Hard & Lethal- A Bad Boy Romanc - Jade Allen(ang.)

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Hard & Lethal A Bad Boy Romance

Jade Allen

Copyright © 2017 by Jade Allen www.redlilypublishing.com All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, with the exception of brief quoted passages left in an online review. This book is a fictional story. All characters, names, and situations are of the author’s creation. Any resemblances to actual situations or to persons who are alive or dead are purely coincidental. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; this copy is not available for resale or to give to another reader aside from any transaction through Amazon’s e-book lending program. Disclaimer This book is intended for readers age 18 and over. It contains mature situations and language that may be objectionable to some readers.

THANK YOU! Hi there! Before you begin reading Hard & Lethal, I wanted to let you know how honored I am that you chose to download my book. It really means the world to me to have readers like you! Writing has been a sole passion of mine for as long as I can remember, and without your support, I wouldn't have the means to continue my craft. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! To show my many thanks, I wanted you to know that I've included several hot bonus stories for you. Also, do you love dangerously-hot bad boys, but are curious about what it would be like to take a sexy shifter home for the night? Or maybe you have a hankering for a ride in the saddle with an irresistible cowboy? I’d like for you to have a feel for all of the genres we write here at Red Lily, so I've hand selected some of our favorite stories and I’ve included them at the end of this book as well! Much love,

TABLE OF CONTENTS HARD AND LETHAL Chapter One Declan Chapter Two Sarah Chapter Three Declan Chapter Four Sarah Chapter Five Declan Chapter Six Sarah Chapter Seven Sarah Chapter Eight Declan Chapter Nine Sarah Chapter Ten Declan Epilogue Declan

BONUSES FROM RED LILY AUTHORS JADE ALLEN, MEG RIPLEY & SIERRA WYATT: Contemporary Romances: Bad Boys, Billionaires & Romantic Suspense Alpha Cowboy Romances Steamy Paranormal Romances A Sneak Peek Of French Kiss: A Bad Boy Romance Also Available From Jade Allen About The Author

HARD AND LETHAL I'm damn good at tracking down what I want. Whether it's a Colombian drug lord or a hot piece of ass, nothing will stop me from nailing my target. As an international vigilante, I’ve been forced to live by a few hard and fast rules. Number 1 being that I don't allow myself to be tied down to anything—or anyone—but when I finally decided to fly home and see my family for the first time in 10 years, all hell broke loose. Little did I know I'd be running into Sarah, the very girl who'd been begging to ride this cock all those years ago. She was just jailbait back then, but now she’s all grown up. Unfortunately, I’ve uncovered some dark secrets about her family that would turn her entire world upside down. She doesn't know she's in serious danger, but if I can keep my dick in my pants long enough to find who's after her, I just might be able to save her life.

CHAPTER ONE DECLAN I’ll never understand the point of family reunions. Throw a bunch of people in the same room who haven’t wanted to talk to each other in ten fucking years, and that’s supposed to be the recipe for a good time? Pfft. Nevertheless, there I was. I flew half the night into some small-town airstrip that was nothing more than a few hundred yards of asphalt poured down the center of an overgrown cornfield. To top it off, I had to drive three towns over in a rental car once I’d landed. And I use the term ‘car’ loosely, since the dilapidated piece of shit didn’t much resemble any vehicle from this century. God, I missed my bike. Next stop on my agenda: coffee. There was no way in hell I was going to face the entire Ross clan without my morning jolt of caffeine. Sure, a stiff drink would’ve been better, but I figured I was going to need a few of those to make it through the next few days. I should probably start off slow, I told myself. So, I parked the junker curbside and walked through the doors of a coffee shop I hadn’t stepped inside for ten years, and not surprisingly, nothing had changed. The tables, the wallpaper…hell, I think they’re still using the same coffee pots. And

the woman behind the counter with the hairnet and the fake smile plastered on her tired face looked suspiciously like the woman who worked there a decade prior. My mother could’ve moved to any city—fuck, any country—in the world, and yet she chose to remain in a place that would just freak out and implode if a big-box store came to town. Change was the enemy there. What the hell did my mother see in this shithole? Nevertheless, there were only a few people ahead of me in line. That was one of the perks of small-town living: there were never more than a few people in front of you, even during the morning rush. After a quick survey of the room, I could tell my entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed. Too bad none of the chicks staring at me were worth much more than a second look. Whatever; small town women didn’t generally fit into the rulebook, anyway—the rulebook that clearly spelled out what type of women made for a great time without any of the burdens of the morning after. Fortunately, just a few days later, I’d be flying back to civilization, where I could easily find all the pussy a guy could ever want. In the meantime, could the line possibly have been moving any slower? I glanced ahead to see what was holding things up, but suddenly I was no

longer in a hurry. In fact, I was perfectly content right where I was, not two yards away from the most gorgeously shaped ass I’d ever seen—and I’ve seen plenty. It was perfect. Hell, I’d challenge Heff himself to find a more perfect ass. The yoga pants she wore fit her like a fucking glove. And then that ass turned around, and if I were any lesser of a man, my jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. Not just because the rest of the package was as incredible as the ass, but because the package wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to me. Something I hadn’t seen since she was a sixteenyear-old hottie who thought she’d fallen head over heels for the town prick—ahem, yours truly. Of course, since I’d been twenty-two at the time, noticing her was as far as it could have gone. Frankly, I’d been relieved when I’d had reason to get the hell out of dodge in no small part because she’d sorely tempted my resolve. Caught up in trying to balance a briefcase, purse, file folders, and the extra-large coffee, she didn’t notice me at first, which was a good thing, because it gave me a few seconds to get my shit together and figure out if I wanted her to notice me. And the answer? Hell fucking yes, I did. Sarah Wells wasn’t sixteen anymore, and though I never would’ve thought it could be possible, she was even hotter than she’d been back

then. And damn, did I want a piece of that. Sure, small-town women were generally off-limits, but Sarah suddenly became the exception to the rule. She had to be, because god damn it, I needed that perfect ass of hers in my bed. One quick glance at her hand showed no ring —not that it would’ve stopped me anyway. Still, it’s always a good idea to know what you’d be up against. But just as I was about to get her attention, she looked up, and a split second later, everything in her arms fell to the floor. The look on her face would’ve been comical if the way her lips parted in shock hadn’t brought about a thousand images of those lips put to every possible use in my mind. Even less comical was the way those thoughts sent a hot jolt of arousal through me that had me fighting against a raging hard-on right there in front of the coffee-hungry crowd. That would certainly have given new meaning to ‘the morning salute’. I bent down to help her retrieve her things, focusing on the items spilled out on the floor rather than the woman bent over in front of me. For fuck’s sake, had it really been so long since I’d gotten laid? Days, at most, so what the hell had gotten into me? Fortunately, I’d managed to get myself under control—at least outwardly—by the time I stood up again. “Hello, Sarah Wells.”

“Hello, Declan Ross.” She always was good under pressure—at least, she carried herself well under pressure. Unfortunately for her, Sarah had the most expressive face I’d ever seen; the girl couldn’t hide how she was feeling if her life depended on it. At least, the younger version of her hadn’t been able to, and it didn’t appear she’d had gotten any better at it. “Do you have a few minutes for coffee with an old friend?” I asked. She checked her watch before replying, something the young Sarah would never have done. If I’d invited her to coffee years ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity. “Yeah, alright. I guess I have a few minutes.” Not the enthusiastic response I was hoping for, but I’d take it. After all, if I was only going to be in town for a few days, I didn’t have long to get that incredible ass into bed. A guy’s got to work with what’s available to him. She’d sat down at the nearest table while I grabbed a coffee, and was reorganizing the armful of papers she’d had in her arms as she spoke. “So…what have you been up to for the past, I don’t know, ten years?” “A little of this, a little of that I guess you could say. What about you?” I already knew she’d gone off to medical school and graduated at the top

of her class—not that I was going to divulge how I knew. What I didn’t know was what the hell she was doing back in Westport, Washington. Her only link to that place was her father, and he had passed away several months prior. Had she come back just to reminisce, or was it a permanent move? “A little of this, a little of that, huh?” “Alright, fine.” I knew if I didn’t give a little, she wasn’t going to budge an inch. “I’ve moved around a bit. I spent a couple of years in South America on business and such.” “So, you went into the family business after all?” She was surprised and rightly so. I’d railed in objection to a life in boardrooms and stiff suits. There was no way I was going to become one of them, and I hadn’t. But I wasn’t going to tell Sarah that. “Yeah, I did.” And I definitely wasn’t going to tell her it wasn’t my family’s business that had sent me into just about every dirty crevice in the world. Besides, I was already plenty aware of what I’d been up to for the past decade; I wanted to know about her. “Now it’s your turn.” “Well, I went into medicine. I was working in the ER in Baltimore up until a few months ago. Then, it was just time to come home, I guess.” “I heard about your father, Sarah. He was a

good man. I’m sorry for your loss.” I had no intention of telling her that I knew firsthand what a good man Erik Wells was, or that I would miss him, too; more than I’d ever missed my own father. “Thanks, Declan. I just wish I’d been there, you know?” She was already beginning to let her guard down. I could hear it in the tone of her voice, and see it in her expression clear as day. It was just a small chink in the armor, but it was a start. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to glance down at her watch again. “Damn it! I’m going to be late for my shift if I don’t get going,” she cursed as she stood and gathered the stack of papers in her arms again. “It was nice to see you. If you’re ever back in town, we should do this again.” “Actually, I’m here for a few days. Have a drink with me this evening?” I planned on having more than a minute and a half to persuade her, but I hoped at least some of that old infatuation remained and she’d jump on board. She froze mid-grab for the last of the papers on the table. “I’ve been rather…busy…” “Certainly, you can squeeze in time for one drink with an old friend.” I gave her the look that most women seemed helpless to resist and immediately regretted it. She took a physical step back—and half a dozen emotional ones—at the

same time. I should have known better. I knew people, I always have; it’s one of the things that made me good at what I did. And from what I remembered about Sarah, the typical bullshit games men played didn’t work on her. Fortunately, it wasn’t like I’d never been in a difficult situation before. “I won’t be here long, and it would be really nice to spend a little time with a familiar face.” Nice and simple. No innuendo. And no lines— at least, it didn’t sound like a line. “Yeah, alright. What the hell. Pick me up at… nine-thirty?” The hand she extended for a handshake wasn’t exactly the response a guy would hope for, but I’d work on that later. “I’ll see you then, Sarah.” I clasped her hand in mine, doing my damnedest to block out the feeling of her skin, but what hit me then, completely unsuspecting, was the contrast between them. It wasn’t just the size difference, or that her skin felt like satin against my roughened fingertips. She was a doctor; her hand comforted people, helped people…it saved lives. And mine? I’d taken more lives with my bare hands than I’d care to think about. Was that an attack of conscience hitting me? I hadn’t known I still possessed one of those. But this

was Sarah, the strong-willed girl I’d gladly left behind years ago. What the hell was I doing trying to get into her pants, anyway? She turned and started walking toward the door, and I had my answer: because the woman could make Aphrodite herself cringe with jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO SARAH Real smooth, Wells! I’d done a lot of stupid things in my life, but this one definitely took the cake. Why the hell I’d agreed to have drinks with Declan Ross, I hadn’t the foggiest idea. I’d done a good job forgetting about the asshole who’d occupied my every thought for too many years. But the minute he waltzed back into town, I jumped at the opportunity to let him drag me right back down. Talk about a glutton for punishment. But it was done. I’d agreed to have a drink with him, and that’s exactly what I’d do. I’d have one drink with Declan, tell him it was great to see him again and then get my ass out of there. Besides, he was just being polite. I might not be a teenager anymore, but he probably didn’t see me any differently than he had back then. So, there was no sense in acknowledging he was even hotter than he’d been the last time I saw him. Or that the tattoos I’d seen peeking out from beneath the cuff of his shirt had me wondering just what new artwork adorned his chiseled body. There was absolutely no point in wondering what he thought of me, anyway. Nope. Absolutely none. It’d just be a drink between old

acquaintances, and then we’d both go back to the way we’d been before I nearly stumbled into him in the coffee shop and dropped my files all over the floor. Smooth one, Wells. Real smooth. Minutes later, I forced the encounter to the back of my mind as I stepped through the doors of the town’s community hospital. It was strange working there. Before, I’d been an intern…a resident…a doctor amidst a big city of people I’d never seen before, and probably would never see again. But here, it was different. I knew these people, and they knew me. And while sometimes it was nice to see a familiar face, I also couldn’t help but notice the dubious glances from most of my patients. They knew me as a seventeen-year-old kid, and to them it was like I’d been frozen in time, no more competent in the medical field than I’d been back then when my knowledge had been limited to removing splinters and bandaging scrapes and cuts. I’d often wondered since my return if perhaps I’d made a mistake; if I wouldn’t have been better off in a city where I was a faceless cog in the medical machine. But I needed to be here; I needed to be in the house I’d spent so many years with my father, and in all the places I remembered him so clearly—even if they were few and far between.

So, like all the days before, I plastered a confident smile on my face, greeted my coworkers and got to work. I don’t know if I was meant to be a doctor here, but I was definitely meant to be a doctor. It fit like nothing else ever could. I thrived under pressure; every facet of my brain sprang to life in emergencies, and I was never more sure of myself than when I was standing in the midst of a medical crisis. Diagnoses, lifesaving measures, treatment options…they were puzzles that, most of the time, only needed to be fitted together the right way to turn a patient’s health around. Small-town medical care wasn’t as intense or fast-paced as what I’d become accustomed to in the city, but I’d adapted well, taking pleasure and satisfaction in easing a child’s earache and other things that my fellow doctors in the city would have seen as mundane. Ten hours after my shift began, though I’d spent the day treating cuts and minor fractures, I left that evening with the same sense of satisfaction as I’d left the hospital each day in Baltimore. I was a doctor, and I helped people. But as I made my way down the few blocks to my father’s house, I experienced something I never had before; a strange, eerie sensation that prickled along my skin and made all of my senses spring to

life. I looked around for something out of the ordinary, but aside from the occasional elderly woman peeping out her front windows, I saw nothing alarming. I willed my ears to pick up odd sounds, but aside from my own heels clicking along the sidewalk and the occasional hum of a car engine down the main street a few blocks over, I heard nothing. The scents were all familiar— pungent pines, the soft scent of roses wafting from Mrs. McGill’s garden and the charred smell of seasoned wood from a fireplace somewhere nearby. I’d walked along these same streets every day for the past several months, not to mention the years prior when I had walked, skipped, biked and even drove up and down these streets. Nothing ever happened in Westport, plain and simple. It was nothing more than an overactive imagination at work. Perhaps the hospital wasn’t as satisfying as I was trying to lead myself to believe. It would explain why I was suddenly trying to concoct something bizarre out of small-town nothing. Ignoring the shiver down my spine, I continued the rest of the way home—with nary a sight of a ghost, goblin or whatever creature my mind was hoping to brew up. Once safely behind closed doors, though, my mind was free to turn to what came next on the day’s agenda. Declan Ross.

I could cancel, except I hadn’t thought to ask for his phone number or where he was staying. So, unless I was going to tell him to take a hike at my door—not an altogether terrible idea—I was stuck. Besides, it was just one drink. So why I stood in front of my bedroom closet, rummaging through my meager wardrobe for something that would knock any guy’s socks off…well, I’d rather not think about the reason why. Armed with a fitted pair of jeans and an openback top, I hesitated at the door on my way to the shower, lingering in my room for just a moment longer. It was comforting there, in the same room I’d occupied when I was a kid. My father hadn’t done a thing to change it in all the years I’d been away, so posters of my teen idols still hung on the wall, and the double bed was still covered with the ivory lace canopy Dad had bought for me when I was nine. I closed my eyes, and I could still see him there, tucking me in on the nights he was home. He might have been away often, but when he was home, he gave a hundred and ten percent. What daughter could have asked for more than that? Shaking off the memories, I hurried through a shower, washing off the day’s grime and willing the hot water to soothe the tension that had begun to tighten my shoulder muscles. Just when I’d begun to settle into a

comfortable routine in Westport, Declan had waltzed into town to screw it up. I should have been reviewing medical books, or sorting through my dad’s old stuff…not searching for my makeup bag that had remained at the bottom of my suitcase since the day I arrived home. Just a little mascara and lipstick—a woman wasn’t exactly at her most sparkling after a ten-hour shift. I’d have been doing the same no matter who I was having a drink with, I reasoned—and I almost believed it. That was it, though, since it was just about nine-thirty, and there was no way I was going to let Declan find me primping for our non-date. Play it calm and cool, and he’ll be out of my life once again in less than an hour, I told myself. Leaving the bathroom, I barely made it to the kitchen before a knock sounded at the front door. This was it. I took a deep breath, willed the calmest face I could muster and opened the door to the most gorgeous man I’d ever known. And damn it, it had to be a sin to look that good. Jeans that looked like they’d been custommade for his frame—which, of course, they probably were. The man and his family had more money than could be spent in ten lifetimes. His button-down shirt was open at the collar, giving a tantalizing glimpse of the solid chest beneath and the colored edges of whatever tattoo adorned him

there. The five-o-clock shadow that had sprouted along his jaw made my lips tingle in anticipation of what it would feel like to drag kisses from his ear to his chin. “Hey, Sarah.” Before I could respond, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around me, and it was all I could do to force my hands up in reciprocation as every receptor in my body quivered at the feeling of his rock-hard frame so damn close. The chaste handshake at the coffee shop hadn’t been accidental; the less touching, the better. Sure, I was a grown woman, no longer the obsessed teenager, but Declan Ross seemed even more potent than he ever had back then. And there was no way in hell I would be that girl ever again. “Hi, Declan,” I replied as I eased myself out of his grasp. “You smell incredible,” he told me, his voice not exactly a whisper, but huskier than it had been a moment before. At least, it seemed that way, though it was probably just my imagination. And so what if I’d used the jasmine-scented wash a friend at work had brought back as a gift from her trip to the Iberian Peninsula? It wasn’t like I’d been saving it for a special occasion or anything. “Thanks. Are you ready to go?” The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could get back to

the way life was supposed to be. I looked past him then and noticed the car in my driveway—if one could call the hunk of metal a car. He hadn’t seriously been driving that, had he? His gaze followed mine and he chuckled. “It’s perfectly safe, I assure you. Well, the guy at the rental shop said it was. And you know how intimate a relationship is between a guy and his car rental agent—he wouldn’t have lied to me.” The damn boyish grin on his face caused a visceral response I chose to ignore, focusing instead on if I should put the same trust in the car rental guy. “I never pictured you as a clunker kind of guy. Hell, your first car was a Mercedes, right?” “Actually, my first car wasn’t a car, it was an Ecosse bike…and that’s my vehicle of choice these days, too. But, I decided to fly in at the last minute and didn’t bother making plans for something built this century. Are you up for roughing it?” There was a challenge in his tone and in his eyes; the man knew how to get exactly what he wanted. Maybe it was a good thing he’d up and left me behind. What extremes would I have gone to if he’d turned even a little of that know-how on me back then? “Alright, daredevil. I promised you one drink; let’s go.” I closed and locked the door behind me, and prayed to whatever deity might be out there

circling the universe to just get me through the evening with my dignity intact. Ten minutes later, we sat in a quiet, back booth in one of the only two bars in town. I should have insisted on a table out in the center of the room, but he’d led the way back to the dimly-lit area and I hadn’t said a word. So, it served me right that I was forced to struggle to not notice the muscled thigh that pressed casually against me or the way my skin tingled every time his arm brushed mine. It was my own damn fault.

**** I don’t know exactly how it happened. I hadn’t had more than one or two drinks, and yet, an hour later, I was standing outside Declan’s motel room while he unlocked the door with steady fingers. How his hands weren’t shaking was even more perplexing; mine were tremoring so much that the vibrations continued right up my arms. But I could still back out. I could turn around and walk away. The great thing about living in a town so small was I didn’t even need to wait for a cab; my house wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk down the road. But as he opened the door, my feet carried me inside without conscious thought. Or maybe it wasn’t so unconscious. I wanted this, didn’t I? I’d wanted Declan since I was old enough to know what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. And in that moment, he was right there for the taking. So, I didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around me and pressed me up against the door. I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I pulled him closer to my mouth. I wanted to taste him, to feel the warm heat of his lips. I’d kissed him once years ago in a last-ditch

effort to make him want me, but he’d stood there rigid, his hands clenched at his sides and his lips closed. But in that moment, his hands were busy exploring my body, grazing over my bare back and my hips, cupping my ass. His tongue was already plying against the seam of my lips. I opened and he slid inside, his tongue moving in an intimate way that spoke of what was to come. His hands continued to move, and within seconds, he pulled away, just long enough to pull my shirt over my head. When I lifted my arms to aid in the process, he stopped, leaving the fabric wrapped around my wrists. The smile on his face made me shiver with wanting and I clenched my thighs against the tidal wave of arousal that left me aching to be filled. He must have caught sight of the movement because he laughed low in his throat and leaned in, pressing his thigh between my legs. I resisted the urge to rub against him, but he distracted me a moment later, using his free hand to expertly unhook the clasp of my bra between my breasts in one quick move. Leaving his thigh where it was, he leaned the rest of his body back, his gaze sweeping over the bare flesh he’d just revealed. “God, you’re beautiful, Sarah,” he whispered huskily, and a new thrill rushed through my body. Declan Ross thought I was beautiful. The fiery

gleam in his eyes and the way his breath had started to come faster told me he wasn’t just sweet-talking me into his bed; he’d meant what he’d said. Before I could respond, he swooped down and suckled a nipple into his mouth and a tiny cry escaped my lips at the unexpected wave of sensation. He continued to suck, nip and nibble until I wondered if it might actually be possible to reach orgasm from this alone. I reached for him, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. I wanted to see him naked, to see the chiseled muscle of his body and feel his flesh beneath my fingers. I’d wanted it for so long, an old ache sprung up in recollection of it. I wanted to see him the same way dozens—probably hundreds—of women had seen him when it had only been theory and fantasy to me. No. I dropped my hands to my sides. This should stop. I turned my body away from him, my nipple freed from his mouth with the movement. This wasn’t what I wanted. “Declan, I can’t do this,” I told him bluntly, though a voice in the back of my head was screaming at me for passing up what I’d wanted for so long. He met my gaze and I almost caved; the heat in his eyes was mesmerizing. “We’re two consenting adults, Sarah. Of course, you can do

this.” “I really can’t. I’m sorry, I thought I could, but I can’t. I have to go,” I told him in stilted sentences. He shifted his stance, his thigh no longer pressed intimately between my own, and as much as I wanted to pull him back, I used the shift to slip away from the wall, reaching blindly for my shirt on the floor. He was silent as I slipped it on and hurried to the door. I decided not to chance a glance in his direction, so speaking to the door, I mumbled another apology and slipped outside before I could change my mind. I proceeded to chastise myself the entire way home. I was right there, so close to getting what my teenage-self had dreamed about for years. And then I’d run out of there like Declan was the plague. But the thing was, I wasn’t a kid anymore. I knew exactly what kind of guy he was. At least, I knew what kind of guy he used to be, and I somehow doubted much had changed in that department. He was the man who had a different woman on his arm—and in his bed—every night. I wasn’t opposed to casual sex. Hell, weekend flings and one-night-stands pretty much summed up my love life. I’d never wanted more than what a brief physical encounter with a man could provide. But this wasn’t just any man, was it? And I refused to be just another notch on the bedpost of a guy who’d occupied my mind completely once upon a

time. I’d rather live with the regret of never having, than the heartbreak from watching what I had walk away…again. It was like money, wasn’t it? I’d never had much, so I couldn’t miss the rich life. But if I’d had a fortune and lost it all, well, I imagined that would hurt much more. So, that was the end of it. Declan would be gone soon and I likely wouldn’t see him again for another decade. And it was best that way.

CHAPTER THREE DECLAN After a taking a cold shower and spewing out every expletive in the book, I was still hard as hell and couldn’t get Sarah’s body out of my mind. If I was smart, I would’ve gone out to look for another woman to drive away every thought of her. Still, I knew that a substitute wouldn’t do; probably because I’d never been shut down like that before. I’d been minutes away from having her. I’d known there was no way I was even going to make it to the bed, and was more than happy to take her hard and fast against the wall. I would’ve gotten her to the bed eventually…perhaps two or three rounds in…but god damn it, I don’t remember ever so desperately needing to bury my cock in a woman before. So, what was I supposed to do? Go chasing after her? Fuck that. Sarah was one hell of a woman, but fundamentally, just like the three billion others out there. And since I wasn’t looking for a woman to bear my children or settle down with, what difference did it make if I was screwing Sarah or any one of the other available women in town? Tiny fragments of an answer flitted around somewhere in the back of my mind, but I had no intention of giving them a moment’s thought. Of

course, Sarah was a little different in some ways; we had a history together. As infatuated as she’d been with me, there’d also been more to her, even at such a young age. She was kind and caring, but guarded, too. There weren’t many people who got to know her well enough to know what laid behind her exterior shell. Aside from that, Sarah Wells was stubborn to the core. When that girl wanted something, nothing could stand in her way. That’s one of the reasons I’d been more than happy to take off years ago. Sure, I’d known she was absolutely off-limits, and I’d done my damnedest to ignore her, but the night she’d come onto me full force had just about done me in. Not long before that incident, her father had presented me with an opportunity for a life different from the one I’d been forging for myself, and while I’d needed time to think about it, that night had made the decision for me. If I didn’t get the hell out of town, I likely would have ended up behind bars or with one hell of an angry father after me who happened to know about a thousand different torture techniques—not the kind of father a twenty-two-year-old guy wanted to piss off. Okay, so yeah, Sarah was obviously different from every other woman out there. Of course, she was. But did that mean sex with her would be

worth the effort I’d have to put in? Fuck yes, it would. The answer came screaming out of every crevice of my mind. And with her quiet moans, soft body and fiery eyes fresh in my memory, who was I to argue? Alright, I had to come up with a plan. I knew from her response earlier that at least part of her was on board. Her body definitely knew what it wanted, but she’d panicked. If I had to take a guess, I’d say she wasn’t really used to having casual sex. She was probably the ‘serious relationship’ type that didn’t even start to think about it until she was sure the guy was in it for the long haul. Unfortunately, I was definitely more of a truck stop than a long-haul kind of guy. But all I had to do was get her to see there was nothing wrong with a little meaningless, mutual gratification every once in a while. From there, it would be a simple thing to get her naked, and get myself cock-deep in that wicked body. So…how would a guy go about getting a ‘serious relationship’ kind of woman to give herself over to a casual weekend fling? There was no point in playing games and trying to woo her into bed. Sarah would go running in the other direction the moment she figured out what I was up to. So, it was simple. No lies, no games. Be honest, be blunt. I wanted to fuck her, and I had no doubt that a

good part of her wanted the same.

**** I pulled into the hospital parking lot at exactly five minutes before eleven the next morning. I’d called the hospital and had no trouble finding out that Sarah was in fact working that day, and she wouldn’t be on her lunch break until eleven-oclock. I had contemplated waiting until after her shift was over to approach her, but I figured if I could stir up a few sparks and leave her smoldering for the rest of her shift…well, hopefully she’d be ready to burst into flames not long after. I nodded to all the folks who recognized me as I made my way across the lot and through the emergency room entrance, and greeted the ancient figure at the triage desk who must have been there since the Declaration of Independence. The old woman motioned me through when I asked about Sarah, and I found her there quickly, though not in the way I’d expected. I’d anticipated seeing her bent over a patient’s sprained ankle or inspecting a set of tonsils with a tongue depressor. But the woman I found was calling out orders, examining x-rays and wielding a nasty looking needle that she jabbed into the chest of the man lying lifeless in front of her without a moment’s hesitation. Her back was straight, her eyes were bright, and it was only seconds later

when the man coughed, spluttered, and took a wheezing breath, that I saw her shoulders relax— the only proof she’d been under pressure at all. The woman was confident, competent…and absolutely mesmerizing. I’d never seen Sarah so much in her element, and right then, I understood without a doubt why she’d gone into medicine. She was made for it. I hung back as she examined the patient further, in part to maintain the patient’s privacy, but also to give myself a moment to collect my thoughts. It was a side of Sarah I’d never seen, and I wasn’t used to surprises. I didn’t like them, in fact. In my line of work, they weren’t welcome, so I’d gotten very good at knowing everything I could in any particular scenario. I really hadn’t expected Sarah to ever be able to throw me for a loop like that. But thrown I was, though I wasn’t going to let it distract me from my plan. So, I shrugged away from the wall and she caught sight of me right away. And I think because she was still so very much in her element, my presence there didn’t faze her as much as I would have expected. Her eyes bulged slightly, but she caught herself quickly and nodded in my direction. Still chatting with a co-worker, she remained there for a moment, but she kept glancing over at me. And the moment the woman headed toward one of

the curtained-off beds, Sarah walked toward me, almost apprehensive in her step but determined, nonetheless. “What are you doing here?” No niceties. Straight to the point. That was fine with me. “Lunch,” I replied, equally as candid. “You’ve come to have lunch…with me…in the hospital cafeteria? That’s rather brave of you given the rumors about the food, isn’t it?” “I figure I’ll be okay. If it makes me sick, there’ll be plenty of doctors around to pump my stomach before the wretched stuff kills me.” “Seriously, Declan, why are you here?” Her voice grew quieter, and she started edging us toward a staff room beyond the emergency area. “I told you, I’m here to have lunch with you.” I didn’t bother keeping my voice down. And that meant she could either have the whole room hear our conversation—at least my end of it—or she could agree to have lunch. And I could see she knew it, too, even if that knowledge made her scowl at me in irritation. She breathed a resigned sigh, waved to a woman on the other side of the room to let her know she was leaving, and then motioned down the hall toward the cafeteria. “Look, I’m sorry about last night,” she apologized as she slipped into a chair in the near-

empty cafeteria. “It was a mistake,” she told me bluntly. “So…why are you here?” “I’m here because I plan on picking up where we left off last night.” It was my turn to throw her for a loop because she certainly hadn’t been expecting that. She stared at me for a moment, as if she were trying to figure out some other meaning to what I’d just said, but finding none, she began to push the food on her plate back and forth with her fork, her concentration on the task seemingly complete, if I didn’t know her better. “There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults indulging in a mutual attraction, Sarah, and we both know there’s plenty of attraction going on here.” “Declan, your interest is flattering, really, and I have no problem with casual flings and the like. But this—you and me—is a bad idea.” I didn’t get the sense she was lying when she said she didn’t have a problem with casual flings, which meant she was either doing one hell of a job deceiving me—unlikely—or I’d misjudged her qualms with the previous night. I’d say that wasn’t possible either, but after seeing Sarah in action today, I couldn’t deny that I’d been quick to sum her up based on what I’d known about her from years ago. “Once upon a time, I had a really big crush on

you, and I got caught up in that last night. But I won’t ever be a notch on your bedpost, Declan. Let’s face it; we’re different people. It was good to see you again. I’m happy to see you’ve done well for yourself, and I wish you the best.” She stood then, her cafeteria tray in hand, and nodded to me. In her mind, that was the end of the conversation; there was nothing more to be said. I nodded back, willing to concede for the time being, but it didn’t escape my notice that her hands were trembling, making the utensils on her tray clank quietly against her plate. And her step wasn’t nearly as steady as it had been before as she walked away and dumped her entire meal in the trash. Well, that mission was a total failure. But maybe it was for the best. I’d lived by rules in my work to stay alive, and I’d carved out a careful set of rules when it came to women to stay free. One run-in with Sarah and I had been willing to toss the rulebook in the trash? What would be next? Hand over the other rulebook and play Russian roulette on the job? No, I told myself as I strode out of the building. This was definitely for the best. I drove out of the lot three minutes later on the bike I’d managed to wrangle from the local mechanic, thank god. But as I pulled up to the motel, my mind was still right where it had been since I’d spotted Sarah

in the coffee shop yesterday morning. What the hell was it about this woman? She was perfectly fine with casual sex, just not with me. For a guy who didn’t get turned down very often, the knowledge wasn’t terribly welcomed. But maybe that explained my persistent interest in her: she was a challenge, and an unexpected one. The Sarah I’d known would have fallen helplessly into my bed, but this woman, though obviously experiencing the same attraction I was, wanted to run in the opposite direction. Had that somehow made her more appealing? And if so, would it really be breaking any rules if what I was after wasn’t the off-limits woman, but the challenge itself? Okay, so getting Sarah into bed wasn’t going to be a five-minute job, but damn it, victory was going to be sweet when I won.

**** Hours later, I was standing on her doorstep. I made sure I’d given her plenty of time to arrive home and de-stress. I knocked, ready to get to work and win that gorgeous piece of ass. When she opened the door, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was still wearing her scrubs and her eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying. “What are you doing here, Declan?” she asked in a weaker voice than I’d heard from her in a long time. “Bad day?” “Yeah.” She closed her mouth as if she wasn’t going to say anymore, but then sighed. “There was a family in a car accident on the highway…the woman didn’t make it.” Okay, this was heavy. It would have been bad enough if it was just the patient she’d lost, but her mother had died in an accident when Sarah was just eight years old—or so she was led to believe. Her father had passed not long ago in a similar way. No doubt, she hadn’t been able to avoid drudging up old feelings. If I was smart, I’d offer my condolences for the woman who died today and get the hell out of there. But I wasn’t—at least not right at that

moment. “I’ll order a pizza; you go grab a hot shower,” I told her. Fuck, what the hell was I doing? “Thanks, Declan, but it’s really not necessary. It’s part of the job, you know?” Part of the job. I’d taken more lives than I cared to remember, snuffed them out without a moment’s thought because that was ‘part of my job.’ But Sarah…she saved lives, or at least, she tried to. How many times had she held a life in her hands? How many patients had she lost despite her capable hands? And how many times had she cried alone afterward with no one there to comfort her? “Go on and take a nice, hot shower. I’ll take care of dinner,” I told her more gently this time, laying a hand on her shoulder and nudging her in the direction of the bathroom down the hall. I resisted the urge to follow her, using considerable effort to steer myself toward the kitchen instead. I phoned in an order as soon as I heard her turn on the water, doing my damnedest not to think about the woman five yards away. She would’ve been naked by then, probably stepping beneath the showerhead. It didn’t take much to imagine the hot water cascading down her naked flesh, making her smooth skin slippery… Shit! This is a really bad idea, I told myself. The woman could use someone to talk to after a

wretched day, but I was definitely not the guy for the job. Nevertheless, I’d walked right into this mess. I couldn’t exactly turn around and leave—at least, not without earning the title of the biggest asshole ever. I searched the cupboards for a couple of glasses and checked the fridge for something that had a high enough alcohol content to soothe away her troubles. After finding a half-empty bottle of tequila, I reached for the wine instead. Sure, I wanted Sarah naked and writhing beneath me, but it wouldn’t have been much of a victory if she’d been too drunk to remember anything in the morning. And then I waited, pacing back and forth across the small space between the kitchen cupboards, trying to figure how best to extricate myself from the messy situation. She emerged from the bathroom before the pizza had arrived, dressed in a pair of leggings and a thin, black T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. It was a casual outfit, but she somehow still managed to look like sex personified. Her wet hair hung down her back, the dark tresses almost black in the dim lighting of the hallway. Her green eyes were no longer swollen, as if she’d used the time to stiffen her spine and bury whatever bad memories the day had dug up. She smiled up at me softly, nervously, as if she was embarrassed that I’d seen her with her guard down.

She was…beautiful. The pizza arrived just then, and we ate in silence for a few minutes. “I’m not always like this,” she said out of the blue. “I mean, I knew when I started out there’d be people I couldn’t help. Once in a while, though…” “I get it. So, what made you do it? Become a doctor, I mean.” “I guess I just wanted my life to matter, to make a difference, if not on a grand scale, then on an individual one. At the end of my life, I can know there are people who are alive because of me; families that weren’t ripped apart that might have been otherwise…you know, all the usual stuff that drives people toward medicine.” She brushed it off, as if her reasons were commonplace, but I don’t think she had any idea how uncommon they really were. Maybe because I’d spent the past decade seeking out the worst kind of scum on the planet, but I was all too aware of what drove people: greed and power, mostly, and very seldomly, a desire to truly help others. “And what about you, Declan. What was it that finally made you decide to follow in your father’s footsteps?” Right. She was under the impression I’d taken up where my father left off in the family’s multimillion-dollar empire. Little did she know, it wasn’t in my father’s footsteps I’d followed, but hers. And

there was absolutely no way I was going to enlighten her since she also had no idea what her father had actually spent his life doing. Still, I had to give her some kind of answer. “It just seemed like the natural progression of things, I guess,” I replied, and it was true enough. The family business had never fit, and I’d railed against their expectations, spending far too long getting into trouble just to thwart them. And I was damn good at it. It was on one of those ventures into unlawful activity that Sarah’s father had slid into the passenger seat of a sportscar I’d just lifted. “You know, son, have you ever given any consideration to what you could do with your skills if you put them to better use?” he’d asked as he fastened his seatbelt like we were about to take a Sunday drive. Given that the car wasn’t exactly mine and I was on a deadline, I couldn’t sit there in stunned silence, so I’d revved the engine and drove forty miles to the drop-off point. Erik hadn’t said a word the entire way, and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to explain his presence to my contact who’d been waiting for the car. But I did…easily. The lie had come like second nature, and Erik played right along. The even weirder part came after when he motioned in the direction of his car, parked not thirty feet from the drop-off point. He’d known

where I was headed from the beginning, and while I should have been panicking, I wasn’t. I was fascinated, caught up trying to figure out how he’d tracked me down, how he’d known exactly what I was up to. And then he’d told me. Not a single person in town, not his daughter, and not even his own father knew what he was up to. But just like that, the course of my life had swerved in a completely unexpected direction. For the first time, I’d felt like I was right where I belonged, doing what I’d been born to do. I’d become a vigilante. “I suppose sometimes you just know when something’s right, don’t you?” she asked, and there was definitely a double innuendo in her question. Her mood had changed, and she’d begun to lean toward me, though I don’t think she was even aware of the movement. It figured. Smooth lines and avid pursuit did nothing to win her over. But quasi-intimate conversation over pizza and wine, and her resistance crumbled away. “Sarah…” I knew I should get the hell out of there. She’d been emotionally compromised…she’d been upset…vulnerable… She put her hand on my thigh, and it sent a jolt of heat through my body. And by the way she froze, I could tell she hadn’t expected to feel so

much in response, but she did. The sexual energy that had hung in the air between us had found a route inside her, straight through her fingers when she touched me. But that didn’t seem to stop her. Her hand started to move, lightly at first, grazing up and down in small circles. I gritted my jaw against the wave of fire that was quickly overwhelming whatever meager resistance I could muster. “I want this, Declan,” she breathed quietly. I could hear it loud and clear in her soft tone— desire, hunger, longing. Her eyes meeting mine, all the while her hand continued to move, her nails grazing along my thigh this time as she moved higher. Oh hell, what man could possibly be expected to walk away? Just then, she pulled her hand back, and I breathed a rugged sigh, part in relief and part disappointment. She didn’t move for a moment, and I waited, not trusting myself to speak just yet. And hell, I didn’t want to go back to talking. I wanted to touch her…to taste her. “I know I shouldn’t want you…but I do,” she spoke louder, a split second before she lunged for my mouth. All thought fled and I met her just as eagerly. My tongue sought entry, pressing firmly against the seam of her lips. I needed to taste her, to feel the

warmth of her mouth. She opened and I delved in, sampling the light taste of Chardonnay on her tongue. But I needed her closer; I needed to feel more of her. Without breaking the kiss, I slipped my hands beneath her perfectly shaped ass and pulled her onto my lap. I could feel the heat of her, radiating through our clothes and I was already rock hard. Hell, it felt like I’d wanted this forever. Her hands started to move, wrapping around the back of my neck. Her fingers tickled as they grazed through the short hair there and then she pulled me closer, trying to deepen the kiss, to get even closer. A lightning bolt of heat shot through me and my cock throbbed almost painfully. I could feel the soft mounds of her tits pressed against my chest, but I wanted more. I wanted to cup her in my hands and feel the heat of her skin. Without another thought, I grabbed the neck of her shirt and tore hard, ripping it like it was made of tissue paper. She hadn’t been wearing a bra underneath, and my hands reached for her, cupping her as my breath caught in my throat. She fit perfectly in my palms, as if the two of us had been carved for each other. She moaned softly as I flicked my thumbs across her rosy nipples and her head tilted back, leaving the soft flesh of her neck exposed. I lunged for her, kissing just below her ear

down to her collarbone. I leaned her back to continue lower and drew a nipple into my mouth, rolling it back and forth with my tongue as she moaned louder. Seconds later, her hands slid down my back and I felt her fumbling with the hem of my shirt. I released her long enough to let her yank it over my head, but she froze as the shirt fell to the floor behind us. I did my damnedest to stay still as her eyes flitted across the flesh she’d exposed. “They’re incredible,” she whispered as her fingers began to trace along the artwork on my shoulders. “You look like…” she began, and then stopped, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. “I look like…what, Sarah?” I whispered back, strangely caught up in what she was thinking. “I was just thinking that you…you look like a masterpiece…” she confessed awkwardly, tracing the tattoos on my shoulders. Plenty of women I’d known had found them to be sexy, but Sarah seemed utterly mesmerized by them in a way that was somehow deeper. It took me a minute to understand her fascination, but then I did…and I wished I hadn’t. They weren’t just random pieces of art to her; the furrow that had formed between her brow as she ghosted along my shoulder meant she was thinking —she was trying to figure out the reason for each tattoo on my body. They weren’t just tattoos to her;

they were a story—my story—and she was doing her damnedest to read it. And the worst part: I liked it. The way she was touching me and the look in her eyes…it was intimate in a way I’d never known, and had never wanted to know. And so, I needed her to stop looking at me like that. I lifted her gently off my lap and stood, laying her back on the table. I reached for the waistband of her leggings and started pulling them down, caught between tearing them off in a hurry and drawing it out as long as I could. In seconds, she would be naked. And seconds after that, my cock would be buried inside that amazing body. My hands itched to touch her. My mouth watered at the idea of tasting every inch of her body, and my dick was throbbing painfully enough that I worried there might be permanent damage if I didn’t fuck her right then. With that thought in mind, I tugged off her pants as an electric sensation shot right through me. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath those leggings; she was completely naked, and by the way her pussy glistened, I knew she was just as ready as I was. I ditched my pants as fast as I could, thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her, but knowing there wasn’t time for that. Right then, I needed to be inside her; to feel her tight, slick walls

surrounding me. I spread her thighs and slipped between them, leaning in until I was right there. But I had to check; I had to know she wanted this as much as I did, because I’d apparently taken leave of my senses and wanted to see just how much torture a cock could take. I looked down into her fiery eyes, and her arms reached out for me as I did, telling me she was more than willing. But she didn’t pull me closer. Instead, her fingers went back to tracing along the lines of the tattoos on my shoulders and chest. Damn it, I knew what she was doing, and it sent a shockwave of unadulterated pleasure through my body, so intense that my hips thrust forward of their own volition, plunging into her to the hilt. I lunged for her lips on the next thrust, doing my damnedest to ignore the erotic way her fingers continued to move along my torso. Slowly though, as I increased my pace, she abandoned her attempt to read my life story and I felt her fingers kneading my shoulders. And before long, her nails were digging into the muscles in my back, the sting only making me harder. It was unadulterated proof that her body was rushing headlong for the end, caught up in raw pleasure. I was so damn close, gritting my jaw and fighting with everything I had against the urge to

come deep inside her. I wasn’t going to let it happen, not yet. I shifted my weight onto one arm and slipped a hand between us, finding her clit. Her hips bucked at the first brush of my finger against her, and her moans turned to cries of pleasure. I started to thrust faster, harder, and her hips reciprocated, thrusting upward to meet me. And seconds later, the wildfire that had been blazing in her eyes burned out of control. Her back arched off the table and her gaze locked on mine as she screamed in ecstasy. And damn it, that was just too much. I’d held off as long as I could, and I’d made sure she got to come first, but I was right there. I thrust in deep one more time as her tight walls spasmed around my cock and I rocketed over the edge. I withdrew slowly, almost as reluctantly as when I’d started, and pulled her up with me as I stood up straight. I swooped in and picked her up in my arms, and started down the hall to her bedroom. She looked up at me with surprise in her eyes. “You didn’t think we were done yet, did you?” She couldn’t have possibly thought I’d had enough. No way in hell.

**** “This one’s new,” she whispered, tracing the outline of El Hombre Caiman on my chest hours later. Shit, I couldn’t tell her I’d gotten it after taking down a dangerous drug lord on the coast of Colombia. “I got it two years ago in Cuba,” I told her, closing my eyes as she touched upon the next tattoo that would be unfamiliar to her: a Viking shield and sword on my shoulder. “A one-armed man in Australia did that one. According to him, his ancestors descended from Somerled, King of the Isles.” She’d never know the real story behind that tattoo, either. “It’s beautiful,” she said. Her hands trailed down my arm, but she would have to lower the sheet covering us to discover any more. I considered moving it for her, more than happy to let her check out every one of the tattoos on my body if it meant she’d continue grazing over my skin with her fingertips, but she laid back down, her hand lying gently against the dragon. A moment later, her breathing grew deeper, steadier. I don’t know how long I laid there, feeling the warmth and softness of her body against me and watching the gentle rise and fall of her back.

I’d never felt more tempted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep. But I’d gotten what I had come for. There was absolutely no reason to stay there any longer. Reluctantly, I slid out from under her, careful not to disturb her sleeping form. A tiny crease formed between her brows, but it disappeared a moment later. I threw on my clothes silently, watching the peaceful look on her face the whole time. I wanted nothing more than to climb back in and feel her naked, peaceful body relaxed against my own, but I couldn’t, and so with one last glance, almost as if to commit every feature to memory, I crept out of the room and out of the house.

CHAPTER FOUR SARAH I opened my eyes reluctantly, squinting against the morning sun that filtered in through the open window. Tiny particles of dust danced in the stream of light, and I focused my attention on the display as much as I could, not ready to think about what had happened just hours before. But there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. I had no idea where Declan and I would have gone from there. Would it have been awkward to see each other in the light of day? Or would it have felt as natural as it had in his arms the night before? There was only one way to find out. I rolled over, my fingers already anticipating the warmth of his flesh. But he wasn’t there. My hand fell onto the empty space he’d occupied, but the sheets were cold; he hadn’t been there in quite some time. I fought back disappointment and forced myself to listen, to search for any sound that would tell me he was still in the house. There was no noise except for the chirping of the birds outside the window. Declan was gone. I groaned aloud and buried my head in the pillow. What the hell had I been thinking? I’d been

determined to not be just another notch on his bedpost, but proceeded to cave like a spineless invertebrate anyway. I had to wonder over my objections, though. It wasn’t that I had anything against one-night stands. In fact, the scope of my relationships had been little more than casual flings. So why was I so resistant when it came to Declan? I didn’t like the answer that came rocketing to the forefront of my mind, but there it was. Declan had been so much more to me than an available body. He’d been everything I ever wanted in a man, both as a teenager and even then, as much as I might want to deny it. Sure, he was a bad boy on the surface—a sixfoot-three, motorcycle-riding, risk-taking, rulebreaking one—but I always thought I could see what was really behind the daredevil façade: a strong and courageous man who wasn’t afraid to go after what he really wanted. But what he didn’t want—at least not for more than just a passing fling—was me. I’d pretended for a very long time that Declan was nothing more than a childhood crush, but the truth was, he’d never stopped being the man I measured all other men against. And they always came up lacking. There seemed little point in denying it. I was just another sexual conquest to him, after a night I

would never forget. How long, I wondered, would it take this time to fool myself into thinking he was nothing more than a passing infatuation? That’s what I’d have to do, though. I wasn’t going to go chasing after a man who didn’t want to be caught. I’d made a ridiculous mistake and had no one but myself to blame for the consequences. I’d wanted Declan since I was a kid. I’d finally had him, and it was time to move on. And move on, I did, downing a cup of coffee and hopping into the shower before work. It didn’t help that I could clearly remember the feel of his hands on me; that my skin felt ultra-sensitized even to my own touch with memories of Declan fresh in my mind. Fortunately, a morning spent dealing with about a half-dozen ear and throat infections, an elderly patient with a broken hip, a patient with a work-related saw injury, and a two-year-old with a piece of cereal stuck up his nose was enough to help keep me from harping on the previous night. “So, who the hell was that hot guy you were having lunch with yesterday?” Jennifer probed the moment she slid into the seat across from me in the cafeteria. On a positive note, Jennifer was relatively new to town, so she had absolutely no idea about my teenage obsession with Declan. Unfortunately, Jennifer was also nosy as hell, and there was no

way she was going to leave the subject alone until she had all the juicy details. “He’s just an old friend, Jen. We grew up together, and he flew into town the other day for a family reunion. That’s all there is to it.” “Damn, Sarah, by the way he was looking at you, you could’ve had him any way you wanted, and twice on Sunday.” Jennifer’s comment had me thinking about the number of times I’d ‘had’ him in one night, and I fought valiantly against the flush of color I could feel creeping into my cheeks. “You did have him, didn’t you? This must be good if you’re not spilling the details.” I’d always gotten along well with Jennifer, but right then, I wanted to strangle her. I didn’t want to think about Declan, never mind talk about him. And what was I supposed to say? I’d had the best sex of my life with him and then he’d run off in the middle of the night? “There aren’t any details to spill. Now, why don’t you tell me how your date went with Brad the other night?” The best way to get the spotlight off me was to put it on her, and she took the bait, veering off into a twenty-minute description of everything from the restaurant’s décor to the way lucky guy number thirty-three looks first thing in the morning. By the time she finished, our lunch break was over, and I’d never been more relieved

to get back to work in my entire life. The afternoon flew by just as quickly as the morning had; it was a rather busy day in the emergency ward, and soon enough, I was already changing out of my scrubs for the day. Maybe the cosmic forces were giving me a small reprieve, keeping my mind from harping on last night’s disaster. So much for that theory, I thought a moment later as the ER’s doors opened and Declan walked through. Was it too much to hope he’d choked on his dinner or was in the throes of some allergic reaction…any other reason that would explain why he was here looking directly at me? Of course not. He looked too damned unruffled to be suffering from anything that would require medical assistance. “Hey, Sarah,” he said with a wry smile that turned up the corners of his full lips; the same ones that had just explored every sensitive place on my body. I struggled to keep my wits about me and glared up at him with the most uninterested look I could muster. “What can I do for you, Declan?” “You can come with me.” “What?” “You’re done for the day here, right?” “Well, yes, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“How would you know if it’s a good idea when you don’t know where I want to take you?” “Call it a hunch.” “Only one way to find out,” he said with that damn grin again. I’d wondered why he’d chosen to show up at my work, but in the brief minute since he’d walked through the door, every head in the ward had turned in our direction, and I knew the answer. If I didn’t want to cause a scene, or create even more theory and conjecture than was no doubt already circulating through the room, I’d comply. “Fine.” With a victorious gleam in his eyes, he motioned toward the exit and I followed, thinking how much I’d love to strangle the asshole. Once we got to the parking lot though, I put on the brakes. “So, where are we going?” He slowed his step but didn’t stop. The cocky bastard expected that I’d continue to follow along blindly. “You’re not really getting the whole concept of a surprise, are you, Sarah?” “I don’t like surprises, Declan.” “Yes, you do.” Why the hell did he have to know so much about me? Sure, I liked surprises…good surprises like birthday parties and puppies for Christmas. I had a feeling he didn’t have any puppies hiding anywhere, and it wasn’t my birthday.

He stopped about halfway through the parking lot next to a vehicle that looked nothing like the dilapidated clunker he’d been driving around in the other day: it was a motorcycle. He expected me to get on that thing? And with absolutely no idea where we were going? “You’ve got to be kidding.” I eyed the deathtrap warily. “What? Have the years turned you into a chicken?” “No.” I wasn’t a chicken; I had just seen my fair share of motorcycle accidents and had no desire to wrap myself around a pole. And yet, when he eyed me with the glint of challenge in his gaze, I found myself reaching for the extra helmet. Had I changed at all? Or would I forever be the strong, independent woman who suddenly didn’t have a solid bone in her body when it came to Declan? He smiled triumphantly, not even bothering to try to hide it, and climbed on the bike. I got on behind him, doing my best to keep some space between us, which wasn’t an easy feat on a motorcycle. He pulled out of the lot and onto the town’s main road, and I couldn’t deny that he handled the bike like an expert, as if it were an extension of his own body. I could feel every shift of his hard, muscular frame and the resultant change in the

bike’s direction a split second later. And to my own surprise, I found myself relaxing, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation of the wind against my limbs and the heat of the man in front of me. I barely noticed when he slowed sometime later, but the spell broke quickly as he came to a stop and I reluctantly opened my eyes. I recognized the surroundings right away, as well as the grand, two-story expanse of a home that stood tall in front of me. Several cars were lined up down the long, winding driveway—cars that were all in pristine condition, each one sporting a foreign name that alone told onlookers it cost more than some people made in a decade. What the hell were we doing at Declan’s mother’s house? I hadn’t been there since before I’d gone away to school. Even though I’d been back in town for months, it had just felt strange to drop in on people I hadn’t seen in years. “What are we doing here?” “Visiting.” I was going to get whiplash if he kept this up. He disappears into thin air a decade ago without so much as a letter or phone call in all this time, then he shows up out of the blue for unforgettable sex but leaves in the middle of the night like he hadn’t an ounce of interest beyond a good lay. And then he shows up at my work to take me along to visit his family?

“Declan, I don’t understand,” I admitted as I slid off the bike and returned the helmet. Something in his cocksure façade seemed to slip for a moment, but it was back so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined the slip. “I knew if I told you my family would love to see you and that you should stop by to visit, you’d nod your head and not once make it up to the house. So, here we are.” So, this was for his family and nothing more. The truth stung because I’d been foolish enough to think that he had other motivations, but at least there was no more wondering. Declan aside, it would be nice to see his family again. The front door swung open while I was still at the bottom of the steps and a woman four years my senior stepped out onto the porch. I recognized her right away as Declan’s sister, Hope. Her kind eyes and long, honey-blonde hair were the same. What was different, though, was the belly that jutted out in front of her. The round bulge told me she couldn’t be more than four, maybe six weeks from her due date. It was a shock to see, given the way Hope had been frozen in my mind as the lithe, young beauty barely out of her teen years. She was still beautiful though, perhaps even more so, and she epitomized the ‘glow’ of pregnancy like no other woman I’d seen. “Sarah!” she called as she waddled down the

steps toward us, and I immediately felt guilty for standing there idly. “It’s good to see you again, Hope,” I told her as she wrapped me in as much of a hug as her protruding belly would allow. “Yes, well, there’s definitely more of me to see at the moment, isn’t there?” she laughed and then looked back up at the porch, motioning up to an attractive man who had just stepped out onto the porch. “Sarah, this is John McLellan, my husband and the man responsible for the beach ball I’m carrying. John, this is an old friend—and practically family—Sarah Wells.” I smiled up politely as Hope guided me up the steps with her arm still around my waist, leaving Declan to follow behind. There in the doorway appeared a regal-looking woman, and seeing her there made my heart leap into my throat. Elizabeth Ross’ hair was streaked with strands of white and the thin creases at the edges of her eyes deepened when she smiled at me, but otherwise, she was just as I remembered. Her arms felt the same, too: a cocoon of comfort and shelter when I’d had no other motherly figure to turn to in my childhood. Though I would always miss my own mother, Declan’s mom had filled in the gap to some degree for many years. I fought back the tears as hard as I could. A Wells was strong. A Wells didn’t cry. And a Wells

certainly didn’t start sobbing for no good reason on the Ross’ front porch. She released me after a long moment, and by then, I was able to collect myself enough to avoid any further embarrassment. “What on Earth are you doing here, Sarah?” she asked, still holding onto my shoulders. I froze. What was I supposed to say? That I’d run into her son and jumped his bones? Fortunately, Declan stepped forward and drew her attention. “I told you I ran into Sarah the other day. I thought I’d take a chance and stop by the hospital to see if she wanted to come by and say hello. And today seemed like a good day for it since it was the last day of your practice run.” “Practice run?” What exactly were they practicing? “Yes, well, the past few days it’s just been our small Ross clan in preparation for the reunion this weekend. Mother thought it would be a worthwhile endeavor to give us a test run. You know, see if we could make it through a few days under the same roof without killing each other before exposing the town to the whole lot of us.” And just like that, I was swept up into the mini family reunion. It was strange, although there wasn’t anything strange about it. But that’s what was odd; a person shouldn’t be able to slip into someone else’s family so easily. And yet, ten minutes with the Ross family, and it felt like I’d

never left, like I’d been part of this family the whole time. A half hour later, I knew what every Ross in the room had been up to for the past ten years. Well, almost everyone. All I knew about Declan’s long absence was that he’d taken up the family business, though they spoke little of it. But I supposed it wasn’t terribly unusual not to drudge up business matters during a family gathering. Still, that couldn’t have been all he’d been up to, could it? “I always knew you’d go far,” Mrs. Ross beamed after John—Hope’s husband—asked about my occupation, and a round of congratulations followed. “But you’ve only come back home recently?” John asked further. “I’d taken a job in Baltimore right after graduating, but after my dad passed away a few months ago, I thought at first I’d just come back to pack up the house, you know? But I was offered a job at the hospital here…and well…it just kind of stuck.” “So, do you think you’ll be making this your permanent home, dear?” Mrs. Ross probed, a devious smile on her face. I wondered what she was up to, but there was no point in probing. Unless something had changed dramatically, Mrs. Ross was the most sharp-witted

woman I’d ever met, and unless she wanted you to know what was going on inside her head, there was no way to guess. Nevertheless, I thought it best to choose my answer carefully. “I haven’t fully decided yet.” There. Where could she have possibly gone with that? “Hmmm…I suppose we’ll have to see what we can do to sway your decision then.” Declan didn’t say much the entire time we were there, and though he remained a quiet presence in the boisterous room, my attention was drawn back to him over and over again. It wasn’t just that he was the most attractive man in the room, or that I could feel his eyes on me no matter how far apart we were, or even that the heat in his gaze was sending tiny ripples of desire coursing through my body, part in remembrance of the night before, and in part anticipation over what promise his fiery gaze seemed to be conveying. It was something else. Something I really didn’t want to think about. I forced my mind in another direction before the entire family read what I feared was so plainly evident on my face. I noticed Declan seemed out of place amid his family. It was like he was sitting in a room full of strangers, there to fill some uncomfortable—and unpleasant—obligation. But if he’d been working with them for the past decade— even if from one of their many offices across the

country—how could he possibly be so disconnected from all of them? I turned the thought over in my mind as I wandered down the long hall to the washroom, more to give myself a few moments to collect my emotions than anything else. But as I emerged from the marbled oasis, I heard Declan’s voice through the closed office door a few yards down the hall. “We both know I don’t belong here, Mother. I never did. Let’s just accept what is and get through the weekend as best we can.” “Of course, you belong here. Whatever else has happened; whatever you’ve done…you’re my son.” Whatever he’d ‘done’? What was she talking about? And probably more importantly, what business did I have snooping outside the door and listening in on what was obviously a private conversation? “Declan, if you’re so opposed to being here yourself, why did you bring Sarah?” “I…” I listened with bated breath. I knew it was wrong; I should be leaving them alone to their conversation. But I wanted to know the answer to that question too, so I couldn’t help but crane my neck and listen intently instead. “Because she’s Sarah, and otherwise, she’d be alone in that house tonight.” He made a frustrated

sound in his throat. “There… there’s still so much she doesn’t know, Mom.” “Declan…I know about Sarah’s father. I’ve known for a very long time. And given the relationship between you and him…well, I just want you to know that I know.” They were silent for so long, I thought about creeping away before one of them threw the door open, but I lingered a moment longer. This wasn’t just some private conversation anymore; it had turned into a conversation about me. Declan sighed heavily, “Damn it, Mom. You can’t say a word to Sarah, do you understand? He didn’t want her to know.” A chill crept down my spine. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever caught someone talking about me behind my back, but there was something different about this, something that made me want to burst into the room and demand to know what they were hiding, while at the same time I wanted to run as far and fast as I could in the other direction. Both forces pulled so hard that I stood there motionless, unable to make one side win out over the other. “I understand perfectly well, Declan. But now that he’s gone, don’t you think it’s time?” “That isn’t for you to decide. And if you know as much as you think you do, then you know very well I can’t do that.” “I know it’s a delicate situation, but how

would you feel if the roles were reversed?” “If the roles were reversed I wouldn’t be any the wiser, now would I?” he shot back quickly. “I see the way you look at her. How long before that answer’s no longer good enough?” “I look at her like any guy who can appreciate a nice body would, and that’s all there is to it. With Sarah and I…it’s just physical. And since I’ll be gone in a matter of days, there’s zero chance of it turning into anything else.” “You keep telling yourself that, Declan.” The clicking of heels against the hardwood floors sounded toward the door and I tiptoed away as quickly as I could, darting back into the washroom down the hall. I needed a moment to compose myself and figure out what to do. But what exactly was I supposed to do? I couldn’t confront Declan without admitting I’d been eavesdropping. But wasn’t he even more in the wrong? What right did he—did they—have to be keeping secrets from me? Both Declan and his mother knew something about my father? I didn’t want to make a scene right there in the middle of their family get-together, but I also couldn’t just let this go. So, I would bite my tongue and wait until Declan took me home. Except…was that such a good idea? Had I really grown a backbone since last night? No, the fact I was standing there in his family’s bathroom rather than

at home—alone—was proof of that. Still, I was a grown woman, and an angry one. I made it through the next hour and a half better than I’d expected. Hope had regaled me with tales of her other youngsters—two others, in fact. I couldn’t believe the woman, only a few years old than me and once dead set against the notion of childbearing, was about to be the happily married mother of three children. Declan had, no doubt, noticed something wasn’t right. His gaze, though still heated, turned curious often, as if he’d been trying to read my mind. And while I might wear my emotions openly on my face, it was another thing entirely for him to guess at what could have been underlying them. “What’s up, Sarah?” he asked once he’d pulled into my driveway and turned off the bike’s engine. I’d been mulling over what to say again and again. I could deny that anything was wrong, though it was unlikely he’d buy it and that wouldn’t get me answers. I could lie and fabricate something, but again, that wouldn’t get me answers. Or I could tell him the truth. I was never much for lying. “I overheard you and your mother talking. It wasn’t intentional, but I heard, nonetheless.” It didn’t take him long to catch up to speed. “And now you want to know what we were talking

about.” “Of course.” “Sarah, your father never wanted you to know —” “I’m a grown woman, Declan.” What right did he and my father—and his mother—have to determine what secrets were kept from me? He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go in and we’ll talk,” he sighed. God, that was almost as bad as telling someone ‘you should really sit down for this’. Still, I unlocked the door and entered the house—at least as far as the front foyer. “Alright. We’re inside, now; are you happy? Now tell me what the fuck’s going on, Declan.” “What your father didn’t want you to know… because he worried it might change how you thought of him is…well, he isn’t your real father.” That couldn’t be. As far back as I could remember, I recalled him being there. I’d think Declan was joking, but the look on his face told me otherwise. He was serious. “But…but that can’t be. I remember him—” “He married your mother when you were still a baby and adopted you shortly after. So, in all the ways that matter, Sarah, he was your father. Just not by blood.” “Yes, of course,” I said distractedly. “He told you…and not me?” Wasn’t that what was really

bothering me? “It wasn’t like your father confided in me. He helped bail me out of trouble a good number of times when I was younger. One day we were talking, and he let it slip by accident. I know he wished he hadn’t, and he asked me to never repeat it.” “Oh.” I sat down hard on the sofa, though I couldn’t remember making my way into the living room. It stung a little that Declan had known the truth for years and I hadn’t, but I thought, if I was willing to see reason, that there was never any harm intended. My father had feared what I’d think of him, maybe even worried about the state of our relationship if he’d told me the truth. But it wouldn’t have changed anything back when he was alive, and it didn’t change anything then. He was the only father I’d ever known. Declan had taken a seat next to me, trying to read my expression. Was I ready to let him off the hook? He’d kept the confidence of a man who had helped him; I suppose I couldn’t fault him for that. “Alright…well, I guess I understand.” I nodded as if to solidify my resolve to move on. The past was the past. I’m sure I would want to know more later, but to the best of my knowledge, Declan didn’t have any more answers for me. We sat there in silence for some time, though

what I was trying to figure out then was what to do with the man sitting on my couch. Should I tell him to leave? Did I want that? As much as what had happened last night shouldn’t have, in truth, I wanted him again, perhaps even more so because I knew without a doubt it would drown every other thought from my mind. And he was sitting close, so close. Though no part of him made contact with my body, I could feel his body heat radiating across the small gap between us. And when I chanced a glance up at him, the fiery glint hiding in the back of his eyes was unmistakable; the glint that told me it would take only seconds to turn that spark into a wildfire. I wasn’t some weak girl who couldn’t say no. The fact was, I didn’t want to say no. I knew what I wanted. And I wanted him. I wanted to feel his hands and his mouth burning a trail across my body, and to feel the chiseled planes of his body beneath my fingers. And suddenly, it was no longer want and desire; it became a need. I needed to feel him and taste him, and I needed him to fill me completely like he had the night before. I’d never felt so exquisitely full in my entire life, and I needed it again, right then. He looked up at me and his eyes met mine. It seemed something in my eyes told him what I needed because the groan that escaped his lips was unmistakable. He was on his feet in a flash, pulling

me against him, instantly molding my curves to his deliciously hard frame. I don’t know which of us moved in first, whether he’d leaned down or I’d lifted myself up, but all I knew was his lips were suddenly against mine and we opened for one another. I let my hands wander, one venturing down the sinewy muscle of his shoulder and bicep, tracing the sword and shield and wondering about its meaning. The other grazed down beneath the neck of his shirt to the hard planes of his chest. Every inch of him I touched was solid muscle, and so much of him was covered in different stories. I desperately wanted to know what they said. His hands started to move, too. I felt him against my neck, my shoulders, the upper swells of my breasts. My skin tingled everywhere he touched, or maybe it was burning I felt, the most exquisite trail of fire I could imagine. Regardless of what it was, it spurred me onward, igniting an inferno deep inside that threatened to blaze outward and consume me whole. I didn’t want it to be like this—so intense—but it was. I’d never known desire so overwhelming I could feel it in every fiber of my body. Every bit of me wanted Declan. All of a sudden, he lifted me off the ground like he had the other night, and with seemingly no exertion at all, he carried me down the hall to the

bedroom. As he lowered me back down to the floor, the backs of my legs pressed up against the mattress. Instead of pulling me back in his arms though, he reached for the hem of my shirt, yanking it off in a flash. “I want to see you, Sarah. I want to see, and touch, and taste every gorgeous inch of you.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The intensity in his gaze and in his tone bid me to stay right where I was as he unhooked my bra with a flick of his wrist. I just watched him as he unzipped the fly of my jeans and tugged them off. He returned seconds later, his fingers hooking into the thong hugging my hips. My stomach clenched in anticipation as he tugged the scrap of fabric down slowly, but he stopped below my hips. I waited with bated breath to feel him continue further or to feel his hands on me, but instead of touching me, he leaned down, encircling first one nipple and then the other with his tongue. Tiny jolts of pleasure shocked through me, but he didn’t stop there. He kissed down the valley between my breasts, past my ribs and toward my stomach. I felt his tongue along the satin waistband of my thong, and then he began slipping it further down, a sliver at a time, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. I wanted him to speed up, to feel his lips move lower, to feel his warm mouth on my clit. But I

wanted him to slow down, too, to draw it out as much as he could, to make the onslaught of sensation I was feeling right then last forever. Second after excruciating second passed, and finally, he was nearly there. He lowered the thong another inch, and then one more and I could feel the delicious tickle of his breath like the lightest of touches. I waited…and waited…resisting the urge to pull him closer, but damn it, he remained right there. I could hear his slow, deep breaths, and I realized what he was doing. He was breathing in my scent, over and over again, and the knowledge made me dizzy with desire. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly take another second, he closed the distance between us and his tongue slowly glided against my clit. At the same time, his hands moved to my hips, pushing me back until I was sitting on the edge of the bed. One hand moved higher and pressed me back further until I was completely sprawled out. Jolts of fire shocked through my body as his tongue continued to explore me, first slowly and then faster, driving me higher. It was incredible, so intense, but it was too fast. My hips thrust toward him, my body writhed out of control and moans spilled loudly from my lips. Before I could try to get my body under control, I toppled over the edge, stifling a scream against my arm and feeling waves

of rapturous pleasure ripple through my entire body. His lips lingered for a moment as the waves began to ebb, but as I leaned up to meet him, he stepped back. I watched as he deftly stripped off his pants. He was utterly gorgeous; a chiseled canvas who looked like he’d been hand-painted by the gods. I reached for him, running my hands reverently along his broad chest and washboard abs, down to his powerful, muscular hips. I slipped off the edge of the bed in front of him, my mouth watering suddenly, anxious to feel his hard cock in my mouth. I teased the tip of him with my tongue, swirling around and around and then lapping down the underside of his hard length. He groaned as I glided my tongue back to the tip of him, and the rugged sound of his groan amplified tenfold as I opened my mouth wide and took him in, hollowing my cheeks as I worked to take in every inch of him I could manage. I worked my way back to the head and then started again, moving slowly and reveling in the feel of his steely hardness encased in velvet. Before I could increase my pace, he leaned down, grasping me beneath the arms and pulled me up. I didn’t want to stop, but I also knew what he had in mind, and already I could feel my body beginning to build once again at the thought of him plunging deep inside me.

He leaned in without a word, lowering me back on the bed, and seconds later, I could feel his hard cock pressing against my pussy. At the same time, I tilted my hips up to him, he thrust forward, moving slowly, burying himself deep inside me, filling me, stretching me, inch by splendid inch. I’d never felt so full, so complete. His pace increased, setting an innate rhythm that drove me higher and higher by the second. But just as I was about to wrap my legs around his hips, he rolled and flipped over, pulling me with him and setting me on top. I braced my hands against his tattooed chest and continued the rhythm he’d started, though it wasn’t long before our pace grew frantic. The moment he reached between us to rub my clit, I knew I was done for. My back arched as I grinded hard against him, and there was no way I could have silenced the scream that tore from my lips. He must have been close, too, because seconds later, he thrust hard, deep once more before he stilled and his blissfully violent groan rang out like music to my ears. I collapsed against him, too exhausted to even climb off, but he didn’t seem to mind; he wrapped his arm around me and held me there. Tiny waves of pleasure continued to ripple through my body as the minutes passed. I laid there without saying a

word, never feeling more satiated, more content in my entire life.

CHAPTER FIVE DECLAN I watched the gentle rise and fall of Sarah’s back for the second night in a row as a myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. And at the top of that list: What the hell was I doing? Rule number one: nothing serious. Rule number two: in and out. Rule number three: no overnights—ever. I’d only run into Sarah a couple of days ago, and I was breaking every rule in the book. And the worst part? I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but wrap my arm tighter around her and let sleep pull me under, feeling more relaxed than I could ever remember being before. I woke up some time later, though it was still just as dark as when I’d first closed my eyes, but it only took me about a second to figure out what had woken me up. Sarah’s hand was gliding softly over my chest, and then my shoulder, down and back up my arm. She moved slowly, as if she was exploring every inch, beyond the tattoos that had garnered her attention the night before. I kept my eyes closed, feigning sleep and letting her continue—not entirely for her benefit. But it wasn’t long before her fingers ghosted down my abdomen, and if she moved any lower, she was going to quickly realize I wasn’t as fast asleep as I appeared to be. So, I

shifted slightly as if I was just then waking up. Her hand was suddenly gone and I wished I’d feigned sleep just a little longer. As I opened my eyes, her head was resting on my chest, but she was looking up at me, and I no longer regretted letting her know I was awake. I could wake up to that face over and over again for the rest of my life and never get tired of seeing her there. Fuck, thinking like that was breaking a whole new set of rules I’d never even had to contemplate before, and I had no intention of letting thoughts like that slip back in again. This was physical. Sure, it was taking a bit longer than usual to get my fill of this woman, but that’s all there was to it. Just to emphasize my point, I pulled her closer to me, focusing instead on the feeling of her naked body against mine. Her tits pressed against my chest. The moist heat of her as I slipped my thigh between her legs…

**** I awoke again at 4AM, feeling Sarah slipping out of bed. She wasn’t sneaking exactly, but she didn’t seem to want to wake me up with her movements. Little did she know, I’d long since learned to wake up to the slightest change in my surroundings. I listened for a moment, but when she didn’t return to the room, I followed her out soundlessly, years of surveillance probably lending to my curiosity. She was in her father’s old office, wandering around the room, touching things, running her hands along the desk and the books on the shelves. She wasn’t just reminiscing, she was thinking. I lingered back, preventing her from noticing me, all the while wondering—hoping—her father hadn’t left anything behind that I’d be forced to explain. She reached up high on the shelf a moment later and pulled down an old cardboard box. I gritted my teeth as she placed it down on the desk and lifted off the lid, but it appeared to be nothing more than a bunch of family pictures, old artwork Sarah had probably made in school, and a bunch of other stuff I couldn’t figure out why a person would want to keep. It all sat hidden away in boxes for twenty years, to be pulled out once in a fit of melancholy before being forgotten again for

another two decades. What was the point? She sat down at the desk with her findings and I could see her face again, her cheeks moist with tears, and I suddenly felt like a jerk, secretly prying into her private moment of grief. Even worse, I felt the urge to do something; to make her feel better somehow. But that definitely was not my department. I was just about to creep back to her bedroom, leaving her to reminisce over handmade gifts and photo booth snapshots, when she pulled something else from the bottom of the box. Something that made me cringe while my pulse pounded doubletime. Even before she’d laid them open on the desk, I knew exactly what they were: passports—one for a young woman and another for a baby girl—and I knew without seeing them up close that the woman looked an awful lot like Sarah’s mother. The baby on the other passport would look just like Sarah had as an infant—because it was Sarah. The only problems? The names on those passports were ones Sarah had never heard before. If her father had merely adopted her, she would no doubt wonder why her mother’s name and her own were different on those passports; that, and why the hell the child’s date of birth didn’t match the one she’d identified with all her life. This was certainly going to poke holes in my

whole ‘adoption’ story. She sat there staring back and forth between the pictures, a crease of confusion forming in the middle of her usually smooth brow. Part of me wanted her to know, of course. My mother had been right: I did think she deserved to know the truth about who she was. About who her father was. But I’d been on the job long enough to know it wasn’t about what I—or even she—wanted. So, there was only one thing I could to do. I stepped out from where I’d been hiding. I hadn’t bothered getting dressed when I followed her out of the bedroom, so I was reasonably hopeful I’d be able to entice her back to the bedroom. And though clouded with emotion just a moment before, her eyes were almost instantly clear and full of desire. Fuck, the woman seemed to have an appetite as insatiable as my own. Once she’d leave for work, I’d clear the house of every incriminating piece of evidence her father had carelessly left behind. And then, that’d be it. It would be time for me to hit the road. But until then…

**** We’d barely drifted off to sleep when Sarah’s alarm brought us back from the brink. While I’d long become accustomed to interrupted sleep, it surprised me that she was able to so easily force herself out of bed. The Sarah from a decade ago couldn’t function on less than a full night’s sleep, though I was coming to realize there were vast differences between that Sarah and the one that had consumed nearly all of my thoughts since I’d come back to Westport. That was it, though. It no longer mattered how many ways she was different or the same as the girl I’d known back then. She’d be off to work soon, and I’d be long gone by the time she got home. Still, I couldn’t resist joining her in the shower— where was the harm in one last time? Later, though, I got the feeling she sensed something was different, and the professional façade she donned along with her work clothes confirmed it. Or maybe she wasn’t sensing what I had planned; perhaps she was forging her own distance. I’d made it no secret that this was nothing more than great sex, and maybe that’s all she wanted, too. We’d had a couple of good days together; she was probably ready to move on and start looking for the next guy for a good time.

