork brothers made for a very tired Snow White. They were a needy, whiny lot, but she loved 'em. And then there's the part about her not being dead. Which is what she would have been, if not for them. She'd better get to work. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go. **** Holy hottie, where did he come from? Snow eyed up the hunk, from her glasspartitioned office as she gnawed on her pencil. Whoa, he was fabu. Snow sighed. A hot guy like that just wasn't going to pay much attention to a girl like her, in a lower-level secretarial position. His suit was expensive. She could see it in the cut of the material. She remembered what expensive clothes were like. It wasn't long ago that ... She let her thoughts trail off as Dopey played with the keys on her keyboard. "Dopey, quit, would ya?" She swatted at his hands distractedly, as she kept one eye on the babe in the outer office. "Show me how to send e-mail again, Snow, please. I keep like, forgetting how to make the thingy send." Snow rubbed the kinks out of her neck and smiled at him. Dopey nudged her shoulder and winked. "Who's he?" Snow shrugged. "I dunno." "Wow, he's tres fantastique, Snow. Look at those thighs." Dopey whistled sharply. Yes, indeed. Look at those thighs. Thighs a girl could get all tangled up in. Thighs that rippled when he walked, stretching the expensive material he wore. Thighs that probably had a very nice mini-me hanging between them. Oh, jeez. "Whaddaya wanna bet he's got some package..."
Snow whacked Dopey in the arm with her fist. "Okay. Enough, Dopey. He's cute, so what? Leave it to you to wonder what he has under those Armani slacks. Go! Shoo! Back to work. We have the Mitzunami account to finish." There was nothing like living with a gay guy to make one question one's femininity. "Take these files and give them to Doc. Then check to be sure Sleepy isn't napping in the bathroom again. Oh, and see about Bashful, would ya? If he gets caught hiding under the desk again I can't say for sure what the janitor will do." Dopey grabbed the files and scurried off, leaving Snow with her carnal thoughts about Mr. Long and Lean. Look at those shoulders would ya? Damn, they were broad. And those lips. Snow groaned thinking about those lips somewhere around her nether region, with her thighs wrapped around that big set of shoulders while she clutched his thick head of hair. Her nipples beaded and scraped her blouse tantalizingly. Yeah, Snow, keep dreaming. Someday your prince will come. Hearing the rap on the glass, her head shot up. Her stomach tightened. Hot pants wanted in? Oh shit. Who was he and what did he want? She was stuck back here for a reason, surrounded by computers and no people. She liked it that way. Snow pressed the red button that buzzed the heavy door open. He poked his handsome angular face around the steel door. "May I?" He grinned at her with those incredibly yummy lips. Snow's cheeks warmed. May you? May you what? May you throw me down on this desk and have your wicked way with me? Bet your ass. Snow, smile and invite Mr. Fabulous in. Remain calm. "Sure. And you are?" She rose to greet him, holding out her hand. He engulfed it in his large, tanned one. Bolts of electricity shot up her arm. "I'm Prince Charming. Nice to meet you." "Yeah, and I'm Cinderella," she snorted. Nice, Snow, very nice. His broad shoulders shook with laughter. "So, I guess I should call you Cindy?" Fabulous and a sense of humor, too. "I'm sorry, Mr. Charming. I'm Snow. Snow White. What can I do for you?" Peel your clothes off? Massage those big muscles? "Snow White, huh? Nice to meet you. Call me Prince, please." As in the artist, formerly known as? Snow suppressed a chuckle. Okay so he had a stupid name. That thickly muscled body and those enormous hands made up for it. "Well, Prince, how can I help you?" His blue eyes twinkled. "I'm the new CEO of Some Enchanted Evening Advertising. I'm making the rounds, introducing myself. Just wanted to stop in and say hello." "Well, hello, then. It's a pleasure." She ran a nervous hand over her wrinkled skirt. "I was wondering if you'd have some time later to give me a run down of what you do around here. I hear you're pretty dedicated." He leaned forward on her desk giving her a whiff of his cologne. Holy Guacamole, he smelled good! Her olfactory senses kicked into overdrive. Snow gripped the edge of the desk to steady her shaky legs. "Sure, I can do that. I get half an hour for lunch if you'd like to meet in the cafeteria." "Half an hour? But you work full time." A frown creased his handsome brow. I work extra full time, honey. "Well, those are the rules." "Half an hour just isn't gonna cut it. There's a lot to discuss. First, take an hour for lunch and second, how about dinner?" He smiled that smile again. An oral hygienist's wet dream come true. A thousand butterflies did the Irish jig in her belly.
Down, Snow. "I don't usually leave until later in the evening, long after dinner, and I'm pretty backed up here." Shit. A freakin' dinner invite, with the CEO no less, and you're back-pedaling. She should consult Grumpy's therapist. He jammed his hands in his pocket. "Tell ya what I'll do. I'll get take out and bring it back here, and you can work while we talk. What do you like? I myself am a big fan of Chinese and Italian. So, I'll meet you right here at seven, with dinner?" Well hell, it wouldn't do to be rude to the boss now, would it? I mean there's protocol, and rank, and his really muscular thighs to think of... "All right. That's do-able." Do-able? Do me, baby. Snow cringed at her lusty thoughts. "Great! So I'll see you back here around seven. I think Italian tonight. I know a great place that does some of the best pasta you'll ever have. Good to meet you, Snow. I'll see ya tonight." He smiled and waved, and then she watched his broad back exit. The bong on her Mac let her know there was incoming mail. So what else was new? She sure would like to meet her boss someday. All of her instructions came either from Harvey, the project manager, or in an e-mail from the President better known as W.S., the way she signed her e-mails. Snow pulled her chair closer to the monitor and clicked on the e-mail titled
[email protected]. The subject was Urgent. So what the hell else was new? And always from her personal e-mail account. Must be nice to work from home, Snow mused. SW, We have a new client. I'll need another presentation from you ASAP. Like yesterday. Probably another late night for you. W.S. P.S. How is the Mitzunami account coming? Deadlines and all. She reluctantly clicked open the attachment. What did this woman do besides send out orders via e-mail? Snow'd never met her. Hell, she didn't even know her full name. The only detail she had was that the President of Some Enchanted Evening was a woman and a bitch on wheels. As far as Snow was concerned, she was a tyrant, and an invisible one at that. Snow worked long days and nights to make it all happen. She was paid shit for it too, but she had to make a living somehow and keep a low profile. She couldn't take the chance that someone might find out where she was. Not before she was able to figure out what the hell had happened to all of her father's money. Who was she kidding? She didn't have the kind of cash it would take to investigate what had happened to all of her father's assets. She really didn't need to investigate, she knew where the money had gone. It'd gone to her stepmother, left by her father in an airtight will. It was better to lay low until she could formulate a plan. Her stepmother had tried to kill her; she couldn't think of a better reason to lay low than that. The greedy bitch. Snow sighed at the idea of another presentation this late in the day. Glancing at her watch, she sent back a reply. From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Dear W.S.,
I am in receipt of your e-mail and will have the presentation ready for you by tomorrow. The Mitzunami account is coming along nicely. Whistle while you work. LOL. Respectfully, SW Clicking Send, Snow set about working on the new presentation, completely distracted by the prospect of having Prince Charming for dinner, with a little fettuccine on the side. **** Prince Charming snapped his cell phone shut as he climbed into the limo that waited curbside for him. Damn, that Snow White was hot! His cock stiffened at the thought of those crimson lips wrapped securely around... He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She seemed so familiar to him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he hadn't stopped thinking about her since he'd left her office. A vision of her splayed over that desk with those long creamy thighs spread, waiting just for him, slammed into his brain. Of course, he'd been attracted to other women before. Hell, he'd just dated a real hot tamale, before she told him she was hooked on some guy in the Middle East. Nice girl, though. There was a certain something about Snow that made his mouth go dry and his cock ache to play hide and seek. All that thick sable hair wrapped around his fingers as he drove his tongue... She was an employee, for Christ's sake. And an underpaid, overworked one at that. He'd have to check with W.S. to see what he could find out about this Snow. Because employee or not, he wanted her. Like he hadn't wanted anyone ever before. And he intended to have her, for as long as she would have him.
CHAPTER TWO "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most booty-licious of them all?" The sleek, lithe, blonde asked the question of the oval mirror with the ornate-gold frame. She knew the answer to the question. She asked at least once a day, but it sent ripples of joy up her spine to ask anyway. The mirror shimmered, twisting the image of the beautiful woman in its reflection. It let out a long, deep groan. "Look, didn't I tell ya she was dead? That if anything else happened, like they had a lead on where her body was I'd let ya know? Good gravy, lady, whaddya want from me?" A pointy, red nail ran over the face of the mirror. "Don't get your panties in a twist, I'm just checking. Now go away," she ordered tersely, as she pulled out the tight bun on the back of her head. Unbuttoning her suit jacket, she kicked off her Prada's and headed toward the big, sunken tub. As she ran the water, her thoughts drifted to that damn Snow White. Thank goodness, she'd offed her ass. Snow seemed to think she was entitled to know everything about her father's finances and his many companies. She'd demanded to see expense accounts and all sorts of nasty details. She'd even threatened to hire a lawyer. Bitch. How could she even consider taking away my expense account? The blonde wrinkled her nose in distaste. Not to mention the fact that that walking wet dream, Prince Charming, had been sniffing around asking questions about Snow. Her worst fear was that little Miss Priss might get a gander at Prince, and it would be all over but the crying. Prince was hers. She'd fought long and hard to get here, and she wasn't leaving anything to chance. Snow had to go. So, she'd simply done away with Snow. Had her butler perform a little Snow removal, and dump her body somewhere. Nobody cared much that she was absent. Everyone thought she was off feeding the hungry, or some such Snow-like thing to do. Prince Charming. Her nipples beaded into tight points under the lace of her bra. The mere idea of him sent moisture rushing to the apex of her thighs. He was delicious, and when he'd shown up shortly after her husband's passing, she'd been more than happy to welcome him with open arms. Except he wasn't interested in her, he wanted to know who the dark haired woman working in the kitchen was. She'd lied and told him that Snow was the maid. Thankfully, he hadn't known her dead husband long or he would have suffered through the endless list of good qualities her husband seemed to think Snow possessed. Over and over again. Okay, so Snow was freakin' pretty. If she'd heard one more word about her L'Oreal hair or her full crimson lips, she would've screamed! Well, she'd fixed that, hadn't she? She settled into the frothy bubbles, letting the warm water caress her silky smooth skin. Running a hand over her flat abdomen, she mused at how well preserved she was. She hadn't been a stripper for nothin'.
She cringed at the thought. Those days were long gone. She focused on Prince and that fabulously well-muscled body, as she soaped up a sponge. Groaning, she pinched her nipple as her other hand drifted to the curls between her slender thighs. She imagined his hand buried in her wet cunt, just before his hot tongue swiped her clit. She moaned with the vision, as she spread her flesh and ran her index finger along her clit. Her eyes slid closed as she came, with the mental picture of Prince's cock buried in her slick cunt. **** Snow looked up, at the rap on the glass. It was him. He grinned and held up a bag of take out. Close your mouth, no drooling. Snow took a deep breath and buzzed him in. "Hi. Here let me take that from you," she offered, setting the bag on the desk. "It smells great." Her stomach rumbled its agreement. Damn, she'd forgotten lunch. "Sounds like you could use it." He pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over the chair. They both turned when they heard the knock on the glass. Grumpy. Snow hit the button and waved him in. "Hey, who the hell are you?" Grumpy's surly question made Snow's brows shoot upward. Introductions were in order. "Grumpy, this is Prince Charming. Prince, Grumpy Dork." "Grumpy Dork? Er, good to meet ya." Prince shoved his hand at Grumpy. Snow nodded her head, giving Grumpy the "don't even think about it" look. Reluctantly, Grumpy pumped Prince's hand. "You okay, Snow? You want I should wait outside for ya?" "No, Grumpy, grab the others and go home. I'll catch a cab. I'll be fine." "You're not coming home?" he whined. "Who's gonna cook?" "Why don't you guys order a pizza, k? C'mon, hurry up or Sleepy is going to pass out on you and Doc will have a fit if you have to carry him home again. Besides, Happy needs his pill. It's seven o'clock." "All right, Snow, but if you need me all ya have to do is say so." He growled like a dog at Prince, low and deep, on his way out the door, brushing his much smaller shoulder against Prince's big one. "Who was that?" Prince asked as he began to unpack dinner. He didn't seem too fazed by Grumpy. You had to admire a guy who didn't think Grumpy was out of his mind. Snow smiled at him with a sheepish grin. "That's Grumpy. He works in the mailroom. He's all bark and no bite. Don't let him bother you." "And, lemme see... Who's Happy and Doc and ... Drowsy, was it?' "Sleepy." she smiled. "Let's just say it's a long tale and leave it at that. I live with them, they're my roommates." She noted he wasn't smiling anymore. He'd set out the food on the edge of her desk. She grabbed her chair and pulled it up, letting the heavenly aroma of something other than hot dogs waft upward toward her nose. Hot dogs were cheap, and a Dork penny-pinching favorite. She'd had her fill of hot dogs, thank you very much. "Your roommates? They're all guys." He stated it plainly, his mouth settling into a thin line.
"Oh, those weren't all of them, there are seven, all told." She let her full lips tilt upward in a sly grin. Chew on that, good looking. "Seven, huh? Lucky guys," he said through clenched teeth. Snow snickered. Okay, time to let the hunk off the hook. "Most of them are gay. And the two who aren't, are involved. Doc is in love with some mermaid I think. She lives by the ocean, I think. And Sneezy's hot for his allergist." She watched him visibly relax, his broad chest expanding as he took a deep breath. A chest a girl could rest her head on after she slapped him down on the floor and rode him to victory. Enough! He's your boss. Nothing more. Snow munched on a breadstick as Prince doled out generous portions of pasta. She watched him from beneath her lashes. Italian food and a hot guy. The hot guy is your boss. So? You can't afford to lose your job. Oh fine, strictly business. Her nipples disagreed as they pressed against her blouse. "So, I hear you do it all around here." He handed her a plate of pasta, and the aroma of fettuccine Alfredo was too irresistible. She grabbed a fork and dug in. Oh hell, it had been so long since she'd had food like this, she'd almost forgotten how good it was. "Well, I do a lot I guess. All in a day's work, I suppose. A girl's gotta earn a living." She twirled the creamy pasta around her fork and slipped it in her mouth. Well, if this was the only orgasm she was destined for, at least her stomach was grateful. "I've heard you're the hub of nearly all that goes on here, but the records show you're paid very little." He slid a forkful of pasta into his mouth and closed his eyes. Oh, to be a fork... Snow shrugged uncomfortably. Don't get too personal, Snow, this is all about laying low, not laying Prince. "Jobs are hard to come by ya know. Especially in the city. So I do what I have to in order to pay the rent, and try not to complain." "Well, we'll see about that. For now, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself? Where do you come from? How did you come to work at Some Enchanted Evening?" Snow was mesmerized as he licked the fork clean. What did he want to know? Where you come from... "I have no family. I've been living with the Dorks for about a year now. The rent is cheap sharing with seven other people. It was a deal I couldn't pass up." "I'm sorry, I didn't know. So how did that bring you here?" He offered her a piece of garlic bread smothered with butter. When she put out her hand, he shook his head and told her to "open up." Her stomach clenched into tight knots but she opened her mouth, savoring the buttery bread, and his finger that lingered on her lips. Snow wiped her mouth with a napkin. "When I met the guys and decided to room with them, they managed to finagle me this job. The rest is, as they say, history." "I'm glad history brought you here." His wicked smile flashed those fabulous teeth. Blue eyes hinted at mischief, tugging at her heart. "On that note, I guess I'd better finish my presentation. It's due tomorrow." Snow sighed and began to clean up. Her hands shook as she threw out the remnants of what had been one of the best meals she'd had in a long time.
Alongside her, Prince scooped up the plastic containers in silence. She didn't want this to end. She wanted to explore this wild attraction she felt for him, even though he was her boss. She wanted to sit and talk about nothing and everything. She wanted to know if he felt the same way too. But he wouldn't be interested in her, a lowly secretary. He was just being kind to an overworked, underpaid employee, so she wouldn't sue the pants off of him because the company broke a whole lot of labor laws. Well, she mused, that might be one way to get his pants off. She chuckled to herself as she swept up the last of the empty cartons. Their heads bumped as they both leaned over the trash can. Snow's eyes met his and in a New York minute, she was on the desk. His lips found hers, crushing them as he slid his silky tongue into her mouth. The cool oak beneath her back sent a shiver up her spine as he pressed his rock-solid body firmly into hers. They shouldn't be doing this. Her mind knew that, but her body said for crap's sake, shut up and do him! God, the delicious weight of him as he swept his tongue over her lips. Snow groaned into his mouth as her legs wrapped around his waist. She felt the hot press of his cock grind her clit through her panties. Snow ran her hands over his thickly-muscled biceps, luxuriating in the rippled planes of flesh. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. He tugged at them until he found the round, firm flesh of her breasts encased in her lace bra. Her nipples tightened, beading sharply into tight points as his thumb ran in slow circles over them. Prince pushed her bra up as he trailed kisses over her jaw and neck, licking a path to her breast. as Snow clutched wildly at his hair. When his tongue wrapped around her nipple, her heart clamored wildly in her chest. Tiny pin pricks of heat shot through her veins as he suckled her, gently pulling at her nipple. Snow ran her nails over his scalp as she thrust upward, filling his mouth with her aching flesh. Long fingers found their way to her thighs. He hiked up her skirt, kneading her flesh as he went. She gasped sharply when his fingers pushed through the tight nest of curls and grazed her clit. Reaching down, she pressed the heel of her hand to his cock, stiff and thick as it strained against his zipper. Wow! That was a mighty big lump in his Armani's. She found his zipper, sliding it down as he moaned against her breast. Her fingers found his thick cock just as his fingers entered her. Snow's hips jolted off the desk as his fingers moved slowly within her slick passage. Her ass ground against cool wood on the desk as he moved in her, thrusting upward. She felt her breath leave her body as heat pooled in her belly and waves of orgasm threatened to crest. Prince tore his lips from her nipple as his hot tongue danced over her belly, finding its way to the slick heat of her cunt. When he swiped at her wet flesh, Snow's mind went blank. She focused on nothing but his silken tongue as he slid through her throbbing folds and his fingers nestled deep within her. Long moments passed as he laved her in slow wide strokes. As he finally settled on her clit, Snow wrapped her legs around his broad shoulders and held firmly to his head. She fought back a scream when a fierce orgasm ripped through her, leaving her gasping for air.
Prince withdrew his fingers and moved up her body. His cock sliding into her wet folds as he teased her clit with the head of his shaft and claimed her lips again. She tasted herself on his tongue, and groaned at the sheer intimacy of it. "Damn," he whispered in her ear. "What?" "I don't think I have a condom." Snow groaned out loud. The hell with that. She hadn't come this far to be denied that hot rod of love. She licked at his lips and ground her hips beneath his. "Wait right here. I have one." She grinned slyly as she slid from beneath him and went directly to her top, right hand drawer. She dug around for the foil packet. Whew. She held it up in triumph, but his eyes narrowed. "Where'd that come from?" He stood defiantly, hands on slim hips, while his cock bobbed up and down . He was so cute with his pants still on, and that fabulous cock dangling from them. Snow gently tugged on his hard shaft pulling him toward her office chair. "Jealous already? Why Prince, we hardly know each other." She giggled as he growled at her. Feeling bolder by the minute, aren't you, Snow? Tramp... Handing him the condom, she watched as he tore open the packet with his teeth and rolled it over his cock. She gave him a gentle shove toward the seat, marveling at how erect he remained. She settled herself on his lap, sliding her legs through the openings on either side of the chair. His cock rubbed against her open flesh making her gasp. She busied herself with unbuttoning his shirt as she explained about having a condom. She really should let him think she was a wild woman who had sex often enough to require a condom in her desk drawer. Um ... Maybe not. That would look trampy. We couldn't have that, now could we? "Doc handed them out to all of the employees during 'safe sex' week. He put them in all of our desk drawers. One for each of us. And look ... mine has never been used." She cocked her head to look him in the eye as she ran her palms over his chest. "Employee fraternization is frowned upon." "So I guess what we're doing is against the rules, huh?" he gasped when she ran her fingers over his flat nipples. "Oh yes, it's a big no-no," she whispered, as she tilted her hips and let the smooth head of his cock tease her entrance. "So, if I did this," she slid slowly down his heated length, "it would be completely against the rules," she teased. His hands gripped her hips. "Well, I'll tell you what. You can break the rules with me any damn time you want. I make the rules." He groaned as her hips circled him, swaying as she lifted slowly upward only to slide back down until her ass scraped the material of his pants. The heat of his cock stretched her, filling her tight passage and stealing her breath. Her nipples grazed the heated skin of his chest, tight and aching. His dark head bent to lick a nipple as his hands caressed the swell of her hip. "Oh," she moaned, when his other hand reached between them to tease her clit, "there's going to be hell to pay if the boss finds out." Her slow rhythm became more frantic with each thrust. "I am the boss. Now be a good employee and help me finish what I started," he said with a chuckle, before he claimed her nipple again. Snow's body trembled. It wasn't like
she'd never had sex before, but this was different. He made her feel things that no one else had. Ever. So quit complaining and do like the man said. Finish him off. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and using her toes for leverage, she rocked over him, circling her hips. The slick slide of flesh, coupled with his lips on her breast began a slow burn of need deep in her belly. She felt his thighs tense beneath hers, as his grip tightened around her waist. Her head fell back, revealing the smooth column of her neck. Prince buried his face in her neck, nibbling the tender hollow as he drove his cock into her. Snow came on a sigh, heat licking at her cunt and tying her gut into knots. He whispered her name in her ear, husky and sweet, as he soon followed. She felt his cock twitch, pulsing in her as she collapsed. A series of shudders wracked her body and Prince pulled her closer, holding her tightly. She heard him chuckle, feeling the deep rumble of his chest against hers. "What's so funny?" He raised his head and gave her a quick kiss. "I was just thinking how glad I am Doc had 'safe sex' week." Snow started to giggle, too. "Well, leave it to Doc to think of something like that. He really misses practicing medicine." Snow began to lift off Prince but he held her closer. "Wait," he enticed her. "Maybe I'm not done yet." His grin was infectious. "Well, Sir, I think you'll have to be. I was handed a presentation to do this afternoon that has to be finished by tomorrow, as a matter of fact. It's..." she glanced at her watch, "...already almost nine o' clock." "I say to hell with the presentation. I'll talk to your superior. One day's notice is not enough time to complete something of that magnitude." "Please don't cause trouble for me, Prince. I appreciate it, but I can't afford to lose this job." Shit. This was just one more headache she didn't need. Prince lifted her off his lap and pulled off the condom, wrapping it in a left-over take out bag while she straightened her clothing. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the door. "Listen here. I said it's too late to work on a presentation right now. Get your stuff. You're going home." Snow bit her lip in uncertainty, but Prince wasn't waiting. He pulled her against him and tilted her head, cupping her jaw. "Look, there are a lot of things that are going to change around here. First up are the long hours you work and the piss-poor paycheck you collect for doing it. Now as of tomorrow, you're going to see some action, so get used to it. We are also going to spend some time getting to know each other. This wasn't what you think it was Snow. I wasn't just looking for a quick lay." Yeah, right, and I'm Sleeping Beauty. Snow wrapped her arms around his neck burying her face in his chest and gave herself one last chance to revel in his hard body. By tomorrow this would all be a very nice tryst with her boss and she could go back to taking care of the Dorks and working her ass off. And figuring out what the hell to do about her father's will. "Okay, Prince, you're the boss." she acquiesced. He grabbed a handful of her ass and squeezed. "And don't you forget it. Now c'mon, I'll take you home. But only because you look exhausted. Believe me, I'd much rather stay here and schtupp your beautiful brains out. This isn't over by a long shot."
"Oh really? Presumptuous aren't you? Maybe I don't want to do it again," she teased, grinning into his chest. "Oh yeah? Wanna test that theory?" He ran his thumb over her nipple. It answered his caress by tightening. She tilted her head to look up at him. "Well, I'd love to, but my boss says I have to go home." His shoulders shook with laughter as he kissed the top of her head. "Smart guy, your boss, huh?" Snow was still cracking up as they climbed into his limo.
CHAPTER THREE "Snow got laid," Sneezy taunted, between honks of his nose. "I did not!" she fired back indignantly. "And even if I did, what business is it of yours?" "Look here, miss. 'Do you realize what time it is, Sneezy?'" He mocked her nightly epithet in a high pitched voice. "If you can ask then so can I," he shot back at her. "You come home pulling up in a limo, no less, and we're supposed to just ignore that? Who is he and what does he want?" Sneezy wiped his nose with a tissue while he tapped his toe, waiting for an answer. "Well, you certainly have a lot of questions for a guy who's boinking his allergist, don't you?" "Boink, schmoink. I've been seeing her for a year now. Unlike someone I know, who barely shakes a guy's hand before she's all up close and personal with his little Nemo." Snow's face turned red as her temper flared. "You better shut up now before..." "Hey, you guys! Cut this shit out," Bashful yelled as he stomped into the kitchen. Snow sighed as she sat down at the table. It must have been Bashful's therapy night and now he was practicing his technique on them. It was the "How To Overcome Your Fear Of Anything That Moves" class, or something to that effect. "Look you two. Snow has the right to see whomever she wants, and Sneezy, you'd better remember that. Now kiss and make up." Bashful stood behind Snow with his hands on her shoulders. Bashful hated conflict. "Look, I'm sorry, Snow. I just worry, okay? I mean, when we found you, you were near death. We don't know this Prince guy from a hole in the wall." Snow hugged Sneezy. "I know, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself, please trust me. Besides, after tonight he probably won't even remember my name." "Yeah, well, the way he was all over you like white on rice, it sure looked like he knew your name." Sneezy ran out of the kitchen before Snow could catch him with a solid right hook. She cringed as he sang out, "Snow got laid, Snow got laid." "Don't listen to him, Snow. I'm glad you got laid." Bashful gave her a peck on the cheek. Yup, Snow got laid, all right. She grinned. **** Prince spent the better part of the evening distracted by lustful thoughts of Snow White. He'd given up trying to reach W.S. Her maid said she was off at some charity function. He'd tried to catch the game on TV, but he couldn't focus. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he popped the top and guzzled while his cock rose to grand proportions just thinking of Snow's crimson lips on it. He'd meant it when he said this wasn't over. Nope, she was going to be his in every way, and the sooner the better, he mused.
Guess he'd better not rush her, though. They needed to get to know one another. He was all for that; there was plenty he wanted to know. Like if she always sighed that way when she came. That breathy rush of air as her hot cunt enveloped his cock nearly drove him insane. She was categorically the most interesting woman he'd ever met, and she did things to his hormones that made his cock do back flips. She hadn't said much but there was something in those chocolate brown eyes that hinted at deeper issues. Tomorrow was a new day, and he intended to find out all there was to know about Ms. White. Inside and out. He smiled a smile he knew was big and stupid. Looking down at his cock he said, "Okay, I hear ya. Gimme a break, huh?" **** When Snow arrived at the office the next morning, she met a flurry of activity. What the hell was going on? She saw a tall, wiry man come toward her with his hand out, as she made her way past the activity to her office. "Snow White?" She turned to greet him with a smile on her face. "Yes, I'm Snow White. And you are?" "I'm Garrett, your new personal assistant." Snow's brow furrowed. "My new what?" "Personal assistant, honey." He smiled at her and shook her hand. "How did that happen?" "Somebody waved their magic wand and bibbeldy bobbeldy boob, here I am! I've been hired by Prince Charming to take a load off those little piggies of yours. So let's get busy, okay?" "Busy... Yes, let's get busy." Snow spent the better part of the morning and long into the afternoon with Garrett. He answered all of her personal e-mails from W.S. Based on his snorts and snickers, she didn't think those e-mails were giving him the warm fuzzies, but he had direct orders from Prince that Snow was not to be disturbed. Prince had spoken directly to the "this presentation needs to be done ASAP" people, and they had been quite happy with waiting until the following month. Snow was to focus on only one task at a time. The familiar bong of incoming mail became background noise for Snow as she set her sights on the graphic design aspects of Mitzunami's new web site. When her phone rang at five o' clock, she heard Garrett answer cheerfully. "Snow White's office, how may I help you? Sure, boss, one sec. It's for you, Snow..." Snow took the phone from him trying to hide her smile. Maybe it wasn't a one night stand after all. "Hello..." "How about dinner, beautiful?" Prince's husky voice growled into the phone. Well, if she didn't want to have dinner, her nipples certainly did. "Well, I don't know, I mean I have all of this newly acquired free time on my hands. A girl could adjust to this. I could get a facial, or have my hair done." "Yeah, you could do that. But you could also come to my place and have dinner cooked by a really cute guy." "Oh, yeah? Is that hottie, Mickey Mouse, cooking tonight?" She snorted into the phone.
"No, but Donald Duck just might drop by if you behave. I'll send the limo in half an hour. Be ready. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, young lady." Snow stretched, running her hand over her neck to work out the kinks. "Can't I go home and grab a shower first?" "Nope. My shower's big enough for the two of us... See ya in a little while." Holy crap. He wanted to see her again? She would do the happy dance but that wouldn't be very professional in front of Garrett. From the corner of her eye, she caught Garrett smiling. He shooed her with flapping hands. "Go on, hit the road, Snow. Go freshen up, do the girlie thing. Boss said half an hour, right?" She called the brothers to let them know she was going to be late, and, after much taunting and teasing, she hung up the phone. Snow flew to the bathroom to check her makeup and wash her hands. Well, look at you. Aren't you all aflutter? She smiled back at her reflection. You bet your bippy! **** Prince greeted her at the door of his penthouse apartment, with a glass of wine and a kiss that made her toes curl. She kissed him back with vigor. His hair was damp so he must have showered without her. He took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen. Wow, this is some joint. The ultra modern kitchen had every appliance known to man, and then some. "This is something else. Do you actually use all of this stuff?" "Yup, as you'll soon find out, gorgeous. Now have a sip or two of wine and then go grab a shower. Dinner will be just about ready by the time you're done." He kissed her again, running his tongue over her lips. Snow set the wine glass down and wrapped her arms around his neck. Standing on tippy toe, she rubbed up against the thick bulge in his jeans. He moaned into her mouth as his hand cupped her breast. Grazing her nipples, he walked her backward until she felt the cold steel of the fridge press against her back. "Guess you're happy to see me," she said grinning, as he lifted her against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her hips to his. He pushed her skirt upward. God, he was sexy. "I suppose..." "Suppose? That's not what he's saying." she giggled against his neck. He cupped her ass, massaging the globes. "The he in question can't think straight when you're around." He nipped at her neck, licking small circles of her flesh. Snow shivered against him as his hand ran down over her ass and around to caress her clit. Fire swept through her veins. "No panties?" he groaned. "Looks like a perfect opportunity I've got here." His voice sent shivers up her spine. "But what about dinner?" she asked coyly, as she squirmed against his hand. "I'd rather eat you," he muttered against her lips. "Dinner is in the oven. We have plenty of time," he assured her as he set her back on the floor and ran his hands over the soft planes of her body. Her nipples pressed against her blouse, straining as his hands skimmed their tight surfaces. He nipped them through her blouse. Her hands clutched his head as his lips traveled to her aching flesh. He ran his tongue over her inner thighs as his
fingers parted the wet lips of her cunt. She heard her own whimper as he pressed a soft kiss to her clit. His tongue slipped through her, hot and silky. Snow thrust her hips forward as his tongue laved the swollen folds. Her leg found its way to his shoulder, as she opened herself further to his lips. His finger found her entrance and slid in with ease, as his mouth latched onto her clit and suckled. Snow's heart raced as she tugged at her nipples through her blouse and her hips ground into his mouth. Reaching down she slipped a finger in his mouth, sliding her fingers over his tongue. His hand cupped her ass as he pressed his tongue deeper. Snow fought back a scream when his finger thrust one last time and she came. His mouth devoured her and tendrils of heat swept over every last inch of her body. She slumped against the fridge, letting her leg slide off his shoulder. He held her close, moving back up her body to plant a kiss on her lips. "You taste incredible." Snow clung to his neck, trembling at his words. He was incredible. "C'mon, I'll show you where the shower is." Prince hiked her back up around his waist and carried her off to the bathroom. This really was some place, she mused as she glanced over his shoulder. Setting her on the bathroom countertop, he started the shower for her. He'd set out everything she needed. Her heart jumped in her chest as she watched his broad back while he adjusted the temperature of the water. Oh man, this was not good. No warm fuzzies for Prince Charming. He'd said this wasn't over by a long shot, but she had trouble believing that. There was no doubt they were hot for each other, but wouldn't that fizzle out? She planned to hang on until the last damn fizzle, but looking at this sensibly, he was her boss, and they'd boinked. Okay, a terrific boink. All right. The most FABULOUS boink of her life. But that was it. He would cook her dinner and never want to see her again. Insecure, Snow? With a lingering kiss, he told her where everything was and left, closing the door behind him. Snow stripped and jumped in the shower that was the size of a football field. There were days when she missed the opulence of all the good things life had to offer. Washing her hair, she used a big squirt of the expensive shampoo Prince seemed to favor. It had been so long... Sighing, she turned the water off, refusing to linger. This was the here and now. She was grateful. She had the Dorks and a place to live and a job. It was more than most had. Toweling off, she threw on the T-shirt he'd left out. It smelled of him, clean and masculine. What a man... Feeling decadent, without her panties, she padded down the long hallway back to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, she admired his tight ass. She wanted to see it naked. He was simply mouthwatering and so was whatever he was cooking. Her stomach grumbled. He turned, smiling warmly at her, making her heart do back flips. "Grab a seat. You're just in time. Everything's ready." Pulling out a chair, she marveled at the table setting. He'd lit candles and folded the napkins into cute shapes. All this to get laid? Are you forgetting? He's already been laid, honey.
