Familiar Strangers

Familiar Strangers by Keziah Hill Familiar Strangers By Keziah Hill 2 Familiar Strangers by Keziah Hill This is a ...

Author: Hill Kezia

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Familiar Strangers by Keziah Hill

Familiar Strangers By Keziah Hill

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Familiar Strangers Copyright© 2007 Keziah Hill ISBN: 978-1-60088-188-6 Cover Artist: Emma Petersen Editor: Leanne Salter All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Cobblestone Press, LLC www.cobblestone-press.com

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Dedication To writing friends and colleagues. ‚Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.‛ James Baldwin

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Chapter One She couldn’t breathe. Hands circled her neck, squeezing with sharp fingers, crushing her windpipe. She tried to lift her arms to push him away, but paralysis trapped her. With her last breath, she screamed, but her voice broke in a tiny whimper. She looked up into bloodshot, gleeful eyes and watched his lips draw back in a feral snarl. ‚Bitch. Whore. I’ll get you. What ever it takes, I’ll get you—‛ Calliope Marchant slammed into wakefulness, her throat full of noise. Damp, sweaty sheets wrapped around her rigid, straining body, and her hands clutched at her bruised neck. She scrambled out of bed, tripped, and fell hard onto the floor. If she could just get up, get to the window and let in the cool night air, she would be okay. But his snarling face and feverish, whispered threats continued to paralyze her. Desperate to draw air into her straining lungs, she whimpered again and, with agonizing effort, managed to get onto all fours and crawl to the window. The pumping of her heart sounded like a muffled executioners drum, doom-filled and dreadful. She grasped the windowsill and pulled herself up. A madwoman with wild, knotted hair and eyes full of panic stared at her. She almost yelped in fear, but then looked past the image of herself in the glass, instead focusing on the blinking lights of the bay. Reality was out there somewhere, in a place where normal people went about their business without madness and hatred fueling their every action.

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No more. She couldn’t go on like this. Would not continue to fall into helplessness and fear. That time was officially over. She turned the latch on the window and opened it out wide. Blessed cool air streamed in, washing over her skin and leaving pleasurable pinpricks of cold. The rough cotton of her tank top scraped against her hardening nipples. Calm slid into her body and quieted her pounding blood as she pulled more and more air into her lungs. There was a storm brewing. Maybe it would wash away the dark, greasy madness in her mind. Closing her eyes, she let the cool air continue to soothe her, but jumped when a sharp gust of wind grabbed the open window and slammed it against the side of the house. She swore, her new-found calm deserting her, then made herself lean out and grab the window handle, trying to pull it back toward her against the wind. It kept slipping out of her hands. Wind was all around her, whipping her hair into her eyes so at first she couldn’t see that one hinge had broken off the window, causing it to hang heavy and useless by the lone, remaining hinge. ‚You won’t get it by doing that. You’ll just fall out if you’re not careful.‛ She knew that voice. Take a step back. Take many steps back. Get away from him. She backed back into her bedroom. A menacing shadow emerged from the night and took on a more human form. Not that he was any less menacing. A hatchet face, full of sharp lines and angles. Hooded eyes the color of impenetrable night. What she could see of his tall body was all lean, rangy muscle, as if he’d worked long hours in hard, physical labor. Strong, uncompromising, relentless in his solidity. Danger radiated from him, surrounding her and pulling at her precarious calm. No. Not again. Never again. She made a grab for the window, needing to shut him out. ‚You were never one for the practical side of life, were you, Cal?

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Too many other fish to fry. Here, leave it. I’ll get it.‛ He stepped up to the drunken window and further into the light. Her gaze fell, riveted to his muscled arms, tanned and strong. A memory, intense and immediate, slammed into her, almost toppling her over. Those arms once held her tight as she disintegrated into pleasure, wild and freeing. His later betrayal never erased that memory, no matter how hard she tried to drive it out of her mind. Her skin prickled with more than the cold as unwelcome heat spread through her blood. He frowned and muttered something under his breath, then slid a sideways glance at her. ‚Is the tool shed still out back?‛ She nodded. ‚I’ll need to nail this closed until you get it fixed.‛ He let the window drop where it banged again against the side of the house. He turned to her. ‚It’s unlike you to be so silent. Are you okay?‛ She nodded again. He shrugged and disappeared into the darkness behind the house. Calliope, momentarily disoriented, let go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding and looked around. Where was the door? There. There. An escape, if she needed one. She snatched up a sweater. The faint but familiar smell of her favorite perfume provided comforting reassurance. She held it to her face and moaned, more out of frustration than fear. The house surrounded her, creaking now and then in the wind. The house she’d come to every summer until she was eighteen, when she’d fled, vowing never to return. Her bedroom was no longer a teenager’s haven. Even after all these years, memories lingered, embedded in the walls and drifting through the air. Why him? Why now? ***** Mitchell Taylor rummaged around the filthy, cobweb-infested tool

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shed and cursed long and colorfully. Of all the people he could possibly have run into, why did it have to be Calliope Marchant? He’d planned this holiday months ago. The tantalizing promise of these free weeks in Berry had kept him going through his impossible work schedule of long days and nights across three continents. All he wanted to do was to surf and read crime novels. Then maybe he could start his real work again. Now he’d have to spend some time avoiding a ghost from his past. A ghost who looked as pleased to see him as he was to see her. Many times over the last sixteen years, he’d hoped she’d become a fat and complacent matron devoted to babies, Botox, and the social life of a vacuous heiress. His hopes hadn’t been fulfilled. From her homely drawstring pants, loose tank top, and wild, knotty hair, he could tell fashion was not uppermost in her mind. Her face, although pale and drawn, was scrubbed and clear. And there was no way he could mistake the look of panic and dread that had filled her eyes as soon as she’d recognized him. Nor could he mistake the spike of pure lust that slammed into him at the sight of her round, generous body now more lush and womanly than ever. Her nipples were hard and distinct under the pale cotton, thanks to the cold, not from any reaction to him. Still, that didn’t change the effect she had on his body. At that first, astonishing moment when he saw her struggling with the broken window in the wild night, he had the strangest feeling that he was walking up her pathway, desperate as he’d been at eighteen, to get into her bed. And once there, he’d held her, plunged into her vibrant, glorious body and told her all the secrets in his young heart. Now, as he sorted through the chaos of her tool shed, he gritted his teeth and shook his head. He didn’t need memories from a long time ago and several worlds away to rear up and torture him. He found the tools and nails he needed, and made his way back to the broken window. The wind was wilder now, and he had trouble holding the window closed to nail it shut. Just as he was about to ask Cal to give him a hand, she appeared beside him, still silent, and helped him

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hold the window while he hammered in the nails. She’d put on a highnecked sweater and tied back her hair, but loose strands whipped around her face. He swallowed, remembering how she’d tip her head back as she rode him, her long, black hair brushing his thighs as he thrust up, desperate to get deeper into her…. The hammer slipped and he banged his thumb. ‚Shit!‛ He threw down the hammer in a fury and turned on her. ‚What’s wrong with you? You’re like a wraith! Can’t you say anything?‛ She stared at him with wide, haunted eyes. ‚What could be wrong? ‚There’s a wild storm coming, the window’s broken, and the one man in the world I swore I never wanted to see again in this life ambles down my pathway like some ancient, terrifying ghost. No. There’s nothing wrong.‛ His fury receded as he heard her voice for the first time in sixteen years. It had deepened and lost its girlish high notes. Calliope Marchant sounded nothing like the frivolous socialite he’d hoped to find, but a woman with serious intent. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she had real fear in her eyes. Fear of what? Him? He smiled. ‚Now, Callie, honey. You always were prone to exaggeration. Me, terrifying? I could say that about you. The last time we spoke, you reduced me to a quivering mass of male terror. There’s nothing like a tongue lashing from a woman firmly entrenched in the moral high ground. My masculine pride took quite a while to recover.‛ The fear in her eyes snuffed out to be replaced by good old fashioned Marchant anger. He smiled again. Callie’s anger he could deal with. Fear was something he never wanted to see. ‚But recover, it did. A pity. A little humility could’ve saved you from becoming a caricature of the beach boy stud you undoubtedly are.‛ Her voice was as cold as the wind whipping around them. She bent and picked up the hammer. ‚Thanks for the help. I appreciate it. I’m here for a few weeks, and I’ll keep out of your way. Keep out of mine.‛ She turned on her heel and disappeared into the house. He stood at the glass pane and watched as she entered the bedroom and crossed to the window. Before she drew the curtains, she hesitated and looked out into

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the night again. He smiled, and she whipped the curtains closed.

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Chapter Two The storm and daylight soothed Callie’s muddled head. Dreams of hate-filled men and ghosts from the past receded in the face of the glorious, early autumn day. There was a chill in the air. Callie spent a pleasant few minutes gathering wood for a fire, setting the twigs, making sure it all was correctly balanced. She knew a pot-bellied stove would be more effective for heating the house, but she liked the ritual of setting the fire and the challenge of making in burn in the old fireplace. It was ancient, like the rest of the house. For some reason, this place had escaped her mother’s makeover plans and remained a slightly shabby holiday house with the beach as its back yard. Nostalgia kept her parents from changing it too much. They’d bought it when her father was still making his way in the financial world. They weren’t poor then, but they weren’t rich either. She remembered wonderful times spent in this house. Back in the days before her parents hit the social register, they’d come as often as they could to swim and laze and relax. Callie would track sand into the house, and her mother would shout at her in a half-hearted way, then lie back with a blissful sigh, a novel in her hand, while her father winked at Callie and massaged her mother’s feet. She wouldn’t think about why she hadn’t been here since she was eighteen. The memory of Mitch, who was now so stark and stern, so different from the boy she once knew, floated into her mind. She shivered. He was past history. Dead and gone.

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She put a match to the fire and watched the flames take hold. The charm would wear off in the dead of winter when she’d come home in the dark, freezing, desperate for immediate warmth. But maybe she wouldn’t be here then. A new heater wasn’t a priority, yet. Rest was a priority. Both her doctor and her boss had insisted she take a long time off, get away from the city, and do nothing but rest. She hadn’t had a real holiday in years; she’d been too caught up in other people’s troubles. Somewhere along the way, she’d developed an unsustainable belief that if she took time off, someone would suffer. She knew the idea was ridiculous, that no one was indispensable. But the looks on some of her clients’ faces when they told their stories in halting, tortured voices pulled at her day after day. And that other face, the face filled with so much hatred and rage, still haunted her. She shivered. Woodham was in jail, locked up behind high stone walls, barbed-wire topped fences, and a state of the art alarm system. He couldn’t get to her. She shook her head to dislodge all that pain and misery and filled the kettle for a pot of tea, her father’s never-failing solution to all of life’s problems. He was English to the bone and wouldn’t let go of his rituals, even in the face of her mother’s Greek scorn. Her ma would brew scalding, sweet Greek coffee, and the two of them would glare at each other over the breakfast table. Callie smiled, realizing that memory summed up their relationship perfectly. They’d fight but always be there in the morning, ready to start again. They could no more live without each other than fly to the moon. She carried her tea and the newspaper over to the lounge near the French doors with the intention of doing what everyone insisted she do. Rest. One glance through the glass in the door and she knew rest was impossible. Mitch ambled up her garden path with a toolbox in his hand and stopped to look at the roses. The sight of a six-foot-two, lean, muscled, intensely vital example of masculinity, dressed in paint-splattered, ripped jeans and a faded sweatshirt, squatting down to examine a crimson rugosa rose, was incongruous, fabulous, and more than a little dismaying.

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Particularly when he straightened, turned toward the house, and saw her through the doors. No way could she escape. His slow, wide smile was exactly the same. When she was eighteen, it had given her a sucker punch in her gut; now that she was thirty-four, nothing had changed. The sensation was short and sharp, and then its warmth stole though her body. His grin still had the power to alter her body chemistry, even after all these years. She could kill him. Or fuck him. Maybe both. She moaned with a mixture of frustration and—she had to admit— want. Sixteen years had transformed Mitch from a beautiful beach boy full of fun and light into someone much more significant. Much darker and threatening. Gone were his sun bleached curls, which had always softened his sharp features. His hair was now cropped short and dark, giving no hint that he’d spent any time in the sun. He walked down the path as if he owned it and would let nothing or no one stand in his way. The look in his eyes, even from this distance, made her think he had more on his mind than fixing her window. She pushed down the feeling that he was coming for her. If he thought they’d start that up again, he was mistaken. So was her traitorous body. A low hum pulsed through her bloodstream, and her skin prickled with the expectation of his touch. She moved on the couch, and the moisture between her legs shifted inside her, sending small shivers of arousal through her body. Arousal and yearning. A yearning she’d not experienced in years. To be held and encircled in strong, caring arms. Mitch had once held her just like that, or at least she’d thought he had. She’d been wrong. She stood up and nearly spilled her tea in the process. ‚Careful. You seem to be accident prone at the moment.‛ Some things never change. He still waltzes in without invitation. He stood at the doorway, looking like a hungry wolf with breakfast in front of him. Would she allow herself to be eaten? She gave herself a mental slap. Get that image out of your mind. Easy to say, but the memory was hard to dislodge. Back when they were both eighteen, Mitch had insisted he needed to practice. She’d been

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more than willing to go along. And practice certainly did make perfect. Night after night, on the beach, in her bed, in the back of his car, his mouth sucked and licked her pussy, pushing her into orgasm after orgasm. He lapped at her as if her cunt provided the only sustenance he wanted or needed. In those moments, she’d felt worshiped and special. A feeling she’d never experienced since. ‚What are you doing here?‛ she asked, starting off with hostility, hoping he’d get the message loud and clear. ‚I thought I said for you to keep out of my way.‛ ‚Your window needs fixing. And besides, I’m curious.‛ ‚About what?‛ ‚You. I want to know what you’ve been doing the last sixteen years.‛ ‚Why?‛ He shrugged. ‚Boredom, nostalgia, a gift for making trouble. Take your pick.‛ ‚Trouble. I’ll pick that one. You do have a gift for it.‛ ‚But it was exciting.‛ She smiled despite herself. He was right about that. He might have broken her eighteen-year-old heart, but she’d never been more alive than she’d been that glorious summer. They’d been inseparable, driving up and down the coast, surfing, laughing, and fucking when and wherever they could. It was inevitable it would all come crashing down, but it was magic while it lasted. ‚It was a long time ago, Mitch. Life goes on.‛ ‚But bitterness remains.‛ She tried to shrug off his comment, but a jolt of reality slapped her brain. He was right. She was bitter and hadn’t let go of what had been for him just a summer affair. It was her fault she’d given it more significance than it warranted. In a stark moment of clarity, she realized she’d allowed that bitterness to infect the last sixteen years, letting the experience of firstlove-gone-bad fester in her brain so no one else could get in. She decided she should be grateful to him for making her see her mistake, if for nothing else.