Damn, I didn’t like the thought of that, though I’d never been the jealous type before. It was time to get out of there before I started proposing something crazy, like seeing what else we’d be great at besides having sex. Definitely a bad idea. “I had a really great time last night,” she said, pausing to lock the front door on our way out. I’d unlocked the back door while she was getting dressed for work earlier, so I’d be able to slip back in easily once she was gone. “Me too, Sarah.” We hovered there for a moment, and while I should have just hightailed it to my bike, I leaned in instead, kissing her cupid bow lips one last time. They tasted like honey and jasmine—the tea she’d been drinking in between darting around the house getting ready. I’d never forget it; the sweetened floral taste etched permanently into my brain, along with the memory of the taste of every inch of her body. I tried to call up the taste of another woman I’d been with—any of them—but nothing came to mind. Not one woman had ever left a permanent mark like Sarah had. And she’d left a multitude of them. Without even closing my eyes, I could see her eyes sparkling with desire; her back arched and her hips writhing in the throes of passion. I could feel her fingers grazing along every tattoo on my body; I could hear every noise she’d made, from fevered

whispers to the cries she couldn’t hold back when I made her come again and again. Maybe worse than that, I could clearly hear her gentle inhaling and exhaling as she drifted off to sleep, and I could see the tiny furl between her brows when something in her dreams made her scowl. “Alright, well, I’m going to be late…” she said as she took a step back and started down the front steps. She didn’t ask if I’d be there when she got back, or if we’d see each other again. Whether she knew what was on my mind, or had made up her own, she knew this was the end. “Goodbye, Sarah,” I whispered too quietly for her to hear me. I made for my bike, revving the engine as I rode away without another glance, but I didn’t go far. I circled around the neighborhood a few times, making sure she was long gone and turned back. Ten minutes later, it was safe to say she was gone for the day, and I headed back, leaving my bike parked around the corner—just in case. It took me nearly four hours to rummage through it all: boxes, file folders, storage containers scattered throughout the whole house, from the garage to the hidden cubby at the top of her dad’s bedroom closet. I had absolutely no idea what a pack rat Erik Wells was. It just didn’t mesh with the job: travel

light and leave no trail. Hell, if Erik had ever tried to get out of there in a hurry, he would have had to burn the house down to hide his shit. Maybe that was his backup plan. In my rummaging, it became clear that Erik had been keeping tabs on the whole lot of them all these years. It wasn’t surprising; he and I had both known Sarah’s mother’s death hadn’t been an accident. And the things that had been placed randomly around the storage spaces that would act as perfect kindling confirmed my off-hand suspicion that the man had known he’d have to burn the house down to destroy all the evidence he had stashed. It wasn’t until I’d nearly completed my sweep that I came upon a thin folder, tucked discreetly beneath the floor boards under Erik’s bed. Even if Sarah had cleaned out the place from top to bottom, she never would have stumbled upon it. And when I opened the folder, the letter at the top of the pile told me it had never been meant for Sarah to find, or anyone else. Except me. Declan, it read. I know ours has been a bumpy road, but I still believe I was right in recruiting you that fateful day long ago. While you may at times question the means by which we live our lives, rest assured that you have done good. I truly believe that. You have

been like a son to me all these years, and I can tell you in all honesty that I am proud of you. There is one more thing I must ask of you, though. I wish it wasn’t quite so large of a task I was leaving you burdened with, but I think perhaps you will thank me in time. I have left everything I know for you about Dominic Cane, where he’s been, his associates and every move I’ve been able to follow. I wish I had been able to complete my task. I would very much like to have been able to exact revenge on the man who took Sarah’s mother from us. But if you’re reading this, obviously, that was not meant to be. He is still out there, Declan, and Sarah will not be safe until you find him. However, once you have completed the task I’ve charged you with, put it away. Put it all away. I know this is a heavy burden; something that’s not easy for men like us to do. But you have done great things, and it’ll be time to move on. And I believe Sarah will be there to help you to do that, if you’ll let her. With all the love and affection of a father, Erik How the hell had the man known I’d be back here searching his floorboards? I set the letter aside. I fully understood what it was he wanted me to do, at least as far as Dominic Cane was concerned, but he wanted me to ‘put it

all away’ after? And about Sarah…was Erik saying what I thought he was? The man wanted me to give up the life he’d gotten me into—the life of an international vigilante—and settle down in my hometown…with his daughter? Was the man insane? But then again, it was a reasonable choice for a father. He’d taught me everything I’d ever need to know to keep Sarah safe. What more could a father hope for in a partner for his daughter? Well, for starters, how about a guy who was meant for the small-town life…one who had even the faintest inclination to settle down with one woman… A guy who was anyone but me. Nevertheless, that was an issue I’d worry about later. Right then, I’d have to focus on the task at hand. Obviously, Erik felt that Dominic was still a threat. The man had hoarded the case to himself for decades, determined to be the one to find him, and I knew why. It wasn’t that he wanted to be the one to bring Dominic Cane to justice; Erik wanted to be the one to exact his own kind of justice. It was a difficult line—justice and vengeance—a line more than a few of us skirted this way and that on many occasions, so there was no way in hell I was going to judge him for which side of the line he’d landed on. Dominic Cane had completely altered the

course of Erik’s life, in some ways for the better, perhaps, inadvertently bringing him and Sarah together. But Dominic had also murdered his friend…and then his wife…and god knew how many other people in cold blood. Whether it was vengeance or justice that put a stop to the asshole, it didn’t really matter. So then it was left to me to pick up where Sarah’s dad had left off. I scanned through the pages of information—notes, grainy photographs, a hand-drawn route of where Cane must have been spotted in the past couple of years—and I suddenly got a nasty feeling. The last place Erik had marked on the crude map was Baltimore. That’s where Sarah had been working prior to moving back home. I’d bet when Erik found out his daughter had been in potential danger, he’d gone rushing there in a hurry. The coroner’s report had stated that her father had had a heart attack while driving, dead long before the car wrapped itself around a tree. Was that the case? Or had Cane gotten to him? And if it had been Cane, why the fuck had the bastard left Sarah alone? Maybe Cane was only after Sarah to strike at her father. Sarah’s father had long given up on the idea of a wife or family when she came into his life. He’d been devoted to his profession well into his forties,

and had figured that would forever be his only companion. And then a young informant had come into his life, along with his wife and newborn daughter. Nearly a year later, upon finding the informant murdered, Erik offered sanctuary to the man’s wife and daughter, bringing them home to Westport, and giving them new identities. And though still devoted to his job, he’d fallen helplessly and hopelessly in love with the both of them. If someone wanted to hurt Erik, those women would be the place to strike. But was that the end of it then? Was Sarah safe because there was no one to hurt with her death? The shocking truth of that hit me hard, much harder than I’d expected. Sarah had no family. Aside from my own who thought fondly of her, she had no parents, no siblings…no one who would mourn her if she was gone. I would. The thought came to me unbidden, but I chalked it up as pity. Who wouldn’t feel bad for a girl who had no family to miss her? Still, was it safe to assume Cane was finished? No. I didn’t even need to give it a second thought. Erik had been responsible for the death or incarceration of three of Cane’s brothers, two uncles and a handful of cousins. My gut told me this wasn’t the end of it. Alright. So, I had no idea where Cane was,

nothing but a few grainy photographs to figure out what the guy looked like, and some notes about business interests and family connections. Well, in the past I’d been given far less to work with and managed just fine. I checked over the house once more, making sure I hadn’t missed anything and that all signs I’d been there had been cleaned up. Aside from the file folder in the floor, I’d come up with a handful of letters, pictures and other things that would be best if Sarah didn’t find. I was erasing all evidence of who she really was; I knew that. But then, more than ever, it was best she knew as little as possible, at least until I could figure out where to go from there. I stopped by the hospital on my way back to the motel, though I kept my presence there discreet. I just wanted to see with my own eyes that she was alright, though the chances of Dominic Cane waltzing into the ER and shooting her pointblank was unlikely, at best. I spotted her quickly, and while I should have just turned and left the way I’d come in, I stood there for a moment, watching her. She was stitching up a patient’s arm, talking soothingly to him while her hands moved quickly and confidently. Just then, I saw those same hands in my mind’s eye moving in a very different way, slowly, tantalizingly over her own body like she’d done to

tease me the night before. Fuck. I turned around hastily and fled, not caring if she happened to spot my retreating form. This was going to have to be the fastest job I’d ever done because there was no way in hell I was sticking around for long.

CHAPTER SIX SARAH “I come bearing dinner,” Declan greeted as I opened the door, thrusting a large, brown paper bag into my unsuspecting arms. I’d been quite certain by his demeanor this morning that he was ready to make a beeline out of town, so why was he standing on my front porch? Could my senses have been that off? It was possible, but I’d made my peace with his leaving; at least, I’d thought I had. I wasn’t going to overanalyze the fact that something fluttered inside me when I found him standing there. And I certainly wasn’t going to consider the irrational possibility that he’d come back because he realized he wanted more than just mind-bending sex. “Thanks, but what brings you here?” He nodded to the bag I held in my hands. “I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up something for dinner. I was hoping you’d provide dessert, though,” he added suggestively, stepping inside and making me take a step back. Okay, so he was just back for another round. Was I alright with that? I mentally shrugged. I suppose I’d have to be, given the way every fiber of my body had sprung to life at the sight of him. It was a weakness I was fast

realizing I would forever fall helpless to. It had been ingrained in me at a young age with an infatuation that had lasted far longer than I’d thought. “Fine, but you’re on dish duty.” “I’ve got that covered, too,” he said, rummaging through the top of the bag, pulling out paper plates. I rolled my eyes, but turned and started toward the dining room. I carefully avoided glancing down the hall to the bedrooms and office, hoping that by sheer will I could keep him from looking that way, too. With nothing else to occupy me, and needing some form of distraction, I’d started in my father’s office, taking down files, sorting through boxes and cleaning off every shelf in the room. There had to be answers somewhere, but I’d yet to find them in all my rummaging. I really didn’t feel like explaining myself to Declan. It still stung that he’d known about my father and I hadn’t. I wouldn’t have been any the wiser if I hadn’t overheard the private conversation between him and his mother. “Redecorating?” I cringed. So much for sheer will. But still, it was none of his business. “I guess you could say that,” I answered vaguely, continuing to the dining table and placing

the bag down without a backward glance. Hopefully, that put an end to the conversation. He seemed to take the hint because he said nothing else about the hallway disaster as he placed the plates down and started pulling containers from the bag. We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, though I doubted it escaped his attention any more than mine that the air between us seemed to crackle with sexual energy. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since I’d last felt him deep inside me, but it felt like much longer, as if we’d been delaying an inevitable coupling for days or weeks—not hours. “Did you have any luck finding what you were looking for, Sarah?” Not the question I’d been expecting. Apparently, he hadn’t taken the hint after all. “No, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to clean up all the stuff in there eventually anyway,” I tried to brush off the subject again. He sat there silently for a moment, his gaze peering into mine, though I couldn’t have read his thoughts if my life had depended on it. Suddenly, this Declan seemed different. Still the same in many ways, there was an alertness that hadn’t been there that morning, as if he was trying to interpret everything that was said—and everything that wasn’t.

“Well, you’ve got a spare set of hands at the moment. Why don’t I help you clean it up?” “That’s really not necessary.” “If I go stumbling through that hall in the middle of night, I’m liable to wipe out flat on my ass.” He’d already stood up, and dumping the plate in the trash, he started back the way he’d come and down the hall to the monstrous disaster. When exactly had Declan Ross become a neat freak? And more importantly, he planned on staying the night? Again?

CHAPTER SEVEN SARAH I opened my eyes to the sun just barely peeking out above the horizon. I hadn’t set my alarm since I had a rare afternoon shift that day, but apparently, my body was well accustomed to waking long before the sun was high enough in the sky to shine its rays through my open window. I’d been tempted to fall back to sleep, but if I’d stayed awake, I’d have hours to indulge in carnal delights before I even needed to start getting ready for work. Hmmm, maybe I should consider a permanent switch to the afternoon shift, I thought as I rolled toward the other side of the bed, thinking to take advantage of every moment. Once again, my hand fell onto the cold mattress instead of the hard, warm body I’d been expecting. Disappointment surged, but I brushed it away quickly. There might not be as much time available as I would have liked by the time Declan came back, but he’d be back. When exactly had I come to expect him to be there? Nevertheless, it was true, I realized. More than three weeks had passed since Declan had come back to Westport, and though we’d never talked about a relationship, I’d begun to think of us that way. He’d said he wanted nothing more than

sex, but then he’d come back, and he’d come back again…and again. It had only been a few weeks, but I’d come to anticipate him there after work, and if he wasn’t there in the morning, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he returned. So quickly it had become strange to find the house so quiet. Declan was just as much of an early riser as I was, perhaps more so, so it wasn’t often quiet like this first thing in the morning. But if I got coffee and a shower out of the way, there’d be plenty of time for other, more interesting pastimes when he returned. I sat up slowly, groggier than was usual for me, and I’d only just managed to swing my legs over the edge of the bed when the room began to spin. The sensation made my stomach clench rhythmically, and I sat there gripping the edge of the mattress, waiting for the fit of queasiness to pass. Gradually, the waves of nausea began to subside, and I waited another moment, hoping for them to stop entirely; they did, though I feared I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I thought through my schedule for the next several days, and it made ironic sense. I’d signed on to attend two wellness clinics this week on top of my regular schedule. I didn’t have time to be sick. So, with a determination born out of sheer stubborn will, I stood up, padded down the hall to the kitchen, and forced down a cup of coffee from

a pot that couldn’t have been brewed more than twenty minutes before. At least that gave me a clue as to when Declan had left, though the knowledge did nothing to help me figure out when he’d return. I continued on with my morning routine, and twenty minutes before the start of my shift, I left the house. Declan still hadn’t returned, and while I was disappointed, perhaps it was for the best. I’d gotten far too used to him being there, and while I was willing to consider the possibility that whatever it was between the two of us had been developing into something more, it was still possible he was just having a good time. I’d have contemplated the topic longer, but as I parked my car in the hospital parking lot and started across the black pavement toward the doors, an eerie sensation crept down my spine once again. It was the same feeling I’d pushed aside a few weeks before, and it was back in spades, so much that I whipped my head around, scanning the surrounding cars, squinting to see past the glare of the sun on the windshields. What exactly I was looking for, I didn’t know; a creepy guy with a hockey mask and a chainsaw seemed sufficient to explain away the unnerving tingle that made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. But there was nothing. Not only was there no deranged madman lurking in the parking lot, there wasn’t anyone at all. The cars were all empty. In

fact, aside from a well-dressed gentleman—with no hockey mask or chainsaw—who had just entered the hospital’s front door, the lot was devoid of people altogether. Maybe I was more sleepdeprived than I’d thought. Still, I flew across the remainder of the lot at a rapid pace and couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that whooshed from my lungs once I was safely inside. The day was shaping up to be a strange one, indeed.

CHAPTER EIGHT DECLAN I saw Sarah emerge from the hospital doors and I slipped my phone back in my pocket. Weeks of investigating had turned up nothing—well, not exactly nothing, but so little, it might as well have been nothing. I’d checked in with every contact that might have proved useful and done everything I could to flush out the son of a bitch. The only thing I had to go on was a single sighting months ago, suggesting he hadn’t left the area altogether. That, and the intuitive certainty Cane was coming for Sarah. I didn’t know when or where, hence why I’d spent the past several weeks in her near-constant company. I’d never spent so much time with one woman in my life. I should’ve been going stir crazy, clawing at the confines of my invisible cage. But I wasn’t. It had been nice spending time with Sarah. Sure, I felt like a complete asshole for leading her on like I’d been, but I didn’t have a fucking choice. Better that she be a little hurt by my leaving when the time came than to be dead, wasn’t it? Still, with how elusive the guy had been, I was beginning to worry I’d be hearing wedding bells long before he surfaced. A shiver ran down my spine and I resisted the urge to shake it off visibly.

But damn, wedding bells? Sure, if I had to imagine myself with a woman for the next fifty years, Sarah was probably the only one I could see myself tolerating. But marriage was for a different sort of person. Certainly not for the kind of guy who had no permanent address and no desire for one. So why the hell was I even thinking about it? Because I was more aware than most that it could sometimes take months, if not longer, to track down a mark—that’s why. Sarah seemed to be taking things day by day with us, but what happened if a month went by…and then two…then six? How long before she wanted to define what was going on between us? But there was no sense in worrying about it. I’d just have to double my efforts and find the bastard. I was a damn good hunter. Find him, kill him and get the hell out. It was that simple. And with that resolved in my mind, I grinned as she slowed her steps a few feet from me. She was smiling back, but there was an uneasy look in her eyes, too. She was uncomfortable; on edge. I hadn’t even considered that angle, but what if I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t looking for a happily ever after? She wasn’t big on relationships. It had surprised me to hear it, but she hadn’t been lying when she’d said her love life had been confined to a string of casual flings. What if she was looking for

a way to end this? Wouldn’t that just be great? How to keep a woman from kicking me to the curb wasn’t exactly amid my areas of expertise since I never stuck around long enough to overstay my welcome. What the hell was the woman turning me into? “Hey, Sarah. I just stopped by to ask a favor of you.” Maybe we’d just been spending too much time together and she needed some space, so I thought I’d offer to give us a night off—which basically amounted to me staking out her house from a discreet distance while she did…well, whatever she did when she wasn’t banging me. The blood circulating through my veins threatened to drain into my cock at the thought of her pinned beneath me, but I forced the images from my mind. There’d be none of that happening, and it was a good thing, too; I was getting far too used to jumping at the opportunity to fuck the same woman night after night. “What favor might that be?” she asked, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she looked past me and around the parking lot. What the hell was going on in that incredible brain of hers? “Um…” Right…think quick. “I got cajoled into dinner with Hope and John tomorrow night. I was hoping you’d agree to come with me.” While Sarah might have had enough of me, Hope was a

different story. “Yeah, alright. I’d love to see Hope again.” “Great. I’ll pick you up around eight?” She nodded, but didn’t turn to leave. We stood there in awkward silence for a moment, and though she still seemed off, I could see the heat flaring in her eyes. While her mind might have been ready to move on, her body certainly wasn’t, and if I lingered there any longer, I’d have been hardpressed to get her home before I fucked her brains out. A night off—that’s what we both needed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I said quickly and then revved the bike’s engine. An hour later, I was parked a few doors down from her house in an inconspicuous car she wouldn’t recognize. I’d brought along an enormous thermos of coffee to keep me alert through the night, but I had a feeling that sitting there wondering what the woman was up to would keep me plenty awake—and hard as hell. But as I watched her move from room to room, I first thought she’d returned to the task of searching the house for clues to her past. It didn’t take long to realize that she wasn’t rummaging through boxes, though: she was doing a sweep of the house, checking for…something. She was also battening down the hatches—windows and doors locked, curtains pulled. She peeked outside often, looking up and down the street and then dropping

the curtains back into place. What was she doing? I watched as she opened the door and took a tentative step outside. She looked up and down the street like she’d done from the window and then scurried back inside. And that’s when it hit me— which it should have long before then. It’s why Sarah had been tense, looking around when she’d come out of work. She was looking for something —or rather, someone. To my shame, I’d been so caught up in what had been going on between the two of us that I’d attributed her unease to that and hadn’t even recognized what it really was. It was clear, blatant proof I shouldn’t be the one doing this. I was just way too damn close to the situation. But since there was no other option at the moment, I examined what I knew. Sarah was on edge; not scared, but it was enough. What exactly had happened to make her so anxious? Whatever it was had taken place at some point between the time I’d left her sleeping peacefully that morning and the time I’d seen her in the parking lot after work. So, it was reasonable to assume whatever it was had happened at the hospital. I considered one possibility after another in a process of elimination. It wasn’t a nasty accident that had dug up memories of her childhood. She would be distraught, not uneasy—I’d seen that one firsthand. It wasn’t a fight with a colleague—she’d

be pissed or agitated. She’d want to talk to me about it like she had earlier in the week when she’d had a disagreement with a coworker. And that left me with two conclusions: first, I knew far too much about the woman, and second, whatever had made her uneasy was tied directly to the reason I was still lingering around. How I was supposed to find out exactly what had happened though, I didn’t know. If I’d been able to be upfront with her from the start then I could simply confront her about it. But since she had absolutely no idea what I was up to, I was going to have to lead her into revealing the event herself. And since I’d foolishly opted to give the both of us a night off, it would have to wait ‘til tomorrow. Fortunately, I had plenty of hours to figure out how to do that since I had even more of a reason to keep an alert eye on her house—all night. By the time morning came, I was bleary eyed and sexually frustrated. Sometime after midnight, my thoughts had turned inside the house, wondering whether Sarah had gone to bed…and if she slipped beneath the covers naked…and if she’d been desperate for physical release and taken matters into her own hands. Images of Sarah had plagued me for hours: her hands grazing over her own body, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples; her skilled fingers

slipping into her slick pussy, moving slowly at first, fighting the urge to rush headlong to the end, drawing it out until the need to come overwhelmed her resistance. Fuck. If she didn’t get her ass to work soon, my own self-control was going to crumble and she’d end up with more than her morning coffee to get her day started.

**** I met Sarah outside the hospital after work, since I’d been sitting out there keeping an eye on things the whole day anyway, and we met Hope and John just outside the restaurant lobby a few minutes later. Upon seeing them, Sarah’s steps faltered. I could see very well what had caused her a moment’s pause. Hope no longer looked pleasantly pregnant; she looked big, uncomfortable and generally unwell. Was this a normal state of pregnancy? Apparently not, because Sarah had kicked into doctor mode. She was concerned, but she was also calm and confident, as if she’d encountered whatever was wrong with Hope a million times and had the cure to every ailment in her pocket. “How long have you been feeling ill, Hope?” she asked, bypassing all greetings. “Oh, it’s just a headache. It’ll pass.” “Are you dizzy, too?” “Maybe a bit. Why?” “What else?” Sarah asked expectantly, though her voice was soothing enough that it was hard to feel distressed. “Nothing much. It feels like the little munchkin’s been sitting on my liver for the past few hours…”

“How far along are you?” “I just passed thirty-seven weeks. Why?” “Well, I could be wrong, but I think you’re about to get to meet that little munchkin.” She said it in such a way that it sounded like a good thing, but what Hope was describing hardly sounded like labor—not that I was any kind of expert. But since this wasn’t Hope’s first child, I would have thought she’d notice if she was about to give birth. “What do you mean, Sarah?” Hope’s hands had moved protectively to her belly, confirming my suspicion. “I think what you’re experiencing is preeclampsia, Hope. Since you’re close to your due date, it would be best to get you to the hospital and get your labor underway.” Hope looked up at John with panic in her eyes, but Sarah was quick to reassure her. “I know it sounds scary, but you’re far enough along that it’s perfectly safe to deliver now.” Hope nodded, and as if she were absorbing Sarah’s courage, she squared her shoulders and nodded to John. “Are you ready to meet the newest member of the McLellan clan?” “I’ll meet you at the hospital and we’ll get you checked in,” Sarah told her and then Hope and John were off. Sarah turned to me expectantly like I had any idea what had just transpired. Espionage and

weapons, sure, I knew plenty; pregnancy and childbirth, not so much. And obviously seeing I had no clue, she smiled indulgently. “As I said before, I think Hope has a condition called preeclampsia. It can be very dangerous, but since she’s safe to deliver, there should be nothing to worry about.” She patted me on the arm like she had done with Hope, and I realized she was trying to offer comfort and reassurance. What I wasn’t going to tell her was that her calm confidence had worked on me, too. With Hope in her care, I knew there was no reason to worry. Eleven hours later, I had a brand new—and completely healthy—nephew. While the obstetrician on staff had taken over Hope’s care, Sarah had stayed with her the entire time, and I think that did far more to reassure my sister than anything her attending doctor had said or done. I had popped in and out of the room, not at all comfortable with the situation in general, but there was no way I was going to leave Sarah there on her own. “I don’t know how my sister does it,” I’d told her one of the times she’d come out to grab a coffee from down the hall. “It looks pretty rough, but most women make it through childbirth just fine,” she’d replied. “Not that part. I mean the new human part. Hope’s going to have three now, and hell, I can’t

picture myself taking care of one other living being,” I’d confessed, baffled by the pull some have toward childrearing. “I even have someone else take care of my houseplants,” I whispered in mock-horror, and she smiled, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Sarah had been preoccupied with Hope after that, but she’d emerged from the delivery room about an hour ago with my nephew in her arms. I peeked at the waterlogged-looking little human with a hint of interest, but when she’d held out her arms for me to take him, I’d declined. I hadn’t been kidding—I knew absolutely nothing about babies and I was completely comfortable with that. Once Hope and my nephew were able to rest, we decided to head back to Sarah’s place. As we climbed the steps to her front porch, she stopped and began to fidget with the keys in her hand. “Look Declan, I’ve had a really great time the past few weeks, but we knew at the beginning this wasn’t supposed to last. I think it’s time you got back to your life in the big city…or wherever it is you’ve been all these years.” She was giving me the brush-off? I should have been relieved, but I didn’t want to go just yet; I still had a job to do, of course. “I don’t think there’s any reason for it to end so soon. We’re good together, Sarah.” “Yes, we have been. But we’ve practically

been playing house the past few weeks, and that isn’t what either of us wants, is it? You made it perfectly clear it wasn’t what you wanted, so, I think it’s best if we cool it now.” “That’s what you really want?” I couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Maybe it was just my ego talking, but something was telling me there wasn’t anything genuine in that speech, aside from the dull ache I could see in her eyes. Nevertheless, there was nothing more I could say. She was the first woman I’d spent more than a few hours with, and she’d had enough. But regardless of who ended it—her or me—it had to end eventually. It would have been better if it could have lasted until I’d managed to eliminate Cane, but it was possible for me to keep watch from a distance. And so, it was settled. I nodded and leaned in to kiss her one last time, feeling something very unlike ‘goodbye’ in her kiss, and then I turned and left. I ignored the way my chest suddenly felt like a band had been wrapped around me and the woman on the porch, and how the further I walked, the more it tried to pull me back. Once on my bike, I drove around for a while with no particular destination in mind. I needed to put some distance between the two of us but I also knew the time for that was limited. I’d have to be back at her house before long, sitting at watch from

thirty yards away. It wasn’t much of a distance, but I felt better when I was right there with her, knowing I’d let nothing get to her. Like this, there were no absolute guarantees; there were windows I couldn’t see from my position, and the back door was impossible to watch from anywhere. And since she’d closed all the windows and curtains, there was no way for me to know what was going on inside the house with absolute certainty. While everything was always a gamble in my line of work, suddenly, with Sarah, any gamble was too big. This wasn’t going to work. There was only one other solution: I was going to have to tell her the truth. She needed to understand why I had to be there; that it was the only way I could keep her safe. She would hate me, no doubt, when she discovered all I’d been keeping from her, but if that was the price I had to pay to keep her alive, then so be it.

CHAPTER NINE SARAH I’d paced back and forth across my room the entire day trying to make sense of the mess I’d gotten myself into. It wasn’t until I’d come face to face with Hope, seeing her rounded belly, that it hit me. I wasn’t sick; I wasn’t coming down with the flu. I was pregnant. But I’d recognized Hope’s symptoms seconds later and the doctor in me had taken over, focusing on Hope to the exclusion of everything else. I hadn’t had a spare moment to think about it again until I’d stopped in the waiting room on my way for coffee. And then, before I’d even had time to process my own feelings, Declan had made his clear. He wasn’t cut out for parenting, and never intended to be. After that, the decision had been simple, even if it wasn’t an easy one. Hell, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. But I wouldn’t be the woman who trapped Declan in a life he’d never wanted, and since the only alternative was to send him packing long before he could find out, that’s what I did. He hadn’t put up much of a fight, which confirmed it had been the right thing to do, but

damn, I’d wished he had. And not just because I was suddenly facing motherhood all on my own, but because I’d fallen so much harder for him than I’d ever thought possible. I’d darted out for a pregnancy test shortly after Declan had left—which only served to confirm my suspicions—so it was time to move on. I tried, thrusting Declan to the back of my mind as much as I could when I started my shift at the hospital the next morning, focusing on one patient after another and not letting my thoughts wander astray. “Are you Dr. Sarah Wells?” a man asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere to the left of me. I mentally ran through the list of patients I’d cared for that day, trying to place who he might be inquiring after. He looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t think of any familial resemblance to any of my patients. I knew I’d seen the man before, but where? The well-dressed gentleman from the parking lot—that’s who he was. But then, what did he want with me, and why were the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end? “I am,” I answered belatedly. “Well, you see, I’m in a bit of a predicament, Dr. Wells.” “Oh? How can I help?” I offered, trying to ignore the prickle of unease.

“I need an attractive, young doctor to follow me out of the hospital,” he said lightly, taking an unobtrusive step closer. I laughed uncomfortably, brushing off the unnerving sensation. If I understood him right, the man—a complete stranger—was trying to pick me up right there in the middle of my shift. “I’m flattered, sir, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” “That’s really too bad. I was hoping to avoid having to kill anyone in your emergency room, Dr. Wells,” he said in the same light tone. He spoke so casually that at first, I thought I must have heard him wrong, but when I met his gaze, the threat in his eyes was clear. Panic welled in my chest. Who was he? What did he want? “Do you see that gentleman standing in the corner across the room?” he asked and my gaze darted in that direction. There was a man there, dressed in an expensive suit and holding something that glinted like steel, half-concealed in his hand. He wasn’t looking at me, but I followed his line of sight and gasped. The man was staring at the seven-year-old boy laying on a gurney in the treatment area. I’d just set his broken leg not twenty minutes prior. “Do you see him, Dr. Wells?” the man next to me asked coolly. My throat was suddenly too dry to talk, so I nodded instead.

“Good. And the other gentleman standing near the triage desk—can you see him?” I didn’t want to look, but I did, and I shivered in fear, seeing him standing there in the same kind of expensive suit with the same glint of steel in his hand. Jennifer was sitting at the triage desk with her back to him. She had no idea there was a man with a gun standing right behind her. “Yes,” I croaked, forcing the single syllable past my parched throat. “Good. I’m sure you understand then that I really must insist you come with me. Once you do, those gentlemen will have no further business here, I assure you.” “I don’t understand,” I whispered, fighting back tears. I wasn’t going to cry. I had no idea what the man wanted, but I certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of tears. “Don’t worry. You will soon,” he said, and then extended his arm, offering it like some oldfashioned gentleman. “How do I know those men will leave if I go with you?” “You don’t. But I guarantee that if you refuse to do what you’re told, there will be far fewer people who will require your services today, Doctor.” My hands shook, but I took his arm, recoiling at the warmth of him through his suit jacket and the

feeling of his skin as he placed his hand on top of mine. “We’ll go out the back way. Through here,” he motioned down the hall with his head and started leading me away. I tugged on his hold and started to walk faster. It was foolish of me, but I wasn’t going to let this man drag me around. I didn’t know what was going on, but surely it had to be some sort of mistake. Once we got outside and he told his men to leave the hospital, there had to be something I could do. And a moment later, he pushed open the door to the side parking lot. Two steps out the door, I put on the brakes. “Now tell those men to leave,” I demanded, pulling against the vicelike grip in which he held my arm. “Certainly, Sarah,” he replied in the same disconcertingly calm tone. He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and put the phone he withdrew to his ear. “Come join us at the car,” he spoke into the phone before slipping it back into his pocket. There. He’d called off his lackeys. All I had to do was get free of his hold on me and I’d scream bloody murder. I waited a second, and then another, trying to focus on what I had to do. And then I did it. I stomped down on the man’s foot with my heel as hard as I could and yanked my arm from him at the same time.

It worked. I was free. I turned to run as I opened my mouth to scream, but all the air whooshed from my lungs as I ran right into a solid, suit-clad chest. The owner of the chest flung me around, catching me around my ribs with one, steellike arm. I had no time to try to run, but I knew I had to do something. I jabbed at the solid wall of flesh behind me with my elbows and kicked back at the man’s shins. He didn’t budge, but I felt a cool, sharp edge against my throat seconds later, and I froze. I couldn’t see it, but I didn’t have to. I knew what it was. “I thought we had an understanding, Sarah.” “I did what you said. I followed you out of the hospital. Now let me go!” I started to struggle, but my own movements pressed the blade harder against my throat. I felt the sting seconds before something warm and wet trickled down my neck. My own blood. I stopped struggling but pressed my head back against the chest behind me to try to lessen the pressure of the knife while I seethed in frustration and fear. “You are so much like your mother,” the man said, drawing my attention as he blotted the blood on my neck. I tried to recoil further, but there was nowhere else to go. “You knew my mother?” If this man knew her, why was he doing this?

“Yes, I knew her. And I killed her.” That wasn’t possible. “My mother died in a car accident.” “No, my dear. That’s just what your father wanted you to believe. It was easier on you that way. Just like he thought it would be easier on you to keep everything else hidden from you, too.” “You’re lying!” He smiled coolly and a shiver raced down my spine. Whether this man was spouting lies or not, there was one thing for certain: he wasn’t going to let me go. I’d been trying to keep some semblance of calm until that moment, but panic and terror overwhelmed me. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t move; the only thing I could do was scream. And so, I screamed. And then the whole world went black.

**** I don’t know how long I’d been unconscious, but when I came to, I knew I was no longer standing in the hospital’s side parking lot. I kept my eyes closed, trying to figure out what was going on around me without alerting anyone there to my state of consciousness. The floor beneath me vibrated gently; I was in a vehicle of some sort, but I wasn’t laying on a seat. The ground beneath my cheek was fabric, but it was scratchy, like the carpeted floor of a van. I listened, but aside from the quiet hum of the engine, I could hear nothing else. No sounds of traffic, no voices. Nothing. Maybe they’d thought I’d be unconscious longer and had tossed me in the back of a van. It was possible I was all alone there and no one would notice if I slipped out the back while the vehicle was still moving. Yes, it was possible! I tried to test my limbs, making sure they were ready, but my hopes for escape plummeted quickly when I realized my hands were bound behind my back. Was it even possible to get up onto my feet without my arms? Yes, it was. If I could roll onto my back, I could push myself upward, and from a sitting position, I could easily stand…open the doors with my bound hands…turn around and

make a jump for it. Hopefully the vehicle wasn’t moving too quickly. If it was, I could try to hold off until it slowed, but that was risky. It wouldn’t give me much time before they noticed I was gone. Then again, if I broke my legs or hit my head jumping out of a fast-moving vehicle with my hands bound behind my back, I wasn’t going to get any farther. First things first—get up and get the door open. Then I’d worry about the next step. But as I opened my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. A man was sitting not three feet away, the same man who’d held a knife to my throat. His leering smile turned my spine to ice. “It’s nice of you to join us,” the same calm voice spoke from somewhere outside my line of vision. “I do apologize for this, but you understand I couldn’t have you causing a scene at the hospital, don’t you?” “Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything to you.” The leering man scoffed at the same time the eerily calm man moved into my view. There was a striking resemblance between the two men, the calm man—obviously the ringleader—looked at least two decades older than the other. Father and son? Great, I had multiple generations of psychos wanting to kill me, and I still had no idea why. “I’m sorry, Sarah, it’s true you didn’t do

anything,” he spoke as if he regretted what he was about to do, but there was no sincerity in his tone. “But I’m afraid when your father took away everything that was valuable in my life, I vowed to return the favor.” How could my father have possibly done anything so horrid as what the man was suggesting? The only possibility that came to mind… “Are you…are you my real father?” “You think that I would kill my own flesh and blood? Well, perhaps that is not so far from the truth. But I assure you I am no such thing to you, my dear. I eliminated that vile traitor who was your ‘real father’ many years ago.” “I don’t understand.” I really didn’t. But inch by inch, the cloud of panic that had settled over me at the hospital was beginning to recede, and in its place was the terrifying certainty that I was going to die. This man was going to kill me. And yet, I couldn’t make the smallest sliver of sense of what he was saying. “They really have kept you in the dark all these years, haven’t they?” “Who is ‘they’? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t understand any of this. You must be mistaken.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Fair? This man wanted to talk about fair? What was fair about this? “Your father was not the man you believed him to be, Sarah. All that time he spent away on ‘business’? Your father was not a businessman; more like a man who couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business. He killed my brothers…my cousins…and the family of mine he did not kill, he had taken away.” “No! You’re lying.” “It’s difficult to accept, I know. And the man you think so fondly of now, Declan Ross…” What did he know about Declan? Nothing! The man was a liar. “Just shut up. You don’t know a goddamned…” The sting of the younger man’s hand across my cheek cut off my words, causing the tears that had been brimming in my eyes to flow over. “You’ll have to forgive my son, Sarah. He’s grown rather…fond of you.” The van came to a halt then, and I couldn’t stop my body from rolling hard against the leering man’s legs. I skittered away as quickly as I could, feeling like a wriggling worm, using my hips and shoulders to move myself. “Ah! We’re here. Bring her along, Vincent,” the older man called back as the door opened and he stepped outside.

In that moment, my body shook so hard my cheek vibrated off the van’s floor. I tried to kick out at the younger man as he reached down to pick me up, but it was no use. He lifted me up and tossed me over his shoulder, one hand on my ass and the other subduing my legs. He leapt down from the van and I was forced to squint against the bright light. For some reason, I thought it would be dark. Murder happened in the dark…in shadows and alleys…not in the light of day. He didn’t put me down right away, and I craned my neck to look around, trying to get my bearings, as if that could somehow help me. I recognized my surroundings right away. We hadn’t traveled far, which meant I hadn’t been unconscious for very long at all. We were just outside of town in a remote area of a nearby state park. That time of year, with the leaves already beginning to morph from their vivid greens to mottled hues of yellow, orange and red, there weren’t many visitors around, unfortunately. The man holding me suddenly slid me to the ground and swung me around, pressing me against his chest. Before I could kick back at him, he’d shoved a thigh between my legs, hampering my efforts and making every attempt I made futile. “Your father really did try to keep you safe, Sarah, and that boyfriend of yours, caught between protecting you and hunting me…you were

fortunate to have such dedicated men in your life. It’s a pity it has to end now, isn’t it?” “Who are you?” I whispered, not that it mattered. What difference did it make what his name was? He was the man who was going to kill me… “My name is Dominic Cane.” The name meant nothing to me. I’d never heard it before. How could a man who I’d never heard of want to kill me? “Please…” I shut my mouth and forced back the tears threatening to spill over. I wouldn’t finish that sentence. I wouldn’t beg. And I damn well wouldn’t let that son of a bitch see me cry. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

CHAPTER TEN DECLAN Something wasn’t right. I’d felt it from the moment Sarah had left her house that morning. I’d stayed there most of the previous day and all night, watching from a careful distance and cursing the stubborn woman all the while. Aside from a brief jaunt to the pharmacy, she hadn’t stepped out of the house once all weekend until she’d left for work three hours ago. I’d swung by the motel to quick shower and check in with my informants, though they turned up no more than they had in the past several weeks at that point. Cane was being very careful about keeping the whole world in the dark about his whereabouts. I should be there, a voice in the back of my head whispered to me over and over, but I dismissed it each time. I wasn’t going to spend the next several weeks shadowing Sarah’s every move. In fact, if staying close had done little to aid in taking down Cane, maybe it was time to branch out. Instead of playing babysitter, maybe it was time to get back to what I did best: hunting the bastard down and smoking him out. Then I’d be free to move on just as easily at it seemed she’d been able to do. I’d been too close to her all this time, too afraid to divide my attention in fear of not being

there when she needed me the most. Even though she’d taken away my ability to be there, I needed to check on her at least once more, if for no other reason than to satisfy the incessant little voice that was threatening to drive me crazy. I hopped off my bike at the hospital, anxious to be on my way since I’d decided on my next move. I needed to put some distance between me and Sarah. I’d gotten far too used to being with her; far too accustomed to feeling her there beside me when I woke up in the morning; and I’d started liking it too damn much. I looked past the triage desk in the hospital, but I didn’t see her. I waved to the woman there to announce my presence and walked through to the emergency area. She wasn’t there. I checked my watch, but it wasn’t Sarah’s break time. So, where was she? “You must be Sarah’s secret,” a woman spoke from behind me. I turned to find her smiling up at me knowingly. It didn’t surprise me that Sarah had kept me ‘secret’. It wasn’t like her to chatter about her private life. “I suppose I must be,” I smiled, turning the charm on the young woman, hoping she’d happily point me in the right direction. “Good. Tell her to get her ass back to work. Disappearing in the middle of her shift—what was

she thinking?” “What do you mean ‘disappearing’?” “I mean, one minute she was here working, and the next she wasn’t. I thought she’d ducked into a closet here with you or something, but that was a while ago. If she’s going to hook up at work, she really needs to learn the meaning of a ‘quickie’.” Blood was pounding in my ears as my mind raced through every conceivable possibility of what happened to her, hoping for some reasonable and rational explanation for her sudden absence. But there wasn’t one. Not a good one, anyway. It wasn’t like Sarah to skip out on work, especially not in the middle of a shift. No, she wouldn’t have left willingly, and that only left one other possibility. I turned on my heels and started back the way I’d come. There was no point in trying to question the woman any further; she’d thought Sarah was getting it on in one of the hospital’s closets. Obviously, she wasn’t going to be of any help. I hopped on my bike and revved the engine, trying to figure out what the hell had happened without a single clue to go on. Why the fuck weren’t you there? that goddamned voice screamed at me all the while. I’d been vigilant for weeks; I let my guard down just once and… No; I refused to consider it. She wasn’t dead.

Sarah wasn’t dead. Damn it, she couldn’t be. Cane wouldn’t have killed her right there in the hospital; there would have been too many witnesses and no time for him to draw it out the way he’d like to. Okay, so he’d taken her somewhere. But where? Where could he take her to ensure his privacy while he… My stomach churned violently and my head spun as white-hot rage simmered in my veins. If that son of a bitch had laid a finger on her, I was going to make sure he died slowly, painfully; the most horrific death ever imagined. I mentally scanned through the area, thinking of all the potential places Cane might consider, but just then, my phone buzzed with an encrypted text from a nearby informant. Target spotted. Black Van. Twin Harbors State Park down the 105. 46.8574° N, 124.1086° W. Heading in for back up. It wasn’t in town, but it wasn’t far, either. Plenty of trees and not many people around this time of year—definitely a logical place. My hands trembled in fury as thoughts of just what he was intending to do tried to filter back in, but I forced them out. I sped through town as fast as I could, cursing the way the bike seemed to be moving slower than usual. I killed the engine about a half a mile from the area and double-timed it on foot as fast as I could. I couldn’t risk the bike’s

engine alerting Cane to my presence there if this was the place. I had nothing but a Glock 22 .40 caliber and a knife on me, so stealth and surprise were definite priorities. No matter how fast I ran, it didn’t feel fast enough. A minute passed and then another, but it felt like hours, even worse when I had to slow down as I got close, but it was the only way to silence my footsteps on the dried leaves on the ground. It didn’t take long to find her; Cane wasn’t even being discreet about it, that son of a bitch. A wave of relief washed over me, yet at the same time, my blood began to boil anew. I was relieved she was still alive, but there was no doubt Cane didn’t intend for her to stay that way for long. He had her not fifty feet from the park’s pathway. From where I was hiding, I could see that Cane’s son had her, and either he was holding her so tight she had no ability to fight him, or she’d given up fighting. I wasn’t sure which one bothered me more, but there wasn’t time to think about it. Cane had a gun in his hand, and though his hand still hung at his side, I could see the way his fingers were twitching. He wasn’t nervous; he was eager. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. I crept closer, cursing the damn loud leaves on the ground that slowed my progress, but within

seconds, I was in position. Two shots and they’d be down; so quickly, neither of them would know what hit them. It irked me to know they wouldn’t suffer, because at that particular moment, other than seeing Sarah safe, there wasn’t much I’d have relished more than seeing them writhing in agony. So, without a moment’s regret, I reached for my Glock, squinting my eye as I aimed. The son would have to go first. I couldn’t risk him having the opportunity to try to use Sarah as a shield. And that meant I’d have to be quick…and precise. I wanted to leave zero chance for Cane to have time to raise his gun. One deep breath. Exhale. And then the familiar bang reverberated in my ears. My target’s eyes bulged for the briefest of seconds as the bullet hit its mark, but I couldn’t take the time to watch to make sure he fell. One more breath. Exhale. Another shot rang out and the immediate crisis was over. The son fell to the ground and his father followed him down like a domino. Sarah stood there motionless, her expressive face making it clear she had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t fall to pieces. The woman was smart. She knew it wasn’t over, that there wasn’t time for her to crumble just yet, and she started to run. Not three steps in, two men appeared from

behind the black van next to where she’d been standing. I still had my gun in position, knowing there was no way Cane and his son would have been there alone. Three more steps and the man in the lead fell to the ground, never given the chance to reach for the gun in his holster. His fellow lackey didn’t miss a step, but continued right past, then a mere yard behind Sarah. He had one hand outstretched in front of him while the other slipped inside his jacket, but I was already there. I squeezed the trigger and knew before the bullet penetrated the man’s skull that it was over. Sarah was safe. I stood up from where I’d been crouching. I needed to see her up close…to touch her…to know with all my senses that she was okay. Her steps slowed, stuttered and stopped, but she didn’t approach me. Hell, she didn’t even look the least bit relieved to see me. She didn’t turn and run, but even with the distance between us, I could feel the nervous energy radiating from her. She was ready to dart. I took a slow, tentative step out from amid the brush. “It’s okay, Sarah. It’s over.” “Is it?” she shot back as she took a single retreating step, eyeing me warily. “It is. They’re gone. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“He knew you, Declan. How the fuck did he know who you were?” Damn. I’d known there would be no getting away with keeping Sarah in the dark after what had just happened, but I hadn’t anticipated the conflicted look in her eyes. Shouldn’t the guy who just shot the bad guys automatically be counted as one of the good guys? But it seemed she had no idea what to think, and I didn’t like the sting that came from it. I suppose I couldn’t really blame her. “He knew me because… because I worked with your father, Sarah. I’ve been looking for Dominic Cane for the past several weeks.” That was the best I could do at the moment. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. No doubt my answer did little to ease the confusion in her head. At least she didn’t bolt in the opposite direction when I took another tentative step forward, and then another. Her eyes were wide, watching me all the while, but she stayed where she was as I continued. Then I was standing in front of her where I could clearly see the swollen, red imprint of a hand on her cheek and the bruises on her arms. Her wrists were chafed raw like she’d been struggling valiantly against restraints for some time, which was no doubt exactly what had happened. I breathed deep, trying to tamp down the fury rising

anew. I wished I could bring the bastards back to life just to kill them again. Unbidden, my hands reached out. I just wanted to put my arms around her, to feel her against me; the warmth of her skin and the moderately steady rhythm of her breathing. Her whole body still trembled, but the tremors grew quieter as I held her close and pressed my lips against her forehead. Just then, I heard the sound of leaves crunching behind us. My informant and comrade, Jesse, had arrived to help take care of the mess. “You guys alright?” he asked, panting as he slowed his steps. “Yeah, man. There’s four of them down. I’ve gotta get her out of here, so thanks so much for offering to step in and get rid of these douchebags.” “Hey, no worries. You’ve gotten my back plenty of times, brother. Consider it done.” With a nod, I led a very stunned Sarah back to my bike and we sped off toward her house. It was done. Sarah was safe, and I’d done what Erik had asked of me. There would be nothing more to do but leave and get back to my life. Except…was that what I wanted? Was I ready to disappear again and take up what had been my life for the past decade? Right then, Erik’s words came back to me. Put

it all away…it’s time to move on…Sarah will be there… I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but somehow, her father’s words didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore. When exactly had it gone from harmless fun to…something so much more? Ten minutes later, I pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. As we got off the bike, I could still sense wariness on her part. She was looking at me, but what was she thinking? That I was a monster, just like Cane? Every life I’d taken and every vile thing I’d done in the name of justice flitted through my mind, and maybe ‘monster’ wasn’t so far from the truth. Even if I stopped right then, it wouldn’t undo the past, all the times I’d precariously balanced the thin line between justice and revenge. Could I really expect Sarah to want a monster? I didn’t know, but for the time being, I had to get her to calm down and understand the situation. “Hey… let’s go inside and I’ll draw you a warm bath.” “No.” It was the first word she said to me since Jesse had shown up at the park. She squared her shoulders, despite the tears in her eyes, “No, I’m not going anywhere until you explain to me exactly what the hell’s been going on. Those men were

going to kill me, Declan. But instead…you…you killed them.” “I know. I didn’t have a choice.” “How did you do it?” “Sarah, you said it yourself: they were going to kill you. What was I supposed to do?” “I mean, how did you do it? Since when were guys in big business skilled in shooting people?” “There’s a lot you don’t know,” I sighed heavily. “So, tell me.” She sat down on the front steps then, and I knew that unless I planned on tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her into the house, she wasn’t moving. Wrong of me or not, I debated it for a minute, but eventually, I sat down on the steps next to her. “Where do you want me to start?” “At the beginning.” And I did, reluctantly. I could have lied, but I didn’t. I told her all about the trouble I’d been in before her father recruited me, and then as much as I could about my life since then. I told her about her father, what a strong and courageous man he’d been, and that it was for her wellbeing that Erik had kept his life a secret. It wasn’t until the whole story was out that I realized how much I’d wanted to share it with her. She sat there quietly for a moment and then I saw something I’d never seen before. She’d been

holding herself rigid until then, the crisis not fully over until she understood it, but after she’d found out the truth, all that had happened and all that I’d said must have caught up with her. She blinked once, and then twice, and though her expression didn’t change, the tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled over and cascaded down her cheeks. I’d never seen Sarah cry; I didn’t think anyone had seen Sarah cry since she was a little girl. And I knew without a doubt that I was sunk because I would have given anything in that moment to take away her pain. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned against me, though I don’t know if it was for comfort or merely to prevent herself from falling over. Regardless, I gathered her up in my arms and she didn’t resist. And I was grateful because I needed her there. I’d never needed anyone my entire life, but I needed Sarah in that moment. “Go, Declan,” she whispered against my shoulder, and at first, I thought I’d heard her wrong because she made no move to push me away. But I heard it again, still a whisper, though it was stronger this time. “I’m not leaving you, Sarah,” I whispered back, making no effort to release her. “Yes, you are,” she said, sounding stronger and pulling away, though I could feel it wasn’t what she wanted. It was like her body fought her every

inch. “I appreciate your concern, and…and I know you saved my life today. I’m grateful. I am. But nothing else has changed. You have a very important life, and I think you need to get back to it. You said it yourself: I’m safe. You need to go home…wherever home is.” “I am home.” The words slipped out before I’d given them conscious thought, but I realized they were true. And though I was dangerously close to making a fool out of myself, I was only halfsurprised to realize I didn’t care. There was something not quite right with what she was saying. The words didn’t line up with the expression on her face. And Sarah could say whatever she wanted; her beautiful face gave her away every time. If I’d been paying better attention the last time she’d told me to leave, maybe I would have seen it. Or maybe I hadn’t been ready to see it. “You’ve got to be kidding. You haven’t been in Westport in ten years, but suddenly you want the white-picket fence?” “No. I want you.” It was that simple. I didn’t care if I lived in a big town or small town; if I worked as a vigilante or a bag boy at the local grocery store. None of it mattered anymore. “What happened to casual sex and harmless flings, Declan?” Her eyes were searching mine, trying to figure out what I was really saying…or

what I wasn’t saying. “You happened.” “I happened? You expect me to believe you’ve completely changed your perspective…that you’re a completely different person all of a sudden?” “I’m not a different person, Sarah. I think I’m just a complete one now.” She eyed me doubtfully, though it was written clearly in her expression that she wanted to believe me. And that meant I’d been right; she didn’t want me to go. Armed with that knowledge, I stood up, carefully pulling her with me. “I had no idea what had been missing. Honestly, until a few minutes ago, I didn’t fully understand it. But I do now.” Uncertainty warred in her eyes, and I thought I might be getting through to her. I was wrong. She pulled away hard, stubbornness replacing uncertainty. “No, Declan. I don’t know what it is you think you feel, but this isn’t you. And we’re not going to trap you here where you never wanted to be.” Had I heard her right? Who was ‘we’? Unless…it suddenly made sense; the morning she’d kicked me to the curb had been after the night spent at the hospital with Hope. Sarah was pregnant. And that was the real reason she was adamant about me taking a hike.

I waited to feel the heavy weight in my stomach or for an innate sense of panic to make me want to run for the hills. It didn’t come. Sarah was pregnant with our child. I was going to be a father. I should have felt terrified…or trapped, but I felt…in awe. Excited. Home. “You’re pregnant,” I told her matter-of-factly. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. And so, I did the only thing I could think of that would convey some small part of what I was feeling. I pulled her close before she could anticipate what I was doing, and covered her lips with mine. Her body was rigid, but it didn’t stay that way. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed and her hands came up to the back of my neck. I don’t know how long we stayed that way, locked in an embrace that conveyed more than mere words ever could. “I love you, Sarah,” I whispered against her lips as I pulled back just slightly. “And I’m going to love our baby…and our white-picket fence…and anything else in my life, as long as you’re in it.” “You’re not lying?” she asked, her tone full of incredulity while she scrutinized my face. “No, I’m not.” “I love you, too, and that’s why…” I pressed my finger against her lips. “I understand why. But I want to be here. There’s

nowhere else I’ll ever want to be.” It was time to move on, just like Erik had said, and I was ready. I was ready for a brand-new life; one I was already certain would be full of far more adventure and excitement than my old life could ever have offered…even if we never left the small, perfect town of Westport.

EPILOGUE DECLAN (3 years, 7 months later) “Alright my little cowboy, time to blow out your candles. Don’t forget to make a wish,” I whispered to my son Liam, who was decked out in his favorite Western outfit, complete with a tengallon hat and a holster for his Billy the Kid toy gun. Liam’s eyes poured over the massive cowboythemed ice cream cake topped with a huge number three candle that Sarah had ordered for the occasion. He inhaled slowly, his cheeks puffing up, and when his lungs were full, he paused for a moment and locked his eyes with mine, giving a quick wink before blowing out all the candles in one big huff. We all clapped and whistled as Liam leaned back in his chair looking proud. “I’m free,” he announced with glee—he was still working on his ‘thr’ sound—and my three nephews huddled around him in excitement. Sarah covered her swollen belly with one hand and began passing out forks and plates with the other, first to the kids, and then to my sister Hope and her husband John and me. “Alright, I hope everyone likes mint chocolate chip. It’s the

birthday boy’s favorite,” she said as she began to carefully carve the cake. John nudged me, leaning in as he asked, “Hey Declan, when’s that famous BBQ chicken of yours going to be ready? I’m starving.” “I’m sorry, man, it’ll be ready soon. We’d meant to serve lunch first, but this morning, the little guy insisted on opening presents early, so we thought we’d do the cake now instead. Can I get you a beer? I just picked up a case of this great IPA from Vermont that none of the stores around here can seem to keep in stock,” I offered. “Sure, I’ll take one of those in the meantime,” John said. “You’ve got it. Hey Liam, I know you’re chomping at the bit to open your presents, but Daddy has to run in the house for a second. Just hold tight for a few and enjoy the cake with your cousins. I’ll be right back.” Liam nodded obediently, raised his fork to the large cake slice that Sarah had served him and began digging in with gusto. I made my way onto the deck, took a peek at the food on the grill and popped into the kitchen. I grabbed two IPAs, a bag of chips and an empty bowl as Sarah and Hope were making their way inside. “I know I’ve seen it, what, about a hundred times now, but can I please get another peek at the

insane rock you have on your finger just one more time?” Hope begged when she got inside. Sarah obliged and splayed the fingers of her left hand for my sister, turning to look me in the eye, “I have to admit, Hope, I still can’t believe your brother splurged like he did.” “It’s so beautiful; I just love the setting and those accent stones are precious,” Hope gushed. “My hands are almost full, but I can grab something else if you ladies can think of anything else we need out there,” I interjected. “Oh, no, I’m here to help, Declan. Let me grab the beer and everything else you’re carrying and you go help your very pregnant wife,” Hope volunteered. I passed everything in my arms off to my sister and took Sarah in my arms. “Can you believe how far we’ve come, babe? Remember how I used to rail against the idea of kids and white picket fences? Now look at us.” “You’re right, a lot has changed, but thankfully, a lot still hasn’t,” Sarah cooed in my ear as her left hand rubbed my back, the other hand making its way around to the bulge growing in my jeans. “Fuck…last night…god, you were incredible,” I gushed. “I was incredible? You were relentless,” Sarah teased.

I pulled back, feigning a smug face and shrugged, “What can I say? I’m a man with an insatiable appetite.” “Yeah, well you’d better watch those IPAs, or you’ll start developing a Dadbod like your brotherin-law out there,” she chided. I pulled her in close, grabbing her firmly by the hips and kissed her deeply. “Once we wrap everything up later and the little man is asleep, I want to see if we can break last night’s record. They say the fourth time is a charm.” Sarah laughed, “I’m so glad I listened to you when you insisted that we set up Liam’s room on the opposite end of the house from our room.” I gave her a quick squeeze and patted her on the ass. “Alright, we should start to bring out the presents. I’ll grab the big one. I put the smaller, lighter ones in a bag over there near the fridge if you want to grab that,” I motioned. As we made our way back out to the party, Liam and his cousins were running around playing tag while Hope and John were busy clearing the dessert plates from table. “Alright, everyone. It’s time for presents!” I shouted. The kids stopped dead in their tracks and dashed over to the picnic table, bouncing around with excitement. Before I could place the largest present on the table, Liam was already shouting, “I

want the big one, Daddy! Let me open the big one!” Sarah followed, placing the smaller gifts by Liam and sat down next to me. “Alright, buddy, it’s your big day. If that’s what you want, that’s what you get,” I said as I carefully placed the large box down in front of him. He paused and looked up at me, waiting for approval. “Go ahead, Liam. Open it!” His eyes widened as he lurched toward the gift and swiftly began tearing the paper away. When he realized what it was, he jumped back and covered his mouth with both hands. “A moto-cyco! Just like Daddy’s moto-cyco,” he exclaimed. “Well, it’s close, buddy. It’s a tricycle that looks like Daddy’s motorcycle,” I said as I freed it from the box and placed it in the grass. “Check it out, it even has flames on the side like Daddy’s bike,” I pointed out. Sarah chimed in and handed him a smaller gift from the table, “Wait, this goes with it, Liam. You have to open this one next.” Liam hungrily took the small box in his hands and methodically ripped the paper away to reveal a plastic motorcycle helmet that resembled mine to a T. “Try it on, buddy,” I said as I carefully

removed his prized ten-gallon hat and replaced it with the helmet. His eyes lit up as he jumped on his new bike, and before we could tell him to be careful, he sped away through the backyard as his cousins chased after him. A feeling of gratitude washed over me and I almost welled up, but I managed to control myself. I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in just a matter of a few years. I had married the most amazing woman and now lived in a beautiful home—white picket fence and all. Fatherhood had given me a new perspective on life and made me truly appreciate every moment that I was able to spend time with my family. Our son reminded me more and more of Sarah and me every day, and although it was too early to tell, it seemed like he inherited the best of both of us. Once I settled down with Sarah, I happily gave up the old business, and ‘put it all away’ as her father had urged in his letter to me. I didn’t miss my past life for a second, but at the same time, I didn’t regret where I had come from. Being in such a dangerous trade taught me how to not only protect myself and others in ways that normal guys would never understand, but I knew that if anyone ever threatened me—or my family—I knew I had what it takes to protect what I held dear. Just then, Liam circled back, pulled the ebrake on his bike and spun out right in front of us,

like a miniature stunt man. He leapt up from the bike, reached for his holster, and pulled his toy gun out in one move, shouting, “Bang! Bang! Bang! I’m gonna get all the bad guys.” I shot Sarah a sideways glance. Shock began to spread over my face until I realized that we were the only ones who knew the truth about both her father’s past and mine. “Looks like we might have a future vigilante on our hands. I wonder where he picked that up from? Better keep an eye this guy,” John joked as we all broke into laughter. As my tension eased, Sarah smirked, rubbing the top of my hand and giving me a knowing look. We had nothing to worry about; our secrets were safe. The darkness of the past was far behind us and the future ahead was so bright. THE END

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BONUSES FROM RED LILY AUTHORS JADE ALLEN, MEG RIPLEY & SIERRA WYATT

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES: BAD BOYS, BILLIONAIRES & ROMANTIC SUSPENSE JULIAN I’m the lead guitarist in one of the most successful bands in the Miami scene named Molly Riot. Our label is trying to convince us to tour with Juniper Woolf, a rival band that’s fronted by an attentionseeking brat named Fran Chambers. When my band mates finally convinced me to sign off on the tour, I thought there was no way that I’d ever get along with Fran…that is, until I started spending time alone with her on the tour bus. You know, I’ve gotta say, no woman has ever had such a pull on me. We can’t keep our hands off each other, but the problem is, we can’t let anyone else in either of our bands know about our little tryst. If the press were to get a hold of this, we’d all be in for one hell of a sh*tstorm. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hook up on a tour bus without anyone else knowing about it? I’ll tell you one thing, if the two of us can keep this a secret, we’ll each deserve an Oscar…

CHAPTER ONE I shifted in my chair, looking around at the other members of the band; Ron had just left the room “to give you time to discuss the proposition from the label,” and true to our forms, we’d all stopped talking altogether. “It’s not a bad deal,” Dan said quietly, breaking the silence. “Yeah, but fucking Juniper Woolf? Are they even serious with that shit?” Nick shook his head in disgust. I twisted my hips so I could fish a halffinished pack of cigarettes out of my pocket; Alex looked at me as I shook one free of the box and found my lighter. “If we can keep Julian from killing Fran, it might work,” Alex suggested. “I won’t kill her,” I said, lighting my cigarette and taking as long a drag as I could fill my lungs with. “I’ll leave her alive.” “The only reason they think this is a good idea is because of Jules’ rivalry with her,” Mark pointed out. “Maybe if you had a filter, dude…” “Maybe if I had a filter I wouldn’t notice how much of an attention whore she is?” I rolled my eyes and blew smoke through my nose. “We can’t do it.”

“They’re promising us an extra half million for the next album if we do,” Dan pointed out. “And a bonus if their first album on the label sells fifty thousand.” “We’re never going to see even a cent of that fucking bonus, dude,” I told Dan. “Who the hell’s going to buy the Juniper Woolf album? Fucking nobody, that’s who.” I took another drag of my cigarette and shook my head. “Still, just the extra half mil is worth it,” Alex said. “We could make the next album huge with that kind of money.” “That’s assuming none of us ends up in prison,” Mark said. “Julian is all talk about Fran,” Nick told everyone. “He just doesn’t want to work with her because he’s worried she’ll cut in on his wanking time.” “Like he’d even hesitate to jerk off with her in the room,” Alex said. “If she walked in on me that’d be her problem,” I pointed out. Nick dug a cigarette out of his gig bag and lit it, and for a moment silence filled the room again. “Half a million more for the next album,” Dan said finally. “Guys—that’s not chump change and you all know it.” “Neither is two billion,” I said, flicking the ash off the end of my cigarette in the general area of

the ashtray. “But working with Juniper Woolf isn’t worth that, either.” “Come on, Jules,” Alex said, looking me in the eye. “This could be really good for us.” “Besides, apart from getting yourself involved with a drug ring like Mr. Alex North over here, or having sex with the rising music press star like Nick, what else can you do to promote us that would be better than putting aside your stupid fucking feud with Fran Chambers?” asked Mark. I glanced at Mark. “I didn’t know it was my fucking job to promote us,” I told him. “I thought we had someone taking fifteen fucking percent from our royalties for that.” “What’s your problem with her, anyway?” Dan looked up at me from his position on the floor, an eyebrow raised in query. “Jules doesn’t need anything so petty as a reason to hate someone,” Nick said with a smirk. “He can judge someone’s worthiness within thirty seconds of meeting them.” “He’s never made a decision that works against the interests of the band, though,” Dan countered. “I want to know where this all started.” I shrugged, leaning over the arm of the chair and reaching for the acoustic guitar I’d put aside when Ron had come in. “She’s just an attention-seeking bitch and I can’t stand her,” I said, splaying my fingers over

the fret board until I found the chord I wanted and picked at a few of the strings. “They met like a year ago,” Nick told Dan. “We were out after one of the shows, and caught the tail end of Juniper Woolf.” “So, what happened?” I kept playing, ignoring Alex’s question; it had been around about the time that Alex had been either in rehab—meeting his girlfriend Mary—or on the run from the main dealer in South Florida. “She threw glitter at him from the stage,” Nick said with a shrug. “Apparently, she does that a lot.” “Like I said,” I cut in, “she’s an attentionseeking bitch.” “Did you get glitter in your eye or something?” Dan looked at me, incredulous. “I mean it’s not like we haven’t done some crazy shit to get attention.” “You played an entire show in an Elvis costume,” Mark pointed out. “It wasn’t Halloween.” “You guys were in costumes, too,” I said. “It’s not like I was the only person on the stage in a fucking costume.” “But you still did it,” Alex insisted. “Costumes are one thing,” I told him, shaking my head. “Throwing glitter at people? Christ.” “Green glitter at that,” Nick said with a smirk. I stubbed out my cigarette and went back to

playing. “Can’t you put your stupid rivalry with her aside for a few months to get a deal for us?” I looked up at Alex and sighed. “I will if she does,” I said, knowing I sounded petty as shit and not even caring. “Besides, she owes me an apology.” “I doubt you’re going to get that from her,” Mark said, shaking his head. “She’s not that bad,” Dan said. “I met her last week at Respectables up in West Palm.” “The hell were you doing in West Palm?” I frowned at Dan. “Girl I know works up there,” he said with a shrug. “Her car broke down and she needed a ride.” “A ride or a ride?” In spite of myself, I laughed at Nick’s clarification. “She got home safely in the morning,” Dan said, smiling slightly. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Juniper Woolf was playing Respects and I chatted with them a bit afterward.” “And what’s your verdict?” Alex looked from Dan to me and I played an off chord just to irritate him. “They’re legit,” Dan said, shrugging. “Offstage, Fran’s pretty nice.” “Did you give her a ride, too?” I gave Dan a significant look.

“She had a ride,” Dan told me. “Went home with the rest of her band after closing.” “Jules,” Alex said, shifting in his chair and lighting a cig, “You’re the only holdout in the band. Come on, man—it can’t possibly be that bad. We’ll play a few joint shows with them, do a little PR bullshit, act like buddies for a few months, and get a huge fucking paycheck at the end of it all.” “I think we should hold out for a full million,” Mark said, picking up his drumsticks and tapping a fast-paced staccato on the arm of his chair. “They’re not going to give us a full million on top of our old budget,” Alex said, shaking his head. “A one and a half million dollar album? Are you crazy?” “One million altogether is more than we’re worth for an album,” Dan added. “If it was, we wouldn’t be getting it,” I pointed out. “They wouldn’t offer us that if they didn’t think we could make it back.” “They think we can make it back between our sales and Juniper Woolf’s,” Nick said. “Okay—let’s make this at least somewhat official,” Alex said, raising his hands in the air. “All in favor of taking the deal?” Nick, Dan, and Alex raised their hands. “All opposed?” I raised my hand. Alex looked at Mark sharply. “What about you, Marky?” “I’m abstaining,” Mark said, grinning. “I don’t

want anyone in the band pissed at me for backing the wrong side.” “Come on, just fucking vote,” Alex told him. Mark looked at me, at Dan, and then at Alex. “Fine,” Mark said finally. “I’m in favor of it, as long as Julian can keep from getting himself arrested for vandalism or something like that.” “You’re the only holdout, Jules,” Alex told me. “I thought we’d agreed that we either all agree on something or we don’t do it,” I pointed out; it was an old agreement in the band: if any one member of the band disagreed with a deal, or didn’t want to do something that impacted the whole band, we didn’t do it. “That shit went out the window when everyone voted me into rehab,” Alex said, shaking his head. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d at least give it a fair chance.” I sighed and found another cigarette in my pack, lighting it as I considered. Alex was right; there was no point in holding out when everyone else in the band wanted to move forward with what we were doing. “Make sure Ron has a lawyer on retainer for us,” I said as I exhaled a plume of smoke. “I have the feeling we’re going to need it. I’m in.”

CHAPTER TWO “Everyone! Five minutes,” Ron called into the room. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. It’s just a couple of months. That’s all. I glanced at the rest of my band mates; Alex looked pleased as punch, Nick had his usual too-cool-for-the-world expression, Mark might as well have been glowing, and Dan was scribbling something in a notebook, utterly relaxed. I was the only one in the room that was tense. “All right,” I said, stretching against the tightness in my back. “Let’s get this stupid shit over with.” As soon as I’d agreed to the arrangement from the record label, they’d put the final package together so fast that I figured they’d already had it planned before they even came to us. We’d announce our promotional tour at a press conference alongside the members of Juniper Woolf, and then there would be three months of dates around the country—New York, Florida, Oregon, Washington, California, and a few scattered across the mid-west. Along with that, we’d do a bunch of press, a bunch of interviews. And at the end of it, we were slated to release an EP with them, with songs recorded at the shows

and potentially—if we could work together long enough—a co-written track. “Remember, Julian,” Alex said, rising from his seat. “Smile.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t smile anyway,” I pointed out. “Sure you do,” Mark countered, grinning at me. “You smiled for that girl in Paris last year.” “That’s because she had weed and wasn’t wearing a bra,” I told him. “Amazing what pot and the promise of a good lay will do to improve my mood.” “If you’re good I’ve got some spare grass,” Nick told me, glancing in the mirror and adjusting the sleeve of his ripped tee shirt. “Just as long as she doesn’t act like a little shit,” I said, glancing at the rest of the band significantly. “I’ll do my job.” We went out into the conference area; a bunch of local press had gathered, along with some of the national music mags—I spotted Nick’s girlfriend in the crowd piled up in front of the long table, along with a few other magazine beat writers. The members of Juniper Woolf came out from the other side of the stage, and I was actually surprised at how normal they looked; Fran Chambers still stood out, with her violet-colored hair in a chin-length bob, but she’d managed to dress in normal clothes: a skirt that came down to just above her knees, a pair of Mary Janes, and a tee shirt ironically

promoting Leading The Heroes—a band that had broken up two or three years prior, its members scattered across the country. The other three members of her band looked as average as average could be; I’d never paid enough attention to Juniper Woolf to learn their names. We all sat down at the table in front of our individual microphones, and Ron started saying something to the press about our partnership with Juniper Woolf being great, fantastic, the best thing since digital recording. I tuned out, wishing I could have a cigarette, or maybe a beer. “I think we’re all a bit surprised that these two bands would work together,” one of the journalists was saying, “in light of the ongoing feud between Fran and Jules.” The guy from Music Smasher looked directly at me. “How did this come about?” “We heard that Juniper Woolf were signed to our label,” Alex said matter-of-factly. “And that makes us members of the same family now. Families feud from time to time, but they make up and love each other at the end of the day.” “Besides,” Mark added from his spot, “we all come from the same local scene. We’ve known about Juniper Woolf for a long time now—and most of us in the band have nothing but respect for all of the band’s members.” “We feel the same way about Molly Riot,” one of the other band’s members said. “They’re

one of the South Florida scenes greatest success stories, y’know? It’s an honor to have the chance to work with them.” “But what about the feud between Julian and Fran?” All the rest of the members of my band looked at me, and a quick glance told me that the rest of Fran’s band mates were looking at her, too. “We’re burying the hatchet,” I said. “I can’t guarantee we’re going to be best friends, but let bygones be and all that.” “I feel like the press always hyped up our so called ‘feud’ to seem like it was way more intense and serious than it really was, anyway,” Fran said, glancing at me. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew if I did, the press would latch on to my body language and make all of our lives worse. “Julian and I’ve both said the same things about each other that all the bands in the scene say about each other —it’s just one of those things that happens in a small, competitive scene when you’re all vying for the spotlight.” “So, do you think you’re going to be able to work well together on the EP?” I shrugged, keeping my attention in front of me. “I’m sure we can manage it,” Alex said, taking up his role as the band’s leader. “All of us are fucking pros. We can make this happen.” The questions kept coming but for the most part I continued to tune them out, glancing around the

room at my band mates, and pretending to listen oh-so-intently to what was being said. As far as I was concerned, I’d done my part; I never really took much of a role in these interview-type things anyway, and the rest of the band did a decent job of promoting the most recent album, talking about touring, and talking about all the shit that went along with it. I glanced at Fran once or twice; it was weird to see her in something other than her bizarre stage costumes. You had to figure she didn’t wear those getups all the time, I thought idly as the conference dragged on. At the very least a girl like that almost definitely sleeps naked. The strangest part of it was that she wasn’t wearing the severe, colorful makeup she normally had on from the moment she arrived at a venue. It was shocking how utterly normal she looked. Hell, if you squint, she actually looks cute. Fran was maybe all of 5’3”, with a body that I was sure she invested more blood, sweat, and tears into maintaining than half of the beach babes of Palm Beach combined. What’s her bra size, anyway? Like a D maybe? I tried to guess, but the tee shirt she wore didn’t give me much to go on. “We’re looking forward to spreading the word about our music around the country,” Fran was saying, in answer to some question or another. “Our biggest priority right now is to make good on the potential the label saw in us, when our video went

viral.” I smothered a snort. Juniper Woolf had written some kind of anthem for a local feminist group, and made a video of themselves performing it at a protest, getting the crowd to chant the chorus acapella when the cops shut down their sound system for violating the noise ordinances or something like that. The video had gotten something like a million views on YouTube, which was probably what had gotten them the contract in the first place. The press conference finally came to an end, and the band and I headed back to the green room; Ron followed us, and I reached into my pocket for my cigarettes—I knew it was going to be a long talk. “So there’s a new item added to the package,” Ron told us as we settled into our seats. I lit up and took a deep drag, holding it in my lungs for a moment before I exhaled. “What’s the new addition?” I looked at Dan sideways. “Tour diary,” Ron said. “Well—promotional tour diary, anyway. You guys and Juniper Woolf will write up your experiences, or make videos— whatever you want—and they’ll get posted to both bands’ sites for fans.” “Seriously?” Mark looked about as irritable as I felt. “We’re musicians, not journos.” “No one’s expecting you to turn in a Rolling Stone level blog post,” Ron told him. I took another

drag of my cigarette and didn’t look at him; as far as I was concerned, anything the record label added to the deal at this point couldn’t possibly be worse than the original plan anyway. “In fact, as long as you hit a minimum of 400 words in your post, you’re solid. Whatever you want to write about.” “Could be fun,” Nick pointed out. “We could make a bunch of nonsense videos and shit. Pass the time between shows at least.” “Do all of us need to do it?” Alex sounded surprisingly unwilling for a guy who’d sold out at the drop of a hat when the label dangled half a million for the next album. “At least one post per day,” Ron said. “Like I said—four hundred words, or three minutes of video, whatever you want to do for your day. Decide amongst yourselves how to divvy it up.” Ron paused to let us all take that in and started to turn around to leave. “Juniper Woolf is coming over here in a few minutes,” he added, looking at all of us and then letting his gaze linger on me. “Behave.” Fortunately for everyone, the band brought beers with them. I stayed in my chair when they came into the room, watching the four band members and trying to figure out what they were like beneath the personas they’d always assumed. Alex gave Fran a hug and they started talking about something—what, I had no idea; I waited for Mark

to pass me a beer and lit another cigarette while the conversation went on all around me. “Why so quiet, Jules?” I glanced at Nick, who’d buddied up with Juniper Woolf’s bass player. “Just taking it all in, son,” I told him, shrugging. Nick threw himself down onto the couch next to me, leaning in close to my ear. “Nate’s got some bomb weed, man. We were going to go out back and light up. You in?” I looked around the room; Alex obviously wouldn’t come with—he was doing the drug-free thing for the most part now, after his run-in with the dealers. Dan was busy nursing a beer and talking to another member of Juniper Woolf, and Mark was nowhere to be seen. “Sure,” I said. Maybe a little dope would make things look up a bit. Nick and Nate slipped out of the room first and I waited until it was obvious that no one noticed before I went after them. Nick and Nate had already managed to get a bowl filled by the time I found them behind the building; Nate took his hit and passed it to me. It was pretty decent stuff—not as good as my brother grew, but I could hold it in my lungs for about a minute without hacking it all up. “So,” I said, as Nick took his turn, “what’s your take on this partnership thing?” “It’s all marketing,” Nate said with a shrug.

“We’re the bigger act, and of course between you and Frannie the shit-talking has been epic.” He grinned, taking the pipe from Nick and pausing to hit it again. He passed it to me, and I took my second hit. Nate blew out the smoke he’d pulled in and coughed. “Actually, it’s not a bad deal for anyone.” “Did she pitch a bitchfest when she heard about it?” I raised an eyebrow as I blew out the last of the pot smoke in my lungs. I was starting to feel it, tingling in my ears, throbbing at the back of my eyes. Decent shit. “Nah,” Nate said, shrugging. “She figured it’s the cost of doing business: sometimes you have to lick boots.” “Which I’m sure she has no problem with as long as it’s for an audience,” I said as the pipe made its way around the circle again. “You know—you actually should talk to her, Jules,” Nate told me. “When she’s not trying to get people to pay attention to her band, she’s a pretty dope chick.” “That’s what they keep saying,” I said. Nick hacked and sputtered from a too-large hit. “Dude, where do you think Nate got this from?” I shrugged. “Fran’s roommate grows,” Nate told me quietly. “Sort of a home project—she’s more interested in the botanical part of it than the

smoking. So we get all the free grass we can stand.” “Fran smokes?” I’d figured if anything she took uppers—coke in the bathroom, or Ritalin, something like that. “Sometimes,” Nate said, shrugging it off as we finished off the bowl and packed another. “She’s more into edibles. Says the high lasts longer and she doesn’t hack her lungs out as much.” I nodded; I was starting to feel the weed more—it was actually better quality than I’d thought at first. Head high, not body—more focused, less like a fucking slug on a rock. “We gotta find a way to get this shit on the bus,” Nick told me, giggling. “We’ll see just how much of a partnership this whole two-bands-one-bus thing is gonna be, then,” I said, grinning in the haze. “Alright, last few hits then we have to head back,” Nate said. “Otherwise someone will notice we’re gone.

CHAPTER THREE I groaned as I woke up out of a nap I hadn’t meant to take, to the feeling of the bus swaying around me and something digging into my back. “What the fuck, man.” I twisted around and reached under me and found what it was: an Xbox controller. I threw it onto the floor of the rec area and sat up. “Yo, Jules,” Nick said, coming into the area. “What’s the haps, man?” “Fell asleep,” I admitted. I looked up and saw that he was filming me. “The fuck, man?” I smirked at the camera. “This is like the fourth time you’ve come to film me. You got a fucking crush on me or something?” Nick laughed. “Looking for fascinating tour journal material,” Nick said, throwing himself down into one of the chairs. He continued filming. “What do you think about the show in Orlando tonight?” I shrugged. “It’ll be a show,” I said. “Hopefully this time we get through it without Alex slipping and falling on his ass in a pool of glitter.” “If they’d given the techs a chance to clean up, that wouldn’t have happened,” Fran said, coming into the rec room. I scowled at her; it had

been a week since we’d played the first show of our “partnership” with Juniper Woolf, at Bardot, and while I didn’t exactly hate her anymore, I didn’t think I’d ever be her biggest fan. “If you didn’t throw around glitter all the time there wouldn’t be anything to clean up in the first place,” I pointed out, keeping my voice as level as possible—I remembered at the last minute that Nick was still filming. “And now,” Nick murmured in a nature documentary narrator voice, “we watch as the two apex predators confront each other at the watering hole.” I rolled my eyes at Nick’s comment, smiling almost against my will. “Everything’s cool,” I said, sitting back in my seat. “Fran and I are the best of friends these days, right Frannie?” “Practically siblings,” Fran said, sinking down onto the couch. She must have gotten her hair touched up before we got on the bus that morning; the deep violet-purple was more vivid than it had been before. Nick turned the camera onto her, and I could see him smirking behind it. “So, Fran Chambers: how’s the first…three hours of touring life with Molly Riot?” “Pretty damn good,” Fran said, reaching into a pocket in her skirt and taking out a pack of Pall Mall blues. She shook one free and found a lighter from somewhere else to light it with. One of the

rules we’d set was that smoking—pot or cigarettes —should only happen in the rec room. Like a trained monkey, I reached for my own pack and lit up, too. “Looking forward to the show tonight.” “What about you, Jules? Going to get crazy up on the stage in Orlando?” “We always do,” I said, shrugging. “This is boring,” Nick said, ending the recording and standing up. “I’m going to see if I can catch Mark jerking off.” “That’ll be good for the site,” I half-muttered, taking a drag of my cigarette. I glanced at Fran as Nick stepped through the curtains separating the rec area from the rest of the bus. We were alone, together. Great. “So,” Fran said, rocking a bit in her chair as she found an ashtray without looking, “I figure now that we have a few moments at least semi-alone, we can hash out whatever the fuck our problems are with each other.” “That’s direct,” I said. I blew the smoke out of my lungs. “Okay, you first, since this is your big idea: what’s your problem with me?” “I only get one?” Fran grinned and took another drag of her cig. “Honestly, I just jumped on board the shit-talk train because you said that bullshit in New Times.” I frowned. “What bullshit?” I knew I’d talked a lot of shit about Juniper Woolf in general and Fran Chambers

in particular, but I couldn’t remember specifics. “And I quote,” Fran said, tilting her head back; her neck was longer than I’d ever noticed— and the neckline of her blouse was lower, too. “‘Fran Chambers is nothing but a fucking shill.’” “Oh,” I said, grinning wryly. “That bullshit.” “Hurt my feelings,” Fran said sarcastically. “If I’d known you were going to be such an asshole about getting a little glitter to the face I’d have at least made it worth my while—thrown something that’d do some real damage.” In spite of myself, I laughed. “All right, fine,” I said. “So, your problem with me is that I told New Times—” “And everyone else who would listen,” Fran cut in. “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “I told them you’re a fucking shill.” “That started it, yeah,” Fran said, grinning slightly. “Well for that I am deeply fucking sorry.” Fran giggled, and I had to admit that it was actually kind of cute. “Your turn,” she said. “Anything other than me throwing glitter at you and piling shit talk in the mags that you have against me?” I thought about it. What did I really have against her? The glitter thing sounded petty the more often it came up. The shittalking had gone both ways.

“That about covers it,” I told her after a moment. Fran nodded. “In that case, I regret throwing glitter at you, and I am so very sorry that I let myself descend to your level in shit-talking.” I snickered. “Okay, we’re done talking about this, right? Water under the bridge?” “So far under it, it’s basically out to sea right now,” Fran replied. She stubbed out her cigarette and looked at me. “You know—no bullshit here— you’re actually kind of cute when you smile.” I raised an eyebrow at that, but before I could say anything to counter it, Fran stood up and skipped out of the room, calling out a question to her band mate Kieran about whether they had any more Cheez-Its left.