She grinned to herself. Oh, yeah.
CHAPTER FOUR He noted she'd put on the T-shirt he left out for her. Her full breasts curved enticingly against the thin material in the shadows of the candlelight. His cock hammered at the inside of his jeans. He'd better knock this crap off if he hoped to make a little headway with her. Those lips... He suppressed a groan. He wanted them wrapped around his cock while his hands got all tangled in her thick strands of hair. Serve the food and quit thinking about doing the wild thing. Remember, you want to get to know her. Maybe meatloaf hadn't been such a good idea? "Oh, meatloaf! I love meatloaf," she squealed in delight. He beamed like a friggin' schoolboy. She liked meatloaf. It was his mother's recipe. She'd be proud. His chest puffed up. He was proud. "And mashed potatoes? Oh, it's been so long since I've had time to cook a really good meal. Thank you." She smiled at him before she slid a forkful of meatloaf in her mouth. Her eyes closed when she swallowed, a dreamy, far away smile on those luscious lips. His cock was smiling back. Eat, fool. He immediately began to stuff his face to keep from saying something stupid. Between bites, they chatted easily, sharing their day. She told him how pleased she was about Garrett, the reprieve on the presentation, and the website she was building for the Mitzunami's. They talked all around work, but when he touched on the subject of her family, she clammed up. This woman didn't just hatch. She was hiding something and he couldn't figure what. Where did she come from? And why was a woman this smart nearly running the department, and not making a fuss over working for so little pay? It didn't add up. The warm comfortable feelings she evoked combined with his hormones being in a knot, made him forget everything but her lips on his. When she leaned forward to take another helping of mashed potatoes, her breasts pressed tightly against the T-shirt and it was all over. His mouth began to water and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He forgot all about every last niggling thought he was having. "I'll do the dishes," she offered. "It's the least I can do after you went to so much trouble. It was a great meal." She cocked her head and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her close. "Forget doing the dishes. Do me," he taunted against the creamy softness of her throat. "What, no coffee? What kind of a host are you, anyway?" "You want coffee, do you? Instead of me?" Chuckling, she teased, "Well, there's nothing like some hot, creamy coffee after such a satisfying meal." Her finger trailed down to the zipper of his jeans. She slid it open as she unbuttoned them. She ran her palms over his abdomen, flirting with the waistband of his underwear. His muscles tensed when her finger grazed the head of his cock. "Tell ya what. How about I make coffee later, much later?"
"Depends on what you're offering now." "A really horny guy?" "Oh. Okay, I guess a really horny guy will do." Her sly grin made his insides mush and his cock stiff as a board. "So, handsome, you gonna show me that big bed of yours?" "Oh, I'm gonna show you the bed and then some." "Ooooh and what do you think you can show me that I haven't already seen?" She edged her way out of his arms and sauntered out of the kitchen. Prince was right behind her. He pinched her ass, cupping the firm flesh in both of his hands. She was so soft and she smelled so good. "I guess you'd better come with me so you can find out." He gave her a gentle nudge into his bedroom. She winked at him over her shoulder as she peeled off his old T-shirt. Hell, she was perfect. Her softly curved body was long and lean. The gentle swell of hips led to long creamy thighs. Thighs he wanted wrapped around his waist. Soft, pert breasts with nipples that were tightly beaded. Nipples he couldn't wait to devour. The dark thatch of curls between her slender thighs called his name. He wanted to bury his tongue in her slick sweetness, just before he buried his cock in her tight cunt. "I'd say I'm a little underdressed, wouldn't you, Mr. Charming?" He tore at his clothes, leaving them in a lump on the floor. She didn't have to ask him twice. She planted her small hands on his chest and licked his nipples with her soft tongue. More heat raced to his cock, already pulsing and hot. Her hair grazed his chest as she ran her lips over his abdomen. Instinctively his hands found her head; he heard his own sharp groan when she threaded her fingers through the nest of hair above his cock. Her hand clasped his heated length firmly. It jumped in response to her touch. Snow's tongue snaked out to lick at him with swift strokes. She would kill him if she didn't take him in her... "Ahhh, yes," he hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, as she enveloped him with those soft, full lips. Slowly she dragged her mouth and tongue over his rigid length, upward then back down, in a slow slide of flesh and warmth. She cupped his balls, massaging the tight sacs, as she gently pressed them upward, flush to his cock to lick at them. Her hand tunneled his stiff length while she licked at the sensitive spot just below the head of his cock. Her tight grip and silky tongue were as good as it got in his book. He'd never felt anything more incredible that this woman's lips. When she wound her arms around his thighs, clutched his ass and took him so deeply, he thought he'd explode. He ground his hips toward her. His cock ached for release. He threaded his hand through her hair and clung tightly to it as she bobbed up and down. Hot threads of pleasure shot through him. He tugged gently at her head, pulling her away from his cock. She let go with a pop and he dragged her up his body, letting the silky slide of skin on skin envelop him. She suckled his bottom lip as he laid her back on the big bed. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a cloud of black silk, and her lips were red and swollen from being around his cock. He leaned forward to lick a tender nipple. Her hips jolted upward as she pulled him closer. "Gimme a sec to get a condom." "Was it safe sex week here, too?" she teased.
His eyes sought hers as he cupped her jaw. "It hasn't been safe sex year here, Snow. There's only been you." She hooked her arms around his neck and crushed his lips to hers, letting her nipples scrape his chest. He groaned, pulling away to grab a condom. He ripped the foil packet open, but she held out her hand. "Let me." She rolled the condom over his cock, caressing him as she went. He ran his fingers over her breasts, cupping the gentle swell of flesh before he braced himself on his elbows. Reaching between them, she held his cock, sliding it through her slick folds of wet, heated flesh. She whimpered when he pressed forward, teasing her clit. Her hands led him to her tight passage. As he eased into her he closed his eyes, savoring the slick walls that gripped him. She fit him so perfectly. It all clicked for him then. It didn't matter that they'd only known each other a couple of days, it didn't matter where she came from. She was his, and he'd do whatever it took to keep her. Did stuff like this happen in only a couple of days? Shut up and do the woman! Play Dr. Phil and analyze your feminine side another time, bud. Her soft cries drove him to madness as he lifted off her and she wrapped her legs high around his waist. Prince caressed her clit with his thumb as he stroked in and out of her hot cunt. He pressed upward watching his cock slide into her body, and rasp against her clit. His cock tightened at the erotic vision she made. Her eyes were closed and her neck arched. She thrust her tight nipples upward. He braced his hand at her waist as his rapid thrusts became frantic. Reaching for him, she bucked her hips and screamed his name. His control slipped and his head fell back on his shoulders as his muscles clenched tightly. With one last stroke he let the tidal wave of heat in his cock explode. His knees shook as he gasped for air. Snow pulled him close to her, running her hands along his back. "Well that beats the hell outta any coffee I've ever had," she gasped in his ear. He chuckled into her neck, nipping at it. "I told you I had something to show you." "Ya know, do you think you could show me that again? I'm not sure I caught it all." He rolled her over on top of him, brushing the long strands of hair out of her face. "Stay the night and I'll show you again and again." "Again and again? That's a lot of agains, mister" She licked the outer rim of his ear. "I have to work tomorrow, Prince, I can't stay. I don't even have a change of clothes." Bullshit! She was not leaving now. His grip on her tightened. "Tell you what, luscious. You go call the sextuplets plus one so they won't worry, and I'll take you home early enough to change, then drop you at the office." He kissed her full lips, long and hard, and damned if his cock didn't rise to attention inside of her. Hell, he hoped he had more condoms. "Ooooh. And what will we do all night long? It's only nine o'clock." He pulled out of her reluctantly. "Go call the guys and I'll show you." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and grinned. It was time to make Snow an honest woman, and find W.S. ****
Something wasn't right here. Who the hell was Garrett and why was he answering SW's e-mails? And where was SW? She never failed to answer an e-mail and carry out her instructions. Hmm. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most booty-licious of them all?" The large mirror let out a wailing groan. Shimmering to life, it snickered. "Shoot, honey, I bet you wish it was you. Got some bad news for ya, babe." The mirror paused for effect. The tall, sleek figure screamed in rage, throwing herself at the mirror. She held tightly to its edges, her red tipped nails clawed the gilded frame. "What? Tell me what you know!" "Well ... it's like this, oh wicked one. Snow White lives, and let me tell you, honey, she's livin' large. She has that Prince Charming all hot for her and it looks like he's thinking marriage. Wait till he gets a load of what you've done." The mirror whistled sharply. "Are you ever in for a good reaming from him. And I don't mean the kind that has you tangled up in the sheets, sugar." "Tell me, tell me where she is, or I'll smash you to smithereens!" Spit formed at the corners of her mouth. "Look, honey, this ain't Mapquest, okay? Try that place you've been running by email cause you're too lame to get off your fat, lazy ass and go into work like everyone else. Seems that hunk, Prince, is pretty impressed with her work." Her work? Well, holy Miss Priss! Could it be? Yes. She would bet her last facial on it! SW was Snow White. Balling her fists, she paced the wide room in fury. So Snow White wasn't dead after all. First she'd have Gordon's balls for dinner, and then she was going to find that bitch and kill her off for good. She'd have that damn Prince too, if it was the last thing she did.
CHAPTER FIVE Snow arrived just in time to grab a cup of coffee as she rushed to her office. Garrett worked quietly at the temporary desk he'd set up in the corner. His blond head never looked up, bent at some task or another he seemed hell-bent on finishing. "Morning, Snow. That damn e-mail of yours has been ding-donging since forever. I haven't had time to check it since I arrived. If you'd like to leave it, I'll be happy to take care of it when I'm done with the final drafts on this presentation." "No, Garrett. I'll handle e-mail today. You finish what you need to." "I think most of them are from the wicked witch of advertising." "Hm?" "From that W.S. Ya know the one who e-mails and demands the world stop, then revolve around her request?" Snow chuckled. "Oh, that wicked witch." She grabbed her mouse and perused her incoming mail. She tried to focus on whatever seemed so important from W.S., but her thoughts kept drifting to last night. Waking up next to Prince was a multitude of revelations. He wasn't just good in the sack, he was good at convincing her that it might be possible for the two of them to have a relationship. Between bouts of the wild thing, that is. First she had to come clean about what had happened to her. Tell him she wasn't just some poor working girl who was foolish enough to be paid peanuts for working her fingers to the bone. Then she would tell him about her stepmother and what she hoped to do to her once she had some concrete facts. Snow sighed with exasperation. Damn this woman, what did she want? For the hundredth time in a year she wondered just who this W.S. was. Everything was urgent. A hangnail was urgent. Clicking on the e-mail marked—what else?—Urgent. She sighed with exasperation. From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] SW, Don't make plans for the evening. W.S. What the hell? The woman had cracked. All that lounging around at home had killed her last brain cell. Garrett called to her. "Snow, Prince is on the phone. He says he's stuck in a meeting. He'll be late picking you up." Snow smiled absently at the phone as she put the finishing touches on the Mitzunami account. "Well, you tell him a girl doesn't like to be kept waiting." She giggled. "No, just tell him it's fine, I'll wait here for him. I have plenty to keep me busy." Her heart throbbed wildly and her smile was as big as the fine state of Montana. She was in love. No doubt about it. Now what was she going to do about it?
**** The sound of footsteps in the outer office broke Snow's concentration. Dopey must have left the intercom on. He was always touching buttons. She smiled at the thought of the seven men who had rescued her and taken her into their home. They'd nursed her back to health and given her a reason to get up in the morning. The footsteps grew louder. It must be Prince. Her heart began to pound, bringing a smile of delight to her face. She fluffed her hair and buzzed the door open without looking. "Well, well. If it isn't Miss Priss..." A sliver of fear coursed up her spine. Only one person called her Miss Priss. Snow looked up to see the sleek figure of her wicked stepmother's silhouette in the doorway. Snow rose slowly from her chair. "So you're SW? I might have known. Nice to meet you. I'm W.S." She cackled. Snow moved toward her. "You're W.S.?" she asked incredulously. It hit Snow like a ton of bricks. It all made sense now. This was her father's company. Holy shit. She was such an idiot. Well, this changed everything now, didn't it? "Yeah, I'm W.S. Fancy that. If you'd just stayed gone, Snow, none of this would have had to happen. But you just couldn't leave well enough alone. Always sticking your pert little nose into affairs that don't concern you. It's a pity." "Don't concern me? I was his daughter. Everything that was his should have been shared between us, you greedy bitch. I wouldn't have cared if you'd used your half of the money to get face-lift two hundred and two," she spat through clenched teeth. "Except that I don't share well, darling. Your father was an idiot. He had more money than God, but he kept handing it to you to feed the poor. Or to save some disgusting animal. He would have pissed it all away, giving it to you, if it weren't for me. It was easy you know, to convince him that I should be his sole heir. When I told your father I would provide for you if something happened to him, I skipped the part about what exactly that provision would be." She sneered at Snow. "So you cut me off and shipped me to the kitchen in my own home, knowing there wasn't a single thing I could do about it. What do you want now? You have everything. I have nothing left you could possibly take." Snow backed up and reached behind her, feeling for the phone. "Weeeellll that's not exactly true. There is one more thing I want, and it has nothing to do with money and everything to do with your being six feet under. Oh, and that hunk you've been doing." Cold chills raced up and down Snow's spine. She'd tried to have her killed before, there wasn't any reason why she wouldn't try it again. Her stepmother was quick as she moved closer, looming by the edge of Snow's desk. Snow stumbled, backing up. Shit. Maybe she should tackle her? Maybe not. W.S. was a whole lot bigger. Keep her talking. "Why don't you just tell me what you want?" "I want Prince. I don't suppose you'd give him up now, would you? Soooo, I'll make you give him up. When he's done boo-hooing over you, I'll be there to console him." Her smile was sly.
Well didn't it just figure she'd want Prince, too? Bullshit on that. Snow's mind flew through the possibilities of getting out of this. If she could just keep her talking long enough to stall 'til Prince arrived. "How do you think Prince will feel about that? I'm assuming he knows you, or do you play e-mail tag with him, too? Hiding away in my father's house?" "Oh, we'll play tag all right, but it won't be with e-mail." Snow's skin crawled at the very idea. "You don't think you can get away with this, do you? Someone will make the connection." She looked around for something, anything, she could use against her stepmother. "Oh please, you idiot. No one will ever know, and I won't have to hear about how wonderful you are anymore. Over and over, until I thought my ears would bleed. Oh look, Snow. An apple. Is this for being such a good and faithful employee?" Snow turned toward her, confused. What did she have in her hand? Just as she recognized the glass apple she used as a paperweight, it came flying toward her in a high arc, across the room. She saw the flash of light glint off the glass apple in a prism of color. Then she heard a sickening thud echo in her ears and felt a sharp jolt of pain slice through her head. Snow fell forward but blissfully sank into unconsciousness before slamming into the sharp corner of the desk and crumbling to the floor. **** Prince sat quietly by the sterile hospital bed. The dim light reflected Snow's pale complexion. His throat was painfully tight and his mouth dry. He absently caressed Snow's still hand. The doctor's advice was to talk to her. Sometimes coma patients could still hear you, even if they didn't acknowledge your presence. His gut clenched painfully as he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Damn W.S.! The police had dragged her off while she kicked and screamed some crap about Snow having everything. He'd see her in hell, the bitch. He'd make sure of it. But right now he had to focus on Snow. Her recovery. If she would just wake up. She had a severe concussion. The blow from the paperweight, made worse by her hitting the desk, had created severe trauma. Her beautiful head was swathed in white bandages. The nurses had cleaned the long tresses of raven hair, removing the caked blood from her wound. They'd left him alone with a gentle warning not to tire himself out. The Dorks were good enough to allow him some time alone with her. They waited patiently in the lounge, refusing to leave Snow. He admired their strength in numbers. They loved her, it was clear to him now just how much. Bashful. He almost chuckled thinking about how brave he'd been. Somehow he'd been left behind by his brothers. Hiding under the desk in the outer office, he'd watched W.S. arrive. If he hadn't caught W.S. whacking Snow, she would be dead. Snow's description of Bashful certainly didn't mesh with the way he'd torn into W.S. Thank God he'd caught her. When Prince arrived on the scene, he was sitting on top of W.S.'s squirming, enraged body, waiting for the police as the paramedics carried Snow off. Maybe all that therapy Snow talked about him getting, really was helping him overcome his fear of people.
Prince lay his head on the bed next to Snow. He prayed to whoever was in charge. Whatever it took, he would not live without this woman. His eyes were on fire and his head throbbed. He sighed, knowing he had to give the guys an update. Reluctantly he rose, removing her still hand from his, laying it gently by her side. He felt a tug on his index finger. The slightest bit of pressure. He leaned forward, a hopeful heart pounding in his chest. He whispered in her ear. "C'mon baby, wake up now. The guys are worried sick and so am I. We have a lot of getting to know each other to do here. Open those pretty eyes for me, would ya?" He pressed his lips to hers. A gentle kiss of longing, filled with need. Then he rested his forehead against hers. The flutter of lashes tickled his skin, feather light, almost a whisper. "Well it's about time you showed up, Mr. Charming." He wanted to drag her close to him, tell her he loved her. He fought the desire to throw himself at her feet. "I'm not that late, am I?" Her voice was scratchy and weak but she giggled. "Hell yes, you're late. A girl could get killed waiting on you." "I'll tell you what, good looking. I promise never to be late again if you promise to marry me." She ran her finger down the bridge of his nose. "I can't imagine what will happen to me while I wait around to marry you." "Well, I guess you'll just have to say yes and find out, won't you?" "I suppose next you'll be telling me we're going to live happily ever after, too." He smiled at her, kissing her luscious lips. "Oh, and don't forget the ride off into the sunset together thing." She snorted in his ear. "Oh yeah?" "Yup. You can bet your cute ass, Cinderella." She swatted his arm. "Hey, don't call me that. I hear Ms. Cinderella really gets around, ya know. Totally got a really cool deal with a fairy godmother and all, and she goes and blows it by losing a friggin' shoe. I mean helllooooo. That was a fabulous pair of shoes too..." He cut her off by kissing her soundly ... with a promise to buy her an equally fabulous pair of shoes.
EPILOGUE Snow White and Prince Charming did indeed ride off into the sunset together. In Prince's sleek, white Lamborghini. They were last seen heading toward his castle in the Hamptons. Doc was re-issued his license to practice medicine, after it was revealed that the allegations of illegally prescribing drugs to one KruElla DeSpille were false. He moved into a cottage by the sea to live with his girlfriend, the mermaid. Sleepy continues to suffer with his narcolepsy and has started a support group called "Power Naps: A Narcoleptic's Guide To Reviving Oneself." Grumpy now owns and operates his very own Anger Management clinic. Bashful has taken charge of his agoraphobia since his tussle with W.S. Empowered, he now works side by side with Grumpy and is a senior instructor for a class called "Asserting Yourself 101". Dopey currently lives in Paris after being "discovered" by a world renowned modeling agency. He regularly visits Snow and his brothers via his newly-acquired skills on the internet. His internet ID is whosurdaddy? Sneezy married his allergist, and made a windfall in the stock market, investing in the drug known as Claritin. Happy remains on Prozac and met a lovely schizophrenic in his therapist's waiting room. They have just found the most fabulous apartment and are currently moving in together. W.S. was indicted for corporate fraud and bribing her lawyer to forge her dead husband's will. She is now serving five to ten, in the state penitentiary. With the aid of her most able security guards, she has mastered the fine art of folding laundry and is helping her new roommate discover the joys of mascara. All of her fellow inmates agree that stripes don't make her look fat at all. Mirror, mirror now hangs on Dopey's wall in Paris where it assures him daily that he really does have only one brain cell, but he is by far the most booty-licious in the land. THE END About the Author: Dakota Cassidy admits freely she never gave much thought to writing anything more challenging than the grocery list. She still can't explain how this has all happened. One minute she was a mild mannered housewife by day reading the stuff, the next she was banging her fingers to bloody stumps pounding out a story on her laptop. With the support of her husband and a really pushy—but wonderful—friend, she bit the bullet, sent in her story and hit the ground running. She admits that she's now a slave to her laptop, spinning hot and sexy tales and creating new characters to play with.
Dakota's stories are all about a good laugh, quirky yet passionate, a lethal combination for sure. She would love to hear your comments. Please drop by her website at www.dakotacassidy.com.
Little Red, The Wolf and The Hunter Leigh Wyndfield Sibyl Hood jerked, almost poking her eye out with the knife. Two steps brought her to the window above the sink. She could swear she'd seen something out of the corner of her eye. This was the third time in as many months she'd thought someone moved in her yard. She stood by the window, the knife she used to ice the cake now forgotten in her hand. Nothing stirred. The full moon made the whole yard visible. Shaking her head, she wondered if she was losing her marbles. Just last night, she was convinced someone watched her as she sat in bed reading. It gave her the willies. Sibyl was glad she'd be spending the next four nights at her grandmother's house. Washing the knife in the sink, she thought about her Gran. The days the ailing woman would live on her own were rapidly coming to an end. The Hoods were a large family and for a while, they had all taken turns staying with Gran, but the constant rotation had worn everyone down. Sibyl's heart tugged with sadness at the thought of her sprightly, feisty grandmother slowing down. Her mother would take a poll tonight to see which of Gran's five children would take her in to stay with them. Lowering the top over the Red Silk Chocolate Cake she'd made, Sibyl marveled over owning a Tupperware cake container. She couldn't believe that she, the owner and CEO of Cyber Dynamics, had actually purchased something that could only make Suzy Homemaker proud. When the lid snapped in place, she put on her red velvet beret, then gathered her overnight bag and purse. She gently picked up the cake, concentrating on balancing her hands so the icing stayed perfect. When she opened the front door, the Tupperware wobbled precariously. "If I drop this damn thing, I won't be responsible for my actions," she said, turning to lock up. This was the first time she'd used her kitchen in the eight months she'd owned her house. She wouldn't spill Gran's favorite cake on her doorstep like an idiot. "That sounds pretty dire," a voice said from behind her. Sibyl screamed and the cake flew into the air. As if in slow motion, she watched a stranger dive to the sidewalk. He caught the cake before it hit the ground. Leaning against the house, her hands clutched to her chest, she tried to catch her breath. "Oh my God," she said between pants. "Your reflexes must be amazing." "I'm sorry if I scared you," the man said. He stood up, carefully placing the cake in her shaking hands. "I'm afraid I'm lost." The smile accompanying his words seemed harmless, but for some reason, the hair rose on the back of Sibyl's neck. She eyed the man on her front porch. In his late thirties or early forties, he was well dressed in crisp jeans and a button-down shirt. His blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail that showed off ruggedly handsome features and strange, light green eyes. Her instinct screamed to run away from him. Instead, she asked, "Where are you going?" "21 Lower Tuckahoe Road South," he said, reading from a slip of paper.
"You're on Lower Tuckahoe North. You'll need to cross River Road to be on the south part of this street." "Thanks a lot," he said, grinning at her. His teeth gleamed in the porch light. His leer reminded her of a rabid dog she'd once seen. She didn't understand her reaction. I'm losing it. My imagination has gone into overdrive. Sibyl shivered. "Sure." She locked her door and edged her way toward her car. Maybe all the stress from work had finally gotten to be too much. Here she was, running away from a great looking guy when she hadn't had a date in over six months. "Sorry about the cake," he called after her. "No worries. I'm sure my grandmother will eat it even if it is a little banged up." She opened her car's back door and set the cake inside. Why wasn't this weirdo leaving? He stood on her walkway, watching her. She slammed the door shut and hopped into the front. "Hope you find your destination," she yelled as she pulled out of her drive. A look in the review mirror showed him walking to a car parked on the street in front of her house. "Wack. Job," she said as she turned on the radio and promptly forgot him when she heard one of her favorite songs. **** Mark Hunter rolled out from under an azalea bush as the car pulled out of the driveway. It had been a close call when the woman looked out the window. He didn't know why he hadn't been able to shrug off his curiosity about what the gorgeous, petite redhead was doing in the kitchen. Icing a cake, of all things. Another car engine roared to life on the street. He ran toward the sound, circling the house. He could barely make out Simon Wolf driving down the road. "Dammit!" he yelled and kicked at a tulip in a nearby flowerbed. Simon had been here the whole time, and he hadn't even noticed. The woman's rubyred hair had distracted him. He dropped his hands onto his hips in disgust and watched Simon's fading taillights. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, combing away fallen leaves from his recent hiding place. Okay, it was more than her red hair. Her lips played a part, too. And that body made for loving. He'd been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He needed to remember what happened to the poor moth when it reached its destination. Clearing his mind as best as he could, he scented the air again. Simon had been here more than once, Mark could tell by the layers of his smell. He would bet his life that Simon was staking out the beautiful redhead for another kill. Simon had started killing women three months ago. As the wolf pack's enforcer, Mark's job was to track down rogue pack members like Simon. Werewolves didn't go against the rules often, but when they did, it tended to be ugly. And Simon had taken it a step further to downright evil. The full moon lit the yard with icy, silver highlights. It was time for Simon to kill again.
Mark needed to know where the redhead had gone. Within minutes, the doorknob turned under his skilled hands. A woman living alone really should upgrade her locks. **** Simon turned off River Road onto Gaskins and hit the gas. Sibyl was going to her grandmother's house. If he cut over on Broad, he might beat her there. This one would be his best kill yet. He could feel it in his bones. Sure, he felt this way every time he found a new woman, but Sibyl Hood was different. She was pure fire. She'd fight him. He knew it. And then he'd punish her. The first time he'd seen her he figured she wouldn't be right. She definitely didn't fit his ideal type of woman. He liked blondes, not redheads. And she wasn't rail-thin like his others. All those curves normally turned him off. But her lips were perfect. Lush and full and pouting. He'd found her three months ago. She'd stood right in front of him in the drugstore. He'd memorized her address out of habit as she told it to the clerk. He hadn't seriously considered her as one of his prizes, not until the parking lot when a bum asked for loose change and she firmly refused. Something in the husky tone of her voice gave him an immediate erection. Since then he thought of her almost every day. He'd even used prostitutes with red hair, in her honor. Just last night, he'd been with one. But when the whore stripped for him, Simon had seen that she wasn't a natural redhead. Little Red was. He'd watched her through her bedroom window and salivated at the sight of all the red, the hair on her head a lighter shade than the curls between her legs. Last night's prostitute had learned the hard way that he didn't like to be deceived. Her apology had come too late. In the end, she'd taken her punishment just like all the others. Yet, it hadn't satisfied him. He liked planning it out. He liked the anticipation. And he hadn't enjoyed either with the whore. But he would with Little Red. After two months of watching, he knew she regularly went to her grandmother's to stay for days at a time. One night, he came up with a brilliant idea. He would punish them both together. Two for the price of one. He couldn't wait. **** Sibyl parked in her grandmother's driveway and removed the cake from the backseat. Going to the side entrance, she tried the door. Open. Again. Gran had been forgetting to lock up lately. Sibyl sighed. "Gran?" Shutting the door with her foot, she put the cake on the kitchen counter. "Gran?" "Here," a voice called.
Sibyl found Gran in her bedroom. "What are you doing?" Bric-a-brac from a lifetime of Mother's Days, birthdays, and Christmases filled every available tabletop. Lace curtains billowed at the open window, the breeze bringing in the smell of honeysuckle from the vines outside to drown out the odor of old lady. "Packing." Her grandmother placed a pair of striped mauve pants on top of lime green ones. A profusion of colors overflowed from the suitcase. "Where are you going?" Sibyl tried to keep her voice calm and rational, but her mind jumped to conclusions. Alzheimer's. Didn't her Gran keep forgetting things? And this behavior was completely erratic. "To Kissimmee." Gran fumbled in the closet for a second before bringing out a crimson straw hat with a wide, floppy brim. "Florida?" "Where else? Do you think at my age, I'd be going to Alaska?" Her grandmother smacked the hat on her head with a decided whap. "Why?" Sibyl tried to fill the doorway to block off escape as her grandmother flipped down the suitcase lid with a snap. "Because you're all against me!" Uh, oh, was paranoia another sign? "Gran, I've never been against you in my life. What are you talking about?" "Well, you're not against me." Her Gran moved over to pat her cheek with one dry, wrinkled hand. "But those miserable kids of mine are." She turned back to zip up her suitcase with harsh movements. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying that I know all about the little powwow everyone is at tonight." She pulled the case onto the floor with a thump. Sibyl wondered how long she planned to be gone. It sounded too heavy for a quick trip. "What powwow?" Sibyl tried for innocent, but wondered who'd spilled the beans. "Don't act like you don't know what's going on, missy." Gran dragged her suitcase a few feet closer to the doorway. "Everyone's just concerned about you." "Don't give me that." Gran's hat flopped as her head shook with righteous indignation. "You know they're going to put me in a home." "Gran!" Her grandmother cut her off. "Well I'm not sticking around. I'm making a break for it." She tugged the suitcase another few steps. "They aren't going to put you someplace. We all want you to be okay. We're just worried about you living alone." "Living alone, my foot! I've been on my own ever since your grandfather passed back in 1971. No one cared then." "Of course we cared!" "I don't blame you. You weren't even born yet. I blame those rotten children of mine. And I'm too young to be put in jail." "Living with mom and dad or one of the aunts and uncles isn't prison." "Would you like to move back in with your mother?" "Um..." Her grandmother had a point. Sibyl's mother was a constant source of unpleasantness in her life.
"That's what I thought!" Her grandmother yanked at the suitcase, and it landed on the toes of Sibyl's shoes. "I've got too many things to do to lose my freedom. I'm making a break for it." The doorbell rang. "Who's that?" Sibyl turned toward the sound. "Henry." Her grandmother shoved by her to get the front door. "Who's Henry?" Sibyl followed on her grandmother's heels. "My companion." "Companion? Oh my God! You're sleeping with someone," she breathed. Her Gran tossed an irritated look over her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob. "Of course I'm having sex. I'm old, not dead." Whatever Sibyl might have said evaporated at the sight of the strange old man who walked in. He was dressed in green trousers pulled almost all the way to his armpits and wore a matching striped green shirt and white loafers. "Emma! You look amazing, as always." He leaned down to drop a kiss on her grandmother's lips. Sibyl's stomach turned. "Henry," her grandmother tittered. Her Gran never sounded simpering. "This is Sibyl, one of my granddaughters." She marched towards her bedroom. "My case is in here." Sibyl watched in horror as Henry carried her grandmother's things out the door. "Take care, Sibyl. I'll send you a postcard when we get to sunny Florida." Her Gran kissed her cheek, and then she was gone. "Oh shit," Sibyl said, looking at the closed front door. "Mom is going to kill me when she finds out about this." **** Sibyl ransacked Gran's cabinets until she found a bottle of whiskey. She wasn't a big hard-liquor drinker, but after the conversation she'd just had with her mother, she sure as hell needed a little something. With shaking hands, she poured a double shot into a highball glass. She knocked it back and then almost threw up. Convulsing uncontrollably, she looked at the label on the bottle. "Jesus, who drinks this stuff?" She'd been told to stay put for the night, just in case her Gran "came to her senses" and returned home. "Like that's going to happen," she said to the empty kitchen. "Gran saw the writing on the wall and is on her way to drink Pina Coladas with old Henry." Sibyl still couldn't get over the fact her Gran was having sex. The doorbell rang. "She's probably come back for her suntan oil," she mumbled on her way to the front door. She opened it without looking through the peephole. That turned out to be a mistake. In the time it took for her to say "What?", a man pushed her back, slammed the door shut, and wrestled her to the ground. She struggled, but he had strength and surprise on his side. Within seconds, he pinned her face-down int I o the orange shag carpet.
Overwhelmed with terror, Sibyl's breathing was ragged as she sucked in mouthfuls of dust from the floor. She had to calm down. Panic would get her nowhere. Just as she started to center herself enough to think, he placed plastic flex cuffs on her wrists. Instinctively, she started to fight him again. "Stop it, bitch." "Who are you?" Sibyl gasped. Get yourself together! You'll only get out of this if you use your head! "I'm The Big Bad Wolf." He hauled her to the sofa and lifted her onto it. Sibyl saw his face. "You're the guy from my house. The one who was lost." He placed flex cuffs around her ankles, double checking to make sure they were tight. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," he said, grinning at his own joke. He touched her cheek with a gentle caress, almost as if he savored the feel of her skin. Bile rose up her throat, and Sibyl shuddered with the need to be sick. She was in serious trouble here. Her instincts earlier had been dead-on. The Big Bad Wolf walked into the kitchen. Pushing with her hands, Sibyl managed to get up, then immediately stumbled forward and bumped into the coffee table. Damn! She had to get out of here. Right now. **** Simon heard the crash in the other room and ran back to check on his prey. Little Red rolled on the floor, trying to get away from him. Oh, she was lovely. He knew she wouldn't cower in the corner like most of the others had. "Where you going, Red?" He leaned down, whispering the words. She swung her legs around and kicked him on the shins. Simon howled with laughter. "You're a feisty one." She wiggled toward the front hall. He let her get as far as the doorway, then grabbed her by her bound feet and dragged her back into the room. "Where did that grandmother of yours go?" "What?" She looked frantically around the room, her gaze flitting from one thing to the next, searching for a way out. She wasn't too scared—yet. Her brain still worked enough to fight to escape and her bladder hadn't released. He hated when they pissed themselves. Nasty women. "Who are you?" she asked again, her voice quivering but gaining strength with each word. "I already told you. I'm the Big Bad Wolf." He licked across her cheek. She turned her head and bit his chin. "Dammit, bitch!" he screamed, smacking her across the face. "I'm the one who's going to do the biting here." She attempted to kick him again, but he sidestepped easily and punched her in the stomach. That was the problem with the good ones. They were so much more effort. But didn't he always enjoy something more when he had to work for it?