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‚Maybe I am bitter. But that’s a waste of time, isn’t it?‛ She squared her shoulders and made herself smile again, determined now to let go of her hostility. This was her holiday. She couldn’t afford any more stress. Mitch was the past. She had to concentrate on the future, and on getting well. ‚So, are you here to fix my window like a genuine knight in shining armor?‛ she asked, hoping she sounded brisk and businesslike. ‚That’s good of you. Would you like some tea?‛ ‚Tea? I was hoping you’d taken up your mother’s coffee-making habits. No chance of a real heart starter?‛ ‚Some things never change.‛ She snorted. ‚I’ll see what I can do. Have you got everything you need?‛ He shook his toolbox and nodded. ‚Me and my trusty toolbox go everywhere together.‛ ‚Really? What do you do now? Carpentry? I can see you tinkering in a woodshed between waves.‛ He looked at her strangely then smiled that slow, killer smile. Her heart pounded hard once then subsided. But the warmth between her legs remained. ‚Carpentry and a few other things. I’ll get started on the window.‛ With a final nod, he went back out the doors and down the side path to the bedroom window. She busied herself in the kitchen, searching for the briki she knew would be there. At the last minute, she’d thrown in a packet of finely ground coffee and some spices to the pile of groceries she’d brought with her from Sydney, knowing she wouldn’t be able to go without the occasional hit of caffeine. She located the battered briki and smiled. Her mother might be the wife of one of Australia’s richest men, but she always had to make her coffee the traditional way. She waited for it to brew and stood staring out the window at the garden, lost in the memory of the last conversation she’d had with her mother in this house. A conversation about Mitch. ‚He’s worthless. Charming, but worthless. You can do better than that.‛ ‚What do you mean, ‘better than that’‛? Am I supposed to marry a man

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who’ll look after me, pay for me, and keep me wrapped up like spun glass?‛ ‚If that’s what you want, why not? But it’s more than that, paidi. A husband should be there for you. Should want to be with you and look after you. Not just materially, but for your heart. That boy, that Mitch, he’s not the one. He needs to fly away, stretch his wings, get out of this small town. If you marry him, you’ll hold him down. And both of you will suffer. Don’t sell yourself short.‛ She’d tossed her head and told her mother she wasn’t even thinking of marriage, but that’s exactly what she’d wanted. But she and Mitch had both been too young. And it looks as though he’s never left this place, she thought sadly. As usual, her infuriating mother had been right. She poured the coffee into small, demitasse cups, satisfied it had the required syrupy consistency. Hammering sounded from the bedroom. She smiled. If Mitch wanted his heart started, this should do the trick. Cups in her hands, she paused at the bedroom door and watched him work. He focused on what he was doing with familiar intensity. He’d always had that quality. When they were young, most people saw him as fun loving and carefree, but she knew he had a core of single-minded determination when he decided he had to achieve something, or when he wanted someone. Like her. He’d gone after her with fierce resolve, which had thrilled and excited her eighteen-year-old heart. And in bed he displayed the same focus. None of the few lovers she’d had since Mitch could match his attention to detail when it came to her pleasure. She crossed to the window, hitched herself up on the sill, and held out a cup. He turned his attention to her as if snapping back to reality. There it was—that intense focus. She wondered if he’d done anything with it since that fateful summer. He stood in the pathway outside her bedroom and sipped his coffee. ‚Your mother taught you well,‛ he said with an appreciative sigh. ‚My heart just flipped over.‛ ‚She taught me a lot of things,‛ she said, gazing out over the water. ‚Like how to be a member of the Sydney social set? Do you spend your time going to parties and playing tennis?‛ Her gaze slid back to him. He was fishing. ‚Maybe. Maybe I should

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do more of that. Might be good for me.‛ ‚If you don’t do that, what do you do? Married, children?‛ ‚No and no.‛ His eyebrows rose. ‚You think a woman like me should follow the traditional path. Is that it? I should live in some Eastern suburbs mansion, married to some millionaire with two point five children and a fussy, yappy dog?‛ ‚No.‛ He held out his empty cup, and she took it. ‚I think you should live life in a way that makes you happy. Are you happy?‛ She reached over and put the cups on her bedside table, buying for time. Was she happy? No one had ever asked her that. ‚I’m content. That’s good enough.‛ She leaned back against the side of the window and propped her feet up on the sill. ‚That’s a half life. You should be happy.‛ He moved closer to her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She jumped as a single spike of energy slammed into her. When he moved his arms to encircle her, trapping her against the side of the window, her heart started a feverish beat, and her skin shivered with need for his hands on her. To soothe and stroke and pull her to release. That’s what she’d always treasured about him. Why she’d kept him in her heart. He’d made her feel free. Not just sexually, although her first adult experience of night after night of spectacular sex had freed her from her carefully cultivated good girl persona. He’d also opened her mind to possibilities. He’d released in her a need for something more in her life, to be something other than a wealthy young woman destined for a life of charity balls and exclusive shopping. She stared up into his eyes that were as black as her own, and saw in them what she hadn’t seen in a long time. No one in the last sixteen years had looked at her as if she were the only woman on the planet who mattered.

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Chapter Three Mitch gazed into her dark eyes and fell. Again. The whole of the last sixteen years winked out in an instant. No, that wasn’t true, even if he wished it so. He’d had a marriage, a divorce, and a life away from Berry that didn’t disappear in the depths of Calliope Marchant’s eyes. But his need for her, the craving to be with her, inside her, reared up within him like a fierce, wild animal caged too long. She’d seen something in him at eighteen no one else had. She’d freed him to think beyond his small town life, even if she’d thrown that small town life back in his face. She’d been young and under her parents’ thumb. What had he expected? That she’d ride off into the sunset with a beach bum who hadn’t even finished high school, a boy who had no idea about responsibility or what he wanted in life? Her scornful words at their last meeting had torn something in his heart. A tear that released pain, fury and, to his eternal gratitude, a creative spark that got him through the following painful months and into a new life. Now, standing here, knowing he was going to kiss her, to taste again her glorious, generous mouth, his heart pounded and his cock hardened. All those tumultuous emotions couldn’t hide his central, burning need. He wanted her. He wanted to grab her, throw her on her bed, and ravish her. Rip those sensible, all-covering tracksuit pants and sweater from her body, taste her golden skin, then suck on her dark, berry-shaped nipples.

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Instead, he bent forward and touched his lips to hers. She stiffened, and he thought she’d throw him off, but she sighed and arched up to press her lips harder against his. His heart pounded with exultation. He gathered her close and let go of all restraint, plunging his tongue into her mouth to taste what he’d lost all those years ago. She was there with him, had her hands on him, pulling him closer as she opened to him and took her own pleasure. When he broke the kiss to nibble at her jaw and spread kisses down her neck, she stiffened and pulled away. But not before he saw the marks. Bruises. Yellowing now, but in the shape of fingers all around her neck. Fury consumed him. ‚Who did this to you? Who put his hands on you?‛ She pushed at him and avoided his eyes. ‚It doesn’t matter. It’s over.‛ ‚Doesn’t matter? You let some man treat you like this, and you say it doesn’t matter?‛ She pushed him harder. He saw something in her eyes that should have made him shut his mouth. But he didn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of her succumbing to another man’s madness. ‚Is that what your parents expect of you? Not only must you be the dutiful daughter and lead the life they want for you, but you have to put up with some stupid fuck’s abuse?‛ She wrenched herself out of his arms and off the window sill to stand, stiff and furious, in the center of the bedroom. ‚How dare you? How dare you come in here and make judgments from on high about my life? You know nothing about me.‛ ‚I know you deserve more. No one should have to put up with what’s happened to you, Callie. Please talk to me. I can help.‛ ‚Can you? Can you really? Can you stop a monster when he hides in plain sight? Can you make scores of children sleep at night, banish the nightmares from their minds, give them back their innocence?‛ She was crying now, in great gut-wrenching sobs, bending over with her hands covering her face. He clambered over the window ledge and into the room, then grabbed her to him.

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‚Shh. Shh. I’m sorry. Callie. I’m so sorry. Please, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’m talking about. You know me. I never have. Always putting my foot in before I think.‛ He pulled her to the bed, sat her down next to him, and cuddled her as her sobs subsided. The feel of her in his arms was like coming home. She was all softness and heat and smelled of wood smoke and roses, a smell that insinuated its way through his blood and made his cock hard. This was not the time for that. After a while, she calmed. ‚There,‛ he said. ‚That’s better. Do want some water?‛ She shook her head, and he held her tighter. ‚Tell me. What happened? If it wasn’t an abusive boyfriend, who did that to you?‛ She lifted her head and stared into his eyes with fierce intensity, as if searching for his worth. He stared back, hoping she’d find what she was looking for. ‚I was attacked.‛ ‚By who?‛ ‚By someone who wanted to kill me.‛ She sighed and snuggled closer to him. ‚He still does.‛ She rubbed her neck as if trying to obliterate the marks. Mitch’s anger simmered just under surface of his skin as he listened to her talk. ‚I work as a lawyer with the Child Protection Agency. I have for a long time. I’m good at it, you know?‛ She pulled herself away from his chest and stared into his eyes again with that same intensity. Did she think he’d challenge the truth of her words? ‚You’d be good at whatever you do. You’re determined and stubborn. Good qualities for a lawyer.‛ ‚Yeah, well, sometimes those qualities can get you into a lot of hot water.‛ She rubbed her eyes and pulled herself away from him. He fought the need to grab her to him, to keep her safe and enclosed, but she was already standing and tying her hair back, adjusting her clothes, and turning back into a cool, capable, no-nonsense woman. ‚Come on. I need some more coffee.‛ She headed for the kitchen.

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Impatient for the whole story, he followed her. ‚Where is the man who attacked you?‛ ‚In jail. Where he belongs. But that doesn’t stop the nightmares for the children he hurt.‛ Or for you, Mitch surmised, noting again the dark shadows under her eyes. She puttered around the kitchen, measuring out the coffee, adding the spices, igniting the stove burner. ‚There was a case… A twelve year old girl, Beth, was referred to the child welfare department after a teacher saw bruises on her body in the locker room. She denied anything was wrong, and that would have been that, but a dedicated caseworker followed her up. Turned out her monster of a father had raped her repeatedly, as well as her two older sisters. The two older girls had long since disappeared onto the streets, but Beth was too young. And she had a little sister. The father hadn’t started on her yet, but he told Beth he’d kill both of them if she told anyone. The usual stuff. No different than other cases I’d come across.‛ Her voice was low and bitter. She gazed out the window, but Mitch knew she saw nothing of the garden. More likely she pictured the horror of her helpless client. ‚John Woodham,‛ she muttered. ‚A nonentity hiding a heart full of poison.‛ She sighed and turned her attention back to the coffee. ‚At first, Beth wouldn’t admit to anything. That’s when I came in. We wanted to put him away, and she was our star witness. The older sisters were both addicted to drugs and unreliable. Beth was fiercely protective of her younger sister, so I told her, brutally, that her father would start on her sister soon if she didn’t co-operate. She broke down and did what we wanted.‛ She paused and turned to the stove. Her hands shook as she poured the coffee. Mitch took the briki from her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‚Sit. You need to sit.‛ He pushed her down onto a kitchen chair. Her words poured out like poison. ‚Then she started having nightmares. She was convinced she’d done the wrong thing, that her

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father would kill her sister. She had this idea that if she made herself available all the time, he wouldn’t start on the younger girl. Then she thought that it was her fault she hadn’t told anyone sooner. I didn’t see any of that. I just needed her to co-operate, and I broke her down until she did. She’d maintained this fiction in her mind that she was doing something good for her sister, and I took that away from her.‛ ‚Callie, that’s crazy. She would have realized it herself eventually. She couldn’t not realize it.‛ ‚But I was so brutal.‛ She grasped his arms as he crouched in front of her, and her face contorted in pain. ‚I wanted to get him, but I didn’t think about what it would do to her. She was only a means to an end. I used her just like he did.‛ ‚No, no. Stop. That’s madness.‛ He knelt in front of her and took her in his arms, rocking her as she wept again. ‚The man is in jail, isn’t he? You got him out of her life.‛ She nodded and rubbed her face against his chest. ‚But she’s tried to kill herself twice since he’s been inside. It doesn’t get any better for her.‛ ‚Or for you. When did he attack you?‛ ‚At the sentencing. He jumped the dock and went for me. Told me he’d get me. That whatever it took, he’d get me. He’d been so mild mannered before that day, like a lot of sex offenders, so no one was expecting him to attack.‛ From the first moment Mitch saw Callie after sixteen years, he knew in his heart she hadn’t followed the path he’d expected her to take, but a crusading lawyer for the weak and vulnerable surprised him. She was nothing like the socialite heiress he’d pictured in his mind. Yet, if he was honest with himself, he’d never expected her to take on the life he’d told himself she would. She had too much heart and soul. ‚So now you’re torturing yourself. You’ve come down here to lick your wounds and blame yourself. You’re not irrational Cal, and from the sound of things, you know where the blame really rests in this terrible story. So why are you beating yourself up? There’s more to this, isn’t there?‛