CHAPTER FOUR The crowd in Orlando was huge; Ron had to change the venue a few days before the show because we’d sold it out as soon as it was announced and people were screaming about it. Fran had been fine playing the first show of the tour in Miami, but as soon as she got a glimpse of the crowd filling up the House of Blues, she’d gone white as a sheet of paper. “You get nervous?” she’d turned on her heel to face me, and instead of pale, her cheeks were bright red. “So, what if I do?” she’d asked me tartly before brushing past me to the green room in the back. We were sharing that space, too—at least for about half the dates of the promotional tour, since the venues were smaller. By the time I went back myself, she was nursing a beer, with a shot glass in her other hand. “Who wants to do round three?” she’d asked, looking around the room. “I’ll catch up,” I told her, sitting down at the card table she’d claimed. “Double for you first, then,” Fran had said, snagging the bottle of Fireball from her drummer, Jaime. She had poured—a little sloppy, but not enough to be a sign she was actually drunk already

—and shoved the glass towards me. “They’re doing shots together?” I’d rolled my eyes at Nick’s pretend-shocked question. “We buried the hatchet, remember?” I knocked back the double and put the glass down. “All right,” Fran had said, filling her shot glass and mine. “This is the last one before stage, by the way—at least for me.” We clinked shot glasses and knocked back their contents, and sure enough that was the last shot that I’d seen Fran take before Juniper Woolf went on stage, though she kept the beer going at a slow-but-steady pace. I was shocked that she didn’t wobble or weave at all when it came time to go out; I followed the band a few feet behind and leaned against the wall to watch them play. It was the first time since coming to the agreement with the label about the “partnership” that I’d actually watched Juniper Woolf. As opening acts went, they were pretty much top-notch. Fran threw herself into the performance and I couldn’t help but grin to myself at how completely nerve-shot she’d been only about an hour beforehand, white with her hands shaking. No one in the audience would ever have a clue that she was even the faintest bit nervous: between the bright green makeup on her face, the tight, low-cut clothes she wore, and the way she ran around, throwing glitter, singing into the microphone like a

woman possessed by a pretty tuneful demon, nervousness would be the very last fucking thing anyone would accuse her of. “This song,” she said, panting slightly still after a leap from the stacks, “is about heartbreak.” The crowd moaned in sympathy. “No! No, don’t feel bad for me,” Fran told the audience. “Feel bad for the guy I wrote it about, because he’s never… getting back…into my life…again.” Jaime counted off a beat and the band launched into an angry, churning, driving song that I faintly recognized; I’d heard it during sound check or something. She’s actually not that bad, I thought, watching as Fran charged through the song, her voice staying strong in spite of cigarettes and pot and liquor and running. She’s got some pipes, that’s for damned sure. And when she’s not acting like a deranged Pekingese, she’s kind of cute. The thought shocked me; I knew I’d stopped outright hating Fran Chambers, but I hadn’t thought of her as cute until I’d seen her looking so nervous, so daunted by the prospect of the huge crowd. They’re going to make a killing in merch tonight. Probably should tell them when they come off to hang out at the gate, sign a few things—but fuck, they know that shit already. And anyway, all anyone in the audience is going to do is to try and hit on her. I didn’t know why that bothered me, but it did. “Okay folks,” Fran said, coming to a stop in

her antics at center stage. “This is going to be our last song.” She waited for the boos—which I thought more than half the crowd shouted—and grinned that little nose-wrinkling grin at them. “We know who you’re all really here for,” she added, putting her hands on her hips. “Who’s ready to hear Molly Riot?” The crowd shrieked, nearly blowing out my eardrums. “What was that? I asked: who’s here to see Molly Riot?” Another shriek from the audience, and I covered my ears; it was too fucking loud. As soon as the shrieks started to die down a little, Fran nodded to the audience, lifting her hands in the air to quiet them down further. “Well, we’re looking forward to hearing Molly Riot, too,” she said. “So, this is our last song of the night!” Jaime had been counting in while Fran spoke, so as soon as she finished the band launched into their last song; with a mental groan, I realized it was the one they’d used to make the viral video that got them their contract with the label. But instead of just letting it grate on my nerves, I made myself actually listen to it. Not half bad, actually, once you get past the kitsch stuff, I thought, as Fran went through the chorus and into the second verse. From the point of view of structure, I couldn’t actually say the song sucked at all. Juniper Woolf milked the hell out of it, of course; Jaime played a tight, fast solo after the second chorus, leading into a

breakdown as the rest of the band came in one by one. Fran reprised the first verse and then finally came around to the last verse and two more choruses, jumping up and down, getting the crowd to chant the words with her, working them into a frenzy. All at once, the song jolted to an end, the lights went out, and the audience screamed so loudly that I thought the walls would come down. Fran brushed against me again as Juniper Woolf came off the stage; she was dripping with sweat, flushed all over from the roots of her cartoon hair to the collar of her shirt, grinning with the kind of thrilled, exultant pride that I knew too well. “Good set,” I told her with a grin. “You bet your tight ass it was a good set,” she shot back, giving me a quick glance with her bright eyes before she followed the rest of the band back down the hall. They had dispersed to the showers by the time I left the wing of the stage; the rest of Molly Riot were going through the usual pre-show psych-up: mostly comprised of chest-bumps, shit-talk, and the kind of punches a pack of brothers deals out like they give their girlfriends kisses. “We’re good on the set, right? Everyone’s on the same page?” I slapped Alex on the shoulder. “Even if we’re not, we have this convenient list to look at,” Nick said, flourishing his copy. “All right,” Alex said, loosening up his

shoulders. “Juniper Woolf set ‘em up; let’s go knock ‘em down.” We were about two songs in when I looked over at the wings; Fran was perched on a stool— she must have gotten one of the techs to grab it for her—and nodding her head along with Mark’s beat, her gaze moving over the stage in quick sweeps. When she caught me looking at her, she raised an eyebrow and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, looking totally unabashed. I smirked and looked down at my guitar, playing a particularly difficult run that worked with what the rest of the band was doing in a mid-song jam. I looked up and she was still watching me, a little ironic smirk on her lips. I spent the rest of the set alternating between paying attention to the crowd and watching Fran watch me, like I was two different people trapped in one body. I showed off for her, I showed off for the fans, I showed off for myself; it all blended together in my brain as the sweat started pouring down my face, down my back, as my fingers moved on the guitar, as my foot tapped the beat. It was weird; I’d never really liked being watched from the wings—it was usually Nick or Alex who got the most attention, if someone was tagging along or backstage. But I guess I thought it was only fair for Fran to watch me after I’d spent the whole Juniper Woolf set watching her antics; and it was almost like I took it as a challenge to be wilder,

more aggressive. By the time the set ended we were all every bit as soaked in sweat as the band before us had been; I was tired—but restless at the same time. “No partying tonight, guys,” Hannah told us as we piled into the green room. “What? You’re fucking kidding me!” Nick and Mark both scowled at Ron’s assistant. “We’re in fucking Orlando,” Nick added. “We have to get across the damn country,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. “Load up the booze from the green room and party on the bus if you want to, but we’re getting on the road as soon as the crew gets everything packed up.” I shrugged it off; I’d be high for hours whether we went out or not, but at the moment, the only thing that mattered to me was getting a shower and some dry clothes on. Juniper Woolf had disappeared; Hannah said that they’d gone to the front of the building to sign a few things and meet a few of the fans, milling around after the end of the show. “Dibs on shower!” I grabbed my backpack from the chair I’d left it in and headed in that direction, trying not to think of Fran flirting with a bunch of sweaty, boozed-up fans. She can take care of herself, I reminded myself. She’s played all over Palm Beach and Dade County. She knows how to handle it. But a different kind of question wriggled into my brain:

She’s not going to bring some poor sap onto the bus with her, is she?

CHAPTER FIVE The bus was quiet; the rest of the guys had gone off to their bunks—first Alex, and then Nick, predictably to call their girlfriends before they passed out for the night, and then Dan, and finally Mark. The members of Juniper Woolf had disappeared at some point, too, though I couldn’t remember when. I reached over onto the table for my pack of cigarettes; it was empty. “Fuck,” I muttered to myself. “That’s as good a cue to turn in as any, I guess.” “I’ve got a couple of cigs left in this pack,” Fran said, stepping into the rec area. I nearly overturned the fucking ashtray at the sound of her voice; she snorted, waving the pack of Pall Malls and coming further into the room. I scrubbed at my face; I was still maybe half-drunk, but my temples were already starting to throb with the hangover I’d have in a few hours. Fran threw herself into the chair next to mine, and I took in the sight of her; she’d changed clothes at some point after getting on the bus, into a pajama set that seemed designed to be demure and alluring at the same time: a pair of loose, soft-looking shorts that just barely covered the curve of her ass, paired with a matched spaghetti-strap top that clung to her tits, the hem

floating around her hips. If it were an inch or two longer, it’d look like she wasn’t wearing shorts at all. It’s a bit chilly in here, I thought, noticing the sight of her nipples straining at the fabric of her shirt. “Thanks,” I said, when Fran took one cigarette out of the pack and handed it to me. “Note to the wise: the more often you change clothes, the sooner you’re out of clothes.” “I know,” Fran said, lighting a cig of her own. “But I can wear pajamas a few times over.” I took a drag of smoke and considered for a moment. “So, how was autograph signing?” I kept looking at her legs—smooth, longer than I would have thought they’d be, toned. Bet they’re warm to…especially along the thigh…the inner thigh… right before you get to… I gave myself a shake; why was I thinking about that shit? “Same as it is down south,” Fran said with a shrug. She flicked an ash into the ashtray. “I didn’t see anyone bringing a fan on the bus,” I observed. “Jaime might later on; he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Fran said. “Nate does. Kieran actually has a boyfriend.” “And you?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering why I was even curious. “It’s not worth it,” Fran told me with a shrug. “I mean yeah—sure, getting laid is nice. But if a

dude has sex with a bunch of groupies, he’s a stud. A woman has sex with a bunch of groupies?” she shook her head. “She’s a slut who’s only onstage because she wants the attention but isn’t confident enough to be a stripper.” “And I’ve already started the whole ‘Fran Chambers is an attention-whore’ bandwagon,” I added, nodding slowly. “Yeah I can see it. So, what do you do?” “About getting laid? Nothing,” Fran said with a shrug. “Seriously? You’re going to go three months without having sex with anyone?” Fran snorted. “There are these things called vibrators,” she said, giving me a little look. “And if I’m out of batteries, I have my own hands.” She waved one of them, wriggling the fingers. “It’s not the same,” I countered—and wondered why I was arguing the point. You’re drunker than you think. Even if you did want to fuck her brains out, even if she wanted you to, you probably can’t even get it up anyway. “Of course not,” Fran said, dismissing the idea and flicking another ash into the tray. “But it’s good enough to keep from jumping someone’s bones at random.” I laughed. “Is that something you’re afraid of doing?” I raised an eyebrow. “Might do you some good to jump someone’s bones at random.”

“Can’t do it with anyone in my band,” Fran pointed out, ticking off one finger on her free hand. “Then there’s the problem with the groupies.” She shrugged. “So, who does that leave?” “Crew,” I answered. “Members of the other band you’re touring with.” “Alex and Nick have girlfriends,” Fran countered. “Mark…thanks, but no thanks.” “That leaves Dan and me,” I pointed out. “It’d be stupid,” Fran told me, shaking her head. “Same reason I can’t go randomly using Jaime for sex when I feel like it—we’re too close.” “Are we now? I mean, sure: we spend time together. We’re on a bus together. But it’s not like we really know all that much about each other.” “It’ll get too complicated,” Fran said, taking another drag of her cig. “Not if we don’t let it.” “You actually want to have sex with me?” Fran’s eyes widened as she stared at me, an amused smile playing at the corners of her lips. “You do!” she realized a second later that she’d nearly shrieked the words and glanced at the entry into the rec room. “You do?” “It passes time,” I pointed out. “And it’ll keep you from having to rely on a vibrator or your fingers to keep from jumping some random guy’s bones—or just his boner.” Fran rolled her eyes. “You hated me until like…yesterday,” she

pointed out. “I didn’t hate you,” I told her. “I talked shit about you. I also talk shit about Nick with his babyboy blue eyes and reformed slut lifestyle.” I shrugged. “Think I hate him?” “That’s different, though,” Fran said, shaking her head yet again. “He’s your bud, your band mate.” “Right—so obviously if I’d hated you, I just wouldn’t talk about you at all. I’d refuse to.” I grinned. “Just how badly do you want to get into my pants?” Fran shifted in her chair, looking at me intently. “I’m just making a suggestion,” I told her. “I mean—if you prefer your vibrator to having sex with an actual person, who am I to judge?” I held up one of my hands. “Palmela here’s gotten me through some tough times.” For a second, Fran just stared at me. And then she busted out laughing, her head falling forward, her tits shaking with it. “Do you really call your hand Palmela?” she asked me between gasps for breath as she continued to laugh. “Do you buy her flowers, Jules?” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I said, picking up the half-empty beer I’d forgotten I was drinking when she came into the room. “Suit yourself.” “Oh—now I’ve hurt your feelings,” Fran said,

shifting in her chair once more and leaning closer to me. “I’m sorry, Jules. If it makes you feel any better, my vibrator’s name is Angelo.” “Angelo?” I snorted. “Seriously?” “I don’t, like, moan its name of anything,” Fran said, rolling her eyes. “But I figured: guys name their dicks, right?” she shrugged. “Why not give my pocket cock a name?” “Guys name their dicks?” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, don’t even tell me you’re going to act like you never gave your dick a name,” Fran said, tilting her head and giving me a significant look. “Maybe when I was like, fifteen. As a joke.” I shook my head again. “What did you name it?” Fran’s eyes glittered. “Stubbs McGee,” I told her jokingly. “Oh, so he’s an Irish lad then, is he? Or is he Scottish?” Fran looked like she was about to double over with laughter. Fuck, I wish she would… I could just picture the movement sending her tits tumbling over the top of her pajama top. “You could meet him and find out,” I said, smirking slightly. My mouth felt dry. I took another sip of my beer. “And now we’re back to you wanting to have sex with me,” Fran said; but her voice was lower, almost a murmur. “Only if you want to,” I said, setting my beer

aside; it wasn’t doing a damn thing for my dry mouth. Fran took a slow, deep breath, pressing her lips together. “If you’re not interested, then I can just find my bunk and get some sleep. Long day of traveling tomorrow, after all.” I started to get up out of the chair; Fran lifted a hand to stall me. “What if I am interested? Just… hypothetically.” Her cheeks lit up with a red-pink blush. “You can blush?” I grinned. “After all the comments about my cock and your vibrator…” Fran rolled her eyes. “Shut up,” she said, even as her blush deepened. “Normally I’m not the one asking for sex, okay?” “I made the first offer,” I pointed out. “Maybe we could start off with making out,” Fran suggested. “See where it goes?” I licked my lips and patted the arm of the chair. “Come over here, then.” Fran hesitated—just for an instant—and then stood, glancing behind her at the entrance into the rec room. “Everyone’s passed out by now,” I told her quietly. “As long as you don’t scream my name or something, it’s not like anyone will know.” Fran took the final step closer to me and began to bend forward, leaning in to kiss me. I reached out and wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her onto my lap instead, and she yelped in

surprise. I snickered. “I thought I said you had to be quiet and not wake them up,” I murmured, my lips only inches away from hers. “That was before you scared the daylights out of me,” Fran countered in a low voice. Rather than answer her accusation, I reached up and cupped the base of her skull, tangling my fingers in her vivid hair; it was surprisingly soft—like silk against my skin. I sealed her lips with my own, pressing her against me with my other arm around her waist, almost crushing her body along mine. She tasted like smoke and fireball, sweetspicy-bitter when I probed her mouth with my tongue. I deepened the kiss, feeling the heat beginning to flow through me, the little tremor in her body as she moaned against my lips. I let my hands begin to wander over her body, feeling her curves, working my way up and around to her tits; they were every bit as spectacular as I’d imagined in the back of my mind: firm, but soft, warm even through her top, the nipples hard little nubs against my palm. I broke away from Fran’s lips and dipped down to her throat, nibbling at the sensitive skin I knew I’d find there. I could feel Fran’s pulse fluttering against my lips, the movement of her breasts as her breath hitched in her chest. “Oh, you like this, hm?” I buried my face against the juncture of her neck and shoulder, biting a little more sharply. Fran gasped, her hands

tightening on my shoulders. “Yes—yes…” Fran squirmed on my lap, and I groaned against her neck, my hands dropping down to her hips. “How do you feel about a little more?” I rocked my hips up against hers; I could already feel myself getting hard, I could feel the heat from Fran’s body. “You feel pretty good to me right now…” “Maybe…maybe a few more minutes before we move on,” Fran suggested, her voice quiet and breathless in my ear. She shivered against me, her fingers tangling in my hair, her lips dragging along my jaw. She began to twist and writhe on top of me, rubbing against the ridge my cock made in my jeans. The feeling of her—already hot, already wet, I could tell, even through her clothes—made me harder and harder by the moment, until my cock was throbbing, aching. I reached up and tugged the front of her shirt down, and her tits bounce free, brushing against me. “Jesus—fuck, Frannie,” I murmured, giving her heavy tits a quick squeeze. “You feel so good.” I nibbled along her collarbones, and lifted up one of her breasts, bringing the nipple up to my mouth. I latched onto it, sucking and licking, and Fran moaned out, twisting her hips down against mine even as she bit off the noise she made. “I—I think I’m ready,” Fran whispered.

Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten my shirt off without me noticing it. I pulled back from Fran’s chest and looked her in the eyes. “We’re not getting naked here, right?” She blinked in confusion and then nodded. “Yeah…if someone walks back…” “They’ll know what we’re doing right away,” I pointed out. “But they won’t see you completely naked.” “How are we going to do this, then?” Fran was still squirming on my lap, rubbing against me. I reached down between our bodies; she’d soaked through the fabric of her tiny little pajama shorts. “You aren’t wearing anything underneath these?” I slid my fingers under the fabric at her thigh, inching my way up to her heat—the folds of her pussy were drenched. “As you can see: no,” Fran murmured, her breath catching as I slid my fingers along her labia. “Fuck, Fran,” I whispered. “We can take these off, right?” I could see the fabric of her top barely covering her hips. I glanced over her shoulder and spotted the throw that someone had left over the back of the chair next to me. “Got it,” I told Fran, reaching over and snagging the blanket off of the chair. I draped it over her shoulders, making a tent around our bodies; it would still be obvious what was going on if anyone came to the back of the bus, but I didn’t care anymore.

Fran squirmed and twisted on top of me, her legs shifting and moving alongside mine, and after a moment, I realized she’d somehow managed to take her shorts off; I reached up to cup her soaking wet pussy and rubbed the heel of my palm against her slowly. “Fuck, Jules…stop—stop teasing me,” she murmured, her head dropping to my shoulder as her hips moved under my touch. “Well help me out, then,” I suggested, kissing her quickly on the lips. I guided her hand toward the bulge in my pants; my cock was so hard it felt like I had a rock stuffed into my jeans, so hot I thought my blood might have turned to liquid metal, pooling at my hips. Fran unbuttoned and unzipped my fly, and my dick sprung free in an instant. “Apparently, I’m not the only one not wearing anything underneath,” Fran said, amusement rippling in her voice. Her fingers wrapped around me and I groaned, pressing my face against her chest to muffle the sound. She began to stroke me, rubbing the head with her thumb, and I almost came right then and there. “Shit,” I muttered, straining to keep myself under control. My hips bucked as Fran continued to work me, her grip tightening. “Unless you want me to come all over your stomach…” Fran’s grip loosened, and a moment later her fingers stopped moving on me. I took a slow, deep breath, gritting

my teeth until the moment passed. “Now?” Fran’s whole body was tense against mine. “Now,” I agreed. She guided my cock up against the folds of her pussy and I thrust into her, sliding inside inch by inch. She was so hot, so tight, it was like a silk glove around my dick, wet and slick and perfect. “Jesus, Fran…how long has it been?” I felt her muscles flex around me and groaned again, gripping her tight against my body. “Months,” she replied, panting as she began to ride me. “Shit—fuck, Jules…” “I know,” I murmured against her neck, bringing my mouth back up to hers. I pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, my hands moving from her hips to her tits, slipping down between us to find her clit by touch, to stroke and rub her. We both tried to keep quiet, but as we started to pick up speed, fall into a rhythm together, I could hear our moans escaping, our panting getting louder. “Shh,” I kissed Fran’s lips, swallowing down a cry of pleasure that left her throat as I started rubbing her clit harder. I could feel the tension building up in my hips, in my balls, as Fran rose and fell on me, taking me deeper, getting wetter and wetter and tighter and tighter. All at once she began to shudder against me, breaking away from my lips to bury her face against my shoulder, moaning as quietly as she

could manage. Her muscles flexed around me in erratic little spasms, tightening like a vise, and that was all it took—I was gone in moments, coming so hard I could barely hold myself together enough to keep the noise down. We kept moving until we both finished, sagging against each other, panting and gasping for breath. “Think we woke anyone up?” I chuckled and reached for my beer, knocking back the last of it. “If we had, they’d be in here,” I pointed out. “Those weren’t your very last two cigs, were they?” Fran giggled. “I have two more,” she told me in a little playful whisper. “Just about perfect, right?” “Only if you’re willing to share,” I told her. “Oh, right—I’ll fuck you and then make you watch while I smoke a cigarette and don’t give you any?” Fran twisted around on top of me, and I grunted at the feeling of her muscles rippling around my cock with her movements. She opened the pack and showed me the last two cigarettes in it. “This, and then bed?” “I’m game,” I told her, plucking one of the cigs from the box. “We’ll sleep good tonight, for once.”

CHAPTER SIX “We’ve got Molly Riot here in the studio today, along with their touring mates, Juniper Woolf,” the DJ said. “Hey.” “Hi.” “What’s up?” “Morning.” “And we’re talking about their joint tour, the EP they’ll be putting out together, and how this whole situation came about,” the DJ continued. “I think this is the most microphones we’ve ever had in the booth on this program.” “It was hilarious to watch them set it up,” Mark said. I shifted in my chair and glanced over at Fran. We’d been on the promo tour for almost a month so far, and Fran and I had managed to screw around together about three times a week. How does she manage to look like she hasn’t missed a wink of sleep all month? It was a mystery to me— some female trick. I tried to keep my attention on the interview; I knew I’d have to at least make a few comments over the course of it. But all I could think about was how good it would be to finally get to the damned venue. Sound check, then we’ll have a

couple of hours to kill. Nick’s going to be on Skype with Olivia…the rest of them will be in town buying shit or doing laundry…we’ll have the bus to ourselves. “So, I understand that the feud between Jules and Fran is a thing of the past, but what started it to begin with?” “Oh brother,” Dan said. “I’m just curious,” the DJ told us, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I mean, it is kind of weird, right?” “Well it all started when Jules came to one of Juniper Woolf’s shows,” Fran said, glancing at me with a gleam in her eye. “She threw glitter at me,” I said into the microphone. “Got me right in the face.” “Oh! Yeah, that will make an impression on someone—not always a good one.” “And from there…” Fran shrugged. “But it’s all a thing of the past now,” I added. “We’re buds.” “It’s the fucking strangest thing, you wouldn’t believe it,” Nick said, shaking his head. “They must have hashed it out between them, I guess—two months ago, you would never have seen ‘em alone in the same room, and now they play fucking Scrabble on the bus.” “That’s wild,” the DJ said. I barely paid attention as the rest of the interview dragged on

after that; it was the same thing that it always was —even before the “partnership” with Juniper Woolf. Same boring questions, same canned laughs, same everything. I made a few more comments and told myself that we’d be at the venue soon enough, and soon enough Fran and I would get a chance to get away again. I didn’t think anyone knew for sure what we were doing; the guys in the band would have said something about it if they did, I was sure. Alex and Nick were too wrapped up in their own sex lives— or lack of sex lives—to think about mine, and Mark and Dan were on the hunt whenever we played a show, or stayed overnight in any city. “How much longer is the tour going on?” “Two more months,” I said, forcing myself to answer so I wouldn’t come across as too quiet or too sullen. “And then after that we’ll be putting together the joint EP,” Dan explained. “I remember that—you guys are going to work on a song together, right?” “One song, yeah,” Jaime said. “The rest of it’s going to be live recordings from the shows.” “Is there a record for Juniper Woolf in the works?” I tuned out once more, thinking about the record that Molly Riot was slated to make after all of this was done. Maybe for once I’d get a chance to push more than just one song of my own onto the

record.

CHAPTER SEVEN Once again, the bus was quiet; it was always weird to me, how one minute it would be buzzing with noise—conversations, people microwaving something to eat, a game going on in the rec room, or a movie blasting through the speakers—and then all at once, everyone was in their bunks. Everyone except for me. The show had gone off without a hitch; it was our best one yet—huge crowd, screaming so much they made a wall of sound and humid, sweat-drenched air all around the stage. Ron had called a meeting that morning, rousting us out of our beds at the ungodly hour of nine AM; at least he’d thought ahead to have coffee and donuts in the bus kitchen—he must have gotten the driver to stop somewhere before he woke us all up. He’d started out by telling us that the label was impressed with how well the tour was going, and how great a response it was getting from the fans. “Everyone at the label is pretty sure that the EP is going to sell big, and then, of course, after that your respective albums,” he’d explained. But there was a problem; of course, there was a problem. Ron wouldn’t have gotten us up so early for a pep talk alone. We were falling off-schedule on our postings to the site. The label wanted to

remind us that it was part of the deal; and if we didn’t live up to the deal, they were going to keep that in mind down the line when it came time to pay for the albums to come. “Jesus Christ, Ron,” Alex had said, nearly slamming down his coffee cup on the table. “We’re fucking musicians, not journalists.” “If you’d wanted someone to post updates every single damned day, you should have brought Olivia on the bus with us,” Nick told him. Normally I’d have pointed out that we had a rule about girlfriends on tour; but not only would I come off like a hypocrite when everyone eventually found out about Fran and me fooling around, but I had to agree with Nick that his girlfriend—a journalist— would’ve been the logical choice for keeping the tour journal bullshit updated. She’d done it for us before, after all. “It’s better if it comes from the band directly,” Ron had countered. “The fans love it—especially the videos. I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page, that’s all.” “We’ve been on tour for two months, promoting the fuck out of our bands,” I’d told the manager. “We’re fucking tired.” “I get that,” Ron had said, doing his good cop, bad cop thing to the hilt. “I’ll go back to the label and explain that. But in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you all made just a little more effort

to keep up your end of the deal. I just want to see everyone win on this.” Which is why I was up, on my laptop, working on an update for the tour journal on my own. I sighed, tilting my head back and letting it fall against the shelf above the table. This all sounds boring as fuck, I thought, reviewing the last few paragraphs I’d written. How could I possibly make a tour sound boring? But it did. I lifted my head and let it drop again. I groaned and pulled myself up, scrubbing at my face. Take a lap, Jules. I stood, stretching against the tightness in my neck, my shoulders. There really wasn’t anywhere on the bus to walk to; not really. But I walked to the front of the bus, stopping just short of where the driver sat, past the bunks. Everyone was asleep. I walked back the way I’d come, past the bunks once more; I was tempted to crawl into Fran’s bunk, see if she might be interested in a little fooling around. Instead, I kept going: past the kitchenette, down the little hallway where the bathroom was, and finally into the rec room. I figured I’d grab a cigarette, regroup, and get back to work. There, seated on the couch, I saw Fran; she had an enormous pair of headphones on, plugged into her phone, and a notebook on her lap. How is it possible that she just keeps getting cuter? That was a dangerous thought, but it was true. Fran’s

hair was mussed, hanging around her face. Her legs dangled off the edge of the couch, the toes of one of her feet pointing towards the floor. She looked like a doll, almost, except that she was scribbling furiously in her notebook, tapping the fingertips of her other hand on the page in time. “Hey,” I said, pitching my voice just loud enough—hopefully—to cut through the sound in her headphones. Fran’s hand paused, and she glanced up, and started. “Hey,” she said, tugging the headphones off of her ears. “Sorry, did I disturb you or something?” “Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “I was having trouble with my tour journal entry and decided to walk around a bit, try and see if that shook anything loose.” Fran grinned. “Know the feeling,” she said, stretching; the movement lifted the hem on her tee shirt, revealing a slice of her belly. “I’ve been trying to figure this song out for weeks.” “New Juniper Woolf?” I sat down on the couch next to her, wriggling until I was comfortable. “Maybe,” Fran said with a shrug. “I mean—I guess. Jaime came up with the beat, so I guess it has to be one of our songs.” “What else would it be?” “I write songs for myself sometimes, you know,” Fran told me. I saw the color creeping into

her cheeks. “It’s not like I’m planning to go solo or anything…but sometimes I get ideas that just aren’t really what Juniper Woolf does, you know?” I nodded. “Yeah, I know that—maybe a little too well,” I admitted. Fran shot me a quizzical look. “I’m a musician, too, you know. I write songs sometimes.” I nudged her with my elbow. “I get about one song per album. Alex, Nick…even Dan and Mark are kind of all on the same page about how they want Molly Riot to sound. But not everything I want to write is in that style.” “What do you do with the rest of the material?” Fran shifted closer to me on the couch, and I had to admit: it felt good, her body pressed against mine, almost cuddling up to me. “Record it on my own, play it for the guys sometimes.” I shrugged. “Mostly it gathers virtual dust on my SoundCloud page.” “I’d like to hear it sometime,” Fran said. “I wanna hear what big bad Jules plays on his own time.” I snorted. “Show me yours first,” I told her. Fran hesitated for a moment; then she grabbed her phone, unplugged the headphones, and unlocked the screen. After a few more swipes and taps, she set the phone down; the sound of a metronome came up, and then a syncopated beat, followed by a slightly faltering but pitch-true guitar run. “Is that

you?” Fran nodded. “I know what I want it to sound like,” she said, frustration in her voice. “But my playing isn’t strong enough to really capture it.” She sighed. “That’s not a big deal,” I said. “This isn’t bad.” “It could be better, though,” Fran said, giving me a wry grin. “Well yeah—nothing is ever perfect. Everything can always be better.” I listened more intently; I almost thought I could hear Fran’s breathing on the recording, a soft hiss when she almost missed a note. “That’s actually really good.” The song was solid, I had to give her that; it was more complex, more developed than most of Juniper Woolf’s songs. “Do you mind…?” “Go ahead,” Fran said, looking at me intently. I stood and grabbed one of the guitars hanging on the wall in the rec room. I caught the beat again as the song began to replay automatically. I sat down on the end of the couch, listened for the notes that Fran had put down on the recording, and found them on the neck of the guitar. Following the beat, I started to play along, adding a few little flourishes, a few bends and twists here and there. I came to the end of the song and looked up. Fran looked utterly rapt, her eyes almost glowing in the weird, yellow light of the rec room. “That was amazing,” she murmured. I shrugged it off.

“It was okay,” I countered. “Be better if I listened to the song a few more times.” “Could I get you to record that?” I pressed my lips together, considering. “Can’t see why not,” I told her. “I mean, we’re supposed to be collaborating, in some kind of partnership, right?” Fran chuckled. “I don’t think solo material was what they had in mind,” Fran said. I shrugged. “Material is material, right?” I put the guitar aside. “Maybe it’ll be workable into a song we can do together to fulfill that last bit of the deal.” “You know I was against that deal at the beginning, don’t you?” I looked at Fran in shock. “You were?” She nodded, smiling wryly. “You were too, right?” I hesitated, but nodded. Fran took a quick, deep breath, and I wondered what was going on in her brain. “We need to talk about what’s going on between us,” she said. “You’re all over the place tonight,” I told her, shaking my head in confusion. “Sorry.” Fran rubbed at her face. “It’s just… the way that we’re sneaking around: it’s not going to last forever. Someone’s going to end up catching us in the act, or they’re going to figure out that we both end up missing at the same time, or something like that is going to happen.” “Well that’s just the nature of the beast,” I pointed out. “It’s a small world on a tour bus.”

“The fact that we’ve made it two months without getting caught is…” Fran shook her head. “I’m almost suspicious of it.” “If anyone had figured it out in my band, I’d have heard about it—I promise that,” I told her. “What about your band?” Fran thought about the question and shrugged. “No idea. I’d think they’d say something—but they might be waiting for me to tell them.” “Are you going to?” Fran pressed her lips together. She shook her head after a moment. “I don’t want to start drama about it,” she said. “We’re going to have to deal with it at some point though.” “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said with a shrug. “It might help if we know what to call it,” Fran said. She bit her bottom lip. “Oh god, I sound like I want to try and make you ‘commit’ or something.” She shook her head. “As far as I can recall, this is just…us having sex, right?” “That sounds about right,” I agreed. I looked at her face; her cheeks were pink, her eyes dark with worry. “Did you want more? I mean— obviously not, like, in the commitment sense, I guess. But do you want more than what we’ve got going on?” Fran paused for a moment and then shook her head again. “Not now,” she told me. “It would just make

things too complicated with the tour going on.” “But later?” Fran took a slow, deep breath. “Later, we’ll figure out the answer to that question,” she said. Silence dragged out between us. “I should go back to that tour journal thing,” I said. “Good luck with the lyrics.” I stood, feeling awkward and heavy. “Good luck with your tour journal,” Fran said in return. I went back into the dining room and tried to focus on my work, but it was hopeless. You know what she wants, I thought. She wants to be with you. Not just fucking you. Actually with you. I stared at my laptop screen, deleting everything I had written. It was shit and I knew it. Do you want to be with her? It was obvious to me that Fran had been trying—in a roundabout way—to hint, to get me to say something about what we were to each other without actually asking for it. Maybe she’s scared of it, too. I rolled my eyes; it wasn’t that I was scared of a relationship. Half the band is in a relationship. It’s not doing them any harm. Alex dating Mary had gotten him on the mostly-straight and narrow; Nick dating Olivia kept him from giving us all crabs and gave him more focus since he wasn’t chasing tail all the time. Dan and Mark were kind of their own unit in a way, going after girls or not. I’d never really been one for relationships of

any kind; I’d had a few girlfriends but it always ended the same way: screaming at each other, unable to stand each other’s guts, and then I’d leave, or go on tour, and it would just fall apart. I’d always considered it better by far to just take what I could get in terms of sex, and not look back—not form any attachments. Deal with it later, I told myself firmly. Right now, just get through the tour, keep things from getting crazy. Get this stupid fucking blog post done and go to bed. Nothing more you can do to fix it tonight anyway. I turned my attention onto the screen in front of me and started out on a story about a mishap at the venue the day before, telling myself that at least that would be a little interesting. I kept thinking of Fran, in the rec room, working on her song; I wondered if it was all that wise for me to help her with the track —but I knew I would end up doing it anyway.

CHAPTER EIGHT Another show had come to an end, and the rest of the band and I piled into the green room behind the stage, at the back of the venue. “We need to go out and meet with some of the fans,” Dan suggested, even as Mark and Nick cracked their first after-show beers, throwing themselves into the seats of their choice. “Fifteen minutes,” Alex told him. “We’ll head out after we’ve gotten a chance to clean up and cool off a bit.” “Yeah,” Mark said, scowling at him. “Who are you supposed to be? Ron?” “I’m just saying,” Dan said, shrugging. “We should probably do some due diligence on that end. We’re not just on tour to promote Juniper Woolf.” “We’ve done at least an hour of autograph signings after just about every show this tour,” I pointed out to Dan. “I, for one, am fucking tired.” “We did our turn,” Kieran said. “Besides, I just want to chill tonight. Have a few beers, listen to some tunes that won’t blast out my eardrums with volume, get on the bus and sleep until we get to Boulder.” “Sounds like a fucking plan to me,” Nick agreed. “Someone put on—what’s it called? Fuck.”

He wracked his brain and I looked around the room until I spotted Fran. If she had already done autograph detail, then she should be game to sneak out for a little bit before everyone got back on the bus. The question would be where? Where could we have a little privacy, a little time to ourselves? Ever since Fran and I had talked about the possibility of getting caught, it seemed like everyone in both of our bands had subconsciously decided to make it happen; we’d only rarely had more than five minutes alone—and even on the bus, everyone seemed to be sleeping lighter than usual, making it harder to get each other off, even if we were quiet about it. Part of me thought that was actually not a terrible thing; after all, Fran obviously wanted—though she wouldn’t admit it— to talk about what we were to each other, and that was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have or even think about. But to go from regular sex, sometimes a few times in a row, even if it was only every other day or so, to getting turned on but not having the chance to get off, was getting on my nerves. It had to be bugging the hell out of Fran, too; she wasn’t as charmingly flirty as usual. Angelo is probably getting a workout, I thought grimly. For my part, it had been a few times now that I’d ended up curled up in my bunk, jerking myself off because Fran and I had had to pretend like we weren’t doing anything

when someone came into a room. Everybody started to loosen up; they drank a beer or two, and even Dan seemed to give up on the idea of going out and meeting with some of the crowd that had come out. It was impossible to do autographs and pictures after every single show; the shows themselves were exhausting, and the travel between them made everyone too tightly wound to want to hang out with fans for very long, even if we appreciated the hell out of them for coming out and supporting us. “Julian, you always look like such a sullen asshole,” Jaime told me as he flung himself down onto the green room couch I’d claimed for myself. “Sorry to hear that, I guess,” I said, managing a little smile. “It’s your thing,” Jaime said, beaming. “You’re not a sullen asshole, of course. But you look like one from across the room.” “He does not,” Fran said, plucking a beer out of one of the ice buckets. “He looks pensive. Brooding.” “Brooding is just another word for ‘sullen asshole’,” Jaime countered. Fran rolled her eyes and shot me a glance, and I grinned. “Leave Jules alone,” Nick said, leaning against the wall. “He cuts loose plenty; he just has to have the right motivation.” “I haven’t seen him cut loose with any

women,” Jaime pointed out. “He’s got high standards,” Dan said, chiming in. “Let’s stop talking about me, how’s that for a fun game?” I raised an eyebrow, glancing around at everyone who’d jumped into the conversation about whether I was, or was not, a sullen asshole. “Have you worked out a part for that new song yet?” I shrugged off Nick’s question. “I’m still working through it,” I told him. “I want it to be as good as possible before I show it off.” “Nothing can ever be perfect,” Fran said. “I think some smart guy I know told me that once.” “Not perfect,” I said, taking a sip of my beer. “Just as good as I can make it.” After another minute or two, the pressure on me—and the attention—went away, as the rest of the group started to talk about the next show, the next crowd, and all the other things that came along with the tour. I watched Fran as carefully as possible, trying to think of where we could go that wouldn’t leave us open to being caught. She walked across the room, laughing at something one of the crew said, letting Kieran kiss her on the cheek and give her ass a slap, and gradually working her way towards me. I probably should have felt weird about Kieran mauling the woman I was having sex with—but I know how it is

with bands. There’d been a long time when most of the press coverage that Molly Riot got focused on how ambiguously gay we were around each other: kissing each other on the cheek, sometimes on the lips, piling on top of each other, hugging each other. It was something that no one could understand unless they were in a tight-knit band, and I’d come to understand that even before we’d gone on this promotional tour with Juniper Woolf. Fran pretended like she was only pausing on her way to somewhere else in the room, another group of people to talk to, and glanced at me. “There’s an empty supply closet behind here,” she said lowly. “We could make that shit happen.” I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning at her and nodded. We had a system; one of us would suggest a meeting spot to the other one, and if it worked out, we’d take turns leaving the room. Sometimes Fran would slip out first, and sometimes I would, but the other person would wait a good five minutes before following. That way—we hoped—we could keep anyone from noticing that we happened to be leaving at the same time. Why are we even hiding this? It’s not like anyone in Molly Riot would have a problem with it, and I doubt any of the guys in Juniper Woolf is carrying a torch for Fran. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. But somehow even though I knew objectively that no one in my

band could have any real, true issue with what Fran and I were doing, the situation would become awkward. I’d have to explain things, and then guys would be talking shit to me about it. Not worth coming clean if we didn’t absolutely have to. I was the only one who noticed when Fran gradually made her way out of the green room altogether, talking to one group of people or another as she crossed the floor, and waiting until the group closest to the door—composed of Ron, a couple of the techs, and Nate from her band—were all involved in some story that Mark was telling them. She slipped out of the room, and I counted down the minutes until I could go out to her, find the closet she was talking about, and maybe— finally—get off the way a person truly should. Everyone thankfully seemed to be wrapped up in their own private, little world of discussion, so by the time I was able to get out of there, no one was really paying attention to the door anymore. That’s what venue security is for: to make sure no one gets into the backstage area to piss off the talent. Of course, they would probably think the same thing about me and Fran using their supply closet to have sex, but I figured there was no way in hell that we could possibly be the first ones to put it to that use. I snuck out of the room and down the hall, heart pounding in my chest. It was like I was one of

Pavlov’s dogs: even just the thought of having Fran to myself for even fifteen minutes was enough to make me instantly hard. I looked around, making sure that the backstage area was more or less deserted. It seemed safe enough. I finally found the side-hallway where Fran stood waiting, and grinned at her as I turned the corner and joined her there, right outside of a door marked with a placard saying “storage closet: do not touch!” I rolled my eyes at that and pointed it out to Fran. “Are you seriously talking about not touching things at a moment like this? I am so fucking horny that I feel like I’m about to explode. We wrapped our arms around each other and started kissing immediately, and after a couple of seconds, I no longer even cared if someone did walk into us. I let my hands wander all over Fran’s body, touching and teasing her, committing her curves to my memory. She was the hottest thing I’d ever seen—so good, so tight, so wet, and so delicious that I almost couldn’t resist being with her more often, or more obviously. But if she didn’t want anyone to know about what we were doing, then I wasn’t about to be the one who fucked it up. Luckily for both of us, Fran had opted to wear a skirt backstage; it made it so much easier for me to reach my hand up and begin touching and stroking her already-wet pussy. I loved—loved— how wet she got at the slightest provocation. It was,

in my opinion, the best thing about having her as a sex partner; there were other things that were just as good about her—I knew inside—that had nothing to do with the sex. “How long do you think we have?” I pulled open the supply closet door and checked the interior, making sure that we weren’t interrupting anyone else who’d had the same idea, or that there weren’t priceless items like gear or something nearby. “Twenty, tops,” Fran told me as we stepped into the closet together. I turned on the light and closed the door behind us and immediately went to work on stripping Fran down to the bare essentials; I’d let her keep the skirt on, but I had to be able to touch her breasts, I had to be able to tease her. I moaned against her mouth as the kiss deepened and I started to get more and more turned on with every passing moment. I could feel Fran writhing and squirming between me and the wall of the closet, I could feel her body heat up, and feel her trembling with the anticipation of what was to come. I wanted nothing more than to strip her completely naked and have sex with her on the floor—but I knew that wouldn’t go over well. The last time we’d been fully naked together, Fran had sneaked into my hotel room, and that had been amazing. But for the moment at least, we would have to make do with what it was that we

had, and so I found myself pinning Fran against the wall, putting my hand up her skirt, and kissing her over and over again. I may not have known what I felt about Fran in a broader sense—at least not at that point—I knew for sure, that I didn’t want her to leave the tour. I knew I’d get pissed if anyone smacked her anywhere else but on the ass, and even that was pushing things. I rocked my hips against Fran’s, rubbing against her hot, wet labia, letting her feel how incredibly turned on I was. Even if I had been hell-bent on lasting longer than the fifteen minutes that Fran had assigned me, there was no way I could hold out for that amount of time right now. I started stripping off what clothes I could of Fran’s, giving her a bunch of little caresses, exploring her body like it was a topographical 3-D map of the world. Every time that it seemed like Fran would break away to gasp or moan, I’d kiss her all over again; she did the same with me, as we got hotter and hotter by the moment in the closet. Fran reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped my fly, taking my cock out of my pants and began to stroke it in a slow and steady rhythm. I shuddered against her, so turned on—once again —that I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to hold back if she kept it up for much longer. “Come on,” I murmured against her lips. “Turn around and lean against the wall. This will feel so good.” Fran gave

me a quick, doubtful look but flashed a naughty smirk and did as she was told. I lifted her skirt over her hips to reveal the curve of her delicious ass. I reminded myself that looking at Fran’s ass was not what I’d come there to do, no matter how appealing it was, and instead, went back to work to get her even more turned on, sliding the tip of my cock against her clit, and then slowly along her slick folds. I was just on the verge of thrusting into her when I heard voices outside of the supply closet door. “Do you think she’s got more dope? And if so, where would she go to smoke it? I reached out to grab Fran, to warn her that we were about to be walked in on, but I barely had time before the door opened behind us, revealing Nick. I started to say that it wasn’t what it looked like; but I knew we were busted. “Well this is interesting,” Nick said, looking at each of us with a huge grin on his face.

CHAPTER NINE “Okay,” Alex said, looking from Fran to me. “How long have you two been fucking?” “About two months,” I said with a shrug. Alex’s eyes widened and he glanced at Nick, Dan, and Mark, who’d huddled together at the other end of the rec room. “Seriously?” Alex looked appalled for a moment and then started to laugh. “You have got to be the two quietest fucking…” he began laughing harder. “Fuckers?” Fran suggested, looking oh-soinnocent. I started chuckling in spite of myself, and in a minute, everyone was laughing—even Ron, who had spent the last thirty minutes looking stern and disapproving. Nick walking in on us in the supply closet at the venue had—of course—broken up the little two-person party we’d had going on. Nobody in Molly Riot went out to sign autographs; instead we’d all piled on the bus, most of us still buzzing from alcohol or other things, and the word had circulated. “Okay, okay,” Alex said finally as the laughter began to peter off. “Do you guys think you can keep it quiet…” his lips twitched and he had to take

a quick breath to keep from erupting into laughter again. “At least until the end of the tour and whatever else?” “I don’t see why we should have to,” Fran said with a shrug, and I glanced at her; I wasn’t sure that I was in complete agreement with her position there. “I mean—now that you guys all know about it, what’s the point?” “I just mean from the press perspective,” Alex said, raising his hands to forestall any other comments from anyone else. “I don’t want this to turn into some stupid, schlocky tabloid bullshit thing.” “Why not?” Nick smirked. “It’s worked out for us well whenever that’s happened in the past.” “That’s exactly why,” Alex said sharply. “I don’t want our band—or Juniper Woolf for that matter—to become that band that’s constantly in the media for the wrong reasons.” “The press doesn’t know about it yet,” I pointed out, suddenly feeling tired again. “It’s not like Fran or I are going to go out of our way to get caught by a journalist or something.” “Security does a pretty good job of keeping the press confined to the ‘approved’ areas,” Jaime pointed out. But from the way that the other members of Juniper Woolf were looking at their lead singer, I could only guess that they were going to be having a pretty lengthy conversation later on

—once they were able to get some space. “Journos sneak into hotels,” Ron pointed out. “They stake places out.” “Why the hell should we be secretive about it?” In a matter of moments, I had gone from—if not being against Fran’s idea of openness—wanting to take it a bit slow to perversely feeling like my own band were trying to cock-block me. They kind of are, I thought. They want you to keep shit even more on the DL than you were before—fuck that. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m going to do a press conference tomorrow and try to bend Fran over the podium or something but it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.” “Just—keep it as private as you can,” Ron suggested, looking from Fran to me. “You’re not doing anything wrong but you are doing something that people are going to want to talk about when they know it’s happening.” “Jules—are you really ready to get a hundred questions about what you and Fran are doing together?” I looked over at Nick; he smiled sympathetically, and I thought to myself that of all the members in either band, he probably understood the situation the best. After all, he’d hooked up with Olivia on our last tour—technically before the tour had started, but they’d hashed out their relationship on the bus together while going from one city to another.

“No,” I admitted. I glanced at Fran from the corner of my eye. “Are you?” She met my gaze and then shrugged. “Not really,” she said, though I could see there was another answer she wanted to give. “I mean, I don’t want drama any more than anyone else in here does. I just…think it’s stupid to sneak around when we’ve been going at it for two months.” “We’ve got maybe three weeks left of this tour,” Ron said, looking from Fran to me. “Then you guys are all going to be back home, and working on the EP you’re putting out together.” “What’s your point, Ronnie?” I crossed my arms over my chest. My groin ached. Having Nick walk in on us had gotten rid of my erection pretty fast—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t ever happened. I wanted more than anything to get a little privacy and take care of my problem; and the prospect of sitting in the rec room of the bus for another hour, debating whether or not Fran and I were doing the right thing, was like being tortured with paper cuts. “Keep it to yourselves as much as possible,” Ron said. “If you get caught after taking the normal level of precautions you have been—whatever. But don’t take this as license to just…” “Indiscriminately fuck anywhere they feel like?” I snorted at Nick’s comment. “Just do what you can to keep from having to do another press conference to explain how you

two hooked up and whether you’re engaged or not,” Ron said matter-of-factly. “Because I don’t think either of you would enjoy dealing with the drama of that any more than I would.” “It’d probably boost sales, though,” Mark said, grinning. “Enough,” Alex said. “We’ll talk about it more later. Right now, I just want to get in my bunk and talk to my girlfriend. Who’s on the same page?” He looked around the room and one by one, the members of both my band and Fran’s nodded. Alex stood and stalked out of the rec room, towards the bunks, and I watched as the rest of my band mates left, too. By tomorrow they’ll be giving me all kinds of shit, I thought bleakly, reaching into my pocket for a pack of cigarettes. I shifted in my seat, looking over at Fran, who’d gone quiet—but who hadn’t left with everyone else. Ron had found his way to the office he kept on the bus, Hannah had gone off somewhere, too, and Jaime, Nate, and Kieran as well. “What do you think of this shit?” I shook a cig free of the pack and found my lighter in another pocket. “I think I’m never fucking anyone in a supply closet again,” Fran said, turning towards me. “Got another?” I nodded and handed her the pack and the lighter. “You know what I mean, though,” I said,

taking a drag of smoke into my lungs and holding it for a second before I blew it out. “Yeah,” Fran said, lighting up. “I know.” She sighed, exhaling smoke in a gush around her face. “I just…is right now really the time you want to be talking about whatever we want to call this?” I considered that question. “Not really,” I admitted. “But I figure you’ve been trying to talk about it for a week or two now; we might as well get it over with, since everyone knows about it at this point.” “We’ve got two more weeks of touring,” Fran said, taking another quick drag of smoke. “And then maybe a week off and then we’ll head into the studio to make the EP.” “Maybe we can get them to bump it up to a month,” I said, smiling slightly. “Even then…” Fran shrugged. “What do you want this to be?” She looked me dead in the eyes. “I know I’m not really into sneaking around if we don’t have to—not when we’ve already been caught,” I said. I pulled some smoke into my lungs. “But I also don’t want to be tabloid darlings.” “Me either,” Fran said, sighing. “I just want…” she shrugged again. “I don’t know what I want.” “You like having sex with me,” I said, making it almost a question—but not quite. “Well duh,” Fran said, smirking. “If I didn’t I

wouldn’t keep doing it.” I snickered. “You would because—remember—there’s no one else you can fuck on this bus, really.” “I have Angelo,” Fran pointed out tartly. “Right,” I said, flicking the ash on the end of my cigarette into the ashtray next to me. “Anyway —you like fucking me. I like fucking you. We don’t hate each other’s guts anymore.” “I don’t think we actually ever did, if you really think about it,” Fran said. She leaned across the space between us and flicked the tip of her cigarette into the tray. “But yeah. We don’t hate each other.” She smiled slightly. “I actually enjoy spending time talking to you. I actually like you. Weird, huh?” “Who’d have thought?” I shook my head. “What do you want this to be? Just having sex and a good time—or something more than that?” “I asked you first,” Fran said, raising an eyebrow. I continued smoking for a moment, trying to find a way to answer without actually answering. “I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “I like how things are right now.” Fran scratched at her scalp with her free hand. “But you like me,” Fran said. “Beyond the sex part of things.” I pressed my lips together. “I do,” I said, nodding. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this right now, huh?” Fran smiled wryly. I sighed.

“Probably not,” I agreed. “Just thought I’d try.” “Better wait until the actual tour is over,” Fran suggested. “See if we feel…certain, or whatever.” I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out. “I’m going to my bunk,” I said, giving Fran a wry smile. “You know how it is.” “I’ll say ‘hi’ to Angelo for you,” she told me, giving me a little grin.

CHAPTER TEN It was the last show of the tour; we were playing a gig in Atlanta, and then we’d drive straight down to Miami again. It had been two weeks since I’d done anything at all with Fran. “Yo —Jules,” Mark said, coming into the back of the tour bus where I sat, working on a tour journal entry. “What?” I didn’t look up. “What’s the story? You’ve been more—I dunno. Pensive or brooding or whatever it’s called.” I shrugged. “Just fucking tired,” I told him, reaching blindly for my pack of smokes. I finished the sentence and looked up. “Glad the promo tour is done tonight.” “Be real with me,” Mark said, meeting my gaze. He grabbed a cigarette of his own and lit up. “You and Fran Chambers?” I shrugged and took a drag of smoke. “It’s a thing. Dunno what kind of thing, but there you have it.” “Fucking hell,” Mark said, shaking his head. “You’ve been at it two months? For real?” “For real,” I told him, nodding with a little smile. “Did you think we were just making it up?”

“I don’t know, man,” Mark said, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I mean I know Nick walked in on you, but Christ. I thought you hated her.” “That.” I blew smoke out of my lungs and sighed. “That is going to fucking plague me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?” “You didn’t even want to do the tour because of it, Jules,” Mark pointed out. “You were going to turn down half a million for the sake of it.” “We’re long past that now,” I said, flicking an ash into the ashtray. I set the laptop aside. “So where are the two of you taking this?” I shrugged. “We haven’t decided,” I replied. “Neither of us wants to come clean with what we want, so until then we’re up in the air.” “No one’s walked in on you since,” Mark said, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing’s happened since,” I pointed out. “Can’t walk in on something that’s not happening.” “That blows.” I laughed. “Yeah, it kind of does,” I agreed. “Hand’s getting a fucking workout.” “She is pretty hot,” Mark said. “You’ve banged worse.” I rolled my eyes. “Coming from you? You’d bang a fucking shoe if it was curvy enough.” Mark laughed out loud.

“Hey—don’t knock fucking shoes,” he told me jokingly. “They don’t expect a phone call in the morning and you can’t get them pregnant.” I snorted. “So, it’s an actual thing—you and Fran?” I shrugged. “It’s as much a thing as either of us are up to right now, even without the sex.” “I’ll try and help a brother out,” Mark said, smirking. “Get everyone to party it up for the last night. Beg to go to the Clermont Lounge, then you and Fran can have the bus to yourselves.” I snickered. “Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll play out just like that.” The fact was that I’d take any chance to have at least fifteen minutes alone with Fran at that point—and twenty or thirty would be even better. Maybe an hour. We had to make up for lost time, after all. “See what you can do.” “You know Nick’s never going to let you live it down though, right?” I nodded. The other day, during one of the bullshit promotional interviews we’d had to do at yet another radio station, Nick had spent the entire time dropping hints—little comments about “how close we’re all getting as bands,” and “the need for companionship” and shit like that. It was just enough to get a sharp look from Alex. “Yeah, I figure I’ll be getting texts about it

when we’re back in Dade,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. It is what it is.” “Even if you don’t know what it is, exactly?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Even then,” I agreed. “Let me finish this bullshit for the site.” “I’ll come get you in a bit; Nate wants to smoke out.” I nodded and turned back to the blog post, thinking to myself what a fucking fiasco that part of the agreement had been. From the label’s perspective, it was a huge success; getting us and the members of Juniper Woolf to update it every day had driven a lot of traffic to the site, which had resulted in people ordering merch—including our last album—and there was some kind of ruckus at the label about “generating buzz” which I didn’t understand but apparently made them happier than a pig in shit. But if we ever did anything like this again—some kind of promotional deal with another band—I was going to put my foot down to Ron and insist that we get an actual journalist of some kind, at least some kind of fucking writer, to do the work of documenting it. I’d just finished and posted the blog to the site when I heard someone else walking into the rec area. I looked up while I closed the laptop down and saw Nate. “What’s up?” Nate shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket and coming up

with a couple of joints. “Fran’s doing some interview thing with a magazine, so I thought I’d come back here and see about getting lit,” Nate explained. “Feel like sharing?” Nate set one of the joints aside and I handed him my lighter. “Sure, man.” He got the joint going and took a hit, holding his breath for a second as he passed it. It was quality shit—probably more of Fran’s stash, I thought, when I passed the crackling, smoking joint back to him. “So you and Fran?” “Jesus how many times do I have to have this conversation? I’m fucking tired of it,” I said, coughing through the heavy smoke. “She just normally doesn’t hook up like that. It’s weird, is all,” Nate said before taking another hit. I took the J from him when he extended it to me and took as big a drag on it as I could handle. For a second we were both silent, holding the pot smoke in our lungs to get the most out of it. We both started coughing at almost the same moment. “Yeah, she mentioned the first time we hooked up that normally she just takes care of things herself on tour,” I said; I doubted that it was a secret to any of her band mates. Hell—everyone in Molly Riot knew everyone else’s porn preferences and masturbation schedules. You couldn’t help knowing shit like that when you spent every waking moment together. It surprised me again that Fran

and I had managed to pull off keeping our thing secret for so long. “When was that?” I raised an eyebrow. “You want to know the first time I fucked your lead singer?” Nate shrugged. I took another hit. “Right at the start. I think Orlando probably.” Nate snickered. “I won the betting pool then,” Nate said, before bringing the joint to his lips. “Betting pool? You sons of bitches bet on how long it would take Fran and me to hook up?” Nate nodded before blowing out acrid pot smoke. “If it makes you feel better, Nick said it’d take you until the last night of the tour to hook up with her,” Nate told me. I rolled my eyes. “How much did you win?” Nate looked up at the ceiling of the bus, swaying slightly as he struggled with the math. “Few hundred bucks,” he told me, smirking. “Give me fifty and we’ll call it even,” I said. Nate passed the joint; we’d almost finished it. “Soon as I collect, my man,” he said, nodding. “I’m gonna spend the rest of it at the Clermont. You going to that?” I shook my head. “I’m getting to be an old man,” I told Nate with a little grin. “Gonna come back on the bus and sleep until we get home.” “Frannie said the same thing,” Nate told me with a knowing smirk. “Sleep well, compadre.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN “All right, Atlanta—this is our last song,” Alex told the roaring crowd in the club. The shrieks climbed a few decibels and I looked over at Nick; he was grinning, basking in the attention. We all were. Juniper Woolf had done their best to whip the crowd into a fury like always, and like always, we’d come out onto the baking hot stage to screaming fans ready to practically tear the place down. I had to admit, as tired as I was after the blitz of a promo tour, it felt good. It felt even better to know that everyone else on the bus was going to head over to Clermont Lounge after we cleared out of the venue for the night to party it up one last time before heading for home. Considering how late that strip club stayed open, I figured Fran and I would have most of the night to catch up on all the sex we hadn’t been having. Behind me, Mark counted us in. I looked over at the wings; Fran was perched on a stool, watching, and I shot her a quick grin as I started playing our last song of the night. I turned my attention back onto the crowd, falling into the rhythm with Mark, Dan, and Nick. I could hear Alex’s voice through the monitor, just over the

sounds of the screaming from the crowd. I grinned, plowing through, and the song dropped off into a jam as Alex came to the end of the third chorus. It was our last night on the road; we were going to milk it as long as we could. Nick and I traded solos, back and forth, as the crowd continued to cheer. Mark switched the beat up and we followed him into it, deepening the number. I had no idea how long it went on, but the audience stayed with us throughout the musical meandering, and finally we plunged back into the main number, and Alex sang the chorus a final time. The crowd continued shrieking and screaming and cheering as we left the stage, begging for another encore; but we were done for the night. I grabbed Fran on my way off the stage, dragging her with my arm around her waist as we made our way to the green room where everyone else waited. I kissed her cheek and used the movement to bring my lips to her ear. “Let’s get rid of everyone as quickly as possible,” I told her. She laughed out loud, barely audible above the roar of the audience. In the green room, everyone was in a good mood; of course they were. We were on the last night of the promo tour, headed home in hours, and we’d packed the house and tore it up. The rest of the band and crew were more than ready for the Clermont Lounge, and I was more than ready to have a beer, take a shower, and get onto the bus

with Fran. “Who’s ready to get this shit started?” Jaime gestured to a row of bottles on the green room table. “We’re taking that with us, right?” Nick snatched up a pint of whiskey. “Of course,” Hannah said, beaming. “Just don’t destroy anything. We’re liable to the venue if you do.” Everyone cracked bottles—even Alex, though he opted for just a beer—and started getting ready to move onto the Clermont in their own ways. I stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and threw it into my backpack, throwing on one that was probably almost as dirty but at least was dry and reminded myself that I’d be able to do laundry within a day. The whole time we waited for the crew to clear everything away and load it on the bus, I felt like my nerves were jumping around under my skin. I kept looking in Fran’s direction; I couldn’t wait to get her alone. Whatever we were to each other, however long it lasted, I wanted her. I felt like my blood was simmering in my body, almost like I’d never left the stage, like it might start boiling at any moment. Fran looked just as antsy as I felt, flitting back and forth across the room, sipping something in a red Solo cup. She was holding back—I knew she was. I’d seen her taking shots before, so I knew

that she could handle much more than she was consuming. I couldn’t stand it. I met Fran’s eye, nodded towards the door. The after-party had been going on for what felt like an eternity, even though it was only about forty-five minutes. Fran raised an eyebrow and gave me the briefest little smile before turning back to talk to Dan some more about something I didn’t care about. I finished off my beer and tossed the empty into the trash, asking Mark where the venue’s showers were. “Around the corner from here,” he told me, pointing. “Go get clean for your woman.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed a towel. There’d be soap, shampoo, whatever I needed in the shower; the rest of the guys had cleaned up already and left whatever they’d used behind. I caught Fran’s eye once more as I headed to the door of the green room, not saying a word, but letting her know where I was going. Her lips twitched as she began to smile, and I didn’t know whether or not she’d follow me. I found the shower room—still faintly steamy from whoever had last used it—and threw my towel on the rack, stretching against the tightness in my neck and shoulders and back as I stripped off my clothes. I’d get a decent scrub, and wash my hair, and throw on the last clothes I had in my backpack. By then everyone would be ready to

head out—I was sure of that. I started the water and climbed in, closing my eyes and leaning against the wall as I let the warming water rain down over my head. I groaned as I felt some of my muscles start to relax; it felt good. Not as good as fucking Fran, but good enough for the moment. I stood for a few moments longer, getting good and soaked, and then reached out without opening my eyes, groping for one of the bottles of shampoo I’d seen along the shelf on the wall. Instead, my hand closed on something yielding —flesh. I opened my eyes and blinked through the water running over them, grinning when I recognized Fran. She’d snuck into the shower room with me, stripped down, and stepped into the shower. “Hey,” she said, smiling back at me a little bit. The water pelted the tops of her heavy tits, the top of her head, plastering her dyed-violet hair against her scalp and her neck. “You’ve been a stranger lately,” I said, letting go of her arm. In spite of my irritable words, I had to admit that the sight of her naked body, there with me in the shower, turned me on immediately. I could feel my cock starting to get hard as the blood pooled in my groin. “Seemed like a good idea,” Fran said, stepping closer to me. “But hey—now we’re going to be going home, and we can figure shit out, right?”

“Right,” I agreed. “But tonight…” “Tonight, we’re going to fuck like rabbits,” Fran told me. She grabbed for the bottle of shower gel someone had left—I thought it might be Nick, based on the smell of it. “But we should get you cleaned up first.” I held up my hands, giving her silent permission. Fran lathered up some shower gel between her palms and began rubbing me down, starting at my shoulders. I relaxed into her touches, closing my eyes and just giving into it. “You’re pretty good at this,” I told her, tensing once more as her hands moved down towards my hips—towards my already-hard cock. I heard Fran chuckle softly, and then I groaned as I felt her hand wrapping around my erection, beginning to stroke. The soap made it easy—I gritted my teeth, struggling to hold back while she rubbed me up and down, her thumb teasing the tip of my cock every few moments. “I think—I think it’s clean now,” I told her, panting and leaning against the wall slightly. I opened my eyes to see her smirk. “Legs a bit unsteady there?” Fran played her soap-slick hands over her own body, lingering at her tits for a moment before she stepped into the water to rinse off. “That’s a shame—I was hoping you could fuck me up against the wall.” I raised an eyebrow at that, smiling back at her. “My legs are steady enough for that,” I told her, reaching out and wrapping my arms around her

waist. I pulled her body against mine and began touching her everywhere. I kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder, loving the feeling of her skin under my fingertips, loving the way she twisted and writhed against me when I slipped one hand up between her legs. I lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, as Fran wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my shoulders, holding me close. I kissed her again and again—she tasted like beer and sweetness and cigarette smoke; I couldn’t get enough of her. I rocked my hips against Fran’s, rubbing against her slick folds. “Where have you been the last two weeks?” I murmured against her neck, teasing her with my cock. It was almost more than I could stand; I wanted more than anything to slide inside of her, to feel her tightness wrapping around me. “You know where I’ve been,” Fran replied, her hands tightening on my shoulders. Her breath hitched in her throat as we moved together, teasing each other. “Yeah—but you haven’t…” I groaned against her shoulder, shuddering a little bit at the feeling of her heat and wetness against my rock-hard cock. “We haven’t fucked in weeks.” “Well we’re fixing that now,” Fran pointed out. “So, get to it already.” I chuckled and shifted against her, reaching down to line the tip of my

cock up with her wet folds. I thrust my hips up into Fran’s; her tight, wet heat wrapped around my aching cock all at once. We both moaned and I had to hold back for a minute, standing there absolutely still—I was sure I’d come right away, otherwise. We started to move again, Fran twisting and writhing, trapped between me and the wall, and me pushing deeper and deeper inside of her. She felt fucking amazing—even better than I remembered. “Fuck—Fran…” “I know,” Fran moaned, burying her face against my neck. “Feels right, doesn’t it?” “Feels fucking amazing,” I told her, picking up my pace. I rocked my hips against hers, pushing deeper and deeper, and lost all track of time. The heat and humidity of the shower, the feeling of Fran’s body pressed against mine, her tight muscles flexing and rippling around my cock, made it impossible to think. We both kept moving, kissing and touching each other everywhere, barely holding ourselves up as we both came closer and closer to coming. All at once I felt Fran’s body tense against mine, felt her muscles tighten around me. I swallowed down her moans as she came, her hips bucking against mine, her body flexing around me in erratic spasms. I couldn’t hold back anymore; I groaned against her lips as wave after wave of pleasure crackled through my body. I held her

against the wall, thrusting into her hard and fast as I came, shuddering from the feeling of relief that washed through me. It seemed to last for an hour, over and over again, while we both slid against the walls and reeled against each other in the shower. I slid out of Fran and let her down carefully onto her feet. She leaned heavily against the wall of the shower and I watched as the water flowed over her trembling body. It was almost enough to make me hard all over again—but I told myself we’d probably spent too long away from the party already. “We should see if everyone’s ready to clear out,” I said, once I was able to catch my breath. “Yeah,” Fran agreed, looking dazed and pleased. She grinned. “I could stand to do that a good three or four more times.” “On the bus,” I told her. “No chance of breaking an arm slipping on tile there.” “Agreed. Let’s get out.”

CHAPTER TWELVE I woke up in my own bed for the first time in months, feeling as though I’d slept for a hundred years; in reality it had been probably closer to ten hours. The bus had dropped us off the day before, in the afternoon, and I’d watched Mary and Olivia greeting Alex and Nick, beaming like the pleased girlfriends they were, and wondered if Fran felt weird about the situation the way I did. It was the first day of our break before going into the studio to work on an EP together; I had laundry to take care of, a kitchen to stock, and—in spite of how rested I felt—sleep to catch up on. There was also the question of a song I’d been working on, and the one that Fran had showed me early on in the tour. We’d never really talked about it since that night, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It deserved to be recorded. I stretched and yawned and thought about walking down to the little Cuban café about a block away from my apartment to get a cafecito and maybe something to eat. Have to get dressed to do that, I thought, kicking the sheets off of my legs. Part of me thought that would be a small sacrifice; the other part of me felt magnetically stuck to my bed.

My phone rang, and I tumbled over the edge of the bed, groping for it in the gloomy light. I’d plugged it in before I’d passed out the night before, and completely forgot about it. I managed to find it on the bedside table and pull the charging cord out; the screen flashed Fran’s name. “What’s up?” I said as soon as the call connected. “We’re on TMZ, that’s what’s up,” Fran said quickly. “What? What for?” I crawled back onto the bed and half-buried my face in the pillow, shifting the phone to the ear I hadn’t covered up. “Someone snapped a picture of us apparently, leaving the shower together,” Fran explained. “And now it’s on TMZ with some stupid article about us.” I groaned, scrubbing at my face. “Fuck.” I took a deep breath. “What’s the verdict from them?” “That we either faked hating each other all along or something-something-something fine line between love and hate,” Fran told me bitterly. “It’s pretty bad.” “Oh man,” I agreed. I took another deep breath; I was definitely not going to be staying in bed much longer. “What do you want to do about it?” “Mostly I wish I could tell them to delete the thing,” Fran admitted. “But obviously, we’re ‘out’ now. I’ve been getting calls since eight this

morning.” “I should check my phone,” I said. “Later. Now…do you want to meet up and talk about this over coffee or something?” “What’s there to talk about?” I thought about that. “We keep putting off that conversation about what we are,” I pointed out. “There’s no sense in putting it off now that everyone at least knows we’re something.” “I guess,” Fran said, and I heard her sigh. “Where do you want to meet?” “Enriqueta’s,” I said after thinking about it for a second. “I can be there in like…twenty minutes.” “Probably the same for me,” Fran said. “I’m fucking pissed about this, Jules.” “You know if we go anywhere together, they’re going to get pictures of us, right? I’m not saying we shouldn’t meet up—I’m just saying to be prepared for it.” “Yeah,” Fran said, sighing again. “I might as well look on point. See you in twenty?” “Twenty,” I agreed. I ended the call and turned onto my back to stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. It had gone yellow over the years—the popcorn looked grungy and kind of gross after people had smoked in the room long before I’d ever taken the apartment, and some of the texturized bits had flaked off, but it had a certain homey

feeling I liked. I scratched at my face again, thinking I should at least shave, even if I didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm for a full shower before I went down. Fuck. Ron is going to have a fit, and the label is going to be pissed, too. I closed my eyes and sat up in my bed, throwing my legs over the edge to climb out. It was going to be a shit fest and I knew it. But then—why should it be? Obviously, me hooking up with Fran had gotten some attention. Wasn’t that what the whole collaboration bullshit had been about? I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, rubbing at my stubbly cheeks and debating taking the time to shave them. Fuck it —just get it done. You’ve got another fifteen to get dressed and get over there. If a handful of paparazzi were going to snap pictures of me and Fran, I didn’t want to look like a bum who’d just rolled out from under an overpass. I shaved, put on some clean clothes, and found my car keys. I figured we might as well get it over with.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN “You put your phone on silent?” I nodded my answer to Fran’s question. We’d made it to Enriqueta’s and grabbed some food before retreating to a shady spot about half a block away where we could smoke and enjoy our meals. “I had about thirteen missed calls or texts, apparently,” I told her, twisting my lips into a wry grin. “You?” “Still coming in,” Fran told me. She shook her head, putting her purse down to take a sip of coffee. “What do you want to do about the situation?” I took a bite of an empanada and chewed on it while I waited for Fran to consider the question. “I just want to let it blow over,” she said after a moment. “It can’t be that big of a story, can it?” “It’ll be as big or as small as we end up making it,” I said with a shrug. “If we don’t really talk about it they’ll lose interest eventually.” “Which I guess brings us around to whether we want to actually…you know…be together.” Fran took another sip of her coffee. “Did you not want to be together?” I set my half-eaten empanada aside. “I mean, I won’t exactly take it hard if you decided that you wanted

to be single, but I’d like to know.” “The thing is…” Fran took a deep breath and put her cup of coffee down. “I don’t want to be single. I want to be with you. I just…” she shrugged. “I don’t want it to be a marketing gimmick, or for people to think that I’m just doing it to get more attention.” I snorted. “Well, unfortunately, people are going to think that,” I told her. “Some people, anyway. Nothing you can do about that situation.” I pressed my lips together and considered. “Do you think I only hooked up with you for attention?” “Of course not,” I said, shaking my head. “If you were going to hook up with someone to promote the band, you’d have gotten with Nick or Alex or someone.” Fran laughed. “Okay, that’s a decent point,” she said. “So, what do you want to do about…” I shrugged. “I want to keep seeing you,” I said, taking a sip of my own coffee. “What you want to call it— that’s just window dressing. I want to keep seeing you, and I want to work on music together.” “You do?” Fran raised an eyebrow. “That song you showed me before—it’s a good song. It deserves to come out. It deserves to be heard. I want to help make that happen.” “You don’t think it’ll just get bashed as a John and Yoko thing?” I rolled my eyes.

“If anyone was going to get bashed as a Yoko figure, it’d be Mary,” I said, shaking my head. “Alex is closer to being John Lennon than I am. I’m more…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. But if people want to talk shit about us, why should we even fucking be bothered?” “What’s the label going to say?” I shrugged again. “I don’t really care. They don’t have a lock on our personal lives, for one thing. It’s not like we’re in contract with them all of the hours of all of our days. We make records for them and we do promotion for the records. We tour. That’s the only hold they have on us—on you, for that matter.” “The label sent Alex to rehab, didn’t they?” “The band sent him to rehab, with Ron and the label backing us,” I told her. “That was a whole separate deal. Besides, Alex came out of it with a girlfriend and a big reputation. So, he won out in the long run.” “Do you think they’re going to think you’re trying to go solo if you do this with me?” That was a good question. I finished off my empanada while I considered it, and lit a cigarette. “They know I’ve got a bunch of music I’ve written on my own,” I told Fran. “I can do both. I can work with you on stuff and work with the band.” “But can you do both while our bands are

working together?” I smiled. “It’ll make it easier that way, won’t it? We’ll work on our stuff in the off hours—we’re going to be renting the studio for like two weeks. There’s no way there’s not going to be time for us to do our own thing in it.” “I’m actually kind of more excited by that than by the fact that I can fucking date you openly now if I want to,” Fran said. We both laughed and, acting on impulse, I leaned in and kissed her. If someone took a picture of us, I didn’t give a single fuck. “We’ll make it work,” I told her. It was the first time that I had actually said that to a woman; I had always been the person to hear it. I could only hope that I would be better at making it happen than any of the women I’d been involved with who had said those words to me. I kissed Fran again. “Eat your damn sandwich before I do,” I told her, taking another drag of my cigarette and another sip of my coffee. “Then let’s go back to my place. It’s actually clean for once.” Fran laughed. “Now that we don’t have to sneak around?” I nodded. “We’ll just do whatever we feel like, won’t we?” Fran took a bite of her Cuban sandwich and her eyes gleamed. I knew it was going to be an uphill battle with the label—but she didn’t know that, and I didn’t intend to really tell her. She’d find

out soon enough.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN It was late. Half the band had gone home—or in Mark’s case, out to a bar—and the other half, save for me and Fran, was packing up. Our weeklong break had ended, and we were in the studio, ostensibly working on our EP together. “You guys hanging out?” Alex gave me a dubious look from the door. I shrugged. “Fran had something she wanted to work on for a bit, and I’m not tired,” I said. No one—in either band, as far as I could tell—had said anything about what had happened in the tabloids regarding Fran and I being discovered. We hadn’t said anything about it either; just gone about our normal lives. I knew a lecture from Ron was coming, but as long as I took care not to be alone in a room with him, I was pretty sure I could stall it out. For a while, anyway. Alex gave me another long look, but then turned and left; he had Mary waiting for him anyway. I glanced at Fran, seated at the studio’s piano. “You ready to work on this?” Fran met my gaze and half-smiled. “Is it weird that I feel nervous?” I shook my head. “Not at all. I still get a little nervous the first

couple of tracks I try to record with the band,” I said, picking up a guitar and checking the tune. “And it’s not like you’ve recorded with me before.” “No virgin jokes,” Fran told me quickly. I snorted. “None,” I promised. I looked up through the window into the control room. Les, the sound engineer, had stayed behind because I’d asked him to; Dave had gone home. “Okay,” Les said over the intercom. “How do you guys want to do this?” “You’ve got the demo track, right?” I sat down in a chair next to the piano, made sure I was still plugged in. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Les confirmed. “Can you play it back?” Fran glanced from Les to me. “We’ll use it as a scratch track I guess.” “Sounds good,” Les said levelly. “Give me about a minute and I’ll do a count-in.” I looked at Fran and smiled to myself; I could tell she was almost as nervous as she’d been the first night out on tour, when she’d been preparing to go out to one of the biggest crowds that Juniper Woolf had ever played to. We’d spent about half the day setting up, making sure everything was the way it was supposed to be for both bands. The way the label wanted it was that we’d record six songs: two each by Juniper Woolf and Molly Riot, and then two that

we did together. If it seemed to do well, there would be videos to make, but only one for each kind of song—hopefully. And then, both my band and Fran’s could get to work on separate albums. No one had said anything about Fran and me working on side projects together—but then, no one had said that we couldn’t. I put my headphones on and listened for the count in. I’d shown Fran the night before what I’d worked out for the song—and she’d told me that she’d worked out a piano part to go with it. Now we’d see how our ideas meshed together. It was a damned good thing, in my opinion at least, that there were no stakes in recording it; a few times the guys and I had tried a similar approach and it had been a hot fucking mess. But when the track counted in, I started on my part, and I heard Fran’s piano playing coming through the headphones at the same time. I almost stopped—stunned—but made myself keep going. It actually sounded really, really good together, over the drum machine and the acoustic she’d already laid down. It was more melodic than anything I’d ever done with Molly Riot, more structural and flowing at the same time. We got to the end of the demo and stopped— first me and then Fran—and I felt that pit-of-mystomach lurch of not knowing whether what I’d just played was genius or shit. The intercom—patched

in through the headphones—crackled. “Sounds good, you two,” Les said, and Fran and I looked at each other with grins. “Let’s do it one more time and then we can talk about what else you want to do with it.” We played it through again; I knew what Fran was going to do, and adjusted my part to hers just a little, adding some emphasis to the fills that looped around her piano part. It was like a conversation between us, and I grinned to myself as we came to the end of it. “Fucking nailed it!” The recording had ended —I was pretty sure I was in the clear. Fran started giggling and turned on the piano seat to face me. “We did, didn’t we?” I nodded. “Come on in here and listen to the playback,” Les suggested. I set my guitar aside and Fran leapt up from her stool, and we practically raced each other to the control room to listen to the track we’d just recorded. “I’m going to strip out the acoustic in the demo, since I don’t think you actually need that at this point to get the idea,” Les told us, pressing buttons on the board and adjusting levels. “You might want to re-record that bit later, with better equipment and microphones, but for now, let’s just listen to the drums and what you two laid down.” The music flowed through the speakers and I had to admit it was a big departure from anything I’d ever done in my life before. I looked over at

Fran as the song progressed; it was quieter than her usual stuff, more melodic. I could hear the lowerquality recording of her voice, but it wasn’t jarring —it sounded pretty good still, even wrapped around with the better guitar and the piano part. It was pretty amazing, when I really thought about it. “What do you two think?” Les turned to face us and I took a breath. “It’s her song,” I said, gesturing in Fran’s direction. “Right, because I totally wrote that guitar part you just played,” Fran said, making a face. “I think we can agree at this point that it’s our song.” “Is it?” I raised an eyebrow. Fran gave me a slightly nervous look and bit her bottom lip. She’s so fucking cute when she does that. I wasn’t sure when all the little things that used to annoy me about her had become so damned endearing, but somehow, they had—I couldn’t wait to get her alone again. “I think…” Fran licked her lips and exhaled sharply. “I think I want you to do the vocals with me.” I stared at her. I’d done a few backing vocal bits with Alex on Molly Riot songs, but never really did anything that could be called a duet. “You sure?” “We can try it, right?” Fran looked at Les. “We have the set up, since you and Alex were supposed to be working together on vocals for the

EP,” Les said matter-of-factly. “So it wouldn’t be hard.” “I don’t even really know the lyrics,” I pointed out. “Do you want to do vocals on it? If you don’t that’s one thing.” I shrugged. “I just…” the thought of bringing the song to either of our bands—especially as unsettled as things had been since TMZ had posted about Fran and me being together—gave me a bit of a pause. It was one thing to record my own stuff on the side and post it to SoundCloud. I’d never really taken it seriously. But in helping Fran with a song of her own, building a part for it and her handing joint control to me, it felt like I was doing more—it felt like it was something I couldn’t quite dismiss. “Let me think about it.” “Take your time, but we’re only in here for another week or two,” Fran pointed out. “Want to work on one of the songs you showed me?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not going to be as good as that,” I said, shaking my head. “If you’ve got the recording, I can throw it up and we can play with it,” Les suggested. I hesitated. “Come on, Jules—you worked with me on something. Let me work with you on something,” Fran said, giving me a flirty grin. “It’s only fair, right?” I took a breath and exhaled.