Little Red rolled into a ball, obviously in pain. Satisfied that she had learned her lesson, Simon left for the kitchen in search of a knife. When he got back, she'd managed to make it across the room again. "Tsk, tsk," he said, amused. "You can't get away from me unless I let you." He pulled her head back by her hair. "And I won't let you." "Fuck you," she spat. "My whole family is going to show up any minute and then you'll spend the rest of your life in prison." "Now why would they show up here, Red?" He released her head and sliced her shirt up the back. He didn't care if they showed up or not. If they did, he'd take care of them. He had been furious when he saw the grandmother leave earlier. This wouldn't be as much fun without her, but he would make do. He'd so wanted to have an all-in-the-family threesome. Simon smelled the intruder before he heard the rustle of clothing. Pulling the girl's head back again by the hair, he placed the knife to her neck. "Hello, Hunter." Simon's voice came out stronger and more sure than he expected. "You don't need to hide. I can smell you." Shit, how had the bastard found him here? He'd been so sure that no one had followed him earlier. Mark stepped into the room. His dead eyes glanced, seemingly without interest, at the knife at the girl's throat. Simon felt envy over his replacement's detachment. "This has got to stop, Simon." Mark's voice was calm and almost bored. "No, it doesn't." "You know the rules. Your extra-curricular activities will draw attention to us. I can't let you do this." Mark relaxed against the doorway, his breathing even, as if he wasn't worried about the outcome of this situation. As if he knew he would win. God, Simon hated him. "Well, I don't follow your orders, asshole." "You can turn yourself in to me or die, Simon. There aren't any other options." Mark's gaze dropped to the girl and something passed over his face. Simon felt a thrill ride through his body. The enforcer wasn't as detached as he pretended to be. Simon put pressure on the knife, drawing a little blood. Insignificant, really, but Mark's nostrils flared. Simon couldn't help but smile. "I don't think I chose either of those options. You make one move towards me, and I'll kill the girl." Little Red whimpered right on cue. Simon's smile turned into a grin. God, he loved women. "Kill her and I kill you." "I don't think so." Simon had known the pack's enforcer would catch up with him eventually. He'd caught Mark's scent in several of his favorite places. Mark moved into the room. Simon let him come. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a dart gun. "Goodnight Mark," he said, and pulled the trigger. ****
Mark woke slowly, his head pounding unmercifully. What the hell had happened? He tried to move his arms from above his head, but found them strapped to the bed. Then the whole day flooded back into his consciousness. Simon. The dead women. The beautiful redhead icing the cake. Sibyl Hood. He'd broken into her house and gone through her desk until he found her appointment book. Thank God she'd had copies of her grandmother's important papers in her lock box or he wouldn't have found this address so quickly. Here he was, naked, his arms and legs locked to a big, iron bed. "Shit." "He should be back soon," a voice said. Mark turned his head to see Sibyl tied to a rocking chair in the corner. Simon had stripped her down, too, tying her arms to the armrests and her legs spread-eagled to the base of the rocker. Mark closed his eyes but could still see her naked body behind the lids. His cock rose. Just what he needed—the kind of distraction he couldn't ignore. Everything had gone south the moment Simon had recognized Mark's fear for her. Two hours ago, he hadn't even known she existed. What was it about her that had every protective instinct inside him roaring, that made the blood in his veins pound with desire? It was almost as if his body recognized its mate. But that was impossible. He took a deep breath and tried to think about his situation rather than the naked woman in the corner. He failed. Her breasts were perfect, his mind whispered. Mark wanted to wrap her in the quilt, hide her naked body from anyone's gaze but his. "What are we going to do?" Sibyl asked. "We're going to get free." Mark stared at the ceiling, avoiding the temptation of her nakedness. He would change into his wolf form and break through the cuffs. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but when he began the change process, his heart labored too hard for the quick blood flow which transformation required. It seemed that the drugs in his system would keep him in human form for another few hours. Damn. "I've almost gotten one of my hands out," Sibyl said. "Who is this guy? He was at my house earlier, asking for directions." "He'll kill us if we don't get free." Mark told her the truth. She seemed to be dealing well with the situation, better than most men would. No crying, no screaming, no wailing, just the determined set of her jaw as she worked at the ropes. "Why are you here?" she asked him. "I've been looking for him." "Are you a policeman?" "Something like that." His erection had subsided. He thanked God for small favors. Where was Simon, and what was he doing? As if he could read Mark's mind, Simon spoke from the doorway. "Ah, good, you're awake." "You'll die for this, Simon." Mark kept his voice light. People feared you more if you were completely in control.
"Not right now, I won't." Simon entered the room, walked over to the bed, then leaned down. His good-looking face was twisted in madness, teeth bared, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. "I like you Mark. I've always liked you." Simon smiled, a curl of his lips, and considered Mark's naked body. "And I want to share my treat before I kill you." He laughed. "I promise you'll go out satisfied." "Let the girl go. I won't kill you if you let her walk out of here." "You think I believe that? The only way I'll keep breathing is if I kill you." Simon shook his finger at Mark. "You're a very dangerous man." He leaned down and sniffed Mark's neck. "You can't change," he whispered, his breath hot on Mark's skin. Mark snapped his head away. "You've gone insane." Simon laughed. "Yes." The rogue wolf turned his head toward Sibyl. "You like the view, don't you Mark?" "Fuck you, Simon." "No, but Little Red will." He cocked back his head and let out a howl that reverberated off the walls of the small room, causing the hair on Mark's arms to rise. Taking out a knife, Simon walked over to Sibyl. Mark wrestled with the flex cuffs, but he couldn't slip his hands out. They were on too tight. And as strong as he was, the iron bed was too heavy and well-made for him to break free. Jesus, he couldn't watch as Simon cut Sibyl like he had the others. He and the rest of the members from the pack had cleaned the remains of Simon's last two victims. His stomach clinched at the memory. Simon ran the flat of the knife down Sibyl's cheek in a sick caress, standing so Mark had a good view. "You want to live, Little Red?" Sibyl shook with fear, but her eyes flashed with defiance. The woman was a fighter. "Yes." "Then here's what you're going to do." He stroked the knife across her face again. "I'm going to let you free and then you're going to ride Mark's cock while I watch. Got it?" Mark roared, pulling at his bonds until the plastic cut into his wrists. "You sick son of a bitch. I'm going to flay you alive." Simon's feral white teeth gleamed. "Got it?" he asked Sibyl again. "Yes." She spat the word as if she forced herself to say it. "Good." Simon cut her free with four quick slashes of the knife. He was very good with a blade, Mark's mind recorded while his body screamed at him to fight. Mark wrenched at the cuffs with renewed fervor, but they didn't give. He only succeeded in shredding the skin around his wrists. "Up you go," Simon said, yanking Sibyl to her feet. Tucking the knife into a sheath behind his back, he pulled out a gun and stepped away. "I promise you, if you make any wrong moves, I'll shoot you someplace where you won't die. Then I'll punish you." Sibyl shivered, then met Mark's gaze. Her gray eyes were filled with fear and anger. Yet, she didn't falter as she stepped towards the bed.
Mark's shaft rose to meet her. He tried to stuff down the desire caused by her mere presence, but couldn't seem to control it. He was disgusted with himself and tried to signal his apology with his eyes. "Kiss him," Simon ordered. Sibyl kissed his cheek. Under the cover of her flaming hair, he whispered, "I'm so sorry." "On the lips, Little Red," Simon yelled. Sibyl moved her lips to his and brushed them lightly across his mouth. Mark's groin tightened. A flash of pure chemical desire passed between them. She pulled back with a gasp. Her eyes, pupils dilated, searched his, and he knew she felt it, too. "Make the best out of a bad situation," he whispered. "Stop talking." Simon stood at the foot of the bed, leering at them. "My name is Sibyl Hood." A red, smudged handprint ran across her face. Simon would pay for hitting her. "I know. I'm Mark Hunter." "The next person who talks gets to feel my knife." Mark opened his mouth to goad Simon further but Sibyl placed her hand over his lips. "Climb on the bed with him," Simon ordered. Sibyl obeyed, sitting beside him on her knees. She didn't try to cover her body. Instead, she studied the plastic tying him to the bed. Her gaze flicked down to his. Mark shook his head. In his weakened state, the flex cuffs were almost impossible to get off without cutting them. "Kiss him. Open-mouthed this time." As Sibyl pressed her lips to his, Mark fought it for a moment before he gave in and opened his mouth. Their tongues met and he deepened the kiss. Her hair dropped down around them like a silky red curtain. He pulled back and whispered into her mouth, "Go as slow as you can without pissing him off." "Run your hands along his body," Simon ordered, his breathing loud and erratic. Christ, Simon was one sick fuck. Sibyl stroked a gentle hand down his chest, her gaze locked to his. He sensed her struggle to control her fear of the man at the end of the bed. Her gaze started to shift, but he captured it again, willing her to understand him. Look at me, he tried to tell her with his eyes. Only at me. Don't think about the psycho watching us. As he took stock of his body, he tried to ignore her hands. The drugs still ran thick in his system, slowing the circulating blood so that his heart couldn't pump it fast enough to change. Still, the drugs seemed to be wearing off quicker than he had at first thought. Maybe, if he were lucky, he could transform in another hour. Possibly less. "Hold his cock in your hand." Sibyl hesitated and Simon's knife flashed so quickly, it was only a silver blur in Mark's peripheral vision. A long slash of red appeared on her arm. It was a shallow cut, but one that had to be painful. She gasped and grabbed her shoulder. Mark ground his teeth together and fought to calm himself. He promised himself he would have a chance to pay Simon back. "Do as I say right when I say it, bitch."
Sibyl didn't look at Simon, grabbing Mark's erection a little too tight. He winced. Her eyes widened and misted with an apology. He gave a small shake his head. It didn't matter, nothing mattered as long as it bought them some time. Once he got into wolf form, Simon was toast. Mark had seen him fight and knew who would win. Blood trickled from the cut on Sibyl's arm. He closed his eyes, fighting the scent, fighting the wolf stirring sluggishly under his skin. He wasn't able to change, but that didn't stop the wild feelings boiling inside him. His instinct urged him to rip and tear at the flesh, to lap up the blood. "Smell it, Mark? Your blood lust should be strong, even with the drugs. Lean down, Red. Let him lick the blood." Immediately, she obeyed. In her position, Mark would have, too, if he thought the alternative was getting slowly sliced apart. "No!" he roared, turning his face away from her arm. "You want it so bad, I can smell it from here." Simon laughed. "You can't help yourself. The blood calls to you." "No!" "Yes! Oh yes, you do." Simon's hand flashed out and smacked Sibyl on the rear-end. "Rub your blood on his lips, or I'll make you very sorry." "Don't," Mark said, unable to stop himself from lifting his head towards her arm. What was wrong with him? He usually had more control than this. Why was he struggling so much? Sibyl leaned closer, her breasts whispering across his chest. Desire shot through him, replacing the ache for blood. Then he knew. He could control the blood lust by concentrating on her body, instead. As she smeared her arm across his lips, he ignored the blood, focusing on the vague aroma of arousal clinging to her. "Very nice, Mark. I'm impressed. I thought for sure you'd take a little bite out of her. All that yummy blood and flesh." Sibyl drew away, a look of horror widening her eyes and tightening her mouth. Simon let out another hair-raising howl to celebrate his glee. **** Sibyl glanced quickly at the Big Bad Wolf and then turned her attention back to Mark. His rugged features reflected his anger, all harsh lines and tight planes. Somehow she knew his anger wasn't for her. He still seemed dangerous, even tied up and helpless. She felt safe just being close to him. Shoring up her lagging courage, Sibyl concentrated on the man below her. She would do anything to come out of this alive—even fuck a stranger. She'd rather be alive and traumatized than dead and pure. Plus, as odd as the thought was, the man below her was just as much a victim as she. He hadn't asked for this. His rage was evident. His body shook with violence and promise swirled in his eyes every time he glanced at Simon. The fact that she participated in his humiliation caused Sibyl to ache with regret. The Big Bad Wolf was obviously crazy, hinting that they were werewolves. Mark hadn't looked like he wanted to eat her. At that moment, his tongue darted out to lick her blood off his lips.
"You want to bite me?" She wanted his reassurance that what Simon said couldn't possibly be true. All she got from him was silence. Simon chuckled. She refused to turn around to look at him. "Of course he does. His wolf side is screaming for your blood right now." "Shut up Simon," Mark gritted out from between clinched teeth. His gaze held hers. His brown eyes looked black with desire—but for what? Sibyl's stomach tightened in response. Under other circumstances, she would want this man. Want him badly. Confusion overwhelmed her mind, too many conflicting feelings swamping her at once. "Oh, don't worry, Mark. She won't be alive long enough to tattle on us." "What is he talking about?" she asked Mark. He didn't answer, the regret in his eyes confusing her further. "We're werewolves, Little Red." Simon underlined his response by letting out a long howl. Sibyl pressed against Mark's chest to get away from the madman. Simon was freaking insane. For the first time she realized that they were really going to die. He'd slice her to bits, then do the same with Mark. Oh my God. She dug her nails into Mark's arm, desperately trying to quell her fear. "You need to get me free," Mark whispered. She forced herself to take two big breaths. She had to stay strong, keep calm, or she'd never make it out of this alive. "You think I believe you're a werewolf? I know you're only trying to scare me." She raised a defiant gaze to Simon, but the effect was spoiled by the way she clung to Mark. She couldn't seem to make her body give up his comforting warmth. "Oh, believe what you want. It won't matter in the end." Simon's face had a knowing half-smile on it. "Back to work, Little Red. I want you to lick down Mark's body. It looks like his cock's bored with all this talking." Mark's erection had definitely deflated. Sibyl bent her lips to his chest. One lick and she watched in mild surprise as his shaft immediately began to rise. "Damn," she heard Mark groan. His reaction pleased the woman in her, even as she was horrified at her body for responding. Mark had said earlier to make the best of a bad situation. Her mind whirled as she licked his chest. How could she get him free without a knife? That looked to be impossible, but she had to do something soon or she was screwed. Big time. The Big Bad Wolf's elevator didn't just miss a few floors, it went diagonally. She started to lick down his body but detoured for a moment to flick his nipple with the tip of her tongue. He sucked his breath in and moaned, a low, sexy sound. An answering wetness blossomed between her own legs. This is sick. I can't be turned on by this. What's wrong with me? "Enough of that! Lick his cock and balls." Mark's shaft was large and fully erect now. She lightly ran her tongue across the tip and turned her head slightly so she could see Mark's face. "I'm sorry," he mouthed to her.
She nodded back. But the fact was, she would rather have Mark's shaft in her mouth then get anywhere near the sick fuck at the end of the bed. Sibyl wasn't a prude, but this was only the third time she'd given a man head. It was an intimate act. In her mind, it was something people did to show their love by giving pleasure to the other person. This wasn't love, but it didn't feel completely wrong either. Simon would be angry if he knew she wasn't entirely repulsed. Mark's heated gaze never left hers as she slipped his cock head in and out of her mouth. "Don't forget his balls," Simon growled. Sibyl lowered her head between Mark's thighs and licked his testicles. Mark closed his eyes but then he seemed to struggle to open them again. Using one hand, she balanced herself between his legs as she ran her tongue back up his shaft. The salt from his body combined with his pure male scent, filling her. She knew that if she survived the night, she'd smell and taste him in her dreams forever. "You two are really enjoying this, aren't you?" Simon asked. "A little too much, I think." He grabbed her hair. Anger flowed through her like snake venom, increasing with each painful twist he gave her hair. She wanted to push Simon, make him so mad, he'd lean just a little bit closer so she could try for the gun he'd carelessly tucked into his pants. Mark caught her gaze and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes, debating if she should follow his advice. Someone had to make a move. She could feel their time running out with each second that passed. "I want you to fuck him, Red, and then you can fuck me and tell me how we compare." Simon released his grip on her hair and shoved her hard, throwing her across Mark's body. "We need to buy time. Another twenty minutes and I can turn," Mark whispered into her ear. "I don't want to do this," she whispered back, looking into his eyes. "I don't want you dead." Sibyl lowered her gaze for a second, steeling herself for what she had to do. He was huge, but she was wet enough to take him without too much pain. Turning her head toward Simon, she looked at a point over his shoulder. "I'm not sleeping with him without a condom." "Don't worry," Simon replied. "You won't live long enough to get pregnant. If it makes you feel better, werewolves don't get diseases." Her gaze darted back to Mark. His eyes begged her to buy them time. It hit her that he might have friends coming to back him up. Maybe that's why he wanted her to go as slowly as possible? Holding onto that thought like a comforting lifeline, she rose up on her knees and straddled his upper thighs. Tomorrow, if she lived, she would deal with the consequences. Tonight, she needed to find a way to make it to tomorrow. When her body touched his, Mark's brown gaze caught hers. A weird flash of something, something sexual, passed between them. It was as if a small gust of heat warmed her chilled body, followed by a wave of desire that pooled between her legs. "Do that again, you asshole, and I'll slice you to ribbons," Simon growled. "On second thought, I'll slice her and you can watch."
"Do what?" she asked. Surely Simon hadn't felt their shared desire? "Ride him, God dammit!" Sibyl guided Mark's shaft between her legs. She concentrated on the man under her, trying to forget the man watching them. Sliding the crown back and forth to lubricate it, she closed her eyes for a second, then bore down. It was a tight fit, but his head entered her without any pain, only a slight pressure. Pleasure flooded her body. As her surprised gaze met his, he jerked his chin, signaling her to come closer. Sibyl bent over and rested on his wide chest, feeling the light sprinkling of his hair dance across her breasts. Mark pressed a kiss to her lips, then whispered, "Slow as you can. Even if you feel me come, keep going." She nodded once and then took his shaft even deeper into her body. Pleasure and a feeling of rightness filled her body, making her gasp. Slowly, she rose. She'd never had sex without a condom, and the feeling of skin on skin was more erotic than anything she'd ever felt before. Down again. Her body wept for release, as her juices flowed, coating his shaft. The urge to speed up filled her. She struggled, fighting the desire to race to completion. "Slow," he said to her, the word escaping from between clenched teeth. Inch by inch, she moved the length of him. Up, then down. Something built inside her, something more than just mere pleasure. Confused, she looked down at Mark. He gazed back at her with desire and satisfaction mixed with apology. "Enough of this!" Simon growled. "Go faster!" Sibyl sped up, her body rejoicing at the added friction. "Oh God," she whispered. She was going to come. Right here, right now, with a psycho watching the whole thing. Her body teetered on the brink for one thrust, then two, but she couldn't stop the rushing release. As her orgasm ran through her, she looked down at Mark in surprise and watched his own orgasm shake through him, her name escaping from his lips, his arms fighting the flex cuffs as he tried to reach for her. "Oh my God," she said, dropping her head onto his chest. **** Mark tried to slow his breathing. Sibyl, draped boneless across his chest, still gasped for air. He couldn't believe how good—how right—she felt lying on him, holding him in her body. So damn good that he'd totally forgotten all about Simon standing at the end of the bed. A tremor made her tighten convulsively around his cock, which was still buried inside her. Mark stifled a groan. "Is she as good as I think she'll be?" Simon asked, breaking into the insulated world Mark had built for them.
Sibyl hugged her body tight to his, as if she could crawl inside him, away from the danger. "I can't believe you still want her after I've had her first," Mark said calmly, while his mind raced. Could he turn now? Maybe. His arms ached to cradle and protect the woman still holding him in her body. "Oh, I don't mind sharing." Simon ran a hand along Sibyl's back. Mark felt her cringe away from the touch. Simon laughed. "I think she likes you more than me, Mark." He gave a mock sigh. "And after I've been so nice to her, too." Mark had to do something. Now. But when he turned, there would be that split second when he was helpless. And he didn't want to change with Sibyl laid on top of him. He had never been close to anyone when he transformed before. "Don't do this, Simon." "You're starting to bore me, Mark." Simon pushed Sibyl off Mark's body. She fell on the bed, next to him. When she looked at Simon, anger glowed in the depths of her grey eyes. "I want you two to sixty-nine." Simon grinned at Mark. "Think of it as a parting gift." Sibyl stared at Simon with mutiny burning in her eyes. "Get up on him and put your pussy on his face." "Go fuck yourself," she said, her voice shaking. Shit, Mark thought, she's hit the wall. She wouldn't dance to Simon's tune anymore. "I plan on putting my dick straight up your ass while I cut your tits off," Simon said, his voice calm, almost pleasant. "Do you want me to skip Mark's goodbye present and go straight to it?" Mark pleaded for her to obey with his eyes. Her courage scared the crap out of him. His opening would come soon, if they could just hold Simon off long enough. Abruptly, Sibyl nodded once, then leaned down to take his flaccid cock into her mouth. "I want you straddling his head," Simon screamed. He lunged at her with the knife. Sibyl quickly put her knees on either side of Mark's head, then took his cock into her mouth once more. She shivered as he ran his tongue over her clitoris. At least he could give her physical pleasure. He gently probed her clit, taking a small joy from her responding wetness. Simon walked over and flex cuffed Sibyl's ankles to the iron bed. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back," he said, patting her ass. The minute he left the room, Sibyl stopped and crouched back against the headboard. The angle was odd and had to be uncomfortable, but she managed to lever herself away from Mark's face. She fought for balance, and only managed to keep upright by holding on sideways to the headboard. Mark forced himself to concentrate on seizing the opportunity Simon had just given them, rather then mourning the loss of her body against his. "Listen," Mark said, "I'm going to change into my wolf form." They could hear Simon rummaging through drawers in the kitchen. "This is so surreal," Sibyl said, her voice husky from unshed tears and tension. She covered her face with one hand as if she could keep the tears inside.
"Don't lose it on me now, Sibyl. I've never changed with someone so close to me before. It's going to be freaky." She dropped her hand and looked at him. "Do whatever the fuck you need to do to get us the hell out of here." He looked deeply into her gray eyes. "Okay. I'll be helpless and disoriented for a few moments, but I'll be free." Mark held her gaze for a few more seconds. He was sure this would be the end of the strange closeness he felt between them. After she watched him change, she wouldn't want him anymore. His worst secret would be revealed. As his body started to turn, he realized he didn't want this to be the only time he ever had her. **** "I hope you don't mind if I have a bite of this cake, Red," Simon called from the kitchen. Sibyl didn't answer. She watched in fascinated horror as a white smoke began to swirl around Mark's body and up between her legs. His gaze still held hers, his face pained. Hair ran from his chest outward, like waves radiating out over his body. "God," she whispered. Hair and muscles flowed up his arms, tearing lose the flex cuffs. She glanced at his legs and saw a repeat performance. Then Mark curled into a ball and fluid exploded from his body, coating her. She covered her eyes with her arm and forced the scream back down her throat. When she opened her eyes, a wolf lay panting beside her. Its long tongue lolled out in exhaustion. Sibyl stared at it, her brain unable to grasp that this wolf was Mark. "You make one hell of a cake, Red," Simon said, walking into the room, eating from a large hole in the center of her perfect creation. Simon's eyes opened wide. For a millisecond, no one moved. Then the cake dropped from Simon's hands with a crash, the plate smashing into pieces. Mark launched across the room, his leaping arc a thing of grace and beauty. As Simon struggled to get out his gun, the wolf came down on his chest, pushing him back into the hallway. A snarl reverberated through the house, combining and twisting with a human scream. Sibyl cowered awkwardly back against the headboard, unable to free herself from the flex cuffs still anchoring her to the bed. A growl. A thump. A gasp of air. What was going on in the hall? Did she really want to know? Please God, let Mark win. But as she thought that, doubts began to form. Even if Mark won, would she be allowed to leave? Didn't Simon tell Mark he would kill her so their secret wouldn't get out? Finally, everything went quiet. Sibyl gathered the quilt bedspread about her shoulders. If she were going to die, at least she wouldn't die totally naked.
**** Mark lay on his side, his whole body feeling as if it had been beaten to a pulp. Two changes in twenty minutes would have been impossible for most werewolves, but he was the pack's enforcer for that very reason. He had the unique ability to switch faster than any other werewolf he'd ever met. But even with his special gift, the change was hard on him. And to do it twice in the space of only a few minutes had been foolish. But Sibyl was still locked to the bed in the other room. Mark tried to roll over, his naked skin sticking to the fluids his body shed on the floor when he changed. God, he was so thirsty. He knew that if he got onto a scale right now, he would be ten or twelve pounds lighter than he had been earlier tonight. Finally, he managed to get himself onto his hands and knees, moaning in frustration when his arms refused to hold him. He fell onto his face. For a few heartbeats, he rested his forehead on the floor. Goosebumps rose along his arms as the air conditioning cooled his still wet skin. Then everything went black around him. Stars cleared his eyes when Mark came to. He didn't think he'd been unconscious long, maybe only a few minutes. Sibyl must be frantic with worry now. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he leaned against the wall. After a few deep breaths, he levered himself up the wall until he stood. Using it for support, he inched along until he leaned on the doorway. Sibyl huddled against the headboard under a quilt, her eyes wide in her stricken face. "Hi." His voice broke on the word. He wasn't sure he could move yet to comfort her but he couldn't stand to see the fear in her eyes. She studied him, her gaze traveling over his body. When she returned to his face, some of the fear was gone. "Hi." Her tone was guarded and uncertain. "You're the most courageous woman I've ever met," he said, the words slipping out before he could hold them back. "I should have looked out the peephole when he rang the bell." She said it like a confession. Mark's lips tipped into a half smile. "I should have shot him with the rifle I have in my trunk, instead of coming in here, unarmed, to negotiate." "You have a rifle in your trunk?" That fact seemed to disturb her. "I like to hunt." He saw her think about that in the context of his wolf-self. "Are you going to kill me?" He raised his eyebrows and swayed against the door jam. "No." She looked relieved. "But I'll need your oath that what happened here will stay a secret." She nodded slowly. "You have it." "Good." He paused. He didn't want to threaten her, but it had to be said. "There are others who will hunt you if you tell." She closed her eyes, then opened them. "But not you?" "No, not me." She nodded again. "Can you release me?"
"I'll need to find a knife." "Okay." "I'll be right back." "Promise?" "Whatever it takes, I'll come back to you." Keeping one hand on the wall for balance, Mark worked his way down the wall, skirting Simon's dead body, heading to the kitchen. He knew Simon still had a knife on him, but he didn't want to fish around for it in the dead man's pockets. An evil smell still rolled off of Simon's body. After finding one in the drawer beside the refrigerator, he walked back to the room without needing to balance himself, though his limbs felt like they had lead weights attached to them. Tripping a bit on his own feet, he reeled, catching himself with his hands on the end of the iron bed. Sibyl jumped back. "Sorry. I'm not functioning well." She scanned his body, stopping for a second on his still naked cock before heading up to his chest. "Did he hurt you?" He shook his head. "No. It's the change. I didn't want to leave you tied up here, so I changed back before I should have." Mark inched along the bed until he reached her. "Can you cut yourself free? I'm not sure I trust my hands to do it." At her nod, he handed over the knife, and she cut herself loose. "Sibyl?" She glanced up at him, the knife still at her ankle. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Mark felt himself sinking like the Wicked Witch of the West after Dorothy threw water on her. "Are you okay?" She scrambled to the side of the bed just as he tried to stop his downward slide. "I need to sleep." He came down hard on his ass, then leaned against the nightstand. "You," he paused to get his breath, "you need to call the number in my wallet." She crouched beside him, worry etching her face. He fell over onto his side. "I'll be okay in a couple hours." He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open. He'd never had this happen before, but then again he'd never changed twice in twenty minutes either. "Promise." She stroked his cheek and he imagined it was a caress. "I promise," he heard her say from far away. **** Despite the steady rise and fall of Mark's chest, Sibyl debated if she should leave him. He looked as if he were sleep. She felt his head and took his pulse. They seemed okay, but what did she know? She hadn't taken first aid since she was a camp counselor over ten years ago. She straightened his body out so he would be more comfortable. He would have to remain on the floor. There was no way she could move him. He had to be over two hundred pounds of pure muscle. She gave his body an assessing once over. Yes, pure
muscle. She placed a pillow under his head, then she unwrapped herself from the quilt and tucked it around him. Now what? Call the number in his wallet. Sibyl didn't want to. It would bring more werewolves here and that was the last thing she needed. But she'd given her word. Fuck your word. Get the hell out of here. And leave Mark? And a dead body in her grandmother's hallway? Call the cops then. No. Mark would be arrested or killed. His secret would come out. He'd saved her and she owed him for that, at least. Then wait for him to wake up. "But what if my parents come here?" she asked out loud. "Shit." That motivated her. She scrambled up, hopped over the smashed cake, and ran into the hallway, letting out a scream as she almost tripped over Simon's twisted body. Blood and torn flesh pooled in the area that should have been his chest. With a flying leap, she jumped it, careful not to look too closely, though a dark part of her wanted to peek, just like a rubbernecker at a ten-car pileup. Mark's clothes were in a heap in the living room where Simon had cut them off. He wouldn't be able to wear them again. She felt through his pants and finally found his wallet. Opening it, she paused to look at his license. Mark Hunter. Born 1973, same year she was. He wasn't an organ donor. She thought she knew why. Pulling out a couple of twenties and two ones, she threw them onto the end table while she rummaged for a number. He had a MasterCard and an American Express. She flipped them onto the money. No pictures at all. Nothing. Except, yes, there it was, a folded sheet of paper with only a local phone number written on it. She picked up the phone, suddenly conscious of calling someone while she was naked. For some reason, it freaked her out, although it shouldn't after all that had happened to her tonight. She grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her, then dialed the number. "Yes," a woman said. Anger poured through her. How dare he have her call another woman for him! That bastard! Then sanity kicked in. He was probably married. Happily. The thought made her want to throw up all over his 2.5 kids. "Is someone there?" Anger now laced the unknown woman's voice. Well, it wasn't like he'd wanted to have sex with her. Simon had made them. Still, on one level, he'd liked it. Bastard. And so had she. Idiot. "I'm here. Mark asked me to call you." Her voice sounded flat, even to her. "Hold on," the woman said. The line clicked and whirred, as if it was transferred several times. "Yes?" A man's voice now. For some reason, it comforted her. She didn't want to talk to Mark's wife. Ever. "Mark asked me to call you."
"Who is this?" The man's voice held power in it. And a touch of arrogance she usually heard in men who owned their own businesses in corporate America. "Does it matter?" Sibyl clicked into her CEO mode. She might own a company with only forty employees, but she could do power, too. Better than him, most likely, since she was a woman and had had to earn it. He paused. "Where is he?" "He's passed out on the floor. But he's still alive, unlike the other guy." That got another pause, then, "Where are you?" "24 Hanover Avenue." "Someone will be there in ten minutes." The line went dead. Sibyl rolled her eyes. Men could be so Terminatoresque. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed her bag. She needed a shower, bad. It meant she had to pass Simon. She jumped his body again and took a quick look at Mark on the floor. He was still breathing. She used her grandmother's bathroom, choosing not to go back into the hall to the guestroom since she would see Simon on the way. Turning the water on as hot as it would go, she unpacked jeans, t-shirt, and underwear, then brushed her teeth. Grabbing her shampoo and conditioner, she made quick work of the shower and toweled off in a hurry. She didn't want anyone else to see her naked today. She pulled on her clothes with her body still damp, hopping to get the jeans up her wet thighs. Her make-up had worn off and her face looked like death. She ignored it and pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail. Then she put on socks and her tennis shoes. Leaving the bathroom, she checked her watch. Eight minutes. It had to be a record for her. Of course she looked like hell, but it didn't matter right now. Mark still slept. Her arm throbbed, reminding her that she needed to treat it. She gathered her nerve, hopped Simon again, and jogged to the kitchen. There, she took down Gran's ancient first aid kit. A car pulled into the drive, and the doors opened and shut as she poured peroxide onto the slash on her arm. Amazingly, it bubbled, running down in a stinging river past the bruises on her wrist to splash into the sink. Impressed, she turned the bottle in her hand, looking for an expiration date. Knowing her grandmother, she probably purchased this back when her grandfather was alive. Feeling curiously detached, she turned the bottle to look at the bottom, sloshing liquid onto the counter. I'm in shock. The doorbell rang. Sibyl pushed down a laugh. Polite werewolves. She grabbed a paper towel, blotting at her arm as she opened the door. Two scary-looking men stood on the porch. The one on her right was well over six feet, his shaved head showing off bushy eyebrows and suspicion-filled eyes. The other was shorter, but by the look of his bulging muscles, he spent most of his time at the gym. They both wore leather jackets and jeans. "Is he here?" the taller one spoke. "Mark?" she asked, raising her gaze from the cut on her arm long enough to give them another once over. "Yes."
"Follow me." She led them down the hallway. "Excuse the mess," she said, fighting the urge to giggle hysterically as she hopped over Simon. Definitely in shock. In Gran's bedroom, she knelt beside Mark's sleeping body. Touching his face, she whispered, "Hey, you awake?" His eyes fluttered, and the vise around her heart eased. She'd been more afraid for him than she thought. Mark's eyes darted behind her, while one of his hands worked its way from beneath the quilt to hold hers to his cheek. "Dixon," he said, his voice gravel, his head nodding slightly. "You kill Simon?" the bald man called Dixon asked. Mark nodded. "What's wrong with you?" "I changed too quickly." Dixon's eyes flitted to her, then back to Mark. "Why?" "I needed to." Mark's voice held authority even though he was still weak. "Will they take the Big Bad Wolf or do we call the cops?" Sibyl asked. "They'll take him." Mark's eyes didn't leave Dixon's, nor did he release her hand. Dixon nodded, and the two men turned to leave. Mark's hand tightened when she tried to rise to follow them. "Stay with me. Let them do their job." Dixon spoke into his cell phone, his words too soft for her to hear. The two men moved back and forth in the hallway. Mark looked at her for a long time without speaking. "I need you to stay with me for another couple hours. I'm too weak to move yet." "Why don't you sleep more?" Sibyl's gaze danced between him and the doorway. What were they doing out there? The doorbell rang again, and Mark squeezed her hand when she would have stood to answer it. Pulling himself into a sitting position against the wall, Mark tugged at her until she sat closer to him. He wrapped the quilt around them both. His naked body ran the length of hers. It warmed her and brought her a strange kind of peace. When he tucked his knees up against his chest, she dropped her head onto them. He freed her ponytail and stroked through her hair, the simple action soothing away some of the evening's trauma. "I know this has been hell, and I'm sorry." She turned her face to look up at him. "But I'm not sorry for everything," he added. "What aren't you sorry for?" He tugged gently at her hair, soothing a headache she didn't even know she had. Tension drained out of her. "I'm not sorry for sleeping with you, Sibyl." Was she sorry? Sibyl searched her mind for the answer. What Simon did to them was sick and wrong. But touching Mark hadn't felt that way, no matter what the circumstances.