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She shifted away from him and stood, her body tense and rigid. The coffee was still on the counter. She picked it up and poured it into the cups. ‚I don’t know what you mean.‛ ‚There’s something you’re not telling me.‛ She slumped and turned to him. ‚I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go back to all those helpless, frightened faces and know the worst has already happened to them, and nothing I can do will make it better. In fact, sometimes it makes it worse. Dragging children through the legal system after they’ve been abused prolongs their torture. Sometimes I feel I’m just as bad as their abusers.‛ She clutched her arms around herself, as if she could keep the disintegrating parts of herself together. Mitch fought the need to hold her tight, sensing she wouldn’t want his touch at the moment. She was admitting something to herself and had to do it on her own. ‚Do you have to keep doing what you do?‛ he asked carefully. ‚There’s no shame in leaving. It sounds like a demanding and exhausting job. Haven’t you done your time?‛ Her body tensed again, and her head came up. He almost stepped back at the flash of fire in her eyes. ‚And become just what the world expects me to become? The dilettante daughter of a rich man who always takes the easy option? No. I can’t do that. I’ve fought too long and hard to be taken seriously. I can’t walk away now.‛ ‚But you said yourself you’ve been in the job a long time. There’s nothing in the rule book that says you have to stay there forever.‛ ‚That’s easy for you to say,‛ she muttered, turning back to the coffee. ‚I guess you haven’t been in this situation.‛ ‚Not exactly. But surely you’re not indispensable. Isn’t it time for someone else to do what you do? When did you develop this ridiculous concern for what other people think? Who cares if other people see you as a carefree daughter of a rich man? Your friends and family know the truth, don’t they?‛ She laughed with genuine amusement and turned back to him,

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leaning against the kitchen counter. ‚They sure do. My mother thought I was nuts wanting to do law. And then when I got a job with the Child Protection Agency, she starting ringing up psychiatrists and making me appointments. That and beefing up her matchmaking efforts.‛ ‚I gather she hasn’t been successful.‛ Callie shook her head. ‚I think she’s given up. She hasn’t shown the same interest lately.‛ Mitch doubted that. When he ran into Olympia Marchant at the opening of the new sculpture wing of the Art Gallery of New South Wales, she’d greeted him as her long-lost surrogate son, announcing to the world she’d always knew Mitch Taylor would one day make a name for himself in the international art world. When he mentioned he was going back to the south coast, back to Berry to live and work, he’d noticed the calculation in her eyes. He thought it had something to do with wanting to be seen with the latest expatriate returning home after making a name for himself in Europe, but maybe it was something else. Something like Calliope. He pushed that thought out of his mind. He had no business thinking about new relationships and entanglements. The ink was barely dry on his divorce decree. While he and Stella hadn’t lived together for some years, the failure of his marriage was a bruise on his soul. He didn’t need more complications. He needed to work. Or at least try to work. Try and get some creative spark going again. The art world in Europe and America might know Mitchell Taylor, but he was still relatively unknown in his own country—and he wanted to change that. He was back for good. The last ten years had taught him a great deal about his work and his creative process. He’d learned he couldn’t ignore his origins. As much as he’d loved Paris, and before that, Berlin, he hadn’t put down roots. As soon as he arrived back in Australia and made the long drive to Berry, he knew he’d made the right decision to come back home. He’d bought the old Evans place, set up his house and studio, and now wanted to relax and live for a few weeks as a beach bum. He still had

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commitments overseas, but he determined, after this holiday, to bring them to and end and start work. Ideas were bubbling in his brain for the first time in quite a while. Callie was a complication he didn’t need. Or did he? There was unfinished business between them, no doubt about it. Maybe they could spend some time with each other, heal a few hurts, then get on with their lives. He couldn’t deny the thought of Callie in his bed after all these years was irresistible. His cock twitched as he visualized her beneath him, arching toward him, while he wrapped his hands in her dark hair and sucked on her taut nipples. He mentally shook his head. Sixteen years ago, they’d both been babies. Virgins delighted with each other and their new-found sexual prowess. A lot had happened to him since then. There were times when he wanted—no, needed—something more than just straight sex. His need had contributed to the breakdown of his relationship with Stella. And he doubted Callie, with her scrubbed face and earnest disposition, which was something he still had to get used to, would be into sexual games involving binds and toys and public sex. But still, just having her again, having all that passion and reliving those memories, would be worth it.

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Chapter Four ‚It’s good to see you after all these years, Mitch.‛ He snapped out of his reverie. She smiled at him. ‚You look well. What have you been doing with yourself? Confession time is over for me. Now it’s your turn.‛ He studied her face. She had no idea what he did, which wasn’t surprising, really. He wasn’t all that well known in this country, and from what Callie had confessed, her life didn’t involve art openings and the social set. ‚This and that.‛ He found himself curiously reluctant to tell her about his life. He didn’t want her to change her view of him. She thought he was still a wastrel, someone who hadn’t done much with his life, and he wanted to know if she would come to his bed if she thought of him that way. Why that was important, he didn’t know. Something about being seen for who he was, not what he was. ‚I better make sure that window is fixed. There could be more storms later. And I need to get home.‛ ‚Yes. Of course.‛ She looked flustered, as if caught thinking thoughts she shouldn’t have. She wasn’t the only one. Mitch headed for the bedroom. ‚It’s partially your fault, you know.‛ ‚What?‛ He halted. ‚What was my fault?‛ ‚The reason I abandoned the life of an heiress. You made it very clear all those years ago that you believed I was destined for a trivial life

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of parties and not much else. And then you implied you only slept with me to see if you could shake up my well-ordered world. I was determined to prove you wrong. That’s why I went back to Sydney and went into law.‛ ‚I was young and stupid and hurting. And if you remember, you told me we couldn’t be together because I was feckless and not worthy of you. I wanted to hurt you, too.‛ ‚Did you?‛ She stepped closer to him and looked into his eyes. ‚I thought I didn’t matter that much to you.‛ ‚Callie—‛He gripped her shoulders. ‚How could you think that?‛ ‚I heard you talking to a couple of your mates. You were bragging about me as a summer conquest.‛ Her words were a blow to the gut. She was right. He had bragged to those idiot boys about her. Bragged with his heart full of despairing rage after her father had made it crystal clear that Calliope was destined for a fine society marriage with a scion of the upper set, and it would be over his dead body that she would ever be with scum like him. Later that day, he bolstered himself up with poisoned words to his mates so when he and Callie met for the last time, and she’d made it clear she agreed with her father, he felt vindicated. Heartbroken, but vindicated. ‚I was stupid then, Callie. Your father pole-axed me, and I wanted to build myself up to my friends.‛ ‚My father?‛ ‚Yes. He talked to me. Or rather, berated me. Warned me to leave you alone. And like an idiot, I did what he asked. I thought you saw me as a party boy, good for a summer fling but not much else.‛ ‚He did what?‛ Callie couldn’t believe her ears. She stood, quivering with rage. ‚And you let him get away with that?‛ Mitch stepped back. ‚I was eighteen, and even then he was one of the richest, most powerful men in Australia. What was I supposed to do? And in my heart of hearts, I thought he was right. I wasn’t good enough for you. I spent my life surfing and smoking dope. I knew you needed more than that.‛ ‚I thought you didn’t care for me.‛ Callie’s throat choked with

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tears. ‚I went back to Sydney thinking I’d made one of the worst mistakes of my life when I fell in love with you.‛ ‚Love?‛ ‚I was mistaken.‛ She waved her arm as if slicing away an irrelevancy. ‚I didn’t know what love was.‛ ‚Do you know now?‛ His voice was soft and seductive, full of challenge and promise. She stared at him, seeing him as a familiar stranger who resembled the young love of her youth, transformed through time and maturity into a man unknown to her. An exciting man with secrets of his own. ‚Yes,‛ she lied. ‚And what was between us was nothing like the real thing, was it? We had no idea what we were getting into.‛ ‚But we do now.‛ His words lit a slow, burning flame deep inside her. His gaze was hard, fierce, and direct. Possibilities waited for her in his eyes and in the way he held his body, as if one word from her would have him taking her right here, right now. That’s what she wanted. More than anything, she wanted to be taken, swept into a passion so deep, so all encompassing, that it would allow her to forget the past, her plans for the future, and the pain of all the people she couldn’t help. She could do that with Mitch. She could reclaim her young, eighteen-year-old self with no cares and no idea of what lay ahead. Hadn’t he always led a life like that? They could recapture what they once had. She could be free for the first time in a long time. ‚Yes, we do now. We’re older and hopefully wiser. We should know what we’re getting into,‛ she said, drawing the words out, infusing them with meaning she willed him to understand. And he did. As he moved toward her, her heart started a frantic pound, which flowed through her blood and pulsed between her legs. He halted and stared into her eyes, as if stunned by her decision. The heat from his body surrounded her. ‚Don’t think. Don’t worry. That’s for later,‛ she said then lifted her hand and placed it flat against his heart. Its beat was like her own—wild

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and desperate. He grabbed her, pulled her to him in a fierce embrace, and captured her willing mouth. She wrapped her arms around his back and held on as he kissed her like a man starving, his tongue teasing and tangling with hers, taking all the passion she had to offer and demanding more. She had so much more to give. A flame of intense craving hit her. His hard cock strained against his jeans, and she squirmed against him, sliding her hands down to his buttocks. Opening her legs, she pulled him closer against her and rubbed her mound against his hardness. He responded with a low, heartfelt groan. ‚Callie,‛ he murmured into her mouth. ‚Callie—‛ His hands were on her, sliding under her sweater. She moaned when his fingers swept up her belly to the curve of her breast. He brushed her nipple with his thumb, sending fireworks though her body. Her pussy was wet and achy, throbbing with the need for him to thrust himself inside her and push and stroke her to release. She needed him now. Stepping back, she kept her eyes on his face as she pulled off her clothes. Then she stood and stared at him. She lifted her hands to her breasts and pulled at her nipples, rolling them between her fingertips. ‚You used to do that,‛ she said. ‚You’d drive me mad. Then you’d take them into your mouth and suck them.‛ He threw off his sweater, unzipped his fly, and pushed his jeans down. His cock sprang free, and her mouth went dry. ‚Then I’d take you in my mouth and taste you,‛ she continued. ‚Do you remember? I’d try and get you as far down my throat as I could without gagging. I got very good at that, didn’t I? I still am.‛ He fumbled with his shoes, all the time watching her and listening to her talk. With one hand, she pinched her nipple hard, while the other delved between the folds of her pussy and dipped into her smooth wetness. His stunned gaze locked on her hand as she slid one finger, then two, in and out. Now naked, he crouched on the floor, his head at pussy

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level, and pushed her legs open further, all the time watching her finger fuck herself. Callie arched back and thrust her mound toward him. Do something, anything, she thought. Take me away to that other place. She almost screamed when he took her hand and pushed her fingers deeper into her body. Then he pulled them out and sucked them into his mouth. ‚You taste exactly the same,‛ he murmured, coming to his feet. He towered over her, naked, aroused, and intent. The bed was behind her. She backed toward it and sat on the edge of the mattress, putting her face level with his cock. It was larger than she remembered, but then Mitch was larger all over than she remembered. Not just physically, although that was hard to miss, but the aura surrounding him. He moved as if he owned whatever space he occupied and wouldn’t compromise with anyone or anything. He was arrogant, certainly, but he also exuded a confidence and a strength that was new, exciting. She’d loved carefree, eighteen-year-old Mitch, but this man was something else. She didn’t know him but she wanted to. Wanted to find out what made him tick. But right now, the hard, beautiful cock in front of her captured her attention. She grasped him with one hand and started to pump him slowly. He stood and watched her with dark, hooded eyes, his face sharply defined and intent. His ragged breathing was the only indication of his excitement. That and the drop of moisture that appeared on the head of his cock. She licked it off, all the time watching his face, and was rewarded when he closed his eyes, tipped back his head, and moaned low and deep in his throat. She kept up her pumping, but took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked, running her tongue around the rim. He held her head and murmured her name, but when she took him in fully, sucking and licking and tasting all his salty, yeasty male taste, he pulled away. ‚There’s time for that. Plenty of time,‛ he said hoarsely. ‚But I need to be inside you now. I need to have your skin against me.‛ He pushed her back on the bed and covered her with his hot, hard

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body. His golden skin filled her senses, driving her wild with the need to stroke and taste every inch of him. He smelled like a working man, with sweat, the sun, and the sea mixed with turpentine and something that was just him. Callie gasped with pleasure so intense she knew he only had to touch her between her legs and she’d come. Instead, he kissed her all over her face, down her bruised neck, and across her breasts like a madman. As if she was all he ever wanted or needed. He pushed her legs apart with his knees and at the same time took her breast into his mouth to suck and nibble. When he pulled on her nipple with his teeth, she cried out and begged him to fuck her. ‚Now, Mitch, now.‛ He lifted her leg and pushed it up around his waist. Then he plunged into her. Callie knew she was wet and ready for him, but it was still a shock to feel the whole solid, wide length of him slide deep inside her. He thrust into her the same way he’d walked down her pathway, as if nothing and no one could stop him. The momentary worry she’d had was replaced by her need to meet him stroke for stroke, to get him inside her deeper and harder. She wanted him to pound into her, to make her forget everything but the feel of his cock in her cunt. With a feral groan, she lifted her other leg to circle his waist, opening herself wider to his strokes. She threw her arms out, grasped the bed clothes, and thrust her hips up to meet him. He stared down at her, and she met his gaze, wanting to drown in the velvet darkness of his eyes. They strained against each other, grunting, swearing, pushing each other on, until Callie grasped his buttocks with both hands to press him into her even harder. ‚Ah,‛ he gasped. ‚Don’t do that. I’ll come.‛ ‚That’s what I want. Do it. Do it now.‛ He reared up over her and with brutal, primal force, thrust into her. He growled like an animal in pain as his hot release spurted inside her. Gathering her to him, he held her tightly as his muscles slowly relaxed. She stroked his back and nuzzled his neck, making a humming noise in her throat. He was heavy against her, but she felt safe and replete.