“Let’s get a beer and a cigarette and then we can do it,” I said, looking from Fran to Les. “I’ll take a break,” Les said, shrugging. “Shoot me the track in an email and I’ll pull it up on here.” He left the control room and I walked over to the mini fridge. Normally we didn’t drink all that much when we were recording—it tends to make everything sound like shit—but I definitely needed a beer. “You okay?” I looked over my shoulder at Fran. I shrugged and grabbed two beers out of the fridge and opened them before I plunked down in the seat I’d left a moment before. Fran handed me a cig and I handed her a beer and thought about the situation. “I just don’t want either of our bands thinking that we’re like…going off on our own,” I said. “You mean you don’t want Molly Riot to think you’re going off on your own with me,” Fran told me, lighting up her own cigarette. “You didn’t have a problem with working on my song.” “I did a guitar part,” I pointed out, taking a sip of my beer. “I’ve done that with other acts, too.” “But doing vocals…or working on one of your own songs with me; those things make it different somehow?” Fran raised an eyebrow. “Of course, they do!” I wasn’t even sure why I was irritated about it, but I was. “It makes it more…” I shrugged. “It makes it seem like I’m not satisfied with the band.”

“You’ve been writing your own songs for what —years?” Fran set her beer down and gave me a level look. “If you weren’t satisfied with the band don’t you think they’d have figured that out by now?” “It’s different doing my own songs in a studio like this instead of at home,” I told Fran. “You’re the lead singer of your band. They fucking expect you to have other irons in the fire.” “You’re a talented goddamn musician and you obviously have other things that you’re capable of doing,” Fran said, scowling at me. “What the fuck does it matter if you record something off hours with me?” “It matters, okay?” I took a quick breath and downed about a third of my beer. “It matters because ever since Alex took up with Mary, we’ve all been a little…” I shrugged. “It’s been weird. And what’s weirder is that no one is fucking talking about what happened between you and me.” “I thought you said that Mark or whoever gave you shit about it? Wasn’t there a betting pool?” “Not like that,” I told her, shaking my head. “Like…no one is talking about the fact that the tabloids have practically guaranteed that you and I are going to make an album together in the next two years.” “They have?” Fran’s eyes widened and she

stared at me in shock. “What the fuck? You’ve been reading the tabloid shit about us?” “Of course I have,” I said. “You haven’t?” “I’ve been fucking ignoring it because it’s bullshit,” Fran told me. She shook her head. “So, because some magazine or something says we’re going to put an album out together, you’re afraid the rest of the guys are going to think it’s true?” “I told you,” I said, picking up my beer again and taking another long pull from it. “I fucking told you, shit is weird in the band right now. I don’t want them to think that I’m going to jump ship or something.” “And working on one of my songs isn’t going to make them think that?” I shook my head. “Working on my own stuff with you—instead of on my own, or with them—or doing it professionally, that’s the shit that’s going to make people uneasy,” I said. “Working with you on something just looks like I’m doing my new girlfriend a favor.” Fran’s eyes widened again. “When did I become your girlfriend?” she crossed her arms over her chest, barely managing to avoid burning herself with the lit cigarette in her hand. “If you don’t want to be then just say so,” I told her. “I thought that’s what you were getting at all along—but if I was wrong, fucking tell me so.” “Right now, I don’t know what I want,” Fran

said, shaking her head. “Especially since I’m apparently not good enough to help you work on a track and record it with a half way decent sound system.” I groaned. “You’re not—it’s not about not being good enough, it’s about being too good,” I said. “It’s about it looking like I’m taking it too seriously. If you were shit, then having you help me work on it wouldn’t make a bit of fucking difference.” “We need to be done for the day,” Fran said, shaking her head. She picked up her beer, drank down about half of it, and set it down once more. “I don’t know where the hell your head is at, but you need to get that shit straight or we’re never going to get through this goddamn EP, much less anything else.” She took another long drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out. “Tell Les that I’m gone for the night.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Alex came into the live room and threw himself down onto the couch. “All right, Jules: talk.” “About what?” I looked up from my phone and flicked the half-inch of ash off the end of my cigarette. “You know what the fuck I mean,” Alex said. “Talk about it.” I rolled my eyes. “The thing with Fran?” Alex nodded, fumbling with his pack of smokes before shaking one lose to light up. “It’s a thing,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe was a thing.” “Was?” Alex leaned forward and pulled the ashtray closer to him. “Fuck, man. Did you screw that shit up already?” “It’s my business,” I told Alex. “Fuck that noise,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You fucked her while we were on tour. You brought the band into it when you stuck your dick into the supporting act.” “Get the fuck out of here with that shit,” I said. “We had sex a bunch of times, we talked about shit. It’s what the fuck happens on tour. Nick fucked a journalist and you didn’t give him shit

over it.” “He started up with her before the tour,” Alex pointed out. “It’s not like he screwed anything up in the process.” “I didn’t screw anything up! Besides, it’s fucking personal, man.” I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another one. My lungs were going to be wrecked at the rate I was going, but I didn’t care. “We’re a week into recording and you and Fran haven’t been in the same room alone in all that time,” Alex said. “You don’t even look at each other when you’re in the same room.” “We worked on one of her songs the first night,” I admitted. “She wanted to work on something I’d written, and I told her I didn’t want to make the rest of the guys think that I’m trying to go my own way.” “Fuck. Jules—you’ve been writing your own shit for years.” I rolled my eyes. “Not that you’d notice,” I muttered. “I noticed,” Alex told me sharply. “If you want to work on it with Fran, why the fuck should I care about that? Or Nick, or Dan, or Mark?” “You guys have certainly made it the fuck clear that you’ve got issues with me doing anything at all with Fran,” I told Alex. “So forgive me if I thought you’d get pissed if I did more than just fuck her and play the occasional game of fucking Scrabble.”

“You’re being such a fucking baby, Jules,” Alex said, shaking his head. “What the hell do you even want with her? Do you know?” I closed my eyes and took a long drag from the cigarette in my fingers. “Fuck, man.” I shook my head, opening my eyes to look up at the ceiling of the live room. We were almost certainly not supposed to be smoking in there, but nobody gave enough of a fuck to enforce the rule; they’d just clean it after we left anyway. “I just want shit to stop being so complicated. If you’ve got an issue with me doing something with Fran, then fucking tell me. If Fran wants to be my girlfriend or just a steady lay, she should fucking tell me, too.” “You want her to be your girlfriend, don’t you?” I opened my eyes and looked at Alex. He was staring at me steadily, his lips twitching just a little bit with the start of a smile. “You always fuck shit up in your relationships. It’s no fucking wonder you ended up banging Fran; I think you actually want your relationships to crash and burn.” “Man, ever since you started dating Mary, you psychoanalyze fucking everything,” I told Alex, shaking my head again. “It’s not even important.” “She didn’t land a decent take all day today,” Alex told me matter-of-factly. “I want to get this EP done so we can move onto real shit. If she can’t pull out a performance, then we’re going to be here

for another week. Which means it’s going to be another week before we can get to work on our own fucking album. It’s sure as shit important to me that we get this done.” “Fine,” I said, scratching at my face with my free hand. “What do you want me to do? Apologize?” “Apologize, or take her into the lounge and fuck her brains out and make it all okay, or do— something. Jesus, Jules.” Alex sighed. “Just fucking fix the situation, okay? Get your shit together and fix it.” He stubbed his cigarette out and looked at me for a long minute. “We’re on a break. Talk to her, do something to fix it. Everyone’s coming back around two.” He stood. “Fran’s in the lounge.” He turned and left and I watched him go. Shit. I closed my eyes and finished off my cigarette, barely caring if I stubbed the butt out on the ashtray or the arm of the chair I was sitting in. I knew Alex was right, but I didn’t want to do anything about it. I’d fucked things up with Fran— and it wasn’t just the situation with recording my stuff. It was about everything we’d been talking around but not about. I pulled my phone out again and found the files for some of the songs I’d recorded. If the band was on a break until two, that’d be enough time to at least lay down some basic stuff on a track. I stood up and left the live room for the control

room, hoping that Les was still hanging out. He was. “Yo. Feel like laying a couple of parts down in a few?” “On one of your things? Sure.” Les nodded. “Shoot me the track and I’ll pull it up on the system.” “I’ll be right back.” I left the control room and headed down the hall to the lounge. I could only hope that Fran was still there, that she would hear me out. I shook my head, thinking to myself that I’d been an idiot more than once before—but I was definitely being an even bigger idiot now. “What do you want?” Fran had spotted me from the corner of the lounge where she sat as soon as I came in. “We’re up to record something,” I told her. Fran rolled her eyes; as usual—off stage, at least— she was in normal clothes, but her hair was brighter than usual. “Alex just came through to tell me you guys were on a break,” she said skeptically. “What are we up to record?” “One of my tracks,” I told her, smirking. “Seriously? You think that’s going to fix shit between us?” I took a deep breath and sighed. “I thought it would help,” I admitted. I came into the lounge further and sat down a few feet away from Fran. “I thought it might help more if I told you I’m an ass and should have made it clear

that I actually want to date you.” Fran’s eyes widened and she stared at me for a long moment. “You’re serious about that?” I nodded. “I fuck things up in relationships,” I told her. “I guess I figured the longer we weren’t in an actual relationship, the longer it would be before I fucked it up—and as a result I fucked it up anyway.” I laughed. “I’m an advanced student of fucking up.” “I do the same thing,” Fran said, smiling wryly. “Okay so what are we going to do about this? And about the tabloids and all that other shit?” I shrugged. “We’re going to ride it out, as far as I’m concerned. People will get bored of it soon enough, right?” “What are you going to do when Molly Riot and Juniper Woolf are recording separate albums?” “Record an album with my band, and see you in my off hours, if you’ll let me,” I replied, smiling a bit again. “This doesn’t have to be complicated.” “It already is,” Fran told me. “You’ve made it complicated and so have I and so has the fucking industry—everyone’s goddamn guilty of it.” She sighed. “So, what are we going to do?” I pressed my lips together. “Right now, if you’re willing to do it,” I said slowly, “we’re going to work on a song together. If that goes well, we’ll work on more.” I held my

hands up, to try and keep Fran from saying anything else for a minute. “Alex…” I shrugged. “He doesn’t care if I work on my own material. Maybe the label will want to release it; maybe they won’t. But we can work on it, and see where that goes.” “And we’re going to work on your stuff as well as my stuff?” Fran raised an eyebrow. “Until we run out of each other’s stuff to work on and start working on stuff together,” I suggested. Fran smiled slowly. “Are you going to leave Palmela for me?” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Sorry, babe, but Palmela is with me always. I won’t ask you to leave Angelo in the dust, if it makes you feel any better. Besides, we both have tours in the future.” “We’re really going to do this, then?” I thought about it for a second and then nodded. “I sure as hell at least want to try. Now come on and get into the fucking studio with me.” “I’ve been doing shit takes all day,” Fran said, standing. “Don’t be shocked if I suck on this one, too.” “I will be shocked,” I told her playfully. “Just play along with the fucking song and we’ll record it and work it out, okay?” I stopped her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “And if you want something from me—to talk, or to like, be

committed or something—just fucking tell me. Don’t keep putting it off.” “Take your own advice, asshole,” Fran said, before leaning up onto the balls of her feet to kiss me on the lips for just a second. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “You’re up, kid,” Les told me. It was after hours again; it was actually almost nine at night, after everyone had gone to wherever they were going to camp out to celebrate finishing up the EP. I’d somehow managed to talk Les into staying late for the rest of the recording sessions, so Fran and I could work out the material we wanted to do together. I’d also talked to Ron about the possibility of releasing it. “I don’t want it to be some bullshit thing of me going solo—that’s not what this is about,” I’d told him. “But it could be marketable, especially after the EP.” He’d said he’d look into it with the label once Fran and I had something to show for our after-hours sessions. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a vocalist; Alex had joined the band so early on when we’d formed that there hadn’t been a point in even trying, apart from the occasional backing track for a song here and there. But Fran and I had been working on material together, and she’d insisted that for the song we’d started out with, she absolutely wanted me to contribute more than guitar. She wanted me to sing it with her. I stood up and went into the vocal booth, right

next to the control room. Fran had been working on vocals to one of my songs—a ballad, unlike anything I’d done with Molly Riot before—so she was still in place, headphones on, right in front of the mic. I took another quick breath and grabbed the extra set of headphones in the booth, putting them over my ears. “Let me see the lyric sheet again,” I told Fran. I still wasn’t sure what she had in mind was a good idea; but I was willing to go along with it. Fran had spent the day working on vocal tracks; she and Alex had done the last of them a couple of hours before, including a schlocky, gimmicky duet that we had decided on for the EP: it had involved all the members of both Juniper Woolf and Molly Riot, and it actually—at least in the rough—sounded good, in spite of the fact that we’d all been hamming it up. I read over the lyrics again one last time, focusing on the parts that Fran had highlighted for me. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Fran had laid down a backing vocal a few days before, a guiding track that she was going to sing around while I did my parts. I thought it sounded perfectly fine that way—but she had her own vision of the song. I have to respect that, I guess, I thought wryly. If I expected her to pay attention to what I wanted for the songs I’d written, I could only go along with her on her stuff. “Put up the playback, Les,” Fran said into the

microphone. I grinned as she lit a cigarette quickly. She’d cut back during the week, to try and keep her voice as sharp and clear as possible, but we were just about done with all of the recording we were going to do for a while. I heard the count-in and then the melodic guitar-and-piano opening of the song, and finally the guiding vocal that Fran had laid down. She blew a plume of smoke away from the microphone and began to do her part around the original, adding a few flourishes here and there. I came in on my first cue, in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure I was going to sound like a fucking toad. I plowed through it anyway, glancing at the lyric sheet every so often and then looking at Fran. She seemed pleased—but I thought mostly it was due to the fact of having actually made me do the vocal, rather than my performance itself. We switched off, me singing my part and her singing her bits, and by the time we came to the end of the track, I was actually starting to feel comfortable with the idea of singing. “Running it again,” Les said through the headphones, and before I could do more than get my own cigarette lit and take a breath, I heard the intro to the song again. Once again, Fran took up her part and I did mine, a little more confidently the second time; at least I didn’t have to look at the lyrics sheet as many times. We came to the end of the track and I stood

there for a moment just staring at Fran, wondering what she thought. “It’s a fucking hit,” she said, half into the microphone and half to me. “Les, can you play it back for us?” “Come in here and listen to it on the system,” Les suggested. I shrugged and took the headphones off; I still didn’t quite believe it was any good, but I wasn’t going to rain on Fran’s parade. She grabbed at my hand as we left the vocal booth, and I grinned at her. “You’re really into this idea, aren’t you?” “Why wouldn’t I be? It was my idea in the first place,” Fran told me tartly. “You’re not allowed to say you don’t want your vocals on the track until twenty-four hours from now, by the way. I want you to sleep on it.” “You’re going to wait until it’s been twentytwo hours and then you’re going to have sex with me and make me think it’s awesome, aren’t you?” Fran snorted. “I’m an open book to you, apparently.” We went into the control room and sat down while Les finished calling up the track we’d just worked on. Even if it’s shit, don’t react until you see what she thinks. I knew that Fran’s part would be fine—but I was seriously doubtful at my own ability to hold up against her. I heard the count in and sat back in my chair, determined to listen as objectively as possible. As

the intro came up, I felt my muscles tensing, waiting for the sound of my own voice. But when I came in on cue, it actually fit the song. I stared at Fran in shock. We actually sounded good together —her soprano and my baritone worked. I shook my head as the song went on, not able to completely believe it, but not able to discredit it either. “I told you,” she said, sticking her tongue out and reaching over me to grab a half-finished beer that she’d left behind to work on another vocal, “it’s a fucking hit.” “I can send this off to Alex, to Ron, and to the label,” Les suggested. I shrugged. “Let’s hold off on that, I think,” I said, glancing at Fran. “The EP has the priority right now.” “It could go on the EP as a bonus,” Fran suggested. “Let’s give it a day,” I insisted. But in spite of how cautious I was being—and the fact that I still doubted that the rest of the band would take me working with Fran the way that Alex had—I had to admit that I was actually excited about how good we sounded together. Ideas started to form in my head, and I pushed them aside. “Come on,” I told Fran, reaching for her hand. “We’re done for the night—right Les?” “If you say so,” he said with a shrug. “Who am I to argue?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I pulled Fran into my apartment, barely remembering to close the door behind me. “Since everyone’s partying, let’s party,” I murmured in her ear, pressing her body against mine. “Sounds…mm, sounds like a good deal to me,” Fran said, bringing her lips up to mine. I kissed her like my life depended on it, letting my hands wander over her body. “Think I’ve got beer…and some of that weed you gave me last week,” I told her, beginning to move towards my bedroom. “Later,” Fran told me. She grinned up at me and her hands squeezed my ass. “Right now…” Fran ducked her head to the side and kissed along the column of my throat. “You sounded like a damn badass on that track,” she told me, and I laughed. “You’re all turned on by my singing? That’s what this is about?” I reached down and wrapped my arms around Fran’s hips, lifting her body up against mine, off the floor. “I should sing more often.” “You should,” Fran agreed. She kissed me on the lips again and we reeled through the apartment, making our way towards my bedroom. We tumbled onto the bed almost before I realized we were close to it, and Fran laughed, squirming and wriggling

underneath me. I kissed her again and again, slipping my hands up underneath her tee shirt, under her skirt, touching her everywhere. I felt her hands on me, too—tugging at my shirt, struggling with the buckle of my belt, the fly of my jeans. I was already starting to sweat—it was full fucking summer heat in Miami, and I’d set the AC in the apartment to 80 before I’d left that morning. Our clothes started to come off, and I tried to get my mouth, my hands, everywhere I saw exposed skin; I could taste the salt-sweet taste of Fran’s sweat, smell the scent of her perfume clinging to her cleavage, at the base of her neck, down near her hips as I worshipped her with my mouth. I was hard as a rock already; my cock was aching, but I wanted to make it last—and I knew if I just went straight to the main event, I was going to waste more time than I wanted waiting to get hard again. I looked up at Fran’s face as I came to her hips and smirked. “Good thing you did so many vocal warm-ups today,” I told her, rubbing my cheek against the spot between her navel and her wet pussy. “Going to give my voice a workout?” Fran snickered and I nodded. “Better believe it, baby.” I spread her legs a little more open and slid down between them, breathing in the smell of her: I don’t know how she did it but she was absolutely mouthwatering. I

buried my face against her soaking wet folds and went to work, licking and sucking, teasing her every way I could think of while she twisted and squirmed and bucked underneath me. I rode the tension wave in her body, building her up over and over again, flicking my tongue against her clit and then dipping down to the sweet, wet folds underneath. “Fuck—Jules…you’re such a bastard… sometimes…” Fran’s hips twisted under my arms and I chuckled, sucking her clit between my lips and swirling my tongue around it. She was so close to coming I could taste it—soaking wet, almost sizzling on my tongue. I finally gave her what she wanted and felt her gush against my face, felt her hips moving and her thighs trying to crush me while she cried out again and again. As soon as the noises started to go soft I was on top of her, licking my lips and then kissing her again, touching her everywhere. It felt like I had molten rock pooling in my hips; my cock was so hard it almost hurt. “Let me know…when you’re ready for more,” I told Fran, barely able to breathe. “Go for it,” Fran told me, smiling up at me with dazed, hazy, wild eyes. “Really?” I rocked my hips against hers. “You’re up for this already?” “Always,” Fran said, nodding eagerly. I shifted against her and then, in an instant I was sliding

inside of her, pushing past the flexing muscles at the front of her pussy and in deeper. “Fuck, Frannie,” I groaned, almost shaking; it was almost too much for me. I had to hold still for what felt like a fucking eternity, buried inside of her while her muscles tightened around me in erratic little spasms. “This never gets old, does it?” “Never,” Frannie agreed. She kissed me everywhere, and as soon as I could I started moving, thrusting deeper and deeper inside of her. I fought to hold back, to keep it going as long as possible without losing control, but after a few minutes I couldn’t help myself anymore: she was so tight, so hot and so wet that it was impossible to fight the urge to go hard and fast. Fran wrapped her legs around my waist and we moved together, touching each other everywhere, kissing and licking and sucking wherever our lips could reach. I buried my face against her tits, nuzzling, kissing, my hips slapping against hers as I felt the tension mounting somewhere in the pit of my stomach. All at once, I felt the tension dissolve, breaking with a snap, and I felt Fran shudder underneath me as we both came. I didn’t even care anymore—I was too wrapped up in the feeling of her body around mine, the sounds of her moans, the way she smelled and tasted. I came for what felt like hours, pushing deeper and deeper inside of her, riding through the climax that ripped through me so

intense that it was almost painful. All the strength in my body left me all at once and I collapsed next to Fran in the bed, dripping with sweat and panting for breath. “Some party,” I said, turning to look at her. “This is just act one,” she said, giggling softly in the darkness. “As soon as we catch our breaths, we’re doing this again.” “You’re not worried about losing your voice?” I smirked at her. Fran laughed out loud, curling up close to me. “I don’t have any recordings to do for a month at least,” she said. “Make me as hoarse as you possibly can, lover boy.” “It’s a deal,” I said, reaching over to give one of her heavy tits a playful squeeze. “But let’s grab a beer first. It’s too fucking hot in this house.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Once more I found myself in the rehearsal space with the rest of the band, alone, after Ron left us to “discuss this issue amongst yourselves.” “Fucking déjà vu, man,” I said, glancing at the other members of my band. Somewhere, on the other end of the city, I was pretty sure that Fran was going through something similar. “We should get this over with,” Alex said, shifting in his chair. “So, what’s the deal?” “The deal is that Fran and I have been working on our own material for a while,” I said with a shrug. “While we were working on the EP, we stayed after hours and recorded some stuff.” “And talked to Ron and the label about releasing it?” Nick looked skeptical. “A little,” I said, finding a cigarette in my pack and bringing it up to my lips to light it. “It’s not like I want to break up the band or anything—but you guys know I’ve done my own thing on the side for years.” “We’ve known that,” Alex agreed. He glanced at Mark and Dan, who I had to admit were looking less than thrilled. The label had offered me and Fran the chance to put out our own album—apart from the albums made by Molly Riot and Juniper Woolf—after the already-slated albums were done.

“Personally, as long as you’re still committed to the band, it doesn’t bother me at all,” Alex said with a shrug. “How can he be committed to the band when he’s doing side projects with his girlfriend?” Mark looked at me gloomily. “You fill in for Mikey all the time,” Dan pointed out. “This isn’t the same as that and you know it, Daniel,” Mark told Dan sharply. “He’s actually working on material and talking about putting an album out.” “If you don’t want us to put it out, then we won’t,” I said with a shrug. “We really just did the recordings to do them.” “So why did you even show them to the label anyway?” Nick raised an eyebrow at me. I took a drag on my cigarette and flicked the ash off the end. “We thought if the label saw anything in it, it might be fun to do,” I told him. “I don’t want to quit the band, I don’t even really want a break from the band. I just wanted to do something different, so I did. Fucking sue me.” “You’re sure that you’re going to be able to keep up with the extra commitments you’ve got going on?” I looked Nick dead in the eyes, and then looked at the other members of my band. “I am having a really hard fucking time being

philosophical about this,” I said as calmly as I could. “Alex hooks up with his damn sobriety coach from rehab and no one cares. Nick gets involved with the journalist who’s supposed to be blogging our tour—and starts a photography project with her—and no one the fuck cares. I get together with someone and suddenly everyone fucking doubts me?” “It’s another musician, from another band,” Dan pointed out. “It’s different.” “What’s different is that for once in my goddamn life I actually want to do the right thing with a girlfriend and all anybody here can say is that I’m betraying the fucking band.” I shook my head. “You guys were the ones who wanted me to play nice with her—I didn’t even want to do the fucking tour or the EP in the first place.” “We didn’t mean fuck her brains out and form a side project,” Nick countered. “Yeah, well, apparently, that’s where me playing nice with her led us, so either you guys decide to be okay with this, tell me what you want me to fucking do about it, or shut the fuck up.” I stubbed my cigarette out and blew the smoke out of my lungs. “Because personally I’m kind of done with making everything so goddamn complicated.” “Jules is in love,” Alex said, grinning. I glanced at my other band mates; Mark was staring in shock, Dan looked like he’d just swallowed an

entire hive of bees and was waiting for them to start stinging him, and Nick was smirking. “Jules is in looooove,” Nick agreed. “Damn, son—about fucking time you found a girl who wouldn’t get tired of your shit.” “Shut up,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not even what we’re talking about right now.” “It kind of is,” Alex pointed out. “I mean, if you’re in love with her than the whole side project thing makes sense. You’re not just humoring a steady lay.” “It doesn’t make a difference why I’m doing it!” I grabbed another cigarette and lit it; at the rate I was going I’d hack up a lung before midnight. I didn’t care. “Look. Either you’re all okay with me doing this project, or you’re not okay with it, and we figure something out. That’s all there is to this situation. My relationship with Fran doesn’t fucking come into it, okay?” I took a drag from the cigarette and sat back in my chair. “Let’s put it to a vote,” Alex said, still looking amused. “All in favor with Jules doing what he wants as long as it doesn’t interfere with the band?” Alex raised his hand; Dan and Nick followed, and I raised mine—obviously. Mark left his hand down. “Opposed?” Mark kept his hand down still. “Jesus fuck, Mark,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t get to fucking abstain this time.” “Why not?” Mark half-scowled at me.

“Because if you’re against me doing this then you might as well be against it.” “I want to know you’re not just using this as an excuse to try and put us behind you,” Mark told me, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not,” I said. “I love this band. I’ve been doing other music for as long as you’ve known me —when have I abandoned you guys when it counted?” “So, we’re good?” Alex looked around the room. I looked at Mark for a little while longer in silence. “We’re working on our album first, right? And the band still comes before—whatever it is you’re doing with Fran?” I nodded. Mark shrugged. “It’s whatever then. But if you start sneaking off…” “I’m not going to,” I told him. “I haven’t tried to yet.” “Then we’re good,” Mark said; he still looked doubtful, but I knew that he wouldn’t have agreed to it if he was really, truly skeptical of me keeping things separated. We talked for a few more minutes, about the next album and rehearsal schedules, and then I left the rest of the band to drink a few beers and talk about me behind my back while I called Fran. She picked up after the second ring. “How’d your talk go?” I almost laughed as I stepped out into the afternoon sauna heat.

“Things are still stable,” I said. “They’re going to spend the next month making fun of me for actually being in love with someone.” Fran laughed. “Are you now? That’s fascinating.” I rolled my eyes, sitting down on the curb outside of the rehearsal space. “You know I am.” “You’ve never told me that,” Fran said tartly. “Maybe that would have come in handy for my own conversation.” “That I’m helplessly in love with you?” I laughed. “Is your band worried that I’m going to lead you astray like some Yoko figure?” I nodded, even though I knew that she couldn’t see. “Mark is,” I admitted. “I think probably Nick has his doubts, too. But it’s not like he has much room to talk. Alex is surprisingly cool with everything. Dan…” I shrugged. “Dan just wants to keep moving forward.” “Sounds about the breakdown over here, too.” Fran paused for a moment. “You’re really sure you want to do this, right?” “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “Are you getting cold feet?” “In this climate? Impossible.” Fran’s voice rippled with amusement—but I heard doubt there, too. “I just want to make sure that you’re sure.” “For the first fucking time in my life,” I said,

smiling slightly. “I’m sure of everything. I want to stay in the band. I want to be with you. I can do both of those things. We’ll make it work.” It felt weird to say it out loud—to say it to Fran—but after we’d nearly let everything crash and burn, I’d made a kind of promise to myself that I wasn’t going to let things go the way that they had so many other times when I’d fucked everything up with a girl. I was going to make it work. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours? We’ve got a meeting with the label to talk about the recording schedule.” We had a standing date to meet for drinks once we were done with whatever we had going on for the day; from there we’d either go back to Fran’s place or mine. “I’ll be waiting for you at Bardot with a drink,” I told her. “We’re going back to my place tonight. I want to show you something.” “I’ll try to keep the suspense from killing me,” Fran said dryly. We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, closing my eyes for a moment before I started back towards the rehearsal space. I realized I was smiling to myself like an idiot and I didn’t even care. Next month’s Florida Scene Magazine headline: ‘Fran and Jules Turn Rivalry into Beautiful Music’, I thought. The press were going to have a field day with the fact that Fran and I were not just together—but actually working on a project.

“Fuck it,” I told myself. I didn’t care how much crow I was going to have to eat: Fran was the only woman I’d ever met who not only put up with my shit but immediately got what I wanted to do with my own music. A million assholes could call her Yoko and I’d punch each and every last one of them. Don’t let them call her your Yoko. Make them call her your Meg White. The image made me grin again; that was exactly how we’d play it for the press. I stepped back into the building, thinking that maybe if I sweet-talked Mark I could get him to design a logo for the new act. There were too many details to think about—but if anyone was the perfect fucking partner-in-crime for what I wanted to do, if anyone could support me without trying to force me away from the band I loved, I knew it was Fran. And that was all that mattered. THE END

DAN I’m the bassist in Molly Riot, one of the biggest bands in the Miami area, and I’m surrounded by female fans night and day.

I love the life I’m living…hell, I wouldn’t change it for the world. But, I have a confession to make… something inside me has been changing lately.

This isn’t like me, but, I’m falling hard for this chick Sophie, the hot new bartender at my all-time favorite local dive bar.

Problem is, our drummer Mark has his eye on her as well. Normally this wouldn’t matter, but there’s just something about this girl that’s different. I can tell already that I don’t want this to be just another one night stand.

I have to get to know her–all of her. There’s no way in hell I’ll share her, but it looks like Mark has a similar agenda and it’s creating a divide between us.

Could Sophie be the girl that spells the end of Molly Riot, or will Mark and I find a way to play nice?

CHAPTER ONE It was a Saturday night at Respects, and Mark and I had PB&Js—Pabst Blue Ribbon with a Jameson shot—in front of us. Outside on the patio, the karaoke was just starting to get into gear; the MC had to wait for the burlesque show to end, but everyone had managed to get a good few drinks in, so he had plenty of people willing to take their turns on the smaller stage. “Seriously,” Mark said, leaning in close but still shouting a bit to be heard over The Cure, playing through the system, “how fucked is it that Jules has a girlfriend before we do?” I laughed, shaking my head at Mark’s question. It was one we’d passed back and forth about a dozen times since Jules and Fran had come out about their relationship and started working on their side project together. “We don’t need girlfriends,” I told Mark, throwing my arm around his shoulder. “We’ve got Molly!” Mark rolled his eyes and picked up his Jameson and gestured for me to follow suit. “Man, fuck Molly,” Mark muttered. I raised an eyebrow even as I took the shot glass in one hand and my beer in the other to chase it. “You can’t fuck Molly,” I pointed out,

smirking at my own wit. “She doesn’t have the right parts.” “She doesn’t have any parts,” Mark agreed. We knocked back our whiskey and I drank a gulp of beer. I knew I’d need to slow down soon—I was getting into the territory where fun drunk started to slip into messy drunk, and I didn’t want to end up on some stranger’s couch again. “I’m just saying,” Mark said, turning the empty shot glass over and sliding it on the acrylic bar top, “I need to get laid like fucking yesterday.” “Who’s stopping you? Go—find one of those girls from the show. Or one of the ones who wishes she was in the show,” I suggested. “Any of ‘em would lay you.” It was pretty close to the truth; Mark never had any trouble picking up women, with his long, curly hair and big brown puppy eyes. He was ripped from playing drums and going to the gym, but he had a baby face at the same time. The only person in the band who had ever been better than him at pulling tail was Nick—but Nick was an honest guy suddenly too, dating his journalist girlfriend and shockingly managing not to cheat on her with anyone. In fact, every member of Molly Riot was paired off except for Mark and me—which I assumed was the main point that the drummer was getting at in his comments about Jules. There was probably something about macho pride—some

Spanish thing—in Mark’s objections to being single while Jules had a steady girl, but I didn’t really care all that much. For my own part, I only resented it inasmuch as it meant that none of the other guys in the band wanted to hang out as often; as soon as rehearsals were done, or we finished in the studio for the day, they were all off to their girlfriends. It wasn’t too bad; Mark was fun to go out with, and when I wanted to get laid, he was good for finding girls to hook up with who miraculously had friends every bit as hot as they were. It wasn’t like it was difficult for me to pick up a chick on my own—more that unless Mark suggested we find a hookup, I wasn’t interested enough to put in the effort. I had nothing to prove to anyone, and I’d come to the conclusion about a year before that about half the time, one-night stands turned out to be shitty sex; why waste the effort and time when getting myself off was at least as satisfying, if not more so? The DJ went from The Cure to Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and I started tapping my foot idly against the leg of my stool, looking around the club. It had cleared out some after the burlesque show, with the typical downtown club kids wandering to their preferred haunts: O’Shea’s for the guys and girls who wanted uncomplicated beers surrounded by Irish paraphernalia, Monarchy for the ones who wanted to thrill themselves with the notion that

because they could afford bottle service they were somehow cooler, Off The Hookah for people who wanted something more “adventurous” and “exotic” than regular cigarettes, and so on. The hardcore Respectables crowd was there, though: goths, hipsters, misfits, nerds. Tattoos and piercings everywhere, unnatural hair colors, cute vintagestyled dresses or jeans and tee shirts or all-black for girls and the same for guys—in some cases including the vintage-styled dresses. Nobody batted an eyelash at it; the stranger thing was the odd Polo-and-Khakis college kid, who should be at O’Shea’s or maybe in CityPlace instead, drinking overpriced Miller Light or mining a friend’s bottle service. “You two ready for another round?” I turned my head in the direction of the voice that cut through my thoughts and saw the new bartender that Jackson had mentioned when we’d arrived; at least, I didn’t think there’d been more than one new hire at the club, and the woman in front of me was one I’d never seen before. She had dark green hair pulled back from her face in short, almost spiky-looking pigtails on either side of her head, and a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses to frame dark eyes, but other than that she looked almost more normal than anyone else in the club at the moment, save for maybe Mark and me: black tee shirt, jeans, light makeup, a pair of studs in her ears, a fine gold-

chain necklace with an S pendant that hung down to just above the neckline of her shirt, highlighting her cleavage. She had an hourglass figure, all full tits and hips with a tight little waist in between, and I definitely—definitely—wanted to watch her walk away from us, though I also wanted to make sure she’d keep coming back; I was pretty sure her ass was spectacular, though I hadn’t seen it to notice yet. “Let’s do another shot each,” I suggested to Mark; when I looked at him, I saw that he was definitely taking in the same information I was, with the same impact. “What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you behind the bar here before,” Mark called out, leaning closer to the bartender. The woman grinned. “Sophie,” she told him and then glanced at me to make sure I’d also heard. “How about it? Another round?” “Just the shots,” I told her. “And can I get a bottle of water to go with it?” Sophie nodded and turned to start pouring our shots. When she walked to one of the other ice bins to grab my bottle of water for me, I got confirmation on her ass: it was as close to perfect as any ass on any woman I’d seen in at least a week—at least in person. Mark let out a low, quiet whistle next to me; obviously, he’d seen it too.

When Sophie came back with our shots and my water, she raised a dark eyebrow and leaned in close, looking at Mark. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you just then,” she told him. “I didn’t say anything,” Mark countered, grinning. Sophie held his gaze for a moment and her lips twisted in an expression that wasn’t quite a smile; it was that man-eater look that you see in women who know just how good they are, just how strong they are, just how little they need you. Sophie leaned in a little closer to Mark’s ear; I leaned away, feeling like there was something about to happen that I wanted to be out of range for. I watched as she brought two fingers up to her bright red lips, and barely managed to keep from snickering until after she’d whistled—high and loud —right in his ear. Mark’s head jerked back and he clamped his hand over the ear, but the damage was clearly already done. I caught sight of Sophie’s grin as she turned to help the next customer and laughed my ass off. “Serves you right,” I told Mark when he scowled at me. “Gotta learn to be more discreet, man.” I picked up the full shot glass in front of me and gestured for Mark to do the same; we knocked back the Jameson and I took another gulp of beer before fishing my pack of Pall Malls out of my pocket. Respects was one of a handful of bars and clubs in the tri-county area where you could still

smoke inside—that was a big part of why Molly Riot had made the place one of our haunts. I shook a cigarette out, lit it, and handed the pack over to Mark to help himself as I looked around the club. The dance floor was starting to fill up a little bit more after the post-show slump, and there were some cute girls out there—but as Sophie walked past me, on her way to the back to grab a new bottle of Jack, I thought to myself that it was one thing to be cute—another to be as confidently, carelessly gorgeous as she was. “We’re back in the studio on Monday, right?” I tore my attention off the pretty new bartender and back onto Mark. You’re here to chill with him, not to ogle the staff, I reminded myself. “Yeah. Jules and Fran have finished up, so he’s free to start working.” Mark shook his head, sighing with exaggerated frustration at the delay that Jules’ side project with his girlfriend had caused; really it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering the band had spent that time rehearsing new material and getting it where we wanted it— including Jules. We weren’t hurting for money, and if we’d gone into the studio a month or two earlier we’d have just been dicking around; it was better to get that out of the way before we were spending thousands a day to do it. “As long as we don’t have to take another break,” Mark said glumly. “I’m tired of start-and-

stop.” I rolled my eyes. “Last time we took a break you spent the week getting laid with what—five different girls? What are you complaining about?” Mark shrugged. “I just feel like things are changing,” he said. He drank down the rest of his beer and set the tallboy aside. “Of course they are,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad—and it’s not like Jules is the only factor. Things started changing when we got Alex’s ass into rehab and I didn’t see you complaining then.” “Yeah, but they’re changing faster and faster,” Mark insisted. “No one hangs out anymore.” “‘All my rowdy friends have settled down…’” I crooned. “Nick and Liv threw a party like two weeks ago that lasted a day and a half! They just aren’t going out as often. Can you blame them? If I had a steady lay to go home to and someone I gave a shit about besides the band, I wouldn’t go out as much either.” “Whatever,” Mark said. He took a deep breath and then grinned. “I’m just being a morose bastard tonight. I’m gonna use the men’s.” He stubbed out his cigarette and slid off of his bar stool. “Patio?” Mark nodded in that direction and I shrugged; the karaoke outside was starting to get good—in the sense that the people who were going up were progressively drunker. It might be enough to get

Mark out of his bitter mood. “I’ll grab us a couple of beers and meet you out there,” I said. I hoped that Sophie would be the one to serve them to me.

CHAPTER TWO “Let’s do it again,” Alex said, looking from Jack in the control room to the rest of us. “Fuck,” Nick said, bending over and plucking his pack of cigarettes off the little side table he’d left them on. “I think we’ve almost got it, guys,” Jack said over the intercom. “It’s just missing that little thing —that flavor.” I scrubbed at my face and grabbed the beer I’d almost forgotten about to take a gulp of it. Even though we had hundreds of thousands of dollars at our disposal, the band had decided to stick with recording in Miami; it was where we’d gotten our sound together, and it was where we all wanted to be. Ron, our manager, had tried to tempt us to go to New York or LA or even Toronto, but none of the paired-off guys in the band wanted to spend weeks away from their girls, and we had all always done better in our own environment. We’d flown Jack in after going over show reels for about two weeks; he’d worked with Kill Kill, Bacchus, and Minute Music Militia, who we all loved, and his ideas for the album based on the demos we’d put out there were the most like what we wanted to do. “Mark, think you can tighten up that part in

the last verse? You’re losing the punch on the snare,” Alex said. Mark rolled his eyes a bit but sat back from his kit, examining the head on his snare. I took another sip of my beer and went through the bass run quietly, trying to see if there was a better way to play it—a faster chord change or a quicker progression. For a minute, everyone took a break, examining their instruments, and I could feel the ripples of tension in the room. Mark was having a good day, but Alex was right: the snare bit at the end of the last verse just wasn’t coming through like it should. We’d agreed that we’d work on the live recordings first, just to get a baseline and to get an idea of the shape of the album, and then move onto individual parts. For once, Alex was actually inviting contributions—songs—from the rest of us; we’d started out in rehearsals with about fifty songs between the five of us, which we’d narrowed down to about twenty. If we couldn’t pick and choose at the end of the recording process, it was going to be a monster of an album. But we all had a couple of tracks we’d put forward—which was different from the previous few albums, where almost all of the songs were written by Alex and Nick, with the rest of us filling in parts. I had a good shot at getting at least two out of four of my songs on the finished album, and I figured Jules had maybe three that were worth

recording and including. Mark only had one that made the cut, but he’d only put in three, and he’d admitted the other two just weren’t there yet— maybe the next album. The rest either Nick and Alex had written together or separately; still, it wasn’t a bad ratio of songs for a finished album, and I had to figure that some of that had to do with Jules going off with his girlfriend to record a side project. The last thing anyone in the band wanted was to split up—together we were fucking magic, and if Jules’ work with Fran had lit a fire under Alex’s and Nick’s asses to pull more of the rest of our stuff into the loop, I wasn’t going to be a shrinking violet about it. Once everyone had settled in, we went back to work, playing through the song again. Mark nailed the last verse, but Jules flubbed one of the bits in the bridge. “Take a break,” Jack suggested. “Come back in ten.” I grabbed my phone, my beer, and my cigarettes and headed outside the studio; technically it didn’t matter where I smoked, since we’d booked the complex for the duration of the recording and we’d paid a deposit for cleaning specifically so we could smoke inside, but I wanted the air and the mega-watt South Florida sun in my face for a little bit. I sat down in the grass after I made sure there weren’t any ants, and lit up, unlocking my phone and opening Facebook while I

lit up. The notifications told me I had five event invitations: Heather Brooks—who I only knew from tenth grade French—was throwing some kind of makeup party. Decline. Jonny had an event going on in Downtown Ft. Lauderdale the next weekend at Stache—that one I tapped ‘interested’ since it was a pretty good-looking show and I could always pregame a bit to save myself on the overpriced drinks the club served. A friend of a friend whose name was actually Jessica but who had decided to go by “Jezebel” after abandoning her husband and two-year-old son to try and become a famous BDSM performer had invited me to yet another fetish party at yet another strip club out in Plantation; I declined and then went to her profile page and took her off my friends list altogether. Going back to my events, there were two left: a pool party at my friend Hannah’s house in two weeks with a luau theme and a show up in Lake Worth at Propaganda, featuring Atreides, Jackal 5, Kingsroad and Heatkeeper; I accepted both invites and closed out the app. “Yo, Dan! Break’s over, man,” Nick said from the door. “Give me two seconds, I need to finish this,” I told him, waving the cigarette butt in his direction. I thought about Sophie, not for the first time since I’d seen her at Respects; as I took a last drag of my cig and stubbed it out, I wondered if she went to any

local shows. Probably not—she’d get her fill of bands working at the club. I went back into the studio and pushed her out of my head.

CHAPTER THREE Propaganda was fucking packed; I had to wait an extra five minutes at the bar to get my Jack and coke—and Kelsey the bartender knew me, and knew I tipped more than decent. But Mark was with me, and Nick and Olivia had even agreed to come out; Olivia had an article due about Atreides anyway, and thought she could get some good pictures at the show. It was so damned hot it felt like the walls were sweating, but of course Nick—a few feet away from me—looked like he might as well have been in a walk-in fridge, and Mark somehow managed to make “sweaty and redfaced” look like a legitimate fashion choice. I looked around the packed club while Heatkeeper set up, not at anything in particular but just to keep from getting bored; most of the people I saw were regulars—Lake Worth people, who practically lived at the club because it was a dependable place to go, and only a few blocks from their homes. It was about forty minutes away from my place in Deerfield, but Mark had already said we could crash at his brother’s place in Delray. As I was looking around, I spotted her. Sophie had her hair down instead of in pigtails, but her face in profile—and the deep, mermaid-green color

of her hair—was instantly recognizable. She must have gotten her hair cut or something, because it looked shorter than it had when it was up, and it was half-plastered to her face with sweat; but she looked hot as hell in a tight, pink, old school Middle Class Brats tee shirt, a black and white plaid miniskirt and a pair of suspenders. I couldn’t see what kind of shoes she had on, but I didn’t care; just the sight of her, the shirt starting to go a little transparent from sweat, her tits straining the front of it, the skirt barely—barely—covering the curve of her ass, was enough to almost make me forget I was at Prop for a show. She was smoking a cigarette, pressed up against the bar, talking to Benny from Jackal 5; I looked around to make sure that Mark was busy, and slowly made my way in her direction. “No, you are not going to get Mel to make one of your specials for Ricky,” Sophie was telling Benny when I finally got within hearing distance. She flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette and shook her head. “The last time you came up with a special drink for him he spewed Jaeger and schnapps all over my fucking kitchen floor and I had to clean it up.” “Make him clean it up this time,” Benny said with a shrug. Sophie rolled her eyes and turned to look around. I hadn’t realized how short she was, the week before at Respects; up close, without the

bar between us, she was something like half a foot shorter than me. “If he spews in my kitchen tonight I’m going to make you clean it up,” Sophie told Benny. Benny caught sight of me and grinned. “Danny boy!” I smiled at him. Sophie turned to find out who Benny was talking to and her eyebrows went up at the sight of me. I gave her a quick grin and set my drink down to fish my cigarettes out of my pocket. “Fucking packed in here,” I said, shaking my head. “You guys still play that cover of The Cranberries, Benny?” “Of course we do,” Benny said, shaking his head at me. “It brings down the fucking house—we can’t take it off the set list.” “Benny wants to feed Ricky some disgusting combination of alcohol to see what happens,” Sophie explained to me, clucking her tongue against her teeth. “Tell him no—since he apparently won’t listen to me, and I’ve heard all about how much he admires you.” “You admire me, Benny?” I put my hand over my heart, leaving the cigarette dangling out of the cover of my mouth for a second before I lit it. “She heard me wrong,” Benny said matter-offactly. “I told her I admire your cock.” I rolled my eyes. “In fairness, it is nicer than yours,” I pointed

out. “You ever get that enlargement surgery?” “Hey, hey, it’s not the size that counts,” Benny said, smirking. “It counts when you don’t know what to do with it,” Sophie countered. I almost choked on a drag of smoke and raised my hand for her to highfive me. “You here for Atreides?” I nodded to Benny’s question, more than happy to abandon the topic of dicks for the time being. I’d been in a band with Nelson from Atreides before joining up with Molly Riot, and even though I didn’t have any real desire to work with him on anything, he was one of the most talented keyboard players I’d ever met. “Sophie’s sister Jess is the new bass player,” Benny explained, nodding in Sophie’s direction. “What happened to Chris?” Benny shrugged. “Family drama out in Cali. You know how it goes.” I nodded. “I’m going to run to the ladies’,” Sophie said, slipping away from the bar after stubbing out her cigarette. “Make sure Benny doesn’t order something disgusting for Ricky, will you?” “Why’s she so worried about what Ricky drinks?” I settled in at the bar, glancing at the little stage to check on the progress that Heatkeeper was making. They were starting in on sound check; Tom strummed a quick progression and looked over at the sound booth.

“Ricky’s dating her sister, they crash at her place usually on show nights,” Benny said. “So, of course Ricky gets sloppy fucking drunk and pukes everywhere.” “And you’re helping him? Not very friendly.” I flicked ash off of my cigarette and gestured to Kelsey that I wanted another one. “It’s hilarious. Before the puking he gets all apologetic about being so drunk—hell, he apologizes for shit other people are doing.” I snorted, shaking my head. “You seem pretty knowledgeable about Sophie,” I said, leaning in a bit closer to Benny. “What’s her deal?” Benny shrugged. “She’s un-pull-able,” he told me. “You should know that right off the bat. Even for pretty boys like you and Nicky.” I rolled my eyes. “Nicky’s the next thing to engaged anyway,” I said. “He ain’t pulling anyone.” “I’m just saying: she’s unattainable.” I raised an eyebrow at that. “Why?” Benny shrugged again. “Maybe she’s into chicks? Who knows? All I know is I’ve been trying for like two years and her legs are as closed as ever.” “Two years? You need to move on, son.” “Oh, I’m not living the monk life,” Benny said, waving that idea aside. “Just whenever I see her, you know? Or I’ll text her sometimes. Funny as

shit, hot as a five-alarm fire, completely un-pullable.” “For you, at least,” I said. Kelsey brought me another drink, and I sipped. Heatkeeper was almost done checking sound. “For anyone,” Benny insisted. “I’m telling you, man: she just doesn’t fuck anyone.” “Is she asexual or something?” “Nah, she flirts, and Jess tells me she does fuck—just no one anyone knows.” Benny knocked back a shot of something clear—tequila or vodka I thought—and chased it with a sip of beer. “She’s sure as shit not fucking anyone in the scene.” Sophie came back and we started talking about something else—the sound guy, Dave, or something to do with what was going on down at Revolution in Ft. Lauderdale, anything but the woman in front of us. I thought about what Benny had said about Sophie, trying to wrap my head around it; obviously, she was in the scene—even if I hadn’t seen her at shows until that night—but she wasn’t hooking up with anyone in the scene. That was smart; but it didn’t leave a lot of hope for me to convince her to hang out sometime. Of course, it didn’t leave a lot of hope for Mark, either. You don’t even know if he remembers her, I reminded myself as Heatkeeper started to play. I pretended to almost ignore Sophie, not in some kind of strategy, but because I didn’t want to make it obvious that I

wasn’t paying 100% of my attention to the band on the stage. She sang along with a little over half the songs the band played, and I couldn’t help occasionally glancing over to see her tits shaking and jiggling inside her shirt as she danced around. By the time Atreides started setting up, some of the people who’d only come for Jackal 5 or Heatkeeper had wandered off, and Nick and Olivia and Mark had found me where I’d camped out, next to Sophie and Benny, who had broken down at record speed after his band finished. I watched Mark flirting with Sophie and didn’t tell him about what Benny had told me on the subject of Sophie’s prospect of being picked up; instead I just watched as she flirted every bit as hard as Mark did, but without giving a single inch—it was like watching a cat with a cloth mouse: the cat’s obviously having fun, but has no intention of actually doing anything to the mouse or even killing it, since it can’t be killed in the first place. Atreides finished setting up and started sound check and I watched a total change come over Sophie’s demeanor; she no longer even pretended to pay attention to Benny or Mark or even me, but instead started jumping up and down, screaming for her sister. It was adorable. “Oh my gawd, Jess Riviera! Have my babies!” “Bitch, that’d be incest,” Jess called back from the stage.

“Not if you’re just a surrogate,” Sophie countered. “Find a sperm donor then!” It went on like that the whole time Jess, Nelson, and the rest of the band went through sound check; I wasn’t the only one enjoying the side-show, but I had the front row seat, so to speak. When Atreides started playing I actually did pay full attention to them, barely even noticing Sophie next to me. I sang along with Jason, Nelson, and Jess; I jumped when they told the crowd to jump. I grinned at Sophie during one of the slower songs and followed the chant. It was a good show —as good a show as any that Molly Riot have ever put on—and I was glad I’d come out to see it, even if I couldn’t get anywhere with Sophie. After the set was finished, I turned my attention back onto the bar. People started closing out their tabs, heading for the next spot on their evening out, but Sophie hung around, and so did Mark and Benny, so I had no reason to leave. Nick and Olivia took a few minutes to chat up the members of the band, and I was pretty sure that Olivia got whatever it was she needed for her article; they left after a quick drink to celebrate the show. Within thirty minutes of the show finishing, the crowd at Prop was only about a dozen people; it was the time of night I liked the best. Jess and Ricky were making out at one of the tables off in a

corner, and Mark was talking to Benny about the studio. The air conditioning started to be better than theoretical, and I was more than ready to close the place out. I wanted as much of a chance to see what the deal was with Sophie as possible.

CHAPTER FOUR “You don’t have to walk me home, you know,” Sophie said, listing slightly to the left as she turned to look up at me. “Someone got knifed in this neighborhood last week,” I pointed out to her. “I don’t want to log onto Facebook tomorrow and see a bunch of Respects bartenders paying tribute to their fallen comrade.” “They wouldn’t anyway,” Sophie told me, shaking her head. “They’d hold a benefit concert for me in a couple of weeks to help Jess and my parents pay for my funeral, and that’d be that. Apart from the help wanted ads.” I laughed. “They’re pretty efficient,” I agreed. “But I still don’t want to see it. You’re too cute for me to let anyone replace you at the bar.” “Blah, blah, blah,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes in disapproval. “Do you know how many times I’ve been told I’m cute?” “Far too many?” I reached out and corrected Sophie’s leftward reel. “Like…a thousand. In the past month.” Sophie sighed. “I know I’m short and I have fairyhair, but the cuteness thing is getting old.” I chuckled, using the excuse of helping her to keep

my hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t want people to call you cute, maybe you shouldn’t go around in miniskirts and Docs, or keep your hair in pigtails,” I suggested. “I put my hair in pigtails because it’s too short to put in a ponytail,” Sophie informed me. “Docs are solid footwear. Miniskirts…” she shrugged. “And anyway, why should I change the way I look for people to take me seriously?” “You think people don’t take you seriously?” Sophie shook her head. “As soon as something’s cute, it’s not serious,” she told me. “It’s…like…small, and funny, and a million other things. But never serious.” I thought about that for a moment as we turned the corner onto Sophie’s street. I’d volunteered to walk her home from Kelsey’s place where we’d all ended up; Mark had managed to pass out on Kelsey’s couch, so obviously, I wasn’t going to his brother’s place. Jess and Ricky had grabbed an Uber to their own apartment on the other end of Lake Worth, and Benny had wandered off at some point to another after-party. “Benny said you don’t date anyone in the scene,” I said, hoping my voice sounded curious but not nosy. “Nope,” Sophie said. “No scene folks in my love life. That’s the big mistake people make all the

time.” She started to list right, almost running into me, but corrected at the last moment. “Why is it a mistake?” I thought about Jules dating Fran, about Nick dating Olivia; hell, Sophie’s sister Jess was dating someone from the scene. “Jess used to tend bar, right?” Sophie looked up at me with her big, dark eyes, her expression serious. “Okay,” I said, gesturing for her to go on. “So, Jess was dating guys in the scene because they’re readily available. Low-hanging fruit.” Sophie paused and probably realized that I was one of those ‘low-hanging fruit’. “Present company excluded,” she said with that little confident, almost cocky smile. “Thanks for that,” I said tartly. “Anyway,” Sophie said, dismissing my comment. “So, these guys Jess dated; they thought that because they were dating a bartender, they’d get free tabs at the bar, or free drinks whenever they felt like it, things like that.” Sophie shook her head. “And they got all bitter and resentful when that wasn’t the case. That is something I don’t want to deal with, so I don’t date scene guys.” I had to admit that it made sense; but it didn’t look all that good for any hope I might have had of breaking the pattern Sophie had set for herself. “Here’s my place,” Sophie told me after we’d both gone quiet for a few minutes. She waved

towards one of the little mini-complexes you see close to the ocean all over South Florida: two stories, maybe six or ten units total, painted avocado green with an orange-red color on the sidewalk and the balconies. In another five years tops it’d probably get torn down and replaced with a bigger, nicer condo building with a rooftop swimming pool and cabana, and the rent would be somewhere in the neighborhood of $5,000 a month. “That’s my door, right there,” Sophie said, pointing to one marked 3619. “You don’t have to come in. No one is going to knife me around here.” I looked down at her, slowing to a stop at the end of the row of units. “Have a cigarette with me before you go in,” I suggested. Really I just didn’t want to leave her side; I was hoping I could maybe—hopefully— convince her to let me crash on the couch. “Okay,” Sophie said, reaching into her pocket. She took a pack of Camel Lights out and shook it, frowned, and flipped the top up to reveal that it was empty. “Fuck.” “Have one of mine,” I said. I pulled out a halfcrumpled pack of Pall Malls and showed her that I still had maybe five left. Sophie hesitated, looking from her empty pack to my face, and then shrugged. She plucked one of the cigarettes from the pack and I offered her my lighter to go with it. We sat down on the bench at the end of the

sidewalk, and I lit my own cigarette, taking a drag and thinking about my next moves. “So, you don’t date anyone from the local scene because you’re worried they’ll want something from you—namely free drinks,” I said. “Are you dating someone from outside of the scene?” Sophie looked at me sharply and then shook her head. “At the moment, I’m not dating anyone,” she said blandly. “Last guy I was with turned out to be a total disappointment.” “How?” I flicked ash off the end of my cig and leaned against the wall. Sophie shrugged, tilting her head to the side. “Just…” she sighed, taking another drag of smoke into her lungs. “He wasn’t what I wanted him to be. You’d think I’d learn.” She smiled slightly. “What did you want him to be?” Sophie rolled her eyes and I watched as she brought her feet up onto the bench, hugging her knees with one arm while she continued smoking with the other hand. “I wanted him to be…self-sufficient. Confident. Not in that cheesy, macho way; I wanted him to be secure in what we had together, in who I was and who he was.” Sophie chuckled. “Palm Beach County guys are all the same.” “Hey! I resemble that remark,” I told her tartly. “Well, kind of. I don’t live in the 561 anymore.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have a place to stay tonight?” Sophie looked at me intently. “Mark is crashed out on Kelsey’s couch, and you’re still too drunk to drive anywhere.” I nodded. “I can catch an Uber or a Lyft someplace,” I said. “Or you can sleep on my couch,” Sophie countered. “As long as you promise you’re not trying to make a move on me.” “I will be a perfect gentleman,” I told her. Sophie stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it into the trashcan. “Finish that and I’ll let you in,” she said, nodding towards my hand holding the cigarette. I took a final, quick drag and pinched off the ember, tossing it into the trash. “Lead the way,” I said, smiling in what I hoped was a friendly way. Sophie wavered for a moment as she stood, and I reached out to steady her, but before I could even touch her she’d straightened up and started towards the door she’d pointed out to me before. She reached into her purse and fumbled around for a few seconds; I heard the clinking of her keys, and the next moment she’d found them. “Be warned,” Sophie said, turning to look at me over her shoulder as she shoved the key into the lock, “my house is kind of a disaster.” She paused, frowned, and looked at me again. “You’re not

allergic to cats, are you?” “Nah, my mom always kept a cat when I was growing up—I am fine with them.” “Good,” Sophie said. She turned the key in the lock and then opened the door. The alarm went off, screeching, and she gestured for me to hurry in behind her and close the door as she went to the keypad to shut off the security system. “Drogon! Where is my pretty kitty?” Sophie turned on a light in the main area of the apartment just in time for me to see a small, black, nimble-looking cat emerge from the bedroom. “Drogon?” Sophie shrugged, grinning in a tipsy way. She knelt on the floor and the cat darted towards her, jumping onto her lap with a chirping mew. “Just call me Khaleesi,” Sophie said jokingly. The cat looked up at me doubtfully as Sophie petted him, and I could hear him purring as loudly as a Formula One engine, rubbing against Sophie’s hand and leaning against her chest. Lucky fucking cat, I thought enviously. I leaned against the wall and watched as Sophie stroked and murmured to her familiar as well as any witch on the planet could. After a few moments, she looked up and smiled wryly. “I’m being a bad hostess,” she said, shaking her head. She rose and Drogon leapt from her lap, darting into the darkness of the living room. Sophie pointed behind me. “That’s the kitchen,”

she said, flipping on another light switch. “Off to the right is the bathroom.” The living room lit up and I saw the couch: it was just long enough for me to lie full length, made of battered black leather, with an afghan thrown over the back. “This is not a disaster,” I said, gesturing to the cluttered but clean space. “Clearly you’ve never been to Mark’s place. Or mine.” Sophie raised an eyebrow and turned towards the bedroom. “Let me get you a pillow and a blanket,” she said. “At the other end of the living room is the door to the porch, if you want to smoke.” I walked over to the couch and sat down as Sophie disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her. After a moment, Drogon poked his head out from behind the entertainment center and looked up at me, letting out a curious meow. I patted the couch and he looked at me doubtfully. “Suit yourself,” I told him, kicking off my shoes and pulling my keys, phone, wallet, my cigarettes and lighter out of my pockets. I set them all down on the coffee table and stretched against the tightness in my neck and back, looking around the apartment. Sophie had some art up: I recognized a piece by Adam Sheetz, vivid with its surreal, calculated grotesqueness, another one by Dana Donaty; she also had a couple of prints: a Monet next to the bathroom door, a Van Gogh at the entrance into the kitchen.

Sophie came out of the bedroom in a wisp of a tank top and equally skimpy shorts, her face scrubbed clean, her hair brushed, a pillow and blanket in her arms. “I didn’t know you liked art,” I said, gesturing at the different pieces scattered around the room. Sophie shrugged. “I minored in art history in college,” she explained, handing the pillow and blanket to me. Somehow, in her pajamas, barefoot, with no makeup on her face, she looked even cuter than she had either of the two times I’d seen her before; she looked almost girlish, her eyes softened, her mouth sweet. “What was your major?” Sophie padded over to the kitchen, yawning. “Dual major: English and Anthropology,” she told me. I heard the squeak of a cabinet opening. “Want a glass of water?” “Sure,” I replied. I heard glasses clinking against each other, the faucet coming on, the clatter of ice. Sophie came back into the living room with a glass of ice water in each hand. “English, Anthropology, and art history,” I said. “No wonder you’re a bartender.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ever really intend to use my degree for a specific career anyway,” she said, handing me one of the glasses. She took a long sip from the other one. “I figured I’d just come up with something once I graduated.” I laughed.

“I’m not much better,” I said. “I studied art and design.” I pointed to the Adam Sheetz print next to the TV. “Actually, had a couple of classes with Adam.” “So how did you end up the bass player for a huge band instead of becoming the next big cult artist?” I shrugged. “One of those choices you make,” I said. “I figured I’d try my hand at both, and whichever one showed more promise sooner I’d throw all my weight behind, and that was Molly Riot.” I drank down some water, and Drogon decided he was brave enough to venture out from behind the entertainment center. He mewed at Sophie pathetically and she walked over to him, scooping him up off of the floor. “I should probably get to sleep,” she said with a sigh, drinking down another gulp of water. “We’re doing a deep clean at Respects tomorrow.” “Yeah,” I said, setting my glass down on the coffee table—on one of the coasters I saw there. “There’s a charger station next to the TV—I think I’ve got just about every kind of cable,” Sophie told me. “Other than that, I guess if you’re up by the time I am, I’ll make breakfast.” I grinned. “For someone who didn’t even want me to stay the night, you’re being really kind.” Sophie rolled her eyes, smiling. “Once you walk in the front door, you are my

guest and therefore I have to be a good hostess. Get some sleep.” She yawned and turned to the bedroom, and I started getting comfortable on the couch. The pillow smelled like Sophie—I hadn’t even realized that I’d picked up on the sweet-flowery smell that clung to her until I breathed in and caught the scent on the pillow. Whatever shampoo she used, it was awesome. I buried my face against the pillowcase and breathed in and out for a few moments before I realized what a freak that probably made me. I turned over on my side facing the back of the couch and tried to will myself to sleep. I was tired enough: the show had been intense, it was about three or maybe four in the morning, and I’d been in the studio from nine that morning until about two in the afternoon before we’d called it a day; but for the longest time I lie there wide awake, staring at the back of the couch, wondering about Sophie. It was stupid. It was beyond stupid. But I couldn’t help it.

CHAPTER FIVE I must have fallen asleep at some point; I woke up to the sound of meowing and the sliding glass door moving along its track. I turned over on the couch and nearly spilled off of it, opening my eyes just in time to catch sight of Sophie stepping through the open door and onto the patio, while Drogon darted out between her feet. Sophie must have heard me—or maybe seen me in the corner of her eye. She turned and smiled ruefully. “Sorry—I thought you were pretty deeply asleep,” she said. “Don’t sweat it,” I told her, scrambling around onto my feet. I’d woken up at some point and gotten my jeans off—they were just too uncomfortable—and I probably should have felt weirder about standing around in my tee shirt and boxers, but considering that I could make out the outline of Sophie’s nipples against the flimsy fabric of her pajama top, and barely—barely—see the bottom curve of her ass where her shorts ended, I didn’t think I was overstepping any big boundaries. I followed her out onto the patio, cigarette pack in hand, and slumped down into a chair. Drogon began scratching through his litter box and Sophie produced a fresh pack of cigarettes out of a pocket I hadn’t seen on her shorts. “So,” I said,

lighting my own cig and taking a drag. “Why exactly did you let me stay the night?” Sophie shrugged. “You walked me home and didn’t try to make a pass,” Sophie said. “Was that some kind of test?” Sophie crinkled the foil and plastic from her pack of cigs into a little ball and stuffed it into the ashtray. She gave me that little smile again—that utterly confident, completely knowing smile that she’d flashed at the bar. “Not a test,” Sophie said. “But it did say a lot about who you are as a person.” She tugged a cigarette free of the pack and brought it to her lips to light it; I tried not to stare, especially at the bead of sweat that began to roll down from her neck past her collarbones, or at the way that her arms pressed her tits together. I decided to look away altogether. “You know, Mark gave me his number last night,” Sophie said, blowing smoke away from her face. “And you want to know if you should call him?” Tell her no. Tell her he’s a dog. The impulse jolted through my brain before I could stop it; but I managed to push it aside before I said anything. “Mostly just interested in your reaction to it,” Sophie said, half-smiling again. “Mark is into you,” I said with a shrug. “If you’re into him, you should call him.” “That’s a very careful non-answer,” Sophie

said tartly. “He’s a drummer,” I explained. “Go on,” Sophie said. I shrugged again. “You were going on last night about how you don’t date guys in the scene because they want you to give them free drinks or whatever,” I pointed out. “Mark probably won’t ask you for free drinks, but you’d be breaking your self-imposed rule nonetheless.” “You’re into me too,” Sophie said. I raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Dan—you wouldn’t have walked me home and talked to me half the night if you weren’t into me.” “Maybe I’m just a good guy,” I countered. “Maybe,” Sophie said. She licked her lips and took another drag of her cigarette. “But I’m still going to go with the theory of you liking me.” I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to smile. “And if I do? You don’t date local guys, remember?” Sophie held my gaze for a long moment and flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Maybe I’m not that much of an absolutist,” Sophie said. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Maybe I’m open to changing my mind on that score.” She stood up and I caught the barest flash of her tit as her top shifted. It sent a jolt of heat through me, straight to my cock. Then, she turned around and went into the apartment, and I saw the bottom

curve of her ass cheeks. Before I knew what I was doing, I had stood, and I followed her into the apartment. Sophie turned on her heel, only a few feet away from the kitchen, and my hands were already out. I reached for her shoulders, for her arms, and pulled her towards me. Acting completely on impulse, I ducked down and kissed her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing her body against mine. Sophie tensed against me and then relaxed, and I heard her let out just the faintest moan. I broke away from her lips and looked down into her eyes. “Not an absolutist?” Sophie’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and I knew—I knew in my bones—that she was turned on. “Maybe not,” Sophie said breathlessly. She licked her lips and I smiled slowly. “But I am not going to have sex with you right now.” “You’re not?” Sophie shook her head, slipping free of my arms. “Why not?” “One—I need to run some errands before I’m due at Respects,” she said. “Two: I never put out before at least one date.” She stepped into the kitchen and started making coffee while I watched. I went back to the couch, trying to decide how to move forward; Sophie was obviously attracted to me, but after Benny’s remarks the night before I didn’t want to push her—especially since Mark had given her his number. Either she’s into him or not, I

told myself. And if she isn’t, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with going after her myself. “So, since you need to go on a date with me, why don’t we check out the Norton next week?” Sophie emerged from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. “The Norton is free for the next year and a half—that’s not a date,” she said. “It is if we go out to dinner before or after,” I pointed out. Sophie handed me one of the cups and I drank down a gulp, keeping my gaze on her. “Deal,” she said, smiling.

CHAPTER SIX I had just finished setting up for the day’s recordings when Jules, Nick, and Mark came into the live room, talking amongst themselves. “I’m telling you, we need to punch up the vocals on ‘Turnstile,’” Nick was saying to Jules. “But Alex won’t listen to me, and Jack’s taking his side.” “Jack’s on the side of the album,” Jules said, shaking his head. “If you want to suggest a change, make your case to him.” “Dan—what do you think?” Nick glanced at me as he bent over to pick up one of his guitars. “I think it’s worth looking at,” I replied. Mark stepped behind the drum kit. “Alex has been getting all ‘artistic integrity’ though.” “He’s on my ass about the drum sounds, too,” Mark said. “Well he should be—you were all sloppy on the fills yesterday,” I told him. “I wasn’t sloppy!” Mark scowled at me. “You kind of were,” Nick countered, grinning. “Ah—fuck you,” Mark said. Alex came into the room. “How are we doing today, gents?” “Got a date for Friday,” Mark said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“With who?” Nick tried a chord on his Epiphone and nodded to himself, satisfied with the tone. “New bartender at Respects,” Mark replied. My hand slipped on the neck of my bass. “Really?” I hadn’t mentioned my upcoming date with Sophie to Mark—I figured he didn’t need to know until after I found out if there was anything to it. “That Sophie chick?” Nick raised an eyebrow and looked at me. I’d told him about going home with Sophie, and that we’d made a date. “Yeah,” Mark said. “I gave her my number the other night and we’ve been texting back and forth a bit. I’m taking her to the De Sade show.” Nick looked at me again, and I shrugged—hopefully not enough that Mark could see. “Five minutes, guys,” Jack said from the control room. “Let’s get this show rolling, shall we?” We started in on the first track, and I tried to focus on the task at hand, but the fact that Mark had a date with Sophie stuck in the back of my mind. Mark didn’t know that I had a date with Sophie; so there was no reason for me to be mad at him—but I was. I was mad at Sophie too, probably with more reason. After all, she had made a date with me, and then turned around and made one with Mark as well. You did tell her to text him if

she was interested, I reminded myself, but even then it didn’t seem like any kind of excuse. She knew that Mark and I were in a band together— and she should have been able to figure out that it would put a strain on things between us to both go after the same woman. “We’re getting ragged in the rhythm section,” Jack said from the control room after we went through one of the new songs for the third time. “What’s up?” Jules looked from Mark to me and back again. “You two are never sloppy like this.” “It’s nothing,” I said. “Just tired.” “Take a break,” Alex suggested. He turned to the control room. “We’re going to take five, Jack— I think we’re overthinking this whole thing.” “Make it ten, get a cigarette and come back,” Jack suggested. I checked my pockets, found my phone and cigarettes, and put my bass down. I had to get out of the room—and I definitely needed to confront Sophie about what I’d found out. If she was going to play Mark and I off against each other, I’d cancel the damn date; I didn’t need that kind of drama in my life. Fuming, I left the studio and headed outside, blinking against the bright, mid-afternoon sun. I sank down onto the grass, took my phone out of my pocket, lighting a cigarette and found Sophie’s number in my contact list. She’d given it

to me before I’d left her apartment a few days before, and I’d texted her once or twice since then —mostly just how-are-you, checking in-type messages. I’d been totally clueless to the fact that she’d even followed up with Mark. Hey, I wrote. Just heard some interesting news. I tapped send and set my phone down on my knee while I smoked, trying to keep my anger in proportion. A moment later, my phone vibrated and I looked at it. What news would that be? Something up with the album? I pressed my lips together until my throat tickled from the smoke hanging in it. I exhaled the smoke and coughed. Actually, I heard that you have a date with Mark, I wrote back. I wasn’t about to sugarcoat anything. Anything to say about that? I checked the time; I had another couple of minutes before we had to go back into the studio and get back to work. He asked me out, I said yes. You told me to text him if I was interested. I stubbed out my cigarette and shook my head to myself. I also asked you out, and you said yes. I took a deep breath. And you said yes to me first. What’s the deal there? I slipped my phone into my pocket and stood up. I wasn’t sure there was even anything that Sophie could say that would matter to me at that point; the fact that she hadn’t apologized or offered any kind of justification, any kind of reasoning behind accepting dates from two guys at

the same time, pissed me off. Before I could walk back inside the complex, though, Nick appeared. “I talked Jack into a longer break,” he said, looking me up and down. “We going to have drama between you and Mark now?” “Mark didn’t know I’d asked her out,” I pointed out. “But she knew—at least I assume you asked her out first,” Nick said. He took his cigs out and gestured for me to sit down. “Am I about to get a pep talk from you? Because I gotta say, the idea of getting relationship advice from a guy who until—what—a year ago was fucking everything with two legs and a vagina…” “The two legs thing wasn’t a prerequisite,” Nick said with a little smirk. I rolled my eyes. “Anyway: say whatever the fuck you came to say.” “You’re pissed off,” Nick said, lighting up. “I get it.” “You say that like most people wouldn’t get me being pissed over my best friend going on a date with a girl I’m into,” I countered. “How many times have you and Mark ended up fucking the same girl? At least five, right?” “That’s different,” I insisted. “Those weren’t…they were just chicks on the road.” “Still, you put your dick somewhere Mark did.

And vice versa. Hell, you’ve fucked girls who fell out of Alex’s bunk too.” Nick shrugged. “We all have. What’s the issue now?” “So, you’re saying that I shouldn’t be upset about it because Mark and I have fucked the same groupies before,” I said. I lit another cigarette; Nick shrugged and took another drag of smoke. “You’re pissed because you’re actually into her,” Nick said matter-of-factly. “But are you pissed at him, or are you pissed at her?” I considered the question. “It’s alternating,” I admitted. “Even though I know I don’t really have a reason to be pissed at Mark—it’s not like he knows anything.” “So talk to him about it,” Nick suggested. “See what he does. If he backs off—then just be mad at her.” “And if he doesn’t back off?” Nick looked at his cig for a moment or two. “Then figure out whether you really want to have shit with him,” Nick said. “We’ve got work to do, man. We can’t get this album done right if you and Mark are having drama and trying to point fingers at who’s being sloppy in the studio when you’re actually both out of sync because you’re not listening to each other.” Nick stood on his long, skinny legs and stubbed his cigarette out against the wall. “Finish that and come back in. We’ll get through it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN I thought about what Nick had said the entire time we were in the studio that day. I knew I didn’t have any right to be pissed at Mark until after I confronted him about what had happened; but I didn’t know if—technically—I even would have a right to be pissed at him even then. Mark had acted in his own interest, just like I had. Sophie was a separate issue—at least that’s what I thought at first. She had gone from not dating anyone in the local scene to dating two guys in the local scene at the same time, and both of them members of the same band. Benny’s sure as hell going to be pissed off about it, I thought wryly. I knew I should talk to Mark about the situation, but there wasn’t an opportunity for the rest of the day. The five of us went through one song after another, recording, stopping, talking, recording again, tweaking this, changing that, talking some more. We mostly worked on the songs that Alex and Nick had written together, and in some respects, it was exactly the way that it always had been—wrangling out details, talking about changes, reworking this or that or the other thing. But it was obvious to me at least that things weren’t exactly the same way as they’d always

been. Jules was more aggressive with his suggestions. Mark wasn’t as patient with working out what exactly Alex wanted from the drums. I wasn’t gelling with the beat the way that I normally did. “What the hell was that?” Alex turned to look at me when we came to the end of a song—his song —that we’d already played through about half a dozen times and recorded three of those times. “What do you mean, what was it?” I looked from Alex to Jules to Nick, to see if either of them had a similar issue with my playing. “You totally dropped the beat in the second verse, and what the fuck was that bit in the chorus?” Alex shook his head. “You’re the one that keeps changing it,” Jules pointed out. “Hell, it’s a wonder I even knew what you wanted to play.” “But you did,” Alex insisted. “What’s going on, Dan?” I shrugged. “Nothing,” I said. It was a lie of course, but I wasn’t about to drag my issues with Mark out into the studio live room. “Let’s go through it one more time, recording off, and see if we can’t get it right,” Nick suggested. “And this time let’s stick with the original. I’m not solid on that riff in the third verse anyway.” “Think you’re up for it, Dan?” Alex gave me a

sharp, almost a mocking look. “Sure,” I said, smiling in spite of how irritated I felt. “Let’s go over it again. But none of that new shit you’re wanting in it—just the normal fucking song, okay?” “Mark, count in.” I felt my heart beating faster as Mark hit his sticks together to count the beat off, but I pushed the feeling aside. I was in the studio to work; I’d get a chance to talk to Mark after we finished for the day. Nick came in, and then Jules, and then I started playing the bass line, listening to Mark’s beat and trying to separate him from the beat I had to follow. I closed my eyes and just listened to the music swirling around me, fitting the notes I played into the fabric of the song itself, following along as mindlessly as possible. I could play the original version of this song—the way Alex had first presented it to us—in my sleep. I didn’t even listen to Alex singing; all I did was go along with the rhythm and melody without thinking. “Better,” Alex said when we came to the end once more. “I think we have it solid now,” Jack said from the control room. “Why don’t we revisit this after you’ve had some time to get the parts into your muscle memory? Call it a day.” I looked at Alex; ever since he’d taken up with Mary the perfectionist streak in him had come out more and more, and it was hard to know when it would show

up. He looked at each of us in turn and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re not going to get it any better than that today. Let’s call it done, and we’ll listen to the replays tomorrow when we get in.” We started putting our shit away, and I rehearsed what I was going to say to Mark in my mind. I couldn’t start out in anger; Mark hadn’t known that I’d already asked Sophie out. Hell—I hadn’t even told him that I’d stayed the night at her place. He was just doing what made sense: he had given her his phone number, he had made the move, he had closed the deal. I couldn’t blame him for any of that. But I’d asked her out first. Really, both of us should be mad at Sophie; she was playing us. Mark somehow managed to clear out before I could get my thoughts together. I heard him saying his goodbyes and almost dropped what I was doing to follow him; but instead I finished putting away my guitars and gathering up my things. I didn’t even know what to say to him—I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t really have any kind of specific claim on Sophie in spite of the fact that she’d said yes to going on a date with me. All I had was some resentment that one of my best friends had unknowingly asked out the same girl I wanted to see. I was still thinking about the situation when I

left the complex. “Dan!” I looked up and stopped in my tracks. Sophie was sitting on the hood of my car, a few feet away from me. “What the hell are you doing here?” I stared at her. She was wearing a jumper and a tee shirt, and something about the cut of it, about the way it looked on her, made her sexier than ever. Don’t give into it. Don’t. “Well, you weren’t answering your text messages,” Sophie pointed out. She slid off the hood of my car and walked up to me. “So I figured that if I wanted a chance to make things right, I would have to do it in person.” I raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been waiting there?” Sophie gave me that little knowing smile. “About an hour,” she said. “Fortunately, I’m off tonight so even if you stayed in there until midnight it would’ve been okay.” I couldn’t help myself; I laughed. “Okay,” I said. I resisted the urge to reach out for the hips that practically begged for my hands on them. “So how are you going to make this right?” Sophie crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at me. “I was going to tell you that I get why you’re upset. I shouldn’t have accepted a date from Mark.” I nodded. “Go on,” I said. “I am going to tell him that I have to cancel,”

Sophie told me. “I should give you precedence since you asked me first.” “That is very mature of you,” I said, resisting the urge to smile. “And so fucking eloquent.” I found myself moving closer to her instinctively. “But I’m not sure it’s enough to make up for going behind my back.” “I didn’t!” Sophie looked up at me sharply. “You said to text him back and to go out with him if I wanted to,” she pointed out. “I said if you were interested,” I corrected. “Whatever,” Sophie said. She rolled her eyes. “So, what will it take for you to forgive me for creating tension between you and Mark?” “Go to dinner with me,” I told her. “That’ll make up for it.” I moved closer still; it was like her body was a magnet, drawing me in, almost against my will. “Go to dinner with me and don’t tell Mark why you have to cancel.” “The first: okay,” Sophie said. “The second: why?” I licked my lips. I wanted to kiss her so badly I could almost taste it. “I need to talk to him, guy-to-guy,” I told her. “Just let me handle it.” Sophie looked up at me, meeting my gaze with her big, dark eyes for a long moment. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do it your way. Where are you taking me for dinner?” “Oh—you’re taking me to dinner,” I told

Sophie. “After all, you’re the one who wronged me.” “You make so much more money than I do! That’s not fair. Besides, you said go to dinner with you, not take you to dinner.” “We’ll split the check,” I suggested. Sophie pouted, shaking her head. “This isn’t a date then?” I laughed. “It is, but it’s a makeup date. You’re making it up to me for going after my friend after you already said yes to me. So you pay for your own food. Next week, when we have our actual date, I’ll pay.” Sophie flashed that little smile up at me and I almost couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. “Deal,” she said. Sophie took a step back and laughed, shaking her head. “I cannot believe you got me to agree to that.” Sophie half-turned away from me and slipped her keys out of her pocket. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” “Lucky? Luck has nothing to do with it,” I informed her. “I have the most aggressive skin care regimen of anyone in the band.” Sophie snorted. “Where am I going?” “Get in the car,” I told her. “I’ll bring you back by here to get your ride after dinner.” Sophie gave me a watchful look, but slipped her keys back into her pocket. “I will so get a fucking Lyft if you use this as an excuse to be an ass,” she said firmly.