"I don't know how I feel about it," she told him honestly. "It's almost like I should feel sorry about it but I don't and that's what makes me sorry." She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his fingers massaging her scalp. For a time, they sat like that, the sounds of men in the hall drifting in through the open door. "When I called the number you gave me, a woman answered." Sibyl kept her eyes shut. He understood her unasked question. "I don't know who it was. I don't have anyone in my life right now." She didn't like the relief that welled up inside her at his answer. She let out a breath. His hand stopped moving in her hair. "What about you?" he asked, the tone of his voice neutral. "I haven't had a date in six months. That's why I didn't understand why I felt so weird when I met Simon. I mean, here's this great looking guy and all I wanted to do was run for my life." "At least your instincts are good." "Why was Simon surprised when you..." she paused, then made herself say the word, "...changed?" She'd seen him as a wolf. There wasn't any room for doubt. His fingers made small circles through her hair again. "He thought the drugs would keep me from turning for longer than they did." "But wouldn't he know when they would wear off?" "He must have thought he had more time." Mark paused and then added, "I can change without the..." he seemed to search for the right word, "impact others feel. It may have made me able to transform without waiting as long as others would have." "How do you feel about being a..." Sibyl struggled to say the word. "Werewolf?" His lips formed a grim smile but she wasn't sure who he mocked. "I hate it. But there's not a lot I can do about it. I learned a long time ago to accept who I am before it ate me alive." His brown-eyed gaze held hers. "Mark," Dixon said from the door. For a heartbeat, Mark continued to hold eye contact with her, then he turned to the man in the doorway. "Yes?" "We're done out here." "Fine. Go." Dixon nodded. His eyes flicked to Sibyl, then back to Mark. "She's not an issue." Mark's tone didn't leave room for debate. The other man turned and disappeared without another word. "What were they doing?" "Cleaning away all signs of Simon's presence." "That's handy." She didn't know how to feel about that, what she should do. After all, a man died here. Yet, going to the cops would have placed Mark in danger. She owed him. She couldn't, wouldn't, risk his freedom or his life. "We take care of our own, Sibyl. We have to." Sibyl forced herself to ask the only question she had left. "Do you want to leave with them?" "No. I'm staying with you tonight."
She let her surprise show on her face. He looked away and half shrugged. "I feel the need to keep an eye on you." The silence built between them until he broke it by adding, "I need to make sure you're safe." "I don't want to stay here." "We should go to my place." "I don't think so." No way was she going to a strange man's house. Even if she had slept with him and he had saved her life. "Your locks couldn't stop a child from breaking in." She stared at him. "How would you know?" "Because I broke in tonight." He didn't seem bothered by the revelation. "Why?" "I didn't know where you'd gone, only that Simon followed you." Sibyl shook her head. Did it matter at this point? **** They weren't even dating, but they had their first fight. About getting his spare clothes out of his car. She'd been patient. God knows she had. But he'd still forced her to get irritated. Finally, she'd ended it by saying there was no way he was running around her grandmother's neighborhood in his birthday suit. She would get his clothes, or he could call someone to bring them to him. He'd given in, but not very graciously. They'd driven back to her house in her car when she'd seen how shaky his hands were. That had caused a mild back and forth before he'd relented. She had a feeling he didn't like being helpless like this. Tough, she thought, as she pulled into her drive. She wasn't in the mood to do anything but what she wanted. She'd always thought compromise was vastly overrated anyway. They walked into her house in silence. She locked the door and turned to him. "Do you want to take a shower?" "Yes." He stepped close to her and ran a finger down her cheek. The gentle action caused tears to well up in her eyes. She stepped back before they could fall, blinking furiously. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his face full of concern. "Fine." She shook her head and started up the stairs to show him the shower. "It's just..." "What?" His voice was low and soothing, his steps heavy behind her. This would be the first time a man had ever been on her second floor. She turned toward him at the top of the stairs. "I'm just pissed because of the cake." His mouth dropped open in surprise. "The cake?" he asked carefully. She sighed and stomped to the hall closet, pulling out a clean towel. She held it to his chest. He took it, pressing the fabric to his stomach. "What about the cake?" "I put a lot of time into it, and the only person who got to eat it was a deranged psycho werewolf named Simon." She brushed past him into the bathroom and turned on
the shower to heat. "It just pisses me off." She put her hands on her hips, while he lounged in the doorway. "The whole thing irritates me." "I can see where the loss of your cake would be upsetting." His voice was too even. She peered closely at him, looking for signs that he was laughing at her. "That's the first thing I've made in my oven. It was my grandmother's favorite." "Uh huh," he said, nodding gravely. "It was Red Silk Chocolate. The recipe has been in my family for generations." Mark cleared his throat. "What happened to your grandmother?" Sibyl sighed. "She skipped out before they could put her in jail." She moved past him. "Your water's ready." She could feel Mark standing there, his eyes following her as she walked away. She didn't look back. She needed to be alone for a few minutes. **** Mark took a shower as fast as he could. Something was wrong with Sibyl. He could feel it. He had known her for only a few hours, but he knew something was off. She'd been like a rock all night but all of a sudden, it seemed as if her strength had drained away. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped the towel around his hips. In the hall, he cocked his head, listening. Soft crying spilled from beneath a door down the hall. He ran to the room and entered without knocking. It was rude, but he wasn't in the mood to be polite. Sibyl sat huddled on the floor beside her dresser, weeping quietly. He sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, not caring about the water still clinging to his body or his nakedness under the towel. She curled into him as he pulled her closer. "Baby," he whispered. "I'm here. Everything's okay." He tightened his arms around her. After several long minutes, she hiccupped and seemed to get hold of herself. "That stupid cake." She rubbed her face with her hands. "My grandmother didn't even get to see it." "I thought your grandmother skipped town?" She sniffled. "Yeah, well, my mother blamed me for that, too." "Was it your fault?" Mark had never had someone in his life, so he wasn't quite sure how to handle a sobbing woman who was worried over what seemed to be an inconsequential thing. He'd spent most of his life coming to grips with the fact that he was a werewolf. So, dating and girlfriends were something he just wasn't sure about, but he was willing to learn. Would Sibyl even want him in her life? A quick fuck, yes, but as a mate? "No. It was Henry's." Mark blinked, trying to follow her thoughts. "Who's Henry?" "This guy my grandmother ran off with tonight." Sibyl buried her head against his chest. "She slept with someone who wears his pants all the way up under his armpits." Mark could barely make out the muffled words. He choked back a laugh when their meaning became clear. "That must have been a shock." He studied his big, scarred hand
resting against her back. He was almost twice as big as she was. Something tightened around his heart. She nodded. "And then Simon showed up." God, he felt like an asshole bringing it up, but he sensed they needed to get this out in the open now. He didn't want what happened tonight to rip them apart. He'd decided in the shower that he wasn't walking away from her unless she made him. "Why did he pick me?" "Bad luck?" He didn't know why Simon picked his victims. It didn't really matter anymore. Simon wouldn't kill anyone else. "I should have looked through the peephole." "He would have gotten in one way or another." He brushed a kiss into her hair. "He wasn't sane." "What happened to him?" Mark paused on his way to kiss her forehead. He pulled back and sighed. He should tell her. It would wear on him if he didn't. "He had some sort of breakdown three years ago." Mark tightened his arms around her body. If she ran because of this, at least she'd go now, before he did something stupid like get more involved than he already was. But God, he already didn't want to lose her. He cleared his throat. "He was the enforcer then." "Enforcer?" "The person sent by the pack to take down rogue wolves," he said. He tipped her head back so he could watch her face. "Like you?" "Yes. I took his position when he couldn't keep it together enough to be effective." Her eyes narrowed. "Effective. I'm not sure I like that word." "He hasn't been the same since then, but we didn't know how bad off he was until the bodies started appearing." "Bodies," she whispered. "How many?" "Two that we know of." "I would have been number three." "No." He paused. "I would have been." Their gazes locked and held. "But that didn't happen. We worked together to keep ourselves alive and beat the odds." "Is that how you see it?" "Absolutely. We are only alive because we did what we had to do and bought ourselves enough time to beat him." "You beat him." "I couldn't turn any sooner than I did. Without you, he would have killed me before I could." He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. "We were a team today." She looked at him. He could tell she was thinking over his words. He added, "And I want to play this out. I want to see where it takes us." "You want to what? Date?" Her face and voice told him nothing. "You think it's a bad idea?" He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. God, she didn't want him. "I don't know." She met his gaze. "Maybe we should sleep together again." Her gray eyes now twinkled with humor. "Just to make sure we're compatible."
Mark's mind tripped over the words. What was she saying? And then it hit him. He grabbed her face in his hands and smashed his lips to hers before she could take it back. The power of their combined desire hit him like a slap. His tongue brushed against hers. His body went from relaxed to raging for release in one split second. She moaned into his mouth and grabbed his hair to keep his mouth on hers. Pushing her down onto her back, he ripped his mouth away, to say, "I'm on top this time." Beneath him, she gasped for breath. "I want to take you hard and fast, Sibyl. Rip your clothes off and slam into your body until you scream." He held himself above her on his forearms. "I want you to tell me you want it, too." Her hands twisted painfully in his hair as she tugged him down. "Yes," she said as her mouth brushed his. Then she bit his lower lip, causing him to suck in his breath at the erotic pain. She pulled back, her eyes dancing with satisfaction. "Please." He sat up, straddling her legs and ripped her shirt down the front. His towel fell away, leaving him naked above her. He unhooked her bra and trailed his hands like a whisper over her skin. "God, I wanted to touch you earlier tonight. I wanted it so bad, my whole body shook with not being able to feel you." He leaned down, ran his tongue from her stomach up over her right breast and along her neck to her mouth, where he once again crushed her lips with his. Joy raged through his body. The need to possess and cherish roared through his head. Mark let one of his hands roam freely, while the other braced him. He pinched her nipple as he rocked his erection into her jeaned body. She tried to wiggle out from under him. "No," he growled, biting lightly on her nipple. Sibyl's body shook. "Dammit. Dammit. Let me..." She didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she stroked her hand along his erection. He fought the button and zipper of her jeans while he tried to kiss her breast at the same time. Filled with frustration, he sat up and jerked down her jeans, pulling her socks and tennis shoes off with them. Her underwear still clung to her body. He ignored them and covered her body with his. Their lips sealed and they fought to stroke into each other's mouths. He rotated, slipping first one leg and then another between hers. Still kissing her, he rubbed his cock between her legs. Her wetness soaked the cloth remaining between them. He groaned when she wrapped her legs around his hips. I should slow down. I'm going too fast. But his brain misfired and, instead of slowing, his hand reached between them to pull aside her underwear. His cock pushed inside in one smooth thrust, going as deep as it could. Pulling back, he drove again even deeper. The surprise on her face echoed his own. She closed her eyes and arched into him, begging for more. And he was lost. Setting a fast pace, he rode the edge of orgasm for several long, agonizing minutes. Bracing his left arm to take his weight, he reached a hand between them to caress her clitoris. "Come with me," he whispered, raining quick kisses on her lips as his cock slammed deeply into her. "There," he said, hearing his own satisfaction at how right it felt to be inside her.
The first ripple of orgasm shook through her, a mewling sound escaping from her lips. A roar filled his ears as his own release spurted deep inside her. His arms quivered with the strain of not crushing her but he didn't want to move. Not yet. **** Sibyl took Mark's offered hand and let him pull her into a sitting position. Leaning back against her dresser, she fought to catch her breath. Well, they had things squared away in the sex department. But what about the rest? Mark tipped her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I need an answer to my question about us." She had reservations. She'd only known him for a few hours. But those hours had been a time of stress and life and death choices most relationships never experienced. She knew what he was made of—she knew he'd be there when she needed him, that he'd protect her with his life. Hadn't he done all that before she'd ever slept with him? "Let's take it slow and see what happens," she said. His brown eyes seemed to twinkle in a rare humor. "Okay. At least as slow as we've taken it so far." He kissed her as if he sealed a sacred bargain. "Little Red Riding Hood, maybe you should think twice about going to grandmother's house without bringing your wolf with you from now on." "You're not the wolf in the story, Mark. You're the hunter," she replied and brushed her lips across his. THE END About the Author: Leigh Wyndfield has been writing for years but finally decided to get serious in 2003. When she finished her first book, True Seeing, she was surprised to learn she'd written a Romantica novel, especially since she can't watch the kissy bits during movies. Look for her next novel, IN HEAT, coming soon at Liquid Silver Books. Enjoy free short stories and upcoming book excerpts from Leigh Wyndfield at her website, www.leighwyndfield.com or email her at
[email protected] Once Upon A Princess Rae Morgan Nadia lived in a small, peaceful kingdom in what was once a former Soviet state. In Russian her name meant "hope," and she was the hope of her people. Some called her beautiful, both in person and in deed. And the evidence all pointed to the fact that her people loved her. As she was the only child of the last of her line, only she could perpetuate the royal bloodline. Ever since her father, the King, was reinstated to his rightful place, he had searched far and wide for a prince worthy of Nadia's hand and the wealth she would inherit. But fate had not been kind to Nadia, for like her mother, she was rumored to be a woman of strong sexual passions and needs. She had already worn out two royal husbands, who were now buried in the family crypt. Unfortunately for Nadia, her reputation as a prince-killer had spread. Not many princes, and to be honest there weren't all that many eligible princes left in the Russian countryside, felt it was worth risking death to attain her hand in marriage. Not even with the potential of succeeding her father as King of the oil-rich kingdom in the Atlas Mountains could she lure suitors to her door. Her father, however, would not give up. He wanted grandchildren. His royal line would die without grandsons, forcing his kingdom and the people's welfare to come under a Russian provincial government. So to sweeten the pot, he'd offered to step down as King if a brave prince would come forward, marry her, and successfully get her pregnant. Yet still, there had been no takers. Nadia also wanted a husband. She had truly enjoyed the companionship of her two consorts. And if the truth be told, her poor dead husbands had exceeded themselves in bed. Sadly, though, they could not keep up with her enormous sexual appetite, nor fill her womb with fertile seed. They had both died with smiles on their faces and very limp cocks. She prayed to God every night for a man who could pleasure her endlessly, filling her womb and giving her children. She did not want to live her life alone. A flash of lightning stirred her from the depressing thoughts. She poked at the cake which had looked so appetizing just minutes before—before her father had taken her to task once more for scaring off potential suitors. She sighed. Another night spent with her father, discussing the wealth the oil wells brought into their country, the burgeoning welfare of the people, and, oh, why couldn't she curb her sexual appetites long enough to allow a husband to impregnate her. There had been too many nights of these types of discussions since she'd buried her last husband. It wasn't as if she wanted to kill her spouses. It just had happened—the poor men's hearts had given out. If only she could find a man with stamina, like her father who'd taken all her mother could give and outlived her to boot!
A clap of thunder shook the castle. The unceasing rain pounded the windows of the dining hall. She shuddered. She pitied anyone who had to be out in this horrible weather. The heavens threatened to flood the earth with an infinite amount of rain just as her tears, both shed and unshed, had threatened to flood her soul these past months. Another more rhythmic thundering pierced her melancholy. Someone was at the door, that, or thunder had taken to occurring in regular, thudding beats. The butler interrupted the King and Nadia at their evening meal. "Sire," said Renwick, his eyes cast downwards in obeisance to his king. "There is a poor, bedraggled wanderer at the door. He seeks shelter for the night." A sudden flash of lightning lit the dining room, followed quickly by another crack of thunder which shook the very foundations of the sturdily built castle. Nadia turned to her father and said, "Father, please give this poor traveler shelter. The night is not fit for man or beast." "What manner of man is the traveler?" the King asked his servant. "Oh, father, what does it matter?" she cried. "The poor man will surely drown or be struck by lightning if he is cast out." "Sire, he looks to be honest enough, though poorly dressed—and very, very wet." Renwick vouchsafed a quick glance at Nadia. "He is also very large, much like yourself, my king. And young—a stranger." The servant winked at her. She winked back. The butler knew she needed sex, and had made it his business to find a clean, young, healthy man for her. But her reputation after the second husband's death had scared most of the men in the kingdom away. It had been a long time since she'd had a stiff cock in her vagina. She'd worn out multiple vibrators since the last, deadly, encounter with her dear, departed husband. The King sighed. "Let him in. Provide him a bed in the servant's wing. See that he gets dry clothes and something to eat ... but tomorrow he is out of here." "Yes, sire." Renwick backed his way out of the room, his body bent over in a respectful bow. "Thank you, father. This is a good thing you have done. Surely God will reward you for your kindness." She resumed eating her dessert with a new zest for life as she wondered if the traveler had enough stamina left for a dance, a sensual dance, tonight. She'd soon find out. **** Cailean glanced at the luxurious room to which the butler had led him. He turned to the smaller man and smiled. "Are you sure this room is for me? I'm amazed that your lord would trust a stranger among such wealth." "My lady, Princess Nadia, bid me place you here," the butler avoided his eyes. "I do not question her instructions." The servant gestured toward the bathroom. "Please remove your wet clothing. While you take a shower, I'll find you something dry to wear and secure you a meal. If you need anything else, all you have to do is use the intercom and ask for Renwick." The servant indicated a wall speaker. "Thank you." Cail's words bounced off the closed door.
The servant called Renwick moved quickly and quietly. He'd have to remember that in the future. He hated surprises, and a man who moved so stealthily could stick a knife in his back before he knew it. He rubbed his side. He'd learned that lesson early in his travels, which was why he traveled incognito. He sauntered toward the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was sumptuous. His hawklike eyes took in the vanity strewn with bottles of perfumes and cosmetics. His nose breathed in the musky floral aromas, the sensual scents of a woman. His loins stirred. The feminine accouterments of the suite in which he'd been placed confirmed that the rumors were correct—Princess Nadia needed a man. He smiled. And he would be that man. To his way of thinking, she'd gone about looking for a husband the wrong way. Instead of seeking a blue-blooded husband with the stamina to deal with her sexual urges, she needed to look for a man with stamina. His name alone should tell her that he was that man. Cailean meant virile in Gaelic, and he was that ... and more. The "more" she would discover once she promised to marry him. Stripping off his clothes, he placed them outside the bathroom door. He stepped into the marble-tiled shower and turned on the multiple heads. He groaned aloud at the hot water beating against his icy skin. His cock jutted out from the dark brown curls at his groin. He'd gotten hard just recalling the rumors he'd heard about Princess Nadia. The gossip had reached him, even in the wilds of his remote Highland home: the Princess Nadia of wealthy little Atlasian had wed and buried two princes. It was reputed that she'd killed them with her excessive sexual demands. He stifled a groan and gave in to the need to stroke his throbbing penis and obtain a release. Once the edge was off, he could follow his plan to woo his future bride slowly, addicting her to his lovemaking so that she would wish to wed him for his prowess alone. A loud groan then an exultant shout echoed off the marbled walls. His orgasm surprised him in its quickness and intensity. If just thinking about Nadia and her legendary sexual energy could excite him like this, how he would react when he finally faced the flesh-and-blood woman? He also wondered when she would make her move? **** "Princess," Renwick whispered. "Are you sure you wish to consort with this stranger?" Nadia smiled at Ren, a man who'd been both father and mother to her after the Queen died. After her mother's death, her father had gone into deep mourning, isolating himself from everyone until his daughter reached the marriageable age of eighteen. The King's aggressive search for a husband for her had been the only reason he'd shed his cloak of darkest depression. "Dear Ren. I trust your judgment in the manner of the man." She lifted his head with a gentle hand so as to look him directly in the eyes. "You know that I have been climbing the walls at night. The sexual aids just do not satisfy." She blushed. "There are days I think I am going crazy with my needs—I need a man." She shuddered at the thought of more, long, endless nights alone in her bed with only a piece of plastic and some batteries to bring her relief. "With father's strict requirements and my sexual proclivities scaring
off all the eligible and ineligible men within Russia, I may never have another husband, or lover, to bed on a regular basis. Strangers seem to be my only recourse." The old man nodded, but his face was drawn with sadness. "I understand. It is a sad day when men are such cowards about a woman who likes a good bounce on the mattress." Nadia's sultry laughter rang out in the empty hallway. "Ah, Ren. Only you would characterize my unceasing sexual needs as a bounce on the bed." She sobered. "I've killed two good men with my desire. Why does God punish me this way?" "You just haven't found the man for you," Ren said with a scolding look in his eyes. "How can it be your fault that the two blue-bloods you wed and bedded were weak in the heart? No, I blame the King for forcing you into marriages that were not ... well ... right." He chucked her under the chin with a gentle finger. "When you find the right man, you will know." "Ah, but will my father approve of this paragon when I find him?" "Excuse me for being blunt, my little dove," said Ren, "but screw your father. It is you who has to live with the man, not he." Nadia smiled as she placed a kiss on the little man's bald head. "Such a fierce defender of his little dove. I love you, old man." Ren wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened to his full five-foot-two-inch height with all the regal bearing of a royal duke in his spine. "As to the man in your bedchamber. I'll be within shouting distance, if you should need me." Nadia smiled as she quietly opened the door. "I'm sure he'll be fine." * Her bedchamber lay in shadows. Only the candles on the mantle, the fire in the hearth and the occasional flashes of lightning through the mullioned windows lit the room. Nadia trod softly across the thick Aubusson carpet. She stopped at the end of the curtained bed. The bed drapes had not been closed. She spied the man lying, naked, on top of the bed covers. She stifled a gasp. His body was large and well-muscled. His cock was a thing of beauty. Her vaginal fluids pooled between her legs as if crying out for the man's penis. Patience! She continued her perusal of her soon-to-be lover. His chest was lightly furred as were his arms and legs. His hands were large, his fingers thick, thick enough that her loins clenched once more at the thought of what those hands might do to her. Patience!! His face was sharp with crags and crannies, but his lips were lush and full. She shivered at the thought of them on her. She shook off the thought and forced herself to finish the examination. His long, dark hair lay in waves across the silken pillows. She could almost feel the hair sweeping her thighs as he sucked on her clit. The organ in question throbbed mightily, begging for the imagined attention. Patience!!! Forget patience, she thought as she stepped slowly to the side of the bed, where she froze.
How should she begin? With her husbands, they had just gotten to it. She had never initiated the sex, but once started, she had been active—and insatiable. And her poor spouses kept coming back for more, as if she were a Siren and they were poor bewitched sailors. What if she killed this man, too? He did not deserve such a fate. She turned to leave. "Ah, Princess. Where are you going? I was wondering when you would appear." His deep baritone sounded reminiscent of dark chocolate and sultry nights. She turned. His eyes, light in a color she could not determine, glowed in the dimness of the room. "You were waiting for me?" She hugged her body, hoping to still the urges that clamored to get out, and that she feared would be the death of this man. "I'd heard you needed a man—so yes, I waited for you. I don't imagine that your servant places all the poor wet travelers in your bedchamber?" His tone was questioning. But she wasn't sure what he asked. She approached the bed and poised on the edge. Her thigh, of its own accord, seemed to seek the heat of him. "You're correct—he doesn't." That was the truth, then she lied, "Only the healthy and clean ones." He growled, and his eyes slitted, as he sat up. "I don't believe you bed every stranger who comes upon your castle." His hand reached out to pull her to him. His angry gaze captured her wary one. "Tell me the truth. Do you bed every man who visits the castle?" "No," she whispered, unable to turn from his accusatory stare and stung by his harsh tones. "For not many men dare visit me—in the way you are thinking." "Have you bedded any men other than your husbands?" he rasped. "Tell me—and let it be the truth." All of a sudden, fear chilled her to the bone. Who was this man? Was he a relative of one of her husbands come for vengeance? She shrugged off his hand and sat to her full height. "I have never bedded any man other than my legally wed spouses." "Then why did you instruct your servant to place me here?" His tone, though not as angry, still had an edge that demanded the truth. "I am lonely—and need a man to love me." She blushed at his suddenly fiery glance, as if he could see through her silken robes to the naked body beneath. "You are very beautiful—and wealthy," he whispered. "You must have had numerous opportunities to bed a man since you've been widowed." She shook her head, and turned her eyes away from his piercing gaze. "No, for I am rumored to be a man-killer." Even more chilled by the truth of her own words, she finished through icy lips, "Men who have sex with me on a continuing basis ... die. I have not dared to chance it." "Then why me?" he asked, his tone suddenly neutral. "Because you know nothing of me to be afraid. You are young and healthy. Plus, it would only be for a night," she sighed, "then you could go on your way, safe and sound." The man's large, callused hand gripped her arm and pulled her gently toward him. Gooseflesh chased across her body, as he pulled her ever closer. She kept her head turned away, fearing to see repulsion in his eyes for her proposed usage of him. "The men in this country are weaklings who do not deserve you," he said in a low growling purr. He released her arm.
The bedclothes rustled. He was leaving! She moaned with the loss, and the thought of another lonely, cold night in her bed. "Princess, look at me," his voice gently demanded. She turned. He had moved to the middle of the bed. His arm reached for her once more. A quick glance at his lower body showed that his penis, prodigious in repose, was even more impressive when aroused. "Yes, I want you. I traveled here to make love to you," he said huskily. "Let me show you how a strong man makes love to a woman—all night long—and even beyond that, if you wish." A needy groan escaped her lips. "You aren't afraid? You've heard of me, and yet you still wish to have sex with me?" "Making love, my princess." His voice scolded, but his eyes twinkled with some hidden joke. "Be assured, what we'll be doing is making love." He reached across the empty expanse of the bed and pulled her toward him. His strength was amazing, but his grip, gentle and non-bruising. "I am not afraid of you—and truly desire to bed a real woman." Nadia looked to the heavens, tears flowing down her cheeks, and said on a sigh, "Thank you, God," then flowed into the stranger's arms. * Cail smiled as Nadia thanked God and proceeded to snuggle against him. She smelled like flowers and powder and dessert. Her tears wet his chest and warmed his heart. His princess was more wonderful than he'd heard. She was comely, yes. This he had verified prior to traveling so far, but the rumors hadn't divulged her true nature. From all the talk, he'd expected her to be concerned with status and her own satisfaction. Yet, he found her amazingly shy—and sad—and so sexy that his loins threatened to spew forth from just breathing in her essence. As he raised her slim fingers to his lips, he, too, thanked God for sending him here, but did so silently. He still had to win over this woman before he shouted his gratitude out loud. He didn't want to jinx his chances. "Princess?" "Nadia." She sniffed and raised her head. "Please call me, Nadia." He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "Nadia, it is. And you can call me Cail, which is short for Cailean." She snuggled against his body and idly stroked his arm. "What manner of a name is that?" "It's Gaelic, my love." He untied the sash to her robe and slid a hand inside the folds to fondle a lusciously full breast. "It means virility." Nadia laughed, its low sexiness tugging at his senses. His cock hardened even more against her robe-covered thigh. "I think that must be a sign or something." He laughed. "Or something. How about letting me show you?" "Yes, please." Her voice sounded both shy and eager at the same time. Yes, she was a delight, and they hadn't even had sex yet.
He assisted her in removing the robe, then lay on his side, stunned by the sight of her voluptuous body. He'd imagined much, but this was so much more. If he'd commissioned a great sculptor to create the perfect woman, Nadia would have been the result. "Ah, my love, you are a work of art. Titian, Michelangelo and Rubens all would have knelt at your dainty feet." She blushed, then grabbed the hand that stroked her and kissed it. "Just lie back and let me love you," he said. "But don't you want me to pleasure you?" She blushed even harder. "My dear departed husbands always wanted me to ... uh, help them along." She closed her eyes, the long mink-colored lashes contrasting starkly with her peach-tinged skin. Something wasn't right here. For a rumored nymphomaniac, Nadia seemed too shy and retiring. "Just how old were these husbands of yours?" "You hadn't heard?" "I wouldn't have asked if I'd heard." He smiled to lessen the harshness of his response. His lust threatened to break loose at her nearness, but this inconsistency between the rumors and the reality nagged at him. "My first husband, Igor," she stroked his chest, running her small fingers over and around his aching nipples, "was sixty-five years old. My second husband, Peter, was seventy." Cail swore viciously, all thoughts of jumping her bones temporarily forgotten in his anger. "Why are you cursing my father so foully?" Nadia's hands stilled on his body and her eyes took on the stare of a deer in headlights. He'd scared her. He groaned. What an idiot he was! Why hadn't he checked out the rumors about this woman more closely? Now it all made sense. The poor darling was probably just a normal, healthy woman—and that was fine with him, he'd teach her to be insatiable—but only for him. He chuckled at the thought of how much fun that would be. But first, he had to reassure her. He kissed her lips and caressed her body in a gentling manner. "Because your father is an idiot to marry off a healthy young woman to old men and expect them to survive a normal sex life." "You think I'm normal?" She sighed, but then her forehead wrinkled. "But then why did other men stay away?" "Because the rumors had taken on a life of their own." "So, I'm not a nymphomaniac?" "Probably not," he said, "but that's okay, we'll work on it." Nadia smiled at him through her lush lashes, then laughed. "Okay. Can we start now? My body wants your big hard cock so bad..." she licked her lips, "...that I can taste it." "There's no rush, my little wanton. I'll let you have all of me you can handle." "Promise?" "Pinky swear." Her answering smile rivaled a glorious sunset on Loch Lomond. He felt its attendant warmth all the way to his soul. He again thanked God for this woman—and her trust. Then she proceeded to show him just how ravenous she was.
* As she sucked Cail's cock, she marveled at how the reality of a situation could change so rapidly with just a different viewpoint. Cail seemed to think that she might not be a sex maniac, or a husband-killer, but just a healthy woman with sexual needs. And he looked to be a man who could fulfill them. Too bad he wasn't a prince or of royal blood. She was already half in love with him, but her father would never allow a marriage between them. Her heart ached at the thought of letting Cail go in the morning, but at least she had the night and vowed to make the most of it. "Nadia, stop. If you keep on doing that, I'll come too quickly." His hand stroked her hair as she tongued the hole at the tip of his penis. "I have yet to taste you." She shivered then groaned, cupping his more than ample testicles in her two hands. His balls were so big, she could barely hold them. She nibbled at them, then took little love bites, before she took his large and growing ever larger cock into her mouth. Reaching down, she used the saliva dripping down his penis to coat her finger, then she placed it into his anus and massaged his prostate. This always worked on her husbands. She wanted to swallow Cail's seed—and she wanted it now. "You sexy witch," he gasped as he gripped her head more tightly. He threw back his head and shouted his orgasm to the vaulted ceilings in her bedchamber. Then he erupted, and it was all she could do to swallow his copious fluid. As Cail shuddered through the aftermath of his orgasm, she cleaned his cock with her tongue while massaging his trembling thighs. To her amazement, he hardened almost immediately. She moaned her delight. "No, no, my little sorceress. It's my turn to play." Cail grabbed her before she could take him into her mouth once more. He pulled her to him and kissed her lips, licking his own cum from them and from around her mouth. She shivered at the sheer sexiness of the gesture, then found herself flat on her back, under him, before she realized it. She reached for his head as he began to kiss his way down her body. "Uh, uh, uh," he said, stopping her hands by grabbing both of them in one of his large ones. "No hands. It's my turn to drive you over the edge." "But..." her words were cut off by his lips as he kissed the breath out of her. Before she knew it, he'd used the belt of her robe and tied her hands together. He released her lips, then stretched her cobbled hands upwards and tied them to the head of the bed. She wriggled and squealed in playful protest, but he once more silenced her with his mouth. He used his legs to nudge her thighs apart. She was now open to him, helpless. Her vaginal fluids flowed at the thought of what would come next. She moaned into his mouth. He released her lips and braced himself above her. "Did I hurt you, my love?" His concerned eyes captured hers. She closed her eyelids and peered at him from between her lashes. She could feel a full body flush sweep over her. "No, it excites me." He chuckled. "You like being tied up? Did those old men do that to you?" He fondled both breasts, one in each hand. Her nipples tightened so hard, she thought she would climax right then and there. "No," she said through a moan. "You're the first. It's so naughty."
"Nothing is naughty if it feels good," he said in a sultry whisper, "and I intend to make you feel really good." She closed her eyes and mewled as he captured the tip of one of her nipples in his teeth, then licked it to take away the sting. She gasped. "More, please?" "You don't have to beg," he reassured. "I'll give you all you can handle." * Cail licked his lips at the sight of Nadia trapped beneath his body. With each touch and kiss on her body, she moaned, causing an answering twinge in his groin. The woman even breathed sexy. Oh, was he going to have fun. He'd lied about the begging. No, he wasn't going to deprive her of sex, but he would overwhelm her with pleasure until she begged him to stop. Then he'd start all over again. By the time he left this room, she would not be able to live without him. Nadia pulled at the restraints on her hands as he kissed and licked every rib down to her abdomen. As he tongued her belly button, she kicked a leg loose and grasped him across his buttocks in an attempt to hump him for relief. "Nadia, stop that. It's my turn.," he admonished. "I'll give you your orgasm. You can't take it this time—maybe next." "Cail." His name came out as a cry of want and need. Obviously, his princess had a short fuse. Look at how quickly she took him to his pleasure. She'd have to learn patience. He looked around the room for something to tie her legs to the corners of the bed, so he could feast on her without her interference. Spying the tiebacks on the bed drapes, he reached and removed first one and then another at the head of the bed. The drapes fell closed, casting the bed into even darker shadows. He anchored one ankle to the end of the bed. She whimpered. "What are you doing?" "Trust me, my love." She sighed. "Yes. But please hurry, I need you!" The last words came out as a low wail. He hurried to anchor the other ankle. Sitting back on his legs, his heated glance took in the picture she made, tied to the bed for his—and her—ultimate pleasure. He massaged her inner thighs, from her knees to just short of her curl-covered pussy. Then he stopped. She strained against her bonds to reach for the touch that would take her to orgasm. But he wasn't ready to give her that pleasure—yet. He wanted to play with his treasure first. "Patience, my princess," he placed a kiss to each knee. "I want to taste you all over first." "Cail, I can't wait. Please?" she cried, then moaned as he leaned over to place a kiss on her lips. "Soon," he whispered into one delicate ear, then nipped on the lobe. He sat back on his haunches once more. Where to start? Her dainty feet with their pink-painted toes looked luscious. He'd start there. Scooting back, he slipped off the end of the bed and started with her left foot. He ran first a gentle finger down the arch, which curled at his touch. He followed it quickly with his tongue. Her sighs told him she was not ticklish and enjoyed the treatment. After one more lick of her arch, he tasted each and every toe before switching to the other foot, giving it the same treatment.