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They lay together for a while, a minute, an hour. She wasn’t sure which and didn’t care. But then his body tensed. He lifted his head and rolled onto his side, facing her. ‚That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.‛ He scowled at her. ‚Yeah? I don’t think so. I think your last few words win that prize.‛ She pulled away from him, scrabbling to get up and out, away from him. But instead, she found herself flat on her back again with a large, angry, naked man pinning her to the mattress. ‚That’s not what I meant. It was fantastic. For me, but not for you. And did it slip your mind that neither of us even thought about protection?‛ She struggled beneath him, but stilled as the reality of his words hit her. She hadn’t given it a single thought. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t become pregnant, but it still remained that at the drop of a hat, she’d fallen into bed with a man she hadn’t seen in sixteen years. She knew nothing about him. So keen was she to forget everything about her present life, she’d forgotten everything. ‚I...I’m sorry, Mitch. I didn’t even think…‛ ‚Neither of us did.‛ He let go of her arms but didn’t get off her. ‚Callie, what are we doing? What do you want?‛ Her mind stuttered, searching for words. ‚I want to get away from my life for a while. Forget where I came from. We did that once. I want to do it again.‛ He stared at her, a stunned look on his face. He moved off of her and sat up. ‚So you think we can start up where we left off. Pretend the last sixteen years didn’t happen.‛ His words were statements, not questions. She pulled herself up to face him and lifted her arms to push back her hair. A spike of satisfaction tingled though her as she saw his gaze drop to her breasts. But she couldn’t deny the truth implied by his words. ‚No, I know we can’t go back. But surely we can have some fun for a while. Don’t you need some fun in your life?‛ She knew her words sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. Even though she hadn’t come, the feel of Mitch inside her, with his skin hot and

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muscular beneath her hands, banished any thought of the future and the decisions she had to make. She could be someone else for a while. And the caring lover of her youth was still there, which made both warmth and sadness pierce her heart. She’d expected a lot from him, which was unfair. Her father could be terrifying even now, but a boy like Mitch would’ve had no chance. He stared at her as if trying to make up his mind. ‚You don’t know me, Cal. You don’t know what I’ve become or what I need.‛ His words sent a lick of something dark and exciting through her. ‚What do you need?‛ He stood and looked around for his clothes. As he pulled on his jeans, he avoided her eyes. ‚Sometimes I’m rough and need to be in total control. I don’t do pain, but I like to use binds and toys.‛ He stopped and stared at her with black, piercing eyes. ‚Could you deal with that? Could you have an affair with a man who’d tie you to the bed and fuck you till you can’t think or see?‛ He moved to the bed, where she sat on her haunches, and glared down at her. He was glorious. Hard, mean-looking, and angry. ‚I’d fuck you everywhere, Callie. Not just in that pretty pussy but anywhere I’d want to. You’d come hard with my cock inside you and a toy up your ass. Is that what you want?‛ He wanted to scare her but didn’t realize his words made her cunt wet and throbbing. She could see herself on her knees, wide open, while he did what he wanted to her. That’s what she wanted, too. ‚Yes,‛ she whispered. ‚Yes.‛ He pushed her back on the bed. She yelped in shock when he yanked her legs open and stared at her pussy. When he thrust two fingers into her hard, she screamed, then screamed louder when his mouth covered her clit. Three fingers where now deep inside her cunt, pistoning in and out of her while he sucked and vibrated his tongue against her clit. She couldn’t think. Lost all sense of herself as wave after wave of light and heat and bone-jarring pleasure filled every cell of her body. She writhed on the bed, trying to get away from him.

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‚No more,‛ she gasped. ‚I can’t take any more.‛ ‚Yes, you can, and you will,‛ he muttered then kept on sucking, licking, and thrusting his fingers high into her pussy. Unbelievably, she came again and again, until he flipped her over onto her belly. She wanted to rest and have him slide his skin against her, to feel the whole length of his hot, velvet body. But when she heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, she knew what he had in mind. ‚Mitch—‛ ‚No. You asked me what I needed. This is what I need.‛ He pulled her hips up then pushed her head down. She rested on her elbows, her ass tipped up, her wet cunt open and ready. He thrust hard into her then held on to her hips and pounded. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his cock inside her, hot and rigid, the inout, in-out, the sound of his thighs slapping against hers. The metal of his zipper was cold and scraped her thighs. She drifted in a sea of pleasure so intense, centered so deeply within her cunt, that when Mitch leaned forward over her and lightly bit her shoulder, she exploded into a screaming orgasm filled with wildness and delight. Her cunt clutched hard around his cock. ‚Oh, God. Yes, that’s right. Come like that, Callie. Yes!‛ he shouted . He pulled out of her, and warmth splattered on her back. A postorgasmic fog claimed her, and she collapsed on the bed, vaguely aware of his labored breathing. Then to her disappointment, he got off the bed and went into the bathroom. He returned with a wash cloth. She stayed on her stomach as he silently wiped her back. When he kissed her shoulder blade, she turned and looked into his eyes, only to see them filled with remorse. ‚I’m sorry. That was unforgivable. I don’t know why—‛ ‚Stop,‛ she said. ‚Don’t. I wanted you to do exactly what you did. And I want more. Much more. We can do this, Mitch. We can finish off what we started all those years ago.‛

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Chapter Five Hours later, Callie stumbled into her bathroom and put herself under the shower. Hot, steaming water soothed her aching body. Aches that made her feel alive and well fucked. She knew Mitch had held back, not willing to take her to a darker part of himself, to reveal what he was capable of, and she was grateful for that. But she wanted to know. She was apprehensive as to how much she could take, but remembered he’d explained he liked bondage, not pain. He wanted to take control, to tease and pleasure his partners until they could take no more. There was something else he liked, but he wouldn’t tell her. Yet. It wasn’t anal sex. She made it clear that although she’d never tried it, she’d always been curious but had never had a lover who was willing. That wasn’t quite true. She suspected a couple of her previous boyfriends would’ve been willing, but they saw her as Saint Calliope, advocate of the weak who’d never be into anything kinky. They certainly wouldn’t be willing to let her fuck them. She wondered if Mitch would. Would he let her don a strap on and ease a slick dildo into his ass? Few men would. Just the thought of kneeling between his legs while she fucked him, his legs wrapped around her waist and his cock hard in her hand, was enough to make her finger her clit under the shower. She was sorry now she’d turfed Mitch out, claiming she was exhausted and needed a break. He hadn’t protested and in truth, she thought he was grateful. A little time alone after a bout of marathon sex

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was good for them both. She was kidding herself, she knew. This wasn’t just about wanting a physical break; she needed an emotional break, too. Having Mitch in her bed and in her body again was both terrifying and wonderful. She saw glimpses of the boy he had been, and her heart filled with love, just as it had in the past. Then the boy would vanish and the hard, stern man would fill her senses with dark, aching pleasure as he pushed into her body, increasing her craving for intensity. It seemed fitting that the boy who’d introduced her to sex and loving was now the man who could take her further. She wrapped herself in a towel and decided she needed food and some time with a novel. Glancing out the window of the lounge room as she made her way to her bedroom, she saw that was not to be. Muttering oaths under her breath, she raced into the bedroom, found some clean clothes, and threw them on, all the time listening for the familiar sound of her mother’s welcome. ‚Calliope? It is your mother! Paidi? Are you there?‛ ‚Yeah, Ma. I’m here,‛ she said, hoping against hope there was nothing incriminating in the rest of the house. The bedroom looked like a train wreck. She and Mitch had utilized several places all over the house, but they’d mainly stayed in the bedroom. She peered at herself in the mirror, looking for any evidence of Mitch. Nothing. But with a start, she saw the bruises around her neck. She hadn’t given that part of her life a thought while she was with Mitch. And that’s what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? To forget and lose herself in sex and passion. She stroked her neck and ignored an uncomfortable sense of guilt. She was using him to avoid thinking about her life. So be it. For a while, anyway. She closed the bedroom door and was immediately enveloped in a cloud of Arpege and her mother’s arms, both of which were comforting and familiar. Her mother could also be stifling and bullying, but in the end, Callie knew all she wanted for her daughter was happiness. Olympia had been genuinely terrified when Callie was attacked. So much so she didn’t berate her about her life and why she continued to work prosecuting such low-life scum. When Olympia was quiet, everyone knew

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she was troubled. When she shouted and pronounced judgment from on high, like the gods of her name sake, everyone might be irritated but fundamentally knew all was right in the world. ‚My darling, look at you.‛ She sighed, and Callie could see she was fighting back tears. ‚You’re too thin. But at least the bruises are fading.‛ ‚It’s okay, Ma. I’m fine. What are you doing here?‛ Her mother avoided her eyes and made a production of sweeping around the room with her arms outstretched. ‚This house needs an overhaul. Now, don’t worry.‛ She held up her hand at Callie’s immediate protest. ‚I’m not planning anything right now. I just want to get some measurements. And I know you want time on your own, so I’m staying at Liz Greene’s. She and Frank invited me down, and you know how much I like them. So I thought I could check up on my daughter but leave her to her own devises. There. That doesn’t seem so bad, does it?‛ She kept glancing at Callie and then away, which was a sure indication that something else was going on. Callie narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. ‚What is it, Ma? What are you up to?‛ Olympia spun and stared at her daughter with wide, guileless eyes. ‚Nothing. What makes you say that?‛ ‚Because you can’t lie to save your life. Please tell me you haven’t lined up some hapless man for me. That’s the last thing I need.‛ Olympia snorted. ‚If you ask me, that’s exactly what you need. A man who’ll look after you and care for you. Who’ll stop you from associating with criminals and lowlife—‛ She broke off and started muttering in Greek, a sure indication a lecture was coming. ‚I don’t need a man at the moment, Ma. I need rest.‛ She lied smoothly, once again amazed that her infuriating mother was able to identify what she needed. Although Callie told herself she didn’t want a relationship, she wanted sex—which she would get. An image of Mitch standing naked in front of her, while she knelt before him and took his cock deep into her throat, flashed before her eyes. Her skin heated, and she breathed in deep. ‚Getting rest doesn’t mean you can’t have a little flirtation.‛

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Olympia paused, and Callie saw a look of calculation in her eyes. ‚I ran into Mitch Taylor the other day.‛ Callie almost fell over with shock. ‚You what?‛ ‚He was at the opening of the sculpture wing at the art gallery. The years have been good to him. He’s very different from the young man you were so infatuated with.‛ ‚What was he doing at the opening?‛ Her mind spun with bewilderment. ‚Why wouldn’t he be there?‛ A look of impatience crossed her face. ‚As usual, you know nothing about what’s happening outside the world of police and criminals. He’s a prominent sculptor. Not so well known in Australia because he’s lived overseas for a long time, but very well known in Europe. He’s back in Australia to live. I hear he’s settled back here. Have you seen him?‛ ‚No.‛ The sound of avid expectation in Olympia’s voice set off alarm bells in Callie’s head. ‚No, I haven’t.‛ She didn’t know why she lied, but the need to keep her contact with Mitch from her mother was insistent. ‚Oh. Oh, well.‛ The disappointment in her voice was marked. ‚You should drop in on him. Catch up. I hear he’s bought the old Evans place.‛ ‚The one on the headland?‛ Her mother nodded. ‚I always knew he had to get out of this town before he could make anything of himself, and I was right. His work is beautiful, by the way. Marble and some wood, as well as these astonishing arrangements of wire and found objects. I bought one for the house in Sydney. Even your father likes it.‛ Callie smiled, wanting her mother out of her space. She needed time to work out what this meant. Why didn’t Mitch tell her about his life? He let her continue to think he’d spent all of his time being exactly what he was at eighteen. She was a fool. And somehow disappointed. She realized she wanted him to be the same as he had been. A grown-up version of a boy without responsibility or care. That was it. Yet she wasn’t so clueless that she couldn’t ignore her own silly fantasy. Deep down, even though she knew it wasn’t possible to recreate

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the past, that’s exactly what she wanted to do. She closed her mind to the idea that Mitch was anything other than a beach bum, because she needed him to be one. But the man she’d spent the best part of a day with, exploring the beginnings of a sexual life she wanted to know more about, was not that boy. He was there—which was comforting—but the man dominated. And that was exciting. Staring at her mother but not seeing her, Callie knew her need to recreate the past was over. She wanted a future. And she wanted what Mitch had to offer. ‚Calliope? Come back. You’ve drifted off.‛ ‚What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the past.‛ Olympia smiled. ‚He’s very handsome now. Taller, stronger. A little mysterious.‛ She shivered. ‚He gave me goose bumps.‛ She shook her head. ‚Your father says he has gravitas. Substance. You should visit him.‛ ‚You know, I think you’re right.‛ Callie smiled at her mother. ‚Maybe I will.‛ ‚What? What’s that you say? You now pay attention to my advice? Wonders will never cease.‛ Callie laughed and threw and arm around her mother. ‚We all have to grow up sometime, Ma. I guess it’s my turn.‛ She spent the rest of the evening with her mother, talking, laughing, and trying to talk her out of a makeover for the house. She went to bed thinking that life wasn’t too bad. But the wild-eyed man was still there, in her mind, waiting to mutter his crazy threats and tear at her sense of calm. He wasn’t so loud this time, or so frightening. She lay in her bed with her heart pounding, then turned over onto her side, determined to block him from her mind. She drifted back to sleep with the image of Mitch smiling at her, offering her a rose. She took it.