“I promise I will be a perfect fucking gentleman,” I said. “Get in the car.”

CHAPTER EIGHT “So, tell me: what’s it like to be a famous musician?” Sophie reached out with chopsticks in her hand and snagged a piece of grilled eggplant off of the plate in front of us. I’d taken her to YakkoSan, not too far from the studio. “I’m not famous,” I said, shaking my head as I grabbed for a bite of tuna. “Sure you are,” Sophie said. “Molly Riot is the success story of the scene.” I rolled my eyes. “All happenstance,” I told her. “Alex had that big raid, and then Nick got involved with a journalist, and Jules…” I shrugged and ate my bite of tuna, before reaching for a slice of grilled sea bass. Sophie plucked a dumpling off of a plate. “The reason doesn’t matter,” she told me. “You’re famous.” “Does that matter to you?” I ate my sea bass. Sophie looked at me thoughtfully, chewing her gyoza. “Not really,” she replied after a moment. “I mean, obviously it will ruin my cred in certain circles, but I can deal with that.” I laughed. “So we’re operating on the assumption that this is going to be an actual thing?” Sophie’s lips twitched in a little smile.

“I’m kind of hopeful it will,” she said. “But I mean—obviously, that’s going to depend on how it goes in the bedroom.” “You have doubts?” I snagged a dumpling and ate it, eyebrow raised. “Well, I can’t know for sure until we get there, right?” Sophie tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t get anything from that kiss the other day?” I held her gaze. “I was half asleep,” Sophie pointed out. “Maybe if you tried it again I could judge better.” I chuckled, and snatched another piece of tuna off of one of the plates. “I think I can manage that,” I told her. Sophie grinned. “I’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.” “Well I’m not going to kiss you right here—I taste like fish.” Sophie snorted. I insisted on paying for dinner at the end of it all, even though I’d said we were going to go Dutch. We walked out of the restaurant, and acting on impulse I grabbed Sophie’s hand. Her fingers tightened around mine as we went to my car. She turned to face me as we got to the passenger side door, but before she could say anything, I leaned in and kissed her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing her body against mine, and deepened the kiss moment by moment. Any and all thought of Mark completely left me.

I pushed Sophie up against my car, letting my hands wander over her body slowly; I hadn’t realized how much I’d been thinking about kissing her, touching her, holding her ever since I’d left her apartment days before. I could feel myself already starting to get hard as Sophie began to squirm against me, her hands moving across my back and shoulders as I deepened the kiss. I don’t know how long we stood like that, kissing against my car, but when I finally broke away from Sophie’s lips, I was so turned on that I wanted to fuck her right there. “Sophie,” I murmured, dragging my lips along her jaw up to her ear. “I know I promised to take you back to your car and let you go home…” “But if you don’t take me back to your place right now you’ll die?” Sophie chuckled lowly. “That’s about right,” I admitted. Her hips felt amazing underneath my hands—I could feel the tremble in her body, I could feel the heat of her. “What do you think?” Sophie twisted her hips against mine and looked up at me. “I think this is going pretty fast,” she said. “I can slow down,” I told her. “I won’t actually die if you go home instead of back to my place.” Sophie hesitated and then leaned up onto the balls of her feet and kissed me. My hands slid up to her tits and then down along her tight little waist to her hips, and all I could think about was

how she would look naked, sprawled out on my bed. “I need to be home before dawn,” Sophie murmured against my lips. “Drogon has to eat.” “I can totally do that,” I told her, pressing my hips against hers. How I managed to get the doors to my car unlocked I have no idea; all the blood was rushing to my groin. I probably wasn’t safe to drive, but thank god there was almost no traffic for once on 95. I made it back to the apartment in record time, and barely got the car parked in my spot before I rushed around to the passenger side to let Sophie out. If I thought too much about what I was doing, I knew I’d just fuck myself over—I’d think about Mark and the fact that he didn’t know yet that I’d sniped a girl he was into. I almost stumbled over my own feet getting Sophie into my apartment; I threw her up against the door and pinned her there, kissing her hungrily while I let my hands wander all over her body. “God,” I murmured against her lips, rubbing my hips against hers, kissing along the column of her throat. “You are so fucking hot, Sophie. So… goddamn…hot.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her up a little bit, rocking up against her. Sophie moaned against my neck, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pushing her hips against

mine, twisting and writhing between the wall and me. I nibbled along the column of her throat and pulled back from the front door, taking Sophie by the hand and leading her towards my bedroom. I pulled the straps of her jumper over her shoulders and found the zipper in the back for the skirt, even as she tugged and pulled at my tee shirt. I pushed any thought of anything other than Sophie out of my mind; the only thing that held me back was not wanting to actually rip any of her clothes as I got them off of her. I managed to get her down to her panties and took a step back to admire my handiwork; Sophie looked even better naked than I’d imagined, her tits so full they had that little bit of droop to them—not a sag, exactly, but enough to let you know they were 100% real—and, to my surprise, tattoos from the front of her hips to her back, visible just above and below her black lace panties. I didn’t take the time to examine the ink; instead I gave her a careful shove onto my bed and then slid on top of her, barely able to keep myself under control. I was hard as a rock—my cock was aching, throbbing from how turned on I was. I kissed her again and again, rocking my hips against hers, rubbing against the heat and wetness I could feel through the fabric of her panties and my boxers. I tried to hold back, and to make it last, but I

knew—it had been weeks since I’d been with someone—that once I got inside Sophie I wasn’t going to be able to take it slow anymore. I started kissing a path down from her lips, down to where I really wanted to be; I paused for a few minutes at her breasts, and looked up into her eyes as I played with her, teasing her with my lips and tongue. Sophie was even hotter than before, her face flushed against the green dye of her hair, her eyes like pits in her face they were so dark, her lips parted as she panted and moaned for me. It sounded like music—and every noise that left her made me that much more turned on, that much more eager to get to the main event. I moved down over her body as slowly as I could, taking my time, kissing every bit of skin I could find until I came to her hips. I tugged her panties down and cupped her pussy in the palm of my hand. She was already soaking—totally drenched, the silky-wet heat coating my fingers in an instant. I rubbed up and down slowly, nuzzling up against her thigh, spreading her legs wider. I buried my face against Sophie’s pussy, spreading the labia apart and sliding my tongue up and down along the inner folds. She tasted good— sharp and sweet all at once, clean and wet and hot. I set to work teasing her, working her up as fast as I could, flicking my tongue up to just barely brush against her clit and then back down to her labia,

back and forth while she twisted and arched and squirmed underneath me and around me. I was torn between wanting it to go on forever and the feeling that my cock might actually explode if I didn’t get relief soon; but the sound of Sophie’s little gasps and moans and cries was enough to make me want to devour her whole. I brought her to the edge of climax at least twice, feeling the tension in her body, listening to the changes in her cries as I worked her with my lips and tongue and fingers; she was so tight—so fucking tight I almost couldn’t stand it. I had to feel her wrapped around me. I pulled back and Sophie let out a long, low, frustrated groan, her hands tight in my hair, her fingers tangled, her body pitching as she reeled from disappointment. I slithered back up to her face and kissed her without even wiping my lips, squirming and shifting until I got my boxers off. Sophie wrapped her legs around me like a pair of pythons and I rubbed against her, still trying to hold back, still trying to make the moment last. I loved the feeling of her slick pussy against me, the heat of her, the taste of her lips. I shifted against her, lining myself up against Sophie’s inner labia, and thrust into her slowly. “Fuck—fuck, Dan…god…” Sophie dragged her lips along my throat and I kissed her hungrily, over and over again as we began to move together.

“You feel so good,” I told her, lifting myself up onto my elbows and looking down into her eyes. I tried to hold myself back, but the tight, wet heat of her wrapped around me felt too good. I started to move faster, pushing deeper and deeper inside of her, touching her everywhere. Sophie’s muscles flexed and tightened around me in erratic little spasms, and I fought to keep control of myself, but it was impossible. I started going harder and faster, and Sophie moaned out, kissing my neck, my shoulder, her fingernails digging into my back. I lost myself in the moment, thrusting as deep as I could inside of her, reaching down to stroke and rub Sophie’s clit, doing everything I could to get more of those delicious sounds out of her. All at once, I felt Sophie’s body tightening around me, her muscles flexing in erratic little spasms as she came, crying out. I kissed her again and again, barely holding back as her body rippled around me; I lost what little self-control I had in what seemed like mere seconds. I groaned out against Sophie’s neck as hot and cold flashes rushed through me like waves. I thrust a few more times into Sophie’s body as we both came even harder, until I couldn’t even think about moving anymore. Sweat dripped off of me, and I slumped against her, panting and gasping for breath. As soon as my heart began to slow down and I was actually able to get my breathing under control,

I looked down at Sophie’s face. She was still breathing heavily, but she looked absolutely gorgeous: cheeks flushed, eyes shiny, lips curled in a satisfied little grin. “We have to do that again before I take you to your car,” I told her. “Oh totally,” Sophie agreed. She kissed me on the lips, and I rolled off of her, letting my arm rest across her waist. Without warning, Sophie giggled, curling up into herself, burying her face against my pillows. “What?” Sophie shook her head and barely— barely—peaked up at me before dissolving into another fit of laughter. “You’re good in bed,” she told me, once she could breathe once more. “That’s funny?” Sophie giggled again—but not uncontrollably. “I totally expected…” she shook her head, grinning. “I expected that you’d be…like…” “Selfish?” I kissed her temple. “All about getting myself off?” Sophie shrugged. “Something like that,” she said. “I mean, you do know there are rumors about Molly Riot’s members…” “What rumors?” I rolled back on top of Sophie. “Is the word on the street that we’re all terrible in bed?” Sophie snickered. “No—but some people do think you guys are kind of slutty,” Sophie told me. “Less so now,

obviously.” “So, if we’re sluts then we should be good in bed,” I pointed out. I kissed her again and felt myself starting to get hard. “In fact, I will show you exactly how good I am in bed, right now.” Sophie chuckled lowly and wrapped her arms around me. “Show away,” she said.

CHAPTER NINE I woke up in my own bed, for once feeling like I’d managed to get a decent night’s sleep in spite of the fact that Sophie and I had been up until about four, having sex over and over again. We’d only stopped at three-thirty in the morning because I had promised to get her to her car so she could get home in enough time to feed the cat. I had to get to the studio but we’d all agreed not to get started until two in the afternoon; when I checked the time on my phone it was only eleven. Time enough to get a shower, grab some breakfast, and maybe get in a little practice on one of the songs we’d changed up the day before until I had to get to the complex. I scrolled through my Facebook feed for a few moments in bed, thinking about Sophie; there was still something between us, I knew, but I couldn’t deal with the situation with her until I dealt with the one with Mark. I wondered if Sophie had already let Mark know that she would have to cancel—and if so, how she’d done it. Almost feel bad for the guy, I thought idly. Mark had no idea that I’d gone for the same girl but more successfully; he’d probably be pissed at me, but like Nick had pointed out, it wasn’t like it was the first time any of us had gone for the same girl.

As if my thoughts were a cue, my phone buzzed in my hand while I was on the way to the bathroom to grab a shower. It was Mark. Sophie canceled on me. What the hell, man? I stared at my phone for a minute, feeling guiltier than I thought I would. Had she said something about why she had to cancel? Before I could reply, I got another text— from Sophie. I tried to tell Mark that it was just a scheduling conflict, but he kept pushing for another date and I eventually just gave in and told him I’d decided to go out with you instead. I sat down on the rim of the bathtub. Obviously I wasn’t going to get my chance to have a calm, normal talk with Mark about what had happened with Sophie—he already knew, and from her instead of from me. I asked her out that night we went to Prop, I wrote to Mark. She said yes. She shouldn’t have agreed to go out with you in the first place. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, man. I put my phone aside and stepped into the shower, hoping against hope that that would be all there was to talk about—at least for the day. I got another text while I was shaving, but I waited until I was done to look at it. What the fuck, dude? I didn’t know what to say to that. Mark had a right to be pissed at me—I could recognize that. I had been pissed at him, even though it wasn’t his fault, when I’d found out he was going on a date

with Sophie. But I’d known and he hadn’t. From his perspective, I’d basically pulled the rug out from under him. I got another text, this one from Nick. Mark says he’s not coming in today. Guess he knows? I cringed. Sophie canceled her date with him, I replied. She told him why. If Mark wasn’t going to be in the studio that day, there was no point in any of us being there—we were still doing the live room recordings, not the individual parts yet. Fuck, dude. You going to talk to him? I thought about that question and didn’t have a good answer for it. I’d have to talk to Mark sometime; I’d have to see if I could get him to understand where I was coming from, what had happened, the fact that I wasn’t out to screw him. I kept thinking about the rant he’d gone on the night we’d both met Sophie: that it was unreal that Jules had a girlfriend before he did. Sophie might not have been anything serious to him, but between Jules having a functioning relationship against all the odds and me pulling a chick he wanted without him knowing about it, he was obviously going to have some wounded pride. If we’re not in the studio today, I guess I have to, I wrote Nick. Alex and Jules sent texts confirming that Mark had told them about not coming in too, and wondering if I knew anything

about it; they didn’t really know what was going on with Mark, or with any of the other members of the band, not the way that we used to know about each other’s lives, ever since they’d gotten together with their girlfriends. Nick only knew about it because he and Liv had been at Prop. I bit the bullet and finally replied to Mark’s message. Hey, man. Let’s meet up at Nippers since, apparently, we’re not working today. If I was going to talk to Mark about the situation at hand, I was going to definitely need some fucking coffee before I did. I threw on some clothes and got into my car and went up to Rhino in Boca while I waited to hear from Mark. I texted Sophie to let her know that it was okay—that I’d work things out with Mark on my own, that we were still on for our next date. I had no idea whether or not I would actually be able to square things away with Mark; but I hoped that I could. I sat down outside with a couple of donuts and a big coffee, and lit a cigarette. Mark and I were in a band together; we were friends. We’d been friends for years. Surely, we could get through something this minor—right? I finished off my donuts and lit another cig, staring at my phone and willing it to vibrate, to flash on the screen that Mark had texted me back. I kept telling myself that it was just a one-day delay, that we’d hash it out over beers and everything would be fine. But after

three cigarettes I had to admit that it was taking Mark longer than I would have thought to get back to me. Are we meeting up or what? A couple of minutes later I got my response: Fuck off.

CHAPTER TEN A week after Mark had told me to fuck off, instead of meeting with me, I found myself at Respects again. Once more, I had cigarettes, lighter, ashtray, and a beer in front of me; but I was by myself. I lit up and looked around the bar, trying not to be the morose asshole I felt like. It was eleven, so people were starting to come in, but I didn’t think there would be that many; according to Sophie, the place was almost never super packed on a Wednesday. Thursdays--for Flaunt--it would get busy, and then on Friday, and almost always on Saturday, but unless there was an actual event, Wednesdays mostly only managed to bring out the diehards. I flicked the tip of my cig in the ashtray and looked behind the bar. Sophie was in perpetual motion, taking stock of her supplies, closing out tabs, opening tabs, going into the back for whatever it was anyone needed. Queens of The Stone Age, “No One Knows” came on through the system and I saw her hips beginning to move in time, as she scribbled something down on a pad. I wasn’t sure if it was just me, but it seemed like she got hotter every time I saw her; when I’d picked her up to drive her to work about an hour and a half before,

it’d been all I could do not to drag her back into her apartment and convince her to let me make her late. She’d pulled her hair back into the spiky, small pigtails I’d liked so much the first night I’d seen her, but she was wearing a pair of shorts that barely covered her ass, along with a thin, almost transparent shirt that draped across her shoulders and clung to her tits. “Want another shot?” Sophie leaned in closer to me over the bar, and I shrugged. “Might as well,” I replied. “Not like I have anywhere to be.” It had been a week--and none of us had gone back into the studio, because Mark refused to respond to anyone. Either he told them to fuck off, same as he had me, or he just didn’t answer. Things were starting to get desperate; the record label wasn’t happy with the fact that we were stalled out on the album, especially since they’d given us the biggest budget we’d ever had. We were going to have to come up with something soon, but no one in the band seemed to have an idea of how to move forward. I couldn’t help but feel more than a little guilty about it; I couldn’t make myself believe that Mark’s tantrum was all about Sophie, but obviously, that had been the straw that had broken the camel’s back. If we couldn’t figure out how to move forward, then it was going to be bad for all of us. Not that Jules won’t just bounce back. He’s already

got that side project. Alex could go solo. Nick… I sighed, pushing the thought out of my head before I’d even finished it. In a certain light, I could understand where Mark was coming from; at least, where he’d been coming from before, the night we’d met Sophie. But knowing where he was coming from didn’t really seem to help all that much. I still didn’t have an answer for what to do about the situation. My phone buzzed on the bar top and I turned it over to see the screen flashing. I had a text. I unlocked my phone and stubbed out my cigarette, taking the shot from Sophie without even looking. Meeting tomorrow. Ron’s office. Mark won’t be there. It was from Nick. I knocked back the shot and considered the message. Is Ron going to be there? What’s the deal? I took a sip of my beer and lit another cigarette. This was certainly getting interesting--I knew that it would eventually come to some kind of meeting; some kind of sit-down. The fact that it was Nick messaging me about it instead of Alex was a little unusual. I had to wonder if the rest of the band thought it was my fault that Mark was throwing such an epic tantrum. After all, the spark for this had been him finding out about me and Sophie. You have to admit that you were pretty pissed about the fact that he and Sophie were supposed to go out after

she’d already said yes to you, I reminded myself. And it was true--and Nick had pointed out how stupid it was for me to be so touchy about it. And then, too, it’s not like he knew. Obviously. I finished off my beer and signaled to Sophie. At least for a little while, I had enough money not to worry too much about running up a huge tab, and how I’d pay for it. We were still getting quarterly royalties from the first few albums, and since things had gotten so good with everyone else in the band drawing more and more attention to us, those checks were bigger. Ron’s not going to be there. He’s letting us figure this shit out. But the label is pretty...the polite way they put it was ‘concerned’. I almost laughed out loud at Nick’s understatement. The label was pissed. They’d dropped money on the studio of our choice, and they were bleeding that money for however long we went without working, since--unless we contacted them and told them to suspend the album--they couldn’t just quit the lease on the place. My phone buzzed again. Noon, Alex says. You going to be there? Sophie cracked another beer and slid it in front of me. I sighed. I knew I didn’t really have a whole hell of a lot of choice. I’ll bring pizza, I texted back. There was no real getting around it--I’d need to be there. Especially since Mark apparently wasn’t going to attend, it was a good idea. There was no doubting what we’d be discussing: the

future of the band, and how we were going to deal with the situation. “What’s up?” I looked up and saw Sophie standing across the bar from me, hands resting on the bar top. I shrugged. “Meeting tomorrow with the boys--except Mark, who apparently won’t talk to anyone,” I told her. “At our manager’s office, but he won’t be there.” “I assume you’ll hash everything out?” Sophie looked doubtful. “Jules will bring some dope, I’ll bring some pizza, we’ll talk about whatever everyone wants to talk about,” I said, shrugging. Sophie stepped back and grabbed her pack of cigarettes from where she’d left it, next to the register. “What do you think the outcome is going to be?” I wasn’t the only one who felt guilty about the situation between Mark, the band and me. Sophie had admitted that she hadn’t quite known how to say no to Mark’s date invite; she also hadn’t known how seriously I’d meant it when I’d asked her out first. But at this point, none of that even completely mattered. It was obvious to me at least that Mark wouldn’t throw such an epic tantrum without there being more at stake than a girl. “No idea,” I said. Sophie lit her cigarette and took a drag. “That depends on what they’re thinking.”

“Do you think they think it’s your fault?” I shrugged again and drank down some of my beer. “Nick doesn’t seem to, but it’s hard to say for sure what Jules and Alex have concluded,” I told her. “Even though he’s got a girlfriend now, Jules is still a morose bastard--so he’s probably likely to think it’s fucking everyone’s fault. Alex just wants things to keep trucking, as far as I can tell.” “So it might come to an argument?” I pressed my lips together. Sophie held her cigarette between her lips and poured me another shot of Jameson with a wink. I always made sure to pay my tabs, and after her comments about dating guys in the local scene I had made sure not to even think about asking her to comp me anything, but sometimes she tossed me a shot for free. “It might,” I said, gesturing for her to pour herself a shot as well. “I’m paying for these-period.” Sophie shrugged and poured herself a shot from the bottle before putting it away. We both knocked back our alcohol; I chased mine with a gulp of beer and Sophie chased hers with a mouthful of some cocktail she’d mixed for herself. “Anyway, if it comes to a fight, at least it’ll be a change.” Sophie laughed. “Change is better than nothing at all, right?” I nodded. “I don’t think it’ll be a fight,” I admitted. “I think it’ll be...tense, but I think that we’ll figure

something out. I sure fucking hope that we do.” I scrubbed at my face. I hadn’t realized how much it would bug me to be out of the studio for a week straight, with the record label breathing down our necks. I’d never had an argument with Mark that had lasted longer than maybe a couple of days, at the most. Usually by the day after, we’d more or less forgotten what we were mad about. “Here’s hoping, right?” I raised my beer and Sophie raised her cocktail and I hoped that I wouldn’t massively regret agreeing to go to the meeting.

CHAPTER ELEVEN “You’re sure you’re going to that meeting tomorrow?” Sophie glanced at me from the driver’s seat; I’d somehow managed to get too tipsy to drive back to her place between getting the messages from Nick and the time Respects closed down for the night at four. “Sure I’m sure,” I said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I go?” Sophie reached over and grabbed her pack of cigarettes out of the center console. She turned onto the entrance ramp for I-95 headed south and kept one hand on the wheel, her palm controlling the turn while her other hand tugged a cig free of the pack. I watched with fuzzy-headed wonder as she lit up with one hand and maneuvered the looping ramp effortlessly, merging into the almost-nonexistent traffic. “You’re drunk right now and it’s eight hours away,” Sophie pointed out. “I’m not that drunk,” I countered. “Just drunk enough that it’s better that you drive us than that I do.” Sophie gave me that knowing little grin, the one that drove me crazy, that had made me determined to win her over. “You’re going to be hungover,” she pointed out. “Is that the best frame of mind to talk about

the future of the band in?” I laughed. “It’s the absolute best frame of mind to do it in,” I told her. “If I can’t manage to support the continued existence of the band when I’m hungover, then it’s not worth keeping the band together.” But the thought of the band breaking up-and over some stupid bullshit problem that Mark was having about me ending up with a girl he wanted at that--sent an irrational surge of anger through me. “I’ll be fine by the time I have to be at Ron’s office.” Sophie raised an eyebrow with more than a little doubt in her eyes, but didn’t try and argue with me about it. I took control of the stereo, hooking my phone up to it and pulling up an old Silverchair album: Freak Show. I started it on the first track, “Slave,” and glanced at Sophie; we’d talked about music a few different times, and of course since I was a musician, it was important to me that someone I wanted to date more seriously had decent taste in music. “Oh, god,” Sophie said, shaking her head and grinning. “What?” I looked at her with interest even as I lit a cigarette. “Fucking eighth grade of middle school,” Sophie told me cryptically. “What about eighth grade?” Sophie’s cheeks lit up in the orangey glow of the safety lights on the

highway as we passed under them. “That’s when I listened to this album for the first time,” she said, sighing. She flicked the butt of her cigarette through the crack in the window and shook her head again. “I used to have such a crush on Daniel Johns.” I laughed. “Is the only reason you dated me because I’m a fellow Daniel?” Sophie rolled her eyes. “You play a different instrument,” she said tartly. I snickered. “I can play guitar too, you know,” I pointed out. “One of these days I’ll serenade you with ‘Ana’s Song’.” “No!” Sophie shook her head. “No--that’s all about mental illness. Do ‘My Favourite Thing’ instead.” I grinned and took a drag of my cigarette. “I might at that,” I told her. Sophie gave me a look through her eyelashes and we continued on the highway as one song changed to another. I’d spent the whole night watching her work, enjoying the curves of her body, all but staring at her whenever I wasn’t forced to talk to someone else. I wasn’t sure whether Sophie had chosen her outfit because it was comfortable or because she knew it made her look like a little sexpot--but I didn’t care. We’d made an agreement, after our second date: while we’d wandered around the Norton, we’d talked about the fact that with me being a musician and her being a bartender, we’d have to

either be okay with each other flirting or just never, ever let the relationship get serious. I wasn’t even sure just yet that I wanted it to be serious, but I knew that I wanted Sophie in a way I hadn’t wanted very many other women I’d met in my life. Pretty soon, we’d have to make some kind of decision about whether or not we were going to be an actual “thing”--but with the band in such a weird place, I didn’t want to make more drama in my life, and Sophie had told me flat out that she wasn’t interested in jumping the gun. So, for the moment, we were just seeing each other. Of course, the date at the Norton had ended up with me at her place, ordering pizza from an Italian place up the street just before it closed for the night, and us racing to see if we could fit in one more orgasm before the delivery guy got to her apartment. By the time Sophie pulled into the guest spot next to her building, I’d sobered up a little bit; enough that I was sure I could get it up, at least. I climbed out of the passenger seat and hurried around to where Sophie emerged from my car, taking my keys from her hand and wrapping my arms around her waist. “I have been waiting all night to have the chance to actually do this,” I murmured, kissing her on the lips. “You--mm--you could have done it before,” Sophie replied, bringing her arms up and wrapping them around my shoulders. I pressed her against the

side of the car, feeling the heat of her body through her clothes. All night, I’d watched the filmy, almost transparent material of her shirt sliding and shifting on her body, occasionally slipping off of her shoulder, hitching up to reveal a flash of one of her tattoos just above her hip, or otherwise showing tantalizing glimpses of her body. Then there were the shorts: the sight of her ass in them whenever she turned around, or walked past and away from me to take care of another customer or to get something from the back, was almost more than I could take. I’d stayed until closing not just because I’d given her a ride in and didn’t want her to have to catch a ride from one of the other members of the staff, but because I couldn’t stand the thought of not having sex with her after all that buildup. I rocked my hips against Sophie’s, rubbing up against her, and she moaned against my mouth, holding me tighter. The next minute though, she was pulling back, breaking away from my lips, panting but definitely not lulled. “Something wrong?” Sophie gave me a sharp look--not the dreamy expression she got whenever she was seriously turned on, but the knowing, penetrating look that made any thought of how cute she was almost a lie. “We are not going to have sex in the parking lot,” she told me. I frowned, wondering where she could have gotten the idea that I wanted to, and

then realized that I’d been trying to get my hand down her shorts; I hadn’t even thought about it, I’d been so lost in the moment. “Sorry,” I said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips again. “Inside?” Sophie nodded. I took a deep, shaking breath and stepped back. My knees felt rubbery; all I wanted was to get all Sophie’s clothes off--and mine too--and just keep at it until neither of us could stay awake for even a moment longer. I took her hand and we walked across the parking lot to her unit. I held myself back, even though I was already hard enough that my cock was starting to throb, and waited for Sophie to get her door unlocked. Drogon came out of the bedroom as soon as we stepped into the apartment, and I made myself wait patiently while Sophie greeted the black cat and checked on his food and water. It should have been a total buzzkill, but watching her kick off her shoes, hearing her murmur to the cat, somehow made the whole situation that much hotter. Sophie looked up at me from where she crouched and raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t we start in the shower?” I nodded, already starting to reach for the bottom of my tee shirt to take it off. “I’m game,” I told her. She laughed and opened the sliding glass door to her porch just enough for the cat to be able to come and go as he pleased, before turning

towards her bedroom. I stripped off my shirt and followed her into the bedroom, straight to the bathroom. Sophie hauled her shirt over her head and the sight of her full, heavy tits, barely covered by the lacy bra she wore, was enough to bring me back to fully hard. I stopped her hands, leaning in to kiss her on the lips. I found the fly of her shorts by touch and unbuttoned and unzipped it, and Sophie followed my lead; she began working on my jeans. We stripped each other naked bit by bit, and I let my hands wander wherever they wanted to go on her body, touching and teasing her. I cupped her tits as soon as I got her bra off, teasing her nipples until they hardened into firm little nubs between my fingers, and Sophie moaned, reaching down and wrapping her hand around my cock, stroking me up and down slowly. We stumbled into the shower and I turned the water on, pulling Sophie out of the path of the first cold burst to press her up against the wall, to kiss her again and again while my hand slipped down between her legs. She was already wet, the heat of her coating my fingers, slick like silk, and I grinned, pulling back from the kiss. “What do you want to bet we end up wasting all the hot water?” Sophie snorted, giving my cock a lingering stroke before disentangling one of her arms to check the water flowing through the shower head.

“I’m betting nothing on it, because I’m going to at least get clean first,” she told me tartly. I snickered and watched her step under the torrent of water, tugging the hair ties out of her hair and tossing them blindly into a caddy on the showerhead. In an instant, she was drenched, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to step up behind her, to let my hands slide over her slick body and touch her everywhere. Sophie turned around in my arms to face me and I kissed her, pressing my body against hers so she could feel how hard I was, how much I wanted her. She broke away from my lips after a few moments and looked up at me through her eyelashes. “The sooner I get clean, the sooner we can get to the main event,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Want to help out with that?” I grabbed a bottle of shampoo and held it up to confirm that it was what Sophie wanted me to use. She nodded and I got to work, lathering up her hair and then scrubbing her down, making sure to soap up every inch of her body--especially her tits-while she worked conditioner through her hair. “Fuck,” I said, shaking my head as I watched her rinse off, the water gliding over her body, glittering in the soft yellow light of the bathroom. It was all I could do not to pin her to the wall and take her right then and there. “You’re more patient than I would have

thought you’d be,” Sophie said, grinning at me as she stepped out from under the shower head. “Are you done?” I could hear the heaviness of my own voice; my cock was throbbing, aching from how turned on I was. Sophie giggled, reaching out and wrapping her hand around my cock even as she looked up at me through her wet hair and eyelashes. “I am,” she admitted. I groaned as she stroked me, but I made myself push her hand away. I wasn’t interested in her getting me off with a quick handy--I wanted the real deal. I wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her up carefully; we were both--obviously--incredibly slippery from the shower, but I didn’t even want to wait long enough to dry off. I carried her carefully into the bedroom and spilled her onto the bed without giving her a chance to get dry, and immediately slithered on top of her. I kissed her again and again, rocking my hips against hers, slipping down between her legs. “What were you saying about patience?” Sophie laughed breathlessly as I guided myself up against her soaking wet folds. “I take it back,” she replied, pushing her hips down against mine, rubbing the slick, wet heat of her pussy against me. “Good. Good,” I said. I dipped down to her throat and licked at the shower water still there on her skin; I nibbled at the spot just below her ear and

Sophie moaned out, twisting underneath me. I slid into her as slowly as I could, holding back as much as possible--I was too fucking hungry for the feeling of her wrapped around me to hold back that much--and started to move almost immediately. I kissed Sophie over and over again, swallowing down her moans, pushing deeper and deeper inside her body. “God--fuck, Sophie...you feel way, way too good,” I told her. “Better--better every time,” Sophie agreed, half-moaning as she moved with me. We fell into a rhythm together, and our hands slipped and stuttered on each other’s bodies, touching everywhere. I kissed Sophie’s lips, her throat, down to her tits. I teased her nipples with my mouth, worshipping her with my lips and tongue, looking up into her eyes as I thrust deeper inside of her, rubbing along her tight, hot inner walls. I lost myself in the moment, pounding into her faster and faster; I reached down between our bodies and found Sophie’s clit by touch, and began to stroke and rub her, trying to keep time with our movements, trying to bring her to climax before I totally lost control. The last thing I wanted was to come and get sleepy before she got off--I wanted the gratification of making her come first, the relief of knowing I didn’t need to do anything else. I read Sophie’s body like braille, feeling the tension in her muscles, listening to her moans turn into little gasps

and shuddering cries as she got closer and closer. All at once I felt her whole body tighten around me. I heard the sharp little breathy gasp and then she exhaled on a long, low moan, and her muscles fluttered around my cock, tightening in erratic little spasms. I tried to hold out for just a minute longer, to ride through her climax for as long as possible, but I felt the tension snap deep down between my hips, and I came less than a moment after her, groaning against her neck, barely able to hold myself up to keep thrusting as my cock twitched and throbbed inside of her. I collapsed onto the bed next to Sophie, gasping and panting for breath, still dripping wet, and turned to look at her as we both struggled to recover. “Jesus, I think it’s like--what, five-thirty in the morning?” Sophie giggled and shook her head. “Just enough time to get in a nap before the meeting then,” I replied. “I’ll lock the door on my way out.” “The sheets are soaked,” Sophie told me, though she didn’t look any more interested in getting up out of the damp bed to take care of the problem than I was. “They’ll dry off soon enough,” I promised her. “Besides, it’ll stay cooler this way.” “I don’t have the energy to fix them,” Sophie admitted. “This is the last time I’ll ever suggest a quick shower before sex.” I snickered.

“It was fun though, you have to admit,” I pointed out. “You loved every minute of it. Don’t lie.” Sophie rolled her eyes and turned over onto her side, rumpling her already messy hair and lifting her head to turn the pillow over onto the dry side. “We’ll see if I think it’s worth it after I wake up,” she told me. “If it was…” she half-shrugged and yawned, and I threw my arm over her, pulling us closer together. “I’ll see you tonight,” I promised her. “If you want.” Sophie nodded sleepily. “We’re doing your place,” she told me. “I’m not on at Respects. Make it an early night so we can catch up on sleep.” “Or we could make it a late night, just at home,” I suggested. Sophie murmured something that sounded vaguely like an agreement and we both drifted off without deciding what it was we were going to do with ourselves.

CHAPTER TWELVE I was barely on time when I got to Ron’s office in downtown Delray, just off Atlantic Avenue; I never really understood why he had an office there, but it was handy to about half the band--and it wasn’t that far from Sophie’s place--so I decided, as I walked up the two flights of stairs to his suite, that I wasn’t going to bitch about it. We mostly recorded down in Miami, and I was pretty sure he had an office of some kind in that neck of the woods as well--maybe out in Wynwood, or somewhere like that--but he’d made the Delray office his base, and that was the one we all usually met at, when we were going to do something official as a band. I’d gotten pizza just like I’d promised, and I carried it with me into the little reception area attached to the office. “Hey, Julie,” I said to the chick who ran the front desk; she was Ron’s niece, going to school for something industry-related, though I’d never really gotten the answer to what it was specifically. “Am I the last to show?” “You are, in fact,” Julie said, smiling at me with a little flirty gleam in her eyes. There was an unspoken law in the band--from back before any of us had girlfriends--that Ron’s niece was off-limits.

In fact, we’d decided as soon as Ron had started managing us that none of us were going to have anything to do with any of the female staff he had working for him; it’d be too much like dating one of our band mates’ sisters, and on top of that it’d open up all kinds of petty jealousy if anyone thought someone in the group was getting a better deal, or more press attention, or something like that. It wasn’t worth getting into, or even trying to work around. Better by far to just avoid it altogether by declaring all of the women working for Ron out of bounds. “You haven’t heard from Mark, have you?” Julie shook her head. Sometimes--since she kept the big man’s contacts for him, and managed his social calendar--someone in the band would talk to her, get her to pass something along to Ron if we couldn’t get the manager directly. “I can tell you that Uncle’s pretty stressed out about the whole deal,” Julie said confidentially. “He’s hoping you guys can figure it out on your own--but if not, he’s going to bring the pain.” “I’d expect nothing less,” I told her. “Buzz me in, will you?” There was a door that separated the reception area from the office proper, and only three people controlled it: Julie, Ron himself, and one of his daughters, who was also working her way up in the industry, following in Dad’s footsteps. Julie nodded and hit the buzzer on her

desk, and I heard the lock turn over in the door. I hurried over to it, making sure I at least turned the knob and pulled it a little bit before the timer would automatically re-lock the door. “I’ll catch ya later,” I told Julie, and she turned back to whatever it was she did when she wasn’t answering phones or greeting people who came in. I walked through the little office space, noticing the fact that Ron had apparently given up on the idea of the open office plan; instead of one big conglomeration of desks, it was a sea--or at least a lake--of cubicles, each one half-hiding one of Ron’s employees. He had about a dozen people working for him, and I thought to myself that if it weren’t for Molly Riot, he’d still have maybe five employees total; between Alex’s antics, Nick’s high-profile girlfriend and Jules dating another upand-coming band’s lead singer, Molly Riot was hot shit, and everyone in South Florida wanted to be signed with the guy who’d ushered us into our fame. I walked past the desks, headed towards the big office where Ron normally held court, pizza in one hand and the other holding my keys still. I nodded to the few people who looked up from their work, wondering what they were thinking; were they stressed out about the fact that Molly Riot seemed to be in crisis mode? Or was it just another day in their office job life?

The door to Ron’s office was open, and I spotted Alex seated in the chair closest to the big man’s desk, taking the unofficial official leadership role. Nobody was seated in Ron’s chair, which made the whole situation feel weird to me--but then I thought to myself that I’d feel even weirder if someone had sat down behind the desk; it would be like they were claiming a higher authority. Alex saw me coming and waved me into the room, saying something I couldn’t hear to the other two guys. “Close the door behind you,” Jules said as I came in. “I was going to anyway; I don’t want those gophers hearing whatever it is we end up discussing,” I told him, pulling the door behind me and listening for the click of the automatic lock. I took a second to look around the room, trying to figure out which way the wind was blowing. Nick I was pretty sure was on “my” side--that is, if there could be a side in the whole stupid mess our band had become. He’d been behind me on the issue with Mark, and I was pretty sure he didn’t blame me for what our drummer was choosing to do. Alex and Jules were harder to read; they were sort of removed from some of the more involved parts of the band anyway, wrapped up in their girlfriends so much that they didn’t really go out as much as they used to. Nick--even though he had a steady girl-still occasionally found time to hit shows, and even

go bar hopping. Alex’s girlfriend Mary had turned him into something of a good boy, and Jules and Fran were so busy working on material together that it was a wonder that either of them had any time for their actual bands. Okay, so maybe you can relate to Mark a little better than you thought. “So,” I said, setting down the three boxes of pizza--pepperoni, meat supreme, and six cheese--on the desk. “What are we going to talk about?” “I’m pretty sure you know what the subject is already,” Alex said. I shrugged and threw myself down on the beat up old couch in the corner. Ron had kept it from the old days, before he could afford a proper office; he said he wanted to remember where he’d come from, but I was pretty sure that he mostly kept it to try and maintain his cred. “We have to figure out how to get back to work,” Nick said bluntly. “We need Mark, but obviously, he’s not talking to any of us--not really, anyway.” “I wonder about that,” I said, licking my lips. “I brought beer if you want one,” Jules interjected. He waved towards a cooler close to the center of the room and I nodded, getting up long enough to grab a cold one before I sat back down. Alex opened one of the boxes of pizza and helped himself to a slice. “I mean, obviously, he started this bullshit

tantrum when he found out about Sophie and me,” I continued, cracking open the beer and taking a sip. “What’s his beef with the rest of you?” Nick shrugged. “I think he’s probably got deeper issues than he wants to talk about, but that doesn’t excuse what he’s doing,” Alex said, sounding a lot like his counselor girlfriend. God save me from psychobabbling good influences, I thought to myself. Alex was happy; that much was obvious. But I didn’t like the Boy Scout version of himself he’d started to become. “I told him he was being an asshole about something petty, and he cut me off after that,” Nick admitted. I glanced at Jules. “I don’t really give a fuck why he’s being such a little shit,” Jules said with a shrug. He stood and plucked a piece of pizza out of one of the boxes. “If we can find a way to move this fucking album forward, we can deal with whatever else afterward.” “I don’t know if we’re going to be able to move this album forward until we deal with whatever-the-fuck Mark’s problem is,” Alex countered. “I propose we get Ron to talk him into doing sessions,” Nick said. He raised his hands up to keep Jules and Alex from talking over him. “If his main beef is with Dan, we’ll separate them. Mark can

work a few hours during the day, lay a few tracks, get his shit done, and Dan can come in after he leaves. Or they can take turns or something.” “But he’s pissed at all of us,” Alex pointed out. “Dan’s the only one he’s got a concrete reason to be pissed at,” Nick countered. “Since he hasn’t exactly come clean about whatever it is he’s got against the rest of us, either he tells Ron about it and we negotiate further, or he sucks it the fuck up and gets to work.” “It’s not going to work on tour,” Alex insisted. “Worry about the tour when we fucking have the album done,” Jules told him. I nodded my agreement. “As long as we can get some fucking work done, and we’re not just sitting around waiting for Mark to be finished sulking, we’ve won half the battle,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Do you guys really think all this bullshit is just because I’m dating some girl he decided he liked?” Jules and Alex looked at me. Nick drank his beer without showing any signs of concern or guilt. “Of course not,” Alex said after a moment. “He wouldn’t throw a tantrum this epic over that. It doesn’t make sense.” “Whatever the reason, we’ll drag it out of him,” Jules said. I didn’t let it show on my face, but I was relieved; deep down I’d been worried that the

rest of the members of the band blamed me for the possibility that we’d soon be over and done. “Besides,” Nick said, rising to get his share of the pizza, “it’s not like we can tell you who to date or not date. That shit’s fucked.” He sat down again and took a bite. “So, we’re going to get Ron to convince him to go into the studio and work, but he and I are going to have to take it in shifts?” I looked around the room. “That sounds about like the only thing we can do,” Alex said after a few moments. “I mean, we could stake out his fucking house, but what the hell would that prove? What would it do? He’d either avoid us and we’d be sitting there in a hot car all day, or he’d be pissed we were stalking him, or something like that.” “Tell Ron to get to him through his sister,” Jules suggested. “Katie can make her brother see reason when the rest of the world can’t.” “Maybe we should have met with her first,” I said blandly. I knew all about Katie; after all, I was better friends with Mark than just about anyone else in the band. We all loved each other, but there were certain sub-friendships: Mark and I had been close until the thing with Sophie, while Jules and Alex were like peas in a pod. Nick had never been too tied to anyone else, but since Mark had started being an ass, I’d found myself talking to him more

often. “Let’s set it to start in two days,” Alex suggested. “Give some time to get back in the mode.” “I’m game,” I said; everyone had been looking at me, and I realized they were waiting for me to either fully agree to the plan or be an ass because Mark was involved. “If he needs me to not be there, then it’s whatever, you know?” The rest of the guys slowly nodded. “We’ll have to have meetings with both of you there--think you can handle it without pissing him off more?” Nick smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes at him. “We’re both fucking professionals. We’ll figure it out. Once he’s in front of Ron he won’t be all that interested in being a bitchy little fuck, anyway.” I shook my head. The truth was that I was shocked--more than the other guys--a how hard Mark seemed to have taken everything going on in the band. He always seemed like the easygoing type, but he was proof that drummers were just as capable of petty, bullshit drama as anyone else in a band. “We need to get with Jack, too,” Alex said. Jules nodded. “Jack will be able to keep everything where it needs to be going,” Jules agreed. “And he’ll make sure that Mark can’t pull out any stupid, dumb-shit

drama while he’s working.” “All hail Jack,” I said dryly. I didn’t like the solution to the problem in front of us, but the other guys were right that it was the best one. Mark didn’t want to work with me--that much was obvious. But we had decided to work on the live recordings first. Now that he was throwing such a hissy fit, we were going to have to completely reverse the schedule--and that was assuming we ever got to the point where Mark and I could be in the same room without him getting shitty. “Let’s finish this pizza and the beers,” Nick suggested. “And we’ll talk about other bullshit that doesn’t need to be going on in our lives.” “Amen to that,” I said, finishing off my beer. “I’m already tired of the melodrama we’ve got going on right now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN “You’re serious that you want to bring Sophie into the studio?” I shrugged off Nick’s question. “Why shouldn’t I?” I took a hit from the pipe Nick handed me; we’d decided to take a break outside, in the little courtyard behind the studio. It had been a month since we’d started over on the album, with Mark, Alex, and Jules working together with Jack during the day and Nick, Jules and me working nights. “She has the night off at Respects, and she wanted to see the studio. “We’re already struggling to get anything done,” Nick pointed out. He took the pipe from me and lit the bowl. “How is that my fault?” I leaned against the stucco wall. “If we could all work together, at the same time, the way we were supposed to, we’d be further along.” “Mark is being a bitch, fair enough,” Nick said. He passed me the pipe. “Just don’t want you to be distracted.” I rolled my eyes. I was starting to feel the dope; Nick always got good stuff. “You don’t want me to be distracted, but we’re smoking out?” I snickered. “We’re smoking out because it helps us get through the night,” Nick told me.

“Do you have a problem with me bringing Sophie in?” Nick shrugged. “Not per se,” he replied. “Mark still isn’t talking about whatever the fuck his issue is.” “Word on the street is he’s going through Tinder dates like the world’s about to end,” I said. Nick snorted. “Whatever he’s got to prove to himself,” he said, shaking his head. “Anyway, bring her in if you want. Just don’t be surprised if there’s fallout.” “What fallout could there be?” I handed the pipe to Nick and he cleaned it out, slipped it into his pocket. “If it gets back to Mark,” Nick said. “It’s been a fucking month and a half almost,” I said. “How can he still be pulling this shit over her?” I shook my head. “It’s got to be something else.” “But what? None of us knows. Until we do…” Nick combed his fingers through his hair. “Until we do, we let Mark run shit in the band because he’s being a whiny asshole,” I said irritably. “Instead of actually dealing with whatever the hell his issue is.” “Hey--we’re getting the album done. That’s the important thing,” Nick said, raising his hands helplessly. “Yeah, the crumbling structure of the band is just not important at all,” I pointed out sarcastically.

“I agreed to do it this way as a short-term answer to Mark being a shit about things. How are we going to promote or tour this album if he can’t deal with me?” “So do something about it,” Nick said. He gave me a wry grin. “I mean, it’s slow going anyway. Instead of bringing Sophie in, find a way to get Mark to come to the studio and have it out with him.” “Sophie’s already coming by,” I said. “Well, if he’s got a problem with you dating her, what better way to get it all out into the open than to get him to confront the two of you together?” Nick patted his pocket, gave me another quick look. “Send Jules and Jack and me home when Mark gets here, and hash out whatever it is you need to hash out.” “You’re assuming I can get him to come in,” I countered. “He’s not answering any texts from me.” “Or me, or Alex, or Jules,” Nick said. “The only people he’s talking to outside of the studio are Jack, Ron, and his family--and whoever it is he’s hooking up with off Tinder. So figure out what to do to get him in here.” “Do you really think it’s going to fix anything? We don’t even know what the hell he’s pissed off about.” Nick laughed. “Man, all I know is that I want to keep being a

part of this band,” Nick told me. “And the only way I can do that is if the band continues to exist. Stop being a baby and get Mark to talk to you about whatever is up his ass. If you feel like it, set up some cameras. Maybe he’ll throw a punch and we can get a decent video out of it.” I rolled my eyes, and Nick went back into the studio. I sat down at one of the tables and lit a cigarette, thinking of what he’d said. After a month of working as parts of a group instead of a whole, I knew I wasn’t the only one who was starting to feel irritable about the whole mess. But from what Jules, Alex, and Jack had to say about it, Mark did little more than come in, record, and take instructions from Jack. He didn’t chat with anyone, he didn’t offer any explanation for his behavior. When Ron had met with him, he’d told us afterwards that Mark had barely been convinced to even continue working at all; though Ron hadn’t been able to get out of our drummer whatever it was that had set him off. Mark had mostly agreed, Ron had told us, because he didn’t want to be kicked out of the band; that was the next move from the label, if the album didn’t move forward. I had to admit to myself that I didn’t want another drummer for the band either: I wanted our own drummer to stop being such a dick. Would it really solve anything if I had it out with Mark? I knew he was pissed at me--

apparently, above and beyond the rest of the band, since he didn’t even want to be in the same room as me--but I couldn’t even convince myself that it had that much to do with Sophie. If it had been over Sophie, then hooking up with a handful of girls on Tinder would have taken his mind off it and he’d be over it by now. It had to be something more than that--at least, as best as I could figure. The real question is: what possible harm could it do to meet with him? As bad as things were in the band, I didn’t want to risk making them worse. But how much worse could they really get? We were already at a point where whether or not we managed to actually get the fucking album done, we weren’t going to be able to promote it properly, or tour it. If Mark didn’t want to have anything to do with us, and especially me, it was going to be impossible to keep the peace on a damned bus. I went back inside, and found Jack in the control room. Nick was in one of the side rooms, laying down a guitar track for one of the songs Mark had worked on earlier in the day; Jules was on the phone with Fran in the break room. “I need a favor,” I told Jack as soon as I sat down. “What kind of favor?” I pressed my lips together and considered whether I was really willing to go through with what Nick had suggested. If it came to a fight, it wasn’t like Mark and I were

in any danger of actually killing or hurting each other seriously. But I was goddamned tired of having to meet with every other member of the band but him, and having to hear about him secondhand, or having to listen to the tracks he’d laid down hours before and figure out which one I agreed with the other guys on. We worked best when we worked together, and Mark was fucking that up for all of us. “I want you to call Mark,” I told Jack. “Have him come in--whatever pretext you want to give him.” “I thought you’d all agreed to split up the sessions,” Jack said, looking at me askance. I shrugged. “I’m tired of it,” I told him frankly. “I want to get whatever the hell the problem is out into the open, and deal with it. Are you having any fun doing the recordings this way?” Jack laughed. “It’s getting done, but it’s more work than fun,” he told me. He sighed, glanced at the panel and then looked at me again. “You want my input on the situation, whatever was going wrong between you guys was going wrong before you started dating some girl Mark had his eye on.” I shrugged. “That’s about what I’ve decided,” I said, nodding. “But until I get him to at least talk to be about whatever his malfunction is, it’s going to

keep being like this.” I lit a cigarette and Jack shoved the ashtray towards me. “If something doesn’t change, we’re going to lose the band, and the record will never even see the light of day.” “Worse,” Jack said, glancing again at the meters on the boards. “It’ll get made, and the label will put it out, and it’ll go nowhere on the charts because none of you guys will be able to coordinate enough to make anything happen.” “So, you’ll do it?” Jack considered. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll see if I can get his ass in here,” he said. “Maybe I can pull a fast one on him if I think of something good enough.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN The whole time that I waited to hear that Mark was coming into the studio I was distracted; I didn’t even need for Sophie to be there. Nick came in from doing his play-through of the guitar parts, and I went into the bass room to do my own part. Jack had told me to give him thirty minutes, but between one thing and the other, more than an hour passed and I had next to nothing to show for it; I kept flubbing a particular part of the bassline, and I couldn’t seem to get my fingers to work right, in spite of the fact that I’d nailed it in practice earlier in the day. I took a break and ran into Jules, hanging around outside; he’d been chatting with Fran about something, to judge by the look on his face. “What’s on your mind tonight, Danny boy?” I shook my head. “I told Jack to call Mark into the studio,” I told him. Jules raised an eyebrow and took a drag from his cigarette. “Tired of all the bullshit?” I nodded. “Either we’re going to stick together as a band or we’re not,” I said. “Either Mark really is this pissed off about me dating some girl he was hot for, or he’s got some other issue, and I’m just fucking

exhausted with recording this way.” “It’s shit,” Jules agreed. “What are you going to say to him?” I smiled bitterly. “It’s probably going to mostly be repeats of, ‘what the fuck, dude?’ until something happens,” I told him. Jules laughed, tilting his head back against the wall. “You want me or Nick to hang around when he comes in?” I thought about it. Nick had suggested that it should be just between me and Mark, and I’d pretty much been on board with that idea--but this was something affecting the whole band, not just me. Should I have the rest of the band be around for whatever was going to happen? “He’s not talking to any of us,” I mused. “Obviously, he’s not only pissed off at me, if that’s the case.” “Yeah, but he’s especially pissed at you,” Jules pointed out. “I’m not saying he’s got any reason for it, just that it’s a thing you need to keep in mind. But if you want me or Nick to be here, mediate or whatever…” I shook my head, coming to a decision. “Either he’ll talk or he won’t, and either it’ll get figured out or it won’t,” I said. “Whether you and Nick are here or not, the outcome will be whatever-the-fuck it’s supposed to be.” “Try not to get under his skin right away if you can help it,” Jules suggested. “He’s already going to

be pissed that Jack got him here on false pretenses.” “Yeah, I know,” I told him. “I just want to get this over with. Whatever his fucking deal is, I want it out in the open and I want us to figure out where to go from here.” Jules thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “How’s Sophie?” I grinned. “She’s coming by in a little bit.” “You don’t think that’s trying your luck, with Mark supposed to come by too?” I shrugged. “It either will be or it won’t be,” I said. Jules exhaled a plume of smoke and pressed his lips together. “I want this cold war bullshit over as much as you do,” he said, stubbing his cigarette out. “Just make sure you don’t nuke the band.” I went inside after he’d gone to work on his own parts of the songs we were supposed to be recording that night, and found Jack and Nick in the control room. Jack looked up from his boards and nodded to me. “Mark said he’d come by at one,” he told me. “I couldn’t talk him into coming in any earlier than that.” “Jules and I will be out of the studio by then,” Nick pointed out. “Especially Jules. You got this?” I nodded. “Whatever is going to happen, it’ll all go down

tonight,” I said. “When’s Sophie coming?” I checked my phone. “She’s on her way now.” It was 10:30, and I could count on a couple of hours of working, hanging out with her, and maybe a little break in one of the unused studios before Mark got there. It should have made me relax, but it was just more tension. I went back into the bass room and tried again on the parts I needed to nail it for us to move forward. Jack was a great producer--he had Jules working in one room and me in another, and somehow, he was able to keep track of us, to give us each individual instructions on how to fix whatever we were doing wrong, or direction on how to change our playing. Even still, though, it was fucking miserable--and I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Even Mark had to be feeling like shit. None of us were playing with the same vibe we’d always had, and the early mixes of the songs we’d managed to finish in the first month and a half of recording weren’t what any of us wanted. Either we’ll still be a band at the end of this, or we won’t, I told myself. By the time Sophie showed up, I was on edge. I stepped out of the studio to meet her, and immediately brought my mouth down on hers, pushing her up against the wall. I breathed in the

smell of her hair and skin, felt her body against mine. “Sorry,” I said, when the moment passed and my heart started to slow down. “Sorry?” Sophie gave me a crooked smile. “That was pretty exciting.” “Mark is coming by later,” I told her in a whisper. “It’s going to be a showdown.” “It’s going to be a shit show, you mean,” she countered. She looked up at me with her big, dark eyes. “Do you want me to leave?” “No.” I shook my head. “I want you here. Just maybe not when he gets here.” I took a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly. “I can go before he gets here,” Sophie said, her voice breathless. I kissed her again. “Maybe just be scarce,” I suggested. I was already half-hard, just from kissing her. “He’ll be here sometime after one.” Sophie nodded, trembling slightly against me, taking a quick breath. “I don’t want to be accused of distracting you,” she told me. I chuckled lowly. “I’ve been distracted all night--it’s not like you being here is going to make that any worse.” “Will everyone agree with you on that?” Sophie pushed me away gently when I went for another kiss. “Sometimes I wonder if you care more about my band than I do,” I murmured in her ear. “Sometimes I do, too,” Sophie said, giving me

a wry smile. “Why is it only a month later that you’ve finally decided to have it out with Mark?” “I don’t want to talk about that with you,” I told her. “I’m settling it tonight; that should make you happy. Hell, it should make everyone happy.” I kissed her again and Sophie didn’t resist. “I’m on edge, babe. I just want to have you here, and I want to know I can keep being with you with nothing causing drama, and I want to know what the hell kind of future the band has.” Sophie took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “I thought you told me we were going to fool around in an empty studio,” she said, a little teasingly. “We can still do that.” I dropped down to her neck and nibbled just under Sophie’s ear. “In fact, before this whole idea of getting Mark in here came up, I had this great image in my mind of bending you over this big stack I saw in one of the other rooms…” I brought my mouth back up to Sophie’s, and kissed her hungrily. “That does sound promising,” Sophie said, her breath hitching in her throat as my hands wandered over her body. “Give me an hour til the next break, and I’ll show you just how promising it can be,” I told her. I could barely make myself pull back; my cock was starting to get harder, and the thought of having Sophie to myself in one of the unused studios, of

screwing her brains out before Mark arrived, was so fucking hot that I almost couldn’t stand it. “Can you walk?” Sophie slithered out from between me and the wall and gave me a teasing grin. I snorted. “I’ve had way more embarrassing hard-ons than this one,” I told Sophie, taking her hand and leading her towards the entrance.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN “You’re sounding better,” Jack said from the control room. “You sure you didn’t get a quickie in with Sophie when she got here?” I rolled my eyes. I heard Sophie laughing over the intercom, and grinned. “No quickies yet,” I called to the intercom receiver. “You haven’t given me enough time for a quickie.” Jules had gone home for the night after spending maybe thirty minutes hanging out; Nick was still in the control room, but I knew he’d head out soon. It was almost midnight, and Mark was going to be arriving in a little over an hour. “Let’s do one more take of this one, and then you can have a break. I’ll give you a whole thirty minutes,” Jack said from the control room. I smirked and nodded my agreement; I’d have just enough time to be alone with Sophie before Mark would be arriving, and that was what I wanted more than anything else. A little stress relief before the big fucking mess that I was sure my meeting with Mark was going to be. I shifted the headphones on my ears and waited for Jack to pull up the backing track. My heart beat faster in my chest at the thought of being alone with Sophie, and the thought of confronting

Mark, all at the same time. I took a deep breath and lit a cigarette and the backing track came up over my headphones. I listened for a moment, found my spot, and started playing at the cue. I closed my eyes, picturing Sophie watching me, playing the bass line for her, thinking of the last time we’d been in bed together. The track was a sexy one--Nick had written it, and I was pretty sure he’d written it about Olivia--so thinking about Sophie wasn’t offbase. As the track finished, I opened my eyes and picked up my cigarette to finish it off. “That’s a take, mother fucker,” Jack said over the headphones. “Sounds good. Want to come in and listen?” I laughed. “Yeah, let’s make sure Nick approves it, then we can take a break.” I put down my guitar and took off the headphones and went into the control room. Sophie sat sprawled on the couch, and I smirked at her as soon as I saw her there; maybe it wasn’t obvious to everyone else, but I could see the look in her eyes, the waiting, knowing expression that told me that she was more than ready for a little alone time. I threw myself down onto the couch next to her and glanced at Nick and Jack, both seated at the control panel. “All right,” Jack said. “You ready for this?” “I’m ready to wander off to a dark room with my girlfriend,” I told him. Nick snorted. “Don’t get

all holier-than-thou on me, you asshole. You took Olivia into how many fucking closets on tour?” “I didn’t tell anyone about it, though,” Nick countered, raising an eyebrow at me with a grin. “That’s because you were hiding it. I’m not ashamed of my lust.” “Here we go,” Jack interjected. He hit the playback and I settled in to listen, reaching out blindly for Sophie’s hand. I played my fingertips over the center of her palm, pressing and stroking while the song played back. There was something the track was missing--but that was obvious. We only had a skeleton of it so far; drums, a couple of guitar tracks, and now bass, with the vocal demo-not even the finished vocals. But it sounded good already. Jack turned around in his chair to look at me. “Feel like you nailed it?” I looked at Nick; it was his song, after all. “Sounds good to me,” Nick said with a shrug. “I like it,” I told them both. “Enough that I feel like I’ve earned my goddamn break.” Jack and Nick both rolled their eyes and my hand tightened on Sophie’s. I could feel the excitement in her, and I knew she was just as turned on as I was at the prospect of a tryst. “Go on,” Jack said, turning back to the control panel. “Clean up after yourselves.” “I’m going to head out,” Nick told me. “Let me know whatever happens with Mark.”

“I’ll text you in the morning,” I told him. I broke away from Sophie to give Nick a quick hug. “If the band implodes, at least you have photojournalism as a backup.” Nick laughed and shook his head and then he was gone. I grabbed Sophie’s hand and led her out of the room while Jack busied himself with something at the mixing boards. “Now I do want to know something,” Sophie said as I turned a corner and headed for the darkened part of the studio, where the unused rooms were. “What’s that?” She stopped and I turned to look at her. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month,” Sophie said, licking her lips. “Are we doing this because you just can’t get enough of me and want to spend time with me, or because you want to fuck me before Mark gets here?” I stared at her. “I didn’t even plan on trying to talk to Mark tonight until after I’d invited you,” I told her. “I’ve been wanting to get you alone all day.” Sophie smiled slowly. “As long as you’re not just using me…” I pulled her to me and kissed her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I would never, ever use you,” I told her firmly. “I’ve been trying to make that as clear as possible to you ever since you made that little speech about local guys only wanting to date you to

get something from you.” Sophie’s eyes widened and she grinned up at me--a genuine, sweet smile. “You still remember that?” I laughed and kissed her again. “Of course I remember that,” I murmured against her lips. “I want you. Not the bartender from Respects.” My hands slid along the curves of her body and I dipped down to her throat, kissing and nibbling. “I’m willing to risk setting the goddamn band on fire to date you, Sophie-baby. You think I want something from you other than awesome sex and a little bit of your time?” I brought my mouth up to hers again. “Because right now the only thing on my mind is how fucking good it’s going to feel to be inside you.” “Okay,” Sophie said, her voice breathless. “Okay--I believe you. I just had to check.” I pulled her in my wake down the hallway to the studio I’d scoped out earlier in the day when I’d invited her to drop by. There wouldn’t be anyone in there; even the security people only came through every couple of hours at night, as long as someone was in the complex. I didn’t even bother to turn on the light in the live room. It was pitch black, but it was mostly cleared out, since no one was using it. Sophie stumbled slightly behind me, and I pulled her closer, holding her hand tightly in mine. I found the stacks by memory and pushed Sophie against them; they were racked, so they wouldn’t

move too much. I started touching her everywhere, kissing her in the pitch black, and Sophie responded immediately, her hands roaming over my back, down to my hips, up to my shoulders, tangling blindly with my arms. I pulled her shirt up, and tugged it past her head, and Sophie slipped her hand down the front of my pants to stroke my already-hard cock. Bit by bit, we got each other naked, and I had no idea how much time we were taking to do it; I didn’t even care. Jack had given me a half hour, but time had absolutely no meaning to me in the dark, with Sophie in my arms. I felt Sophie’s body sliding down along mine, and I realized--right in the moment--that she’d sunk down onto her knees on the floor of the abandoned live room. I felt the heat of her mouth, the softness of her lips, wrapping around my cock and groaned, reaching for her head, her shoulders, in the darkness. My fingers tangled in her hair as she worked me with her lips and tongue, taking me further and further into her mouth every moment. “Fuck, Sophie,” I said, almost shaking at how good it felt; she was rubbing the base of my cock with the fingers of one hand, while her other hand gripped my thigh and her hot, wet mouth moved up and down on me. “If you’re not careful...I’m going to be done in like--like a minute.” I felt the tremor of Sophie’s laugh, but her mouth didn’t retreat; instead she began playing with my balls carefully,

rubbing them in her hand. My fingers tightened in her hair, on her shoulder, and I was grateful for the soundproofing in the room as I moaned out again and again. I was on the edge in a matter of moments, and I was right about to come, when Sophie pulled back. She gave the tip of my cock a playful little lick and then I felt her stand up, pressing against every inch of my body as she rose to her feet. “How much more time do we have?” I chuckled, out of breath and not even caring. “As much time as we need,” I told her. “I am not leaving this room until we’ve both gotten off.” “Maybe you should get to work then,” Sophie whispered in my ear. I cupped her tits in my hands, feeling the way she trembled. It was weird not to be able to even see her, even with my eyes accustomed to the darkness in the room; but it made everything somehow hotter, more intense--I could feel the heat of her better than ever before, and I couldn’t breathe without breathing in the sweet and flowery smell of her. I reached down between her legs and hunted for her tits with my mouth at the same time, until I found one of her nipples. Sophie gasped and shivered as my fingers played along her soaking wet folds, pressing deeper, sliding up and down. The wet, slick sounds filled my ears, and it was so hot that I almost could have come without her even

touching me anymore. I held back, stroking her, teasing her with my mouth and my fingers, while she squirmed and moaned and panted and gasped, her hands all over me. Finally, I couldn’t take the torture anymore; I turned her around and bent her over the stack. I’d been thinking about how hot it would be all day since the idea had come to me, but no matter how intense my fantasies, nothing beat the moment when I slid into her from behind. Sophie pushed her hips back as I thrust forward, and it was all I could do not to come right then and there. I went completely still, savoring the feeling of Sophie’s ass pressed against my hips, the way her muscles flexed and tightened around me. “Is it...just the way...you wanted it to be?” I clenched my teeth to keep from teetering over the edge. “Fuck yeah,” I told Sophie. “Even better.” I began to move inside of her, starting slow, pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust of my hips. She felt amazing, and even though I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, I wanted it to go on for hours. I reached around the curve of her hip and found Sophie’s clit, just above where I was, and began stroking and rubbing her in time with my thrusts, working her harder and faster; if nothing else, I would at least manage to wait until she finished to give in. I felt like it was only seconds later when

Sophie cried out, over and over again, reaching one hand around to her back to grab at my arm, at my hand, as her body flexed around me in erratic little spasms. I held back a moment longer and then I couldn’t do it any more--I came, pounding into her from behind, hearing the sound of her moans and mine, the hoarse breathing, the noise of our bodies colliding and sliding together. I sagged against her when we both finished, holding myself up against the stack, still buried deep inside of Sophie’s body as the aftershocks worked through me. “Fuck,” I said, still panting for breath. “We have got to have sex in a pitch-black room more often.” Sophie laughed, breathless and giddy sounding. “I’ll get blackout curtains,” she told me. “We can make this work.” I knew we’d probably taken longer than a half hour, but I didn’t want to pull out; I wanted nothing more than to keep going, to turn her on all over again and maybe the next time get her down onto the floor with me. But even in the haze, I knew I had to get ready to meet with Mark. I slid out of Sophie and tried to think of where my clothes could be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “I’m fucking out of here,” Mark said, the minute he walked into the control room and saw me. “Mark, sit your ass down,” Jack said. “You told me you needed me to work on a drum track,” Mark almost shouted at the producer. “Yeah, because I wanted you to get your ass down here,” Jack told him, unapologetic. “I asked him to,” I cut in. “Look--Mark. This shit has gone on long enough, hasn’t it? Are you having a good fucking time working with half the band?” “That’s not the point,” Mark said. He glared at me. “I told Ron I didn’t want to work with any of you, but I would on the condition that I specifically didn’t have to work with you.” I shook my head. “How the hell are we supposed to tour this record if you won’t even be in the same room as me?” I stood up. Sophie had gone to the break room a few minutes before Mark had arrived; I didn’t want to risk anything more than I was already. If he was really being this pissy about a girl, it wouldn’t make sense to poke him right away. At least, not any more than I was already doing, getting Jack to get him into the building to talk to

me. “So, we don’t fucking tour this record then,” Mark said with a shrug. “Am I the only one who’s a little tired of the goddamn grind on this shit?” “If you’re tired of it, then why are you even still in the band?” Jack, I noticed, was very carefully pulling back, stepping away from me. He would have probably left the room, except for the fact that if he did, Mark would just walk out. With Jack there, he wouldn’t--at least not out of the blue, without giving me a chance. “Sit your ass down,” I said. “Let’s talk about whatever the hell it is that crawled into your rectum in the last month and a half.” “If I wanted to talk about it, don’t you think I would have?” Mark turned his scowl onto Jack, who just shrugged. “Look,” Jack said, sitting up and making the chair squeak. “Either you talk to Dan, figure out what the hell the issue is, and figure out a way to resolve it, or you’re going to have a shit record on your hands, and you won’t even be able to promote it. Do you want the last album your fans hear from you to be some monument to petty bullshit?” For a second, it looked like Mark was going to turn around and walk out, even with Jack sitting there. But then, instead, he sat down, throwing himself into a desk chair without even seeming to worry about whether he landed properly or not.

“Fine,” Mark said. I stared at him for a minute. “Well?” I spread my hands in front of me. “What the fuck, Mark?” “What do you mean, what the fuck?” I closed my eyes, asking--I didn’t know who--for patience. “I’m grabbing beers out of the fridge,” Jack said, rising from his chair. Mark shrugged off the implied offer and continued looking at me. “This is where you tell me what the hell is going on that you can’t stand to be in the same room as me,” I told Mark. “So we can pretend like we’re an actual band that functions like fucking adults and solves our problems instead of just avoiding them.” “My problem is that I’m pissed,” Mark said simply. Jack returned from the corner of the control room with three beers. He handed one to me and put one in Mark’s hand, and then sat down to open his own. “Why are you pissed, exactly?” I opened my beer and took a sip. It was obvious no more actual work was getting done anyway, at least not that night. “Because no one in the fucking band takes me seriously,” Mark said. “And before you laugh at me, it’s goddamn true.” “Where the hell did this come from?” I shook my head in disbelief. “You pitched a fucking fit over the thing with me and Sophie, and the next

thing I know we’re working on separate shifts and you won’t work with me and now you say it’s about how no one in the band takes you seriously?” “No one talks to me,” Mark said firmly. “They talk at me.” He shook his head and cracked his beer and took a long pull from it. “Jesus, Dan--did you ever pay attention at all to me?” “You sound like a fucking girl,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “I thought we were friends.” “I thought so too,” Mark said with a shrug. “And then we’re in the studio and I’m catching shit because you’re not doing your job right, and you’re dating a girl you know I’m interested in, and no one gives a fuck--Mark will just roll over and take it, right?” “I asked her out first!” I put my beer down before I was tempted to slam it down. “She said yes to you after she agreed to a date with me. If you want to be pissed at someone, be pissed at her.” I thought about Sophie, off in the break room, and almost regretted what I’d said. “Hell--what difference does it even make anyway?” “It makes a difference because I had to find out from her, afterward, that she was already going on a date with you,” Mark said. “It makes a difference because it was the last fucking straw, man. Taking shit for you when I thought we were close…” he shrugged.

“We were! Until you pulled this bullshit tantrum and refused to work and nearly cost us the best recording arrangement we’ve ever gotten.” I thought about what Mark had said for a second. “What the hell do you mean, taking shit for me?” “Whenever you fuck up on the goddamn takes, it’s always on me,” Mark said. “I’ve gone along with it because you’re my bud but what the fuck, dude? Even you pin that shit on me sometimes when it’s you screwing up.” “When I screw up, I take the shit for it,” I told him. “I do not try and pin it on you when it’s me messing up a fucking line.” “Whatever,” Mark said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, the thing with Sophie was just the last straw.” “Last straw for what?” I stared at Mark, not quite able to understand why he was apparently so fucking put out with me dating someone, where he even got the notion that I was somehow trying to screw him over. “No one in this fucking band respects me,” Mark said, his voice bitter. “I thought you did, but obviously, you don’t.” “Of course I fucking respect you,” I almost shouted. “When you pulled the bullshit act of not working for a week, who the fuck do you think argued the hardest for keeping you in the band instead of letting the label make us fire you?”

“The label was going to make you fire me?” Mark’s eyes widened. “You weren’t fucking working! Of course they were going to,” I told him. “What the hell did you think would happen if you fucking derailed a project they’re investing half a million or more in?” “After all this time, they were just going to kick me from the band?” “Yeah, compadre, they fucking were,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Ron made the rest of us meet up to talk about what to do and that was where we came up with the brilliant fucking plan of having Ron talk to you and suggest we work separately, since me, Nick, and Alex for sure didn’t want you to leave the goddamn band.” I let out my breath in a sharp gust. “Mother fucker: if any one of us isn’t in Molly Riot, the rest of us are not--fucking-Molly--Riot.” For a minute, Mark just stared at me, and I wondered what was going through his mind. “Why the hell did you leave me in the fucking dark about Sophie?” That caught me off guard. I didn’t really have much of an answer to the question, even though I had been thinking about it for the whole month that we’d been working separately. “I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “It was probably partly that I knew you were into her, and partly that I wasn’t sure it would even go anywhere, and a million other fucking things.” I

found my pack of cigarettes on the desk by my side and shook one loose. I fished a lighter out of my pocket and lit the tip, taking as deep a drag as I could and wishing it was pot instead of tobacco. “When I heard that Sophie had said yes to your date, I was pissed too.” “You were pissed and I had no way of even knowing that she’d gone with you first,” Mark pointed out. “You can’t see why it would tick me the fuck off to have the same thing--only worse, because my own friend wasn’t upfront with me about it?” “Fair enough,” I admitted. “I should have told you the next day, and I didn’t.” Mark drank down more of his beer. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I hesitated for a second and then laughed. “You’re the one who was going to implode the damn band, fuck-face,” I said. “Whatever,” Mark said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “So I take it you’re still seeing her?” I nodded. “She asked me earlier today if I only wanted to have sex with her as some kind of way to get secret revenge on you for fucking shit up,” I told him. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but I actually--really--like her.” “Were you fucking her all this time just to get back at me?” Mark snickered, and I felt something

inside of me relax. “No, asshole, I’ve been fucking her all this time because she’s a great lay and a lot of fun to be around,” I said. Mark shook his head slowly. “Last single guy in the band,” he said quietly. “Word on the street is you’re going through Tinder girls like you’re getting paid for it,” I pointed out. “Easy lays,” Mark told me. “I have to do something with my free time, since I don’t hang out with any of you anymore. Do you realize how much time we spent together before all this shit came up?” I laughed out loud. “Dude--you could have fixed this shit the day after you started it just by fucking talking to someone about it,” I said. “How bored have you even been?” “I played through BioShock Infinite and I’m teaching myself goddamn Italian,” Mark said, cracking a smile again. “That’ll come in handy,” I pointed out. “I mean, after all, maybe we’ll get some festival dates in Italy this summer, and you can try and flirt with a hot foreign chick.” “You guys cool?” I looked over at Jack; I’d forgotten he was even still in the room. “Not yet,” I said, glancing at Mark to confirm that he agreed. “But I think we can at least figure out a schedule that doesn’t suck asshole for the rest

of the record.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The control room felt incredibly crowded, even though it was just the band, Ron, and Jack sitting around in the different chairs. “So,” Ron said, looking at each of us in turn. “Do we have a working concept in place? We have a meeting with the A&R people in two days.” “We’re working through it,” Alex said. “I think we’re all…” he shrugged. “It’s going to take longer than we thought it would, and that’s just the facts of the situation,” I said. “We’re not going to go over budget, but we might have to opt for a less aggressive marketing plan for the album.” “What’s the state of the band?” Ron looked from me to Mark, and I pressed my lips together. “We’re figuring it out,” Mark said brusquely. “That’s all we’re prepared to say.” “Should I be finding you guys some kind of therapist or something?” Ron gestured in the air. “No,” we all said. “Fuck that shit,” Nick added. “We just need time to sort through things,” Alex insisted. “Mark is willing to work with us, and we’re going to get down to recording the live stuff again, but it’s going to take some fucking time.”

“I just want you all to be prepared for how this is going to change the label’s perception of you,” Ron told us. “It’s not going to be low stakes. They’re pushing a bunch of money into this album, and the longer it takes to come out, the less you’re going to be able to count on momentum from the last album, the promo tour with Juniper Woolf, and the rest of it to carry you.” “It’s going to be a good album,” Alex said firmly. “I can feel that in my bones. It’s just going to be a situation where we can’t rush it.” “Fuck,” Jules said, shaking his head. “We’ve managed to put out an album, tour it, and come back to work on another album every fucking two years for the past six. They can afford to let us take a little longer this time.” “That’s not the way that labels typically think,” Ron warned us. “Normally, they think that you need to keep grinding as long as there’s a demand.” “So they want us to burn out? Because that’s what it sounds like,” Alex said tartly. I snorted. “They’re interested in making as much money from us for as long as possible and then when they can’t make money anymore, they kick us off the roster,” I said. “That’s their whole business model.” “Let’s not be cynical,” Ron said. “It’s not cynical, it’s the truth,” Jules countered. “As long as we’re making money for

them, they’re happy to have us. When we’re spending their money, they want to make sure every fucking cent is accounted for.” “Can you blame them?” Ron looked at Jules, raising an eyebrow. “I’d hope that after a few stellar albums that made them decent money, they’d trust us,” Nick said. “I’d hope that they’ve gotten the idea by now that we’re a decent investment.” “They wouldn’t have given you this budget if they didn’t think that,” Ron said, shrugging. “But it’s a lot of fucking money. They want to make sure you’re not pissing it away.” “We’ve submitted all the accounting they’ve ever asked for,” Alex protested. “And you had a full week where the studio was being paid for and nothing was happening” Ron countered. “They’re worried. It’s my job to un-worry them. It’s your job to un-worry me.” “We’re okay,” I said, after a moment where everyone in the room went quiet. “Mark and I can stand to be in the same room as each other now. We’re reworking a lot of stuff, which will only make the album better in the end.” “I’m going to go on record here and say that while the album they were building before wasn’t shit, it was maybe two steps above that,” Jack said. “I’m a lot more interested in the stuff they’re working on now. It’s stronger material. They’re

making it better. That’s all the label needs to know and that’s all I’m personally going to tell them.” I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like we all held our breath for a moment or two. “When do you think you’ll have an album for them to listen to?” Ron looked at each of us. “We’re starting over...not from scratch, but from a way earlier point in the process,” Alex told him. “It may be another month before we have it nailed down enough to show them anything.” The meeting went on, but I’d more or less checked out. No matter what Ron said, the fact of the matter was that we were going to go overschedule, even if we didn’t go over the budget. The entire band had met up about a week after I confronted Mark, and we’d come to the conclusion that all of us hated the direction the album was going in, and none of us were happy with the state the band was in. It was going to take however long it was going to take, but we ended up scrapping 90% of what we’d already recorded, going back to the demos. “For the record,” Ron said, in a tone of voice that called me out of my thoughts, “the label isn’t going to like it. They’ll live with it, because they’ve already committed the money and because they’re bound by contract, but they’re not going to like it. This had better be the best fucking album you guys have ever turned in.”