"Cail! Please I need you! Now!" Her tone now demanded almost imperiously. "Not yet, my princess. I'm in charge," he chided. "You'll take your pleasure when I choose to give it." Her frustrated groan was his only answer. He grinned, then began to nibble and lick his way around each ankle, then did the same to her lower legs, before stopping at her knees. He lifted her left leg slightly off the bed to reach the back of her knee. He stroked it gently as he treated the top of the knee to a tongue-bath. "Cail!" This time she shrieked his name. "I'm coming ... oh, please ... please ... touch me ... there!" His amazement knew no bounds. Nadia's orgasm from just the attention to her legs and, especially her knees, was something outside of his experience. Taking pity on her, he reached up and applied pressure to her clitoris while inserting first one, then two fingers into her opening. "Yes, yes. Oh God, thank you. Cail, please!" Her cries trailed off into moans and earthy groans as she came down from reaching her peak. Pulling his hand away from her sex, he began the journey once more at her feet, reaching a similar result again at the knees. He could see how two old men might not have been able to keep up with an orgasmic woman like Nadia. Her rapid sexual peaks were a delight to behold and enticed a man to keep up with her. Lucky for Nadia, he was young and healthy and more than able to pleasure on into the night. After her second orgasm of the evening and withstanding her protests, he left her bound to the bed. He wished to see how many times he could take her over the top. But first a little relief for himself. * The man was a fiend. She wanted to attack him and return the pleasure he'd given her. But he refused. What would he do next? "Nadia, can you lift your hips for me?" Cail's husky tones cut through the questions and post-orgasm lassitude. "What?" "Your hips, darling." He chuckled. "Can you lift them a bit?" "Why?" "So, I can place this pillow under them—I want to fuck you." She groaned at the thought of his beautiful cock in her vagina and eagerly complied. She'd show him. No slow, long torture for her this time; she'd milk his cock with her vaginal muscles just as she had her husbands. They always came when she did that. She could control the pace—even tied as she was. "That's the way." He placed a kiss on her lips, as he brought the tip of his cock to her opening. He rubbed the glans over her clitoris, wetting it. She thrust her hips forward in an attempt to entice him in, but it was not to be. "Not so fast, my love. I'm in control here." We'll see about that, she thought, as she relaxed and waited for him to make his next move. Once he was inside, he was hers. She smiled in anticipation. When he made his move, she was surprised—and frustrated.
Watching from her prone position, Cail gave himself a hand job. His head thrown back, his jaw tight, and his eyes closed as he pumped away. From time to time, he stopped and swiped some of her fluids to coat his cock, then began his pumping once more. Her vagina clenched in response. She was so empty. Wasn't he going to put it in? No, he wasn't. When his penis erupted, he spewed over her lower abdomen and onto her pussy. The warmth of his semen coated her. She remembered the taste, both sweet and salty, and moaned. And bemoaned the loss of the semen. Then he massaged the silky fluid into her skin, taking care to avoid the sensitive areas of her labia and clit. "Why?"she asked. "I needed to take the edge off. When I come inside you for the first time, I want to make the trip long and slow." She grumbled. The man was a sadist. Just how much of one became evident as he turned his attention to her upper body. As with the lower half of her, he missed not a square inch of skin. Starting with her face, he kissed and licked her from her forehead to her chin then over to each of her ears, before thoroughly kissing her lips. Her moans stifled by his mouth, she could only wiggle under him, demanding more particular attention. Then he licked and nibbled her shoulders and arms, concentrating long licks to her underarms. She giggled. "Ah, so you are ticklish somewhere? I'll have to remember that for later." His laugh sounded delightfully evil. She shivered through a mini-orgasmic spasm, just imagining Cail applying a feather to her armpits and tickling her to orgasm. "Oh, my love, we are going to have fun," he said, as he turned his attention to her breasts. Cupping both mounds in his hands, he licked, kissed and nipped until she swore she would have another small orgasm. But he must have sensed her peak nearing, because he stopped and switched his attention to her ribs as he kissed his way down her body. Her hips lifted from their pillowed support, seeking some touch of his body. Some pressure to the heart of her need. Any pressure. At this point, a strong breeze would set her off. But her sadistic lover seemed to know what to do and when to back off to keep her from coming. Just wait, my lover. When I get free, you're mine. The thought brought her some semblance of control—then he turned his attention to her clit. And all was lost. As soon as his teeth nipped her engorged clitoris, she came. Hard ... and long. She came so hard that she could not catch her breath to scream. Stars streamed across her field of vision as she closed her lids to concentrate on one of the most intense feelings she'd ever experienced. Nothing her dead husbands had done had ever brought her to the feeling of the "little death" as described in the sex books she'd read. As she reached the top and began to fall over, she lost consciousness, and knew nothing until she felt Cail's hard cock enter her vagina.
"Okay, my strong princess," he whispered in her ear as he leaned over, pausing his insertion to allow her vaginal walls to relax enough to encompass him. "Let's see how long it takes to bring you to orgasm. Again." Tears flowed down her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she cried, but she did—and her lover licked each and every one from her face. Whispering encouragement and praise, he began to move in and out of her, his penis filling the emptiness she'd experienced for so long. She knew then that she loved him. As he made love to her, he shifted positions to alternately give and take away the pressure she so craved. When he pulled back to the point of removal, she cried out, "No. Please?" He laughed lustily. "It's time for you to come, princess." "But I want to come with you inside me!" she cried. "Later." He pulled out and moved to take her clitoris in his mouth. His lips took her up into yet another version of little death, and as she floated to the earth, he took her into his arms, his cock again nestled inside her, and started the rhythm once more. Rousing herself, this time she used her vaginal muscles and started the motions to take control. As he pumped, she clenched, setting up a rhythm which brought her to her peak, but this time Cail was with her. As her shout of release echoed his, she rejoiced in the gift of this man. **** After their mutual orgasm, Cail released the bonds and gathered a sleeping Nadia into his arms. He barely had the strength to pull the comforter over them before he, too, fell into the exhausted sleep of the sexually sated. When he awoke sometime in the deep darkness of the night, he was hard. The reason evident. Nadia was using her hands and her mouth on him. This time he was cobbled to the bed with the sash and bed ties. "Nadia," he called, his voice raspy from sleep. She stopped her movements to smile at him. "Yes, Cail?" "You should be asleep, my love. You'll need your strength for tomorrow's loving." "It is tomorrow," she said, a mischievous grin on her face. "So, just lie there and relax. I'm in charge this time." "But didn't you realize?" "What?" "When we are making love, you are always in charge, be it taking command or lying there looking so sexy and erotic that I lose control and want to make love to you forever." Nadia sat up, then crawled to him. Taking his face in her hands, her look of wonder humbled him. "Is that how you feel—when you make love to me? Out of control?" "Yes," he whispered. "You drive me to pleasure you. I only want to satisfy you." A look of what he could only describe as contentment came over Nadia's face. "I love you," she said.
He sighed in relief. "And I, you." "But I'm still going to do you this way. I want you to feel what I felt as you drove me crazy with lust." He chuckled. "I'm at your command—and pleasure—my princess." She twinkled at him. "Yes—you are." Then she set about driving him out of his mind. **** After she'd released Cail, she snuggled into his warm body. The scent of their mating surrounded them. She breathed deeply, sighing with contentment. She'd never felt so relaxed and replete in her entire life. After the last hours with Cail, she now knew that she was normal and had needs that a typical, healthy male could handle. In fact, she was so tired, she wasn't sure she'd need sex for at least a few days. "Nadia?" Cail's low, seductive voice touched her heart. "Yes, Cail?" "I'm not done with you yet." "What?" she shrieked. "Cail, darling, I don't think I could orgasm again if my life depended on it." His rumble of laughter told her she was in trouble—she'd out-and-out challenged the man. She attempted to push out of his arms, but she had made her move too late. He once more had captured her hands in one of his; his legs effectively holding her to the bed. As he anchored her to the head of the bed, she fumed. But she could do nothing. He was stronger than she, and her body so relaxed from all the lovemaking that she could only let him have his wicked way with her. Besides, she just knew there was not one more orgasm to be had in her entire body. She squealed, as Cail flipped her over. He then anchored her ankles. Lifting her by the waist, he shoved a pillow under her, elevating her hips. "Cail?" She had heard of men who liked to take women from behind, but had never experienced it. She wasn't sure she would like it. "What are you doing?" "Trust me, my princess," he whispered into her ear. "I'm not going to do anything I haven't already done to you." "You're not..." "Ah, yes, I am. I promised myself to kiss every square inch of you—and I totally missed your lovely backside the last time." "I think all your efforts will be for naught," she said. But she lied, for already she felt an ache in her womb that called out to be assuaged. "Oh, I think not," he said in a provocative tone. "And I'll prove it." Seconds seemed like hours before he touched her, but when he did, she squealed, then began to giggle at the tickling sensations. He'd started at the backs of her knees, licking and nibbling. As his talented tongue and hands manipulated her knees and inner thighs, with an occasional foray to her exposed sex, she tossed and turned as much as her bonds would allow her. Her laughter brought tears to her eyes and more feeling to her womb. She'd
never think about her knees the same way again. From this night on, she'd recall them as a direct link to her clitoris. The ache in her womb became a throbbing in her overly sensitized clit. When the orgasm hit, she wailed her release, panting between her laughter and her shouts. As she shuddered her way down with an occasional involuntary giggle, Cail stroked her back and buttocks, soothing her. "Ah, my princess, you are a delight." "Cail ... release me?" she panted. "Not yet." She groaned. What other tortures could he devise for her? All too soon, she knew. As he massaged the round globes of her ass, he licked her from behind. "Your cum is so sweet—just about as sweet as the sight and sounds of your release." He nibbled at her labia then swiped them with his tongue. "I love the way you alternately curse at me to stop, then beg me to continue. I want to hear it again—now!" The insertion of his thick fingers into her vagina and the continued licking of her clitoris began the rapid ascent to another orgasm. The insertion of his thumb into her anus clinched the deal. "Oh my God, Cail ... it's so good, so good, so good..." Her words trailed off into a scream that she swore they would hear in Moscow. She could not allow this man to leave her. She would find a way to keep him by her side. "My love, you are so beautiful." Cail's voice reached her through her orgasmic haze as if from a long distance. "Hold on, darling, we're not done yet." Of course, she was done. Sleep was a mere second away. But as she slowed into a declining series of mini-peaks, Cail entered her from behind, his thumb once more massaging her anus. His lips licked and nipped at her ears, neck and shoulders between his words of encouragement and grunts of male pleasure. This time, they could probably hear her screams in London. Then she knew no more. **** The knock on the door roused them both. Nadia glanced at Cail. The look of love and satiation on his face warmed her. Morning, alas, had come too soon. What had seemed possible in the deep, dark, intimate night was precarious during the harsh light of day. The sun streamed into her room, and she knew it must be near noon. Ren must be frantic with worry that she was still abed with the stranger he'd left in her room. Stranger? No, Cail was not a stranger. He was the man who loved her like no other and was in tune with her in a most miraculous way. But he was not of royal blood, and she feared her father would ride him from Atlasian on a rail, as they said in America. What was she going to do? "What's wrong, my Nadia?" Cail reached out a large hand, one that knew her intimately and well, and gently brushed his fingers over the frown lines on her forehead.
She looked at his smiling face and knew what she must do. Now, all she needed was to find the courage. "Nothing, my love. Trust me?" "Of course, I do. I love you." "Good." She leaned up and kissed his lips, ending it before they made love once more with Ren pounding on the door. She slipped out of bed and found her robe, lying on the floor where it had dropped last night. Cail moved to her side and handed her the sash, removed from the head of the bed after their last round of sexual escapades. "Here, you might need this." He grinned naughtily. "Thank you." Even after the night they'd spent together, she felt her face blush at the memories of how the sash was used. "Never be embarrassed by what we do in bed." He swept a gentle finger down the side of her burning face. "Ever." "I won't." Cail disappeared into the bathroom with his clothes, which had mysteriously appeared at the foot of the bed. Nadia answered the door. Ren stood there, a questioning look on his face. "Well?" he demanded. "Well, what?" she asked. "Was he a good cocksman? Did he treat you right? What?" Exasperation was not a tone she'd ever heard from her faithful servant and friend before, but she heard it now. "Yes—to all." She pulled him into the room and lowered her voice. "What am I going to do about father?" Ren smiled. "At last. What do you want to do?" Looking over her shoulder to make sure Cail was still in the bathroom, she leaned over and whispered her instructions to Ren. He beamed and nodded. "It will be done. I love you, little dove." "And I, you, old man." * When Cail stepped out of the bathroom, he was freshly showered and dressed. She had used the bedchamber next door to perform her ablutions, so as not to be tempted to make love to him once more. She needed all her energy and wits about her in the coming confrontation with her father. "Ready for lunch?" she asked, pasting a bright and, she hoped, cheery smile on her face. "Starving." Cail held out his arm for her. She placed her hand on it and allowed him to lead her from the room. Her father sat at the head of the table in the sun-filled dining hall. He glowered at the sight of the man next to her. "Father, I am pleased to introduce Cailean, from Scotland. He was our guest last night." She took a seat to the left of her father. After Cail had seated her, he took the seat next to her. His warmth reached out over the space between them, giving her the courage to speak to her father.
"I'm going away with him. Today." She heard Cail's gasp of surprise as her father's face reddened with apoplexy. "You shall not. He is a stranger and not worthy of you. I bet he has no money to his name." "I care not, for to me he is a prince among men. His bloodlines and his pockets mean less than nothing to me," she said. She reached for Cail's hand. He took hers in his and caressed it. Encouraged by his unspoken support and feeling all his love, she went on, "I was recently told that I should look to my own happiness and not yours. That your selfishness in keeping me near and wishing for an heir of your blood to rule the kingdom was unfair." She glared at her father. "If you want an heir, you are still virile enough to take another wife and have one or more of your own. I need to find happiness—and I have found it with this man." She turned and smiled at Cail, who returned her smile with a brilliant one of his own. Her father stuttered, then stopped, then finally said, "I never thought that I could marry again ... after your mother, I... Well that is neither here nor there. You are right about the fact that I could have other heirs. But why run away? Why not stay here after you are married? The castle is big enough." "I did not say we were going to marry." "Not marry? I forbid it. No daughter of mine will live in sin with a man. I'll lock you in your room, I'll..." She cut him off. "And I'll just escape, and you'll never hear from me again." She looked to the doorway. Ren stood there with her bags, packed as she had asked him earlier in her room. "I'm packed and ready to travel to wherever my love wishes to go." Her father looked ready to burst when Cail spoke, "Sire, calm yourself. There will be a marriage and soon, here, in your presence." He tipped her face toward him and kissed her lips. "I love your daughter, and despite appearances, I can support her in a lifestyle akin to the one she is leaving." He glanced from her to her father. "But she will leave with me. I have responsibilities of my own in the Highlands. But you are welcome to visit, and we shall visit you. I'll send my plane for you whenever you wish to visit the many grandchildren I'm sure we'll give you." "Plane?" Both she and her father exclaimed at the same time. Ren walked into the room and stood on the other side of the table, staring at Cail. "Who are you?" Cail pulled her from her chair onto his lap. "I'm the twelfth Duke of Gloucester." Nadia shrieked with excitement and pleasure as she leaned into her soon-to-be husband. Her father and Ren clasped each other in joy. And they all lived happily ever after. THE END About the Author:
Rae Morgan is the pen name for an attorney-arbitrator who also writes suspense/thrillers as Monette Michaels. Her other Liquid Silver books are a novel entitled Destiny's Magick and a novella, "Enchantress," which is featured in the double, Business or Pleasure ... or Both? She is currently working on a sequel to Destiny's Magick called Moon Magick. Please visit her at her web site, .
Petra and the Werewolf Sydney Morgann CHAPTER ONE Petra Penchabich loved the freedom she felt when she could shed the thick, heavy clothing she wore in public. On top of the sense of being suffocated by her clothes, she felt restricted by life in the small village of Krackawidz, where she lived with her maternal grandfather. The town seemed prudish and narrow-minded to her as well. And her grandfather made it clear that raising her was not pleasant or welcome to him. So, she escaped whenever she could. She snuck away into the woods to the one place where she always felt happy and free. In spite of the warnings by her grandfather, Anik, about a large, evil, man-eating wolf in the forest, she went there often and stayed late enough to make her grandfather angry. Her favorite spot, a secluded cool green pool, deep in the thick trees, held magic for her. Her only companions were a sturdy duck named Sachet and a lovely, large songbird named Scarlet. The two birds lived by the pond and often frolicked around her while Petra swam, nude and free. One day, Petra ducked out the back door of her grandfather's cottage and went for her swim. She reveled in the feel of the cool water on her naked body. She lay on her back and floated, daydreaming of the time when she would finally find the right man to marry. Her hands caressed her full breasts while her mind conjured up the image of the tall, dark, and handsome stranger who would someday come to claim her. She sighed with pleasure as she imagined his lips on hers and his hands exploring the parts of her body she now caressed and rubbed with abandon. Sachet quacked at the top of his voice. He swooped down from the pile of rounded, egg shaped rocks he usually sunbathed on and landed in the pond beside her then swam around her protectively. Scarlet warbled a warning as she frantically flew over Petra's head in circles. "What is it, my little friends?" She tilted her head to listen but all she heard was her feathered friends twittering and squawking. Her long black hair swirled around her tiny waist as she turned. She scanned the thick trees but nothing moved, except Sachet, who lifted from the pond and resumed his perch on his rock pile. Almost immediately he flew back to the pond to resume a guardian attitude around her while Scarlet continued to circle over head. He ruffled his feathers while swiveling his head almost completely around to stare into the shadows of the trees. "I see nothing and hear nothing, except you two twerps," she reprimanded the two birds, shaking a finger at them. "You try to scare me again, eh?" She chuckled at the memory of the first time her bird-brained friends scared her. She had run into the woods without her clothes and hidden behind a bush, so afraid that she didn't come out for hours. When she returned to the pond, cold and angry, her legs, arms
and breasts were covered with long scratches from the thorns on the bushes. "It will not work this time, babushka," she murmured, as she reached up to caress the duck's smooth white feathers. Sachet quacked at her and began to nibble at her fingertips. Scarlet settled onto a neighboring branch overhanging the pond and peered down on Petra with one bright eye. She ignored them and floated on her back again; trying to regain her dream of the man she knew would one day come for her; her savior and lover. Her hands returned to caress the erect nipples that stood upright out of the water. "Ah, one day he will come to claim me, my friends. Then you will have something to sing and hoot about." A growl grated into her daydream. She flung her body forward and upward, sending her hair flying and her large breasts swinging into the air. She covered her mouth in a gasp, nudity forgotten as she stood. Standing on the shore, a large, heavily muscled man, covered with thick black hair, watched her. His eyes glowed with amber fire as his gaze raked her body, up and down then again. His red lips parted to show bright white teeth when he grinned at her. "Now, what is a beautiful young thing like you doing all alone in the forest?" he asked, with a guttural accent on the word alone. Petra gasped at the fire in his eyes. Her thighs tingled with yearning and her heart pounded with anticipation. Fighting the feelings, she dredged up mock anger to meet the man's arrogance. "How dare you intrude on my privacy! This pool is mine. You must leave here at once or I will call the village men to hunt you down and punish you!" She balled her hands into fists and rested them on her round hips. In response, the man sauntered to the edge of the pool, grinned, then stripped off the leather vest and soft cloth pants he wore. A thin, silvery chain and amulet almost hidden in the thick black hair of his chest sent sparks of light into the shadows. He pulled off knee-high black boots and stood for her to inspect his body as he had hers. Thick muscles and even thicker black hair covered a wide chest and massive arms. His waist appeared slim in contrast to the well-defined development of the rest of his body. The thick, long male member, nestling in a thick bush of hair, twitched and thickened. His thighs and calves flexed. Then, without word or warning, he slid into the water and moved beneath the surface toward her. Sachet flapped his large white wings and fled the pool. He disappeared into the thick shrubs along the bank. Scarlet squawked in panicked alarm overhead and flew to a higher branch. Both birds watched but did not protest the man's intrusion. Petra froze. When the feel of two strong hands on her legs sent shivers of pleasure up her body, she bit her lip, closed her eyes and waited. Soon, his head and shoulders rose from the water and the feel of soft lips nuzzling her pubic hair banished the shivers and replaced them with shudders of passion. She spread her legs in anticipation. The man's warm tongue found its way into her cleft and flickered over the hard nub of her clitoris. Then it moved down, down and deeper still until it plunged into her like a snake's tongue. Petra reached down to clasp the man's head between her legs. She moaned with pleasure. Her hips moved forward with an ancient rhythm, in tune to his every move. Her knees weakened and shook as the tense muscles in her calves and thighs threatened to collapse. Her breasts shook with each caress of the man's tongue, her erect nipples so hard they thrust out like spear tips, stabbing into the air at an invisible target.
After an eternity of suspended bliss, his mouth withdrew. He rose from the water, languid and sensuous, until he towered over her. The woman stared up at him with glazed eyes and panting breath. "What is your name, little one?" He licked his lips then smiled down at her. "Petra," she whispered with a hoarse voice. She raised her hands to caress the matted, wet black hair that covered his chest. "From the village of Krackawidz on the other side of the forest." Running her fingertips through the thick hair, she quivered at the feel. "What is your name, stranger?" He reached around her, clasped her by the waist and pulled her toward him until her body was firmly bound to him. Her breasts throbbed against the hard muscles in his chest and her hips pressed into the massive member that soon found a willing home between her legs. He slowly ground his hips against her, rubbing the tender lips and hard clitoris of her vagina as his erection played along her flesh. "My name is not important. Only the moment matters, for tomorrow may never come, my sweet." He grinned as he slowly pulled away from her until only the engorged tip of his penis rested against her throbbing clitoris. "Do you not agree?" A slight push and the tip again tested the wetness of her opening. "I don't care who you are or your name. My heart answers for you. I have waited for you. I am yours." The declaration of surrender was enough. She reached up, grasped his neck and pulled his head down before clamping her full lips to his. He drank deeply of her mouth, exploring it with his tongue until he knew every taste and texture. He caressed her back with long sinuous sweeps until he rested his hands on her full buttocks. He squeezed, then pulled her hips into his. His penis thrust in and up, probing her depths. She gasped, threw her head back, then moaned with pleasure as he sought to fully enter her. "At last," she sighed. "At last, I shall be a real woman." Abruptly, he withdrew, gathered her into his massive arms and waded to the shore. He laid her on the grass and knelt beside her then stroked her wet hair from her face with gentle fingers. "You are a virgin, little one?" Petra blushed but kept her arms locked tightly around his neck, refusing to let him go. "Yes, but everything inside me tells me you are my destiny." She stared into his amber eyes. "I do not fear what others will say. I am yours to take, my love." She lifted into a sitting position and kissed him. A great shuddering breath pulled him from her arms and he sat beside her. "If I had known I would not have tried to..." His fingers raked through the thick, long black hair around his face, pushing it back so it cascaded into wet tendrils down his broad back. Then a smile lit his face. "Yet, my heart tells me this is so as well. But it also tells me that it would not be right to claim you without proper ceremony." He reached up and slid the chain he wore from his neck. The silver amulet that dangled from it gleamed as the setting sun sent out blood red rays across the glen. He reached toward her and slipped it over her head. With wide eyes, she stared at the intricately crafted amulet that now nestled between her breasts. "What does this mean?" His hand reached out and stroked the amulet with reverence. "This is the badge of my standing in my tribe. I give it to you as my bride. If you accept me, we are legally
married from this time forward." His gaze locked onto hers, questioning and filled with hope. A smile lit up her face. "Yes! Yes! I accept you as my husband. I have waited for you all my life. I cannot let you go now. May I now hear your name, my love?" His face became somber and guarded. "Nikolai Romanoff, King of the Woodland Wolves." "King of the wolves?" She tilted her head in confusion. "Yes, I am the one the villagers seek to kill." He watched her with an intensity of fear. "A hunter stalks me night and day, but I was not responsible for the deaths of the villagers. It was a great bear that is responsible. My people only kill in self defense. We do not prey on humans for we are also human, in our way." His finger traced the contour of her lips. "I give you my word; I am innocent of these crimes." All fear and reluctance left her. She reached for him and wrapped her arms about his neck. Burying her face into his neck she murmured, "I believe you, my Nikolai. I am yours. Claim me as your mate." With a low growl of joy, Nikolai gathered her into his arms and kissed her with unleashed passion. The amulet glowed against her flushed skin. "My mate," he rasped as he eased her down on the grass and moved over her. His mouth claimed hers again while pushing her knees apart with his own. His hands found her breasts and surrounded them one by one, teasing each nipple with a finger while he used his tongue to caress her eyes, mouth, neck and ears. Her legs spread wide, knees bent and heels digging into the thick grass, Petra explored him with her mouth and tongue as well. Her back arched when he took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked, then flicked it with his tongue, teasing it to even more hardness. She clasped his head, groaning as a volcano of intensity built within her. "Please," she moaned. "Please make me yours now. I can wait no longer. Take me, my king and lord." He raised his head and let a smile spread across his lips as he positioned his hips. He found her cleft, probing her depths with his hard member. Petra's arms rose over her head, thrusting her breasts even higher into the air. Nails scrabbling at the grass, she opened her mouth as her breath quickened. When he finally thrust forward, entering and filling her completely, she jerked to a halt with the momentary pain. Nikolai's erect member throbbed inside her. Within moments, her hips reached up to meet his every thrust. The musky smell of him, the essence of his lust, wafted into her nostrils. Her body responded by sending her own scent to mingle with his. He withdrew, grabbed her legs and flipped her onto her hands and knees. Within moments, he found and filled her from behind. Strong hands held her while his hips found a faster pace against her quivering behind. His breathing became heavier, harsher. Hers matched his. When his leg muscles hardened with tension, he thrust one last time into her as his hands tightened on her hips, then he stopped. She froze with him. A white-hot flood erupted inside her. Her body convulsed when the spasms inside her rippled, coursed, then slowly subsided with his. The once-silent glade echoed with the sounds of their breathing. The man now lay beside her, spent but smiling.
Petra sprawled across his chest and matched his smile. "Now, I am a real woman," she whispered. She traced his lips with her fingers. "Your woman. Your mate." "Yes, my mate," he replied before raising his head and nipping at her fingers. He twined his hands through her hair. Then he pulled her head up until their gazes locked. His golden, hers the richness of the earth. "Now you are mine forever. But one last ritual must be completed." He growled, pulled her down, turned her head to the side and sank his teeth into the top of her shoulder. She screamed and tried to wrench away. His mouth captured hers and stifled the scream. She struggled against him, pain arching through her body like molten lava. He held her tighter and kissed her until she stopped struggling. Soon, she lay limp and acquiescent against him, her mouth as eager as his. Pulling back, he smiled up at her. "The pain was necessary, my love. It will soon leave you but my mark will remain for the rest of your life. Now you are truly mine forever." The burning in her shoulder quieted, then disappeared, but the burning in her soul and body became an inferno. "Forever," she agreed before she rose, straddled him and sought his mouth again. His hands cupped her buttocks as she rubbed against his rising member. A wide grin spread his lips, revealing the long, white fangs of his kind. His nostrils flared and amber fire leapt from his eyes as he watched her breasts sway over his face. "And I will be a most willing mate to you, my King." She giggled as he she slid his hardened penis inside her wet vagina, then moaned. " A most willing mate..." As the sun sank into the horizon, a gunshot ripped through the peaceful silence. Nikolai and Petra froze. Scarlet screamed from her tree, and Sachet thrashed in the brush. With lightning speed, Nikolai threw Petra off, fluidly leapt to his feet, grabbed his clothes and disappeared into the forest. "I will return for you my love. I have no wish to fight this hunter. You will be safe. Wait for me in your village. I will come for you!" His voice became fainter and fainter. Round-eyed with surprise and fear, Petra quickly donned her clothing. She stopped at the edge of the forest. "Nikolai! Come back. It's only Ivan, the hunter from my village. I will tell him you are not the one. Come back!" When the forest sank into total darkness, she slowly turned and made her way down the path back to the village. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked her dress, but a wild hope and determination to wait for his return beat inside her chest.
CHAPTER TWO Morning chores started before the sun rose. Petra, her skirt gathered and tucked at the waist to reveal long, tanned legs, gathered eggs in the henhouse. Scarlet sung from the rafters while tilting her head to watch Petra move about the barn. Petra sighed and daydreamed of the evening before with Nikolai while her fingers found and plucked chicken eggs from the nests. "What are you smiling so strangely about?" Petra's grandfather stooped to add another scoop of grain to the chicken feeder. "You have the look of one bemused. Must I call the village healer to cure you of this strange malady?" He snorted. "Always something with women." "It is nothing, Grandfather. I am happy. That is all." She smiled at the old man and continued to push the fat hens off their nests while they squawked in protest. He straightened with a sudden look of anger on his face. "You have not been to that pond again, have you? Up to no good again?" She froze. "Why, no, Grandfather. What makes you think I would go against your rules?" She carefully arranged her face to look innocent. He let out a big sigh of relief. "Very well then. I am sorry I doubted you, but the last time I saw you so happy was when you'd been to that forest." He scowled. "And that time was against my rules too." Fear clouded his face. "And Ivan tells me there have been more killings in the forest of late. He says it is a large wolf doing it. He hunts for the beast every day, but it eludes him. Until then, you must stay out of the wood or I will be forced to take you to the elders again and have you punished." "I know you worry about me, grandfather. I will obey." She put on her best innocent and most beautiful expression for him but her mind seethed with the memory of the humiliation Elder Gorky had visited on her. Even my grandfather would probably agree with the torture that fat pig gave me, she thought while her hands restlessly searched for more eggs. Naked, kneeling on the dirt, whipped like a dog. She shuddered and pushed the image from her mind. His face relaxed. "I am trying to raise you right, girl; trying to protect you, as your dear mother and grandmother made me promise before they passed on." Petra, suddenly filled with guilt and shame, replied, "I am sorry Grandfather, if I upset you, but I cannot live my whole life on this tiny farm. I need to live fully." A twinkle shone in her eyes. "Besides, how will I ever find a husband if I am cooped up inside this place like another of your timid chickens?" Her arm swept around the small, musty chicken house. "A hen without a cock." She laughed. The old man blushed to the roots of his thinning white hair. "There is always Elder Gorky," he gruffly replied. "He wishes to marry you, but you won't even consider him. Why not?" He raised a bushy white eyebrow and scowled even harder. Petra's face screwed up with distaste. "You would have me marry a man who is so overweight that he cannot get out of his chair without help? A man who has the face of a kicked mule and the disposition of one, too? An old man? Ugh." She shuddered again.
He sighed with resignation. "Yes, I suppose there are no suitable men in the village except Ivan, and he is poor and unacceptable as a provider. But the day will come when I will take you to Minsk, and there you will meet the sons of my friends." His face brightened. "Then you shall marry and finally be gone from this place." He spread his hands wide. "That is all I wish for you, my child, to leave this place and have your own life." Her heart felt crushed inside; burdened with the guilt of her deception. She rushed to hug him. "I love you Grandfather." She kissed his leathery cheek. "But, I must be free to choose my own mate." He pushed her away and wiped his cheek with the back of a calloused hand. "Just like your mother—willful, stubborn, wild and deceitful." His eyes darkened with anger. "She too wanted more and look what she got—an illegitimate daughter and no husband. Her shame was so great that she died young from it. You will end up like her if you don't change your ways," he spat. Petra's face clouded with rage. "My mother was no whore and neither am I!" She dropped the basket of eggs and ran from the coop. Scarlet lifted from her perch in the rafters and followed. "If you disobey me again, then don't bother to come back!" the old man screeched behind her. "I would rather see you dead than to let you shame me like your mother did!" She pushed the garden gate open and ran as fast as she could toward the forest. The amulet warmed between her breasts as she neared the thick trees. The old man goes too far. I cannot live like a nun, and he can't stop me from being happy. Not anymore. Now I have a mate. Nikolai. Her mind focused on the one she knew would free her when he could. As the sun rose in the sky and she neared her secret place, a sense of freedom filled her and she ran harder. Soon, she pushed through the heavy brush and the secluded pond came into view. She raced to the soft grass that surrounded it. There, she dropped to the ground onto her back and stared up at the robin's-egg blue sky. She plucked a flower and chewed on the spicy stem while she let her mind replay her encounter with Nikolai. Scarlet swept into the glen and landed next to her, twittering with excitement, and Sachet, swimming in the pond, answered with a loud quack. The bird squatted next to Petra's hand and nudged it with her bright tufted head. Petra ran her fingertips over the smooth red feathers. "Ah, my friend, if only my Nikolai would return today," she whispered while the bird nuzzled a beak at her hand. A shot rang out, echoing through the trees around her. The duck and bird screamed with fear and both fluttered their wings as they sped into the brush of the forest to hide. Petra leapt to her feet. Her eyes round with fear, she searched the woods for any sign of movement. Soon, a man heavily clothed in leather stepped into the clearing. His bright red hair and flashing blue eyes were the first things she noticed. The rifle in his hands was the second. It was pointed at her chest and did not waver. "What ... why..." she stammered as he approached her with a look of intense hatred on his face. "More like what are you, Petra," he snarled, prodding her soft breasts with the muzzle of the gun. "Take your clothes off," he commanded, poking her again.