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Chapter Six Still restless after her dream, Callie finally succumbed to temptation and rang her boss. She’d been thinking all morning of Mitch and what lay between them, smiling every now and then at their inability to keep their hands off each other after all these years. But underneath her joy, fear lingered. She needed to know if Beth was all right. Waiting to be put through, she came to a decision she should have made some time ago. She had to leave the Child Protection Agency and get back her life. She jumped out of her reverie when her boss’ booming voice at the other end of the line reverberated in her ear. ‚Calliope Marchant. What are you doing talking to me? I ordered you to rest and not think of anything. Are you disobeying my orders?‛ ‚You couldn’t issue an order if your life depended on it, Bill. You’d have to immediately go into therapy, tortured that you’d offended someone.‛ Bill broke into a roaring laugh, making Callie hold the phone away from her ear. A big, caring, bear of a man, Bill Sinclair was the best boss Callie could ever have. After the attack, he’d haunted the hospital, raged at the court officials for not providing enough protection for Callie, and kept the press from her. He insisted she take a long break and told her not to think about any of her work. That wasn’t working. Thoughts of Beth and her pain still haunted her.

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‚I’m okay Bill. I just need to know how Beth is.‛ There was silence on the end of the phone, and then a sigh. ‚She’s doing better, Callie. She and her sister are living with their aunt, who seems to be a good woman and very willing to care for them. And her older sisters seem to be getting themselves together, too. When are you going to stop blaming yourself? You did nothing wrong. You succeeded in getting a long jail sentence for a man who abused his children all their lives. They’re being looked after. They’ll recover. Maybe not totally, but well enough. What about you?‛ ‚I can’t come back, Bill.‛ She took in a deep breath. ‚I just can’t do it any more.‛ She heard him sigh again. ‚I can’t say I’m surprised. And in my heart of hearts, I think you’ve made the right decision. I’ll lose my best prosecutor, but you’ve done your time. No doubt about that. I’m just glad you were able to get Woodham. He might be having an easy time of it at the moment, but that won’t last for ever.‛ ‚What do you mean?‛ ‚He was transferred to the prison hospital with a suspected heart attack. Nothing serious. He should be back in maximum security soon.‛ She closed her eyes, desperate to get the image of his wild, hatefilled eyes out of her head. ‚Don’t think about him, Callie. Don’t waste any energy on him at all. He’s not worth thinking about. Just concentrate on get better.‛ ***** Callie picked her way along the beach, stopping every now and then to pick up an interesting shell. It was dusk and cold, but she was wrapped in her favorite woolen shawl. She’d spent most of the day after her phone call with Bill confronting what she wanted in her life. More than anything, she wanted to discard her life-long habit of doing what other people wanted her to do. First it had been her parents, and then, perversely, Mitch. She stopped being what her parents wanted only to become what she thought Mitch

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wanted. Both were fantasies of other people. She wasn’t a poor little rich girl, but neither was she Saint Calliope. While Mitch’s words had clarified her thoughts, she knew she’d been working toward this decision long before she was attacked by Woodham. She just needed the time and space to work it out for herself. The tide was out, and the smell of wood smoke was in the air. She loved this place. She was mad for taking so long to get back here. Wounded pride and stubbornness were not solid foundations for life, especially if they’d prevented her from coming back to a place where she’d found much happiness. She stood on the beach and stared up at the headland to the old Evans place. It looked painted and cared for. That’s what she wanted, and what she intended to get. Care and renewal. She made her way to the winding pathway leading to the house then started the climb. Scrubby, overgrown bush land, smelling of eucalypt and the sea, surrounded her. It was a longer climb than she remembered and by the time she got to the top, she was out of breath and panting. The lights were on in the house, but there was no sign of Mitch. Callie peered in and saw he’d transformed the old weatherboard cottage into something characteristically his own. The lounge room bore no resemblance to anything seen in a glossy designer magazine but still managed to convey a unique and distinctive sensibility. It was untidy, with books and papers everywhere, but also comfortable looking, with low couches facing the verandah doors and lots of cushions scattered about. The dinning room table was covered with odd objects. A boot, a hubcap and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a doll. She grinned and made her way around the side of the house. She remembered there was a shed out the back she assumed Mitch had converted into a studio. That was an understatement. He’d demolished the shed and built a glass and wooden structure that faced the sea. It was surrounded by a paved courtyard filled with terracotta flower pots and other strange objects. She walked slowly to the glass sliding doors then stopped. Mitch

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stood inside next to a long workbench, polishing a large piece of wood. He smoothed it as if willing it to speak to him. That was how he’d made love to her, with the same concentration and focus, willing her to give up the secrets of her pleasure. Callie shivered, more from anticipation than from the cold. She wrapped her shawl closer around her as she watched him. The movement must have distracted him, because he glanced up and saw her. A mixture of emotions flew across his face. Uppermost in his eyes was raw desire, which thrilled Callie to her core. He crossed to the door just as she put her hand on the latch. When he slid it open, the smell of turpentine and roses wafted out. He’d ‚liberated‛ some from her garden and used and old jam jar as a vase, she saw with amusement. ‚You found me,‛ he said. She nodded. ‚I’m glad.‛ He folded her into his arms and held her. Just held her. She breathed in his unique male scent and ran her hands up his back, pulling him against her. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and finally, her mouth. ‚You didn’t come to see me today, so I thought I’d come to you,‛ she said between kisses. He smiled. ‚I wanted to give you time to think about what you want. I know I can be a bit intense, and I thought I might have frightened you.‛ She shook her head. ‚Nowhere near frightened. Why would you think that?‛ He pulled back from her. ‚I got the impression some of the things we did were new for you.‛ She shrugged. ‚Yes and no. I admit not many of my previous lovers have wanted to fuck on every available surface or have creative uses for fruits, but nothing we did was all that kinky. You didn’t tie me up, although you said you would.‛ She stepped closer to him and slid a hand under his sweatshirt. His

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skin was hot and firm. She wanted to put her mouth on him, to suck and nibble on his golden flesh. ‚We can do that.‛ His voice was hoarse. She drew her brows together. ‚But there’s something you’re not telling me, apart from the fact that you’re an internationally renowned sculptor. And let me tell you, we need to have a long conversation about why that small fact slipped your mind. No. There’s something else you won’t tell me. What is it?‛ Mitch breathed in deeply then exhaled. He stepped away from her and looked around the room as if trying to find something to help him make up his mind. When his gaze dropped to the wood he’d been smoothing, she saw he’d found it. ‚I want to mark you as mine.‛ She swallowed hard. This was not what she had expected him to say. Did he want to brand her? Cut her? Panic skidded through her. ‚Not physically. Nothing like that.‛ He hesitated. ‚I want other people to know I sexually own you—just for the time we’re together. I need to let other people see how I fuck you and possess you. It doesn’t mean I want a full-on Dominant/submissive relationship all the time, but I want others to see me take you.‛ ‚You want us to make love in front of other people?‛ Her brows shot up in astonishment. He nodded. A memory flew into her head at his words and she knew exactly why he wanted this. They’d done something similar as eighteen-year-olds, a few short days before they’d broken up. They were on the beach late at night, believing no one was around. Mitch was on top of her, slowly thrusting into her. It was nice, what they were doing, sweet and soothing. But something changed the instant Mitch looked up and stared into the bushes. He tensed and his thrusts became harder and more insistent. Callie immediately responded to his increased desire and opened herself wider, wanting him to fuck her harder. ‚There’s someone watching us,‛ he’d whispered. Instantly worried, she’d frowned. ‚What?‛

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‚It’s okay. She’s not doing anything. Just watching.‛ ‚She? It’s a woman?‛ ‚Yeah. She’s enjoying herself.‛ He’d grinned down at her. ‚Let’s give her a show.‛ He pulled himself onto his knees and wrapped Callie’s legs around his waist. ‚Lie back. Let me do this.‛ At first he went slowly, pulling almost out of her, then sliding in deep, all the time keeping his eyes on the mysterious woman. Callie whispered to him, ‚I want to see, too.‛ He’d laughed then pulled out of her. She turned over with her ass in the air and giggled as he slid back in. Leaning on her elbows, she’d tried to see the woman in the bushes. ‚There,‛ he said. ‚On the right.‛ Sure enough, there was a woman, half obscured by bushes, leaning back and rubbing herself. Callie couldn’t see who she was, but there was no doubt she was having a good time. Callie had hung on as Mitch pounded into her hard and fast, in a way he’d never done it before. He pulled her hips up roughly and opened her wider. A thread of fear mixed with excitement stole through her. She couldn’t control what he was doing, and found she didn’t want to. Looking back, she realized it was the first hint that she liked wild sex. His cock hit that sensitive part deep inside her that needed his constant stroke, and her cunt was on fire. When she came, Mitch yelled with his own orgasm, and she could swear a soft groan came from the bushes. They laughed about it later, but even then Callie knew the whole experience meant more to Mitch than it had to her. Then again, maybe she’d lacked the imagination at the time to take it further. The memory flashed away, only to be replaced by the stern, implacable man in front of her who watched her with wary eyes. She licked her dry lips. ‚Where do you want to do this? Here? On the beach?‛ He shook his head. ‚There’s a club in Sydney.‛ ‚A sex club?‛ He nodded.

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‚Do you go there often?‛ ‚Not often. I haven’t been in the country that much. But now and then I like to go. Does that horrify you?‛ Did it? She frowned. It surprised and intrigued her, and if she wanted to be honest, it also sent a shiver of excitement through her. But it didn’t horrify her. ‚No. But I’m curious. What would we do? How does it work?‛ ‚I’m a member. I have been for years. We go and watch and do what we want.‛ ‚In front of everyone.‛ He nodded. The image of the woman in the bushes returned to Callie’s mind. The whole experience had set Mitch on a pathway to discover his own pleasure, and he’d gone after it. She couldn’t say the same for herself. Conventional boyfriends and conventional sex was all she knew. Not being inspired by her sex life allowed her to throw herself into her work, a work filled with perversity, where sex was a tool of destruction against the weak. The last time she’d experienced any real excitement and unalloyed pleasure during sex was with Mitch. Otherwise it was nice, in a laidback sort of way. Unless she was listening to her clients’ stories, and then thoughts of sex were outright terrifying. She knew she’d done the right thing in resigning from her job before her jaundiced view of sex became permanent. In just one day, she’d experienced more pleasure with Mitch than she had in the last sixteen years. There was something shameful about that. Something she needed to change. Could she have sex with Mitch in front of a room full of strangers? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out. ‚I’m game. When would we do it?‛ She found herself impatient to find out. He laughed. ‚Whenever you want to. We can drive up and stay overnight.‛ She nodded. ‚We could stay at my place. It’s in Potts Point.‛

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‚Good. Then that’s decided.‛ ‚Yes.‛ She shifted from foot to foot, suddenly embarrassed as Mitch watched her with dark, hooded eyes. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and found the shells she’d collected from the beach. She held them out. ‚Here. These are for you.‛ The pale, sandy shapes looked forlorn in her hand. ‚Shells never look as good out of the water, do they? They lose something of themselves.‛ He took her hand and pulled her close to him. ‚They’ll look good when they’re polished and back in some water. They’re beautiful.‛ His gaze focused on the shells and away from her for an instant. She knew he was seeing the possibilities in their shape and substance. ‚Thank you,‛ he said, then kissed her. His lips were soft and sweet, tasting of green tea and secret pleasures. They stood near the workbench and kissed some more, just little nibbles, the kisses of people in no rush, wanting to play. She liked that, liked the sense of ease, the slow build to something more. ‚Come into the house,‛ he said. ‚It’s getting cold out here.‛ Excitement kicked into her belly, sudden and welcome. She wanted more play now. More of what Mitch promised.

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Chapter Seven Expectation built within Callie as she and Mitch made their way out of the studio and into the lounge room. She was already wet, and her breasts were heavy with the need for him to suck and nibble. ‚Would you like some wine?‛ he asked. She nodded and watched him reach into an overhead cupboard and pull out two wineglasses. The way his muscles moved under his sweatshirt made her mouth water. He wasn’t bulked out, but lean and compact. Looking at him puttering around his kitchen and pouring pale golden wine with his long, craftsmen’s fingers, she didn’t see his essential physical strength. That became evident when he held her over a chair, across his lap, or up against a wall. Then her body became his to do with as he wanted, to push her where he wanted her to go. There was a relief in that, as if she could hand over to him responsibility for her pleasure. She knew she wouldn’t want that all of the time, but right now she needed to let go. ‚You neglected to tell me about your life.‛ He shrugged and handed her a glass. ‚What do you want to know?‛ He crossed to a low couch, stretched out his long legs, and watched her as she moved to sit next to him. ‚I want to know how you became an internationally renowned artist I don’t know anything about.‛ ‚I’ll make you a deal.‛ He smiled and looked at her with

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speculation in his eyes. ‚Take off your top, sit on my lap, and I’ll tell you.‛ She laughed and put her glass on the coffee table. Her cunt ached with the need to have him inside her. Standing, she whipped off her sweater and straddled him. She laughed some more when she saw the gleam of appreciation in his eyes at the sight of her lacy, dark pink bra. He was hard. She wiggled against the bulge in his jeans. ‚Take it off,‛ he ordered. She lifted an eyebrow. ‚You take it off. You know how, don’t you?‛ ‚Take it off.‛ Callie liked the sound of steel in his voice. She reached around, unhooked the filmy scrap of cloth, and eased it off. The flame in his eyes grew as he stared at her breasts, warming them and making her nipples tighten painfully. He still had his glass of wine in his hand and took a considered sip as he continued to stare at her. She wiggled some more in his lap. He dipped his finger in the wine then stroked her nipple. The shock of the cold was short lived. His mouth was on her breast, sucking and drawing on her nipple with his teeth. She tipped her head back and groaned as he circled her sensitive tip with his tongue. Then he turned his attention to her other breast. ‚You’re trying to distract me,‛ she murmured. ‚I still want to know how you came to be an artist.‛ He reached around her and set the glass on the table, then turned his intense focus back to her breasts. Cupping them both in his large hands, he scraped his thumbs over her nipples, back and forth, back and forth, then shifted his gaze to her eyes. ‚When you left, I was hurting.‛ He tipped his head forward and sucked hard on one breast. A scream locked in her throat. He released her flesh. ‚I started drawing and then mucking around with sculpture to distract myself.‛ He rolled both her nipples between his fingers, lightly at first, then working them into tight, sensitive points. Her breathing became shallow and labored. She ground herself against his denim-clad cock.