“It’ll go platinum,” Alex said dryly, and we all laughed. “At this point, that would be a saving grace for you all,” Ron said more seriously. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ll meet with the label, and give them the news. Keep me posted.” He left the control room, and the rest of the guys started to wander off as well; we were planning on getting to work in a couple of hours, but they’d all want to catch their girlfriends up on current events. Eventually, it was just Mark and me in the control room, and I felt the lingering tension between us. It was getting better, but it wasn’t like one conversation, or even a few, were going to make everything the way it had been before. “Hey--Dan,” Mark said after a few moments’ silence stretched out between us. “Yeah?” Mark met my gaze and looked down and then looked at me again. “You planning on going to Respects tonight?” I felt my throat tighten, but I didn’t lie. “Yeah, I was going to hang out, since Sophie’s on.” Mark took a deep breath. “I’ll buy a couple of drinks, if you want the company,” he said, not quite looking at me. “Awesome,” I said, smiling as best as I could. “When Soph’s busy it gets super boring. I’d love to have some company.” I paused for a moment, watching Mark; we were getting better, but I’d seen

him taking a breath when I’d mentioned Sophie. “Are we okay about the Sophie thing? I mean if you’re still pissed about it…” “It’s whatever,” Mark said with a shrug. “See if she’s got any cute friends I can chat up and I’ll consider us even.” I laughed. “You know, I don’t get to talk about her to anyone, really,” I told Mark, looking down at my hands. “Why not? Fucking Alex bitches and complains and talks up Mary, and you’d think from what Nick says that Olivia’s got some kind of fucking beer tap installed in her boobs, he’s so into her.” I shrugged. “I just don’t really talk to them the way I used to with you before everything went to shit.” I’d gotten closer to Nick since Mark had thrown his tantrum, but I still didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to talk about Sophie. “So talk to me, man,” Mark said. “You sure about that?” Mark didn’t hesitate. He nodded and sat back in his chair. “I just don’t know,” I told him. I plucked a cigarette out of my pack and lit it. “Obviously, I’m into her, you know?” Mark snorted. “Obvious is one word for it,” he said. “And like, she’s into me, but the thing is, assuming we get this album done in time, we’re going to be touring in a while. That’s not easy on

relationships.” “She dealt with me chewing you out and being an asshole about her taking up with you,” Mark pointed out. “Hell--she fucking texted me almost every day after I stopped talking to you.” I felt my eyes widened. “She did?” Mark nodded. “She said if I wanted to be mad at her that she would take her lumps for making a bad choice, but that she knew the band made you too happy for her not to fight for you,” Mark told me. “Gotta say, she did a better job of trying to convince me than any of you assholes did.” I chuckled at that. “So, you really think it’s going to work out?” Mark rolled his eyes. “Brother, if it doesn’t work out, that shit is going to be 100% on you, and I’m going to be the first one laughing in your face about it.” He paused and licked his lips. “I’ll refrain from trying to snipe her if you fuck up though.” “You’d better,” I told him. “I don’t intend to fuck this up.” “Just saying, if the thing ends, it’ll be your fault. She’s into you.” I smiled and tried to remember if Sophie had mentioned liking flowers; I thought I should get her some. “Now if only I could have half the luck you do…” “You’ll get there,” I told Mark. “There’s some girl out there that doesn’t even know it yet, but

she’s going to be all head over heels for you and shit.” Mark laughed. “Maybe I’ll meet her tonight,” he suggested. I smirked. “Only one way to find out,” I pointed out. “And you’re friends with the bartender’s boyfriend. You can totally get all the details and impress the fuck out of whoever it is.” Mark laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, I’ll come out tonight,” he said. “We’ll see how long I can milk this ‘most eligible bachelor in the scene’ thing before some chick comes and sweeps me off my feet.” I finished my cigarette and got up to leave; I needed to see if there were any florist shops open on my way home. THE END

MARK Tons of money. Tons of fame. Tons of hot sex.

Being the drummer in one of the biggest bands in the Miami area comes with all of the privileges you could imagine.

Thing is, I’m the last of a dying breed. All of the other guys in the band slowly, but surely, have found serious girlfriends to settle down with. I’ve always loved being single, but lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have what they have.

I met this bangin’ blonde photographer named Allie at a festival and our chemistry both in and out of the bedroom is incredible. Sex with her is electric and she’s changed me in ways that I never thought were possible.

Problem is, our lead singer Alex hasn’t trusted her from the start and suspects that she’s with me just to bolster her career. He swears that after she uses me, she’s gonna leave me high and dry.

I’ve finally met a girl and I think we have a real chance at something special, but can I trust her? Can I fully let my guard down, or could this beautiful angel break my heart and cause the breakup of my band and all we’ve ever worked for?

CHAPTER ONE We’d told the label that we were starting over mostly from scratch, and we hadn’t been lying; but we hadn’t been all that up front about how long it was going to take us to start the album over with Jack. I was thinking about that fact--and the latest scolding from Ron about how the label people were getting restless--while I sat in front of a teeny tiny cafe that didn’t even have a name anymore, it had changed hands so many times. Things with Dan and me were still a little shaky, a couple of months after our big meeting with Ron, but we were at least hanging out again. I could look at Sophie without feeling like she was some bitch goddess of whiskey who’d scorned me; but I still felt like the odd man out in the band. Everyone else had someone: Alex had Mary, Jules had Fran, Nick had Olivia, and the sole other holdout, Dan, had Sophie. It was starting to form a new dynamic in the band--we didn’t all just hang out after practices or recording or whatever and get drunk like we used to. The other guys now had someone to meet up with, to go home to. “You want a refill?” I looked up from my phone. Jimmy, one of the sons of the woman who owned the cafe, was standing at my table with a pot

of coffee in his hand. “Sure, man,” I said, pushing my cup towards him. I’d been out late--really late--the night before, hanging with Nick and Olivia. She apparently wanted to do a special on after-hours parties in the local scene, and if my blurry memories were anything to go by, she’d ended up with more material than she could use. We’d gone to see Garage Collective and Bent Bridges at Chelsea Club, and ran into the boys from The Sweet Goodbye and Nolan from Bang-Bang; from there the night had just gone completely off the rails. As soon as Bent Bridges and Garage Collective finished up, we were all headed out to Scarlett’s, and then somehow found ourselves at the end of the night at Benji’s house from The Sweet Goodbye. I wasn’t even sure if Nick and Liv had managed to get home by the time I crashed in my own bed a few hours later. Jimmy poured me some coffee; I thanked him and watched him walk to one of the other tables. I’d managed to sleep for a couple of hours before the sun in my room made it impossible, and then made my way to the cafe. I didn’t have a hangover exactly--but I was definitely feeling the lack of sleep. Fortunately, we weren’t in the studio that day, or else I’d be in trouble. I scrubbed at my face and debated whether it’d be worth it to go back home just yet; I didn’t have anything on the

calendar for the day, and not even really anything for the night. I obviously couldn’t hang out at the cafe all day, but I didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of spending the next several hours by myself, either. I opened up my messaging app and found Dan’s number. Yo. You up to anything today? I tapped send. If Dan was busy with Sophie, I told myself I’d check with Jules; if nothing else, Jules was good for some weed and beer and maybe we’d hit up the beach for a bit. I set my phone aside and drank down about half my coffee. Hey. Soph is helping clean someone’s place from Respects, so I’m free til tonight. Any ideas? I finished off my coffee and told Jimmy I didn’t want anymore; I was already starting to feel like my heart was going to pound clean out of my chest. As far as I knew nothing all that interesting was going on, but there had to be something to do for a few hours. Let’s meet up in Downtown and see what’s good, I wrote back. That was the best I could I do on only a few hours of sleep. I smiled to myself, remembering some of the high points of the night before; it wasn’t quite the way that things had been before, but it was good to be around other musicians, just hanging out and partying it up. I’d probably spent over $200 at Scarlett’s, but I didn’t think it was all that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. As long as the label didn’t drop us, I

could always make it back later on when the album came out. Sounds good, bro. Meet you at Boston’s in like 30? I did a little mental math--it would take about fifteen minutes to get up to Delray from my place. I could wash my face, take a leak, and check on a few things before heading over. I texted Dan back that I’d see him then and took the check Jimmy had given me for the meal into the cafe. I felt a bit off as I made my way back home; almost sad. I’d been feeling that way a lot ever since things had gone south with the band; when Dan and I started bickering and rest of the group had to work around us. As a band, we were working on figuring out what the hell we were going to do with ourselves and how to deal with the change in the dynamic, but it was slow going, especially when we had to come up with an album that the label would be willing to put out at the same time. There were some days when I was pretty sure that in like--maybe twenty years--we’d be on some cut-rate Behind the Music web series, talking about how Molly Riot had gone from being one of the most successful indie bands out of South Florida to absolutely imploding in a matter of a year. No one seemed to really have any idea what to do to put things back on the rails and get us on track again; everything was about keeping the fucking train going, not about whether it was going

in the right direction. I tried to be optimistic, but unless something changed really fucking drastically, I wasn’t sure we’d even have an album to put out in a few months’ time. I wasn’t sure if we’d even still have a band.

CHAPTER TWO A week later I found myself sitting around my apartment; it was a night off from recording, and I’d slept in all morning just to avoid the fact that I didn’t really have anything to do and no one in the band to spend time with. I hadn’t bothered to go out to get breakfast--I’d ordered a big lunch on GrubHub, from one of the local pizza places instead. I was trying to decide what to do with myself for the night; Dan was going out with Sophie to see a movie, Nick and Olivia were going to some magazine event, Jules and Fran were working on new material, and Alex and Mary were doing something--I didn’t know or care what. I thought I could see who was playing either in Miami or in West Palm, but I didn’t feel like going to any of the usual places; I could see if anyone new was on Tinder or Bumble, but I’d gotten tired of first dates and hook ups. “God, I am fucking pathetic,” I announced to my empty living room. I’d been fighting the realization for a while; it wasn’t one that any guy would want to have about himself. But I had to face facts: there had to be a reason why every other guy in the band had managed to find someone to date before I’d managed to. There had

to be something. I was considering what that might be when I heard my phone buzz on the countertop. Someone had texted me. “Please let it be Dan saying that Sophie’s on the rag or something,” I muttered to myself as I got up and threw away the leftover trash from my lunch, on my way to where my phone was. I tossed the trash in the garbage and grabbed my phone, unlocking the screen to see what the message was. Instead of being from any of my bandmates, it was from one of the guys from Bent Bridges, Nate. Yo! Neely broke his wrist falling out of the van and either we need someone to sub for him or we’re gonna get scrubbed from the festival lineup. My eyes widened; Neely was the drummer for Bent Bridges--Nate was the lead singer. I’d played with them a few times over the years, and I knew most of their songs. I’d known they were playing Big Noisy Fest out near Tampa, but I hadn’t really given it much thought since hearing about it a few weeks before. Shit, man! When do you go on? Tampa was about three hours away; it was a fucking haul, but it wasn’t impossible to get there in time, depending on when they were due to play. My phone buzzed almost immediately--Nate must have been waiting for my answer. I wondered how many people he’d texted.

We’re on at 8. Think you can make it here? Neely said you can use his kit, since we’re already loaded in. It wasn’t ideal, of course; I preferred my own kit. But it would make sense to use Neely’s kit if I was playing with Bent Bridges, and anyway it would save time if I didn’t have to break down my spare kit and load it into my car. If I left in the next hour, I could get to Tampa by five, and work things out with the other members of the band with enough time to play the set. I took a deep breath; there’d probably be some bitching from the rest of the band, but I didn’t really care that much. We had another two days off, so I could play the festival, maybe stay to catch day two, and be back home before anyone would notice. It’d be in the New Times and maybe a few other places, but by then, I’d have time to explain it to the other guys. I’ll be there by 5. I put my phone down after sending the text and went into my bedroom. I was only going to be gone for a day--two at most--and I’d have Neely’s drum kit to play, but there were a few things that I always brought with me when I played a show, especially an out-of-town show, and I wasn’t about to leave without them, just because it was an emergency. I grabbed my tour backpack out of my closet and checked that I still had a clean pair of boxers and a clean tee shirt in it; I did. I went from my bedroom to my bathroom and back again, throwing in my deodorant, a pair of shorts, a

pair of jeans, my toothbrush, and other items I didn’t want to go a day without. I zipped it all up, grabbed my keys, my phone and my charging cable, and fired off a quick text to Dan and Nick telling them I was going to be up in Tampa. I had to get gas in the car--it was a long fucking drive, after all--but I was on the road headed north and west within forty-five minutes. I blasted OK Go all the way, actually enjoying the sight of swampy, scrubby Florida woods as I followed the Turnpike, singing along to each of the songs. It struck me when I took a quick break to piss and grab a coffee for myself about halfway through that it should probably alarm me more that I was this fucking excited to be hauling ass up to Tampa to play for a band that wasn’t my band on such short notice; but I pushed the thought out of my head before I could really examine how important it was. I was happy, I had something to do, and that was enough for me. I thought about Bent Bridges a bit on the drive--traffic was better than usual, so I had enough bandwidth, mentally, to do something other than react to all the stupid drivers around me. Neely was probably totally appalled that he’d managed to break a bone the morning of a major festival date; I know I would have been. Big Noisy Fest was in its third year, and getting bigger; Bent Bridges’ slot wasn’t a headliner spot, but they were on just

before the big headliner for the night, and I remembered they were slated to play the side stage the next day; they might back out of it, considering that they probably wouldn’t want to rely on a substitute drummer for too many dates, but if they were up for going on the next day, I wasn’t about to pass on the chance. Bent Bridges had been together for maybe two years; like most of the bands in the local scene, they’d come about as a result of the death of two other local bands: Jai Alai Inferno and Hunger Strike. Bent Bridges was dope, and I’d seen their first show since I’d gone to high school with Nate and Brant; I’d learned all their songs as soon as they came out with them, and I’d talked about them whenever someone asked me about influences. There was a point--back when Molly Riot was going off the rails--when I’d thought about seeing if Nate or Brant wanted to do something on the side, but I’d held off. It took me a moment of frantic Googling to find the festival site, which I probably should have checked on before I left the apartment; but once I was straight on where it was, it was easy enough for me to get there from downtown. I’d texted Nate from the rest stop to remind him to tell security to let me park in the area for the talent, and to give me a pass so I could get into the backstage area; otherwise I’d have driven fucking hours for no

reason. But when I pulled up to the artists’ entrance, the guard there had my name on the clipboard, checked my ID to confirm who I was, and waved me past without so much as a word of complaint. I got the feeling that the festival wasn’t going exactly smoothly--the guards looked like they’d rather get the day over with and start over. I found somewhere to park and grabbed what I thought I was likely to need for the next few hours from the car: my backpack, a spare pack of smokes, the bag I kept spare drum sticks in, and a couple of odds and ends. I probably should have been more concerned by how excited I was at the prospect of playing substitute drummer for a festival gig, but I didn’t care; it was a big change from what I’d been doing for months. I was hundreds of miles away from the rest of my own band, and I didn’t have to think about the stupid shit we were going through for a solid day or two. That was enough for me.

CHAPTER THREE “Yo! Hail the conquering hero and all that shit,” Nate said, smirking as I appeared in the green room the venue had set aside for Bent Bridges. It wasn’t as good as some of the places Molly Riot had been able to get since Alex had had his run-in with the South Florida drug industry, but it was decent enough: a couple of coolers with beers, a broken-down couch, and a room full of decent guys. I gave Nate and then Brant a quick hug, and spotted Neely on the couch, his arm in a cast and a sling, looking morose. “Bummer, dude,” I said, shaking my head in sympathy. “That shit blows.” “You’re telling me,” he said, managing a little smile. “On the bright side, they gave me Vicodin, so at least I can buzz out while you’re fucking up all my brilliant beats.” I snickered. “You’re just worried Nate and Brant are going to want to kick you out in favor of me once they see how much better I play,” I told him. Neely rolled his eyes and sipped his beer. “I’m going to be out of commission a couple of months with this dumb-shit thing,” he said, carefully raising his broken arm in the sling. He shook his head. “Fucking bullshit, man.”

“What happened?” I looked from Neely to Nate, who looked like he was about to bust at the seams from holding in laughter. “He fell out of the van,” Brant said. “We were loading in and he went to go grab something--what was it, Neel?” “Nate’s fucking iPad,” Neely said bitterly. “The iPad survived,” Nate told me, pressing his lips together. “Came in handy while we were waiting in the hospital,” Brant added. “Anyway, a couple of hours and an x-ray later, our comrade here has both bones in his forearm broken just past the wrist, so he’ll still be useful once he heals up, but until then…” Brant shrugged. “Want a beer? They’ve stocked us with Dogfish Head and Due South,” Nate told me. “Grab me whatever,” I told him with a shrug. We started to get into actual business, going over the set list, and I got out my sticks and a practice pad and ran through some of Neely’s parts with him carefully watching and giving me pointers. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be able to play it exactly the same way that he did; it was going to sound just a little different from me simply because I was a different drummer. But I could get close, and I could stay on the beat and pull off most of the fills that he did at least enough for the crowd to recognize it and the band to be able to keep up with

it. After that we had about an hour and a half to kill, and I wandered around the backstage area a bit, checking on some of the other local guys I knew; of course, everyone asked what I was doing at the festival when Molly Riot was in the studio, and I had to explain I was subbing for Neely. Apparently, everyone had heard about Neely’s incident, but no one had known what the band was going to do to deal with it, at least for the festival. I couldn’t say anything in terms of what Bent Bridges’ long-term solution was going to be, but I kept myself on a tight leash when talking about Molly Riot and what we were up to. More than half the scene had heard that there were issues in the band, and even though I figured I could probably trust most of the guys and gals I was talking to, I also knew that there were journalists all around; not a good thing to be spreading gossip where someone could write it down. So, I stuck to the same official story we’d given the label, since it was at least safe: we were reworking the album, figuring out where we were going with our sound. Jack was definitely on board with what we were doing, encouraging us all the way, but it was taking time. “I’m just jealous you guys can spend this long in the studio,” Frank from Howler told me, shaking his head; his band had been one of the first acts of

the day to take the stage, and he was halfway to being trashed on beer and pot and probably a pill or two. “What was your budget? Like a fucking million dollars?” “Half million,” I said with a shrug. “We’re having to negotiate to make sure the label doesn’t try to fuck us since we’re taking so long.” “I heard it started over a girl,” one of the journalists said, off to the side. I grinned at her. “I heard you don’t do rumors over at AntiSpin,” I said, when I’d caught the badge she had on for the magazine she wrote for. “Everything is rumors,” she said with a shrug. “All I can say is that it’s fucking complicated to be in a band, and Molly Riot is still together, everything is good--we’re just taking our time,” I told the girl. “We’ve rushed into every damned tour and every damned album we’ve done and it’s been great, but we’re not getting any younger out there on the road--we wanted to take a little more time this time around.” I wandered away from Howler’s green room and the journalists packed into it as soon as I could; I had to get ready for the gig, and the last thing I wanted was to spend any more time around members of the press than I had to. Nick and Dan had texted me back; neither of them was super into the idea of me being out of town for a couple of days, but since we didn’t have sessions booked,

they couldn’t bitch at me too hard--especially when they were both all wrapped up with their sweeties for the break. I walked back towards where the guys in Bent Bridges would be waiting for me, getting ready to go out on the stage, thinking about the fact that I almost never found myself in the position to speak for the band. Normally it was either Alex or Jules that took over that job, though Nick occasionally liked to chip in. Dan and I had always sort of kept a back seat on those responsibilities since neither of us were into the idea of dealing with people from the press whose entire job it was to get a scoop, and who’d do whatever it took to get it. It still surprised me that Nick had ended up dating a reporter--but I had to admit that if I was going to date someone from a magazine, Olivia was a good choice. I was thinking about that when a flash went off in my face. I turned around, glaring even as the afterimage made it impossible to see. “What the fuck? Warn someone before you blind them,” I called out, trying to find the stupid-ass photographer who’d snapped me. “Sorry! I really am sorry, you just looked so perfect.” The voice was feminine and part of me was somehow both irritated and intrigued at the same time. “I didn’t realize I’d forgotten to turn down the flash,” the girl continued. After a moment, the spots in front of my eyes cleared and I

could see the woman who’d blinded me. She was maybe a handful of inches shorter than me, with thick, long blonde hair, pulled out of her face with a messy tied scarf. She was exactly the kind of girl you expect to see on the beach in West Palm or Boca or maybe Broward--not stacked and plastic-enhanced, but with a freckled tan and muscles that showed she actually walked the beach, actually swam in the ocean. I thought to myself that she probably snorkeled, took pictures of what she saw. She had her camera in her hands still, the strap around her neck, but for her it looked less like a tool of a profession and more like part of her actual body, like she’d fused with it somehow. She was wearing jean shorts and a tee shirt--the approved Florida Festival Uniform--and she had a badge pinned over her right breast that proclaimed her to be a photographer, officially sanctioned by Big Noisy Fest. “It’s no big deal,” I said, resisting the urge to look her over again. “Just took me by surprise.” “I probably should have warned you, but you just…” The woman shook her head. “If I’d warned you, it would be a totally different picture from the one I just got, and the one I just got was perfect.” I raised an eyebrow at that, still smiling; it was kind of amazing how my mood could turn a corner when the person who’d annoyed me turned out to be a cute girl.

“You’ll have to let me see that picture, judge for myself,” I told her. “Unless--are you one of those hipsters that only shoots on film?” The girl shook her head. “I couldn’t afford to work if I only shot film,” she told me. “I can show you the picture, but I need your name first.” “Mark,” I said. The woman smiled. “Which band are you in?” I grinned. “Molly Riot,” I told her. The girl frowned in confusion. “I didn’t see you guys on the lineup for this festival,” she said. “We’re not. I’m subbing in for Neely from Bent Bridges. He broke his arm today.” The girl’s eyes widened. “You know, not exactly polite to demand my name but not give me yours.” “Allie,” she said, smiling. “Allie Havers.” She reached into her pocket and took out a business card. I glanced at it long enough to confirm that it had the same name, and to see that she was a freelancer. “Why don’t you come to the green room with me, Allie Havers?” I slipped her card in my pocket. “You can cheer Neely up by taking perfect pictures of him.” Allie chuckled and shrugged. “I’m game,” she said. I gestured for Allie to follow me towards the green room. Checking my phone, I noticed it was about thirty minutes before

the band was supposed to go on; with any luck, I could get Allie to hang out for a bit, and then maybe take a few pictures of the band from the wings, and flirt with her a bit after the set. Not a bad twist to the day, I thought to myself as I led her into the room. “Gents, this is Allie Havers, who just nearly blinded me in the hallway. But apparently, she’s a dope photographer, so she can capture this auspicious moment in Neely’s career with Bent Bridges.” Nate and Brant laughed, and Neely managed a chuckle. “You’d better start getting ready,” Brant told me. “We’re on in about twenty-five.” Allie introduced herself in more detail to the guys while I went to the practice pads, running through some of the more complicated fills that Neely had walked me through before. I played through the songs on the set list a few times, double-time, getting through them as fast as possible to make sure I had them down before we had to go out to the stage. “Time to head out, Bent Bridges,” the call came over the PA. I looked around the room; Allie was still around. “Come watch us,” I suggested. “Hell--maybe you’ll get a perfect picture of me owning Neely’s drum parts.” I grinned at my injured comrade. “Or one of him totally fucking it up,” Neely

countered. “Really? I’d love to,” Allie said. I gathered up my bag of sticks and followed Brant and Nate out of the green room, with Allie and Neely hot on our heels. Neely of course was going to hang out in the wings; Nate was going to trot him out to explain why there was a replacement drummer and to get sympathy from the crowd. For a second, I wondered if Neely was into Allie--but then, I reminded myself, there was that girl Neely was seeing, off and on; Sheila, or Sara, something like that. He wouldn’t want to burn that bridge. I was safe. We waited on the side of the stage as the techs finished setting up the stage, testing the instruments and sound. The crowd was pretty big, from what I could see from the sidelines; they seemed to be pretty rowdy too, and I was pretty sure it’d be a decent set. This is what it’s all about. This is what you’ve been missing. I shook the thought out of my head; I wasn’t going to think about Molly Riot when I needed to be focusing on Bent Bridges, at least for a few hours. “And now, coming to the stage, Bent Bridges!”

CHAPTER FOUR It felt weird to sit at Neely’s kit, my own drumsticks in my hand; but the crowd in front of the stage was more than ready for Bent Bridges, and it felt good at the same time to look out over a screaming mass of people. Nate looked back at me with a grin, and I glanced at the set list to confirm that I knew the song he and Brant wanted to play first. I counted in, and on the first beat, Brant and Nate were right there with me. It felt the same way that it had the last time I’d played live with Molly Riot: electric, as if we were bigger than the crowd, bigger than the entire fucking world. I pounded the drums in time with the beat, playing from memory, letting my muscles do the work, not even completely thinking about the song anymore--just hearing it in my head, listening for any shift in the other two guys’ playing. It was like magic. I felt myself grinning as we finished the first song, and I looked over at the side of the stage. Allie was still there, and Neely was watching as well. The set became just short of a blur after that, with Brant or Nate occasionally talking to the audience between songs, but otherwise hammering through each number with me. At one point, they

did bring Neely out to get the crowd’s sympathy for him, and got cheers for me as the substitute drummer. I felt like I could keep playing for hours, but of course for a festival--and since we weren’t headlining--our set was just over an hour long. I was right there with Nate and Brant, playing my heart out, and it seemed like I hadn’t felt this way-this good, this positive, this amazing--in months. Off to the side, I could see Allie taking pictures; mostly just from the flash on her camera, but soon I lost count of how many she’d snapped by the time we went into the last song of the set together. I threw everything I had into the song, pounding the beat, going into the jam section with the other two guys, coming out of it to finish everything off as hard and explosively as possible. Nate let the feedback from his guitar signal the very end of the set, and then we were walking off the stage, all three of us together. “Goddamn,” I said, shaking my head while I waited for the ringing in my ears to go down. Allie followed the rest of us back to the green room, and I threw my arm around her shoulders, not even caring that I was drenched in sweat. “Best seat in the house, eh?” “I’d be shocked if I found out that she took even half as many pictures of Brant and Nate as she did of you,” Neely said, grinning. “What can I say? I’m a photogenic

motherfucker,” I said, shrugging. “You actually really are,” Allie told me. Some color had risen into her cheeks, and I was so stoked, so full of adrenaline, that all I wanted was to lean in and kiss her. I held back, if only because it wasn’t my gig, and because I needed to at least pretend to hang out with the guys in Bent Bridges. To be honest, after Sophie I was feeling a bit gunshy about making a move on a girl I hadn’t confirmed wanted me beforehand. The five of us went into the green room, and I threw myself down onto the couch, pushing my sweaty hair out of my face, waiting for the air conditioning to do its job and cool me off. I was glad I had a change of clothes--they’d probably come in handy in a little bit. There weren’t any showers at the venue, which was a bummer, but assuming that the guys in Bent Bridges had booked a hotel I could always crash there; they’d let me use a shower. In spite of taking pain pills for his arm, Neely was happy to nurse a beer, while the rest of us started pouring the shots. It felt like the best days I’d ever had with the guys in Molly Riot: uninhibited, a little drunk, a little wild but not in a way that would necessarily get us arrested, especially at a festival like the one we were at. Allie left for a few minutes to take some pictures of the headliners, and then came back to

the green room just in time to get another shot. I finally cooled off enough to start really chatting with her. “So, how’s freelancing?” “It’s not bad,” Allie told me. “I get to make my own hours, obviously; and apart from clients, I get to work however I want.” “How long have you been at it?” Allie shrugged. “I’ve been going for about two years--I started out taking gigs that paid as high as I could reasonably demand, any of them, and then started paring down to what I really liked to do.” I nodded. “I think all creative jobs are like that,” I said. “I mean, in Molly Riot we basically were in a position for a while there that if someone wanted us to play a show anywhere, we pretty much had to take it.” “The scene down there is so tough,” Allie pointed out. “No kidding,” I agreed. “It’s really hard to get shows together, and harder to get enough people to come to them to actually make decent money at it. Most of us had part-time jobs until the band really started taking off.” “You? In a part-time job?” I laughed at Allie’s shock. “I did lessons,” I explained. “I had like...eight students at one point. Good kids.” I accepted another shot from Nate, knocked it back and

chased it with a gulp of beer. “Actually, fun fact: one of my students was a 70-year-old woman, at one point.” “Really?” Allie’s eyes widened. “She wanted to learn how to play drums?” I nodded. “She’d wanted to learn ever since she was five, and her parents and then her husband thought it wasn’t a good thing for girls or women or whatever, so she never did...until her husband passed away.” I grinned. “Great natural rhythm. Hell of a dancer, too.” Allie giggled. “I take it you know that from experience?” I nodded, still grinning. “She and her husband did ballroom dancing, and as sort of a ‘tip’ for my lessons, she taught me some steps.” “Sounds like she had a little crush on you,” Allie suggested. I rolled my eyes. “She was just a sweet, kickass lady.” “Did she stop taking lessons, or did you have to give up teaching because of the band’s success?” “The latter; once we started getting big, I just didn’t have the time. But she’s got backstage passes to any show she wants to come to. Agnes is awesome.” “We’re moving the party back to the hotel,” Nate told me. I hadn’t even realized that the festival had ended--but I realized that Allie and I had been talking for so long that, sure enough, the

noise from the stage area was all but gone. “Where are you guys staying?” Allie started putting her things away in her bag, and I was doing the same. “We’re at the Tahitian Inn,” Brant said. “They’ve agreed to let us use the bar and pool as long as we bring our own and don’t break anything.” “That’s where I’m staying too,” Allie said. “Mind if I tag along?” Brant and Nate looked at each other, looked at Neely, and shrugged. “You seem pretty cool,” Nate said. “Come hang with us.” Since Allie wasn’t parked in the artists’ area-she wasn’t playing the show, after all--I walked her out to her car, which wasn’t that much farther away from the backstage complex. I hesitated as she looked for her keys in her bag; the guys in Bent Bridges had already headed out, and we were all but alone--apart from venue security--next to Allie’s old, beat up Honda. “Hey,” I said, licking my lips quickly. “Hm?” Allie turned around and looked up, and I took advantage of the opening to lean in and give her a quick kiss on the lips. Allie started, but she didn’t try and push me away, or protest. After a moment, she leaned into the kiss, putting her hands on my shoulders, barely brushing her chest against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed

her more firmly against me, loving the crush of her tits against my chest, the feeling of her lips, the heat of her body. I broke away from her after a few moments and smiled. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours, just so you know,” I told her. Allie’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her lips just a little parted as she looked up at me in surprise. “I’m glad you did it then,” she said, smiling a little. I let my hands drift down to her hips, but I stopped there. Even if she had the nicest ass I’d seen in months, I wasn’t about to get ahead of myself. “Let’s pick this back up at the hotel, huh?” I kissed her forehead. “Not that I’m not more than ready to find a quiet spot backstage...but I’d rather make out with you somewhere a little cleaner.” Allie snickered and kissed a spot somewhere on my jaw. “I’ll meet you there,” she said.

CHAPTER FIVE The hotel had--in name at least--closed down the pool and tiki bar attached to it by the time I got there; but Brant, Nate, and Neely had managed to raid the green room for plenty of liquor, and while they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to smoke much pot backstage, they’d brought some with them, and the party was underway when I found my way back to the slightly creepy, lit-up area. Allie had gotten there maybe two minutes before me, to judge by the fact that Brant was only just pouring her a shot when I arrived. “What have we got going down in here?” I sat down in a lounge chair and Brant waved a bottle of tequila. “Shots, beer, and blender drinks courtesy of Nate,” Brant told me. “Where the fuck did we get the stuff to make blender drinks?” I shook my head. “Oh--they’re letting us use some of their mixers,” Neely informed me. “I am going to be so fucking trashed tomorrow,” I said. “We go on at seven on the side-stage,” Nate said with a grin. “Seven should be late enough to get it all out

of my system,” I admitted. I hadn’t counted on playing for Bent Bridges again, but I was down-especially after how good I felt coming off the stage earlier that night. “But I can’t party like this tomorrow night--I’ve got to get straight back home.” “Oh, yeah,” Neely said, looking at his band mates. “Last thing we want is for Alex to accuse us of poaching you.” I snickered. “Why would you be poaching me? Poaching me would put you out of a job,” I pointed out. “I don’t know,” Nate said, his voice teasing. “There aren’t many acts out there with two drummers. We’d be pretty unique.” “There’s a reason there aren’t many acts with two drummers,” Neely countered. “Anyway, we get it; Molly Riot is priority one.” “For now at least,” I said, remembering the last time we’d been all in the studio together. Things were starting to get better in certain respects, but it was hard for me to say that I could really, truly see a future for the band beyond the upcoming album. We were all going in different directions, bickering about what the songs should sound like, whether we were all playing our parts the right way. “It’s one of those things,” Allie suggested. “There’s stress because you guys have come so far, but you have to sort of...push through the next

wall.” “Listen to this expert,” Brant said, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, I might not be in a band, but I’ve watched a lot of bands interact,” Allie countered. “Besides, it’s like any other group of people working close together.” She shrugged. “But whatever. What do I know?” Nate began making drinks and distributing them; Neely couldn’t really partake without risking an OD, but the rest of us began to unwind, talking shop and discussing the next day’s set, chatting about local gossip. Allie lived out in Coral Springs, so she wasn’t quite as connected to the West Palm and Miami scenes, but she got around the state a good bit as part of her job, so she had some juicy information on other bands. One by one, the guys in Bent Bridges started to fade out; Neely of course went first, since he had the broken arm and all. Brant called it a night second, and for a while it was just me, Allie, and Nate talking about anything and everything--stupid shit like movies, high school, the stuff you talk about when it’s three in the morning. Finally, it was just Allie and me. We’d stopped drinking booze by four--partly from being out of drinks, partly because there was no real good reason to keep it up with only a few hours to go until dawn. “Tell me something about yourself,” I

demanded. Somewhere along the line, we’d ended up on the same lounge chair, lying back, looking up at the tiki hut lights above us. “I’ve told you like five hundred things about me,” Allie countered. I rolled my eyes and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her a bit closer to me. “Something secret,” I specified. “Something you wouldn’t just tell anyone.” Allie shifted against me on the lawn chair. “Hm,” she said, leaning her head on my chest. “I have hated asparagus for my entire life, but my parents think that I love it, because I didn’t want my mom to feel bad when she cooked it.” I chuckled. “I ask you for a secret and that’s what you give me?” I had to admit though that of the things she could have said, that was probably one of the cuter ones. “Well then, big shot--you tell me a secret, since you’re so much better at this than me.” I thought about it, pressing my lips together and staring at the faded wood of the tiki roof, the fringe of dried palm frond dangling off the side. “I nearly destroyed my band over a girl,” I told her. “Seriously?” I shrugged. “Yes and no,” I admitted. “The guy I’m closest with in Molly Riot--Dan--took a fancy to this bartender at Respectables. And so did I.” I

sighed. “She told both of us she’d go out with us, I guess because she sort of felt trapped or whatever.” I never had really been able to get a straight answer to the question of why Sophie had even said yes to me if she’d already accepted a date from Dan. “It just…” I shrugged. “Things were already tense in the band, but something about how that all shook out just temporarily drove me out of my mind I guess. I refused to go into the studio with them, and didn’t talk to Dan anymore for like a month and a half, and very nearly fucked everything up. All because I couldn’t get over the fact that some girl wanted to date my friend and not me.” Allie went silent for a moment and I wondered if I’d said exactly the wrong thing. “It sounds like it was probably more complicated than that,” she said finally. “I mean, she’d said yes to you--whatever her reason. And you probably felt like Dan was betraying you or something, right?” I considered that and nodded; that was exactly how I’d felt at the time. I didn’t feel that way anymore--at least not specifically about Sophie. “I guess I feel weird, being the only single guy in the band,” I told her. “Like the whole dynamic, the energy has shifted.” “That makes sense,” Allie said, nodding against my chest. “You feel like everyone’s doing other stuff, like the band isn’t what it used to be.”

“It isn’t,” I insisted. “I mean, the guys are still the guys, but no one just...hangs out anymore, the way that they used to. Like it’s not as if no one ever dated anybody before, but everyone’s in these super fucking serious relationships, and I’m like…” I shook my head. “I feel like any day now I’m going to find out someone knocked their girl up, or someone is getting married.” “Do you think they’re somehow...more mature?” Allie turned her head and I looked down as she looked up. “I’m not saying they are--I’m asking if you feel like that’s the case.” “No, I get what you’re saying,” I assured her. “I guess it just sort of feels like…” I tried to think of the words to describe the weird situation. “It feels like they’re moving on in a way. Going ahead of me. I just never expected it to happen, you know?” “That makes sense,” Allie said. “I mean, they’re doing all these other things, and for the moment at least--I guess until tonight--your life was basically the band. It probably feels a lot like…” she paused. “Not betrayal, but sort of…” “Yeah,” I said, when she couldn’t find the word she wanted. “I don’t know if there’s even a word for it, but you know what I mean.” “So, tell me something else,” Allie said, turning onto her side and draping her arm over my waist.

“You have to go first,” I told her. Allie pressed her lips together and I was tempted to kiss her again--the temptation had been at the front of my mind ever since I’d kissed her before leaving the venue--but I didn’t do it; it would just throw off the conversation we were having. “Part of the reason I took your picture earlier was that I knew who you were,” Allie said, looking away. “Okay…” I turned her face so that she had to look at me. “So what?” “I thought it would probably be weird to admit it,” she said. I could see her blushing in the weird orangey light. “Like...I didn’t expect to see you there at the festival at all. I didn’t even have any thought about it. Molly Riot wasn’t on the lineup, so it never even entered my head. But I was leaving one of the green rooms and saw you walking around.” “Still not getting how it’s awkward,” I told her. “You did look perfect in the shot I took,” Allie explained. “But it was also...I wanted to meet you.” She smiled weakly. “I wanted an excuse to introduce myself.” “So you took a picture to get my attention?” Allie shrugged. “Part that, part not being able to let a chance like that snap pass me by,” she said. She shook her head. “Your turn.”

“I was the last member of my band to lose my virginity,” I told Allie. “Seriously?” Allie sat up and looked me up and down. I laughed. “Seriously,” I said. “Nick lost his at fifteen, Alex at sixteen, Jules and Dan at seventeen, and I didn’t lose mine until I was almost nineteen.” “How the hell does that happen?” I shrugged. “Well Nick would probably have lost his at fourteen if he could have,” I said, snickering. “But that would’ve been a huge fucking mess. Alex had some weird kind of pact where he was determined to lose his before he turned seventeen, and Jules and Dan just hooked up with random girls after a show one night.” “So was there a particular reason you didn’t lose it earlier, or just lack of opportunity?” I shrugged and lit a cigarette. “I mostly didn’t date in high school, so that definitely made it harder to find the chance,” I told her. “Then on top of that I was all about the drums and hanging out with the guys and playing PlayStation, so between those things, even when I had a girlfriend for a few months, I wasn’t really all that serious about it.” I offered Allie a smoke and she took it from me, let me light it. “It just wasn’t a huge priority. I figured: there’s porn and lotion. How could sex be better than getting myself off?” Allie giggled and buried her face against my chest,

barely keeping her lit cigarette from burning me. “How did you even end up losing it, then?” “Actually, there was a girl,” I told her. Allie began giggling again. “Hey! I’m not going to tell you if you’re not going to take this seriously. This is an important story of my life, Allie.” “Sorry--sorry, it’s so late, and the idea of you watching porn and masturbating and thinking…” she convulsed in giggles again and I waited for her to calm down. “I’ll be serious now.” “She actually had a bet with some of her friends that she could get me in bed,” I told Allie. “She had no idea--no one did--that I’d never been with anyone and I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her.” “Did she figure it out?” I smirked. “Nope,” I said. “I managed to get it up, and keep it up, and I’d heard enough from the other guys in the band to know how to sort of keep things going, so she never had a clue.” “That is definitely a promising start to your sexual career,” Allie told me. I looked around as I stubbed my cigarette out and realized that it was actually starting to get light outside--it was dawn. “Fuck,” I said. “It’s got to be at least what-six, seven in the morning?” “Shit,” Allie said, shaking her head. “I need to get back to my room.” “Mind if I crash there?” I thought about the

guys in Bent Bridges; Neely for one would not appreciate me coming in and waking him up. “Just crashing, I swear.” “Just crashing for sure,” Allie said, raising an eyebrow. “I need to sleep or I’ll be useless when I go back to the festival later.” “Same for me. Come on. Show me your pad, pretty lady.”

CHAPTER SIX I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but my phone was ringing from across the room. “Fuck.” I turned over in bed and felt Allie starting to wake up as well. I stumbled out from between the sheets and hit the floor, before getting up and grabbing my phone from where I’d left it plugged in. It was Nate. I tapped ‘Accept’. “What’s up, man?” “Thought you’d want a wake-up call with enough time to actually wake up before you need to be here.” I scrubbed at my face while my hungover, sleep-deprived brain processed that, and then I smiled. “Thanks, man,” I said. “How much time until I need to go?” I looked at my phone to check the time. It was one. “Get over here by say five? So we can get ready and chat about the set list.” “Will do,” I told him. “See you then.” I ended the call and looked over at the bed. Allie was sitting up; we’d been too exhausted by the time we’d gotten to her room that morning to do more than take off our clothes and get between the sheets and go to sleep. “I have about four hours until I need to be over at the festival,” I told Allie.

“I should probably be there right now,” Allie said, stretching. My eyes went directly to her tits, showing just above the blankets. I’d caught a glimpse of them the night before, but I’d been too tired to do anything about it. I was still tired--but not too tired to do anything about a naked woman in a bed I’d just left. “Too late to be there right now,” I pointed out, walking towards the bed. “A couple of hours isn’t going to make that much of a difference, you know.” Allie looked me up and down slowly and smiled. “A couple of hours?” she leaned back in the bed, elbows on the pillows, and I took in the sight of everything above her hips: tanned skin, paleness where her bathing suit top covered her tits--just barely--when she wore it however long ago, the curve of her waist. “A couple of hours to start,” I told her. “We’re both going back south tonight, right?” Allie shrugged one shoulder. “I hadn’t decided, but I might as well,” she said. I climbed back into bed, pulling the sheets aside to reveal the rest of her body; Allie didn’t fight it, didn’t even look annoyed. I covered her body with mine, slithering down until my hips pressed against hers. “Deerfield is closer than Coral Springs,” I pointed out. “You could crash at my place, get home tomorrow to do

all your work.” I brushed my lips against hers. Just the sight of Allie’s naked body had been enough to get my blood flowing. Feeling her skin against mine, tasting her lips, was enough to get me hard in seconds. “For now, though…” I rocked my hips against hers, slipping down between Allie’s legs. She was already starting to get wet, to judge by the slickness of her labia against my cock. I rubbed against her, trailing my lips from her mouth to her jaw to her neck. Allie wrapped her legs around my waist, pushing herself down on me, her hands roaming across my back. We moved together for a little while, building up the friction, the tension between us, and I held off on getting inside of her as she got wetter and wetter until I could feel all that tension rippling through her body. I reached down and guided the tip of my cock up against her, and slid inside of Allie’s tight, hot pussy slowly, filling her up inch by inch. “God, you feel good,” I murmured against her lips. “So fucking good, Allie.” She did: tight, wet, hot, like a glove around my cock. I started moving inside of her, pulling out just a little bit and then pushing deeper and deeper, rocking my hips against hers; finding the rhythm. Allie fell into my beat, flowing with and against me, hands wandering everywhere as her hips twisted and rocked with me. I kissed her again and again, and as we moved together I couldn’t help but

notice that it was as close to perfect as any sex I’d ever had; normally it took a few moments to get into a rhythm, to find someone else’s beat and match myself to it. With Allie, though, it felt amazing--she matched to me instead of the other way around. It only took me a few moments to lose the ability to think altogether as we moved as one. I tried to hold back, but I knew I wouldn’t last long--the feeling of her muscles tightening around me, flexing and releasing in little spasms, was enough to almost bring me to the edge right away. I reached down between Allie’s body and mine and found her clit by touch, and started rubbing it in time to our movements together, trying to bring her to climax before I couldn’t hold back any longer. I shuddered at the sound of her moans, at the little breathy cries leaving her throat, echoing in my ear, like the melody wrapped around our beat. I felt the tension reach the breaking point, and Allie trembled underneath me as she moaned out, long and low, her nails digging into my back. I managed to hold my own climax at bay for a few more thrusts but then I felt the liquid-hot tension deep down in my groin give way, and wave after wave of crackling sensation crashed through me as I came. “Fuck--god--Allie…” I tried to keep it going for as long as possible; she felt fucking amazing, her body tightening around my cock in

little spasms while I twitched inside of her. All at once I was finished, and so was she, and we lay there for a moment, both of us panting and gasping for breath. “We still have...an hour…” I looked up at Allie; she hadn’t caught her breath yet, but I could see the gleam in her eye. “Give me five minutes and then let’s do that again,” I told her.

CHAPTER SEVEN “How was your vacation?” I rolled my eyes at Nick’s question as I walked into the control room. “Fun,” I replied, sitting down in one of the chairs. “What are we working on today?” “One of Jules’ tunes,” Nick said. “He’s talking to Jack about it.” Nick looked me up and down slowly. “How’s Neely?” I shrugged. “Broken bone. They’ve canceled a couple of shows.” Nick frowned, looking at me more sharply. “It wasn’t just playing the festival,” Nick said. “What’s up?” I snickered. “Becoming a mind reader now that you’re in a settled relationship?” Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re in a good mood. A better mood than you’ve been in since the bullshit with Dan happened.” “Playing a festival gig with a new band switched something in my brain, I guess,” I suggested. “I think you’ve met someone. Come on, Mark--you’re not the secretive type.” I shook my head. I wasn’t sure why I was so keen to keep the rest of the band from finding out about Allie, but I knew I didn’t want to say anything about her just

yet; I wanted to feel the situation out. “Just feeling better about life, I guess,” I told him. Dan came into the control room, saving me from more questions from Nick. “I saw Jules talking to Jack as I came in,” Dan said. “I take it that we’re working on one of his songs?” Nick nodded, and so did I. It felt weird, having a secret from the rest of the band--it was the first time I’d ever not told someone in the group about something big that had happened to me. I wasn’t sure that it was something big yet; but it felt big. After a few minutes of bullshitting, Alex and Jules and Jack came into the control room, and we started talking about the day’s work. “Do we really need to start over on this?” “We’ve started over on everything else,” Jules pointed out. “Why not this one, too?” “It just seems pretty straightforward,” Nick said. “I want to go more complex,” Jules countered. “That’s why we need to start over.” “We’re starting over on everything,” Alex said, looking from Nick to Jules to me. “If we’re committing to that idea, then we might as well start over on this one too.” “What did you have in mind?” Jules lit a cigarette and took a jump drive out of his pocket. “Play it for the kids, Jack,” he said, tossing it

over to the producer. Jack plugged it into the console and pulled it up on the system. I felt fidgety--weird, almost itchy. I pushed the feeling aside as Jack started up the track. I forced myself to listen; Jules had demoed the track, probably with Fran, with a beat-maker. It was more complicated than the original track had been, with a syncopated beat--that much at least gave me something to work with beyond the usual. It wasn’t entirely in the same vein as the other tracks we were working on, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It sounded good--it sounded great, in fact. “I think we can work with this,” I said. “You’re different,” Alex said, looking at me sharply. “Spending a couple of days on a different project revitalized me,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure he’s met someone, but he insists it was just playing with Bent Bridges,” Nick told Alex. “It is just playing with Bent Bridges. Felt good. I want to get on the road again with Molly Riot soon; to do that, we need to get this album done, right?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So let’s get to work.” Alex and Nick both stared at me for a moment longer, but there was nothing really to say about it. We went into the live room and I sat down at my

kit. There was the same odd tension between the five of us, but it was different at the same time; in the back of my head I was thinking of Allie-picturing her sprawled on my couch where I’d left her, going through the photos she’d taken at the festival, editing them and picking and choosing between them to submit to different magazines. “Everyone ready?” Jules played through a run on his guitar, testing the sound in his headphones. “Let’s do it,” I said, grabbing a fresh pair of sticks. I checked the levels of everything on my kit-I had adjusted Neely’s kit to my needs for the second day of the festival, but it still had been a foreign one, and switching back to my own was like putting on an old, beat-up pair of shoes that I’d worn for ages. Jack started the tape, and the beat from the demo track Jules had brought in played through my headset. I fell in with it, and then heard the other guys falling into their own parts. It was just a rough scratch track--something for us to listen to, to sort of get an idea, a map of where the band was going to take Jules’ idea--but surprisingly it felt pretty good to play it. For the first time in months, I felt like the band was playing something that actually made sense. We played through again and again, refining the melody, and I found a way to play the beat that Jules had set, while still making it my own. Hours

went past--back and forth, talking to Jack, playing it again, talking about it again. The rate we were going, it was going to take another two or three months to get the album recorded, but I actually felt good about it. I felt good about what we were doing. “Okay, let’s listen through the track again,” Alex suggested. “I think we might have actually nailed it this time.” “Starting to feel it in my hands,” I said, nodding. “Anyone else feel good about it?” “I’ll wait until I hear it,” Jules said. “Play it back for us, Jackie-boy,” he added through the intercom, sitting down on the floor. I put my drumsticks down and re-settled the headphones on my ears. “Playing back,” Jack said over the intercom. I got comfortable on my seat and closed my eyes. The playback came up through the headset and I focused partly on my own section, and partly on the rest of it. The beat was right on point. It sounds good. It actually sounds good. I was amazed. “I like it,” Nick said. “I think we can sharpen up that melody line in the third verse, but I like it.” “Same,” Dan said. I nodded and bent to the side to grab my pack of cigarettes from the floor at my feet. I lit one, thinking about the music we’d been working on. The earlier stuff, I’d played along with, argued about, worked on--but this song

actually made me feel, for the first time, like we were on the right track. We broke for the day after that and went into the kitchenette to talk about the album. Ron was still on our asses about the timeframe, and the label was probably still uncertain, but I was feeling good again. I was actually enjoying being a part of Molly Riot. “I think we might have hit on what we need to do,” I told the other guys as we sat in a circle, passing a pipe around. “That’s a change,” Dan said, glancing from me to Alex. “You’ve barely been about the album at all this whole time.” “Get off it,” I told him, feeling irritable in spite of how positive things were. “I just like the direction we’re in right now. I like what we worked on today.” Alex raised an eyebrow and sat back from the table to excuse himself from the pot, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. “As opposed to what we worked on last week?” I shrugged. “Either the festival shook something loose in me, or Jules came up with a good idea, or both,” I told Alex. “I don’t really care. Neither should you-we’re doing better. That’s worth riding it out.” “If Mark is done with being a morose asshole, I’m not going to question it that hard,” Nick said, taking a hit and passing the pipe to Dan. “I mean hell--we might just get this album finished at this

rate. Do you want to jinx that shit, ‘Lex?” “I’m just curious,” Alex said with a shrug. “I don’t think playing with another band is enough to make him change. Do you?” “I think you’re the only one who cares,” Jules said. “I think he only cares because it was Jules’ song that made him come out of whatever funk he was in,” Dan suggested. “Are you insulted, Alex?” Nick snickered and hacked. “Fine, whatever,” Alex said, rolling his eyes and taking a drag of cigarette smoke into his lungs. “So we’re back in tomorrow, right? Let’s get this rolling a bit faster, since we seem to mostly be on the same page again.” I looked from Dan to Nick to Jules to Alex. Nobody could really argue with what I was saying; I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt the change in the room. I couldn’t bring myself to think it was all me--it was some weird synergy. Whatever Nick, Dan, Jules and Alex had done during the time I was up in Tampa had contributed as much as what I’d done. “I’ll email you all what I’ve been working on, for my own tracks,” Jules said. “Alex?” “I’ve got some demos I can send you guys,” Alex admitted. “I’ve reworked a couple of things.” “How about this,” Nick said, taking the pipe from Jules as he passed it. “We all send each other

the reworked demos, and first thing tomorrow, we listen to everything, and work out what we’re going to do with it.” “Are we starting over again?” Dan looked doubtful, and I couldn’t blame him. This would-technically--be the third time we started on the album. The label was already starting to get restless. “Not from scratch,” Jules pointed out. “We’ve got a pretty good idea of what we’re doing, finally. And anyway, it’ll go faster this time. We managed to get the parts down for my song in one session.” “We’re going to end up having to do double time eventually,” Alex said. “Spending every waking moment in this place to get it done even close to on time.” “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I suggested. “For now, I like Nick’s plan. Everyone send the reworked demos, we’ll listen to them and then come up with what we’re going to work on for the next week. Let’s just get this shit done.” “Okay,” Alex said, looking at all of us. “Let’s call it a day and regroup tomorrow.” He looked at me for a long moment, but apparently decided against pushing the issue of whatever had changed for me. We finished off the bowl and everyone started gathering to leave. “Hey,” Dan said, catching up with me on my way out of the studio, headed to my car. “Sophie

has some party she’s going to--bachelorette kind of thing. She’ll be out until dawn. Want to hang out?” I shook my head. “Nothing personal,” I told him; and for once, it was actually true. “I just already made plans for the evening.” Dan frowned. “You have met someone, haven’t you?” I rolled my eyes. “Nick is not a mind reader, and Alex isn’t either.” “I think it’s good,” Dan said with a shrug. “If you want to keep it to yourself for a while, then do it. Who am I to judge?” He grinned and stepped back and I rolled my eyes again; but I couldn’t help but grin to myself as I went the rest of the way to my car. I couldn’t wait to get back to Allie.

CHAPTER EIGHT I felt Allie stirring in the bed next to me; I’d been awake for maybe twenty minutes, listening to her breathing, thinking about the album and the band and everything. “You awake?” I opened my eyes and looked at Allie. “Yeah,” I said, smiling at her. “And apparently, you are, too.” I threw my arm around her waist and pulled myself closer to her. I’d been seeing her for three weeks; ever since the festival weekend. I still hadn’t told anyone in the band. I still didn’t know if there was anything to tell them. “You in the studio today?” I shook my head. “Today I am all yours,” I told her. I buried my face against the back of her neck. I still hadn’t managed to figure out how she somehow smelled so good all the time--even when she was drenched in sweat, even when she hadn’t showered. It wasn’t perfume, it wasn’t her soap or her shampoo. It was just something about her skin, about her. “How’s the current assignment going?” Allie shrugged. “Pretty boring, photoshoot stuff,” she said. “Did I mention? Spin picked up a few of my pictures from you playing with Bent Bridges. Nice tidy profit on that.” I chuckled. “If they paid for those, imagine how much

they’d pay for naked pics of me in your bed,” I joked. “Not their scene,” Allie countered. She turned around in my arms to face me. “You haven’t really been all that forthcoming about how the album’s going.” “Don’t want to jinx it,” I told her. “Things are actually going really well.” “Maybe you guys could use some pictures out there, give the mags an update.” “You’re forgetting,” I said, tapping the end of Allie’s nose lightly. “Nick’s dating a journalist. If anyone was going to give the magazines an update it would probably be her.” Allie shrugged. “She’s a writer,” she pointed out. “Not a photog. I could get some good shots in that environment. Maybe even something worth putting in the album artwork.” “That’s a thought,” I said, considering it. “Is that your oh-so-subtle way of saying you want to meet the rest of Molly Riot?” Allie smiled. “I do kind of wonder if you’re not…” she shrugged. “We haven’t really talked about what this is.” “Do you want to?” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s pretty good the way things are.” “You haven’t told anyone else about us, right?” Allie raised an eyebrow. I looked down; her tits were especially great that morning.

“No,” I admitted. “I guess I didn’t want to jinx this either.” Allie shifted against me, sitting up a little bit. “How would telling your friends about this jinx it?” “I don’t know.” I took a quick breath. “It just seems like everything is so good, and if I push it...if I try and bring it more out into the open, or analyze it, it’s going to fall to shit.” “The drama with the band really spooked you, didn’t it?” I sat up in bed; I felt uncomfortable again--itchy, like there was something just under my skin. “Look,” I suggested. “Let’s stay in bed all day. There’s a fucking awesome pizza place up the street, and they deliver. We’ll screw around all day, and eat pizza and wings, and tomorrow we can talk about what this is, and what the deal with the band is.” “I can wait until tomorrow to talk about the band,” Allie told me. “But I do want to know what this is. Why you won’t even tell the other guys in the band about me, much less define what we’ve got going. Personally, I like it a lot--but I want to know if I should care about it, if I should count on it continuing, or not.” I combed my hair back from my forehead and looked at the shapes of her legs under the bedsheet. “I like you a lot,” I said finally. I couldn’t look at

Allie while I said it. “I’m scared of how much I like you. It’s fucking complicated as hell.” “I like you a lot too,” Allie told me. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Mark. And the sex is fucking amazing.” I reached around on the bedside table until I found my cigarettes. “I need a smoke.” “I’ll join you,” Allie suggested. I almost told her not to, but it was obvious that we weren’t going to be able to get back to fucking each other’s brains out until we came to the end of the conversation. I grabbed my cigs and lighter and climbed out of the bed. My boxers were on the floor, halfway across the room, and I snagged them on my way out to the balcony attached to by bedroom. Allie settled for my bathrobe to cover herself up, and we both went out onto the balcony. I lit a cigarette and I handed her one as well. “So,” she said. “We like each other. The sex is incredible. We’ve been doing this for weeks. What are we calling it?” I took a long drag--as long as my lungs could stand--and held it for a moment before exhaling. “Do you want to be my girlfriend, Allie?” I barely met her gaze. I hadn’t realized how much the idea of actually naming what was going on between us--meeting up at each other’s apartments, grabbing dinner somewhere, fucking each other’s brains out, talking until dawn--was eating at me. I

had thought I was over the Sophie and Dan thing. Apparently not. “I’d like to, yeah,” Allie said, her voice rippling with amusement. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I chuckled and took another drag of smoke down into my lungs. “Jesus fuck that sounds weird,” I said, shaking my head. “Yeah, I want to be your boyfriend.” “You’re not about to tell me that you’re going to keep this a secret from the band still, right?” I glanced at Allie. “Why are you so keen on meeting them?” Allie rolled her eyes, giving me a bland look. “They’re a big part of your life,” she pointed out. “You spend most of your time with them. They’re obviously important to you--so yeah, I want to meet them.” “And get some amazing pictures?” Allie pulled on her cigarette. “I won’t bring my camera,” she told me. “I’ll just meet them as your new girlfriend, that’s all.” I looked at her for a moment. She was beautiful-more beautiful every time I saw her. She had gone ahead and sold pictures of me to a magazine, but I knew she’d be shopping them around. None of the pictures she’d taken were anything I should be ashamed of; nothing had been captured that I hadn’t told the guys about afterward. But part of me liked having some kind of secret from them--it

felt like a weird kind of payback for Dan keeping Sophie a secret, for the way that no one in the band seemed to really be discussing the new dynamic, even though we were playing together better than ever before. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll introduce you. But no camera equipment. And let’s not tell them you’re a photog until after they already know you.” I finished off my cigarette and stubbed it out. “One of your guitarists is dating a journalist and you’re worried they’re going to think I’m horrible for being a photographer?” Allie shrugged. “And what if they ask about my job in the first ten minutes?” “Olivia is already part of the Molly Riot Girlfriends club,” I told Allie. “They’re used to her. But things are tense right now.” I kissed her on the forehead and turned to go back into the apartment. “To prove that I’m on board, I’m going to go set up a hangout right now.” I grinned at Allie. “Assuming anyone is actually free to hang out tonight.” I went inside and found my phone and decided to try Dan first. I opened up my messages and typed a quick text. Hey bro. You free tonight? There’s someone I want you to meet. Dan would know right away what that meant--he and I had actually, shock of shocks, managed to hang out on occasion, since things sort of cleared up between us. He kept dropping hints about the woman he

thought was in my life, but didn’t push it if I told him to back off. I sent texts to Jules and Nick saying almost the same thing; I almost didn’t text Alex, but at the last moment I decided I might as well get it all out of the way if it was humanly possible. “You hungry?” Allie looked up from her phone in response to my question. “Pizza?” “Definitely.”

CHAPTER NINE I could tell that Allie was trying not to fidget. The guys had all--one by one--agreed to meet with me, and I was pretty sure they’d all figured out that I wanted to introduce them to my new girlfriend. “It’s going to be okay,” I told her. “You’re just meeting them as my girlfriend.” “Yeah but you’ve got me all squirrely about it,” Allie said, giving me a quick, nervous smile just before she took a sip of her beer. “Avoiding telling them about myself, all that.” “It’s going to be fine,” I told her again. “They’ll love you.” “So you say,” Allie said, setting her beer down. She took a deep breath. “I’ll try not to be nervous.” I’d arranged for the guys to meet us at Dubliner, since it was more or less central to where everyone lived. We’d played there a few times-good shows, all of them--and I figured it would be as good a meeting place as any, with the good memories attached to it. I knocked back a shot of Jameson and looked around, wanting to make sure if possible that I spotted whoever got there first before they spotted me. I saw Dan step into the bar, and took a sip of my beer. “One of four,” I told Allie quietly. He

hadn’t brought Sophie with him--I assumed she was working. I raised a hand and waved him over, and Dan spotted me. He nodded and walked over to the table I’d taken, smiling. Sophie is good for him. “You must be the new girlfriend,” Dan said, sitting down and reaching across the table to Allie. “Allie Havers,” Allie said, shaking his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you,” Dan told her. “Should I buy a round for the rest of the guys?” I shrugged. “I was going to wait until at least one more showed up, but we can go ahead.” Dan raised a hand and one of the waiters came to the table--the same one who had brought beer and shots for Allie and me. Nick arrived as the waiter walked off to get a round for all of the band, and the introductions started up again. I felt both relieved and anxious at the same time, as Allie chatted with my bandmates. Jules showed up next, and came to the table looking less morose than usual, more interested in what was going on. After a while, Alex came in too. “So, I’m assuming you met Mark at the festival a few weeks ago,” Alex said, giving me a look. “How’d it happen?” My heart pounded in my chest; Allie looked at me and smiled weakly, and then turned her attention back onto my bandmates. “I took a picture of him,” Allie said. “He was walking back to the Bent Bridges green room after

hanging out with another band, and I saw him…” she shrugged. “He just looked perfect that way. And I just had to do it.” “What brought you to the festival? Are you a journalist? Or crew, something like that?” Somehow while everyone was arriving, the topic of what Allie did for a living had fallen by the wayside. “Photographer, actually,” she said. “Freelance.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “She got some pictures of me and Bent Bridges into Spin magazine,” I told the rest of the guys in the band. “From what I saw they were pretty fucking decent.” “You’re just so photogenic, though,” Dan said, giving me a pretend-flirty look. “How much did you make on them?” Nick sipped his beer. “Liv is thinking about freelancing.” “I made enough to justify the trip to the festival,” Allie said with a shrug. “It’ll pay the bills for a month.” “I should put you in touch with my girlfriend,” Nick said. “So how did you decide to take a picture of Mark?” I looked at Alex; I’d heard that tone in his voice before, and it set off warning bells in my head. “I recognized him,” Allie admitted. “And he just looked...it was the perfect picture. Just the way he was standing, the way he was walking. You’ll

see it in the magazine next month.” She grinned. “She actually suggested that it might be a good idea for her to come into the studio, take a few pictures of us at work,” I said. “I thought it might be a cool idea, once we’re all comfortable and all that.” Alex knocked back a shot. “So, you knew who he was?” Allie nodded. “I mean, I live in South Florida and I mostly do photography in the music industry. So, I mean, of course I knew who he was.” “And you took a bunch more pictures of him and Bent Bridges and hooked up?” Allie nodded. “Seemed like a good idea, since I was sure that Mark covering Neely would be a decent story.” “One of those things,” I said, giving Alex a look of my own. “And now that we’ve been seeing each other for a while and things haven’t imploded, I figured that I’d introduce her to you guys.” “How long have you been working?” Jules looked almost as irritated at Alex’s questions as I felt. “Couple of years,” Allie said. Dan ordered another round and I tried to think of a way to change the subject. “It’s interesting, the way you two met,” Dan said. He looked at me and grinned; I rolled my eyes at him, remembering the pep talk he’d given me months before. “It’s good,” Jules said. “You look happy

together.” “So far we are,” I said. “It’s not serious yet but we’re getting more serious.” We ordered some food for the table, and I started to relax a bit. Maybe Alex wouldn’t be a shit. Maybe everything would be okay, and this wouldn’t turn into new drama--new drama that I would be the cause of. “What have you guys been doing together?” “Other than having tons of sex?” I grinned at Allie, who rolled her eyes. “The usual stuff: movies, we went to a show the other night.” “Were you working?” I glanced at Alex. “Nah, it was just fun,” Allie said. “Just a night out.” We kept talking, and I started to relax again. Alex was a bit quiet, which was weird for him, but I told myself that it was better for him to be silent than to be asking suspicious, probing questions. Allie’s phone buzzed and she checked it, and made a face. “What’s up?” Allie shook her head. “Client,” she said. “They want to talk about a shoot next week. Right now.” I shrugged. “You’ve met my best friends,” I pointed out. “Go take the call.” Allie smiled wryly. “Freelance life--never not on call,” she said, gathering up her purse and phone. “I’ll be back.” I watched her leave the table and step out of the bar. “So, thoughts?” I looked at each of my

bandmates. “I like her,” Dan said. “You’ve always had a thing for blondes.” “I have not,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She’s cool.” “She wants to come into the studio and take pictures of us?” I shrugged. “She thought it might be cool,” I said. “It’s not set in stone or anything. But it might make for some cool album artwork, give us something to distribute on the site, something like that.” Alex looked at me for a long moment. “She recognized you immediately. Before she even introduced herself to you.” “And that’s a problem because…?” I shook my head. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a big band. She works the local scene. It’s not crazy for her to have recognized me.” “I just think it’s weird that she just happened to take a picture of you, and just happened to end up hooking up with you, and now she wants to do pictures of the band in the studio. Who all does she have as clients?” “She’s got a couple of magazines that buy from her, some smaller clothing labels that hire her, the usual stuff that freelancers do,” I said. “Nick’s dating an actual journalist--you never had a problem with that.” “I’m not saying I have a problem with it,”

Alex said. “I’m just saying, it’s a little weird that she just met you randomly at the festival and wanted to date you and now conveniently thinks it’d be a good idea to do promo photography for us.” “She had no way of knowing I’d be at the festival,” I pointed out. “I wasn’t planning on being there until Nate called to ask me to fill in for Neely.” “Whatever,” Alex said, shrugging. “She seems nice enough. Just don’t buy in too much too soon.” I glared at him. “You dated your rehab counselor before you were even out of rehab,” I told him. “How the fuck are you going to give me life advice?” “Let’s just let Mark run his own love life,” Nick suggested. “If Allie’s using him, it’ll become obvious and we can take him out to the strip club if and when he has to dump her. If she’s not using him, then we can just be happy he found someone.” “Am I the only one who remembers how much nicer things have been since Mark started getting laid regularly?” Jules raised a shot and we all did the same. “I mean, fuck--if that’s what it took to make the band work again, she can use him all she wants.” “That’s not what this is about,” Alex said. “I’m just saying: I’m worried about it. It all seems too fucking convenient.”

“You’re worried that I’m actually happy for once?” I rolled my eyes. “You wanted to meet her. You and everyone else in this band has been dropping hints left and right about how I must have met someone to be this happy, and now I finally show you who it is and you want to fuck it up by suggesting that she’s just using me?” “He has a point, you know,” Nick said, giving Alex a quick, sideways look. “Come on, ‘Lex. Don’t fuck up the evening. It’s been months since we’ve all been out at the same time. Just fucking enjoy it with the rest of us and give your crusade for the band’s purity a rest for the night.” Alex glared at Nick but there wasn’t really anything he could say. “Fine,” Alex said finally. “Let’s just get drunk and celebrate the fact that we’re halfway through recording the album, and Mark is finally getting laid regularly.” I raised my beer to that and we started talking about something else; I kept an eye out for Allie, waiting for her to get back from talking on the phone to her client. I was pretty sure that when she did come back to the table, she was going to have to deal with awkwardness from Alex, and the whole vibe going off because nobody else but him really had an issue with her. Instead, a few minutes later my phone buzzed, and I slipped it out of my pocket. Nobody was really paying attention to me anymore, so I could

check it without anyone commenting. Hey--client said she needed to see the proofs I came up with again, and of course she deleted them yesterday. I grabbed a Lyft back to your place. The key’s still under the blue frog, right? I replied to tell her that it was and told the guys that Allie had had to run back to my place to get some stuff together for the client that had messaged her earlier. I didn’t want to think anything of it, but a look flashed across Alex’s face when I told the rest of the guys the news, and I knew that the subject of whether Allie was dating me because she liked me or for some ulterior motive reared its ugly head once again.

CHAPTER TEN “What do you think of these?” Allie slid a binder into my lap, open to reveal a photo proof of one of the up-and-coming local bands, Georgie Pendleton. I’d seen them live with Allie about two weeks before, and she’d chatted them up after the show at Culture Room, suggesting that since they were getting ready to put out an EP--and since they had some financial backing in the form of a smalltime label--she could give them a good rate on promo material. I flipped through the proofs, looking at them for a few seconds each. Georgie Pendleton was a hardcore band--not generally my cup of tea, but pretty good for what they were--and Allie had taken an unusual route with the photo shoot, with warm lighting instead of cold, and bright colors contrasting with the band’s uniform of darks. “Yeah Yeah Yeahs inspired?” I glanced at Allie. She shrugged. “Just wanted to play a bit with stereotypes,” she told me. I nodded. “I’m going to ask the guys again if they think it might be a good idea for you to come into the studio for a day or so,” I said. Allie raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you said Alex was against the idea?” I shrugged. It had been about two weeks since Allie had met the guys, and while Alex hadn’t brought up the weird suspicions he’d had about Allie again, I’d caught him more than once scowling when I texted Allie during breaks in the studio. “Jules and Nick are into it,” I told her. It was true; Jules and Nick had both mentioned that they thought it was a good idea. They’d mentioned it away from Alex, but they’d mentioned it. Dan hadn’t said anything about it specifically, but he’d said more than once in the past two weeks that he was glad for me, that he wanted Sophie to get to know Allie better. “Oh--and Olivia wants to talk about maybe borrowing you for a story she’s working on,” I added. “She does?” Allie had met Olivia about a week before, on some bizarre kind of double date Nick had cooked up. Allie seemed pleased--more pleased than I expected, although of course it was probably always on the top of her mind to keep work in the funnel. “She liked the stuff you showed her from the festival and all that,” I said. “I think she’s doing some kind of special report, wants high quality photos.” “I’ll shoot her an email,” Allie said, smiling to herself. “That actually works out pretty well--one

of my clients canceled their project, and I could use something to fill in.” “I don’t know when she’s going to need you,” I pointed out. “It’s all good,” Allie said. She reached over me to pick up her half-empty beer from the coffee table. “So, you think I should take pictures of the band?” I glanced at her. I’d tried not to let Alex’s petty, bullshit suspicions get to me, but I hadn’t quite been able to shake the sneaky little accusation he’d made: that Allie had engineered everything, our meeting and all, to try and pick up high caliber work. “Could be fun,” I said, nodding. “And I mean, Nick and Jules like the idea. Dan I’m sure probably thinks it’ll be cool.” “But not Alex,” Allie said. I shrugged. “Alex doesn’t like anyone who’s not Mary,” I joked. “Hell, I’m not even convinced he likes the rest of the band that much anymore.” Allie raised an eyebrow at that. “Kidding,” I added. “Kind of, anyway.” “I thought you said the drama had come to an end,” Allie said, looking concerned. “It has, more or less,” I said quickly. “But you know how it is when you get a room full of guys: testosterone everywhere.” I tried to smile, to reassure her. “Besides, there are some aspects of the drama that was going on before you came along

that never really fully got resolved.” Allie sipped her beer and thought for a moment, and I tried again to push any thought of her being some kind of fucking Machiavelli of photographers out of my mind. “I’ve watched a lot of bands interact,” Allie said finally. “I mean--obviously, I have. It’s sort of a big part of the job.” I nodded. “I feel like there’s something special with you and the other guys in Molly Riot, that vibe--no one really knows what to call it--that makes you good.” “You’ve been watching us that closely?” I smirked at her. “You haven’t spent that much time with us.” “Not as a full group, obviously,” Allie said, shrugging it off. “But I’ve seen you with Nick, and with Dan. And I did have that evening with the whole band, and obviously, I’ve seen you interacting in interviews and stuff.” “Okay,” I said, holding her gaze for a moment. “Go on.” “I’m just saying, from watching you guys interact, you have something,” Allie said. “Something that bands kill to have. You’re greater than the sum of your parts.” “And you got this from watching interviews of us and a few dates?” I looked at Allie a little skeptically. “Just how many interviews did you watch?” Allie rolled her eyes.

“The important thing is that you and the rest of the band have something real,” she insisted. “I’m not going to say that you should dump me if Alex wants you to or anything, but maybe it would be worth talking to him one-on-one, making him understand--or at least trying.” “We don’t really do that so much,” I said, making a face. “I mean, I do that with Dan--or I used to, at least, a lot more. I’m starting to be better friends with Nick. But as a rule, we don’t have these like, big, heartfelt chats about our feelings.” Allie snorted. “You obviously talk about stuff,” she pointed out. “You guys were able to get enough in touch with your feelings to agree to send Alex to rehab, and you have to have been talking at least a little in dealing with this drama.” “A lot of it has been shouting,” I countered. Allie snickered. “What I mean is, don’t invite me into the studio to take pictures if you think Alex is going to be an asshole about it. I don’t want to be the elephant in the room.” I looked her up and down slowly. “You could never be an elephant,” I told her, giving her a little grin. “Talk to Alex,” Allie said firmly. “And if he Okays it, I’ll come in and take some shots, and we’ll see what we get from it.”

“I will talk to Alex,” I promised. “But for right now he is the last person on the planet I want to be thinking about.” Allie grinned slowly. “Is that so?” She took the photo binder out of my lap and set it aside. “What would you rather be thinking about?” “Oh, I’m already thinking about it,” I told her, letting my gaze linger on her tits for a moment before shifting down to her hips, her legs curled up underneath her, and what was in between. “I’m thinking I want to spend the rest of the day relaxing, maybe order in some Chinese later, and see if we can beat our personal best.” “That actually sounds pretty good,” Allie said, stretching just enough for the hem of her tank top to ride up and reveal the tanned skin of her belly just above the waistband of her shorts. It was enough to make my mouth water; even if I wasn’t entirely sure that Alex’s stupid comments about Allie only hooking up with me for the purposes of working with the band were false, I couldn’t deny that I was into her. I took the beer bottle away from Allie and set it aside, leaning in to kiss her on the lips. We must have had sex a hundred times already in the month since we started seeing each other, but every time I swear to god was better than the last. I pinned Allie down onto the couch and covered her body with mine, kissing her deeper,

starting to touch her all over. I wanted to feel her skin against mine, I wanted to get my hands on her tits, I wanted to feel her pussy wrapped around my cock. I slipped my hands up under her tank top; Allie wasn’t wearing anything underneath, so in an instant I was cupping her full, firm tits, teasing her nipples with my thumbs, rubbing them as we started to move together. At first it was just making out, like horny teenagers going at it for the first time, not in a real hurry to get to the main event but heating up every moment our bodies were pressed together. Little by little, the clothes started to come off; I got tired of feeling Allie up under her shirt and broke away from her lips just long enough to pull it over her head, and she hauled my tee shirt up around my shoulders, pausing for a second until we could get untangled enough for her to take it off of me. It took a little longer for us to get to each other’s bottoms--my jeans and Allie’s shorts--but not that much longer. In minutes that felt like they might have been hours, we were both almost naked, touching each other everywhere, rubbing against each other like cats in heat. I could feel how wet Allie already was through the lacy fabric of her panties as I rubbed along her labia, stroking her. She moaned out, pushing her hips down, trying to get better contact with my fingers even as she started to rub my throbbing,

aching cock through my boxers. “Fuck, sweetie,” I murmured against her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin there. “I can already feel how hot you are.” “Stop wasting time, then,” Allie suggested, her voice breathless in my ears. “You can tell I want you.” “I want to make it last,” I told her. “If I--fuck-if I get inside you right now I’m going to lose it in minutes.” I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugged them down over her hips. I wanted her--that much I was sure of--but I needed to take my time. I moved down over her body slowly, kissing and nibbling and licking and sucking. I stayed at her boobs for a while, worshipping her with my mouth, giving her a taste of what I was working towards. I looked up at her face as I moved down towards her hips; she was flushed, her eyes closed, her lips red and parted--she looked so fucking hot. I pulled her panties the rest of the way down and spread her legs wide, and breathed in the smell of her: just a little sweet under that sharp, clean, ocean scent. I buried my face against her pussy and fought the urge to grin to myself as Allie moaned out in reaction, pushing her hips down for better contact. I sucked and licked, nuzzling against her soaking wet folds, finding her clit with the tip of my tongue and barely missing it on purpose. I tried a trick Nick had

mentioned once: I began forming the letters of the alphabet with my tongue, swiping the tip against her soaking wet skin in an A, a B, a C, all the way through until I got to S. Allie cried out, her hips bucking under me, and I felt her fingers tangling in my hair, her hands tugging at me. I kept it up, teasing her relentlessly, even as my cock throbbed against the couch cushions. I brought Allie to the edge of climax, over and over again for as long as I could stand it, reading the cues in the way her body tensed up, the sound of her moans and little cries of pleasure. I was so turned on by the smell, the taste, the feeling, the sound of her that after a while I actually thought I might die if I didn’t feel her wrapped around my cock; I thought if I didn’t get off, my balls might explode. I pulled back and at first Allie protested, opening her eyes and looking at me with disappointment. I chuckled and slithered up her body, claiming her mouth with mine, moving against her, shifting down between her hips. She caught on in a heartbeat and wrapped her legs around my waist, rubbing her soaking wet folds against my aching cock. It took everything I had not to come right then and there, but I held back, reaching down to guide myself up against her. I took a deep breath and thrust into her all at once, clamping down on how turned on I was, riding

through the first wave of sensation as her muscles rippled around me, squeezing me like her body itself didn’t want to let me go. I started moving inside of her as soon as I could, rocking my hips, pulling out an inch--or two inches--and then pushing deeper and deeper inside of her. Allie fell into my rhythm right away, moving in perfect counterpoint to my beat, her hips twisting against mine and her pussy tightening around me as she came closer and closer to orgasm. I kept thrusting, kept the beat going for as long as I could, holding out for the huge climax I knew would hit me if I let it wait long enough. All at once, the tension deep down in my hips shattered, and wave after wave of pleasure washed through me, lighting up my nervous system. I felt the little twitches of Allie’s muscles spasm around my cock as she came too, moaning out; her fingernails digging into my back as I tried to keep it up as long as I possibly could. We both collapsed against the couch, panting and gasping, drenched in sweat when we finished, and I was already mentally ready for more by the time Allie’s breathing began to slow down. “Remember to talk to Alex,” she told me. I laughed and shook my head. “If you tell me that was on your mind while I was fucking you, I’m going to dump you right now,” I told her, kissing her on her lips so she

wouldn’t--couldn’t--answer. It was a joke, but it was also the truth; I didn’t want to admit to myself how much truth was in it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN A day or so later, I was in the studio again. According to Jules, Alex had stayed late the last time, listening to the tracks with Jack, going over everything. It was actually starting to look like we might have a real album to put out--and it was coming together before the label could think to ditch us, to pay us off and let us go. “Yo,” Nick said, coming into the live room where I was checking on my kit. “Think we’ll actually get anything done today?” I tightened one of the wingnuts on a cymbal. “Or do you think Alex is going to fuck around with vocals on that pet song of his?” “Ron’s come down on him pretty hard,” Nick pointed out. “More than the rest of us--more than you, and you’re the big reason we initially had such a fucking delay.” He grinned to show me he didn’t actually mean it--or at least, that if he meant it, he wasn’t taking the delay as a serious issue anymore. “So I think he’s doing all that fuckery after hours now.” “Good for him,” I said. I sat back and surveyed my kit. It hadn’t felt quite exactly right ever since I’d played the festival gig with Bent Bridges; it was familiar, and everything was the

way I’d set it up, the way I’d always set it up, but I had the feeling like I was missing something. “Mary can’t be too pleased with that.” “I hear they’re fighting,” Nick said. He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. “By which I mean, Mary’s been bitching to Liv about it, and Liv’s been pointing out that Mary owes Alex some space after last month’s debacle at the treatment center.” For a while, Mary had had a job as Alex’s life coach, keeping him sober--or at least off of hard drugs, even if he still occasionally drank--on the label’s payroll. But she’d gotten tired of only having one client, and had managed to use her connections to get a new job at a mental health facility once again. “Yeah, but that wasn’t her fault,” I pointed out to Nick. “She didn’t ask to be trapped in a weeklong lockdown.” “Still,” Nick said with a shrug. “Whatever it is. Alex’s boxers are fucking bunching in his crack.” I rolled my eyes. That would make Allie’s suggestion that I talk to our lead singer one-on-one a little harder to follow through on. “Allie wants me to talk to Alex,” I told Nick. “She’s still spooked at Alex’s insistence that she only hooked up with me to get access to the band and pad her career.” Nick snorted and rolled his eyes. “You know, for a guy who doesn’t smoke

weed anymore, he sure is fucking paranoid,” Nick said. He lit a cigarette and walked over to his gear, looking at it with almost the same amount of affection as I’d seen on his face when he looked at his girlfriend. “Liv is setting up to work with your girl, by the way--she’s keen to get started on the project. Maybe you can dodge both bullets and Allie will be too busy to even think about doing studio pics.” “Maybe,” I said, hoping against hope that that would be the case. It would sure as hell make my life that little bit easier. “You know, maybe you should talk to Lex,” Nick said after a moment of making sure that his guitars had come to no harm while he’d been away. “What do you mean?” I started checking to make sure I had enough fresh drumsticks to last through the session. “I mean, he’s being an asshole, but it’s kind of understandable,” Nick said. “You said it yourself months ago: everything is changing to fucking fast, none of us is really in control anymore. That bugs the shit out of Alex more than anything else in the world could.” “So, what is me talking to him supposed to accomplish?” I lit a cigarette of my own. Nick flicked ash off the tip of his into an ashtray and shrugged. “It’ll give him the illusion that something is

under his control again,” Nick said. “That people care about his opinions beyond just going with them to stroke his ego because it’s easiest that way.” I laughed. It was true and not true; we had a kind of democracy in the band--we never made a move that we didn’t all agree on--once upon a time. But as things had changed, from Alex going to rehab, to Jules starting a solo project with his girlfriend, and then the massive shit show that the current album had started out being, we’d lost sight of that. Nobody had single veto power on anything anymore. Alex’s opinion was still important, but we’d all kind of grown more independent in certain ways. “His poor fucking ego,” I muttered. “It’s served us well before,” Nick countered, smirking. “Anyway, I think it’ll help things if you make him think his opinion about your love life matters.” “What do you think?” Of the members of the band, the only two whose opinions I really cared about--at the end of the day--were Nick’s and Dan’s. So far, I thought they seemed pretty on board with me dating Allie, but some little voice in the back of my head insisted that they were just going along with it because it made things more pleasant. “I think she’s a talented photographer, and a fun person to be around,” Nick said with a shrug. “I

think she’s good for you.” He looked at me and stubbed his cigarette out, blowing a plume of smoke out through his lips. “I also think that if she is just using you to get ahead, we can easily destroy her career in a week.” “You think it’s possible?” I stared at Nick. He shrugged again. “Anything is possible,” he pointed out. “It’s possible that the only reason Fran hooked up with Jules was to further her chances of a solo career.” He paused and strummed a quick chord. “I don’t think it’s that likely. If Allie was just interested in getting access to the band for career purposes, she wouldn’t be hanging around for what--a month or more?” Nick paused. “Unless she’s super patient, she’d have dashed as soon as it became clear that wasn’t going to work out quickly for her.” “What if she is super patient, though?” Jules had come into the room without either of us hearing him. “Then Mark gets some grade-A ass for a while and when she makes her intentions clear we destroy her in the industry,” Nick replied matter-offactly. I looked at my bandmates, a little shocked. “Destroy her?” Jules smirked. “If she’d been just using you to get access to the band, would it really bother you to ruin her livelihood for a while?” I thought about that--I couldn’t help it--for a few moments.