Petra sputtered, "How dare you, Ivan! You know me! What are you doing, pointing your gun at me and demanding such an improper thing?" She seethed while her face and neck turned bright pink. "I take you for a werewolf, an evil beast of the forest, that is killing livestock and farmers hereabouts, unless you can prove otherwise. You are the only one who comes here often and the only one nobody has questioned yet." He sneered at her. "Now, take your clothes off so I can check for the mark of the beast ... or I will shoot you where you stand, she-devil." With trembling fingers, she began to unfasten the buttons that held her white peasant blouse together. "Were ... werewolf?" she gulped, still staring into the stranger's eyes for confirmation. "Me? You think I'm a werewolf? Why, Ivan? Why would you think this of me?" While her blouse wafted to the ground, revealing full, firm breasts and pink nipples suddenly taut with excitement, he replied, "Yes, a werewolf and I mean to kill it, even if it's a beautiful young woman I once thought might be good enough to be my wife. That is, before you showed yourself to be evil enough to turn me away in shame." His gaze fastened on her breasts and his hands trembled on the gun. He licked his lips as her skirt fell to the ground and she stood there naked before him. "Raise your hands, palms outward, then turn around slowly," he commanded. She complied with a puzzled look on her face. "What are you looking for?" He licked his lips again. "A sign, a mark of the bite of a wolf, somewhere on your body." His hands shook as he scanned her, his gaze settling on the soft mound between her legs. His face became as stiff with lust as the bulge in his pants. "Turn around, I said," he snapped. Petra slowly turned but felt Ivan's gaze raking her exposed body with a heat that filled her with fear and loathing. His lust and my rejection have made him vicious. I must convince him that I desire him or he will kill me, she thought as her mind sent out a silent scream for help to Nikolai. She paused with her back to him and looked back over her shoulder with a forced smile. "Anything else I can show you?" The bulge in his pants twitched and his mouth opened to allow more air into his suddenly laboring lungs. "Bend over," he rasped, once again licking his lips. "All the way." She bent over and spread her legs. "Is this far enough?" she asked with a stiff, false smile of invitation she hoped was convincing. Nikolai! Help me! She screamed inside her mind as her body burned with shame. "Or..." She straightened, turned to face him, spread her legs again, thrust her hips forward, then massaged both breasts with her hands. Her full lips pouted into a semblance of a becoming invitation. "...do you want to inspect me this way again? Just to make sure." His gun sagged toward the ground then dropped unnoticed. He undid the fastening at the front of his pants and freed a thick, pulsing penis. He grasped the organ and stroked it while he moved toward her. "I must look closer," he rasped. "I must check every part of you, just to make sure." He leered as he approached. When he stood in front of her, his hands replaced hers on her breasts. The fingers wound around the tight nipples. His erection pushed into her mound, seeking its moist warmth.
Her arms reached around him and grasped his hips in an attempt to keep him at a distance as he pumped frantically against her. "Now, are you sure I am no danger to you or anyone else?" she purred with eyes half-closed and a pounding frightened heart. He snarled and pushed her to the ground. He threw himself on top of her and ground his knee between her legs, forcing them open. "Now, I will show you how dangerous Ivan the wolf killer can be; how much of a man," he grunted as he sought to thrust his erection into her. Petra thrashed her body from side to the side, pushed against his chest with her hands and raked her long nails over his slick skin, drawing blood. 'You bastard! Get off me. I will turn you into the elders and you will be hung for this outrage!" she screamed while trying to clamp her legs tight against his invasion. Blocked from entrance, Ivan swore, lifted up and shifted downward. "I will make you want my attentions, slut," he grated as he grasped her ankles and spread her legs further apart. He ducked down and his tongue sought and found her cleft. He thrust the tip into it and assaulted her clitoris. Rubbing his tongue over it then noting its hardening, he lifted his head and glared at her. "Not so anxious to deny me now, are you, you arrogant bitch?" She squirmed under him, aware of her body responding, in spite of her strong desire to escape or fight him off. "No," she moaned. "I hate you! Let me go!" His mouth came down on her erect clitoris and eagerly sucked on it while his tongue drove into her vagina with a rhythm that sent a shiver of unwanted and unbidden lust inside Petra's mind. Her hips began to thrust up against his face, wanting more. She moaned, "Nikolai!". With one last lap of her throbbing clitoris, he rose, braced his hands on each side of her and thrust his massive erection toward the swollen lips of her vagina. "Now, I will show you what a real man can do, then, my dear, I'm afraid I will have to silence you." His penis prodded her, ready to slip inside. "But, for now, I will enjoy what you have denied me for too long." His feral grin was the last thing Petra saw before she tightly shut her eyes and braced her body and mind for the assault. Suddenly, the man on top of her began to writhe and thrash—but not with passion. He threw himself off her and stood while batting at his head and bellowing with rage. Petra gazed up then, and laughed at what she saw. Sachet attacked Ivan's testicles with his clawed, webbed feet while he pecked at Ivan's suddenly deflating organ. Circling, then coming in for dive-bomber attacks, Scarlet screeched with anger. Her sharp beak left small bloodied gouges in Ivan's face and head. Ivan bellowed again, raced for his rifle and tried to get it aimed at the birds. When the ploy didn't work, he used the gun to swing at them. The birds easily avoided the weapon and continued the assault. The hunter ran for the forest with the two angry birds still attacking his face and exposed groin. Petra rose, still laughing, and gathered her clothes. "That will teach you to molest an innocent woman who detests you!" she shouted at the retreating figure as he thrashed through the bushes. "Hardly innocent anymore," a deep voice rumbled behind her. "But very, very beautiful."
Petra whirled and caught her breath at a pair of glistening yellow eyes peering at her through a stand of thick brush. "Who ... who is there?" She clutched her clothes in front of her with shaking hands. A huge black wolf padded from the brush. His golden eyes sparkled. "Not so much who, as what." Black lips pulled back to reveal deadly long white fangs. "Who ... Nikolai?..." she stuttered. She trembled, frozen in place with a mixture of confusion and hope. The wolf bowed his great head. "Nikolai Romanoff, the king of the wolves, at your service, my sweet queen. In my wolf form."Petra laughed and ran to gather his animal body to hers. Rubbing her face in his long fur pelt, she whispered, "My love. I knew you would hear and come to save me." He grinned, then stepped toward her. "And now, it is my turn to eat you." Petra fainted.
CHAPTER THREE Petra awoke to darkness, a star-sprinkled sky above, and a feeling of being suspended in space. She was afraid to move, lest she fall from these heavens. Her breathing quickened when a small sound to her right intruded on the silence. "Ah, you are awake, I see." Yellow eyes peered at her through tangled branches and leaves. She gingerly sat up and returned his gaze. "I ... I fainted." Her hands unconsciously groped her naked body, then the surrounding area, searching for her clothing. "Where..." "Have no fear, Petra. You are safe now within my secret lair, high up inside an ancient hollow tree. No hunter or villager will find you here. They mistakenly think we werefolk live in caves but this one is very large and has steps that lead up here, to a secret and sheltered ledge of the mountain. They will never find us here." His voice and the eyes moved closer. "Did you not yet fully realize that I am not just a mere man but a real wolf, too?" "Then you really are the werewolf the hunters seeks." Her teeth chattered with fear for him and a cool breeze that wafted over her feverish skin. "They will kill you." Tears formed in her eyes. He chuckled and the eyes moved closer still. "You really are an innocent wench." He sighed. The faint outline of a tall, muscular man appeared. He reached out to caress her face. "Yes, I am the werewolf Ivan seeks, but I am no easy prey for hunters. So leave your fear behind, my love." He sat down beside her and took her trembling hand. "I am the king of the werewolves, the last of my line; the blood of the royal Romanoff family and I would never endanger my people by giving in to the old ways of killing humans, the source of our kind. I roamed this land to find my queen, nothing else. And now you are here beside me, my mate." Petra's eyes widened. "I thought werewolves could only change at night, during the full moon. How did you..." He chuckled. "I am ancient, my sweet. I have traveled this world for decades. When one is as old as I, one is not damaged by the sun anymore. I can change at will now." He pushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "However, I can only change on a day of the full moon. That much limit binds me." "Why did you bring me here?" she asked with love thrumming inside her heart. With long fingers, he trailed a hot path up her forearm and over her breasts. "I brought you here because you are my chosen mate and you should be with me ... to mate and raise our family." "Mate..." She paused. "I thought ... before when you said we were mated, that it meant married. But, you are truly a wolf. How? ... but I am not a werewolf!" she blurted with a mixture of excitement and horror and the implications of his words. His hand found the scar on her shoulder and caressed it. "Have you not noticed the mark of a royal werewolf on your sweet white flesh?" He pointed to a scar that resembled the amulet she wore. "You are now one of my kind and will live for decades." She shivered, remembering the bite her lover gave her after they first made love. "Then the man and wolf truly are one."
He grasped her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. His breath wafted through the silky hair next to her ear. "Yes, my love. That was me in man form." With a finger, he turned her chin so she faced him. "I am your true mate, as both human and wolf, and no other will ever have you." His voice became low and dangerous. "But that hunter. Why didn't you stop him from trying to...? If you are a wolf, too, then you could have stopped him." Her skin crawled at the memory of Ivan's hands and body against hers. "I had just arrived. I would've killed him if your friends hadn't driven him off. And, you have my word on this; he will not live much longer for what he tried to do to you." He caressed then entwined his hands in her hair. "You are mine and nobody touches what is mine." He laughed, pulled her face to his. "Besides, my love, you are now a royal and any who dare to offend you are subject to the harshest of punishments for that reason alone." "Royalty? Me?" She smiled. "But I am just a poor villager with no royal blood." "You have far more than royal blood now. You carry my blood, my mark..." He fingered the scar. "...and my children." She gasped. "Children?" She put a hand to her flat belly. Easing her onto the thick layer of leaves on the stone floor, he nuzzled her neck then nipped both nipples before answering. "Yes, one son and one daughter, and both of royal blood. But we will have to make sure of it, won't we?" He grinned, his white teeth bright under the moon's glow. She reached for his already hardening organ and stroked it. "Oh yes, many, many times. Just to make sure." He ran his hands down her body, over her thighs then between her legs. He fondled her still tender and responsive clitoris until it became hard again. "And we will have more, my mate." She opened her legs at his touch. Her breath quickened and her nipples hardened against the thick hair of his chest. "Yes. Your mate. Your queen. Your wolf bitch. Breed me, my love. Share your seed with me. I want to be the mother of your children." She panted with desire. He mounted her, slid his massive erection into her waiting vagina and ground his hips against hers. With slow movements, he rotated against her, rubbing his erection inside her. "Yes, my queen. Many whelps and many times such as these will be yours." His yellow eyes closed in ecstasy as he slowly withdrew from her, then just as slowly eased back inside. His penis throbbed and pulsed inside her. "I will breed you often and bring you as much pleasure as you bring me." He gently embedded his teeth into her shoulder and held her while his member slid out then slowly began to slide back in. Petra groaned with pleasure and pushed her hips up to meet his thrust. When he filled her vagina, she clamped her thighs together and quickly thrust back and forth, feeling him inside her and between her legs. "Much pleasure, my lord," she murmured as his penis expanded even more. With a growl, he grasped her breasts, lowered his head and licked each nipple before his lips found and clamped onto one. He sucked, nibbled and wound his tongue around it. Then he lifted his head, braced his arms on each side of her and thrust his hips forward with enough force to elicit another groan from her. "You are mine," he growled. "You will always be mine." He thrust deeper. "My mate. My beautiful bitch."
Deeper, faster, harder. When Petra exploded with her orgasm, Nikolai's white hot spurt of ejaculation soon followed. Filled, sated, content, the two collapsed against each other and were soon asleep. Scarlet nestled down in her nest and the great snowy duck settled into a cranny of rounded rocks beside the hidden opening to the great tree. Both kept watch that night.
CHAPTER FOUR "You will be purged and if the elders cannot purge you of this evil then you will be burned!" Petra's grandfather spat as he dragged her down the muddy street toward the local church. The sun disappeared behind a thick, gray cloud and the late afternoon became a study in gloom. Clothes torn and muddied, her face covered with welts, her hair matted with blood and mud and her body bruised from the beating he gave her, Petra nonetheless snarled at him with all the rage she could muster. "I am not evil. I have done nothing wrong. I came back to tell you that I have married and to say goodbye. Why are you doing this to me grandfather? Why..." She gasped as he yanked on her arm then pulled her along even more forcefully. He stopped in his tracks and held her hard by both forearms. "If you are truly married then where is this man? Why didn't he come to get my blessing and take you in marriage properly?" Petra stared at the ground. "I asked him not to come. I cannot explain other than to tell you that he is a good man. He wanted to..." The old man snorted with disbelieving disgust then continued his trek down the main street. He glared at her over his shoulder as he dragged her down the street. "I don't believe you , you whore! Besides, Ivan returned, bloodied and wounded, last night. He told me of the mark on your body. Now I know why you return to the woods, time and again. You are tainted, damned and a killer!" His voice became high pitched and maniacal. The villagers lined the road, some with leers and cheers, some with scowls and growls but not one did anything to stop the old man's progress. Their torches flickered and hissed as the old man passed with the struggling girl. Four elderly men in coarse brown cassocks stood with hands crossed over their ponderous bellies as they waited on the steps of the small clapboard church. Lit torches guttered on each side of the door, sending shadows and black lines writhing over their faces. None showed one way or the other how they felt about the spectacle approaching them. Gorky Slobovic, the largest in the group of elders, took two steps down the stairs to face the old man and bruised girl when they arrived inside the white picketed yard that led up to the church steps. "What is this all about Anik Penchabich? Why do you shame yourself and your granddaughter in such a public fashion?" He licked fat red lips at the sight of the girl's breasts bulging out of her torn bodice. The old man threw Petra at the fat man's feet. "She is in need of the church's help." He wiped sweat from his grimy face. "She..." He spat, reached down and ripped what was left of the girl's top from her, revealing the scar on her shoulder and the silver amulet she still wore. "She is in league with the devil. She bears his mark and must be purged..." He spat again. "...or burnt." He spread his hands toward the elders. "It is the only way to save her soul, although she is not worth the effort." He kicked Petra. She flinched, then lay still once more on the muddy ground, whimpering with fear and horror.
"Stand up girl!" Gorky bellowed at the cowering girl who tried vainly to cover her exposed breasts with the tatters of her dress. "Get up, I say!" Petra rose on shaking legs, attempting to cover her breasts with her hands and arms. Her eyes flashed defiance and hatred at the men who stared at her, then at the villagers who leered. "I have done no evil to any person," she shouted at them. "You can torture me or burn me but I won't confess to any sin. I am innocent of these crimes. Ivan lies!" She raised a shaking finger to point at the red-haired hunter who stood to one side with a knowing smirk of satisfaction on his face. "We shall see," Gorky hissed while nodding at several men in the crowd. "Bring her into the church." Ivan and another man stepped forward. Rough, calloused hands grabbed Petra, pinned her arms to her sides, exposing her for the crowd to see, then dragged her screaming and kicking into the church. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, she saw Gorky and the elders motioning the men to bring her to a trapdoor set into the floor behind a rough wooden pulpit. When her struggling body was dragged past him, Gorky hissed into her ear, "You should have married me, Petra. And you should never have mocked me the way you did to the village. Now, it is too late for you and I shall enjoy seeing you suffer for your insults." He smiled with cracked and broken teeth. "Maybe I will give you a little pleasure first though, yes?" He snickered as she was dragged down the steep wooden stairs into the dark cellar. **** Petra stared up at the darkening sky through a small window covered with bars. Moldy, flea-infested straw covered the cell where the men had thrown her like a bundle of diseased rags. The elders had crossed themselves, then declared that her judgment would begin at daybreak and that she had the night to pray for the redemption of her soul. She shuddered at the thought of what kind of judgment the elders of the village would use in order to get her to confess to the things they accused her of doing and being. "Nikolai, where are you, my love?" she whispered to the red sky of dusk that bathed her with its bloody light through the bars. "I was foolish to come back, to want to say goodbye to these ... these ... human pigs." Her heart hammered inside her chest. She glanced down at her naked breasts, saw the vibration of her heartbeats then laid a grimy hand on the organ thrumming just under the skin. "My heart tells me you are near." A thrill of hope ran through her at the thought. A square of light appeared at the far end of the cellar. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs. A flickering torch sent sinuous fingers of light skittering across the rough stone walls as it approached her cell. Gorky appeared at the bars of her cell, leering in at her. "So, are you ready to save yourself, slut?" Petra held her head high and stared into his piggish eyes with defiance. "What can I do to convince you I'm innocent?" she hissed, knowing what he wanted from her. He reached down with his free hand, moved his loose cassock aside and revealed a short stubby erection. "You know what I want ... oh, yes, you know how to please a
man." The leer on his face twisted into a bestial grin. "Since you have lain with my friend, Ivan, the wolf hunter..." Her shocked look elicited a smile from him. "...oh, yes, he told me everything. How you seduced him, how you opened your legs for him, how he mounted and used you all afternoon and how much you enjoyed it. Yes, he told me all." "He tried to rape me. It wasn't like that!" Petra screeched. "Liar! Whore! You taunted me before, but I will not be denied now. No, I will not be denied by such a whore as you." He fondled his erection and shuddered with a look of ecstasy on his face. His gaze locked onto her breasts and his breathing became harsh and fast. "All you have to do to save yourself is let me do whatever I wish to you and you to do whatever I command. That is all." Petra's mouth went dry at the thought of this fat, repulsive mound of flesh touching and using her. "Never," she whispered through stiff lips. His small puffy eyes flashed with rage. He pulled the heavy ring of keys off the wall and opened the door to her cell. Once inside, he dropped the keys and pulled a dagger from a pocket in his clothes. He pointed at her bare breasts. "You will do as I bid or die now." He motioned with the dagger. "Come with me to my quarters and don't try to run. I have two guards on the doors. One of them is my trusted friend, Ivan, and he would be quite willing to use you again then kill you. There is nowhere you can run and nobody to save you." He laughed an ugly, nasty gut-twisting laugh. Petra stiffly moved toward him, shivering as the dagger scraped along her breast when she passed him to climb the stairs. When she stepped onto the first wooden stair, the dagger prodded her buttocks. She jumped and climbed faster. "Just to give you a taste of what's in store—a little prick in the backside to get you ready." He snickered and followed her up into the deserted church. When he stood beside her, he motioned toward the door behind the podium. "Back there, in my room." She crossed woodenly to the door, while her mind frantically searched for a way out of the locked church. Please Nikolai. Please. Please save me, she prayed inside her mind.Abruptly, screams penetrated the thick outer doors. The sound of snarling and heavy objects hitting the doors echoed around the room. Gorky spun to face the doors. Petra ran to the podium and crouched down behind it while searching the stained glass windows for any way out of the building. The massive oak doors exploded inward, splinters of wood, gouts of mangled flesh and sprays of fresh hot blood erupted through them into the room. Standing in the doorway backlit by a full moon tinged with red, stood a black wolf with what remained of a man's head in its mouth. The animal spat it out, then fastened its gaze on Gorky, who stood with the flaming torch held out in front of him like a weapon. The torchlight revealed the head of Ivan, its face twisted into a rictus of horror and fear. Gorky backed up, the torch quivering in his hands. His breath came in short, raspy gasps as he slowly made his way backward to the door of his rooms. A low, guttural snarl reverberated from the wolf's chest and open maw. Its fangs gleamed in the moonlight, matching the murderous gleam in its golden eyes. "Stay back, demon spawn of the evil one!" Gorky shouted while waving the fire back and forth in front of him. "You cannot harm me inside God's house." His voice quivered
with fear and his small eyes strained into the murky fog that had arrived to obscure the wolf stalking him. The wolf threw back its great head and howled. Petra stood up and stared at the wolf now only a few feet from Gorky. "Nikolai! I knew you would come for me, my love!" She took a step forward. When she stood in front of the podium, Gorky thrust out the hand that held the dagger, digging the point into her side. "If you try to harm me, I will kill her," Gorky rasped, never taking his gaze off the great beast that sought to move around him. Gorky's gaze followed, keeping himself and the torch between the wolf and Petra while keeping the dagger in her side. "I mean it, evil one. I will kill her." To emphasize the words, he dug the dagger deeper into Petra's flesh. She screamed and tried to back up but the podium kept her pinned with no way to turn. "My love, do as he says. Please, Nikolai. Leave me and save yourself. The villagers will surely come soon and I could not bear to see you harmed." She whimpered. "Please." The great wolf stopped and stared into Petra's eyes then back at Gorky. Slowly, he backed up then twirled and ran from the church. The fog soon swallowed the running shape. The sound of shouts around the village seeped through the thick fog. Lights appeared, heading toward the church. Gorky pulled the dagger from Petra then aimed it at her chest, where the amulet now gleamed with a reddish glow. "Now, into the back room. Quickly. I will lock you in there and get rid of the villagers. Then you will be mine." When she backed toward the small room, he added. "That filthy beast won't be able to help you in there and tomorrow I will gather all the men and track it down then kill it in front of you. You will never escape me Petra. Never" With a crash of breaking glass, the wolf erupted through the stained glass window next to Gorky. Before the man could react, the wolf threw its weight onto him and pinned the man to the floor. Gorky screamed. The wolf hesitated, locked gazes with Petra and waited. She nodded. The wolf's jaws clenched around the man's neck. With a great wrench and the sound of splintering bone, Gorky's neck disappeared. His head rolled and landed at Petra's feet. At that moment, Sachet and Scarlet flew into the room. They squawked and quacked in panic as they swept in great loops around the room then around Petra's head. "The villagers are coming. We must flee!" she shouted. With lightning speed, the wolf bounded to Petra, ducked its head and thrust it between her legs. The great muscles of its neck convulsed when the head rose, lifting her onto his back. She grasped the thick ruff around his neck, wrapped her legs around his chest and hung on. The wolf bounded through the open door of the church and disappeared into the swirling fog once more. Scarlet and Sachet flew above them, silent into the night.
CHAPTER FIVE Nikolai panted with exertion as he lay next to Petra inside his lair. She smoothed the thick fur on his body and crooned to him. "My love. I knew you would not abandon me and your children." She leaned down and kissed his warm nose. His great golden eyes watched her with love and his large pink tongue snaked out to caress her face. He rose onto his haunches, placed his great paws on her shoulders and nuzzled her neck with his snout. She sighed and dug her fingers into his fur. "Yes, love, I know," she murmured. "The feeling is one of power, not pain. I understand now." When he dismounted and sat watching her, she stood and slid the rest of her dress down over her body. She stood naked in the moonlight that filtered down into the trunk of the hollow tree. She ran her hands over her breasts, stomach, and pubic mound then she shuddered. "I feel it too," she whispered with a hoarse voice. Her body shivered, convulsed and twitched. Hair the color of sable sprouted all over her body. She hunched over then fell to the floor of leafy mold. Her hands became paws, her snout stretched and widened, her ears lengthened and were soon covered with thick hair. She rose to hands and knees and a tail sprouted from her buttocks. Petra shivered and shook as the transformation became complete. Nikolai threw back his head and howled in triumph. When Petra stood before him on all fours, her tongue lolling between ivory white fangs and her yellow eyes staring into his, Nikolai mounted her from behind. Petra whined with need and love for her mate. He thrust into her while grasping the back of her neck with his massive jaws and biting down. Using the strong thigh muscles of his form, he thrust into her again and again. Then his body shuddered and slumped on hers, still locked inside her. When he finally released her and lay upon the matted leaves, Petra curled beside him and licked his face and neck. Sachet and Scarlet perched outside the great tree. When a wisp of red cloud moved across the moon's face, the two birds lifted into the sky. Within moments, both birds transformed into their true form—protective dragons. The metallic white of one and the metallic red of the other, twined around each other's bodies as they mated in flight. The moon smiled. THE END About the Author: Always versatile, Ariana Overton has led a life that spans continents and countries. Traveling around the U.S., Australia and New Guinea, meeting exciting people, experiencing exotic lands and cultures, has given Ari a diverse catalog of characters, settings and storylines her writing can't help but reflect. After traveling to Australia to
research her trilogy of Australian mysteries, she met Max Overton. Max and Ariana are now co-authoring books together and living in the United States. Her genres and cross-genre novels are as eclectic as the author—murder mysteries (TRAPDOOR, THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS—EPPIE finalist 2001 and Frankfurt nominee), Time Travel Thriller (TAPESTRY—EPPIE finalist in 2000), Action/Adventure (GLASS HOUSE, A GLASS DARKLY—EPPIE finalists in 2001, and LOOKING GLASS, EPPIE finalist in 2002—available at Atlantic Bridge www.atlanticbridge.net and at Novel Books, Inc. www.novelbooksinc.com ), A GIFT FOR ROO (children's picture book—inducted into the children's E-book hall of fame and now with Writer's Exchange) and PORTAL, Ariana's first humorous erotic sci-fi novel at Liquid Silver Books www.liquidsilverbooks.com, under the name of Sydney Morgann. The GLASS HOUSE trilogy, written in and about Australia, was adapted for the big screen and is now being packaged for a film project. Always working on new books, Ariana will have three new titles out in 2003/4— RAPTOR, a paranormal action/adventure, and BLACK HOLE, a sequel to PORTAL.
Peter's Touch Vanessa Hart CHAPTER ONE Sleep eluded Wendy Dowling. Too many problems danced around in her brain, too many to-do lists dragged at her consciousness. Her career depended on tomorrow's presentation, which meant she needed rest. A vicious circle, for sure. To top off her anxiety, Kaplan had brought up his proposal during lunch today, pressuring her for an answer by claiming otherwise. "Wendy, I'm not pressuring you. I just wondered if you've decided yet." Then he'd winked. "Are you interested in the merger?" Of course, John, her brother, thought she was nuts for hesitating. "You'll be set for life, Wen! The guy's loaded, moves in all the right circles, and drives a Jag. What's to think about?" John saw nothing unromantic about a proposal worded as a joint venture. Fun loving John, as lazy as his best friend, Peter, always looked for the shortcut. Heaven forbid either man should work for a living! What was keeping her from marrying her boss? She'd worked damn hard to be head of the account team. As his wife, she'd be a shoo-in. Or was that it? She wanted to earn the position. Anything less would be unrewarding. Or was it the lack of fireworks in Kap's bed? Wendy had given romance and passion her best shot, deciding that the whole earth-moving sex thing was a myth, just like simultaneous orgasm. A nice cup of hot chamomile tea would settle her nerves. She slipped into her mules and padded downstairs to the kitchen, without bothering to grab a robe. Even if Michael or John were still up, both had seen their sister in her long night shirt. Mom and Dad stayed down in Florida these days, so the Dowling offspring had the run of the main house. Light spilled from the back of the house, illuminating the bottom of the stairs and the hall. She followed the low murmur of her brothers' voices and found the three sitting at the old oaken table drinking sodas and munching popcorn. Three? "Hey, Wen, I hope we didn't wake you," John said. "Hello, Wendy." Peter's greeting seemed intimate, almost ... sexy. She supposed his voice had deepened with age, but then he was as old as John, an immature twenty-seven. Wendy had always thought of herself as older than Peter and John, even if she trailed them by two years. Peter pulled out the oak Windsor chair beside him. "Have a seat." Funny, but Peter hardly seemed little brother-ish tonight. Something about his greeneyed gaze, the way his full lips curved into a roguish smile touched something deep inside her. She tried to ignore the quickening of her pulse and the catch in her breath, to no avail. Warmth flooded her body, heating her flesh.
She averted her gaze. "No, thanks. I'm just making a cup of tea." She turned toward the range, hiding hardened nipples that threatened to poke two holes through her nightshirt. What was that about, anyway? Discovering that her brother's childhood friend had grown into a virile man? Fatigue. That's all it was. She grabbed the tea kettle and turned on the faucet with unnecessary force, and quickly overfilled the pot. Slamming it down on the burner, she turned the knob to High. She focused on hunting through her stash of tea bags and ignored the hissing and popping as the element heated up. "Have you and Kap set a date?" John stuffed his mouth with another handful of popcorn. Wendy spun toward him. "Don't start." Peter looked up, but his expression was unreadable. "You're engaged?" "No. He asked. I told him I'll think about it." Michael, a year younger than she, spoke up. "Quit trying to marry off Wendy. Her cooking's way better than yours." Wendy laughed. Although the middle child, she'd become the surrogate parent for her two siblings after their parents took taken early retirement and became perpetual golfers in Sarasota. "I'll take that as a compliment." "Wendy's too young to get married," Peter said. "You're too young to get married, Pete," John said. "Wendy was born old." Peter snorted. "I'll never be old enough to marry." "Born old?" Wendy clenched her hands on her hips and glared at her older brother. "Thanks a lot." Peter intervened. "All he means is you take life seriously. Always have." "No, you two don't take life seriously at all. You leave others to clean up your messes." John shrugged off the insult. "That's just how you see it." The tea kettle whistled, its shrill summons saving Wendy from a reply. They'd had this argument most of their lives. They wouldn't settle anything tonight. Michael yawned loudly. "I'm turning in." She turned just as she lifted the tea kettle to pour. "Good night, little brother." John chased after him. "Wait a sec. You forgot to give me back my Third Eye Blind CD." Wendy looked to Peter. "Third Eye Blind?" "Some rock band," Peter said, just as boiling water splashed from Wendy's overfilled cup and scalded her hand. "Yeow!" She dropped the cup, spilling herb tea over the counter top. The cup clattered unharmed onto the rubber sink pad. Peter jumped to her rescue. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped her hand. "Hold this while I get some ice." Wendy's eyes stung and filled with tears of pain. Why on earth had she been so careless with the tea kettle? Peter took the towel from her and rubbed two ice cubes over her burned flesh, holding the injured hand in his. He stood close, crowding her against the sink, but it couldn't be helped if he were to minister to her burn. Gently, he wrapped the dishtowel around the ice to hold it in place. "Keep that on there until it melts." He led her to a chair. "I'll make your tea."
"Thanks," she murmured, touched by Peter's tenderness. The little boy did have a responsible side, after all, even if he never grew up. She sat nursing her burned flesh with the ice as Peter rinsed the dropped cup and brewed a new tea bag. "Here you go." He placed the steaming mug in front of her, then squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be right back." She sipped at the chamomile tea while Peter disappeared into the half-bath off the mud room. He reappeared holding a small tube, which he tossed onto the table. "Antibiotic cream. We'll rub some on after the ice melts and your skin cools." He pivoted toward the sink, pulled off several paper towels, and quickly wiped up the spill. This was not the reckless, irresponsible Peter Penn Wendy knew. Could it be he was growing up ... just a little? As she studied the way muscled legs filled out his jeans and his shirt tightened across his shoulders, she couldn't deny that he had indeed grown up, at least physically. Very physically. * Wendy Dowling was off-limits, and he knew it. Hell, she was way out of his league. Never mind that he'd had the hots for her since he'd reached puberty. His best friend's sister, she outclassed the likes of him by a mile. Double trouble. He'd kept his distance, and his resolve, until she'd strolled into the kitchen tonight wearing that oversized T-shirt that she slept in. Oh, it wasn't see-through or anything, but it hugged her luscious curves and clung to her to reveal far more than a gauzy negligee might. The babe was just plain sexy. No, not plain. One could never call this blue-eyed blonde plain. But definitely sexy. One minute, his world brightened, just by being in the same room with her, corny as that might sound. The next, his mood plummeted. Why was that? Oh, yeah, now he remembered. Kaplan Hook, wonder boy millionaire. Wendy's boss. Wendy's boyfriend. And the guy John had decided would be Wendy's husband, damn him. Not that he blamed John. First of all, John hadn't a clue how Peter felt toward Wendy. Second, Kap Hook was everything Peter would never be: settled, rich, ambitious, and secure. Peter had none of those traits, nothing to offer. Intellectually, he understood his place, or lack of place, in Wendy's life. But one touch chased away all reason. Just holding her hand while he applied ice to the burn, had him burning too. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought Wendy was just as affected by his touch. She'd seemed agitated by his closeness, and he swore her nipples had reacted to his blatant stare. Had he maybe, just maybe, been the cause of her accident with the tea kettle? Wouldn't that be something? As he threw away a paper towel, he decided not to throw in the proverbial towel. At least not yet. Maybe he wasn't the right guy for Wendy, but shouldn't that be for her to decide?