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‚Then I knew I had to get out of Berry for a while, or else I’d be trapped. So I went to Sydney and followed the tried and true path of art school and menial jobs. I was lucky. I got a scholarship to an art school in Paris, and everything took off from there.‛ He smiled. ‚Is this what you want to hear, or is your mind on something else?‛ She’d been listening with half an ear, conscious he wasn’t telling the whole story. Getting a scholarship to Paris couldn’t have been all that easy, but he made it sound like it fell into his lap with no effort. She would get the whole story out of him, but at the moment all she could think about, all she could feel, were his fingers. Teasing and tickling. Tormenting her. ‚Don’t think we’ve finished this story,‛ she said, pulling at his sweatshirt. He laughed as she eased it over his head and threw it away. She ran her hands over the hard muscles of his chest, then bent her head and licked the hollow of his throat. A shudder swept through him. She wanted to bite him, to dig her hands into his flesh and feel all of him. Instead, she held onto his shoulders and kissed him hard, pressing her taut nipples into his chest. He groaned deep in his throat and rolled her underneath him on the couch. She laughed as he pinned her down and again took her breast into his mouth. He sucked hard then trailed kisses up her chest to her neck. Until he stilled suddenly and frowned. ‚Does your neck still hurt?‛ ‚No. Not much. I’d forgotten about it. Don’t worry. You won’t hurt me.‛ ‚I’d never hurt you, Cal. Not like that.‛ Their moment of play was over in an instant. Mitch sat up and ran his hands through his hair. ‚You haven’t finished your wine.‛ ‚What’s wrong?‛ Her stomach fluttered with anxiety as she watched him withdraw from her. ‚What just happened?‛ ‚I don’t want to frighten you.‛ He turned to her. ‚But if you let me restrain you, I’m worried you might get scared. You’re still recovering from the attack. This might not be such a good idea.‛ ‚No, no,‛ she said. ‚Don’t have second thoughts now. You’ve

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tantalized me with ideas about velvet-covered binds and toys. You can’t change your mind now.‛ She scrambled up and threw off the rest of her clothes, all the time glaring at him, furious at his assumption he knew best for her. She launched herself at him. The look on his face made her laugh out loud. It was obvious Mitchell Taylor didn’t often find himself wrestling with an angry, naked woman, determined to get him out of the rest of his clothes and into bed. Or on the table, or against a wall, or anywhere else, anyway he wanted to fuck her. ‚This is what I want, you infuriating man,‛ she said, grappling with his zipper. His arms came up in a vain attempt to protect himself from her determined attack. Although from the state of his cock as it sprang free of his now undone zipper, he might have been surprised but not displeased. Not by a long shot. She took him in her hand and started to pump him. He was hard and getting harder, his cock hot and smooth in her hand. The look of shock on his face gave way to intense lust as she straddled him, all the while squeezing him and sliding her hand up and down his length. ‚You like that?‛ she whispered. ‚Do you want to see yourself come in my hand?‛ He jerked and shot her a sharp look. ‚Not in your hand,‛ he said. He pushed her off him and stood staring at her while he stripped off his jeans. His black eyes seemed to bore to the depth of her need. ‚Lie back.‛ The command in his voice was irresistible. Callie spread herself out on the couch and watched as he straddled her, his cock jutting up, hard and ready. He leant forward and cupped the sides of her breasts, pushing them together around his cock. She stared at him towering above her and moved her hands to replace his on her flesh. ‚That’s right,‛ he muttered. ‚Hold them tight.‛ His cock slid between her breasts as she pushed them hard around him. His thrusts became quicker. He threw back his head and groaned. Callie could see he was near to coming when drops of moisture appeared

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on his slit. She licked them off, and he groaned deeper. Every time he thrust between her breasts, she would lick his cock head, wanting to tease and torment him. It worked well. He grabbed his cock and, staring down at her, pumped hard, shooting all over her breasts. The sight of his semen arching into the air and onto her skin was intensely satisfying. She pushed a hand between her legs and rubbed herself as she watched Mitch finish. ‚Stay there, stay there,‛ she said, the urgency in her voice cutting through his orgasmic haze. He smiled down at her and lazily stroked his softening cock. She rubbed her clit hard. When he moved his hands to her breasts and rubbed his semen over her nipples, she almost elevated off the couch. Her orgasm caught her and threw her into a place of sizzling light and bone-melting release. He lowered himself onto her, and she opened her legs to let his cock rest against her still throbbing, wet pussy. He kissed her. She thrust her tongue into his mouth to meet his, and they lay together, sharing deep, open-mouthed kisses, nibbling and murmuring and giggling. They were hot and sweaty and ripe smelling, and Callie loved it. Loved the earthy carnality of the whole experience. ‚Come on,‛ he said. ‚I haven’t finished with you.‛ He pulled her to her feet and guided her into the bedroom. With enormous satisfaction, she saw his bed was king sized with a sturdy looking, stylized wrought iron headboard, and a smaller version at the base. She grinned. He slapped her bottom. ‚Ow!‛ ‚That didn’t hurt,‛ he said, pushing her onto the bed. ‚You know it didn’t.‛ ‚Maybe not, but don’t think you can get away with it.‛ She made a grab for his cock. He evaded her with a laugh and made for the bathroom. Moments later, he returned with a damp washcloth. ‚Here.‛ He handed it to her. ‚Do you need this?‛ ‚I guess so. Although I like the smell of you on me.‛ She ran the

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cloth over her breasts, its cool dampness tightening her nipples. ‚I feel like you’re mine,‛ she said in a small voice, not sure he wanted to hear that. She suddenly realized she didn’t know what he wanted. An affair? A couple of weeks of sex and nothing more? He’d successfully diverted all attention from himself through mind-blowing, life-altering sex, but she was no closer to finding out anything about him than she was after her conversation with her mother. Was he trying to hide something? ‚Are you married?‛ She blurted out the question, needing to know right now. He jumped as if she’d scalded him. So that was it. He was married. Her stomach knotted. An affair with a man for sex was one thing, but she drew the line at fucking someone else’s husband. ‚Mitch, you should have told me.‛ She looked around for somewhere to put the washcloth, her mind on finding her clothes and getting out of there. ‚No, no, Callie. Stop,‛ he said as she made for the bathroom. ‚I’m not married. Not anymore.‛ She paused in the bathroom and placed the cloth carefully on the sink. ‚When were you divorced?‛ He sighed. ‚About two weeks ago. That’s when the decree became final. We hadn’t lived together for some years. It’s all in the past.‛ ‚But you should have told me. Maybe your relationship is over, but it’s only just become final.‛ She walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bed. ‚What happened between you and your wife?‛ ‚The usual.‛ He shrugged. ‚People fall out of love and drift apart. It happened to us, too.‛ ‚But you loved her.‛ ‚Yes, I did.‛ He nodded. ‚She was a fine woman. I was lucky to have married her.‛ ‚Do you love her still?‛ She didn’t know if she wanted an answer. He sat beside her on the bed and stared out the window at the sea. Silence sat uneasily between them until he spoke. ‚She wanted me to be someone I’m not. It ruined what was between us.‛ ‚She didn’t like what you wanted her to do in bed, did she?‛

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He shook his head. ‚She thought it was demeaning. And for her, it was. If you don’t enjoy something and do it just to satisfy your partner, it will always feel wrong. She couldn’t understand why I liked to tie her up. The one time I hinted at going to a sex club, she was so horrified I never bought it up again. But I started to feel like half a man. That wasn’t the only reason we drifted apart. She was much keener on me doing all the social activities that go with being a successful artist, and I hate that stuff. I do it up to a point—then it starts to suck me dry. That’s why I came back here. I need to get back to work, in isolation, away from all that nonsense.‛ ‚I’m a complication you hadn’t factored in, aren’t I? I must be distracting you.‛ There was a bitterness in her voice she didn’t like, but she couldn’t help herself. ‚What do you want, Mitch? Between us? What do you want?‛

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Chapter Eight Mitch knew she’d eventually ask that question. And that bothered him. Not because he didn’t know what he wanted, but because he didn’t want her to know. He wanted her totally. Not just in his bed, but also in his heart and in his life. Hell, she’d always been in his heart. That was the problem. He hadn’t realized until he’d seen the marks on her neck and wanted to rend who ever was responsible limb from limb. That was why he needed to take her to Zliver. He wanted to possess her, to show whoever watched them that she was his, and nothing and no one could hurt her or ever take her from him. This craving and possession he felt for her was new. He hadn’t experienced it with Stella, or anyone else. No—that wasn’t quite right. He’d felt it with Callie when they were young but hadn’t believed he had the right to claim her. He still didn’t. She’d made it clear that she only wanted a fling to help her get over her bad experience. She wanted fun, and that was all. He wanted much more. But he couldn’t risk his heart again. ‚I want you tied to that bed with my cock deep inside you,‛ he said, knowing she would respond to that image immediately. It worked before. She was so focused on discovering her own sexual depths, she could be distracted from his emotional needs, and that was just fine with him. If he could only have her for a few weeks in his bed, that would be

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enough. It would have to be. Her obsidian eyes flared, and she unconsciously opened her legs and straightened her back, pushing her lush, round breasts toward him. Her nipples tightened. She raised one hand and rolled one dark pink tip between her fingers. Moisture glittered between her legs. She was everything he’d ever wanted and more. Sitting on the bed, she was the epitome of a gypsy siren with her dark, curly hair cascading down her back in a wild tangle, and her body tense with expectation, waiting for his cock and fingers and tongue to drive her into that mad release she craved. ‚Sit up against the head board,‛ he ordered, smiling with grim delight when she instantly obeyed. ‚Slide down a bit with the pillow behind your head. I don’t want you to be too uncomfortable.‛ She complied, and he pulled out his box of tricks from under the bed. Her eyes flew open wide. ‚You are organized,‛ she murmured. ‚Oh, yes,‛ he said, with what he hoped sounded like complete confidence. In reality, his heart hammered with fear. He wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing with Callie, but from the look on her face, she did. He didn’t want to go overboard with their first bondage session, so he decided not to use ropes, ball gags, or hoods. Just some cuffs and toys. The need to be inside her, all the way inside her, obsessed him. She’d said she wanted to experience anal sex, so now would be the time. He pulled out a set of fur-lined cuffs and two silk ties, and she drew in a sharp breath. He glanced at her. ‚Okay?‛ He held up the cuffs and ties. ‚These are for you wrists and ankles. The cuffs have a little mechanism here…‛ He showed her how to work them. ‚...so you can get out of them whenever you want to.‛ She nodded her head and licked her lips. His cock hardened at the sight of her tongue. Then he pulled out a butt plug, some lube, and a dildo. She gasped again and grinned. He grinned back at her eagerness. She’d been like this at eighteen, wanting to know and experience whatever she could. Between the two of them, they did everything they

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knew about. Now he knew much more, and he wanted to teach her all of it. ‚Hold out your arms against the head board,‛ he said. ‚I don’t want you to hang from your wrists because that can be uncomfortable. Just stretch them out.‛ She did so, and he nodded. ‚That’s right.‛ He attached the cuffs to her wrists then to the headboard, so she was lying with her head on a pillow with her arms open wide. ‚Beautiful,‛ he said and took one of her breasts into his mouth. Callie’s low moan thrilled him as he sucked on her glorious skin. He circled her nipple with his tongue and lightly pulled on it with his teeth. ‚Don’t tease me,‛ she begged in a hoarse voice. He knelt between her legs and could tell she was excited and a little scared. ‚You know I’d never hurt you, Callie. You believe that, don’t you?‛ She nodded. ‚I’m going to lift your legs, open them wide, and tie them to the headboard above you.‛ She opened her eyes wide then slowly nodded. He tied her legs to the headboard with long silk ties then sat back on his haunches and gazed at her. She was beautiful. Wide open, wet, and all for him. Her pussy was a deep pink, with mysterious folds and creases surrounded by thick, black curls. Her ass looked tight and somehow shy. ‚You look good enough to eat.‛ He bent his head, licked her pussy, and grinned at her. She moaned and pulled at her bonds, trying to get his tongue harder against her. His only response was to run his tongue up the full length of her leg. ‚Please. Please. If you don’t fuck me now, I’m going to scream.‛ ‚You’re so impatient. I told you I’m going to fuck you until you forget your name and who you are. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.‛ He squirted some lube onto his fingers then placed one just at the entrance to her ass. She gasped when he circled slowly, not entering her, just smoothing and relaxing her muscles, smearing lube around her tight