“If she were just using me, then I guess…” I sighed. “If she’s just using me then she’s putting on an excellent fucking front.” “I don’t think she’s using you,” Jules said, sitting down next to one of the monitors. “But like Nick said, it’s a possibility. You can’t ignore it.” “I’ve been trying to,” I told him. “Because if I treat it like it’s a thing then everything she does is suspicious as hell.” “That’s a good point,” Nick said. “Are we getting started soon, or what?” “Alex is on the phone with Ron,” Jules told us. “I figure another fifteen minutes or so before he gets his ass in here. Dan’s grabbing a beer in the break room. Jack is setting something up in the control room.” “Feel like jamming for a few minutes while we wait?” I looked at Jules and Nick. They shrugged and picked up their instruments, made sure they were plugged in properly to the monitors. We started out playing an old Strokes song, loose-goose, just following the movements, and after we’d gone through it, Nick took the base note of the melodic line and started into a new groove, and I followed him for a few bars until Jules came in. It felt good--it felt almost like playing with Bent Bridges had: fun, low-stakes, and spontaneous. I thought to myself a big part of the problem with Molly Riot, why we didn’t seem to be gelling as

much as we used to, at least at the beginning of the recording process, was that we just didn’t do shit like this anymore. We went into rehearsal spaces to work. We went into the studio to work. We got down to business and stayed on task--which was what the label tended to want. There wasn’t any of this fooling around, no playing with melodies. Dan came in, and then finally Alex, and I felt the tightening in my gut that told me that playtime was over; it was time to get to work. “What are we working on today?” “We’ve got another two or three songs,” Dan said. “And then we can send the first rough crop to the label.” I looked at Alex for a moment, safely concealed by my drum kit. “Let’s get down to it, then,” I said, taking a deep breath and stretching my shoulders a bit. At least the little jam session had been fun.

CHAPTER TWELVE I saw Alex leaving the studio during the break and decided it was just as good a time as any to have the talk with him. I didn’t want to do it; I didn’t even think that it would go particularly well. But I might as well get it over with, I figured--there didn’t seem to be a good time until after the album came out to do it, and then it would be beside the point. “Yo--Lex,” I called out, following him out of the studio. “Wait up.” He turned around and raised an eyebrow at me, but stopped. “What’s up?” “I wanna talk to you for a second,” I told him. Alex kept looking at me for a moment and let me come towards him, looking skeptical, but not pissed. “It’s about her, isn’t it?” Alex cracked the knuckles on his right hand and leaned against Jules’ car. “If by her you mean my girlfriend, yeah,” I said. “She’s after you to do a photoshoot, isn’t she?” I counted to five mentally. “Actually, I’m pushing that idea,” I told him. “Dan and Nick are down for it, Jules is indifferent,

but she thought I should get your approval before I suggested it to the label or to Ron.” “She’s a decent photographer,” Alex said, moving to his other hand to crack the knuckles there, too. “But don’t be surprised if she dumps you as soon as she gets the score.” I rolled my eyes. “You know, when you found Mary I was happy for you,” I pointed out. “I have been happy for just about every member of this fucking band finding women who like them.” “Except Dan,” Alex countered. “Do you really care about that? It’s resolved.” “It threw off our schedule by months,” Alex said. “So, you’re still blaming me even though we’ve turned the corner and are putting out a better album as a result.” “I’m saying that you’re being a fucking idiot,” Alex said. “She’s using you.” “So you keep saying.” I sighed. “Look--if she’s using me and you’re right about it, then you get to be big old Mister-Fucking-Right and I’ll take my lumps like the damned chump I’ll be,” I said. “But it pisses me the fuck off because it looks more like you can’t deal with me having something of my own for once.” “Everyone in the band has something of their own,” Alex said, rolling his eyes. “That’s not the fucking problem. The fucking problem is that

you’re not paying attention.” “I’m not?” I waved towards the studio we’d just walked out of. “I’m working as hard as anyone else in the band, asshole. I’m laying my tracks down, doing my work. I’m more on top of things than I was two months ago, that’s for damned sure.” “And you’re so wrapped up with her pussy that you don’t care whether she’s actually with you because she wants to be with you or because she wants to get some career action and then move on,” Alex insisted. “And then when she does dump you because she’s got what she wanted, you’re going to act like an asshole again, and who even knows whether it’ll be while we’re trying to finish the album or trying to promote it or touring for it--any of those times you going all to shit again would fuck everything up.” “Oh, right, because I’m such a fucking wimp that losing a girl is going to derail me again,” I said, shaking my head. “Look, I wanted to talk to you because Nick and Jules thought it was a good idea, and because Allie is at least honest enough to not want to push any kind of professional involvement without you being okay with her.” “You’ve done it,” Alex said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what now?” “Now you either decide if you’re okay enough with her taking some pictures of us so we can

promote our own fucking album, or you decide you’re going to be a petty fucking asshole and shit all over the best thing that’s happened to me in over a year.” “Invite her to take pictures,” Alex said. “I don’t really care. But you better fucking promise me that when she ditches you, you’re still going to be capable of doing your goddamn job.” “You know,” I said, taking a quick breath and shaking my head slowly, “this band used to be about us hanging out. Having a good time together. Being fucking friends in a group.” “That went out the window when we started to let management decide things for us,” Alex said. “Why does it have to?” I held his gaze for a minute. “I mean yeah, we can let Ron and the label decide some things--that’s what the fuck they’re there for. The goal was to make our lives easier, to let us focus on the fucking music. All we’ve done is become some fucking hit factory.” “Don’t like it? This is what success as a band is,” Alex said. “No, this is what selling out is,” I countered. “We don’t have to be businessmen to make this work. We can be goddamned friends. We used to be able to do that.” “As your friend, I’m worried that you’re going to lose your fucking mind if it turns out that Allie is using you,” Alex said. “As the lead singer of your

band, as one of the guys working with you, I’m worried that you losing your fucking mind is going to cost all of us money.” “I’m worried that if we can’t fucking exist as friends anymore without ripping each other’s asses over the choices we make, we’re not going to be a fucking band anymore,” I told Alex. “Everything is like this, any time there’s any little shake-up. Someone gets pissy and everyone either is for or against and we sit around in stalemate for fucking weeks until someone breaks.” I shook my head again. “And you’re pitching your own bitchfest over me dating someone and trying to dress it up as being worried about me.” I scrubbed at my face with my hands. “Look--this was a mistake. Forget I said anything.” “It wasn’t a mistake,” Alex said quietly. “Let’s talk about this again when we’re not on break.” “We’re not in the studio that much longer,” I pointed out. “If you want her to come in and take some shots, invite her,” Alex said. “I’ll be pleasant to her.” “But you don’t like her or trust her,” I said. “I don’t have to like her or trust her to be pleasant to her,” Alex said, smiling slightly. “I don’t like or trust our A&R guy at the label, and he doesn’t even know it.” I laughed. “Fifty bucks says he does,” I countered. “But

he’s A&R--it’s probably pretty rare that any artists like or trust him.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN “You’re sure this isn’t going to be a shit show?” Allie had her camera around her neck; she’d ridden out to the studio with me, and we’d parked a minute before. “Alex says he’ll be pleasant to you,” I told her. I’d told her more or less about the conversation, about how Alex didn’t like or trust her--but was willing to basically go along to get along. She hadn’t been all that enthused, and when she’d agreed to come along anyway I had to admit that there was something like an alarm bell in my brain telling me it was another sign that Alex was right--but she’d agreed to come along. “I want the shots to be as candid as possible,” Allie said, checking her equipment. “I guess I’ll just hang around, and wait for things to kind of settle in.” “Probably best,” I said, steeling myself for the initial drama. I could count on Dan and Nick to be solid. I could probably count on Jules to be charming in his usual snarky, sarcastic way. I didn’t know what Alex would do. “We’ve got a long day of tracking ahead of us--trying to wrap things up as much as possible,” I added. “If you need to head out, you can use the car--I’ll catch a ride home with

Nick.” “If you can hang for the whole day, I can,” Allie said, smiling at me. “As long as we don’t end up with the cops getting called, I’m in.” I laughed. I definitely steeled myself a bit when we went into the studio, expecting at least some kind of tension from Alex’s quarter; but at first at least, Allie seemed content to hang out a bit, to stay at the fringes of what was going on as we sat in the control room and talked to Jack about the day’s work, as we discussed what we were going to do, what we wanted to go back to and tweak. Alex said hello to Allie and then mostly ignored her. Allie kept the camera around her neck, but she didn’t take pictures, for the first thirty minutes--then for the first hour. By the time she actually started taking pictures, I barely even noticed that she was doing it. Of course, I thought to myself; that had been her plan all along. I’d seen her work this way before, keeping the camera on her but not using it, waiting and waiting until people started to relax and stopped thinking about the camera being there at all. Then, when she started taking pictures, nobody really noticed; even Alex didn’t seem to particularly see that Allie was snapping the occasional picture, moving from the live room to the control room to one of the individual spaces as her interest carried her around. I tried not to feel on

edge, tried not to keep waiting for something to happen between her and Alex, but I couldn’t help wondering just how well my friend was going to be able to keep with his promise to be pleasant to her. “This is actually kind of fun,” Nick said during one of the breaks. “It’s like when Liv went on tour with us, except I’m not constantly distracted by how much I wish I was having sex.” I rolled my eyes. “Does it count as sexual harassment if it’s a girlfriend of the band being harassed?” Jules smirked. “I’ve heard worse,” Allie said with a shrug, taking a sip of the beer Dan had gotten for her. “You’ve hung out backstage at festivals and shit,” Nick pointed out. “I’m sure you’ve seen worse.” “Not everyone thinks it’s a good idea to fuck their girlfriend in a supply closet, Nick,” Dan said. “How you managed to avoid getting chemical burns is still beyond me,” Alex added. “Let’s go to lunch,” Jack suggested from the control panel. “I need to work on some things here anyway.” “I’m game,” I said. “Fucking starving.” We’d been working for hours at that point; we had hours more to go, but all of us were starting to get that feeling of restlessness that came along with being bored and hungry.

We cleared out of the control room and Allie said she wanted to put some things away in the car to avoid getting them messed up. I went into the back area to make a phone call to my mom; I told Jules and Nick that Allie and I would catch up with them at Clive’s. I had started to relax a little, to think that at least nothing was going to go drastically wrong during the session. I told my mom that I was going to be able to go to my brother’s birthday in a couple of weeks, and promised that I’d have lunch with her that weekend. “Look--if I don’t go soon, Allie is going to kill me,” I said, when it looked like Mom was going to go on for another hour. “Bring her with you for lunch this weekend,” she said. “I’ll do that,” I told her. “Love you.” “Love you too, Marky,” Mom said, and before she could think to start up some new topic of conversation I said goodbye. I’d been on the phone maybe fifteen minutes at the most. I made sure I had my wallet and my keys and at least half a pack of cigs in my pockets and headed out of the studio, looking around for Allie. I walked towards my car, thinking that she was probably there, having a cigarette and maybe talking to a client. Maybe Alex will warm up to her. Maybe he’ll stop being such a pretentious allknowing asshole, and things will work out. I’d take

her to lunch with my mom, and she’d go to my brother’s birthday party with me, and it’d be good. I was thinking that, and picturing it in my head, and I saw two people standing over by where Alex had parked; they were standing too close together for it to be a simple conversation. I recognized Alex first and thought to myself that maybe the reason for his improvement in mood was that he knew he was going to be seeing Mary. I almost called out to say hello to Alex’s girlfriend, but then I stopped dead in my tracks. Right there, next to his car, I saw Alex kissing Allie. “What the fuck! What the hell--You--What the fuck?” Alex and Allie parted and Allie looked at me in shock, and opened her mouth to say something. Whatever it was that had frozen me in my tracks melted like ice on a charcoal grill and I turned around and walked away. I somehow managed to make it to my car, find my keys in my pocket and get them out. “Mark--Mark, wait!” Alex wasn’t saying anything, and I thought angrily to myself that it was no wonder. I unlocked my car and climbed into the driver’s seat, getting the key in the ignition somehow and starting the engine. I pulled out of the parking space with my wheels squeaking on the asphalt and didn’t even look to see if Allie was close, if Alex was coming after me with her. I turned the car towards the road and left the lot.

Suddenly I wasn’t even a little hungry anymore. Just the thought of telling Jules and Nick about what had happened turned my stomach, and I decided I was done--for the day, maybe for good.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN I heard my phone buzzing, but I didn’t even look at it. It was either one of the guys in the band, Ron, or Allie--and I didn’t want to talk to any of them. It had been a day since I’d left the studio, since I’d seen Alex and Allie practically making out next to Alex’s car right outside of the building. I hadn’t gone back to the studio after the lunch break; instead I’d gone straight home and found the bottle of Jack on top of the fridge and crawled into it. I’d forgotten to forget about Allie’s stuff in my car; I knew it was there and there was a part of me that insisted that if nothing else I needed to do the mature thing and get it back to her, but I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for anything but more booze when I got up the next day. My head had been throbbing as if there was a fucking hurricane spinning inside of it, my mouth had tasted like garbage water, and my stomach had felt like it would crawl right out of me if it got half a chance. I walked away from the buzzing phone near my bed and through the living room into the kitchen. Part of me wanted to just start drinking again; but I needed to take care of my hangover first. I slumped into the kitchen and grabbed a glass

from the cabinet, pressing it against the lever on the water dispenser on my fridge while I yawned and scrubbed at my face. I pressed the on button for the Keurig machine--my mom had gotten it for me a year before, and it sat right next to the normal coffee pot, as an “in between” for times when I didn’t want to make a full batch of coffee--and waited for it to heat up. I drank down the water, burped, and filled the glass again. By the time I had a cup of coffee in my hand and I was walking into the living room again, trying to decide what to do with myself--the studio was fucking out--I heard a knock at the door. “Fuck that noise,” I muttered, sipping my coffee. I didn’t even care who it was: Jehovah’s Witness, building manager, one of the other guys in the band, Allie, my own brother. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I didn’t want to see anyone. I’ll fucking mail her the gear, I thought, remembering Allie’s stuff in my car again. The knocking started up again, louder. “Mark! Come on.” It sounded like one of the guys, but through the door I couldn’t tell specifically who. Knocking again, and I drank down about a third of my coffee, not even really caring that it was too hot for that kind of gulping. “Mark!” “Come on, asshole, open the door!” I glanced in the direction of the door and glared. “Go the fuck away!” I set down my cup of

coffee and combed my fingers through my hair. The situation with Allie was settled--more or less. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do about the band. Fuck ‘em. Alex, at least, I could obviously do without. That asshole was dead to me. But Dan, Jules, Nick? Did they deserve for the band to go up in flames? Why would it be my fault the band goes up in flames because of something Alex fucking did? It wouldn’t be fair but I knew that that would be the way that Alex would try and spin it. Even if the rest of the band knew better, everyone in the scene would blame me. Fucking shithead. “Mark, if you don’t let us in, we’re going to tell the building manager you threatened to kill yourself.” At that point I knew it was at least two people: Nick and Dan. I sighed; there were rules about shit like that, laws and regulations. If they told the building manager I’d threatened to kill myself, he’d have to let them into my unit--maybe even call the cops. I got up and walked to the door. I unlocked the deadbolt, then the knob lock, and opened the door and walked back to the couch, not even looking to see if either of my two friends and band mates came into the apartment. Of course, they did, and as soon as I sat down and picked up my coffee, they were closing the door behind them and making themselves comfortable.

“So, what the fuck happened?” Dan held my gaze. “Alex won’t say anything, Allie was in tears but we couldn’t get anything coherent out of her, and you won’t answer your fucking phone,” Nick said. “What happened is that I walked out of the studio to see Alex making out with Allie by his car,” I told them. “I decided that going the fuck home was better than getting arrested for murder.” Nick and Dan looked at each other and then at me again. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “Dead fucking serious,” I said. “About the murder thing or about finding them together?” I rolled my eyes. “Both,” I told Nick. “What the fuck is going on?” Dan shook his head. “Does Mary know?” “I texted her last night,” I said, remembering that detail. I cringed as I remembered what I’d specifically texted her the night before. Since your boyfriend likes making out with my girlfriend, why don’t we up the ante and fuck each other? In fairness to me, I’d had about a third of a bottle of Jack at that point. “And there’s no way you could have been mistaken, right?” I shook my head. “No fucking way,” I told Dan. “He was kissing

her.” My two best friends in the band looked at each other again. “Fucking asshole,” Dan said, shaking his head. “He’s all about not risking ruining the band and pulls some shit like this?” “Ron’s going to pop a fucking aneurism,” Nick suggested, half-smiling. “Man.” He scrubbed at his face. “Alex wouldn’t say anything about anything,” Dan told me. “He walked out of the studio. Allie was crying her eyes out.” “I don’t care about that,” I said, trying not to picture it in my head. “She seems to think that there was some kind of misunderstanding,” Nick told me. “Though I can’t imagine how that’s even possible.” “I drove her home,” Dan continued. “Anyway, Alex wouldn’t say anything, and then you weren’t answering your fucking phone, so Nick and I decided that since you obviously weren’t coming in today, we’d come to you.” I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. It was different from the last time that I’d bailed on them; this time they were actually trying to get me back. But this time it was way more serious than Dan picking up some girl that I’d wanted to date. “I don’t want to be to blame for the band fucking up,” I told them. “It’s not my fucking fault-we can agree on that, right?” Dan and Nick looked

at each other and then at me again. “Let’s not talk about that right now,” Nick suggested. “You look like you downed a bottle of Jack.” “Two-thirds of a bottle,” I corrected him. “Let’s get some coffee in you and get you to Tucker Duke’s,” Dan said. I thought about it; it actually sounded like a damn good idea. My stomach twisted inside of me and I hoped that food would at least take care of that shit. Everything else was going to take longer, but at least I might feel a little bit better with some food in me. “Let me change,” I said, picking up my cup of coffee and drinking down the rest of it. “I won like $40 off of Alex in a bet,” Nick said, smirking. “I’ll use it to buy your lunch. It’ll be like Alex is paying for it unwillingly.” “You’re all heart,” I told him. I took the coffee cup into the kitchen and put it in the empty sink, scrubbing at my face again. I knew Nick and Dan were going to try and figure out how to make shit work in the band; I didn’t know if I was on board with going along with it. There was no way that anything would ever excuse either Allie or Alex, right? I shook my head, dismissing the idea. There was no fucking way. I didn’t say anything to either Dan or Nick as I went into my bedroom. I needed to eat, and I wasn’t about to turn down a free meal, especially a

Tucker Duke’s meal. I started stripping off my stinking, alcohol-reeking clothes and thought about maybe taking a quick shower, at least to wash off some of the BO I knew I was drenched in. But instead I slapped on some deodorant, stepped into my bathroom and splashed some water on my face, through my hair. I sprayed just a little bit of cologne on and put on some fresh clothes. I looked like hell, but I was pretty sure that if anyone in the band was entitled to look like shit right then, it was me. “Okay,” I said, coming out of my bedroom. Nick and Dan were busy texting--I could guess pretty readily who. They put their phones away, and had the good grace not to look the least bit selfconscious as they got up. “Let’s get a burger in you and some cheese fritters and figure out what to do with the rest of the day,” Dan suggested, picking out two of the things he knew I liked best from the restaurant. “Let’s see how those go down, and then we’ll figure it out,” I countered. I wanted to put off talking about the band, about Allie, about the whole bullshit situation, as long as possible.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN “You can’t keep avoiding him,” Jules said from across the table. I rolled my eyes. “It’s been two fucking days,” I told him. “And at this point the only thing keeping me from saying I won’t go into the fucking studio with him ever again is knowing that if I quit, everyone’s going to fucking blame me.” “Well the band will blame Alex,” Jules pointed out. “That was a shitty fucking thing for him to do.” He plucked a cigarette out of its box and brought it to his lips. “Apparently, Mary is fine with it,” I said bleakly. Jules snickered. “Not so much,” he told me. “Basically, his story to her was that he was trying to prove that Allie was no good, that she wasn’t loyal or anything, just trying to use you.” “Well he did a good goddamn job at that,” I said, lighting a cigarette of my own. We were outside of Jules’ apartment building, armed with coffee and donuts from Dandee Donut Factory near my house. Fran was at a show, and Jules hadn’t wanted to go, so he’d invited me over--and as much as I was hating life, I had to admit that I wanted to hear his perspective on the situation. “Also proved

that he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself,” I added. “Mary told him no sex until he fixes his life,” Jules told me. “She might as well break up with him, then,” I said. “She has faith in him,” Jules said with a shrug. “Look: from what I’ve heard from Allie and Alex-and yeah, take shit with as many grains of salt as you want--she didn’t have much to do with that.” “They were kissing, Jules,” I said. “Just because I’m a drummer doesn’t mean I’m a fucking idiot.” “Yeah, I get it,” Jules said. “But think about this: if Alex had just grabbed Allie and started kissing her, it wouldn’t look that different from if they were kissing each other.” I looked at him for a long moment. “How stoned did you get before I came over?” Jules laughed. “Not nearly stoned enough,” he said, shaking his head. He sipped his coffee and flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “But the point remains.” “So, you’re telling me that Alex forced himself on Allie, and so I should forgive them both?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m telling you to talk to your girl,” Jules said. “There’s more to the situation than just people violating your trust or whatever you want to call it--

especially since there’s the whole band to think about.” “So even the rest of the band will blame me if shit goes to hell, even though it was Alex who pulled this shit,” I said. “No,” Jules told me. “If you want to drive up to his place right now and kick the shit out of him, I’ll go with.” He grinned. “I think you’d probably be able to recruit Dan and Nick too. But the thing is, you have to think about the band. We can kick Alex out--but that’s a huge fucking load of paperwork, and also, we end up with no lead singer.” He shrugged again and took a drag of his cigarette. “The real question is whether you want the band to keep going. What that’s going to look like.” “I don’t even know,” I told him. “I’m good with you, and Dan, and Nick.” I took some smoke into my lungs and held it there a moment before blowing it out. “I just don’t know what I want to do. Things were starting to actually go well for us and then…” I shook my head. “It’s not fucking fair.” “You’re right,” Jules said. “It fucking isn’t. But you have to make up your mind about how to deal with that, and you have to do it fucking fast. The label is on the verge of just paying us off if we don’t come up with something for them.” Jules stubbed out his cigarette. “If you’re done with the

band, then you’re done with the band. But if you’re not, you need to figure out what you’re going to do about the situation with Alex.” I nodded and looked down at the ground for a few moments, thinking. “Let’s go to his house and fucking jump him,” I said, half-joking. “Want me to call Nick and Dan?” I sighed. “I should probably just fucking talk to the guy, but I feel like if I go and do it alone I’ll lose my shit,” I told Jules. “Then let me call a meeting,” Jules said. “No Ron, no Jack, just us. We haven’t done that in a while.” “We haven’t,” I agreed. “I just…” I groaned and stubbed out my own cigarette. “Fuck, man.” “It’s some fucking bullshit,” Jules said, nodding. “We need to handle it. We need to figure it out.” “But you’re on my side on this, right?” I looked at him. Jules smiled. “As far as you having beef with Alex, yeah,” he said. “You’re justified. But I think if you want the band to keep going you’re going to have to find a way to deal with it with the rest of us.” “I don’t know, man,” I said. I finished off my coffee and grabbed one of the last donuts from the box. “I just don’t fucking know what I should do.” “Let me get the other guys on the phone,” Jules told me. “We’ll talk.” I didn’t think it would

really help all that much, but I knew that with the contracts and everything going on, there was no way I could make a decision on my own about something that was going to affect the band. I had no idea what would happen to Alex, whether Molly Riot would keep existing, what I would do about Allie’s stuff still in my car, but I knew I had to face up to it all. I couldn’t just keep avoiding it the way I had months before with the bullshit that happened with Dan. Maybe I’m growing the fuck up, I thought, as Jules stood up and took his phone out of his pocket to start making calls.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN At first, Alex refused to meet without Ron present. So I told him--through Jules--that either we had the meeting with just the band, or I sent my notice to the label that I was quitting. Since we’d managed to negotiate ownership of all our masters, they couldn’t put the album out without me. So, Alex set a meeting for the weekend, and I went with it just because I didn’t know if I’d be able to see his cocky-ass face without punching it. Better to let it wait, I’d decided. The rest of the guys in the band went to the studio separately in between, re-recording old parts and tweaking a few things so that at least we wouldn’t all be out of the studio, letting things hang, pissing off the label. In the meantime, I was more or less by myself for the few days before the meeting, and all I had to amuse myself was thinking about what Jules said, drinking, smoking a little pot, and watching TV. I binge-watched House, M.D. almost all the way through in two days, trying not to think about what a fucking shit show everything had become. My phone rang every couple of hours--one of the guys in the band, or Ron, or in a few cases, Allie, calling me. I didn’t answer it most of the time, even if it was Nick or Dan. I just didn’t feel like it.

I had fallen asleep on my couch--in the middle of a three-episode run of House--when I heard a knock at my door; it jolted me right out of a dream about what my life would have been like if I’d somehow become a doctor instead of a drummer, following House, working under him. The knock at my door shattered the dream, and I almost tumbled onto the floor of my living room in surprise. Another knock brought me to my feet, and in spite of how self-pitying I felt, I couldn’t help but be a little curious. Who the hell is knocking on my door? It was mid-afternoon; it wasn’t likely to be anyone from the band, my mom would have called ahead, and my friends outside the band didn’t even know I’d be home. I padded towards the door, and whoever was on the other side of it knocked again. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I was starting to feel irritated at whoever-it-was. I didn’t even bother to look through the peephole; I just unlocked and opened the door. Of all of the people I thought it could be, every possibility that had flashed through my head while I walked to answer the door, I wasn’t expecting Allie. My first instinct was the close the door immediately--slam it in her face. I started to, and she put her hand on the door frame. “Look, Mark,” she said, meeting my gaze in spite of me, “I just want you to give me--like--five minutes. If you want me to leave after that, then I

will.” “If I want you to leave right now, you will,” I said, scowling at her. She sighed. “Please just give me a chance to explain what happened, okay?” Allie looked at me, and I could see that she’d been crying. Well she fucking should be crying, I thought, remembering what I’d seen. “Mark, just give me five minutes. Please.” I took a deep breath. Technically I didn’t have to listen to a goddamn thing she had to say; technically I could close the door on her hand--but that would take away whatever moral high ground I had in a way that beating the fuck out of Alex wouldn’t. “Five minutes,” I said. I tapped at my pockets and found my lighter and cigarettes--miraculously not crushed--and opened the door wide enough for me to step through it. “And you’re not coming in.” “That’s fair,” Allie said quietly. She followed me out of my door and down the outdoor hallway towards a little bench at the end of the row. I sat down next to the “smoker’s outpost” and took my cigs and lighter out of my pocket. “You have until I’m done with this,” I told her, bringing a cigarette up to my mouth and lighting it. “I didn’t kiss him,” Allie said. “He kissed me.” “So far not really changing my opinion all that much,” I told her, exhaling the first drag of smoke from my lungs. “Alex saw me outside, and started talking to

me,” Allie told me. “He said that he knew that I was just using you, that all I wanted was to become some famous musician photographer like Autumn de Wilde or someone like that.” “You’ve got about another three minutes to explain to me how that ended up with the two of you kissing,” I said. “He got pissed when I kept saying that I really just liked you--that it was complete chance that I saw you at the festival, and that if he had a problem with me taking pictures of you guys, I’d let him delete all of the photos right then and there,” Allie said. “Two minutes,” I told her. I flicked ash off the end of my cig. “He said that he was going to prove that I was up to no good and grabbed me and kissed me,” Allie said, and there were tears in her eyes. “I was so shocked that I didn’t even know what to do right away. And then you came out right when I started to get my wits about me to push him away.” Allie kept her gaze locked onto my face and I could feel something in me starting to ache; I actually felt guilty. “But I guess at least Alex gets what he wants: even if you do forgive me, I never want to be in the same room as him ever again.” “I shouldn’t have pushed it,” I said after a few moments. I stubbed out my cigarette and stuffed it into the little hole at the top of the outpost. “I

should have known that Alex would pull something.” I made a face. “I thought it would be a fight, or something like that.” “You believe me?” Allie’s expression brightened, and for a moment a dark, gloomy little voice in my head suggested that it was because she was trying to put something over on me. But I’d spent a couple of days thinking about what Jules had said, about everything that had gone on between Allie and me before the incident, about everything I knew about Alex. “I’m saying I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” I said, taking a quick breath. “I’ve been kind of stewing on this for a couple of days anyway.” I smiled at her weakly. “I just…” Allie sighed, shaking her head. “I felt terrible about it, and I knew that you wouldn’t answer the phone, and that I probably shouldn’t even try talking to you in person but I had to do something.” She looked at me for a long moment. “Is it crazy for me to say I think I’m actually…” she pressed her lips together, “actually in love with you?” “Well, we did see each other for about a month before this happened,” I said, but my heart was beating faster in my chest at the words. “I don’t expect you to say it back,” Allie said quickly. “Just...I wanted you to know.” She stepped closer to me, and I didn’t try and wave her away;

Allie leaned in and kissed my forehead, and then-after a quick pause, a hesitation--she kissed me on the lips. Almost on instinct, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her body close. She felt so good, pressed against me, better than I even remembered-and I’d spent days remembering. I deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue against her lips until she opened her mouth. A little flare of jealousy lit up in me again, but there was nothing at all about Alex in the taste of her lips. I broke away from the kiss after a few minutes and met Allie’s gaze. “I need some time,” I told her. “Let me get your stuff out of my car. But this…” I smiled, just a little. “I think we can be okay.” I reached out and offered Allie my hand; she took it, and once again it just felt so fucking good. “I am going to beat the shit out of Alex.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Even with a couple of days to cool down, the minute I saw Alex’s smug, asshole face as he walked into Nick’s apartment where we’d all agreed to meet, I couldn’t stop myself. “You fucking asshole!” The words were out of me right as I jumped at him, fist back behind my head to slam into his face. None of the rest of the guys in the band made any move to stop me, and Alex was too shocked to block the punch or try and push me away. Pain shot up from my fist through my arm, tingling at my elbow and crackling at my shoulder as Alex and I tumbled to the floor together. I tried to ignore it, pulling back enough to punch at him again, and that was the moment when everything erupted. Nick and Jules jumped in, pulling us apart, and Dan was saying something I didn’t even hear; all I knew was that Alex had not only tried to get me to break up with a woman I actually really cared about--but that he’d basically violated her to do it. Even if it had only been a fucking kiss, the fact that he’d done it that way--that he’d forced himself on her to be so fucking petty--made my blood feel like it was boiling in my veins. Someone shoved me into a chair and I could

feel the pain throbbing in my hand from punching Alex. “Good job,” I heard Nick saying, his voice shaking with laughter. “Think you broke his nose.” “Wanted to break his whole fucking face,” I said. “Yeah, well, we don’t want you going to jail for battery,” Nick said. “How’s the hand?” “It hurts like a bitch,” I replied. “Dan, grab some ice for Mark’s hand and Alex’s face,” Nick called out. Almost in spite of me, I started to calm down. Nick was hovering over me to keep me from launching myself out of the chair at Alex again, and I assumed Jules was taking care of Alex. Dan brought the ice, and a couple of beers for good measure, and for a few minutes, it was noisy but nothing was really happening. The ice on my hand helped the rage I could feel simmering under my skin, but not enough to make it go away completely. “We now call this meeting of Molly Riot band members to order,” Jules said dryly from across the room. Everyone sort of settled into their seats, and I looked across the living room to see that Alex had a dish towel full of ice pressed to his face. “First order of business,” Nick said, “is whether we still have a band.” “We’re short two tracks for the album,” Dan pointed out. “We need maybe one more week of

recording and we can turn things over to Jack and be done with it.” “But it won’t matter if we can’t even have Alex and Mark in the same room without things getting physical,” Jules countered. “We sure as hell wouldn’t be able to promote or tour the album like that,” Nick added. “Anyone want to comment on the fact that that fucker just nearly broke my nose?” “You earned it,” Jules told Alex. “You’re fucking lucky that we didn’t all jump you.” “What the fuck were you even thinking?” It felt good to hear Jules and Dan sticking up for me. “Like if you were right about Allie and believed it for real, you’d have just let her show her true colors.” “It’s not important what Alex was thinking,” Nick said. “What’s important is whether we can function as a band, and what that’s going to look like if we do.” “How the hell are we supposed to move forward from this?” Jules looked at me. “That asshole kissed my girlfriend without her consent to try and make me break up with her.” “Let’s take a minute to think about this,” Jules said. “I mean, I’m not even saying that I want the band to keep going under all circumstances, but I think we have a good fucking album. I think we can move forward from this as long as people have--

like--good intentions and shit.” “What would that look like, though?” Dan sipped his beer. “I mean, we’ve had fights and shit before--but this kind of bullshit is pretty bleak.” “We can do reparations,” Nick suggested. “Make Alex give up part of his share of the album sales.” “What the fuck! How is that fair?” I saw Jules shove Alex back down into the chair. “Would you accept that, if it was an option?” Dan looked at me. “He’d have to apologize to Allie, too,” I said, flexing my numbed fingers. A little residual pain crackled along my knuckles. “And he’d have to fucking promise that he wouldn’t so much as touch her again--that he wouldn’t even be in a room alone with her.” “That’s fair,” Jules said, nodding. “What the fuck?” Alex tried to get up again, and Jules pushed him back down. “You brought this on yourself, asshole,” Nick told Alex. “Unless you want to publicly be the one to break up the band and get no shares of the finished album because we won’t use any of your parts on it, or your songs?” “I didn’t even do anything that fucking bad,” Alex protested. I rolled my eyes. “You think Mary agrees with you? We can get her in here,” Dan suggested. “From what I hear

she’s not a big fan of what you did either.” “How many days has it been since you got laid last?” I resisted the urge to snicker at Jules’ question. “It was a kiss, it’s not like I molested her,” Alex said. “And anyway, if their relationship was so flimsy, then that would fucking end it…” “Your goal was to end it, so don’t pull that shit on us,” Nick said. “And you call Mary right fucking now and ask her how she would feel if one of us grabbed her and kissed her against her will.” Alex started to protest but he obviously realized he had nothing to say in his own defense. “So, an apology from Alex to Allie, and Alex gives up part of his share of the next album’s sales to Mark,” Dan said. He shook his head. “I can’t fully believe that we’ve reached a point in this band where these kinds of things happen.” “We’re a corporate band now,” Jules said, wryly. He looked at each of us. “I think we need to talk about that.” “I agree,” Nick said. “We’ve let the machine do too much for us.” “This whole album has been about that,” I pointed out. “Like the whole deal--how much money we got for it for working with Fran’s band, how long we were taking, all of it. Is this the band we want to be?” It was almost a relief to get off the topic of what had pissed me off so much, what had

so nearly destroyed us as a group. “Yeah,” Dan agreed. The chatter went on for a while, and I listened more than I talked; basically, we’d all felt--in one way or another, at one point or another, without saying anything to each other about it--that we’d lost control of what Molly Riot actually was. Of who we were as a band. “I guess what we do is tell Ron that we want to manage more of our own shit,” Jules suggested. “All of us,” Nick interjected. “Not just Alex.” He scowled at our lead singer. “I get it, I get it,” Alex said. The blood had stopped flowing from his nose; when he took the ice away I thought it probably wasn’t broken, but he wasn’t going to have a pleasant time for about a week or so. “I’m fucking scum.” “Yeah, you kind of are,” Dan said. “And if you want the band to keep existing, you’d better be fucking prepared to deal with it.” “I’m tired of talking,” Jules said, slumping a bit in his chair. “Let’s order some food and smoke out and just chill for a while.” It didn’t feel quite like things were resolved--even an apology to Allie and me getting part of Alex’s share of the next album’s sales didn’t seem exactly to make things even--but for the time being, at least the band wasn’t breaking up. At least we’d figured out what the problem under all the problems was. We could at least get the album done; after that, who knew?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN It was our first date since “the incident” as Allie called it; the band and I had managed to get through the end of recording the album, and I’d basically just made sure that I was never alone with Alex, that I spent my free time outside of actively recording with one of the other guys. I’d kept in touch with Allie over the course of the week, but I hadn’t been ready to see her again until everything about the album was done and over. “It feels weirdly like a first date, doesn’t it?” Allie glanced around Houston’s, for a second looking as nervous as she sounded. It was as upscale as any place we’d gone to together outside of Miami, and I’d chosen it for that reason: I wanted it to be special, to be nice, to be romantic. I wanted things to work out between us. We ordered peel and eat shrimp, and I got the trout while Allie got the salmon, and by the time we were both about halfway through our cocktails, things started to ease up a bit, to feel more natural. “I can’t believe you almost broke Alex’s nose,” Allie said, shaking her head. “When I saw him it just…” I shrugged. “I thought about what he’d done and why he’d done it, and I just went off.”

“But we’re okay, right?” Allie held my gaze. She’d done something different with her makeup-she looked amazing. “We’re okay,” I told her. “More than okay--as long as you’re okay.” “I’m just glad you believed me,” Allie said, smiling shyly. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “To be honest, Jules had already kind of primed the pump,” I said. “He’d suggested to me that you might not have been into it, that Alex might have just been pulling something to be an asshole.” “Then I’ll thank Jules later for believing me, too,” Allie said. We got into our food, and I relaxed more and more. Everything felt right, everything felt good. We talked about what we’d been up to since the incident--without dwelling on the incident itself, since we were putting that behind us. Allie had booked some new shoots--and since I’d already given her gear back to her, she was able to do a couple of them. I told her about finishing up the album. “We’re just waiting to hear back from the label at this point,” I said. “I honestly think it’s the best album we’ve ever done.” “Well, based on the rough mixes you let me hear, it’s pretty fucking amazing,” Allie told me. “Jack still has to do the full mix, but I think

it’ll hit.” I smirked. “Good news for me, since I’m getting half of Alex’s shares for this album.” “Half?” Allie stared at me. “I negotiated for half so that I could give you half of that,” I told her. “I--what?” Allie shook her head. “I didn’t think the apology was enough,” I explained. “I want him to feel the fucking pinch for what he did--and what he was trying to do.” “But he failed in breaking us up,” Allie pointed out. “Not for lack of trying,” I countered. “And if Jules hadn’t talked sense into me, and if you hadn’t refused to give up, we’d be broken up.” “Wow.” Allie sat back in her chair. “I...I’ve never actually gotten money for something I didn’t work on.” “Your pictures are in the liner notes,” I told her. “Except for the ones of Alex.” I smirked. “You’re kidding me,” Allie said. “It was Nick’s idea,” I said, shrugging. The waiter came to the table. “Dessert?” I shook my head, keeping Allie from saying anything. “I’ve got something for us at home,” I looked at Allie and grinned.

CHAPTER NINETEEN We barely made it through the door to my apartment; I couldn’t keep my hands off of Allie. I somehow managed to get the key in the lock and get the door open, and then we were in my living room, kissing each other, hands all over the place. It had been more than a week since I’d even really been alone with her, much less since we’d even thought about having sex. I closed the door behind us and pulled Allie by the hand towards my bedroom; my cock was already hard, already throbbing. “I thought…” I stopped Allie’s comment with a kiss, plunging my tongue into her mouth, letting my hands wander over the curves of her body. “I thought you said something about dessert,” she said when she was able to break away from my lips. I laughed. “We have to burn off some of that dinner first, right?” I dipped down to her neck and kissed and nibbled, cupping her tits in my hands, giving them a quick squeeze. We stumbled into my room and I tugged at her dress, trying to find where it zipped, where it tied, how to get it off of her as quickly as possible. “I love how this looks on you, but it is a fucking pain to take off,” I murmured against the

spot just below Allie’s ear. “It’s not that hard,” Allie said, giggling. She guided my hands to a spot along her side and I found the zipper there, pulled it down. I felt her moving, and then all at once the dress was slipping down over her body, sliding along her curves, catching at her hips for just a second before falling to her feet in a puddle. I took in the sight of her: her tits barely held in the strapless bra, the matching lace panties that I could see were already wet through from how turned on she was, the shape of her in the light of my bedroom. “How did I go this fucking long without this?” I reached up and cupped her boobs in my hands, giving them another squeeze before I reached around to the back to unhook the bra. Allie went to work too, unbuttoning my shirt, tugging it down over my shoulders, pulling the hem of it free of my pants. I pulled her panties down from her hips and let them fall to her knees, and just like she’d practiced it her entire life, she stepped right out of them to stand in front of me, completely naked. Her hands went to the fly of my pants, and I resisted the urge to help her get me undressed, knowing it would just make it take longer when we got all tangled up in each other. I focused on her mouth, on her tits, teasing her, kissing and licking and sucking, tasting the sweat and soap on her skin, breathing in the smell

of her perfume. Allie managed to get my pants down to my knees, and I kicked them off the rest of the way, almost tripping over them as I started to pull her towards the bed. I kissed her hungrily, letting my hand slip up between her legs, until I felt the slick wet folds of her pussy against my fingers. I rubbed and stroked her, working down deeper between the labia, and I knew the instant I found her clit by the way she gasped and shivered against me. We fell into bed together, and for a while it was like we were both too shy to actually go through with what we wanted; we just kept kissing each other, me working Allie with my fingers, her rubbing my cock, stroking me up and down, her thumb swirling around the tip of my erection. I could feel myself getting harder and harder by the minute, more and more turned on as Allie worked me, speeding up and slowing down just as I did, teasing me just like I was doing to her. All at once I couldn’t stand it anymore; I knew if I let her keep going, I was going to come in her hand--and that wasn’t what I wanted. I pinned Allie down onto the bed, slithering on top of her, and claimed her mouth with mine as I shifted down between her legs. She was soaking wet, and I wanted to feel her tight heat wrapped around my cock so bad I could just about taste it. I took a deep breath when I broke away from her lips, trying to

get enough self-control to keep from hitting climax right away, and guided the tip of my cock up against her pussy, rubbing along her hot, wet folds for a few heartbeats before I started to slide in. Her muscles flexed around me and I heard her breathy little cry just under the sound of my own moaning. Allie wrapped her legs around my waist and I pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, filling her up inch by inch, until my hips were right up against hers. “I’ve missed this,” I told her in a little whisper, almost shuddering at the strain of holding back. “God, me too,” Allie said, her arms wrapping around my shoulders, her fingertips pressing against my skin. I took a quick breath and started moving, rocking my hips against hers, pulling out just an inch--maybe two--and sliding back in. Like magic, Allie fell right in with my beat, twisting her hips against mine, pushing down to meet my thrusts. I knew--absolutely knew--that I wasn’t going to last very long, the way she felt and how long it had been since we’d last fucked. But I was going to make every minute I could last count. I started out so slowly it almost made my balls ache, holding myself back, feeling Allie’s inner walls tightening around me even as she somehow managed to get wetter and wetter. But in what seemed like only a few minutes, I found myself speeding up, thrusting harder and faster inside of

her, kissing her everywhere my lips could reach. The sound of Allie’s moans and gasps and cries of pleasure was enough to drive me crazy--enough to make me almost want to abandon any idea of holding back at all. I tried to slow down a few times, but I couldn’t keep it up; I had to keep going. All at once the tension building up down deep between my hips just snapped, and I groaned out as wave after wave of pleasure crackled through my body like live electricity. I heard Allie crying out again and again, felt her muscles flexing around me in erratic little spasms, and tried to keep myself going for her sake, to give her the longest climax possible. Before too long, though, I could feel myself finishing, the last little jolts of orgasm shocking my nerves, leaving me completely spent-at least for about five minutes. I collapsed down onto the bed next to Allie, letting my arms and legs tangle with hers, panting and gasping for breath just like she was. “Was that good enough?” I pushed my sweaty hair out of my face and opened my eyes to look at the woman I had nearly lost. “It’s a good start,” Allie said, with the little grin I liked so much. “But you’d better have dessert for me as well as a repeat performance.” “Oh--fuck, I almost forgot,” I said, shaking my head and laughing. “I have dessert. Give me a minute to catch my breath.” I kissed her on the

cheek sloppily, and then on the forehead, and then on the lips, and sank back down onto the bed, waiting for my heart to slow down, for my breathing to even out. When I was recovered enough to be able to use my legs, I crawled out of the bed and gave Allie another quick grin on my way to the bedroom door. I padded across the living room and into the kitchen, and opened the fridge to look for the treat I’d gotten earlier that day. The Hoffman’s Chocolates box jumped out at me from everything else on the same shelf, and I picked it up, taking just a second to glance inside and make sure that my surprise for Allie was perfectly intact still. I carried the box with me back into the bedroom and found Allie half-sitting up at the head of the bed, bright-eyed and smiling. She saw the box in my hands and the smile deepened. “Oooh, what did you get us?” “Chocolate covered strawberries, and a few of the dipped Oreos,” I told her. I sat down on the bed and opened the box up, extending it towards Allie. She immediately plucked one of the strawberries, and I watched her face as she closed her eyes and bit into it; the sound of the moan that left her throat was as good as it was during sex--and it started me right back up. Plenty of time in the night still, I reminded my cock, setting the box down between Allie and me and picking out a chocolate-dipped

Oreo for myself. “This is definitely at least as good as anything we could have gotten at Houston’s,” Allie said around a mouthful of chocolate and strawberry. She leaned in close and kissed me on the lips, and I could taste the sweet-tart strawberry, the bittersweet chocolate, the taste of her. “Damn straight,” I said. “Besides, at Houston’s we couldn’t combine dessert and sex.” “You are not putting an Oreo in my pussy, just so we’re clear,” Allie said. I snorted and almost had Oreo crumbs in my nose. “Not what I was thinking, but I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her. I kissed her again. “Have another strawberry and then let’s get back down to it--we have lost time to make up for.”

CHAPTER TWENTY I stubbed out my cigarette in the almost full ashtray and looked around the green room back behind the festival main stage. Nick and Olivia had wandered off, and Mary still wasn’t letting Alex stray too far from her side, but things felt mostly pretty good. We were going to be playing the headline spot for the second night--not the biggest honor, which would go to The Strokes the next night, but it was a pretty good billing for Molly Riot, especially considering we’d nearly selfdestructed less than a year before. I spotted Allie, chatting with one of the members of Hop Along with her camera around her neck on its strap, just hanging there for the moment. It was early days yet for our promotion stint for the new album, but when Mary had insisted that she should come on the road with us for Alex’s sake--to keep him on the straight and narrow--I’d pulled rank and gotten Allie included. The only Molly Riot girlfriends who hadn’t come along were Fran and Sophie; Fran because she had her own band to worry about and Sophie because she couldn’t--and didn’t want to--justify taking time off of work. There had been grumbles about that, but in the

end, we’d all sort of concluded that girlfriends on the tour bus weren’t as bad as we used to think, especially considering the fact that Nick and Olivia and Fran and Jules had originally hooked up on previous tours. It meant more money out of pocket, but the album was already selling well enough to make that less of a concern, especially since we weren’t doing anything particularly expensive with the lighting effects onstage. Allie had sort of become the unofficial band chronicler, working with Olivia; they got along so well on their first project that Nick and I had joked that they were going to leave us for each other eventually. Olivia had gotten Allie some more work in journalism, and of course Allie was getting one quarter of Alex’s shares of the album sales. “Yo!” I looked around, shaken out of my thoughts by the sound of Jules’ voice. “We’re supposed to talk about the set list soon--don’t forget.” I nodded. One of the things that had come out of the near-breakup of Molly Riot was that every member of the band had a particular thing that they were in charge of. We’d decided not to leave so much up to Ron or the label anymore--that had been a big thing that had sneaked up on us, that had made us all dissatisfied. So, Jules was in charge of managing shit at tour dates, Nick handled press, Dan worked on the website, I did merchandise, and Alex was the chosen representative to deal with the

label--it was what he did best, anyway. Allie caught sight of me and finished up her conversation, smiling at whoever it was and waving as she turned and walked towards me. She lifted her camera up as she came closer, and before I could even think about posing in any way, she’d snapped a quick, candid picture of me. “It really isn’t fair how naturally photogenic you are,” she told me, coming to sit down next to me on the raised part of the concrete floor; it had probably been a ramp at one point, I’d decided, but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere anymore. “I think it’s all your talent in picking the exact right moment,” I told her, shaking my head. “I’ve taken plenty of awkward-ass pictures of myself.” “I’ve already managed to get enough shots of different people hanging around backstage to make a few thousand,” Allie told me, stretching just enough to lift the hem of her tee shirt up. “The rest of today I can just hang out and drink and have a good time.” “Funny how your day ends before mine even begins,” I said, reaching over to tweak one of Allie’s braids. “Well, I mean, if it makes you feel better I can keep working the rest of the day into tonight, make some more money,” Allie pointed out tartly. “Come with me to our green room, at least,” I suggested. “Get a few snaps of us debating

tonight’s set list.” Things were not entirely tension free between Allie and Alex, but with Mary playing chaperone, they’d started to relax a bit. All in all, it looked like we’d finally come out of the rough patch we’d put ourselves into. I lit another cigarette and hopped down from the former ramp, and gave Allie a quick kiss. I couldn’t have imagined, at the beginning of recording the album, that everything would fall into place as perfectly as it had: I had a woman I loved, I had an open invitation to work with Bent Bridges whenever I had the free time, and Molly Riot were better, bigger, and stronger than ever. I held Allie’s hand all the way to the green room, and thought to myself that--sappy as it sounded--I was probably one of the happiest fucking guys at the entire festival. THE END

TAKEN BY THE HOMETOWN BAD BOY Ten long years, and here I am back in my hometown of Riverdale. The plan was to swoop in, make a quick appearance at my lame high school reunion and then get out as quickly as possible. Fate had something else in store for me, and his name was Jace Dillinger, the hottest bad boy in town. In high school, I gave him the cold shoulder because of the crowd he hung out with. He wasn't my type back then, but now...it’s funny how time changes people. Here we are catching up at a townie bar having a few drinks...what trouble could we possibly get into? ;)

The first thing Natalia Hyde noticed when her taxi drove her past the sign that said, ‘Welcome to Riverdale,’ was that everything seemed exactly as it had been the day she left. The streets were all the same, the lovely suburban arrangement of roundabouts that had been fun to ride around on bikes. The twenty-eight-year-old had expected to find some changes, maybe expansions or even a few changes on a few stores but nothing… it was as if someone had grabbed a huge remote control and pressed pause on the whole town. The only viable change that Natalia noticed was that people were older, and the kids now running around the parks and streets had faces she didn’t recognize. The taxi drove her toward the town’s only known hotel, a measly Hilton Garden Inn at the edge of the highway. She remembered seeing this same little place for years and was pleasantly surprised to note that it looked like it had been renovated. It was much bigger than she remembered. Paying her fare and pulling her bag out of the back of the car, Natalia strutted through the mechanical doors, feeling a cool draft yank at her

clothes and long black hair as she entered. It was definitely different; maybe that pause button didn’t affect everything after all. When Natalia entered the lobby, she was surprised to find it rather busy; several people were talking with the concierge, a young woman with thick blonde hair styled in large ringlets. She looked rather out of her league, appearing absolutely nervous as she assisted a man with immense shoulders. The back of his head had a particularly large scar that Natalia recognized instantly. “Brad?” She spoke before she could hold her tongue and the broad man turned around. There was a moment when he appraised her, broad face and broad eyes that gave him a certain brutish appearance. Still, she remembered him, he had been one of Nathan’s friends throughout high school. A jock and a pretty decent football player, Brad had been the sort to follow rather than to lead, yet he had a hidden cruel side that only came out whenever Nathan had grown bored. To her surprise, Brad beamed up at her brightly. “Natalia!” he exclaimed, urging her closer and glaring at all the other people waiting in line. She recognized a few other faces and instantly wished she hadn’t brought attention to herself.

Most of the people there had seen some of Nathan’s bored side and remembered her for how she just stood by, doing nothing. “It’s been years,” Brad insisted as Natalia approached. “You’ve grown taller!” “My last growth spurt since high school,” Natalia replied dryly. She was only wearing platforms but leave it to Brad not to notice. “You haven’t changed much yourself.” “I’ve been working as an engineer,” Brad announced, puffing his chest. “Nathan helped me get the job actually.” At the mention of her brother, Natalia perked up and met Brad’s gaze curiously. “You’ve seen Nathan?” “Yeah, I bumped into him about four years ago. He kind of helped me get out of my parent’s basement before allowing me to find a spot in the city. I haven’t seen him since, though.” Deflated, Natalia felt her shoulders slump slightly. Everything had hit the fan eight years ago…tensions that could no longer be tolerated in that small house exploded so thoroughly, that it resulted in all of them going their separate ways. Once upon a time, Natalia had been exceptionally close to her twin, practically playing along to the silly stereotype that all twins

were halves of the same whole. Four years ago was around the same time he sort of just disappeared; since then, Natalia hasn’t really stopped searching. Brad helped her check in with the concierge, giving the woman a nasty look when she tried to make Natalia wait at the back of the line. Paying for the next few nights, Natalia received her room key and prepared to walk off. “Hold on,” Brad called with a wave. Natalia felt a touch of disdain when he jogged up to catch up to her. “Our rooms are pretty close together. I’ll walk you there.” Shrugging, Natalia tuned Brad out as he continued to speak about his life since he left Riverdale, focusing more on the path to her room and finding a good point in the conversation to brush him off. Eventually, they arrived at their rooms and when she began to slide her card into the slot, she noticed he was hovering. “Bye, Brad,” Natalia said, fixing him a certain glare that he had responded to well enough in the past. He didn’t leave, though. Brad gave her a soft smile, leaning against the door frame with a confidence she hadn’t expected. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you

company, Natalia?” Brad asked suggestively. “I’m actually rather good in bed.” Snorting with disgust and some surprise, Natalia slipped her door open. “No, thanks. Bye, Brad.” “Oh, come on, give me a chance!” She didn’t spare him another glance before she pushed inside her room, slamming the door right in his face with finality. Brad may have been a bumbling giant back in high school, and while he had been pretty happy to jump into crueler plans, he lacked nerve when he didn’t have someone to shove him around. Natalia wasn’t interested in filling the role Nathan had had back in high school. She remained holed up in her bedroom for a few hours, focusing on completing a few spreadsheets for work and ordering room service for dinner. She wasn’t interested in meeting up with anyone anytime soon. Of course, staying holed up in an unfamiliar space for any period of time was enough to make anyone claustrophobic. So, after changing her wardrobe and tying her long, dark hair into a low ponytail, Natalia snuck out of her room and headed out of the hotel. The last thing she needed was to bump into another familiar face, but

she needed a drink.

****

There was only one good watering hole in the town—a rickety pub named Arty’s that was well known to harbor the town’s unfavorable idiots and village drunkards. She was pretty sure whoever was there would be too drunk to notice her and so she made her way there. Of course, it took her some time to reach the damn place. Without a car--and the streets bare of taxis--Natalia was forced to follow the sidewalk with downcast eyes and an easy gait. It only took about fifteen minutes until she found herself staring up at that silly red neon sign over the pub. Natalia had spent a few evenings in this place’s parking lot, attempting to study in the back of her brother’s pick-up while they passed around beers, jeering at incoming pub-goers. She had better luck studying with Nathan nearby and had grown tired of staying around their house whenever their parents had an argument. She was such an apathetic person back then, and following this town’s doomed capacity to never

change, Natalia seemed to be caught in the same loop. With a grunt, she headed inside the pub, grimacing at the stench of alcohol and foul body odor. Yep. Hasn’t changed a bit. As she approached the bar, she casually shrugged off the curious stares before taking a seat in one of the tall stools, tapping a finger against the top of the counter to wait for the bartender to show up. Sure enough, he appeared. “Great mother of God. If it isn’t Natalia Hyde, herself!” Natalia turned toward the voice and felt a small smile peek at the corner of her lips. “You’re still alive, old man?” she asked and the bartender let out a loud guffaw. Arty’s very own Arty Tibbleton; he had been the owner of the pub since Natalia had learned to walk and had been around more than her own father had. In a sense, Arty had taken a sort of paternal figure in Natalia’s life, offering more than enough advice to help her when she had been young. He was probably the only thing in her life that had remained a faithful constant, and it filled her with some contentment that he was still around and well. Arty was a large and buff man, with a large red beard he liked to keep bushy around his face. Having worked years carrying immense boxes of liquor, his body was

strong and broad and his connection to her family had spared her a lot of unwanted advances by some of Nathan’s less honorable acquaintances. “Alive and kicking,” Arty chuckled, swiping a rag along the counter before bracing himself on the wood. “How’s your family, you seen them already?” “No, I’m keeping my distance for as long as possible,” Natalia admitted, picking at a ridge in the old counter. “I’m staying at the Hilton.” “Ah, so you’re here for the reunion, then.” Arty said, grabbing a glass and filling it with liquor. “Would you like to try a cocktail? I’ve created a new drink; it should put some hair on that flat chest of yours.” “As much as I’d love that, I’ll stay clean.” Natalia said, chuckling along. “Just whiskey for now.” Arty gave her a warm wink before heading toward the requested bottle of whiskey. In no time at all, Natalia was downing the liquor with a sigh, relishing the burn in her throat and belly. She settled on musing on the counter, chatting here and there with Arty, and after her third glass, Natalia felt something—or rather someone—brush against

her arm. “Well, well,” she heard, and when she turned, she was being stared at by a pair of deep green eyes and a strong jaw line. “Haven’t seen you around here before.” “And you might not ever again,” Natalia replied swiftly, motioning to Arty to top her off. The bartender filled her glass, sending a frown to the man now occupying the space next to the woman. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Green Eyes said, and when Arty sent her a glance, Natalia gave him a wave. I’m good. With a nod, the broad man slid a glass of whiskey to the man next to her before returning to his patrons. “You know, you look weirdly familiar to me,” Green Eyes said after a moment of silence. Natalia rolled her eyes. “If this is your best shot at a pick-up line, you might want to try the redhead giving head to muscles over there.” Natalia stated, flicking her finger in the direction of said patrons. Green Eyes shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Nah, you don’t seem like the kind to be into

pick-up lines.” “Oh, what tipped you off?” she asked, but couldn’t help but feel a tingle of recognition in the back of her mind. She was certain the alcohol now running in her system was the main cause for her inability to remember. “Whiskey,” he said, taking a swig of his own drink. She had to admit, he wasn’t bad-looking. “Not exactly a fruity drink meant to entice strangers to get into your pants.” “Joke’s on you because I’m not exactly new around here,” Natalia shrugged, and that’s when a flash of realization dawned over this man’s eyes. “That’s how I know you,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You’re Natalia Hyde. My God, look at you. You really grew up.” Natalia frowned at him, not exactly thrilled he knew her when she couldn’t fish a memory of his face from her mind. “A symptom that comes with the passage of time,” she replied flippantly. “But, I have no idea who you are.” He raised a brow, and the expression was almost charming. The tickle in the back of her mind began to burn more insistently. “You wound me,

and here I thought my reputation preceded me.” “Apparently not,” Natalia said and he gave her a sudden grin before inching closer; there was a strange thrill that began in her skin when she felt his hand land over her thigh. She was tempted to punch him in the face, but it had been far too long since she had felt anything close to this. “Would you like to find out?” The memory came all too swiftly the deeper Natalia stared into this man’s eyes. “Dillinger…?” The name passed through her lips and she saw him flash her a brighter grin. “Jace Dillinger,” he said, his thumb leisurely tracing a circle against her knee. The shiver in her body increased and she knew that her lowered inhibitions were only tricking her to fall into his touch. “Pleasure to meet you. I take it you’re here for the big alumni reunion?” “I’m beyond excited,” Natalia hummed back with an apathetic curl of her lips. Jace chuckled into his glass, settling the crystal down as he turned right toward her. “You still following that brother of yours like a shadow?”

The words filled Natalia with a dip of bitterness, making her wish she hadn’t entertained him for a conversation. It had been a bad idea talking to someone who was familiar with her brother. “Nathan’s gone,” she muttered. “As in, he’s sort of disappeared.” “Well, I hope nothing bad’s happened to him,” said Jace. She wasn’t sure if that was genuine concern or a mocking tone in his voice, but she was suddenly very interested in the shape of his lips. “You and I both,” Natalia said, taking another sip of the bitter drink. His lips gave a simple quirk. “Feel free to say no, but would you like to get out of here?” The thrill returned with a sultry vengeance, filling her up with familiar tingles of desire and black amusement. When she realized that what remained in her hotel room was the hovering figure of Brad, Natalia couldn’t help but want to follow this guy somewhere dangerous. “Yeah,” she said, half-sighing with a shrug. Yet despite the disinterested tone in her voice, there was a fire in her blood that flared into fierce sparks when Jace took her hand in his and led her out of the pub. She couldn’t help but feel something like excitement in her chest, nerves writhing with

giddiness and anticipation. But that was probably just the booze in her system.

****

Colliding with someone had never felt as good as it did now. Sure, there had been times when she had allowed herself a night where she would take a guy, lead him to her bed and then watch him leave moments later. Her skin would always feel dirty despite how satiated she felt. When she watched those men walk out of her room just as easily as they had entered it, she tried to shake off the drag of loneliness that followed. Natalia hadn’t always been like this--she had been stronger. Once upon a time, she had even been unbelievably naïve, expecting to meet someone special and form a powerful connection with them shortly afterward. She had even gotten close… But life, as it would have it, had different plans for her and she found herself picking up the pieces of her heart when one of them, a man with soft blue eyes named Drake, had walked out saying he “just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.” Ten years since the last day she had walked out the double doors of that damn high school, and

Natalia was suddenly back in the same little town she had sworn to never return to. Now, here she was, intoxication running sweet inhibitions through her bloodstream as she let this newer notch on her metaphorical bedpost kiss her with wild abandon. “Jace,” the name escaped past her lips in a wanton moan. A flash of humorous irony passed over her mind in a moment of short-lived sobriety. Ten years ago, she had turned her nose up at this man because he was nothing short of a juvenile delinquent. She had primed herself for success while he had been busy punching people out. Sure, Nathan probably wasn’t any better, but her brother never bothered staining his hands like Jace did. He was notorious, with his black hair mussed around and leather jackets far too big for him then. Girls swooned when he walked down the hallways with his devil-may-care attitude and his penchant for easy pleasures. Not Natalia. No, she had seen him. Heard of him. Sure, he was good-looking, but he was an idiot, and she had a future to prepare for and a brother to watch out for. Ironically, now he was the only one who could make her feel anything. “Listen to you,” he spoke against the crook of her neck, tongue flicking over a sweet spot near her

throat, making her shiver as he pressed her against the wall of his apartment. “It’s like you’ve never had a guy between your legs or something.” The alcohol in her system did nothing to hold her back from letting go in this moment where his fingers trailed fire down her skin, rubbing against the slickness between her legs. She wanted him inside her—now. With a surge of violence— inhibition also made it easy for her to react so brashly—Natalia met his lips with a vicious bite of teeth against teeth. “You wanna talk, or do you want to fuck me-which is it going to be?” She snarled against his mouth and she felt him smirk widely, felt him buck his hips a little harder against hers. “Ice Queen’s got a bite,” Jace chuckled, digging his fingers hard into the curve of her rear. They both let out a hiss at the friction; he began to pull her away from the wall and deeper into his apartment. Each step left them both more naked than the last, and when she felt Jace’s fingers reach up her shirt to grab her breasts, a sharp noise of pleasure escaped her, making him meet her whiskey-stained mouth with his own. Suddenly, the world was spinning and Natalia

felt something rough but soft meet her back, her pants sliding off her legs and making her shiver. When she looked back up, she saw Jace kneeling behind her legs, his hands caressing the skin of her hips as he pumped a fist rapidly over himself. “Do…you have a condom?” “Already on, doll,” he replied, and in the dark it was hard to see, but Natalia wasn’t exactly too mindful of the details. She just wanted him in, right now. “Then hurry it up,” she snapped, pushing herself up to reach over to his neck and yank him forward. He met her kisses eagerly, tongues lashing together and making bitter tasting bows with every connection and tremble of flesh. She felt his fingers trace away from her hip to plunge into the depths of her entrance, making her gasp at the intrusion, but moan when he began to shift. “Holy shit,” she heard him gasp, “You’re so tight.” She could only whimper in response, bucking her hips to match the thrust of his fingers, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. She had been wanting for much more since she was a student in a sad little high school. With a growl, Natalia pushed

him off of her before nearly tackling him to the bed. Jace gave her a look of surprise, watching her with wide green eyes as she settled on his lap. She had never been on top before, but she hardly cared. Alcohol was something else. “Never would’ve pegged you for a dom,” Jace said, his voice coming out half-groaning halfchuckling as she rubbed herself against his hardness. He felt large, he felt thick, and she just wanted him to make the drag of loneliness fade away. Natalia reached down and grasped him in her hands just as she felt him reach up to fiddle electric touches over her hardened nipples. “Shut up,” she muttered before lifting herself up and sinking back down. The head of his cock met her entrance and with a swift drop, Natalia let Jace’s erection pierce her hard. The hasty connection made him arch his back and let out a slew of profanity that sounded like music to her ears. “Shit—you feel—you’re so tight—” Jace said, but Natalia was already grinding, forcing moans of pleasure out of their lips before she felt his hands reach around her hips. His hips rose to meet her undulations with powerful thrusts, making Natalia feel her body respond with heightened whimpers

and harder grinds. Her kiss-stung lips parted, dropping to expose a pink tongue and white teeth that clattered gently with every shove. It was amazing. “So good,” she moaned, repeating the words over and over again in a mantra as she shifted her hips harder and harder against his pubic bone. “Just like that...oh—oh, so good!” Before she knew it, the tables turned and she was flipped over on her back as Jace worked his hips against hers in ways that made her moans rise to high pitched keens and wails. She could feel it, the beginnings of a climax that threatened to shoot her off an edge and leave her screaming. Then he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder; the new angle precipitating an orgasm that slammed into her with the force of a freight train. He moved harder, faster, and deeper, making her writhe and twitch viciously against the bed. Her lips could hardly wrap around the words “So good” and “faster,” so she clung to a single syllable that made him buck against her like an animal. “Yes—YES! YES!!” And then he was groaning; twitching before she felt the heat between their legs erupt, sending

them into a bliss she had been aching for—a bliss she never believed in her entire life that she could attain with Jace fucking Dillinger.

****

Natalia woke up to a shifting between her legs that nearly made her shoot off the bed. The alarm only succeeded in jamming a violent headache right between her eyes. With a groan, she collapsed back onto a floppy pillow. “Ugh, what the hell…?” she began, but stopped when she heard a soft chuckle. “What time is it?” she muttered, gasping when she felt that shift rub nicely against her folds, making her sigh out gently. “Five AM,” she heard, and when she peeked out from under her arm, she noticed that the daylight entering the dank and unfamiliar room was dim and soft. Her eyes landed on a single hand, tracing around between her legs and working her up. “Relax, Nat. Just helping you with that hangover.” “What a gentleman,” she murmured, but found that he had a point. Orgasms supposedly were a pretty sweet cure for nasty headaches. She blinked once before dropping a hand to stop his ministrations. “Did you just call me Nat?” she

asked, and when she turned around, she was faced by curious green eyes. And it all hit her like a ton of bricks. She had slept with a guy not twenty-four hours since her arrival, and now she was in the idiot’s bed. When the hell did she get so careless? Thoroughly put off, she shoved him off of her, turning her body away from his gaze as she stood in search of her clothes. “What’s the matter?” Jace purred, voice raspy and alluring. Natalia wasn’t going to fall for it now that she had a killer headache and her common sense back in place. “I’m leaving,” was her stout reply, tossing him a glare over her shoulder, black locks hanging down her face like a ragged curtain. “Where’s my underwear?” Jace gave her a shrug, lifting his arms to rest behind his head. His naked torso was like sculpted marble, draped almost artfully with the pale gray sheets around him. Natalia nearly felt nauseous after staring at him for so long. With a grunt of irritation, the woman continued her search on her own, throwing Jace icy glares every time their gazes met.

“You know, I might be able to tell you where I last saw them, but for a price,” Jace smirked up at her teasingly as she scoured the bedroom. It was— unsurprisingly—covered in strewn pieces of laundry and the occasional bag of garbage. Ugh, gross. “You can jerk off on your own,” Natalia retorted, not sparing him another glance. “I’m sure I can find them.” “Whatever,” Jace replied, clearly at ease to let her continue searching without his assistance. Her irritability nearly made her want to turn around and chuck the nearest garbage at his face, but she refrained, knowing full well it’ll only make things worse. The sooner she got out, the better. “You know, you weren’t half bad.” “You weren’t half good,” Natalia snarked back, feeling some relief when she found her shorts. “That’s not what you were screaming last night,” Jace teased; she could practically hear the grin over his mouth. “If I recall, it sounded something like ‘Yes, yes, just like that—oh God!’ but then again, I could be wrong.” Natalia finally straightened up from tugging

her shorts over her hips. She fixed him an unamused stare, “That did not sound like me at all.” “Close enough,” he said and gave her a little beckoning with his chin. Natalia almost paused, somewhat entranced by the way his figure was so open to her with a sultry promise of more pleasure. She remembered how her fingers had gripped hard on his back, dragging bright red welts over his spine as he pounded into her. Yeah—she would admit—it had been a pretty great lay, but she wasn’t the kind to shoot for seconds, sloppy or otherwise. With a snort, Natalia turned around and headed out the room, “If you find my underwear, I expect you to throw them away.” “I will make no such promises!” he called back as she sauntered out the door and down the hallway of the apartment. She was able to find her bra and shirt easily enough, tugging them on as she made her escape. She never considered herself as one to take part in what women called ‘The Walk Of Shame,’ thinking the entire idea was completely idiotic since there was nothing shameful about having a great lay. Besides, it’s not like she had had any romantic expectations between her and Jace. It was just a

single one night stand. That was all. Heading back to the hotel proved to be another issue entirely since Natalia couldn’t remember where she was. This early in the morning, there were few people up and about and since she was fairly certain she could orient herself, she continued on her merry way without wanting to run back to Jace’s arms. After some time, Natalia felt her back pocket buzz against her skin; when she pulled her phone out curiously, her irritation only skyrocketed further. See you at the reunion, princess. ;) With a curl of her lip, Natalia quickly typed a response before deleting the message and Jace’s contact information from her phone. Fuck off. She could practically hear him laughing at her response, and she tugged her phone back in her pocket before she continued on her not-so-merry way.

****

Keeping to herself had been a bit of a longshot wish. She had hoped to avoid meeting with her family for as long as possible. She probably should have asked Arty to keep her appearance a secret, but two days after her little rendezvous with Jace Dillinger, her phone suddenly buzzed with the excited call of her mother’s desire to meet. “How long ago did you arrive, and how come you haven’t told me? I had to hear from Archibald that you got here, and he said you disappeared with some strange man? Please tell me it wasn’t Jace Dillinger.” Wonderful. “It wasn’t Jace Dillinger,” Natalia replied evenly, taking a sip of her morning coffee and staring at one of the hotel’s newspapers. “And I’ve been busy, so sorry I haven’t visited yet.” “Busy doing what, Natalia?” her mother sounded exasperated.

“Catching up with old friends.” Ha, that was laughable. Natalia Hyde was never known to be the type to harbor friends. The closest thing she had to friends were Nathan’s old lackeys, but they were more like bits of amusement rather than friends. What friends Natalia had during her first years of high school had disappeared with Nathan’s rise in notoriety, and soon, all of her time was spent making sure her brother didn’t do anything extremely stupid. “Really?” her mother sounded dubious. Natalia had a feeling the woman was aware of her daughter’s reputation as the school’s Ice Queen. “Well, that’s nice, I suppose.” “Any sign of Nathan?” Natalia asked, but kicked herself once the words came out. If she hadn’t contacted her parents when she arrived, it was even less likely that her brother would have. “Nothing,” was the response and Natalia sunk into her chair, spreading the remains of her breakfast over her plate. “I wish you’d come and visit soon. Your father would love that.” “I’m sure he would, Mom,” Natalia said, humoring the woman before ending the call. The reminder of Jace was no help to her already

frazzled nerves, and while Natalia had been successful in steering clear of the dark-haired temptation, her body didn’t do her any favors. The following nights that she had spent in her hotel room were spent in restless sleep and frustrating dreams. Brad had come knocking one of those nights, hoping for a nightcap, and Natalia nearly ripped his head off in aggravation after refusing him twice. He managed to get the hint after that and gave Natalia plenty of space whenever they bumped into each other. Exhaling, the dark-haired woman slid a palm down her cheek, ignoring the slickness between her legs as she tapped a rapid rhythm with her fork against the plate. She lifted an arm and waited for a server to arrive with the check, silently damning Jace for the intimate frustrations she’d been dealing with. As expected, Natalia furtively avoided heading home, dodging every single phone call from her mother with the excuse that she was busy with other things—which earned her a huge guilttripping text message—until she could find some peace. The rest of the day passed by with Natalia’s focus on her work, and when she visited the pub one last time, she was both relieved and disappointed that Jace remained absent throughout

the end of the night.

****

The dreaded day of the reunion finally came around, and Natalia was in the middle of getting ready when she heard a knock at her door. A groan built its way through her throat as she approached the door, “For the last time, Brad. I don’t need a fucking date to the reunion.” When she opened the door, to her surprise, a pair of green eyes and a natural smirk met her gaze. The moment her eyes found the rest of Jace’s figure, her expression had flattened considerably, even if her heart was now thrumming hard. “Oh. You. What do you want?” Jace’s smirk widened, “Wow, and here I thought you reserved that attitude for when you’re hungover. You look nice, by the way.” “If this is your idea of a proposition, you can beat it,” Natalia grunted. “I’m not interested.” Jace gave her a shrug and she took that moment to appraise him. He was dressed rather

sharply. A black button-down shirt hugged his figure like a loose glove; a simple gray tie hung around his neck where the collar was unbuttoned, exposing his collarbone. A silver belt buckle accentuated the narrow dip of his hips, and black slacks slipped down his legs. Even his sleeves were rolled up to expose the corded muscles of his forearms. She couldn’t deny that he looked incredibly delectable right now. “If you must know,” Jace spoke, “I wanted to give you a bit of news.” “Oh?” Natalia asked, leaning against the doorframe. “What of?” “It has to do with your brother, Nathan.” That got her attention. Straightening up, Natalia felt her fingers itch for a whole new reason and her heart gave a little jump in her chest. Jace noticed her change in demeanor with a smile and he turned his chin slightly to fix her an amused stare. “Have you seen him? Did he show up?” Jace chuckled, “Easy there, tiger. I’ll tell you everything I know,” he paused to lift up a finger. “But, on one condition.” She was already dreading his reply. “And that

is?” Then his smile rose half-way, making his lips twist in a charming smile that almost seemed boyish. “Be my date to the reunion?” With a disgusted snort, Natalia tried to slam the door in his face, but he stopped her by pressing a hand over the door. “Aw, come on; humor me a little.” “What part of ‘not interested,’ did you not understand?” Natalia hissed, bracing herself against the door as she met his gaze with a glower. “Possibly the whole ‘not’ part,” Jace replied cheekily. “I will break your fucking hand, Dillinger— don’t think I won’t.” He laughed, “Alright, alright, I’ll lay off. If you change your mind and you want to find out what I have to say, then give me a call. You should have my number.” “I deleted it,” she said before forcing the door shut. Jake yanked his hand away before his fingers caught between the wood and the frame. Natalia waited against the door for several moments,

wishing her heart rate to slow down and the heat in her blood to cool off. Damn him. Minutes later, her phone gave an abrupt buzz; when she checked it, her stomach plummeted to her feet. Sure enough, it could only be Jace who texted her, and Natalia had half a mind to toss her phone into the toilet. Here you go. ;) What an asshole.