CHAPTER TWO Wendy stared at the blister bubble on the side of her throbbing hand. She didn't need this at tomorrow's meeting. The client would be staring at her reddened flesh where she clutched the telescoping pointer instead of following the pie chart posters she'd had printed up with such care. Peter squeezed a short ribbon of antibiotic ointment onto the tip of his finger. His fingers gently tugged her injured hand. "Here." What was wrong with her tonight? The cool ointment as Peter spread it over the burn should have soothed her. Instead, the sturdy yet gentle hand cradling hers sent a curl of heat rising through her torso. The strange sensation between her legs, the feeling she'd had earlier, returned with a vengeance. The throb from her hand matched the ache in her groin. It wasn't as if she was a damn virgin ... yet, in a way, it was. Kap Hook had never affected her that way. "Just my bloody luck," she muttered. Peter looked up, pinning her with a mischievous, green-eyed stare. But he didn't release her hand. "What?" What? She couldn't tell him what! She couldn't tell him that Kap, the guy who loved her and wanted to marry her, couldn't arouse her with thirty minutes of foreplay like Peter could with just a touch. Why was that, anyway? It wasn't as if she had to choose between the two. Peter never treated her as anything but John's kid sister. He had no way of knowing he turned her brain to soup with just a gaze. "I-I have a lot on my mind right now." "Like marrying Kap Hook?" He held her hand, his thumb stroking tiny circles against her palm. "Who else would she marry?" John asked, bouncing into the kitchen. She yanked her hand from Peter's, then regretted the sudden move that re-awakened the pain. Her burned skin hurt like hell, but John's words carried their own sting. "What's that supposed to mean? No one else would want me?" Peter stepped back from the table. "That's not what he meant..." Unable to understand the rush of conflicting emotions, Wendy clenched her jaw. Her personal life was not open to discussion, particularly by the two playboys in the kitchen. She bolted from the chair. "How do you know what he means?" Then she advanced toward John. "Get out of my business. I mean it." Without another word, she marched from the kitchen and up the stairs, her chamomile tea abandoned. It no longer mattered. Sleep tonight was a lost cause. The presentation would go like clockwork. She was well-prepared and always followed up on everything. But her out-of-whack emotions would keep her mind working overtime, trying to sort it all out. Why had she let Peter get to her? Was she really feeling attracted to him, after all these years as the trouble-making best friend of her brother? Or was her
subconscious trying to save her from a passionless union with the very suave and debonair and ... unromantic ... Kaplan Hook? * "Well, that didn't go well," Peter muttered as he slumped into a chair. He traced the marks on the top of the scarred oak table, covered now with quilted placemats and mixing bowls half-filled with popcorn. How many times had he sat here with the Dowlings having soda, or milk and cookies? Mrs. Dowling made the yummiest sugar cookies. How many times had he and John yanked on one of Wendy's white-blond ponytails? She'd called them doggy ears because she wore twin ponytails just above her ears. Scrawny and precocious, she'd certainly grown out of her gawky stage, and how! John studied him with narrowed eyes. "What d'ya mean? What was going on here while I was gone, huh?" "Nothing," Peter answered, which was true in part. Nothing had happened, although a lot went on inside him. "Hey, were you hitting on Wendy?" "Hitting on her?" Peter forced a chuckle. "I was first-aiding her. She scalded her hand with boiling water." John plopped down into the opposite chair. "Oh. That explains why you were holding her hand." "What did you think I was doing?" He forced a lightness to his voice, hoping John couldn't see through it. But he and John had been friends too long, and John knew him too well. "I thought maybe you were proposing." A coughing fit seized Peter. He strangled and coughed his way to the sink, where he filled a juice glass with water. He gulped the entire contents before he managed to speak. "What?" "I saw what happened when I brought up Kap's proposal, Pete. You went gray as dingy underwear." "I did?" He refilled the glass, then swallowed more water. "Afraid so. Why didn't you tell me? I'm your best friend, aren't I?" "Tell you? I'm not keeping anything from you, John." John moved beside him and slapped him on the back. "My God, you have it bad. It's written all over your face." "What's written all over my face?" But the sinking feeling in his gut warned him that John was going to blurt out his secret, and Wendy might hear. "Never mind. We're not having this discussion." "Whatever." "And for God's sake, I have no intention of proposing marriage to anyone, ever. Got it?" John chuckled. What was so damn funny, anyway? "Got it, Pete. Chill." Chill? Exactly. He needed a cold shower and a cold brew. But not here. "I better get home. See you tomorrow." John walked him out, although he needn't have bothered. Peter knew the house and grounds as well as he did, having practically grown up in the Dowling house. Besides, he lived across the street. It wasn't as if he had far to travel.
"Don't worry, Pete." John stopped at the end of the driveway. "It'll be our little secret." "Knock it off," he muttered, but there was no stopping John. "I have to warn you," John began, stopping Peter in mid-stride. "Warn me?" Would John threaten him with body damage if he touched Wendy? Surely, he was past the big brother routine ... wasn't he? "About what?" John sauntered into the deserted street. "Kap Hook is really pouring on the charm. If you're going to make a move, you better do it soon." Peter started to speak, but John grabbed his shoulders. "Look, man, I'm your friend. All kidding aside, don't you think I'd rather have you for a brother-in-law?" "I thought you wanted Wendy to marry Kap." "Sure, he has a Jag and a penthouse, but you're a lot more fun." Peter broke free and back-stepped toward his driveway. "I told you, I'm not interested in marrying anybody. The only way I'll have you for a brother-in-law is if you marry Lily." That shut him up. Peter grinned as he turned his back on his best friend and strolled toward the house. His sister Lily, opposite of Wendy in every respect, was the last woman John would marry, especially since she'd come out of the closet and moved in with Sandra Smee last month. Peter followed the driveway's descent to the rear of the house, then let himself in the exterior basement door. Later, as he kicked back in his old leather recliner, one of many cast-offs from his mother's redecorating, he surveyed the place through Wendy's eyes. What would she think of his basement lair? With its white pine paneling and walk-out level door and window, it wasn't a typical dark basement. It had nice Berber carpet and a kitchen that would rival most apartments. This had once been the TV room, with plenty of seating and electronic entertainment. Now it was Peter's studio apartment, with a bed in one corner and his saxophone in the other. Here he could play without disturbing anyone upstairs. Of course, now, nobody lived upstairs. They'd played in this basement through the years, from the time it was an unfinished concrete expanse with round metal poles and bare bulb lights, through its many renovations. One Christmas they'd raced in an oval wearing their new in-line skates. Michael could hardly walk, and kept falling. Lily had patiently held on to the little guy until he learned balance. Wendy had her hair cut in a short bob that year, and Peter and John had called her Dork Head as they chased after her. She'd grown out her hair and had worn it long ever since. She and Lily had been the best skaters of all, showing off by skating backwards, even dancing, although Lily's dancing lacked Wendy's style. They'd cranked up the volume on John's new boom box and skated to everything from Madonna to Billy Idol. Peter shook off the memory and twisted off the cap of his bottle of beer. After one lengthy swallow, he thought again of the special childhood the Penns and the Dowlings had enjoyed. While all their friends jockeyed between divorced parents and were making sense of half- and step-siblings, the five neighborhood friends shared the oddity of living in a single marriage home in the same neighborhood most of their lives. Perhaps that's why his parents and the Dowlings had hit it off. They had in common a rare and solid marriage.
Marriage. He shivered at the thought. Where was the fun in that? First of all, where would he live with a wife? In his parent's basement? Yeah, right. That settled it. Even if he did propose to Wendy, which of course he wouldn't, he'd get nowhere fast. Let's see, now. Peter Penn's basement studio apartment, or Kaplan Hook's penthouse? Tough decision, Wendy.
CHAPTER THREE "God, this is better than sex!" Wendy squealed as Kap grinned smugly from behind his executive desk. "I wouldn't go that far," he said. "It's still exciting to me. I got the account!" She jumped from the chair and ran to hug him, but he blocked her with upheld hands. His thick eyebrows met in a frown. "Not here." "Sorry." Properly chastised for unprofessional behavior, she returned to the chair facing Kap's desk and folded her hands in her lap. Her earlier fatigue had evaporated after the presentation. The pharmaceutical giant had already signed the contract with Hook, Line, and Sinker Advertising, and all because of her. The preparation and follow-up, the research and computer models, the late hours at her desk, had all paid off. The client had specifically asked for her to handle the account. "You know what this means, of course," Hook said, raising one eyebrow. Yes, she knew what it meant. She had the promotion. A mere peon couldn't handle an account of that magnitude. But she waited for Kap to tell her. "It means," he continued, his long, tapered fingers forming a steeple atop his polished desktop, "that we'll have to change your title to Account Executive." Change your title? Not, promote you to Account Executive. Not, move you into the AE job. Change your title. What the hell did that mean? "I've already told Eva to order your new business cards and name plate. We won't be moving you into an office yet, but that will happen eventually." She smiled. Of course, he meant she'd be getting the promotion. When it was official, agreed to by the firm's partners, then she'd get the office and the salary increase. "I'll need an office soon, though. I can't very well meet with clients at my cubicle..." "You'll use the executive conference room," he said. "I see." But she didn't. "We can talk about it tonight, at dinner." Dinner? Had she agreed to a date tonight? She knew how that went. Dinner at a nice restaurant, followed by drinks on his yacht. Then sex. He always expected to make love with her before driving her home. Tomorrow was a work day. Her earlier burst of energy dissolved. "I'll take a rain check. I don't think I'm up for a late night." "You don't mean that, Wendy. Account Executive at Hook, Line, and Sinker means late hours, wining and dining the clients, researching and brainstorming. Where's your energy?" Then he smiled. Kaplan Hook really was an attractive man. Half of the women in western New Jersey wanted to marry him. With his thick, dark hair and a face like John Kennedy's, he had everything in the looks department. Money, too. He'd been on the cover of a magazine two years ago as one of the top ten bachelors in the northeast. And he wanted to marry her.
She sighed. They'd landed the biggest account of her career. She could manage to stay awake a few extra hours and celebrate. "You win. But let's call it a night after dinner, Kap." "No dancing and wild parties, I promise." He winked. "But we have much to discuss. We'll leave at five." Five? That'll be novel, she thought. What happened to late hours, wining and dining the clients, researching and brainstorming? "Five is fine." **** After the waiter cleared away their dinner plates and Kap ordered decaf, Wendy suppressed a groan. Her seafood dinner lay in a lump in her stomach. She'd eaten without savoring a bite. Kap had all but admitted that the promotion would be decided after she gave him an answer to his proposal of marriage, and there could be only one answer. He'd hardly keep her around the firm if she refused him. He reminded her that he'd been patient and deserved an answer soon. "I need plenty of time to plan a large and special wedding." "The bride plans the wedding, Kap," she reminded him. "And you will, sweetheart. I just want to finance it. After all, my guest list alone would bankrupt your parents. It's hardly fair to expect them to pay all." How sweet and thoughtful. And manipulative. She hadn't agreed to a large wedding in the first place. In fact, she hadn't agreed to a wedding at all. Now he was giving her an ultimatum, albeit an unspoken one. Agree to marry him or she could kiss her dream promotion goodbye. Rubbing her temples, she felt the beginnings of a headache. Fatigued, she couldn't think clearly. John would say she should visit a shrink for even hesitating this long to say "yes" to the guy. All she needed was rest and time alone to think. And, dammit all, she would not be manipulated. "I've reached a decision." Kap's eyes widened. A tentative smile curved his lips. Leaning across the table, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "And?" "If I can have this weekend to myself, no sleeping over on the yacht, no dinners or movies, no seeing you until Monday, then Monday at lunch I will give you my answer." "I can't be with you at all this weekend?" "No, sorry. This is the biggest decision of my life. I need for you to give me the space to think through it." Leaning back, he released her hand. "I'll give you your space, Wendy. Then I expect your answer. Once and for all. No more 'I need time to think.' If it's that difficult to decide if you love me enough to form a lifelong partnership with me, then that's my answer. You don't." "That's fair. Thank you." She wanted to say more, to coax a smile out of his tightly drawn lips, but the waiter arrived with their coffee. It was just as well. She'd won this round. She didn't want Kap to sulk, but she also resented his tactics. Most of all, she resented him blackmailing her with the job she'd damned well earned.
His silent treatment wasn't lost on her as he escorted her to his Jaguar. An hour later, after he'd driven her to the train station, Wendy retrieved her car from the parking lot and drove home. Letting herself in the two story house, she paused in the foyer and listened for sounds of her brothers. She followed the sound of the television to the den, where she found Michael. "Where's John?" "Upstairs getting ready." "Ready for what?" she asked, but Michael, absorbed in some weekly reality program, answered her with a shrug. She tousled his blond buzz cut on her way out. Upstairs, she changed into slacks and a cotton knit top, then slipped into her sneakers without bothering to untie them. Just as she emerged from her room, John stepped into the hall. "Hey, Wen, I was hoping you'd get home before I left." Say what? Since when did John check in with her? "Why?" "I wanted to take you with me tonight. Just something I want to show you." "Oh, John, look at me. I just got comfortable. And I've had a hell of a day. Can't it wait?" "You look perfect. This isn't a dress-up deal." She stifled a yawn. "I'm exhausted." "Please, pretty please? I promise we won't be out too late, but this is special." John hadn't pleaded with Wendy in fifteen years. Whatever it was he wanted to show her had to be important to him. He gazed at her with imploring blue eyes, so much like her own she could've been staring into a mirror. When they were in middle school, John had told everyone that they were really twins, but she was so dumb she'd flunked second grade twice. She'd nearly killed him when she found out. The truth was, they could pass for twins, even today. In spite of her exhaustion and emotional turmoil, she couldn't turn him down. "Oh, all right, but I'm driving. That way, I can leave when I want." His mouth split into a toothy grin, reminding her even more of the days of their youth. "Great. You won't be sorry." Grabbing her hand, he tugged her toward the stairs. She dug in her heels. "Now?" "Right now. Get your keys. We're already late." **** Peter sucked on a new number four reed to moisten it before sliding it into the mouthpiece. He'd been playing two sets a night at Neverland for a month now. A popular tavern in Bernardsville, but small potatoes in the entertainment world, still, it was work. And the patrons liked his sound. "You'd think I'd have overcome stage fright by now," he told Cole, the jazz pianist. "Or do you ever overcome stage fright?" Cole chuckled, his dark hands resting against the ivory keys. "I hear even strippers have it." "I can relate." Pouring his heart into his music left him as exposed and vulnerable as if he'd performed naked.
Closing his eyes, he recited the list of jazz tunes on his program. Of course, he knew them. He'd practiced them earlier and he'd performed the program a dozen times this month. But he'd never played when an agent was rumored to be sitting in. Tonight. "Ready?" Cole asked. Peter stepped onto the raised area beside the piano that served as a stage. Adjusting his neck brace to help support the weight of the heavy alto, he settled onto the stool. "Let's do it." He'd play his heart out. It's what he did. It's all he could do. Before placing his saxophone to his mouth, he let his gaze sweep the audience ... and froze. At a table near the back sat a man and a woman who could've passed for twins. No agent could unnerve him as much as seeing John Dowling and his sister, Wendy, seated in the audience, waiting to hear his music. Since when did Wendy go to jazz clubs? John hung out, of course, but only since Peter landed this gig. John preferred the likes of Third Eye Blind or Avril Lavigne, whoever they were. But Wendy had always gone for pop stuff. Maybe the almighty Kap had introduced her to jazz. If so, where was he? "Pete?" Cole's raspy whisper jolted him back to reality. "Show time, man." Peter nodded, pulled his lower lip over his teeth, and touched his tongue to the reed. Searching the room one last time for Wendy, his gaze locked onto hers. Her eyes widened, as if he'd surprised her. And that's exactly what he'd do. Surprise her. He'd give Wendy the best sax of her life.
CHAPTER FOUR "Peter?" Wendy's head swiveled between the saxophonist and her brother. "Peter's playing here?" "Yes, ma'am," John drawled. She motioned to the waitress for a refill on her wine. "And this is what you wanted me to see?" "And hear." A low mournful tune echoed through the room as Peter began his first number. Stranger On The Shore. Lord, she hadn't heard that piece in years. The crowd hushed as Peter hit each note dead-on. Strong, fluid, the melody surrounded her and filled her with emotion. She didn't realize how deeply the music had moved her until the song ended. Her eyes blurred. "Oh, my God." John peered at her closely. "Are you crying?" Was she? She could hardly speak for the lump in her throat. "I guess I wasn't expecting anything so ... so ... moving." "He's talented, you know?" Talented? She'd had no idea. Oh, sure, she remembered Peter playing in the marching band, but that was high school. Hadn't he also studied music in college? Why couldn't she remember? She leaned toward John to ask, but the next song started, something she'd remembered hearing played by Kenny G. Kenny G had nothing on Peter, though. Peter had talent. Peter had discipline. Peter had heart. And as he launched into another tune and then another, Wendy forgot all about fatigue or her plans to leave early. She wanted nothing more than to soak in the music that Peter seemed to be playing just for her. **** Peter meandered through the tables until he reached John and Wendy's. Were they quarreling? John wore a fierce frown and Wendy's eyes were red, as if she'd been battling tears. But when he straddled the third chair and started to ask if he could join them, Wendy gripped his arm. "Peter, that was ... was magnificent." "Yeah," John said. "So freakin' magnificent that she forgot she drove." Wendy stared down at her stemmed goblet. "Too much wine. I just got so lost in your music..." "I'll drive you home," Peter said, praying she'd not object. "Give John your keys." Satisfied, John broke out in a huge smile. "Great. I'll just be on my way then." "What's your hurry?" Peter asked, but John winked and fled. Had he engineered the whole scene to throw him and Wendy together? Pretty lame. It was also manipulative and interfering, and ... perfect.
"How much have you had?" he asked, nodding toward the wine glass. She shrugged. "Three? I think three." "Anything earlier at dinner?" "Hell, yes. After the rotten day I've had, you better believe I drank at dinner." She seemed in no hurry to leave, and he sure wasn't eager to take her home. "Tell me what happened." "I had this presentation, and I did everything great, and landed a big account. Then Kap got in a funk when I told him I needed to stay away from him this weekend to decide about marrying him, and then John brought me here to see you play..." She hiccupped "I mean, hear you play, and I drank a glass of wine, then another..." Poor girl was smashed. "Let me pack up my sax and I'll be right back." "I'll be right here." Smiling, Peter hurried back to the stage and grabbed his instrument, then stepped behind the piano where he kept his case. After removing his reed, he uncorked the plastic mouthpiece, wiped it down, and placed it in the contoured holder. He always took good care of his sax, but he didn't want to leave Wendy waiting. He owed John, although he'd never admit it, for leaving her stranded here with him. Wiping off the neck and the bell, he put away his sax and closed the case. He found Wendy with her head resting over her folded arms. "Come on. Some cool air will make you feel better." As she gathered her purse and struggled to stand, Peter took her arm to steady her. Something she'd said earlier niggled at the back of his mind, just out of reach. What was it? Something important, something he needed to catalogue. Now the memory escaped him. Holding his case in one hand and Wendy with the other, he left the club in search of his old green Cherokee. Once upon a time the Jeep belonged to his dad. He'd planned to trade it in, but Peter had talked him into selling it to him. That was five years ago. What the hell? It wasn't a Jaguar, but it ran. And it wouldn't get stuck in the snow this winter. "Are you okay?" he asked, after they were seat-belted in. "Yes. I guess I'm just tired and..." "And what?" She shook her head slowly. "I'm stunned. You're a talented musician, Peter." He cranked up the engine. She didn't have to sound so damn surprised. "You always had low expectations of me, Wendy." She gasped. "That's not fair." "Most of my life, you've been telling me to grow up, like you think I'm an irresponsible little boy." If she was going to deny it, she waited too long to protest. Or was she asleep? He pulled out into the late night traffic and headed home. Finally, he reached a stoplight and could risk a glance her way. She wasn't asleep. She was crying. Wendy never cried. What the hell was going on? Unbidden anger surged through him at whoever had caused her grief. Was it Kap? The client to whom she'd made the presentation? Or was she angry with her brother from their earlier quarrel? Instead of pulling into the Dowling driveway, Peter pulled into his own. A walk in the chilly night air would help sober up Wendy.
Who was he kidding? He wanted to postpone taking her home and he was making excuses. Yet, when he told Wendy the plan, she merely nodded. She made no move to unfasten her seat belt. "Peter, I'm so sorry." "Huh? Sorry?" He unsnapped his belt and twisted in the seat to face her. "What for?" "For being a snob, for discounting you." Her voice hitched. "I never meant to hurt your feelings." "Hey, hey, hey," he said, reaching to unsnap her safety harness. "I know that. Come here." She fell into his arms—thank you, God!—and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Lifting her across the gearshift, he settled her on his lap. He caressed her silky long hair and murmured soothing nonsense, anything to stop her tears. She felt delicate and soft and warm. As she snuggled into his arms, something funny flipped over inside him, an emotion he couldn't name. He feared it, but he liked it, too. Something gripped him in another sense as well. Holding Wendy in his arms, inhaling her subtle perfume, shot a flame of white-hot desire directly to his groin. The sudden lust didn't unsettle him as much as the heart flip-flop. What nonsense! He was touched and unnerved by Wendy's tears, that was all. She was his childhood friend, and she was hurting. Something more than guilt upset her. "Tell me again about your rotten day." "It should've been the best day of my life, you know?" She pulled away from his embrace, but let her hands drop to his thigh. He covered both hands with his. "My presentation was flawless. I landed the account. I did it. They wanted me!" So did Peter! "What happened?" She harrumphed. "Instead of promoting me to AE, as I deserved, I'm being re-titled and given new business cards. Like a pat on the head and a piece of candy. Now, run along little Wendy and be a good girl." He assumed AE was Account Executive. Another surge of anger hit him. Without asking, he knew who controlled her promotion. Wendy was brilliant, but she let people take advantage of her. "Were you specifically told you weren't being promoted?" "Oh, no. In so many words, I was told the position would soon be mine ... soon as I said yes to Kap's proposal of marriage." He would've bitten his tongue if he wasn't afraid it would hurt his sax life. He wanted to ask if she'd decided. "Wendy, there are laws against discrimination. Maybe you should file an Affirmative Action claim. Or talk to Human Resources. Whatever." "We both know the tension a lawsuit would create. I'd have to leave the firm." He hated himself for asking, but he had to know. "How much does the AE job mean to you?" Enough to be blackmailed into marriage? "It's what I've been working for, Peter. It's been my goal ever since I joined the firm." "Then what? Partner?" She chewed her top lip, a lip he wanted to draw into his mouth and nibble. Stay focused, Peter. "You know, it's funny, but I never saw myself as partner. The whole time I was studying in college and interning at ad firms, I was dreaming about my firm. Seems silly, now. Unrealistic."
He smiled. "Kind of like my dream. Land a recording contract. Be the next Kenny G or Candy Dulfer." "Or Charlie Parker?" He grinned. "You remember that?" "I'd forgotten until tonight. You had that toy saxophone and you told us you were Charlie Parker. I wouldn't have known who he was if you weren't obsessed with the guy." "Yeah." The funny thing inside his heart, or maybe it was his stomach, flip-flopped again. She'd remembered. "My God, you were, what? Eight years old?" She shrugged, then yawned. "Sorry, but I really am bushed." The thing that tap-danced at the fringes of his memory stirred again. What was that? Something about Kaplan or the proposal. What had Wendy said, earlier at the club? Kap got in a funk when I told him I needed to stay away from him this weekend to decide about marrying him... Yes! Two important facts he needed to absorb. First, Wendy hadn't said yes to marrying Kap. Second, she wouldn't be seeing him this weekend. Peter didn't stop to consider his words or his plans. An urgency filled him, a sense of a ticking clock that he had to beat. John's words from last night taunted him. If you're going to make a move, you better do it soon. "Before I walk you home, I want to issue a challenge to you." "Challenge? No fair. You know I can't resist a challenge." She grinned. Squeezing her hands, he spoke without preamble, without rehearsal. The words spilled from him like a wide-open spigot. "Spend the weekend with me. We'll get a room, a suite, somewhere, like maybe Flemington or Clinton. No one has to know. Let's just do it." She looked at him as if he'd grown a purple beard. "Why?" He took a deep breath, steeling himself for her refusal. "Before you decide to get married, I want to show you how good it could be between us." To his immense relief, she smiled. "Good between us? Why?" "I just think that before you commit the rest of your life to a guy who's pressuring you, you need to be sure that he's the one." He took a deep breath. "Or are you afraid you'll find out he's not?" "I'm a pragmatic woman. I don't believe in fireworks and mindless passion." "Spend this weekend with me, then tell me you don't believe in fireworks and mindless passion." "My, my, Peter, you are full of surprises. Are you talking about a wild weekend of sex?" And then she kissed him.
CHAPTER FIVE Wendy hadn't had that much to drink. She'd wanted to kiss Peter all evening. In fact, she'd have kissed him after Stranger On The Shore but it would've stopped his music. With a boldness that came from much more than the wine, she brushed her mouth against his warm, full lips. He responded with a hunger that took her by surprise. Could he want this as much as she? His mouth moved against hers with skill, coaxing and nibbling. She didn't believe in passion and mindless fireworks ... or was it fireworks and mindless passion. God, she couldn't concentrate, not while his tongue stroked her mouth and his hand slid toward her breast. His thumb rubbed the underside of her breast, inching closer to her nipple. She should end the kiss now, before the Jeep's gearshift handle dug a permanent groove in her flesh. How odd that she barely felt the gearshift while Peter's thumb had her body humming with need. How did he do that to her with just a touch? Finally his talented hand found her aching nipple. She leaned into it while he rubbed it into a stiff and sensitized nub. Lower, her clitoris itched for his stroke. She squeezed her groin muscles to add pressure, needing release. His thumb didn't let up, and a pleasurable pain arrowed from its touch clear to her womb. Quivering, she grew dizzy, then realized she'd been holding her breath. Just as she creamed her panties, Peter tore his mouth from hers. "I can't keep this up, Wendy, or we'll have to start our weekend early." Her body protested. She didn't understand her responsiveness, or maybe this was the passion that had been missing from her life. Mindless with arousal, she wanted him naked, against her, inside her, now. Mindless passion? "So what's wrong with starting tonight?" she asked. He smiled at her, shaking his head. "No, we'll do this right. I want you trembling with anticipation all day tomorrow, just as I will be. It'll make the weekend all the more ... satisfying." The way he said satisfying sent a chill of excitement through her. He'd offered her a weekend getaway, a chance to live out her fantasies, desires she didn't even know about until last night. "When do we leave? Do you play every night at the club?" "Mondays through Thursdays. I'm too unknown for weekends." She pressed her lips lightly against his, although she wanted much more. "You won't be unknown for long, Peter Penn. You're too good." "We'll see. No agent or talent scout has rushed up to meet me after my set." He pushed her gently back into the passenger seat and straightened. "I'll reserve us a room. Do you want to go in your car, since it's newer?" "Sure. If you want, you can just meet me in the train station parking lot and we'll leave from there." "And we'll avoid explanations to your brothers. What are you going to tell them?" "I won't be home this weekend. They'll assume I'm out at Point Pleasant on Kap's yacht." She regretted the words, but it was too late. Mentioning Kap's name had thrown a bin of ice cubes on the new intimacy between her and Peter.
They got out of the Jeep at the same time. He hurried around to take her by the elbow and help her up the driveway. Why had she failed to notice what a gentleman he was? She really had underestimated him, in many ways. "What time?" he asked. She thought about that as they walked over to her front door. "Six. I'm leaving work at five tomorrow. Hook, Line, and Sinker won't fire their peon who just landed a huge account." The hell with late hours, wining and dining the clients, researching and brainstorming. And at least for this weekend, the hell with Kaplan Hook. **** Peter couldn't believe his luck. He'd impulsively asked, she'd accepted with enthusiasm. Yes! He waited with his duffle bag for Wendy's train to pull in. This wasn't about getting laid. Been there, done that, can't remember, as one T-shirt proclaimed. He'd bet his alto sax he'd remember this weekend, though. He intended to make it unforgettable for Wendy, too. He had to make her see that marrying Kap Hook was wrong for her. He had only this weekend to save her from that fate. As far as he could see, marrying anyone was wrong for her. She had a gift with advertising art, a brilliant mind with campaigns, and didn't need to marry her way to success. If he had his way, they'd meet regularly for these weekend getaways. Would she go for that? It could be perfect. They could stay single and pursue their dreams, and have a romantic, sexy rendezvous when their busy schedules permitted. Exclusive sex, of course. If he succeeded this weekend, he didn't want to share Wendy with any other guy. And if she responded to him as hot and wild as she had with a single kiss, she wouldn't have to worry about him and other women. Peter had a feeling Wendy would prove to be all the woman he needed. This weekend, he'd pull out all the stops to make it a success, even if it maxed out his credit card. He'd already run up his phone bill making arrangements, a first for him. Ordinarily, he wasn't the kind of guy who made reservations.The train pulled in. He waited as a dozen or so passengers emerged. Wendy's white blond hair lifted in the breeze as she hurried toward him. "Hi." "Hi, yourself," he said. "Luggage in the trunk?" "Yes. You mind driving?" Without waiting for his answer, she tossed him her keys. "For this weekend, you're in the driver's seat, pal." Her meaning wasn't lost on him. He knew Wendy well enough to know that whatever endeavor she undertook, she invested her energies to the fullest. The overachiever personality defined Wendy. She had agreed to this weekend, and she would give him the opportunity to prove his point. Although he expected no less from her, he still sighed with relief that she had acquiesced. Suddenly, another idea struck his naughty mind. Would Wendy the overachiever invest her energies to the fullest in bed? ****
Wendy unpacked her weekender and hung up her clothes in the hotel closet. Not knowing what Peter had in mind, she brought clothes for every eventuality. Preparation was the number one eliminator of stress in her book. And she had enough stress right now. "Plan on staying over?" Peter quipped, gesturing to her hanging garments. "Don't start. You know I like to be prepared." He opened the nightstand drawer. "Economy size box of condoms." She huffed in exasperation. "I like all my bases covered." "Where's the fun in that?" Sauntering across the room, he leaned against the tall armoire that housed the television. She dug out her toiletries and headed for the vanity. There were two, but she opted for the one outside the bathroom. "I don't like to be caught off-guard." He followed her to the sink. "You don't enjoy surprises?" She shook her head. This line of banter went too far back in their shared history. "I'm in no mood for a debate, Peter."He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his hard, muscular chest. His warm breath tickled her ear, and a shiver coursed through her body. Was that his erect penis pressed into her back? "What are you in the mood for?" "Um, I..." She couldn't form a single coherent sentence. She finally managed, "Dinner?" He released her then, although she wasn't averse to staying right where he'd held her. "You're right. And I know just the place." "Fancy or casual? How should I dress?" "You're fine. It's a Greek diner. You'll love it." As he drove her out of town, she realized that she really was hungry, having worked through her lunch hour in order to leave at five. She'd gone out of her way to avoid Kap, not wanting to explain herself further to him. In truth, part of her reason for accepting Peter's adventure was to prevent Kap from trying to see her. Maybe he'd honor her weekend isolation, maybe not. His persistence and tenacity were what made him a success and a multi-millionaire. Now Kap had no choice. He'd never find out she was holed up in a hotel in Clinton, New Jersey, with her childhood friend—who'd turned into a hottie and promised her a weekend of sexual pleasure. The diner wasn't far from Clinton township. After a short wait, they were seated in a booth across from each other. Handing them tall menus, the waiter announced the special of the evening as roasted lamb with mint jelly. "My favorite! I'll have that," Wendy said. Had Peter known? How could he have found just the right diner with just the right special on short notice? She doubted he even remembered her love of roasted lamb. "I'll have the same," Peter said. They selected their side dishes and handed back the menus. After the waiter served them wine, Wendy asked, "Come here often?" He snorted. "I haven't been here since college. It's grown a lot. There's even one of those monstrosity discount stores on the hill." She clinked glasses with him. "To the weekend."
"To you, Wendy." His heated gaze held hers for a long moment. "Your every fantasy is my command." Like a coward, she averted her eyes and took a sip of the wine. Her every fantasy? Did she even have a fantasy, other than to get naked with Peter and satisfy her curiosity about him? He lowered his voice and leaned toward her, his gaze once again holding hers captive. "Tell me." She didn't have to ask what he meant. He wanted to know her fantasies. What could she say? Why had she agreed to a weekend of sex with him, other than to insulate herself from Kap's influence? She didn't want to admit that Peter ignited her with a look, reduced her brain to mush with a mere touch. She'd never experienced that kind of nonsense before, not from any man. Certainly not from Kap. Why Peter? Was it his talk of passion and fireworks? "I just have to know if it's a myth." He didn't ask what she meant. They were in a diner, for God's sake, with families seated nearby. But his smoldering gaze and sexy grin wreaked havoc with her internal thermostat. A warm flush crawled its way up her neck to her cheeks. "You'll see," he said. "Just go easy on the wine, okay?" "Why?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Because tonight, cupcake, I want you fully awake and aroused."
CHAPTER SIX By the time they'd made it through the four-course meal, Peter couldn't comfortably cross his legs. Damn, he had a boner, had it since they'd first arrived at the hotel. Watching Wendy lick mint jelly from her finger had been the proverbial last straw. God, but the woman was sexy. He'd always thought so, but had resigned himself to fantasizing about her. She'd been out of his league. But beneath her cool, orderly exterior simmered a hot, passionate lover. He'd bet his saxophone on it. By night's end, she'd know she couldn't settle for Kap. By the end of the weekend, she'd be addicted to having Peter satisfy her every need. Fumbling with the coded card lock, he finally opened the door to their room. His body ached for release. His plans for orchestrating the perfect seduction evaporated. As soon as the door closed, he reached for Wendy, backing her into the wall and crushing her lips with his. "God, I want you." Her response matched his as she tore at his shirt without breaking their kiss. He couldn't get enough of her luscious mouth, yet needed to feel her naked flesh. He broke free long enough to slide her jacket off her arms, but her lips beckoned him. He plunged his tongue into her sweet mouth, tasting her wine and mint jelly. Wendy's tongue dueled with his, matching his hunger. She had a mouth on her that would tempt a priest! As they struggled to undress each other, discarded garments scattered around them. With reluctance, Peter pulled away long enough to shake out of his jeans. Panting and flushed, Wendy gazed at him, her blue eyes bright with arousal. She peeked down as his cock sprang free. All that separated them now was Wendy's briefs. Sensible pink cotton, they were the sexiest panties he'd ever seen. "Allow me," he murmured, hooking his fingers beneath the elastic waist. Stepping out of her panties, Wendy leaned into him, whispering, "Where's a damn condom?" Jeez, she sounded as eager as he. Unable to control this first time with her, he led her to the bed. He flung back the covers, then slid open the nightstand drawer. As he fumbled with the foil wrapper, Wendy lay down. With a come-hither look, she said, "Let me put it on you." Yes yes yes! Peter handed her the condom and, gritting his teeth, struggled to hold on while she touched his super-sensitized penis. She rolled the latex up his hardened length and he groaned. She chuckled low in her throat, a sexy contralto. "There, now, that didn't hurt." "You vixen!" Laughing, he pushed her back into the mattress and shoved her legs apart with his knees. "Next time we'll go slow, I promise. I want to give you mindless passion and fireworks." She arced her back toward him, "Please don't make me wait." All the encouragement he needed, he drove into her slick, wet heat. As he plunged, again and again, she rose to meet him. Her face contorted, her muscles straining, she tensed and stopped, mid stroke.