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hole. With his other hand he caressed her clit, making her drop her head back with a moan. Then he slowly eased his finger into her, stopping at her resistance. ‚Relax for me Callie,‛ he whispered. ‚All the way.‛ ‚It…it feels good.‛ He smiled. ‚It will feel even better soon.‛ She nodded, and he started a slow in-out movement with his finger, going deeper and deeper. She strained against her bonds when he slid two fingers into her. ‚Oh, yes,‛ she groaned. ‚Oh, God!‛ He squirted more lube on his fingers, and added a third. He moved them slowly at first, and then faster, as he thrust into her. ‚That’s right sweetheart. That’s good.‛ Bending his head, he replaced his fingers on her clit with in his mouth and sucked as he continued to thrust into her. She whimpered and struggled in earnest. ‚Oh, God. Oh, Mitch. Please, please...‛ Her tight hole tensed then relaxed as her orgasm washed over her. He grabbed the butt plug and eased it into her, then sat back and watched her. She looked satiated and replete. ‚That was wonderful.‛ He smiled some more and ripped open a condom. Her eyes widened. Rolling the sheath onto his cock, he stared deep into her eyes and willed her to quiet the panic he saw in their dark depths. He leaned forward and kissed her with a slow, easy, tantalizing kiss while his cock gently nudged the entrance to her pussy. He deepened the kiss and eased his cock into her wet slit. She was hot and tight, and his cock jerked when she tightened her muscles around him. This was heaven. His whole body, every cell, felt powerful and alive, as if his sole purpose in life was to pleasure Callie into oblivion. ‚Oh, yes,‛ he murmured. ‚Callie, love, that’s right.‛ He ran his hands up the underside of her thighs and watched his cock slide in and out of her cunt. That was why he liked this position. He needed to see his possession of her, to see how he took her. Then he

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needed for others to see. He had no idea why it was so important to him, and he didn’t care. Callie didn’t seem to care either. She accepted his need without question, without trying to analyze him or question him. Unlike Stella, who’d wanted to know why he was the way he was. To him it felt good, it hurt no one, and that’s all he needed to know. He quickened and deepened his thrusts. Soon his balls tightened, and the tingling began at the base of his spine. He pounded into her wet, tight cunt, and she clutched him, hard. Distantly, he was aware of the butt plug in her ass. She was straining at her bonds, desperate, he knew, to get her legs around him and ease her aching clit. He wouldn’t release her just yet. With a guttural moan, he clutched her thighs and drove into her, coming loud and long. He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers, waiting for his heart to resume its normal rhythm. ‚Okay?‛ ‚I’m fine,‛ she whispered. He kissed her again, long and deep, then trailed nibbles down her neck, across her chest and belly, then down to her pussy. He ran his tongue around her soft creases, pushing his tongue into her cunt, then up and around her clit, but not touching it directly. She was almost levitated off the bed as she strained to get him closer to her clit. ‚Don’t tease me like that! I can’t cope with it.‛ ‚Yes, you can. And you will,‛ he said. Callie wanted to scream and shout as he tongued her pussy, avoiding the one point that would ease her clawing, visceral need to come again and again. She thought her clit must be huge and swollen, so desperate was she for release. Deep inside her cunt an ache pulsed, which she needed Mitch to stroke and soothe. After an eternity of his tasting and teasing her wet, throbbing pussy, he sat up on his haunches and replaced the condom on his hard cock. Then he picked up the dildo and coated it with lube. Dark, terrifying excitement pulsed through her blood stream. She’d always had this fantasy, always wondered what it would be like to be

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double penetrated, and now she was about to find out. With Mitch. The man she realized she had trusted and loved since she was eighteen. Having him here now, caressing her body and taking her to new depths of sexual self knowledge, made her realize that in the short time since they’d come back together, she wanted him for more than just an affair. Yes, he’d effectively driven out some of her demons, but in the process had become embedded in her heart. Again. But she wouldn’t think about that now. Wouldn’t think about what that meant. Instead, she focused on the feel of the butt plug being pulled from her body. She had the sensation of being open and stretched, but that was short lived, since Mitch nudged her ass with his lube-covered cock. It was much bigger than a butt plug. ‚Breathe,‛ he said. ‚Don’t forget to breathe.‛ She willed her muscles to relax as he slowly eased into her. She couldn’t help but gasp at his size. He stopped and pulled out slightly, then pushed into her again, past her tight ring of muscles. The sensation was painful and compulsively arousing at the same time. She didn’t want him to stop. The pain was so pleasurable, she needed him to keep pushing, to open her completely. He kept up a series of small thrusts, and she relaxed, gradually letting go of her resistance. Then he pushed into her more deeply, and she moaned. She looked down and watched his cock slide in and out of her ass. Something dark and satisfying bloomed deep within her, even more so when she realized that Mitch was hanging onto his control by only a hair’s breadth. Her own control deserted her when he slid the lubed dildo into her cunt. She screamed and pulled at her bonds, helpless as Mitch worked the dildo into her pussy and thrust faster and harder into her ass. This was why he’d wanted her wide open—so he could drive her crazy. She had no control, couldn’t stop his driving thrusts and didn’t want to. Instead, she closed her eyes and concentrated on being totally full, of the in-out, in-out in both of her holes. Her body was a mass of sensation. With no control over her responses, she let herself sink fully into mindless pleasure, all the while whimpering and mewling with ecstasy.

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When he rubbed her clit with his thumb, her eyes flew open, and she saw him staring at her with total focus. A keening wail erupted from her throat. Every cell in her body disintegrated in a flash of pulsing light and heat that reduced her to a quivering, boneless heap. Distantly, she became aware of a muffled roar that signaled Mitch’s own release. Then emptiness after he pulled himself and the dildo out of her. Her legs and arms were released, and she was covered by a warm, strong body, holding her tight as he crooned words of love and concern into her ear. She smiled and burrowed her face in his neck. She didn’t have the energy to lift her arms to hold him. ‚I’ve died and gone to heaven,‛ she murmured. ‚I’m not sure we should do that too often. I don’t think my body can take so much concentrated pleasure.‛ ‚Yes, it can,‛ he whispered, nibbling her ear lobe. ‚You’ll be surprised what you can do after some rest.‛ His hand slid along her rib cage, tickling her under her breast. She laughed and tried to push him away, but only succeeded in wrestling with him. ‚You call this rest?‛ she asked as he pinned her to the bed. ‚No. I call it R and R. Rest and recreation.‛ She smiled up at him and stopped struggling. Her eyes met his. ‚I resigned from my job today.‛ The laughter disappeared from his face. He let go of her arms and sat up. ‚That was sudden. I thought you didn’t want to be seen as someone who gives up.‛ She shrugged. ‚I thought about what you said. About doing my time. You clarified something for me that I’d been thinking about for a long time. I’m not going to give up law or working in the field of child protection. I’m just going to do something different. Maybe work in policy or training for a while.‛ She swung her legs off the side of the bed and sat up. ‚Ma came down last night, and we spent the evening together. It was fun. We haven’t talked like that in a long time. And this, what’s between you and

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me, is good, too. I don’t want to go back to working hard and forget about the rest of my life.‛ Mitch stood, stretched, and turned away from her. Sensing his withdrawal, she frowned. Maybe he thinks I want more than he’s prepared to give. And maybe I do. ‚Sounds like a good decision, Callie,‛ he finally said, still not looking at her. ‚I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me?‛ His face was again filled with laughter and desire. That’s what she’d told him she wanted, wasn’t it? Fun, with no commitment. She pushed down her disappointment and held out her hand. ‚Sure. Sounds good.‛

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Chapter Nine ‚Do you want this?‛ She licked her lips and stared at the doorway. It was dark, anonymous, and strangely beckoning. ‚Yes. Yes, I do. You know I do.‛ She glanced up at him and saw his hatchet face was harsher than usual in the dim light. There was nothing in it at the moment that remotely resembled that eighteen-year-old boy, and for that she was glad. ‚Then you do exactly as I say at all times. No questioning, no hesitation. Can you do that?‛ Her body jerked with a piercing thrill. ‚Yes,‛ she whispered. ‚Yes. I can do that.‛ ‚Be sure, Callie. Nothing will hurt you, but I need to know you’ll do as I say.‛ ‚I’m sure,‛ she said. He bent and put his lips against hers, opening her mouth with his tongue. She grabbed his shirt in her fist and pulled him to her. Each slide of her tongue against his sent a throb through her clit. ‚I want you,‛ she muttered, breaking the kiss. ‚I want you now.‛ He smiled at her, all darkness and delight. ‚And you shall have me.‛ He took her arm and walked her to the door. They stood for only a second while the red light of a camera winked at them. The door clicked open, and they stepped inside the club. A woman dressed in only in a

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black leather corset and thigh high boots greeted them with a blank stare and a nod. Callie could see the tips of her nipples at the top of the corset. She’d painted them black. ‚Zadie.‛ Mitch smiled at her. ‚This is Cal.‛ The woman’s gaze raked her from head to toe. Callie had no idea what to wear to a sex club and hoped her short, black skirt, sleeveless black top with low cleavage, and bare legs would fit the bill. Mitch seemed to think so. Zadie raised an eyebrow at Mitch and jerked her head toward another doorway. A low hum came from behind the door. They moved toward it, and Mitch bent his head to Callie’s ear. ‚She’s impressed.‛ ‚How can you tell?‛ ‚The way she lifted her eyebrow. It’s her only indication of approval.‛ Callie laughed, and her nervousness eased. But as soon as the door opened, it came back in spades—along with a barrage of other sensations, including eye-popping wonder. The room was dark but lit enough to provide an air of mystery and anonymity. It was filled with people dancing, drinking, and trying to talk over loud, thumping music. As Callie peered through the gloom, to her astonishment, she saw people fucking. In the corners, couples and groups were having sex, sitting, standing, or lying down, all of them unconcerned with where they were. Their only concern was fucking whoever they were with. Other people stood around them, watching. Some commented on the action, while others jerked off. Callie noticed a few dark-clad men who moved through the crowd, watching, but not in a sexual way. ‚Security,‛ Mitch said. ‚Although they do have other uses.‛ Liquid fire ignited in Callie’s blood. Wetness shifted between her legs, and her nipples tightened. She jumped when Mitch stood close behind her and slid his arm around her waist. He dropped his mouth to the hollow of her neck and nibbled. ‚Will you do that Callie? Will you lie across the table and let me

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fuck you while everyone watches us? Will you? Will you let me show everyone how I own you?‛ She turned her head to gaze into his deep, dark eyes and saw the hunger inside him. A hunger that matched her own. On the surface, she was terrified to have sex in public, but deep down she knew she wanted the world to see him fuck her, to watch his cock take her and pummel her and possess her. ‚Yes,‛ she said, her words spilling from her mouth. ‚Yes. Can we do it now?‛ He laughed and kissed her again. ‚Let’s watch first. That’s half the fun.‛ They moved between bodies gyrating on the dim dance floor and halted in front of a table where a woman lay propped on her elbows. Her legs rested against the length of her partner’s body while he thrust into her, slow and deep. Her gaze flicked down to his cock going in and out of her, then back up to his face. A low groan sounded in her throat as she looked again at his cock fucking her. ‚Oh, God, baby. Yes. Harder,‛ she chanted. ‚I need to hear those balls slapping against my cunt.‛ The man quickened his pace, and soon Callie could hear the slap of skin against skin and the squelchy slide of his cock moving in and out of her. Crouched beside them was a woman with her face close to the action. She was naked and watched them avidly, all the time pulling and twisting on her nipples. ‚God, that’s great,‛ she murmured. ‚Fuck her.‛ Soon the woman on the table reached down and rubbed her clit. ‚That’s right,‛ the man said, bending her almost double as he plowed into her. ‚Come for me. Come now.‛ The woman let out a keening wail while the man gave one last mighty thrust, stiffened his whole body, and let go. Then he released her legs and collapsed on top of her. She made cooing noises in his ear and wrapped her legs around him. The woman crouched on the floor stood up and sighed. ‚That was great,‛ she said to the couple. ‚You two can always be relied on to put on

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a good show.‛ She turned a beaming smile to Callie and Mitch. ‚Are you two next?‛ Mitch turned to Callie, who felt herself blush. ‚Ah, no,‛ Mitch said. ‚Not just yet. But maybe later.‛ ‚Good. I hope to see you around.‛ She sauntered off to another table where two men were doing a sixty nine. ‚Let’s get a drink,‛ Mitch said, leading Callie to a small table located away from the main action. ‚We can sit back here and watch some more. Save the table for us. I’ll be right back.‛ Callie sat and followed him with her gaze as he leaned against the bar and ordered their drinks. Even with the astonishing range of naked and half-naked, gorgeous bodies all around her, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Mitch. His muscles flowed under his dark jeans and shirt, and he held himself with calm certainty, which drew other patrons of the club to him like moths to a flame. A woman propped on a bar stool beside him eyed him over the rim of her drink and ran her tongue around the edge of her glass. She said something to him, which made him turn to her, smile, and shake his head. She shrugged, looking disappointed, but smiled in a friendly way. Whatever she said next made him throw back his head and laugh. He picked up his drinks, whispered something in her ear, which made her laugh in turn, and then moved back to where Callie sat. ‚A conquest already, so early in the night,‛ she murmured, hoping she didn’t sound petty. He shrugged. ‚She’s beautiful and available. But not for me. I’m caught. You’re the only one I’m interested in being with tonight.‛ A warm, tingly yearning pulsed deep inside her pussy. ‚Come and sit in my lap,‛ he said. Excitement flared like fireworks in Callie’s blood as she made herself comfortable on Mitch’s thighs. He circled her waist with his arm, and heat radiated from his skin. She wiggled, aware of the bulge pressing against her pussy.

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‚If you move too much, it’ll be all over before we begin,‛ he whispered in her ear. She laughed and wiggled again. ‚Bad girl,‛ he murmured and nipped at her ear lobe. Shivers slid down her spine. Before she could respond, he turned her so she was facing the dance floor with her back against his chest. Her legs fell open against his. He grunted in satisfaction as his constrained cock nestled against her pussy—her now throbbing, wet pussy, covered only by her thin panties. ‚You won’t have them on for long,‛ he said, as if reading her mind. ‚Tell me what you see.‛ Callie looked out over the club and didn’t know where to start. While lots of people danced, there were also couples and threesomes or more fucking in chairs, on tables, and against the wall. Dark, seething lust engulfed her when she saw a petite blonde woman held in the air between two men while they both fucked her. The woman was in a frenzy of pleasure and pain, writhing and screaming, as their hard cocks slid in and out of her. But they held her firmly, the man in front kissing her with a look of adoration on his face as his cock took her pussy. The man at the back nibbled on her neck while he took her ass. She suddenly stiffened and yelled out, her orgasm transforming her face into a look of intense ecstasy. Afterwards, she slumped onto the man in front of her, her whole body in a state of languorous satiation. Callie couldn’t help shifting as she tried to get her clit tighter against Mitch’s denim-covered cock. When the two men with the woman kissed each other, both with their cocks still buried deep inside her, Callie ground down hard on Mitch’s cock. ‚God, oh. God, please, Mitch. Do something,‛ she begged. ‚What would like me to do, Cal? What do you want?‛ he whispered in her ear. ‚This?‛ His hand moved under her skirt and found her saturated panties. The touch of his fingers sliding under the edge of the lace and inching toward her pulsing core had her whimpering with need. Then his wide, strong fingers found her clit, and she almost levitated off his lap. He

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stroked her roughly, moving his fingers fast and hard, which was just what she wanted. She opened her legs wider, oblivious to everyone around them, concentrating on getting a quick, intense climax. She kept her eyes open and watched the two men kissing while still inside the blonde woman, until they tipped their heads back and yelled out their own release. Callie gritted her teeth and held in her own noise, which only intensified the sharp, searing climax ripping through her. Mitch held her tight and crooned into her ear as she slumped back against him. ‚You are so beautiful, Callie. Beautiful, and all mine,‛ he murmured. ‚See? See them watch you?‛ She opened her glazed eyes and saw several people watching them with approval. One was the woman from the bar. She raised her glass in tribute and smiled. Then she was distracted by a man who bent his head and whispered in her ear. She turned to him, smiled, and took his hand when he offered it. ‚I told her she’d have no trouble getting what she wanted, and I was right,‛ Mitch said. Callie smiled. ‚What did she want?‛ ‚To be with a man and a woman together. Like that.‛ He indicated another corner, where a redhead was on her knees being fucked from behind by a strong-looking blond man, while she lovingly sucked and licked the pussy of a dark-haired woman. The darkhaired woman propped herself up on her elbows and gazed up into the face of the man. ‚Fuck her harder,‛ she ordered him. ‚I want to hear those balls slap against her cunt.‛ The man complied, and soon the redhead was moaning into the dark woman’s cunt. ‚Don’t stop. Don’t stop,‛ the dark haired woman ordered. ‚Suck my clit while you come. Don’t take your mouth off me.‛ The redhead moaned long and loud while continuing to suck. Soon the dark-haired woman started chanting her release. ‚Yes, yes. Do it. Do it. Yes!‛ She threw back her head and wailed.

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Callie wanted to wail with her. She turned to Mitch and kissed him, hard. ‚I need you inside me now. I’ve had enough watching.‛ He smiled at her, all dark and harsh, with glittering eyes. ‚So have I. Stand up and take off your clothes. Keep your heels on.‛ She obeyed immediately, almost tripping over herself in her effort to get out of her clothes. A dark-clothed security man materialized discreetly at Mitch’s side and took them. She hitched herself up on the table and opened her legs. Callie smiled when she heard Mitch gasp. ‚I’ve never shaved my pubic hair before. So I went to the beauty parlor,‛ she said, feeling strangely shy. Although why Mitch staring at her pussy with frank lust would make her feel shy, when all around her anyone could stare at her as well, she didn’t know. He undid the buttons of his shirt while staring at her cunt, her breasts, and finally, her face. The security guard watched, too, less obviously, but with definite appreciation. Mitch spoke to him without taking his eyes of Callie. ‚I’m keeping my clothes on. You can take hers away.‛ Callie’s breathing hitched. There was something about being naked and open while Mitch was fully clothed that made her feel even more vulnerable and exposed. She was dependent on him now for her protection and safety. He was in control. Or was he? She leaned back and opened her legs wider, smiling as Mitch’s eyes glazed over and his own breathing caught. Maybe he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was. As he lowered the zipper of his jeans, she became aware of the crowd around them. Some people just watched, sipping their drinks, their gazes both avid and thoughtful, as if watching fueled the sexual images in their own internal fantasy worlds. Others slipped their hands under their skirts or down their unzipped trousers, rubbing, pumping, and thrusting in solitary pleasure. While still others pulled their partners to them and prepared for their own display. Mitch pulled out his cock and started a slow pump with his hand, making himself grow even harder.

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‚Touch yourself,‛ he said ‚I want to see you fuck yourself.‛ Callie leaned up on one elbow while opening herself with her other hand. She dipped her fingers into her wetness and smeared cream around her clit. ‚Rub it,‛ he ordered. She rubbed herself slowly, her gaze on his hand as he continued to work his cock. She increased her speed and pressure, loving the sight of his engorged cock straining for release. When he pulled out a condom and covered himself, her belly fluttered with excitement. ‚Don’t stop,‛ he said. She was almost there, almost to the point of bone-shattering release, and all at once he whipped her hand away and thrust into her hard and deep. She screamed with frustration at the sudden denial of her climax, and with pleasure at the whole hot, rigid length of him moving fast and furiously inside of her. He held her legs open and stood, pounding into her, pinning her to the table. His stern hatchet face was full of power and exultation as he possessed her. That’s what it was—a possession of her heart and soul. His cock stroked her, claimed her, telling her there was no one else for him, and there never would be. Tears welled in her eyes as he stared down at her with naked ownership. Surrounded by people who were coming to their own release, Callie had never felt so safe. When Mitch touched her clit with his artist fingers, she saw only vibrant stars and suns. The strong, continuing pulsing of his cock stroked the deepest part of her cunt. She spasmed hard around him, and through her orgasmic haze saw the rigid muscles of his neck stand out as he came to his own climax. He gathered her in his arms and muttered in her ear, ‚You’re mine. Always. Mine.‛

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Chapter Ten Callie lay beside Mitch and listened to his slow, even breaths. They’d made their way back to her apartment, silent and careful with each other. They hadn’t said much, just kissed and held each other until sleep claimed Mitch. She was stunned with the ferocity of his possession but didn’t know what it meant. Was the expression of his intense ownership simply something that happened in that moment, or did it mean something more? Her thoughts crashed around in her head like a thirteen-year-old unsure if the boy who stared at her on the playground really liked her. She turned over and tried to sleep, but soon realized it wasn’t possible. Dawn was coming. Slipping out of bed, she wrapped herself in a warm robe and made her way to the kitchen to make tea. Maybe that would clear her mind. She tried to keep the noise down, but heard the balcony door open and the sounds of Mitch moving around in the lounge room. She decided sleep must be eluding him, too. ‚Sorry,‛ she said, sensing him at the kitchen door. ‚I didn’t mean to wake you.‛ ‚You didn’t,‛ said a voice from her nightmare. ‚I’ve been awake for some time. Ever since you took away what was mine. But now I’ll sleep and take you with me.‛ She spun around to see John Woodham standing in the doorway. He wore an old, disreputable suit, his greasy hair stood on end, and his

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eyes were filled with wild, glittering madness. Only, they weren’t the only things glittering. A knife shone in his hand. He moved quickly, grabbing her before she had time to scream. The smell of his grimy, dirt-encrusted hand smothering her nose and mouth sent panic flashing through her. She shook her head and struggled, trying to free herself, but only managed to knock the glass canister of tea to the floor. It shattered into fragments, scattering glass everywhere. ‚Stupid bitch,‛ he muttered in her ear. ‚If you wake up lover boy, I’ll take him, too. No one takes what’s mine. Not without being punished.‛ ‚Callie?‛ Mitch called from the bedroom. ‚Are you okay? Did you break something?‛ Woodham twisted her hair around his hand and pulled her into the lounge room, all the time keeping the knife at her throat. The pain in her scalp was like fine needle pricks. ‚Mitch!‛ she screamed. ‚Help me!‛ After a fitful, almost sleepless night, Mitch decided he had to stop being a coward and tell Callie he couldn’t let her go. Their coming together was not some light affair but the culmination of a long-term relationship. He’d heard her leave the bed at dawn, knowing she’d hardly slept, so he got up, pulled on his jeans, and braced himself to declare his love and risk having his heart broken yet again. The last thing he expected to see was the woman he loved bent almost double with her hair twined around the fist of a lunatic. He was about to launch himself at the struggling pair when he saw the knife at her throat. ‚Careful,‛ said the lunatic. ‚I’ll cut her.‛ Mitch stilled and held out his hands. ‚I’m not coming any further. But please. Let her go. You can’t really think you can get out of here.‛ ‚I don’t care about that. I’m going to take her with me anyway. She destroyed my life, took everything from me. Now I’m going to destroy hers.‛ With creeping dread, Mitch realized this was the man of Callie’s nightmares. He must have escaped from prison and now with nothing to

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lose, was out for revenge. That would not happen. Not now, not ever. Woodham pulled Callie with him as he moved over to the sliding glass balcony doors. She screamed in pain, and it took all the control Mitch had not to throw himself at them. He followed them instead, looking for an opportunity to get the knife away from the madman. They were on the balcony now, and Woodham looked up at the sunrise. His mouth widened in a feral grin. ‚Nice day for a death or two, don’t you think, Miss Marchant?‛ He yanked her toward the balcony rail. ‚It won’t take long. Handy, you living in an apartment so far up. We can leap off into the great unknown together.‛ He tightened his grip on her hair, and she screamed again, struggling now for all she was worth. A siren in the street distracted Woodham. In an instant, the world below was filled with noise and flashing red and blue lights. Mitch saw his opportunity, grabbed Woodham’s wrist, and banged it hard against the guardrail. The knife clattered onto the balcony. Woodham screamed and lunged for it, letting go of Callie’s hair. Mitch pushed her away and grabbed at the other man as he fell, trying to get to the knife. Woodham whimpered in desperation as he reached for the blade. He struggled against Mitch’s strength with singleminded ferocity and resolve. Mitch’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw Callie swoop down and grab the knife. She stood over Woodham. ‚Don’t even think about it, you bastard.‛ Woodham looked up at her and went limp under Mitch. The sounds of slamming doors and more sirens filled the air. Callie’s apartment door flew open, and a dozen uniformed policemen poured in. Mitch hauled up the now-subdued Woodham, who stood looking dazed and vacant at the sky. ‚It’s still a good day for death,‛ he whispered. And with a smile, he wrenched free of Mitch’s grasp. Mitch grabbed for him but lost his balance and couldn’t stop Woodham’s leap over the balcony. Callie screamed.

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***** Callie picked her way across the sand, looking for more shells. The tide was out, and the sun was warm on her back. Roaming the beach was an avoidance strategy, she knew. Mitch was inside his house on the headland waiting for her. He was about to fly to Paris. He’d told her he wanted to give her something before he left—her marching orders, she assumed. What else could it be? They’d had their affair. She’d experienced the best sex of her life, lived a little wildly, and now it was over. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to live with a neurotic, nightmareinfected, walking disaster area. Who could cope with a woman who had homicidal maniacs turn up at her front door? But she wanted him. Wanted him with every bit of intensity she had possessed at eighteen. Even more so. This time, she was a woman with a complex life and deeper needs. She needed him to hold her, love her, and protect her. But that wasn’t going to happen. Her heart was about to be broken again. Callie gazed out at the sea and shrugged. Time to get it over with. She dragged herself up the winding path to Mitch’s house and watched him through the glass doors as he raced around the room looking for something. He picked up books, peered under magazines, and ran his hands through his hair. Frustration radiated from his taut body. He turned, spotted her, and frowned. Was it that bad? She had the feeling this was not going to be a fond farewell. He slid open the door and barked at her. ‚Where have you been? I expected you over an hour ago. Come in. We don’t have a lot of time. I can’t find my passport.‛ ‚Don’t snap at me.‛ Irritation and hurt battled inside of her. ‚I don’t know where you put your wretched passport.‛ ‚I know that, but we won’t get far without it. Where the hell could it be?‛ He continued to search while she stared at him, full of bewilderment.

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‚What do you mean ‘we’?‛ ‚We? You and me.‛ He stared at her. ‚We’re going to Paris.‛ ‚What?‛ ‚Paris. Don’t just stand there. Help me find it or we’ll miss the plane.‛ ‚I can’t go to Paris with you.‛ Despite her words, joy bubbled up inside her. ‚I haven’t packed anything.‛ ‚I planned for that eventuality. Olympia was very helpful. Your bag is over there.‛ He pointed across the room. ‚Your passport’s with it, but where’s mine?‛ Sure enough, her suitcase stood neat and tidy near the door. On top of it was her passport and an airplane ticket. Laughter overwhelmed her. ‚Have you looked on the dining room table?‛ She picked up an old boot and sure enough, his passport was underneath it. ‚Excellent,‛ he said with a grin. ‚Let’s get going.‛ ‚Mitch?‛ ‚What?‛ ‚I love you.‛ He stopped and turned to her. Cupping her face, he kissed her eyes, her nose, and finally, her mouth with achingly soft kisses that bought tears to her eyes. ‚I will never let you go,‛ he said. ‚We’re not going to waste any more time. When we get back from Paris, we’re going to get married.‛ ‚We are?‛ ‚Yes.‛ He nodded. ‚But first, we have to join the Mile High Club. Come on.‛ She laughed again as he bundled her out to their new life together. The End

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Author Bio Keziah Hill lives west of Sydney, Australia and tends her wild garden when she's not staring at her computer screen.

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