She cried out her release, her vaginal muscles milking him relentlessly. He came seconds later, collapsing atop her. "What just happened?" she asked. He rolled to his side, bringing her with him, his arms firmly clamped around her. After catching his breath, he said, "Don't you know?" "I know about ... I mean, it ... it happened so fast." His inflated ego nearly levitated him off the bed. She'd been just as turned on as he, and had reached her peak in minimal time. Plus, they'd come together, not an everyday event. Evidently, Kap didn't arouse her without a whole lot of stimulating. Hell, he probably had to use a vibrator on her. The idea sobered Peter. He didn't want to think about Kap banging Wendy. "Darling, when a couple are that hot for each other and come together like that, it's called passion." "Yeah." She let out a deep sigh. "Passion." "You like?" "I like." Then she kissed his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, then one nipple. God help him, he was getting hard again. "Could we have more, please?" "Oh, yeah. There's plenty more where that came from." Wendy combed her fingers through Peter's thick brown hair and sighed. So much for mindless passion being a myth. A mere forty-eight hours ago, she'd kissed him and discovered a terrific lover, one who'd been literally steps from her door. He seemed to think their first lay had been a quickie. He couldn't have been more wrong. Peter had been seducing her, priming her for tonight from the instant he'd met her at the train. Each burning gaze and lingering touch was a sexy promise. Before the first kiss, he'd had her more turned on than Kap ever had. Now she lay back as Peter commanded. He pulled her arms above her head, holding them captive with one hand. "I told you it would be good between us." "Hmm." She lost her ability to speak when he dropped his hot mouth to one nipple and suckled. "I want to taste every inch of you, cupcake, and see if you're as delicious as you look." Oh, my! She shivered, but not from a chill. Peter started at her ears, lavishing each one with a slow kiss and a brief flick of his tongue. He worked his way to her lips, lingering for one scorcher of a kiss, then moved to her neck. He feathered kisses down her neck, her collar bone, and the sensitive hollow of her throat. She trembled with raw need, willing him to touch her nipples. Finally, finally, he dropped her hands and leveled himself at her torso. He licked his way around the curve of each breast, his warm breath teasing the sensitive flesh. She arched her back toward his mouth, begging for his tongue at her nipple. Peter took his time, but when he covered one of her nipples with his talented mouth, she moaned her pleasure. His other hand lightly pinched and rolled her other nipple, not painfully, yet ... oh, God! White-hot heat seared through her. He continued his double assault, perhaps oblivious to her writhing against the sheets. His tongue and fingers working in tandem, he brought her dangerously near the edge. She feared she would come. She hoped she would come. Mercy, Peter. Please! What? Peter lifted his head and stopped.
"Not yet," he said. He'd known, but how? As her breathing slowed, she realized she'd been panting like a marathon runner. She glanced down at her reddened skin. She was burning up. Mindless passion at work again, since she'd had no clue. Truth was, she didn't care. She didn't care about anything but putting an end to the delicious torture of Peter's mouth and hands. She'd caught her breath, but her body vibrated with energy, like an electrical power line. Peter's light kisses moved down her abdomen. With his hands cradling her ribcage, he kissed the perimeter of her navel, then tongued it. He blew across the moist opening, then moved lower. More feathery kisses led a trail to her feminine curls. Was he going to kiss her there? "Oh, Peter..." His mouth found her clitoris, and she lost her mind. Licking, then blowing, his mouth drew sensation after sensation. His hands spread apart her thighs, giving him fuller access to kiss her more intimately than she'd ever been kissed. He lapped at her wet opening, then returned to her clit, each stroke of his tongue urging her closer to her release. He stopped. Was that her whimpering? Dear Lord, what he must think of her! She'd nearly come, and again he'd known just how far to push. He kissed the inside of first one thigh, then the other, working his way to the backs of her knees, where she'd generously applied her perfume that morning. He licked each tender spot, then blew a teasing breath across the dampened flesh. Another chill seized her. She wanted his mouth back at her mons, his thumbs working her nipples. She wanted it more than anything that came to her sexually fogged mind. Instead, he worked his way to her ankle. By the time he reached the sensitive arch of her foot, she'd reached her limit. "No more! Please." He gazed up at her with a mischievous glint in his gorgeous green eyes. "Please, what? Tell me, Wendy." "Please ... please make love to me now." He chuckled. "I thought that's what I was doing." "Grab the damn condom. Now!" "Okay, okay, if the lady insists." He rose up from the bed and headed for the box of condoms. "Do you want to do the honors?" She reached for the foil packet and ripped it open. He moved closer, so close his engorged penis nearly touched her lips. She glanced up at him and knew that he'd take her now if that's what she wanted. But was it? She hadn't had her turn with him yet. Shouldn't she give him the tantalizing build up of pleasure he'd just given her? "I'll do the honors, Peter." Raising up on her elbows, she covered his beautiful, hardened flesh with her mouth. Peter groaned his approval, then said, "You don't have to do this." "I know." Then she slid her lips over his length, taking him deep inside her mouth. She swirled her tongue around his rigid flesh, dipping for a taste of fluid at the opening. Cupping his balls, she gave them a gentle squeeze. Again, he groaned. This time, he begged, "Please!" "Please, what, Peter? Tell me," she teased. "You know what, you little vixen." He urged her back against the mattress, then handed her the condom. "Hurry."
From his tone, she knew better than to delay. She sheathed him, then opened for him. Scooting between her legs, he lifted her hips. His penis teased her vaginal opening, but just for a moment. Slick with her own juices, she made it easy for him to thrust inside, burying his shaft in her hot canal. God almighty! What sensation. He withdrew and drove, withdrew and drove, aiming at a target within her that ached for his touch. She didn't understand what was happening, but Peter apparently did. She opened wider for him as he hammered away at that wonderful spot. Pressure built as she thrust to meet his every stroke. Oh. Oh my! Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as her body convulsed with wave after wave of pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure. A kaleidoscope of colors broke free behind her eyelids, flashes and stars of wonderful light. Fireworks!
CHAPTER SEVEN Peter smoothed a dampened strand of Wendy's hair away from her face. Flushed and beautiful, she gazed up at him with wonderment. He couldn't mistake the depth of her pleasure ... or the surprise of it all. He'd bet Kap didn't know a G spot from a G note. He'd also bet Kap never pleasured her with his mouth. Not that Peter wanted to think about Kap pleasuring her at all. It unsettled him to think that she might return to Kap's bed after the night they'd just shared. Surely not. Peter intended to do everything in his power to see that Wendy wouldn't want to be in anyone's bed but his. With two spectacular simultaneous orgasms under his belt, his confidence grew. As did his erection. Three times in a row? That had to be a record, even for him. Wendy glanced at his filled condom, in danger of creating a mess if he didn't take care of it. His arousal was too obvious to miss. She chuckled in that sexy contralto voice. "I don't think you're supposed to re-use those." Peter got out of bed with careful movements. "They're not recyclable?" "Not yet, but the day may come." And she'd be ready to come again, soon. The mindless-passion-and-fireworks lessons had just begun. First, he needed to take care of the used condom. "Then get us out a new one, okay?" he called out from the bathroom. His cock hard and swinging like a metronome, he returned to the bed and flopped on top of the covers. Under Wendy's aroused gaze, his erection grew even harder. "I'm all yours, cupcake." She opened the foil packet. "Why do you keep calling me 'cupcake'?" "Because you're so sweet, and so delicious." He winked, then sucked in a sharp breath when her hands touched him there. Before sheathing him, she fondled his balls and stroked his penis. "Having fun?" "Yes, I am." She smiled. "I want you to have fun, too." "If you're speaking of pleasure, woman, I'm having a most pleasurable time with you." She didn't answer. Pulling the condom over his cock, she straddled him. Oh, yeah. He loved the view. Reaching up, he cupped her two perfect globes and fondled the tips with his thumbs. She threw her head back and moaned. He'd instinctively known she liked for him to touch her that way. He'd been right. Wiggling her pussy over his erection, she teased him. "Mind if I play with your instrument, saxophone man?" "Babe, you can play with my sax anytime you want." She bent down and covered his lips, greedily kissing him. As he rubbed at her tits, her breath caught. She moved her mouth to his cheek, then his ear, her long hair draped like a curtain over them. "Does that mean you're horny?" she asked, then giggled. "Only for you." He stepped up the rhythm at her nipples and she moaned.
"I have just the piece for you, then" she said. Reaching between them, she guided his cock into her slick, wet opening. She lowered herself onto him, taking in his full length. "Let's make music together, darlin'." He expected to last a long time, but Wendy's shallow breaths and moans of pleasure turned him on as much as her sexy body. She'd discovered her own sensuality and she pursued her gratification with unbridled fervor. Not that she was a selfish lover. Oh, no! She gave as good as she got. She rode him hard, taking him deep with each plunge of her body. He matched her rhythm, hunching to meet every stroke. She stiffened suddenly and every muscle in her neck and shoulders stood out. Then she growled a low, long sound that signaled her climax. Her shuddering vaginal muscles squeezed at his cock, bringing him closer to his own release. But Wendy wasn't finished. He'd coax one more orgasm out of her tonight, just to be sure she'd never settle for another man. He rocked into her, his hand between them, circling the sensitive area around her clit, until she tensed a second time. This time, when her contractions squeezed him, he lost the last shred of control and emptied into the condom. She lay collapsed on top of him for several minutes, both of them too spent to move. Finally she lifted her head and gazed through half-lidded eyes at him. "Am I crushing you?" "Only if you tell me that I'm a lousy lay." Her laughter rumbled through her chest and vibrated against him. "Not a chance. You'd know better, anyway." "Didn't I tell you we'd make beautiful music together?" "No," she said. "But you did promise mindless passion and fireworks." She sat up, his cock still nestled in her nest of curls. "And you certainly delivered." **** Wendy had wondered what Peter had in store for them this weekend, aside from the incredible sex. After room service breakfast and another round of love making, he asked if she'd like to explore Clinton. "Sure," she'd said, and dressed in slacks and a shirt and her comfortable walking shoes. "Let's walk." He'd seemed pleased by that. "Great. It's not that far." They'd explored an old fashioned Five & Dime store, where Peter purchased a special brass polish he'd not been able to find in Bernardsville. They browsed a bookstore, where they discovered they'd been reading some of the same authors. They'd even visited a neat old mill that was located at the falls of the Raritan River, which ran through the center of town. Now they strolled back across the bridge. "Want some lunch?" he asked. "Okay, you pick." They settled at an outdoor table right on the river at one of the downtown restaurants. "It's not too chilly out here, is it?" he asked. "Not at all. In fact, I prefer the fresh air to the cigarette smoke-filled indoors." "Yeah, but before you know it, winter will be here. Our folks couldn't wait until the first leaf turned color to cut out for Florida."
"They're missing the best time to be here." After ordering their sandwiches, Wendy asked Peter, "When did you start playing at Neverland?" "About a month ago. Before that, I'd been playing in Morristown, then in a joint in Parsippany. But that was with an ensemble. Neverland's my first solo gig." "You have a great talent, Peter. I'm glad to see you do something with it." "You really thought all I did was goof off, didn't you?" She studied his face, looking for a wounded look. But he was unreadable. "Look, you have to understand that anything I heard about you was filtered through my goof off of a brother. He talked about you always being at such-and-such bar or some club or another. He failed to mention you were working there." He shrugged. The waitress dropped off their drinks in large Styrofoam cups. He took a sip before speaking. "I guess everything going on with you lately has been filtered through John to me, too." "I can imagine." She shuddered to think what unflattering picture her brother painted. "Yeah, he fussed at Michael to pick up his laundry and wash it before you got home because you worked too hard and didn't need to be worrying about their laundry." "He did?" This wasn't at all the John Dowling she knew and loved. "He's proud of you, Wendy. Brags all the time about how smart you are and how you're going to be wealthy and a huge success before you're thirty." "I-I had no idea. All he ever says to me is that I should learn to relax and have fun." "Well?" He gave her a knowing look. "What else has my brother told you about me?" His eyes clouded, or maybe it was the clouds that gathered in the distance. "He told me you have Kaplan Hook dancing to your tune. That he wants to marry you and promote you within his firm." "Ha! I'd hardly say he's dancing to my tune." She sighed, not sure how much to reveal to Peter. After all, he'd promised her nothing beyond a fun weekend escape. "I'm in a bad spot right now and am not sure what to do." "Just answer one question, to yourself, not me. And be honest. Is it Kap you want, or the job? Do you really see yourself growing old with Kaplan Hook? Is he the one you want to spend your entire life with? Be very sure, Wendy." "And what if I say I won't marry him? What would you say?" He grinned and winked. "I'd say, ditch the guy and let's be lovers." "Lovers." No, she wasn't interested in an affair, but no use explaining that to Peter now. He'd made it clear he wasn't into marriage, ever. "But leave me out of the equation," he continued. "Just don't let anyone or anything pressure you. It's your life. Do you want to spend the rest of it with Kap? It's imperative that you know the answer to that." The waitress delivered their sandwiches, and Wendy dropped the subject ... for now. But the question would haunt her the entire weekend, until Monday, when she'd have to give her answer to Kap.
CHAPTER EIGHT Peter wasn't about to spoil the weekend talking about the marriage proposal. He'd just have to do his damnedest to spoil Wendy for Kap, or any other man. But he also knew the importance of building anticipation. Look how hot their first coupling turned out. Yes, there was much to recommend a good build up. They walked through the park, along the river, and even picked up snacks at a super market. They grabbed bagels at the deli for the next day's breakfast and stopped for coffee at a cappuccino bar. The autumn afternoon weather had cooperated well, except for a bank of gathering dark clouds. "I think we're in for rain," Wendy said, pointing to the darkening sky. "Let's head back, then." Packages in hand, they followed the sidewalk up the hill the short distance to the hotel, talking companionably all the way. In spite of their different approaches to life, hers well-planned and serious, his more balanced with fun and impulsiveness, Peter discovered that they also had much in common. How many women read Clive Cussler and could talk about Dirk Pitt's adventures with N.U.M.A.? With her workaholic schedule, who'd have suspected she read novels for pleasure? She'd mourned the loss of Robert Ludlum and Lawrence Sanders just as he had. With her love for pop music, she also knew jazz and appreciated his work. The more they talked, the more her respect for him shone in her eyes, and the more that funny thing inside his heart flipped over. Was he that lonely for a woman's conversation? He certainly hadn't been lonely for a woman's company. Even in the world of lounge lizards, there were groupies. Lounge lizard? Was that all he was in Wendy's eyes? It mattered to him what she thought and he wasn't sure when that had changed. He wanted her to see more than the little boy who refused to grow up. Then again, he could never move in the same circles as the likes of Kaplan Hook. Back at their hotel room, Peter surprised himself as much as Wendy when he said, "Let's make this a long weekend and stay over Sunday night." "Peter, I have to work." "You don't get vacation time? Sick leave? When's the last time you took off a day?" She worried her bottom lip, a lip he wanted to suck into his mouth. Man, she had a sexy mouth. But her furrowed brow and worried eyes warned him away. Then he remembered. She'd told him she was meeting Kap for lunch and would give him her answer then. "Call him," Peter suggested. "Just tell him you've been detained out of town and you'll talk to him Monday after work." "He'll want to know where I am." His heart jumped in his chest. She didn't say no. She was actually considering it. Yes! "Doesn't he have voice mail?" She smiled at that, and dug out her cell phone. "Cowardly, but brilliant!"
"Great." He went into the bathroom, closing the door to give her privacy "I can't get a signal inside here. I'll be right back." By the time Wendy returned to the room, Peter had unpacked their snacks and stowed their purchases. He'd picked up the new Janet Evanovich book but he had no intention of reading. Not this weekend. He'd be too busy creating more mindless passion and fireworks for Wendy. **** She should've felt at least a twinge of guilt, but she didn't. Wendy left a voice mail message for her assistant, as well as Kap, that she was unavoidably detained out of town and would not be back in the office until Tuesday. She'd also asked Kap to change their lunch date to dinner. It was out of character for her to let go of her work and just relax, but dammit, she'd worked hard for the pharmaceutical account and deserved a break. In fact, she needed it. She hated to admit it but she had been all work and no play, as John often said. Where had it gotten her? She should've felt at least a twinge of guilt for sleeping with another man when she'd been exclusively dating Kap. But Wendy was already in tune with her feelings about that issue. If she decided not to marry Kap, she'd not be sleeping with him again. If she decided to stay with Peter, she'd... But Peter wasn't asking her to stay with him. He'd offered her nothing but a weekend, a challenge to find out if she could settle for mediocrity instead of passion in the bedroom. They'd spent a pleasant day together, and she'd learned so much more about him. Funny, but they didn't conflict with each other as much as they balanced. She would appeal to his sensible side about impulsive purchases and he'd appeal to her fun side, getting her to relax and enjoy the little things she'd been overlooking. She let herself into the room and found Peter stretched out on the bed. He gave her a questioning look. "Well?" "All done. We can leave Monday." Beaming, he reached for the bedside phone. "I'll just extend our stay." "Okay, I'm going to shower." She grabbed clean underwear and headed for the bathroom. "Don't lock the door," he said. A few minutes later, as she lathered shampoo into her hair, cool air and vinyl curtain hit her from behind. Opening her eyes, she took in Peter's glorious naked body. His hand clutched a foil packet. "Mind if I join you?" And the way he said join in that sexy tone thrilled her to her toes, although more than her toes shivered in response. "Wash my back?" "Cupcake, I'll do that, and more." With the tiny cake of Ivory, he soaped every inch of her. He started with her arms, her back, then the lengths of her legs. He even lathered the bottom of each foot, in a slow, erotic massage. By the time he pulled her back into him and reached from behind to soap her breasts, her body trembled with desire.
He knew exactly what he was doing, too. He gave her nipples an extra thorough cleansing until she thought she'd come just from his touch. "Lean over," he murmured in her ear. Braced against the wall, she heard the rustle of the condom wrapper. Then he returned to tease and arouse her nipples, pausing long enough to widen her stance and enter her. The water sluiced over them as he pumped into her, building the pressure that threatened to explode inside her womb. That mythical G spot really did exist, and Peter knew exactly how to reach it. She spread her legs more, as much as the tub allowed, so that he could drive deeper, deeper ... right there. Yes! He kissed the back of her neck, her shoulder, then sucked at the skin, as if struggling to control his own climax. He needn't have held back. Close to the edge, she tightened her groin muscles and rode the explosive climax, screaming her release into the steamy shower stall. If Peter hadn't had a hold on her, she feared she would've dissolved on the spot. Every fiber of her body vibrated. Her bones turned to rubber. Her vaginal muscles spasmed. Each time Peter made love to her, her powerful response stunned her. The man played her as expertly as he played his beloved saxophone. After they'd rinsed, Peter turned off the shower, then grabbed a towel. Ignoring his own dripping body, he toweled her off with a tender attentiveness. He followed up each patch of dried skin with a light kiss. Unbidden, a knot of emotion lodged in her throat. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. God help her, she'd fallen in love with Peter. What was she going to do now?
CHAPTER NINE "Dress up a little. We're dining at the Clinton House," Peter said as he stepped into his briefs. She tossed the towel she'd used on her hair to the tub. "I've never eaten there." Her image in the steamed up mirror smiled with pleasure. He'd never tire of looking at her magnificent body, marred only by that red mark... What the hell had he done? "Oh, baby, I am so sorry." He ran his fingers lightly over the bruised flesh. "Does it hurt?" She examined the mark at her collar bone, then giggled. "You gave me a hickey." "I did?" "Don't you know what a hickey is? It's just a love bite." "It's a bruise. I didn't realize..." Her image smiled. "That's why they call 'em love bites, silly. Supposedly, in the throes of mindless passion, you don't realize how hard you're sucking against the skin." "Another argument supporting mindless passion, eh?" "Not that I needed another one." He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, then kissed her ear. "That's good to hear." A wicked thought invaded his mind. She couldn't afford for Kap to see a hickey. She'd have to avoid intimacy at least until it faded. Of course, if Peter had his way, she'd avoid all further intimacies except with him. Would he succeed? They moved out of the cramped bathroom to finish dressing. Wendy slipped a scooped neck dress over her head. Its shimmering fabric hugged her curves and the hem brushed the tops of her knees, showing off her perfect calves and slender ankles. She fastened a string of pearls at her neck, then donned matching pearl buttons at her ear lobes. She stepped into navy heels, and seemed perfectly comfortable in her classy attire. But she'd probably dressed to go out with Kap at fancy places dozens of times. He banished thoughts of Kap from his mind. If he insisted on comparing everything he did to Kap, he'd admit defeat now. Peter had no intention of giving up. He adjusted his tie in the mirror, then had to re-tie it. He just wasn't used to wearing suits. He'd do it for Wendy, though. She was worth every knot and every cuff link. "Gosh, Peter, you really clean up well," she teased. "I hope we don't get wet." They'd already gotten wet in the shower, and had a fine time of it, too. "Is it raining?" She pulled back the window curtain and peered out. "Afraid so, and I don't have an umbrella." "Oh, no. I don't either. I'm sorry..." She stopped him, placing her finger over his lips. "My hair is already wet. It'll be fine." Where have you been all my life, perfect woman? But a little voice reminded him that she'd been right across the street, just waiting for him to get up the nerve to make his move. He hoped he hadn't waited too late, because now that he knew how perfect they
were for each other, he didn't want to give her up. The idea should've scared him, but it didn't. After all, she'd see his way of thinking. She was a career woman, not one of those white-house-and-picket-fence housewives. Moments later, after a mad dash to the car, they both laughed as they buckled their seat belts, like children caught playing in the sprinklers. "Are you cold?" he asked. "A little." She reached for the heater controls. "By the time we get there, this should almost be warmed up." Clinton House was down the hill and around the corner. The restaurant was part of a historic old inn, complete with white linens and authentic antique furniture. Saturday night diners crowded the lobby. "Come on," he said, and ushered her to the hostess. "Reservations for Penn." "You made reservations." Wendy smiled up at him, her blue eyes warming him more than any car heater could. He basked in her approval. "Yes, I did." Seated in a corner with candle lighting, just as he'd requested when he'd called, they settled behind their fancy menus. "I hope this is all right." She smiled, the candle flame dancing in her irises. "Perfect." It certainly is. He'd ordered romance for the weekend and, by George, Wendy was going to have romance, even if it cleaned out his bank account. He studied the menu and sighed. Although a bit expensive, he wouldn't have to declare bankruptcy yet. They each ordered the wiener schnitzel with potato and spinach, along with a bottle of Rhine wine. Real butter accompanied their basket of whole-grain rolls. After their mixed greens salad, Wendy asked, "Have you eaten here before?" "Once, with Mom and Dad, after my college graduation ceremony." Was she even aware he'd made it through college? "I think Lily told me you were a music major." "Music education, actually." Their main course arrived, and it was perfect. Everything was perfect, just as Peter had planned. Wendy seemed as impressed as he'd hoped she would be. They declined dessert. As far as he was concerned, Wendy could be his dessert when they returned to the hotel. **** Wendy hung her dress over the shower rod to dry. They'd been caught in the rain, but the evening had been too perfect to complain. She stepped out of the bathroom wearing only her demi-bra and briefs. Even with her back to Peter, she felt his heated gaze. She stepped out of her damp panties. Opening the drawer, she grabbed a dry pair. "Don't bother," he said. "Come here." She turned to face the bed and slid her hands underneath her bra cups, in a provocative move. "Shall I take this off, too?" His Adam's apple bobbed. "Oh, yeah. I want you naked." Slowly, sensuously, she unfastened the bra and slid the straps down first one arm, then the other. She deliberately licked her lips. Peter's reaction was well worth the striptease. His large erection tented his underwear. "I want you naked, too."
Moments later, they were a tangle of limbs and sheets as they kissed each other with a desperate hunger. Wendy wanted Peter to be at her mercy this time, so she pushed him into the covers and covered his torso in kisses, inching ever closer to his groin. Cupping his balls, she took his penis into her mouth. This time, she had no intention of letting up. She licked, suckled, and rubbed his hardened length with her mouth while he thrashed and groaned his intense arousal. Ignoring his efforts to stop her, she continued fondling his scrotum while taking him deep inside her mouth. His hands clenched the sheets and his body tightened. Crying out his release, he emptied his warm, salty semen into her mouth. She licked him clean, lapping up every last drop. She'd never, ever let a guy come in her mouth before. She'd never wanted one to. She'd thought it disgusting. Not now, though, and not Peter. Perhaps because he was the only man she'd ever loved. The thought sobered her and it must have shown in her face because Peter asked, "Are you all right?" She nodded, unable to speak. "Wendy?" She moved into his arms and he embraced her, dropping feathery kisses over her face. "Baby, you didn't have to do that." "You didn't like it?" "God, yes! No one's ever done that with me before. You know, swallowed. It's special." "It's just something I wanted to do." Because I love you. Dare she tell him? "Thank you." He then rolled her to her back and showed his appreciation, in every imaginable way, until she came and came again. **** In spite of the rain, Peter declared Sunday a success. He and Wendy made love again that morning, then ordered a pot of coffee to go with their bagels. They took the scenic drive through the back roads to Flemington, where they shopped at an outlets mall and ate lunch at a neighborhood diner. When the rain finally stopped, they strolled the deserted streets of town, pausing to admire the restored houses, all of which now seemed to be law offices. They passed the old hotel, and the historic old courthouse, where the Lindbergh kidnapping trial was held. As he drove them back to Clinton, he asked, "What would you like to do for dinner tonight? I didn't make reservations." "My pick?" She grinned. "Would you be disappointed if I wanted to eat take-out in our room?" Nothing would please him more than to dine in private. "Disappointed? Not at all." Just surprised. "Chinese or pizza?" "Hmm. Chinese would probably be healthier. That place by the Laundromat across from the supermarket looked promising." Later, they sat cross-legged in bed and ate their dinner in the nude. A perfect prelude to another round of making love, it was the sexiest dinner he'd ever eaten. As they cleared away the cartons and sipped the last of their hot tea, she said, "I want you to know that this entire weekend has been a wonderful escape, Peter. Thank you."
"Escape? You make it sound like nothing's changed with you. I'd hoped..." What? What had he hoped? Lost for words, he shrugged. She shook her head. "A lot has changed, more than you know." "Tell me." Tell me I've spoiled you for any other man, that you won't marry Kap. "Later, okay?" It wasn't okay, but he nodded, just the same. A dozen possibilities of what she'd tell him ran through his mind, none of them good. As he made tender, passionate love to her, he couldn't shake the feeling that their wonderful adventure, instead of being the start of something good, was about to end.
CHAPTER TEN Monday morning, Wendy packed her bags, her body trembling with anxiety. D-Day. During the night, after enjoying more pleasure from the skillful, gentle Peter, she'd slept little. She couldn't believe the thoughts she'd had, alien to everything she'd professed to want. She loved Peter with a deep and committed love. She'd gladly sacrifice Kap and even her job if she could marry Peter instead. How often had Peter made it clear he wouldn't marry? She had to risk telling him how she felt and go from there, or she'd never know for sure. If he didn't return her love, she'd marry Kap, get the AE job, and find happiness. It was go-for-broke time. Peter offered to order room service after waking her up to make love. God, she'd never get enough of him. Or would she ever know his touch again? "No, thanks," she said, when she realized he was waiting for her answer. "Just get me a cup of hot tea." Food wouldn't last a minute in her upset stomach. She finished packing, then room service arrived. Sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room, she sipped her hot tea. "What's bothering you, Wendy?" Steeling herself for the worst, she said, "I have to tell you something." He perched on the edge of the bed and faced her. "What is it?" "I've fallen in love with you. I need to know if you return my feelings. If not, I'll never bring it up again and you won't need to feel awkward around my family." His face brightened. A smile curved his lips. "Hallelujah! I'm in love with you, too. God, you had me worried there for a second." She smiled, too. Her heart hammered against her ribcage and her temperature shot sky high. He loved her, too! Joy filled her heart, but she sobered, knowing that she hadn't asked the hardest question yet. "What are we going to do about it?" "Be lovers, of course! We'll have all the weekend escapades our schedules permit. I'm all yours, cupcake!" "Lovers." She bit her lip to stop its trembling. She should've known. Peter fancied himself in love with her, but didn't feel the need to show commitment. No talk of the future or marriage or children. "Well, that's a dilemma, to be sure." He frowned. "What do you mean?" "You want an affair, fun and games. Kap wants marriage, permanence and a future. No matter which way I turn, I lose." "You make it sound like an either-or proposition. We love each other. Isn't that enough?" "Sorry, Peter. I'm a forever-after kind of gal. You're offering me Fantasyland on weekends. I can't settle for that." "Wait a sec. Is this a damn ultimatum?" He stood, hands fisted at his hips. "Not at all. I just wanted to know where I stand. Now I do. We'd better get back." "Wendy, no. Please tell me you aren't going to marry Kap. You don't love him, dammit!" "I love you and you don't want to marry, dammit," she shot back. "I guess we just want different things in life. I'm sorry."
**** Thursday night, Peter finished his first set at Neverland, then took a break. He needed a break, something to perk up his pathetic life. The rumored agent had never appeared, which didn't surprise Peter. His whole life had turned to shit, and it was too late to fix it. According to John, Kap and Wendy planned a New Year's wedding. How could she when it was Peter she loved? Peter who gave her the mindless passion and fireworks? But that was all Peter could give her. Evidently, Wendy needed more. When he'd first gotten home Monday, he'd been angry at her. She'd put security and a future above love. What a cop out. She was selling out and just needed an excuse. What would've happened had he called her bluff and asked her to marry him? But what if she called his bluff and said yes? It should've scared him. Oddly, it didn't. He'd vowed never to marry, but why? The truth hit him like an off-key chord. He couldn't reconcile a lifetime with a woman he didn't love. Maybe he'd always loved Wendy and just hadn't acknowledged it before. Maybe he was holding out for her. He replayed their last conversation in the motel and wished a dozen times he had the chance to play it differently. He'd take her on any terms to keep her in his life. In fact, based on the past weekend, marriage to her would be incredible and wonderful. Why hadn't he seen it in time? But he who hesitates is lost, so goes the platitude, and he'd definitely lost. He played through the second set, taking out all his emotions on the saxophone. Every piece carried sadness, each mournful note portrayed his misery. He had no other outlet but his music, so he poured everything into it. All tables occupied, the patrons sat in silence, as if stunned by the depths of his pain. Touching his tongue to the reed, he started The Search Is Over, a happier song under normal circumstances, but not tonight. Halfway through, movement in the back of the club caught his eye. Even in silhouette he recognized the woman as she slid onto a stool at the bar. Wendy. And she was alone. He finished the tune, then turned to Cole. "Change in program," he whispered. "Solo finale." Cole didn't question him and merely nodded. Peter searched the bar and met Wendy's gaze as he brought the mouthpiece to his lips. Locked on her eyes, he began to play. He prayed she'd recognize the song. * Wendy ignored the bartender, her attention riveted by Peter. He played with an intensity she'd not heard before—had it been only a week earlier?—made more powerful by the absence of the piano. She knew the song, had heard it on both country and pop stations, and even in an action movie. How Do I Live. Peter never broke eye contact while his music reached her soul. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but couldn't stop the tears. She loved him so much. How could she live without him? She'd almost made a terrible mistake, one she was sure would've ruined her life. Without Peter, nothing brought her happiness. If he wanted only an affair, that's what they'd have. She'd reached that decision in the wee hours. Only then had she been able to rest.
At the end of the song, Peter rose, removed his neck brace, then started toward her amid the clamor of applause and praise. He barely nodded to the audience, his gaze never leaving hers. When he reached her side, she flung herself into his arms and kissed him soundly. The crowd erupted into whistles and more applause. Later, after he'd packed up his instrument and walked her to her car, he kissed her again. "I've missed you, cupcake." "I'm sorry I tried to pressure you. I was no better than Kap, trying to force your hand. I was wrong." He cocked one eyebrow. "What about Kap? You aren't engaged?" "No." "But John said..." "John? I never..." They both grinned, realizing her brother had tinkered with them again. "And your promotion?" She shook her head. "But I didn't get fired. The client wants me." "So you and Kap are finished, eh?" "It's all your fault, you know." She laughed at his puzzled smile. "I met him for dinner. I wore a scooped neck blouse, forgetting about the hickey. He spotted it right away and accused me of cheating on him." "What did you say?" "I grinned like an idiot and said, 'Looks that way.' He didn't think it was funny. Still, he said I should sow my wild oats now, before we got married. Suddenly, I realized I hadn't cheated on him. To marry him would be cheating on you ... on us." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I love you, Wendy. Follow me home." "I thought you'd never ask." She yearned to make love to him, to share the wonder of mindless passion and fireworks again. "How do you feel about living in a basement studio, at least for a while?" "You want me to move in with you?" It wasn't marriage, but it was commitment, and it definitely sounded like they had a future together. "Sure." "I was thinking of something more permanent, actually. Like ... marriage?" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "That's so sweet, but you don't have to do that. I accept your aversion to marriage." "Maybe you do, but I don't. Not anymore. I want you beside me forever and ever, amen. I know I haven't much to offer yet, but..." "Hush. My prospects are worse than yours at the moment. But we'll get by." "Yes, we will." He winked. "And live happily ever after." THE END About the Author: Vanessa Hart ("Nessie") is the author of award-winning contemporary romance under a different name. She and her husband live reclusively in the country in north Florida. Her debut erotica romance, LOVE LESSONS, was the publisher's #1 selling book for more than a month and received top reviews. Her second erotica romance,
HAPPY CAMPERS, earned the Golden Rose Critic's Choice Award from Love Romances the month after its release. Visit her website at www.vanessahart.com for her upcoming releases. Readers are welcome to contact her at
[email protected].
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