****

The reunion was exactly what Natalia had expected it to be: awkward, boring, and far too long to be enjoyable. The whole thing started at 3 PM and wasn’t due to finish until midnight. It had barely been two hours since it began, and the young woman was already wishing she had played hooky and just showed up at the very end. She had even entertained the idea of visiting her parents instead of sticking around for much longer, but that was easily disregarded when she pictured how her mother would react. No. If she was going to visit, it would be right before she had to leave; that way she could avoid unnecessary ‘bonding time,’ as her mother liked to call it. The only good thing that came from the whole event was that they had an open bar, with all the free vodka Natalia could possible want. It was there where she had taken up temporary residence while their class presidency struggled with setting up the commemorative slideshow of all the good times.

The music was dull and those who recognized Natalia stayed far away; this wasn’t a problem for her at all. Until Brad showed up. “You look really pretty in that dress, Natalia,” he said; the dark-haired woman had to pause from swirling her martini glass to glance over to his large figure. He was dressed in an old gray suit and his floppy hair was slicked back over his large head, exposing a rather unattractive receding hairline. “Thanks,” she said, noncommittally. “I made it myself.” Brad’s eyes blinked wide open, unsure of whether to take her words seriously or not, and gave her a half smile, shuffling awkwardly to stand next to her. “So, uh…you doing anything later?” “Yep,” Natalia replied, reaching behind to grab an olive from a tray to plop it into her mouth. “Real busy.” Brad appeared somewhat disappointed before he tried to fix her a very sad version of a sultry look, “Might I tempt you to...change your mind?” “Afraid not, Bradley,” she said, her eyes never

leaving her drink. Brad glanced up, eyes crinkling with confusion when Jace appeared from the other side of the counter. Jace looked absolutely pleased with himself. “Our plans can’t be rescheduled. You’re looking nice, though. Sharp suit.” “You look familiar,” Brad muttered curiously. “Bye, Brad,” Natalia said quickly, knowing full well the consequences that would explode around them once the bigger man recognized Jace’s smirking face. The dismissal was taken with some surprise and unexpected disappointment, and sure enough, Brad was slinking off into the crowd. “Poor guy,” Jace sighed dramatically. “You’re as brutal as I heard you’d be.” Natalia wasted no time jumping to the point. “What do you want, Jace?” He faced her with mischievous green eyes and sly smile, “If we’re being honest, you.” Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, dragging her fingers down a lock of her black hair away from her face. She would not look at him, especially now that his words had started a strange tremor in her chest. She should’ve tested her luck with her family.

“Bye, Jace,” she said before leaving her halfempty martini glass on the counter. A warm and coarse hand gripped around her wrist; gentle, but with enough tug to stop her. “Alright, I won’t play around,” Jace said, and when she dared to face him, his demeanor had sobered up. She could see a muscle in his jaw work as he seemed to be genuinely struggling for something to say. The very implication of what was about to transpire next made her freeze completely, incapable of pulling away. “But, I wasn’t lying when I said I do want you.” A bright flush erupted beneath her skin, and for the weirdest moment, Natalia could feel her body react almost violently to the sincerity in his words. This was…new. For years, men tried to make contact with her, only to disappear moments later; but this guy wanted to stick around? She didn’t get it. “You’re joking, right?” she asked, a tinge of panic in her otherwise composed voice. Jace shook his head, and his thumb traced over the skin of her palm, making electric shocks buzz with every caress. “I’m serious, believe it or not,” he said. “I

haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you walked off that morning.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Firmly yanking her wrist away, Natalia took a step away from him and nearly stumbled over her own heels. Jace’s face contorted to one of wounded surprise before it disappeared behind a wall of casual stone. “That isn’t funny, Jace,” Natalia stated, her voice hard. “I’m not laughing, Nat.” There it was again. What gave him the right to call her that? “Let me make something clear to you,” she hissed, taking an angry step forward. “That was a one-time thing. I’m not a doll you can collect or some conquest you can drape on your arm. We drank, we had fun, and we had sex. That’s all. It meant nothing.” Jace looked genuinely taken aback, but his face had hardened swiftly before she could make anything of it. A familiar smirk appeared over his lips, “Alright, Ice Queen, I get it. But let me ask you just one question before we go on our merry ways.” Natalia felt one of her eyebrows twitch, “Spit

it out, then.” He moved before she could attempt to figure out what he was doing. His mouth rammed firmly into hers, pressing a fiery current against her tongue and setting her skin alight with pleasure. Natalia couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, her mind blanking completely when one of his hands curled around her neck to tilt her chin further toward him. It wasn’t at all like the kisses they had exchanged that night when they were drunk, and even though there was some inhibition spooling warmth in her blood, Natalia was perfectly aware of what was happening. So, it made no sense whatsoever when she let out a soft moan and pressed a little harder against him, wanting to taste more—feel more—she wanted to drag him deep into her chest and make him do wonders over her heart. She had leaned upwards, her fingers beginning to tighten around his tie and dig wrinkles into his shirt when suddenly Jace broke away, peeling his mouth from hers with an obscene little pop. She was gasping, her mind reeling and her knees shaking. He began to speak; she could feel his breath

against her lips, “Are you absolutely sure that meant nothing?” And just like that, Jace ripped himself away from her and sauntered off, leaving Natalia to stare after him, lips kiss-stung, and body trembling as if she had been electrocuted. It wasn’t until after he left that Natalia remembered that he knew something about her brother, but by the time she realized that, Jace was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the night.

****

“I thought you told me that you didn’t get involved with Jace Dillinger!” The following morning, Natalia had woken up to a killer headache and an angry call from her mother. She had barely managed to burrow out from the sheets and comforter, choking out a ‘hello’ into the phone, before her mother’s voice shrieked in her ear. “Mom,” Natalia groaned, pressing the heel of her palm into one of her eyes. “We have got to teach you to stop shouting on the phone. Besides, why does it matter?” “Stop being cheeky with me, Natalia! I heard about your little make-out session from Cecilia Warren!” Who?? “Apparently, you two made quite spectacular show for the rest of your class!”

the

“Again, why does it matter?” It probably wasn’t a fantastic idea to have asked that at the moment, and Natalia realized that the second her mother began another assault of words on her already exhausted brain. Fantastic. So not only did she let that moron kiss her, but the entire town probably knew about it by now. Just wonderful. With a pained sigh, Natalia pulled the phone away from her ear to give herself some respite from her mother’s rant. The relief was almost instantaneous and despite her desire to hang up, Natalia could only glare at the screen of her phone, watching the seconds tick by as her mother went on and on. She began to doze off when she caught something her mother said, yanking wakefulness through her system like ice water. Pressing the phone back over her ear, Natalia intervened in her mother’s monologue. “Wait—what? What about Nathan? You mentioned Nathan?” “Were you not paying attention at all, Natalia?” her mother shot back. “Nathan’s here! Archibald called us to say he’d appeared at the pub last night!”

“When—where is he now, did Arty tell you that?” Natalia stressed, already pushing herself to her feet in a frantic search for her shoes. “Come on, Mom, what else did he tell you?” “Well, he didn’t tell me much, but he said he was worried! He mentioned that Nathan had been asking around for information of Davis Jordan—” Oh no. “—But that boy hasn’t been back since that incident at the gas station. It makes no sense why your brother would want to find him instead of stopping by to greet his parents! It’s as if I mean nothing to my children anymore—” Last night. Nathan had arrived yesterday… and suddenly Jace’s words came back to her full force. He knows my brother is here… he probably knows why. With a final and hurried farewell to her mother, Natalia ended the phone call, tugging a few pain pills from her bag and tossing them into her mouth before rushing out of her room. She had to go find her brother. She needed to know why he was back here; she could only hope it wouldn’t spell trouble.

****

The reunion between the two siblings had been nothing like Natalia had hoped for. She had all but sprinted toward the pub, hoping that she might find a sign, or maybe find Arty waiting for her to tell her about Nathan’s whereabouts. Instead, when she managed to push her way through the doors of the pub, she found the most unlikely sight. The pub was empty, save three people there, and the place was in such disarray; a bar fight could be the only logical explanation for it. There were tipped tables and upturned chairs; broken glass glittered over the ground, but it was not enough to distract Natalia from seeing her brother’s face glancing up at her through a bloodstained napkin stuffed up his nose. She recognized the familiar tousled black hair and the shape of his slumped shoulders as easily as she could recognize her own and the years that had passed between them suddenly disappeared—just for a moment—like a wisp of smoke. Sitting on an opposing chair sat none other

than Jace Dillinger, nursing a split lip with a bag of frozen peas, his own dark hair stuck up, framing his face dangerously. His green eyes had widened in surprise upon landing on Natalia. Arty stood between them, huge arms crossed, acting as a wall between the two wounded men. Natalia didn’t care much for the others, taking several steps toward her brother’s hunched figure automatically. She stopped when his brows furrowed, and she remembered exactly what had transpired; the wall of distance returned. “G’morning, Natalia,” Arty said somberly. “What the hell happened?” she asked, ignoring Arty’s greeting. “These two dumbasses,” Arty grunted, aiming a sharp glare at the two men, “started a ludicrous fight here a few hours ago. Nearly called the cops on the two of ‘em, but managed to get them to sit their asses down.” Natalia threw her brother a different glare this time, irritated that his temper still hadn’t changed. “Why?” “Nice to see you too, Nat.” Nathan spoke finally, his voice sounding partially muffled through

the napkins stuffed up his nostrils. “Fuck you, Nate!” Natalia snarled, fists clenching at her sides. “You don’t get to act nonchalant after all these years. Not even one phone call?! I understand why you’d avoid Mom and Dad, but I didn’t realize I’d been so unimportant to you that I’d be cast in the same list!” “I had my reasons, Nat.” Nathan replied, giving her a half-shrug. “I didn’t owe you or Mom and Dad any explanations.” “Asshole,” she hissed finally taking those final steps toward her brother. She saw Arty give a start toward her, probably worried she would do something drastic. She wanted to hit him, punch him in his stupid nose for causing her this anguish, but Jace had done that already and all she could stomach to do was to fall to her knees and crush her twin against her chest in a bone-snapping embrace. She felt his arms wrap around her just as quickly, and she nearly broke down when she felt him wheeze against her. “Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” “Sorry…” he muttered softly against her ear. Tears burned down her cheeks as she clenched her

fingers into his jacket. “I wanted to say hi when I saw you yesterday.” Natalia pulled away, searching Nathan’s face with surprise. “You—what?” “I did want to tell you that I knew something about your brother,” Jace piped in, earning their attention. “See, I’m not so bad.” Nathan’s face contorted into a violent expression, his gray eyes black with ire as he pointed a finger at the man. “You have no right to talk to her, Dillinger. Not after that shit stunt you pulled last night. Thanks to you, the entire town is convinced she’s one of your whores now!” Jace let out a bitter laugh, “You know, I would believe your ‘brotherly over-protection’ if you hadn’t been gone for eight years.” “Eat shit, you bastard!” Nathan shouted, pushing past his sister to lunge for the dark-haired man. Arty slammed a broad hand over Nathan’s shoulder, shoving him back in his seat. “Nathan, will you fucking stop for five seconds?” Natalia snapped, earning her a shocked stare from her brother. “Jesus, why do you people care so much about what this town thinks?”

“Wait—Nat,” Nathan gasped, his eyes honing on her with an accusatory stare. “What the hell? Did you want this asshole to kiss you?” “She sure didn’t hate it,” Jace answered. Natalia shot him a fierce glare, he smirked at her in response. When she looked back at her brother, she was rubbing her temple with a hand. “Why does it matter whether or not he kissed me?” she turned back toward her brother. “I thought we’d gotten past all this when we left this place.” “I guess we haven’t,” Nathan replied coldly and when Natalia looked at her brother, there was nothing but disdain in his eyes. “You slept with him, didn’t you?” Everything froze between the two siblings. They had once been two halves of the same whole. She had been able to feel what he felt as easy as it was to breathe. Time had passed and changed things, yes, but she knew their bond hadn’t really changed all that much. Natalia didn’t have to answer for her brother to know the truth. After a short eternity of connected gazes, Nathan broke away first, looking betrayed and angry. All Natalia could do was stare at him in anguish.

Minutes later, Nathan pulled himself up from his chair and pulled out a wad of cash from his back pocket before slapping it on his seat. “This should cover the damages, Arty,” he muttered before walking off, brushing past Natalia with a series of footsteps that made her feel cold. “Where you going, Kid?” Arty asked with a sigh. “My parents’ place,” he replied with a grunt, the swing of the door screeched through the uncomfortable silence. “I’ve got some business with my old man.” And with that, the door slammed shut. Natalia felt her chin fall to her chest, tears raining from her eyes as she felt her brother’s absence choke the feeling of loneliness against her throat. She flinched when she felt a warm and coarse hand wrap around hers; when Natalia looked up, she saw Jace peering down at her with a look of thinly veiled remorse. “Sorry about that,” he apologized softly. For a moment, Natalia wanted to slap him, push him away, shout at him for ruining everything, but she couldn’t bear heading back to a cold hotel room where she would entertain her isolation any longer.

Clenching her teeth, Natalia succumbed to his touch, her fingers tightening around his as she huffed out sobs through her chest. “Come on… let’s get you out of here.” She had been well known as the Ice Queen of Riverdale High and people had steered clear, but all Natalia really ever wanted was someone warm to understand her. With a tug of hands, Natalia allowed Jace Dillinger to pull her out of Arty’s pub, the ice around her heart cracking so painfully, she couldn’t help but want to sink away.

****

The second time Natalia found herself in Jace’s apartment, she was sober and more emotionally vulnerable than she could have handled any other time. To her surprise, Jace had led her to a chair and brought her a tall glass of cool water and a box of tissues. He had remained silent the entire time, giving her space as she wiped away stray tears and waited for the churning in her stomach to disappear. Several times, her phone went off, her mother’s number blinking urgently on the screen while Natalia stared at it vacantly. After the fifth time it went off, she was surprised when Jace reached for the gadget and pressed the power button. With a flick of his thumb, the phone faded to a dark screen and doused them both in a swift silence that felt strangely liberating for Natalia. When he set it back down on the table, Natalia couldn’t hide beneath his soft gaze, the way the corner of his lip quirked gently. “Why are you doing this?” she asked him

suddenly. He pursed his lips for a moment, “I think it goes without saying.” “No,” Natalia denied. “Tell me….please.” He gave her a strange look; one that she couldn’t read. “You know, I’ve known you since elementary school. We were in a few of the same classes for a couple years. You never looked at me; you never really cared. But I would watch you as you studied, and I couldn’t help but wonder why you never cared, when literally everyone else wouldn’t leave me alone.” He paused for a moment, lifting a hand to rub at the muscles of his neck. The movement was entrancing and made Natalia’s mouth dry up. “When we got to high school, I did everything I could to get you to notice me. I messed around with lots of girls, but you never even blinked in my direction. You weirded me out, Natalia. And it drove me insane. Then we graduated, and you disappeared for years and I sort of just stuck around here. I got a few odd jobs, fooled around a little more, and even had a girlfriend for almost a year...but nothing seemed to be enough. Then you showed up, and when I saw you, you still had that

uncaring look on your face; I honestly felt ridiculously excited. I was a nervous wreck when you agreed to come here, God knows why. I figured, hell, I’ll get in and get out—get that fill and move on with my life. But then you got on top of me and when I felt you, I realized exactly how deep in shit I was.” “What do you mean?” Jace grinned at her, and even with a split lip he looked like he was carved from marble or granite stone. Beautiful, untouchable, and completely desirable. “I want you, Nat. I want you more than anything I’ve ever needed before.” Then he was reaching toward her chin, lifting her face to meet her wide-eyed gaze with one of intent and desire. She knew better than to fall for his words, than to listen to a single thing he said, but something inside her was taught, reverberating like a string with every little touch he cast on her. He made music erupt in her skin, and it had been unlike anything she had ever felt before. Curious and aching, Natalia allowed Jace to press his mouth over hers, and the familiar heat that exploded in her body yesterday reappeared with a brilliant vengeance.

Throwing caution to the wind, Natalia pushed herself to the tips of her toes, closing the distance between their figures and wrapping her arms tight around his neck and shoulders. Jace responded in kind, parting his lips against hers, letting her in to taste that strange, yet intoxicating flavor she found herself addicted to. His hands drifted around her waist, dragging down her back and around the flare of her hips. The touch sparked her hips to grind against his, forcing Jace to part from their kiss with a sharp hiss. “H-hey, you sure you…?” he trailed off when Natalia tipped her chin to recapture his mouth between her teeth. She gave him a soft moan, pulling at him to lead her back to his bedroom. Jace shuddered beneath her fingertips, dragging his broad hands down to her thighs before hooking them under her knees. Natalia gave a little bounce at his insistence, wrapping her legs around his waist as he peppered her mouth with kisses. They stumbled a couple of times, and she felt him smile against her mouth when they pushed into his room. When they fell upon the bed, Natalia could feel the heat in her body shoot down to her core and she knew he could see it reflected in her halflidded gaze.

Their movements weren’t as urgent as their first time together. Jace took his time peeling her clothes off. His hips bucked against hers with more deliberate grazes that left her gasping against his neck and reaching to dig her hands into his hair. When his tongue found the edge of her collarbone, Natalia had found she could no longer deal with his slow pace. She shoved him off, tackling him down to the bed before sealing her mouth over his once more, noting how he moaned when she straddled him. His hands reached down to her ass, pushing down as she ground hard against him, making the friction rough and delicious. “Jace,” Natalia moaned, feeling his hands dip past the fabric of her shorts. “I-I want…” “Yeah?” he replied, rolling over her once more to pin her to the bed. With several frantic kicks and bucks of their hips, the last of their clothes were shed, drowning them both in the sensation of their flesh rubbing together. “Hold on, let me get a condom,” he muttered, but Natalia refused to release him. “Forget the condom,” she huffed, “Just—just do it already!”

“Are you—” he paused, groaning when she spread her legs wider apart, making him rub against her drenched folds. “Are you on the pill?” “YES!” she snapped, impatient and wanting him to enter her that very moment. Jace let out another groan, reaching down to rub his fingers against her clit, dragging torturous circles around the sensitive nub. Natalia gasped out a loud moan, bracing her feet against the mattress to grind against his touch. In moment, she felt him align with her entrance, teasing her with mock thrusts that had her biting down hard on her lip. “Do you want it?” he asked, and Natalia let out a whine. “Uh-huh,” she huffed, feeling dizzy with desire. She spotted his grin above her and she nearly kicked him. “I don’t think you do.” “Jace!” He chuckled, deep and throaty, “Alright, alright.” He shifted his hips, burying his length between her legs. They both let out a series of moans, basking in the sensations of filling and being filled; the sensation of completion. “How can you

be so tight?” he groaned. “Mmm,” Natalia hummed in pleasure as he began to move. “Oh—oh, yes. Like that.” Her moans rose in pitch as Jace’s fingers blazed fiery trails over her shivering skin. She let out a particularly loud whimper when his fingers found her perked nipples, dragging jolt after jolt of electric pleasure through her body. Her legs wrapped around waist, hips bouncing as he thrust deeper inside of her. “Faster,” she urged, but Jace had another plan. Suddenly, he pulled out; when Natalia let out a cry of protest, she could only yelp when he grabbed her hips and spun her over to her belly. She pushed herself up to her elbows, gasping as he hovered above her, lifting her hips up to meet his. She could feel him grinding against her; Natalia’s back arched when one of his hands trailed down below her belly to spread her legs out further, his fingers trailing over entrance just as his cock found its way back inside her. The new position felt amazing, and when he pushed her further down, she could feel him thrust as her nipples rubbed against the sheets beneath. Each touch of his fingers on her folds made her seize, her muscles tightening and clamping hard

before releasing. This time, he didn’t hesitate to plow into her, driving into her with such force it was almost impossible to hold back the screams from escaping her throat. “Oh! Oh, God—Like that! I’m so close!” she heard herself cry, felt her body spasm and flail as he pistoned his hips against hers. It was incredible. It was amazing. Suddenly, Natalia’s orgasm slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. Her inner walls clamped down hard over Jace’s cock, milking him and fluttering over his throbbing length until she was seeing white. He bucked harder, faster, panting wildly in tandem to the sound of their bodies slapping together until she felt him stutter against her, his hot release blooming deep within her. The two lovers collapsed on the mattress, gasping for air as they waited for the waves of bliss to pass and leave them sighing gently in each other’s arms. Shifting, she felt Jace’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close to his chest, pressing languid kisses over her neck. She met his gaze with a half-smile and a caress to his cheek. She could picture herself really liking him, really liking the curve of his jaw, the perk of his smug lips. Natalia found herself envisioning something with

Jace different from anything she’d had with anyone before. “Can I ask you something?” Jace muttered some time later. “What is it?” “Would you…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing sheepishly—she found the sight to be so heartbreakingly endearing. “Would you like to stay with me… just a little bit longer?” There was a strange warmth in her chest, a strange sensation that made her feel like she could reach out and grab that picture of happiness between her and Jace. She knew her family would shout and shake their heads, and Nathan would probably be insanely mad at her for this, but she had been alone for years, and she was quite tired of the isolation. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I’d like that.” And for the first time in a long time, Natalia was content, wrapped in a pair of warm arms and a bright smile. Who the hell cares what other people think?

THE END

DEADLY FORTUNE Rachel’s life has been a constant struggle. After scraping by to get through college, years of sacrifice have left her with little reward. Chained to a desk in a dead-end position, she often finds herself asking, “Is this really all there is?” Her luck suddenly changes when, one morning, she notices an anonymous transfer into her bank account for two million dollars. As she comes to grips with her sudden windfall, she finds her life threatened by an anonymous group who is hell-bent on prying her away from her newly gained fortune. A dangerously handsome stranger named Dylan mysteriously arrives just in time, claiming to be sent to protect her for reasons he won't disclose. Will her new irresistibly hot—but evasive— bodyguard be able to protect her, or will she end up paying the ultimate price for her new fortune?

PART ONE Rachel groaned into her pillow as the sound of Muse’s “Hysteria” ripped her out of the depths of an intense sleep. She reached out blindly, groping for her phone on the bedside table, trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to cue the snooze function. It would only net her an extra nine minutes—just enough time to start drifting off again before the alarm came back on—but the weight behind her eyes, the heaviness of her arms and legs against the soft, warm bed, was so tempting to give into. She pulled her face free of the pillow and opened her eyes, staring dumbly at the still-playing alarm flashing on the screen. She knew if she didn’t make up her mind soon, she would be fully awake, and there would be no point in tapping the snooze icon. Groaning again, she tapped the icon and dropped the phone onto the bed next to her, curling up. She could at least pretend, for the moment, that she didn’t have anywhere to be. Rachel was still hovering in the mental space between asleep and awake when the alarm went off again; her brain had started to perk up into function, insistently cataloging everything she

would have to get done that day, in spite of the deep-seated desire to return to sleep. God, I don’t want to go to work, she thought, sitting up in bed and reaching for her phone to shut off the alarm for good. She could have, theoretically, hit the snooze button one more time; she only needed twenty minutes to get ready for work, and the alarm was set to forty-five minutes before she had to leave. But she was awake; there was no point in pretending anymore. She took a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, climbing down and scrubbing at her slightly greasy-feeling face. Rachel decided that a big glass of water, a toothbrush, and some face soap would complete the process of transitioning out of sleep and into waking life. But first, she absolutely had to get the coffee started. Rachel wandered out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, blinking sleepily as her feet shuffled along the rug; for the moment, she was determined not to check her email, or even to look and see what was going on amongst her friends online. The quiet of the house, so early in her day, was not to be interrupted by considerations of the incredible mess waiting for her when she arrived at work. Her body moved automatically as she went into the small apartment kitchen: turning on the faucet, rinsing the coffee pot, scooping coffee into the

basket, reaching up to retrieve a glass from the cupboard. Slowly but surely, her body was coming awake, her brain losing the lingering fog of sleep. While the coffee brewed, Rachel downed the glass of water in a few rapid swallows, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, sitting down heavily at the tiny table in her dining room—a second-hand rescue from when a distant aunt had passed away while she was in college, and her cousins had needed to get rid of as much of the woman’s hoarded furniture as they could. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added milk and sugar, giving it an experimental, necessary sip before she finally unlocked her phone and tapped on the email icon. A resigned sigh gusted through her lips as the screen loaded, showing somewhere between fourteen and twenty new emails. Rachel took a deep breath and began to skim the previews, her eyes taking in subject lines and the first sentence or so of the messages themselves. She mentally prioritized them based on who they were from, whether or not the subject line said “urgent” and her own experience. It had been a little over two years since she had gratefully taken the job of Administrative Assistant, feeling the hot breath of student loan debt collectors on her neck. She had worked hard to get as many scholarships as possible to make her way through college, but Rachel had

been forced to resort to loans when there was simply not enough money. About a year into working for Elite Advertising, Rachel had come to the conclusion that the job was never going to get any better. She knew that her superiors had low-balled her on their initial offer, counting on her desperation to get a job —any job. She knew that they had no intention of appreciably increasing her pay, or giving her any kind of promotion; she had proven herself to be too efficient to make the argument that additional responsibilities merited an increase in pay. Whenever she tentatively raised the subject, she was met with “But you’re so capable; this will only take up a few minutes here and there in your schedule.” The thought of abandoning the job, of finding something better, had occurred to her more than once—but the very real possibility that she would leave one dead-end only to step into another held her back. Rachel shelved the topic of the day’s work in favor of checking in on her friends for a few minutes. She glanced at the time—she still had ten minutes before she needed to start getting ready in earnest. Scrolling through her feed, Rachel frowned enviously at pictures of one friend’s exotic vacation —something she could never scratch up enough extra cash to afford—and a coworker’s new car.

They can afford to bump pay for the sales team, but not for the girl practically running the place, she thought bitterly, closing out the app before her resentment could bloom out of proportion. She decided to rub a little more salt in the wound, and opened her banking app, thinking that she would make a couple of plans—maybe pay a couple of bills—before she got dressed and made up for the day’s work. Logging in, Rachel went through her usual mental routine of trying to estimate just how much she should have in the bank, recalling the groceries she had bought a few days earlier, the lunch she had treated herself to after forgetting the Tupperware holding her leftovers. When the screen finished loading, she glanced at the total and her mouth fell open in shock. “Two million dollars? What the hell? What— how—it’s got to be a mistake,” she said, shaking her head and blinking her eyes to clear them. But the total still showed the same amount. Rachel tapped the account details option and saw, to her amazement, that it had come from a transfer, showing as posted just that morning. Her mind spun for a moment. It still had to be a mistake; someone had tried to send a transfer to their kid, or to a family member—maybe even a corrupt politician—and had gotten some of the

digits wrong on the account number. Rachel looked at the time, wondering just how long the hold period would be for the customer service line. She chewed on her bottom lip and considered. On one hand, she absolutely had to get ready for work— she would be late if she didn’t. On the other hand, Rachel thought it was entirely possible that, assuming the transfer into her account was a mistake, she would probably face a much bigger problem later down the line if it wasn’t corrected quickly. She called her boss, leaving a voicemail saying that she had to take care of a personal issue and would be a few minutes late getting in. Rachel then pulled out her debit card and dialed the number on the back of it, fidgeting in her pajamas as she entered her account information and passcode. She tapped her foot lightly on the floor as the hold music played, her heart beating faster. What if it isn’t a mistake? She thought, her brain barely— barely—daring to hope. But how she could have ended up with two million dollars in her bank account without it being a mistake of some kind was impossible to comprehend. No one she knew had that kind of money. The wealthiest of her friends and family were only making—at most—a hundred thousand or so per year. Her mouth was dry and she sipped at her

coffee, forcing herself to breathe slowly. The customer service agent finally came on the line, and Rachel explained her dilemma. “That is…certainly an odd situation,” the woman on the other end of the phone said, sounding nearly as surprised as Rachel was. “I’ll be happy to look into that for you in a little more detail. Would you be okay with holding?” Rachel told the woman that she would, even though her skin was crawling, even though she felt an instinctive fear that just by alerting the bank to the discrepancy, she might—at any moment —find her door kicked in by unknown “others.” When the woman came back on the line, Rachel eagerly told her that yes, she was still there. “I’ve looked everywhere possible,” the woman said, with a mixture of confusion and certainty in her voice. “There is no way that the transfer is even possibly a mistake. I was even able to call up the original bank form that was used—and your name was specified, along with your account number. We use a redundancy system to guard against errors; it doesn’t always work, but it’s clear that someone apparently wanted to give you two million dollars.” The woman paused. “I guess… congratulations?” The phone almost slipped out of her fingers, and Rachel barely managed a coherent reply before ending the call. As she sat in numb silence at the table, a

dawning realization came over her. I don’t have to go to work today. She smiled slowly. If I’m careful, I don’t have to go to work ever. She began to laugh, eyes wide, shaking her head in shock at the turn of events.

**** Two days later, Rachel had formally quit her job, not even giving notice, and submitting a resignation letter that, if formal and moderately polite, at least provided some food for thought to any of the people in HR who might have actually concerned themselves with a disaffected employee. She had not given specific reasons for why she was leaving so abruptly; to Rachel’s mind, the fewer people who knew about her unexpected windfall, the better. But the question of just who had sent her the money, why they had sent it to her, continued to plague her in the back of her mind, even as she went about putting plans into place to not only protect it, but to make it last as long as humanly possible. She had gone into the bank the same day and spoke to a manager who had been unable to discover the source of the transfer—it had been done anonymously. The trail was worse than cold; the manager told her that deliberate steps had been taken to obscure the identity of whoever had sent the transfer into her bank account. “Whoever gave you this money sure doesn’t want anyone to know it was them,” he had said, shaking his head at the

vagaries of the wealthy. Rachel decided to forego the pursuit of her mysterious benefactor for the time being. When the bank manager had suggested that she work with the bank’s wealth management division, she was more than happy to go along with his idea, knowing that while she had ample experience making twenty dollars last for a week, she had very little notion of how to live with millions. She knew that decisions would have to be made—whether to invest, what to invest in, how much money she really needed to live every year, all the myriad of choices that came along with a sudden windfall. Taxes, charities, debts to be paid off; did she want to buy a house, since she had the money to pay for it outright? Did she want to get a new car to replace the old jalopy she had scrimped to purchase when her first car had finally, irrevocably died? Her phone rang as Rachel was getting out of her old, worn out car, preparing to walk into the bank to talk to someone about a safe, long-term investment strategy. She dug her phone out of her purse, glancing at the number flashing across the screen. It wasn’t a complete number; it was only four digits long. She shook her head and moved out of the flow of traffic, deciding that she would just answer it. If it was a telemarketer or scammer, at least she would know for sure. “Hello?”

There was a crackle of interference on the line, a high-pitched tone that nearly made Rachel pull the phone away from her ear, and then a distorted voice. “That money doesn’t belong to you. We’re going to get it back.” She turned her head, staring at the phone for a moment in mute shock. “What money? Who are you?” Her mind flipflopped between confusion, anger and fear. In an instant, she realized that whoever had called her, they were almost certainly referring to the anonymous transfer into her account. “You got money that you didn’t deserve,” said the distorted voice on the other end of the line. “We’re going to get it back. We know where you are at all times.” The call cut out, and for a moment, Rachel wondered if it was intentional or accidental. Her hand shook and she waited for a moment to see if the number would flash on her screen again. There was nothing. Rattled, looking around her—remembering what the person on the other end of the line had said about knowing where she was at all times—Rachel slipped her phone back into her purse and swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat, gathering up what little composure she had at her command before she walked towards the entrance of the bank. She sat through the meeting, even though her

mind was spinning from the phone call she had received. Logic dictated that Rachel should call the police, but what exactly could she tell them? “Some strange person with a distorted voice and an invalid number called me and said that they were going to get their money back from me.” Not only would there be nothing for them to really go on, but Rachel suspected that they wouldn’t even take it seriously. She signed the papers after barely reading them, realizing that she should have taken the time to read the fine print. As she left the bank, she was so consumed with confusion and fear that she didn’t notice a man standing off to the side, watching the entrance. Rachel moved towards her car, looking at the ground, trying to make sense of what had happened —not only the sudden wealth, but the even more recent fact that apparently, someone didn’t want her to have it—and didn’t see the man slowly starting to walk in her direction. She heard the sound of idle whistling, but didn’t pay any attention to it as she neared her car, trying to decide where she should go next—whether it should be home, or somewhere public. “We know where you are at all times,” the voice had said. Presumably, as long as she was in public, she was at least relatively safe; she didn’t think that anyone would be stupid enough to grab her where there might be witnesses.

She turned the key in her lock and suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Rachel wheeled around, bringing her hands up, holding her keys tightly in her right hand to provide herself, instinctively, with something that had a little more heft than her fist itself. Her heart was pounding in her chest as her gaze fell on the man standing behind her: tall and muscular, towering over her, his eyes were covered by a thick pair of dark sunglasses, his face half-hidden behind dark brown hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. He was dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and a hooded sweater, all carefully nondescript, in washed-out colors. Rachel backed up until she collided with the door of her car, trying to decide whether it would be better to try and get in—potentially putting the car between herself and the stranger—or to cry out for help, struggle, call attention to herself. Before she could decide, the man smiled slowly. “You’re a woman with a big load of trouble on your hands, and you let me nearly get the drop on you—not the best strategy.” The man’s voice was light and low, almost gravelly to her ears, rippling with an Irish accent that made him sound even more amused than Rachel thought he actually was. “I—who are you? What do you know about my troubles?” she looked around quickly, to see if there was anyone loitering in the parking lot at the

bank who might come to her aid; it was almost suspiciously empty, just one or two people walking with self-absorbed determination towards the entrance or back to their cars. “Name’s Dylan,” the man said. “As for what I know about your troubles: I know you probably got a phone call not too long ago that you have no idea how to trace, regarding a very large sum of money you recently came into.” Rachel stared at him in shock; how could he possibly know what’s going on? “You—were you the one—” she shook her head, looking around in panic again, reflexively grabbing at her car door. “No, Love. I’m not the one who’s after you. But I know who is—and you’re going to need me around. I got dropped off here to wait for you to come out, so I don’t have a car to my name, and you don’t really need to be driving anywhere alone just now. So, how’s about you unlock the car, let me in, and crawl over to the passenger side; then you can tell me where we’re going.” For a long moment, Rachel considered refusing. She looked around again, but there was no one around. They were alone in the parking lot. She had her phone— but if this Dylan person had bad intentions for her, she doubted he would let her get a call out to anyone. If he had bad intentions, he wouldn’t have

even let me stand here this long, he’d probably have just grabbed me… he did say he was dropped off… how stupid do you have to be to take someone’s words at face value when you’ve already been threatened by someone else? She took a deep breath. “Can I make a phone call first?” she asked. Dylan raised one dark eyebrow from behind the sunglasses he wore. “Don’t see as it would change anything. I’d recommend against calling the police—the folks who are after you are in pretty deep with them, and at best you won’t be taken seriously.” Rachel swallowed. Should she trust him at all? “I swear to you, Rachel, I’m here to help; I’m not going to get you into the car and cart you off to someone else. Get in, tell me where we’re going, and that is precisely where I’ll take you.” Rachel hesitated a moment longer, trying to decide to what extent—if any—she could trust the stranger. She sighed; he had her blocked off. She was within arm’s reach. Rachel took a deep breath and turned her back to Dylan, opening the car door and crawling from the driver’s side to the passenger side. Dylan swung into the driver’s side and snatched up the keys from Rachel’s nervous hands, inserting one into the ignition and turning it. As the car roared to life, Rachel pulled the seatbelt

around, glancing at Dylan as misgivings filled her mind. “So, tell me where we’re going, Love.”

**** Rachel paced back and forth along the rug in her tiny living room, able to feel Dylan’s gaze on her but, for the moment, caring very little about his presence. “Do you want something to eat?” He asked her. Rachel stopped, turning slightly to look at the man sitting on the couch, staring up at her with a slightly sardonic smile curving his lips. “What?” Dylan shrugged, stretching his arms over his head, glancing around the room. “I asked if you wanted something to eat. Worrying is hungry work.” He stood in a quick, fluid movement that made Rachel take a few startled steps backward, glancing at her before he walked towards the kitchen. For a moment, she simply stared at his back, her mouth slightly open in shock. He had had the audacity to accost her in a parking lot, to bully her into giving him her car keys, and when they had arrived at her apartment, he had taken her keys with him, holding a hand out as they approached her door to forestall her. He had walked right into her house after unlocking the door and left her standing outside before beckoning her in behind him.

“What are you doing?” Dylan turned, one dark eyebrow raised as he glanced at her. He had taken the sunglasses off when they came into the apartment; he had wideset, dark hazel eyes that seemed entirely too full of knowledge for Rachel to comfortably meet them. “Getting something to eat. I thought I’d get you something as well—cranky women tend to be hungry women.” Rachel crossed her arms over her chest as the blood rushed into her cheeks. “I am not a cranky woman!” she said, knowing she sounded petulant but unable to help herself. “Even if I was cranky, don’t you think mysterious threatening phone calls and random strangers who force you into your car and take your keys are perfectly good reasons?” Dylan leaned against her fridge, his gaze traveling up and down over her body, taking her in. “I didn’t force you into your car,” he said slowly. “I advised you very strongly to get in your car and let me drive us to wherever you wanted to go.” Rachel pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath. “You’re still a random stranger and you— you bullied me into doing what you wanted.” She scowled at him, resenting herself for going along with it and resenting him for being there, looking completely unfazed by her irritation.

“That tends to come with the territory of being hired to protect someone. And we’re all random strangers ‘til we get to know one another.” “Stop being so reasonable!” Rachel’s hands clenched into fists. “What do you mean hired to protect someone?” Dylan pulled himself back into an upright position, turning away from her and opening the fridge. He leaned in, and Rachel heard the sound of the fridge’s contents moving around, shuffling plastic and shifting glass on metal racks. “This looks promising,” Dylan said, standing up once more and producing a Tupperware container full of leftover steak tips and mushrooms. He looked around and plucked a wrapped-up baguette from the top of the fridge where Rachel had left it. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, losing her instinctive fear as her anger rose up. “I don’t actually have to, you know,” Dylan pointed out. He moved to the counter, reaching for the knife block with one hand, pulling a cutting board down onto the counter with the other. “There’s enough here for two; sure you’re not hungry?” Rachel closed her eyes, her fists tightening convulsively for a moment before she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “How the hell is this my

life?” she asked no one in particular, opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “You got lucky; some people don’t appreciate it when others catch a bit of luck. And here we are.” Rachel tore her gaze from the ceiling and watched as Dylan nonchalantly cut the loaf of bread in half. He cracked the seal on the Tupperware container and opened the microwave door, putting the steak tips and mushrooms into the box with the ease of practice. Rachel took a few steps into the kitchen, pushing Dylan aside; he shifted away from the counter, and she turned towards the fridge once more, withdrawing a packet of provolone cheese. “So, you’re not going to tell me anything?” she said, not even looking at him as she arranged the slices along the halves of the loaf. “I didn’t say that, now did I? I said I don’t have to tell you anything.” Rachel sighed. The microwave beeped and she ruthlessly punched the door open button, snatching up the Tupperware container and pulling the lid the rest of the way off. “What will it take for you to tell me what the hell is going on?” She finally looked at him; Dylan was smiling slightly, watching her with a look in his eyes she wasn’t sure she liked. “Every man has a price,” he said.

Rachel held his glance for a moment longer and turned her attention back onto the food, reaching blindly to pull the silverware drawer open and taking out a fork. She arranged the leftover meat and vegetables on top of the cheese, put one half of the loaf on top of the other, and cut through the sandwich in a few fast movements, snatching up one half and retreating back into the living room. Dylan followed her into the living room and sat down with the other half of the sandwich and they both ate in silence. “Let me get this straight,” she said, licking her fingers and brushing the crumbs off of her lap. “If I want to know who’s threatening me, who hired you, and why anyone has the slightest interest in keeping me alive, I have to pay you?” “I seem to recall that you have a lot more money than you’re used to having—a fair windfall. I don’t think you’ll miss a thousand or so, do you?” “A thousand or so,” Rachel said, looking at him levelly. “How exactly are you supposed to keep me safe if I don’t know who you’re keeping me safe from?” “You don’t need to know; not right now. If the time comes when it’s necessary to your survival to know who it is, then in accordance with the job I was hired to do, I’ll tell you. Consider the thousand an expediting fee.”

Rachel turned her mind onto the problem; she had never lacked for intelligence—in spite of her dead-end career, she had always been relatively quick on the uptake, and if it weren’t for the multiple shocks of the day, she cherished the thought that she probably would have put together more of the situation sooner. “Let me see how much of this I can figure out on my own,” she said, eyeing the man a few feet away from her. “I somehow became the beneficiary of a large chunk of money that someone took great pains to send to me anonymously.” Dylan nodded. “Some other people—you won’t tell me who—are upset that I got this money and want to take it from me.” He nodded again. “Someone else hired you to keep me from getting killed.” “I’ll give you this for free: the same person who gave you the money hired me.” Rachel thought for a long moment. “Why on earth would someone give me a boatload of money if they knew they’d also have to hire someone to protect me for having it?” Dylan shrugged, still smiling faintly. “Maybe they thought you deserved it. Maybe they like you. It’s not really a question I asked. I was told to keep you alive, to make sure the money doesn’t get taken from you.” “How much are they paying you?”

Dylan chuckled. “If I’m not going to tell you who they are, how do you think you’ll convince me to tell you how much they’re paying?” “How much money do you want for that?” Rachel raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. Dylan’s smile spread over his face. “That piece of information isn’t for sale, Love. Besides, you’d be a piss-poor investment for my client if you were the type to fritter your money away so easily.” Rachel stood. “Get out of my house,” she said, keeping her voice calm with an effort. “Can’t do that—orders. I don’t take payment from someone without doing the job.” “I don’t even get a say in this? What if I leave?” “Then I will be leaving with you.” “You can’t follow me everywhere.” “I can follow you anywhere that matters.” Rachel frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dylan shrugged. “You’re unlikely to be assaulted in the bathroom. One window, one door —you’re on the third floor so it’d be tough for someone to climb up and get to you there.”

“My whole apartment is on the third floor; wouldn’t my bedroom be just as unlikely?” Dylan smiled, his lips twitching, his dark eyes gleaming with suppressed laughter. “Are you asking if I would follow you into your bedroom?” Rachel’s blood rushed to her face. “The answer is yes; your bedroom’s a much larger space than your bathroom. Sure, they’d have to climb to get at you easily, but there’s that convenient balcony off the side. Besides, if you’re in your bedroom, chances are fair you’re sleeping—easy to sneak up on you.” “They said…” Rachel pressed her lips together, feeling a spurt of fear. “They said that they know where I am at all times.” She glanced at Dylan, swallowing against the dry, tight feeling in her throat. “That they do,” Dylan agreed. “Which is why I’m here. They know I’m here—that will have put them off their strategy for a little while. For the moment, you’re safe.” “Can’t I just—I don’t know—give them the money? I mean…” she licked her lips. “I’m starting to think that quitting my job was a huge mistake.” Rachel cringed. “That dead-end thing? Of course you should have quit! You’re a smart, beautiful girl and shouldn’t settle for such a thankless job.” Rachel

felt her cheeks warming up again at the words ‘smart’ and ‘beautiful.’ He shrugged. “Why should you give up the money? It’s not like the people who want it deserve it any more than you do.” “Do they deserve it any less?” Dylan’s gaze shifted off of her face. “That would give you a hint,” he said. “I told you I’m not going to tell you anything about them unless it’s necessary to keep you alive, or unless you pay me a thousand dollars.” Rachel slid her tongue over her teeth, considering. “So,” she said, glancing around her apartment; it looked smaller than usual with Dylan sitting only a few feet away from her. “What do we do now?” Dylan shrugged. “It’s your life, Love—I’m just guarding it for you.” “But I can’t leave.” “You can leave, but I’ll leave with you.” “What if I had a date?” Rachel smirked. Dylan tilted his head to the side slightly. “Do you?” Rachel blushed once more. “If I did. What—I mean…” she gestured to him. “Then I would go with you, introduce myself

as your bodyguard, and give you a little privacy.” “Right, because showing up with a huge, good-looking guy isn’t going to put anyone off.” Dylan’s eyes glimmered. “When your life’s in danger, I don’t think dating should be at the top of your priorities list. But I thank you for the compliment.” Rachel stood, deciding abruptly that she needed to use the bathroom. She turned and pretended to ignore Dylan while her heart beat a little faster in her chest, her cheeks burning. You really only have his word for it that he’s here to help you, she thought. He could be keeping you in one place until whoever’s coming after you manages to get here. Rachel sat on the ledge of the bathtub, staring at the closed door. Somehow, she didn’t think it was likely that she could find a way to get through the front door of her apartment without Dylan noticing. She heard movement from the living room; the groan of the couch, footfalls in the hallway leading to the bathroom and her bedroom next to it. Rachel sighed. In less than a week, her life had gone from one form of hell to another, it seemed. She no longer had to worry about waking up early to go to a job that would never get any better. But now, even though she was financially independent, someone decided that they wanted her newly found

fortune. She couldn’t call the cops; she didn’t know the extent to which she could trust Dylan, but she reasoned that anyone who was going to go through the kind of trouble of making threatening phone calls from carefully concealed numbers probably wouldn’t balk—if they had the means—at keeping the police from investigating the situation. But what do I really know about the situation? She knew that she had two million dollars to her name. She knew that Dylan had showed up after the phone call, and seemed to know more about the situation than she did. She knew that people didn’t typically give away millions of dollars without good reason. She knew that she was probably in danger; whoever had called her had made it clear that they were determined. Suddenly, she heard a sound--a crunching, groaning, cracking sound. “Stay put,” Dylan said through the door. Rachel’s heart started beating faster. A fleeting temptation to follow him flitted through her mind. She heard his steps retreating down the hall, away from her. Rachel looked around the bathroom. There wasn’t much that could serve as a realistic weapon for her; the towel rack didn’t appear very solid, and none of her toiletries were in particularly heavy packaging. Rachel swallowed. Far away, on the other side of the door, she

heard a shout; there was a muffled thud, the sound of boots scraping against the floor, scuffing noises and grunts. Rachel sat down uneasily, thinking that if nothing else, Dylan was demonstrating—she hoped—that his assignment to protect her was genuine. It could be a set-up, she thought anxiously. Lull me into a false sense of security and then lead me straight to whoever is after me. She didn’t know what to believe; Dylan’s refusal to give her any information—or very little information at all—was difficult to reconcile with the idea of someone who had her interests at heart. My interest isn’t in his heart, she thought bleakly. It’s in his wallet. What happens if they offer him more money? “You can come out now, Love,” Dylan called. Rachel hesitated; she realized abruptly that the struggling, fighting sounds had ceased. She looked around the bathroom again, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered her options. None of her toiletries were particularly heavy, but she at least had the soap dish. She grabbed it, swallowing against the tight feeling in her throat. It wouldn’t do much at all, but if Dylan tried to attack her—or if he was merely lulling her with sounds of struggle, to ambush her with whoever had broken in —it might buy her just enough of a moment to get away. I’ll have to grab my keys. I’ll need my purse. My phone. Or I could just run, and hope that

someone will be kind enough to help me. She sighed, shaking her head. Gripping the soap dish tightly in her hand, she opened the bathroom door, cringing at the faint mechanical squeak of the hinges. Rachel walked as quickly and as quietly as she could through the hall, her heart beating as fast as a rabbit’s in her chest. She cocked her hand, preparing to throw or smash the soap dish against or at whoever might jump out, and took the final step into the living room. A man lay sprawled on her floor, head turned to the side, either unconscious or—as Rachel’s mind reeled at the sight—possibly dead. She stared in shock, trying to discern some kind of familiarity; some kind of clue as to who he was. The man was utterly nondescript; even if she could go to the police, she wasn’t sure she would be able to come up with any one identifying feature that could lead to his capture—if he wasn’t already dead. “You’re going to need to get out of here,” Dylan said. Rachel nearly dropped the soap dish she still held at the sound of his voice. She turned in that direction; Dylan’s hand closed around her wrist, and he extracted the ceramic dish from her hand, smiling faintly. “Was this for me or for him?” “What do you mean I’m going to need to get out of here? Is he—did you kill him?”

Dylan shrugged. “They’ve decided to come after you even though you have a bodyguard. They sent one guy first—next time they’ll send three. Maybe five, if they think one of us is particularly capable.” “You didn’t answer my other question,” Rachel pointed out. “You didn’t answer mine,” Dylan countered, wagging the soap dish a few feet away from her face. Rachel felt her cheeks heating up. “It was a contingency plan,” she said tartly. “Now answer my question.” Dylan glanced at the man sprawled out on the floor. “I don’t think he’s dead. Could be, but probably not. All the more reason for you to grab your things and for us to go for a ride.” Rachel looked at the man and shuddered. How Dylan could be so unconcerned about whether the man was alive or dead was beyond her. But, without a doubt, the man certainly didn’t have her best interests at heart. “How do I know I can even trust you?” she asked, turning her gaze away from the possibly dead man to the very much alive Dylan. Dylan’s gaze flicked around the room briefly before settling on her. “I don’t see you’ve got much

of a choice, to be honest,” he said, smiling slightly. “Go get yourself some pajamas and your toothbrush like a good lass.” Rachel set her jaw, for a moment determined to argue—feeling almost insulted at being called ‘a good lass’ even as the mild affection in the endearment sent a thrill through her. “I hate charming, smart, nonchalant Irishmen,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the hallway towards her bedroom.

**** “Home sweet home,” Dylan said, ushering her over the threshold of a sprawling, slightly messy apartment an hour’s drive from her home. “For now, at least.” He closed and locked the door behind them, and Rachel looked around, taking stock. It wasn’t dirty exactly; the huge living room had the look of a place that had seen more than one brawl, and there was a faint citrusy musk in the slowly circulating air. An old, beat up leather couch pinned down a nearly threadbare rug, looking as if it had sprouted up in that location as opposed to being moved there. Spare parts that Rachel couldn’t identify were scattered along one wall, near an outlet, and there was a laptop plugged in nearby, resting on a repurposed wooden crate. “For now?” Rachel asked, turning to look at him. “Well, I’ll have to move eventually; so it won’t be home for me permanently. And I should hope that the powers that be can take care of your safety at some point between now and eternity, so it won’t be your home permanently either.” “Why would you have to move eventually?”

Rachel asked, glancing around to find somewhere she could put her backpack down. She had managed to grab a few outfits, her laptop, a few toiletries and odds and ends in the time that Dylan had given her before he told her they needed to get out. Dylan brushed past her and Rachel felt an almost electric jolt crackle along her nerve endings at the brief contact; he threw himself down onto the couch, sprawling along its length. “Hazard of the profession; protect enough people for long enough, folks tend to hold grudges. Want to get the drop on you when you’re sleeping.” He peered at her, shrugging. “Can’t have that, can we?” “So, you’re used to protecting people,” Rachel said, letting her backpack fall lightly to the floor and walking around the behemoth of a couch. She sat down on the rug, looking around warily. “Wouldn’t have been hired to protect you if I didn’t have experience,” Dylan pointed out. Rachel had to acknowledge that if whoever had given her the money did have her best interests in mind, they would probably hire someone who at least had some kind of reputation, some kind of history to demonstrate his ability. Rachel nearly jumped to her feet when Dylan’s pocket started loudly playing Muse’s “Supermassive Black Hole.” Dylan slipped one

hand into his pocket indolently, extracting a phone. He tapped the screen and held the device to his ear. “Yeah,” he said; though his voice was still the same cool, nonchalant tone he had maintained ever since he had first intercepted her, Rachel could see the tension come over his body. “Right. Understood. No, she’s safe. Right. Yes. Got it.” He tapped the screen again, and when he looked at her, his eyes were full of something Rachel didn’t expect: pity. “You’re going to be here a few days, Love,” he said, smiling wryly. “And then you’re going to be the beneficiary of quite a bit more money. Right after that, you and I will be leaving the country.” “What? Why?” Rachel stood, staring at Dylan in shock. “Your apartment building has been the unfortunate victim of a random, tasteless arson attack.” Dylan pressed his lips together. “Thus far, you are one of only about a dozen residents unaccounted for. I’d wager good money that someone’s going to account for you on a list of tragic casualties.” Dylan closed his eyes and frowned, the first moment that Rachel had seen him look actually stricken. “Is there anyone who would mourn you? Miss you? Would anyone in particular have your death investigated?” Rachel sank back down onto the rug, staring at the loops and whorls of its faux-Persian pattern.

“No,” she said. “I mean—I have friends, but…” she shook her head. “Jesus.” Rachel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Her eyes stung, and one hot tear rolled down along her cheek, followed by another. She cradled her forehead in her hands, shaking. “Jesus.” Rachel dimly heard the couch groaning; she sensed Dylan’s movement in the corner of her eye, blurred by tears that began to well up more rapidly in her eyes, falling onto the rug. A few moments later, she glanced up in time to see Dylan sink down onto the floor in front of her, a bottle of whiskey in one hand along with a couple of short, squat glasses, and a pack of cigarettes in the other. “Choose your poison,” he said, smiling slightly. Rachel swallowed, brushing the lingering tears from her eyes. She glanced at her options and laughed. “Poison is right,” she said, reaching out for the pack of cigarettes. “I’ll have both, if you’re in such a hospitable mood.” Dylan chuckled and shifted on the floor, cracking the seal on the bottle of whiskey. He poured a shot in each glass and set one down in front of Rachel, putting the bottle down and reaching nimbly for an ash tray. He produced a lighter from another pocket and flicked it to life. Rachel’s trembling fingers drew a cigarette out of the mostly-full pack, and she brought it to her lips,

leaning into the flame. She had smoked briefly in college; it had been part of her study routine, an excuse for a break and the timer for the same. She had quit after her last week of final exams and had never been tempted to pick up the practice again until that moment. Smoke swirled up and away from the tip, and Rachel took a long drag, coughing slightly and trying again. “Bottoms up,” Dylan said, raising his glass. Rachel picked up her own glass with a trembling hand, raised it to him, and knocked back the amber liquid, feeling it burn all the way down to her stomach. Dylan poured another shot and they both downed their liquor in silence. Rachel took another drag of her cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs, exhaling in a sigh. “Well,” she said, glancing up at Dylan’s face, “I think it’s time for you to tell me what the hell’s going on.” Dylan chuckled and poured her another shot. “You’ll want that,” he told her. He pressed his lips together, contemplating the liquid in his own glass. He rifled in the cigarette pack and took one out, lighting it in a fluid movement that Rachel couldn’t help but envy. “Do you happen to recall any of the scholarships you received in college?” Rachel shrugged. She had applied for so many

scholarships that she had barely paid attention to the details on them after she had submitted whatever they required. “There was a particular gentleman who funded one of the scholarships; you would have met him—though I don’t blame you for not remembering, and neither would he. Apparently, he was quite taken with your determination.” “What does that have to do with giving me a couple million dollars now?” She had been out of school for more than two years. “It was a mixture of spite and good feeling, we’ll say. He had a deal he was set to make with a company he knew little about; when he discovered more about what they do and how they conduct business, he decided that he should put the money towards something better.” Dylan shrugged, and Rachel eyed him, suspecting that she knew just how the businessman in question had come to know about the other company’s practices. “He remembered you from the scholarship ceremony and had someone look you up. When he saw that you’d hit a wall, he decided you were a much better investment than the company in question.” “So, is that who’s after me?” Dylan shook his head. “Some members of his own company who are keen for the deal want the money back. Hostile takeover; his personal funds

aren’t affected, but he was ousted. Can’t say I blame them, but nonetheless, here we are.” Rachel pressed her lips together, holding Dylan’s gaze for a long moment. She glanced down at the shot of whiskey in her glass and snorted, following it with a low chuckle. “You were right, I do want this,” she said, lifting it to her lips and knocking it back. Her whole life was overturned twice because a man with more wealth than sense thought she could use the money more than some company. Rachel noticed idly that the whiskey didn’t seem to burn as much going down anymore and tried to remember how many shots she had; warmth spread through her veins, tingling along her skin. She brought the cigarette to her lips again and took another long drag, ignoring the protest from her lungs.

**** Rachel woke up abruptly, head throbbing, in a dark and unfamiliar room. After a stubborn moment, memories came back to her in a patchy trickle; Dylan had gotten her superbly drunk, pouring shot after shot and letting her smoke all of the cigarettes she wanted until the world was spinning around her. At one point, he had cracked the living room window to give the rising smoke somewhere to go, and when he had returned to the floor where Rachel had decided to stay. She had sprawled against him, laughing and crying as the full impact of the situation hit her. “For someone as wealthy as I now am,” she had said, the hilarity and tragedy of it filling her up until she shook, “I don’t have a goddamned thing.” Dylan’s strong arm had snaked around her, steadying her as she trembled. “Look at the silver lining, Love: not many people get such an easy pass to start over again.” Her brain felt as though it had been replaced by tightly-packed cotton, and Rachel tried to remember how she had gone from the floor of Dylan’s bedroom and into a bed. He had let her cry herself out, nodding solemnly at her half-coherent

review of How We Got Here. She had eventually stopped talking, too overwhelmed with whiskey and grief to do anything more than lean against him, trembling slightly, while the room spun. “You need to get some sleep,” Dylan had told her. “Up you go.” Rachel realized that while Dylan had kept her glass constantly topped off, he only had a few ounces himself; he was nearly sober as he led her to the bedroom. Dylan had left her alone and somehow Rachel had managed to change into the nightgown she had grabbed out of her dresser, barely remembering how to tie the sash on the robe that went over it. Dylan had knocked before coming back in, and Rachel could remember him guiding her weaving, unsteady steps to the bed, pulling the blankets up around her. He had left without a word, leaving the door open a crack as he went back into the living room. Points to him--he didn’t take advantage of a drunk girl, Rachel thought bleakly. Her legs were tangled up in the sheets, and she spent long moments extricating herself from the bed, standing up on feet that didn’t seem to be quite real underneath her. She padded out of the bedroom, moving through the short hall; Rachel could hear the soft sounds of Dylan’s breathing coming from the couch, steady and slow. She checked, wincing as

the movement jarred her tight skull, and veered towards the kitchen. Water. Water will make it all better. Somehow. She looked around, opening cupboards until she found one containing glasses, and turned to the sink. It might wake up Dylan; if he was as good at protecting people as he hinted, he was probably a light sleeper. Rachel decided that if he woke, he woke, and she wasn’t going to hold herself responsible for interrupting the sleep of a man who was being paid to make sure she wasn’t killed in her own drunken stupor. She turned on the tap and filled the glass, drinking it down before filling it once more. “Something wrong?” Dylan’s voice carried to her from the direction of the living room and Rachel shrugged. She turned off the water and sipped from the glass as she made her way towards him, sinking down onto the small empty space on the couch near his feet. “Well, for one thing, I’m not drunk anymore,” she observed. Dylan chuckled lowly in the semi-darkness. “There’s more whiskey if you’d like it.” “I think if I have any more whiskey I’m probably going to throw up. Not the desired outcome.” Rachel sipped at the water again, willing the throbbing in her temples and hot needles behind her eyes to recede.

“Did you want to talk?” Dylan asked. “Not particularly. I just…” Rachel drank the last of the water and put the glass carefully down on the floor at her feet. “Why weren’t you surprised that they burned down my apartment building?” The couch creaked and shifted underneath her and Rachel saw Dylan’s shadowed body sitting up. His shadowed body emerged into the meager light provided by the lamps outside, and she saw that at some point after he put her to bed, he’d taken his shirt off. She swallowed; he was even more muscular than he had originally appeared, ridges and valleys forming under the skin of his chest and abdomen. “Not much surprises me anymore,” Dylan said quietly. “Though I have to admit, the sight of you stepping out of the hall, soap dish in hand, ready to cold-cock someone…” he chuckled. “And don’t think I missed the fact that you were going to slug me with keys in your hand at the car. You’re a lot tougher than you think, Rachel.” “A lot of good that does me,” she said bitterly. Rachel wished that she could tear her gaze from Dylan’s muscular body, that she could focus enough to take herself back to bed. The morning was going to be bad enough without spending the rest of the night plagued with inconvenient mental images.

“It’ll serve you well,” Dylan told her. “You need toughness. It’ll make my job easier, at any rate.” He leaned in closer to her. “I don’t want to talk about any of it,” Rachel said. “Well, what would you like to do instead?” Rachel looked at him for a long moment, pondering the question. She came to a wordless decision and leaned in, closing the distance between them. She pressed her lips to Dylan’s, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pushing her body against his. Dylan’s arms coiled around her as he returned the kiss for a moment, and Rachel moaned, her nipples hardening at his touch, her body heating up. She could feel her muscles tightening; she felt the damp warmth forming along her folds. Dylan broke away from the kiss abruptly, holding her back with surprisingly gentle hands. “You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice soft in the darkness. “You’re not in the right state of mind.” Rachel shook her head, bringing her lips against his once more. “I’m not drunk, and you asked what I wanted to do. This is what I want to do.” Dylan’s arms tightened around her, and Rachel shivered as his hands came to life, trailing along the

curves of her body, sliding over her through the thin fabric of her clothes. He broke away again, and she realized she was already breathing more heavily. She felt the blood rushing through her veins, her heart beating faster, her skin tingling. “I am not going to do this on an old, ratty couch,” Dylan told her. Rachel started to protest; before she could object, Dylan lifted her up, standing in a fast, graceful movement. He shifted her in his arms, carrying her along the short hallway towards the bedroom. Dylan kicked the door fully open and strode across the floor, letting Rachel fall carefully onto the bed before he covered her body with his own. His hands trailed along her body, finding the sash to her robe and tugging at it until it came untied, peeling the soft fabric aside. He cupped her breasts over the nightgown, and Rachel moaned, arching up into his touch. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her thigh as Dylan brought his lips down onto hers, kissing her hungrily. He teased her nipples through the fabric of her nightgown, rolling and twisting them, sending sharp jolts of sensation seemingly straight to her pussy, making her wetter and wetter by the moment. Dylan rocked his hips against her, tugging the neck of her nightgown down to expose her breasts. Rachel’s hands floundered over his back and along his chest,

fumbling to find something to take off him. She suddenly had no greater need than to feel his skin against hers—to feel him inside of her. Dylan lifted her up, tugging the robe off and casting it aside to some unknown part of the room in the darkness, and Rachel’s hands latched onto the waistband of his jeans, seeking and quickly finding the fly. She heard fabric ripping, but then Dylan’s hands shifted against her; in a matter of moments, Rachel was slithering free of the last constraints of her nightgown, pushing her body against Dylan’s in the darkness. She tugged and fumbled with the button and zipper on his fly, and hooked her fingers in the tough denim. Dylan chuckled, nuzzling against her neck, nipping with sharp teeth along the column of her throat. “Want some help with that?” he asked her, his low voice nearly a purr in her ear. Rachel started to shake her head, but felt Dylan’s hand brush against hers, moving his jeans down over his hips, leaving nothing between them but the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs. She muttered a frustrated curse, grabbing at the elastic waistband. Dylan chuckled again and in a moment, the last barrier was gone. She felt his hot, glistening skin pressed against hers; his hips shifting down between her thighs. “How long has it been for you?” he asked her,

bringing his lips up to her ear. Rachel gasped as she felt his teeth dig into the tender flesh of her earlobe, the swipe of his tongue following it. His hot, hard cock brushed against her slick folds, teasing— tantalizingly close. “When was the last time anyone made you scream their name?” Rachel swallowed against the dryness of her throat, pushing her hips down, struggling to get better contact. “No one’s ever made me scream their name,” she managed to say, panting as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Pity, that,” Dylan said. He rocked his hips, his cock rubbing against her heat, the tip barely touching her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. “A beautiful woman like you ought to be screaming some lucky sod’s name every night of the week.” He shifted his hips, and Rachel gasped as she felt the hot thickness of his cock pushing up into her slowly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hips down to meet his thrust. Rachel moaned long and low as Dylan moved deeper and deeper inside of her, rocking his hips against hers, letting her feel him inch by inch. Rachel turned her head, seeking his mouth, grabbing at his hair to pull his face to hers. Dylan groaned against her lips as his hips pressed flush to hers, and Rachel arched up against his body, biting down on his full lower lip as

the minute movements between them increased the friction against her clit. Dylan pulled his hips back slightly, and Rachel sighed with disappointment as she felt his cock sliding out of her almost completely; the sound turning into a deep moan as he thrust into her once more. Her inner muscles rippled and flexed around him, as if her body itself couldn’t stand to let him leave. She found herself falling into his rhythm as Dylan began to gradually speed up. He cradled her in his arms, holding her by the shoulders as he thrust into her harder and faster, his lips moving over her face, kissing along the column of her throat. Rachel gripped his sweat-slick shoulders, digging her fingernails in, struggling to hold onto him as she writhed and twisted, her hips moving in a tidal rhythm she couldn’t have resisted if she wanted to. He felt so good—thick, hot and full inside of her, pushing deeper along her inner walls, the tip of his cock barely brushing her g-spot and then retreating. Any thoughts of anything other than the feeling of his body against hers, his cock inside of her, dissolved. “God, woman,” Dylan murmured, panting as he lifted himself up slightly, changing the angle of his thrust and driving up against her pleasure center. Rachel cried out, her legs tightening around him convulsively, her head falling back amongst the

pillows as every muscle in her body tensed with reaction. “Any man who couldn’t be bothered to make you scream is a fool.” Rachel felt his arm moving from underneath her, shivering as Dylan’s hand trailed down along her waist to slip between their bodies. He found her clit by touch and began to stroke her in time with his thrusts, kissing her hungrily on the lips and along her throat. Rachel found herself moving with him mindlessly, her pleasure mounting more and more every moment, until she couldn’t hold back any longer. She moaned his name, louder and louder, crying out as wave after wave of sensation racked her body. Rachel didn’t quite scream, but her whole body rippled, muscles flexing and relaxing in spasms as she moaned out again and again. She felt Dylan’s cock twitching inside of her, and buried her face against his neck as she felt his hot release flooding into her, his body vibrating as he moaned long and low, murmuring her name between gasps for breath. After a few more moments, his body went slack against hers; Rachel sagged against the bed, panting as her heart raced, tingling all over in hot and cold bursts of sensation. “Not quite a scream,” Dylan said, dragging his lips along the line of her jaw and stopping at her mouth. He kissed her lazily before lifting his weight

off of her, tumbling onto the bed less than an inch away. Rachel chuckled, feeling the reassuring weight of his arm coiled around her waist as she recovered slowly, her breath gradually returning to normal. “But then, it was a first attempt.” Rachel curled up against him, feeling the lingering soreness between her legs, the jelly-like feeling just below her hips. “Depending on what time it is,” she said, turning her head to peer up at him in the darkness, “I’m more than happy to let you try again.” “What does it matter what time it is?” Dylan asked her, one hand moving up to brush a lock of hair away from her neck where sweat had plastered it. “Neither of us have anywhere to be tomorrow. We could spend the next twelve hours figuring out what I have to do to make you scream my name.” Rachel saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled. “And then, of course, we’ll have lots of time in whatever exotic locale we escape to.” Rachel frowned slightly, remembering that in spite of the pleasure she had just received, her life was in shambles. “If you’ve got to be an unwilling expat, might as well enjoy yourself.” Rachel chuckled lowly. “I can’t just spend the next…who knows, maybe the rest of my life, screwing my brains out.” Dylan pulled her close, reaching down and

tugging the covers over them. “Sure would be fun to try, don’t you think?” Rachel shook her head, laughing in spite of herself. “Isn’t there something in your code of conduct about not sleeping with clients? I thought I remembered that about mercenaries.” “First, I’m not a mercenary--I’m on retainer. Second, you’re not my client. I can sleep with you as much as you’d like,” Dylan brought her face up to his, kissing her hungrily. Rachel felt his cock beginning to harden, pressed against her hip. “I don’t think either of us is going to be sleeping much in the near future, do you?” Rachel giggled. Considering that she’d lost everything in the span of less than a week, she felt oddly optimistic. “Five minutes. Then you can try and make me scream again,” she told Dylan. “We can plan out the rest of my life tomorrow.”

**** Rachel glanced around nervously as she and Dylan strode through the international terminal of the airport, headed towards gate 43. She would have never imagined that anyone could realistically make travel plans in the span of just a few hours; apparently, she thought wryly, when one was wealthy enough to afford a private jet, nothing was unrealistic. As they made their way to the gate, she couldn’t help but feel a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Based on the events of the last few days, she was more secure in Dylan’s ability to protect her, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d been completely invisible to the world just a week ago; now, she seemed to be walking around with a target on her back at all times. She could only hope that they would be safer in another country. Within minutes of getting settled into her seat, Rachel, completely spent, tumbled into a deep slumber. Soon, her head began to jerk frantically from side to side as the feeling of being chased by a mob of shadowy figures wielding guns played

across her mind’s eye in a stubborn loop. Just as she thought she heard the sharp crack of a gunshot, she was ripped out of her nightmare by the sound of Dylan’s blaring phone. Barely awake, she listened to the quiet murmur of his slightly lilting voice as he confirmed details with whomever he was speaking to. “Where are we going?” she asked, listlessly. “You’ll find out soon enough, Love,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was listening. He began to shove a few things into his carry-on bag and then paused, turning his head to meet her glance, placing a hand tenderly on her thigh. “Cheer up, Rachel—the world is your oyster now. Things are about to get a hell of a lot more fun.” He smiled with a wink. “For the two of us.”

PART TWO It had been a month since Rachel had arrived in Rouen. As she walked by Dylan’s side past the Jardin des Plantes, she looked around—not as furtively as she had when they first arrived, but with curious eyes taking in details that even repeat walks through this part of the city hadn’t yet revealed. She shuddered slightly as she remembered the tortuous trek they had taken to arrive here. The plane that she and Dylan boarded had taken them to Amsterdam. She had been irritated to discover that after the long flight, they were immediately moving on to a train. In spite of having first class seats, Rachel hadn’t been able to sleep, plagued by nightmare images of her apartment, the fire that had gutted it, shadowy figures and disguised voices. Dylan’s presence through the flight had kept her from descending into full-on panic, but still she hadn’t slept for the entire tenhour trip—she had barely slept the night before they had left, her nightmares of being chased through the terminal interrupted only by sessions of lovemaking with Dylan.

They traveled from Amsterdam to Belgium, Belgium to Geneva, and then finally, from a small town in the French Alps into Rouen. They had been in transit for almost a full week, stopping only long enough to sleep in a hotel. Along the way, Dylan had chivvied her into eating the regional cuisine and enjoying the delicious wines, liquors and ciders these different places were known for. By the time she finally walked into the apartment in Rouen where they were going to stay—at least for the time being—Rachel could barely remember a life spent in one place. “Leave the worrying to me, Love,” Dylan had suggested after Rachel had rebuffed his offer to take her clothes shopping a few days into their stay in Rouen. “God knows I’d realize it if we were being tailed well before you did.” Part of Rachel had resented the comment; she scowled up at him from her sprawl on the couch, frowning. “Excuse me if suddenly being the target of some extremely wealthy people who are out to kill me and steal my fortune makes me a little paranoid,” she retorted. “Ah, you’re starting to think of it as really yours, are you?” Dylan had smiled a little at that. “Good. Means you’ll fight to keep it.” Glancing at her bodyguard and lover, Rachel had yet to figure out what his real intentions were.

He was more than willing to take her to bed. In fact, after the brief hesitation he had shown the first time they were together—trying to push her away with the thought that she was too drunk to know what she was doing—he was eager to satisfy her any time she gave him even the slightest indication that she wanted it. But whether or not he actually cared about her as a person was something that Rachel couldn’t quite decide on. In some moments while soothing her frayed nerves, holding her body against his and whispering that it would be alright and that her life was not— contrary to what she had believed—a complete and utter ruin, Rachel could almost believe that something other than the hefty paycheck he was earning motivated him. At other moments, she wasn’t certain she could discern even a shred of interest from him; sometimes while assuming his role as her bodyguard, she wasn’t sure if he even liked her, much less loved her. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, her mind suggesting that each passerby was someone intent on attacking her, abducting her—or worse. After two weeks of relentless anxiety, being plagued by nightmares and panic attacks, Rachel had awakened one morning with the incredible, bizarre feeling that she just couldn’t take it anymore. She had sat up in bed and stared at the

shapes of her legs under the blanket and thought, Good god, if I keep going this way I’m not even going to be able to enjoy being wealthy. I’m going to give myself a damned heart attack and save them the trouble of killing me. Her mind had hardened out of the sense of wonder. To hell with them. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. She still had bad moments, but that morning, Rachel woke Dylan and told him she was going to get a look at the city they had settled in for the time being—whether or not he was coming with her. While the few clothes she had brought with her across the Atlantic and through multiple checkpoints in border control had been a comfort, they suddenly seemed like the equivalent of a security blanket: a little childish to cling to, particularly for a woman in her twenties. When she and Dylan had first stepped into the Rouen city center, Rachel squealed with delight as the signs advertised that it was sale season. Rachel had moved from shop to shop, plucking any item that caught her fancy off of the rack and handing it off to Dylan to hold onto until she had enough for a changing room. She had not yet come to the point of being confident enough to walk into the major boutiques—few of whom had locations in Rouen, with Paris so close—but in the span of an afternoon, she had managed to furnish

herself with a complete wardrobe, from foundation garments to shoes and bags, moving through stores with the passion of a woman who had seen many things she loved but could never before afford. Dylan had complained good-naturedly, rolling his eyes with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips as they both navigated the variety of stores. Rachel discovered that his French was far more fluent than hers; she let him ask the questions of the various shop clerks. Before their departure from the US, Dylan had retrieved a collection of credentials, cash, and paperwork from a bank lockbox—some of which he had shown her, most of which he had not. Rachel discovered that she was already half a million dollars richer by the time they landed in Amsterdam, with a notation on the transfer that said Running money. In Rouen, she had a different last name, a couple of credit cards and a passport with her new identity. Their apartment was leased under a completely different identity—a dummy name one of her benefactor’s many alter-egos, according to Dylan—but one that had been under the radar for over a decade, making it safe. “No need to try and keep it all in mind,” Dylan told her when she asked how they would ever keep up with the various identities and backstories involved in their evasion. “I don’t even

keep the half of it stored up here unless it’s relevant at the moment.” The day after her shopping spree, Rachel had put Dylan through another afternoon of boredom when she booked a long appointment at one of the city’s top-rated salons. She hadn’t altered her hair completely, but she got a drastic haircut; Dylan had suggested with surprising helpfulness that highlights would transform her dark hair still more, just enough to make her a little more difficult to identify By the end of her splurge, Rachel’s first burst of agitation had eased; she was now an entirely new woman. She occasionally had moments of fear where she wasn’t quite sure how much she could trust to Dylan’s diligence to keep her safe, but she had explored her new city with gusto, taking in the museums and wandering respectfully through cathedrals. She was bowled over by the constant, breathtaking beauty of Rouen; the contrast between genteel, slowly decaying remnants of the old splendor of France and super-modern structures and stores. The Rouen Castle, the Jardin des Plantes de Rouen and the Pont Gustave-Flaubert all danced across her hungry eyes. Rachel tugged at Dylan’s arm, pointing towards a street vendor who was quickly pouring batter onto a large, round griddle. She had never understood the allure of crêpes until the first time

Dylan had persuaded her to buy one for herself as they waited for the train in Samoëns. That first crêpe, stuffed with deeply colored preserves from a berry called myrtille, had satisfied a craving that Rachel never suspected she had. Ever since, whenever she saw a crêpe stand, it was nearly impossible for her to not stop and try another filling wrapped up in the delicate, thin, soft pancake. Dylan rolled his eyes with a slight grin, and the two walked towards the street cart, hand in hand. Again, Rachel wondered if his public boyfriend behavior was just to serve for good cover, or if it was instead guided by any kind of affection for her. They stood off to the side as a line of people gathered, heeding the siren call of the sweet, eggy batter sizzling on the griddle. Rachel’s gaze traveled over the menu, her brain laboriously translating crêpe au fromage, crêpe au fraises; flicking through the different fillings offered: bananas and Nutella, thinly-sliced apples and cinnamon, ham and cheese and roasted chicken. She pointed out what she wanted to Dylan and he nodded crisply, maneuvering them into the line. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said, baring his most charming smile. “Une crêpe avec sucre et citron, et une autre avec de confiture de framboise, s’il vous plait.” The man nodded, smiling at the two of them. He asked a question; Rachel interpreted it as “Have

you been together long?” Dylan shrugged, glancing at Rachel with warmth in his eyes, and replied that it had been a little over a month. Within moments, their crêpes—lemon, sugar and butter for her, and raspberry jam for Dylan— were in their hands, and Dylan was waving a thankful goodbye to the street vendor. As they walked away, Rachel took the first bite of her snack and moaned softly as the warm, slightly caramelized, lemony sugar coated her tongue. She closed her eyes, putting her trust into Dylan to keep her from running into anyone or anything, savoring the taste. It was hard to believe that something so simple could be so incredibly delicious. “Careful with those noises,” Dylan said, giving her hand a squeeze. Rachel realized that she had moaned again with her second bite, which somehow seemed to taste even better than the first. Dylan’s voice dropped lower, and she felt his breath against her ear, along her neck. “I doubt you’d want to attract attention by driving me to pull you into an alley to make you scream.” Rachel opened her eyes and gave Dylan a playful shove, shaking her head. “For a guy who’s supposed to be the brains of this outfit, you have a hard time multi-tasking,” she told him airily. “Oh, I’m great at multitasking,” Dylan

countered. “I could pin you up against a wall, get you off, and keep a lookout for jack-booted assailants all at the same time.” Rachel chuckled, taking another bite of her crêpe. Every once in a while, she was startled by her sudden spring into resilience—by the fact that she had been so deeply afraid for what had seemed like an eternity, only to change into confidence and nonchalance seemingly overnight. What startled her more was that the transformation didn’t seem to be a surprise to Dylan at all. They made their way back to the apartment, talking sporadically about what they would do to amuse themselves the next day. While Dylan mostly let Rachel organize and plan their activities, he had a rule that by nightfall, they were back in the apartment. “Too easy to get caught unaware on the street at night,” he told her. “I’m decent in a fight, but if they got the drop on us—if we were both tipsy, out alone, and they sent five or six folks after us between street lights—it would be close. Too close for me to want to risk. So, after dark, we stay in.” It wasn’t as though she’d been much of a nightlife maven before coming into her fortune anyway; the throbbing bass and sweaty masses inside nightclubs never really appealed to her. But she found that the little reminders of her fugitive

status made her want things that she had never really considered before: the ability to go out at night, the freedom to meet with whoever she wanted, to wander around alone if she felt like it. Just as he promised, no matter where she went, Dylan was there with her. If she wanted to go to the market, he strode alongside her, usually holding her hand or with his arm around her waist. There were times when the only way that Rachel could have a few moments alone—or as alone as she could be—was to go into a restroom. Every now and then, Dylan’s constant surveillance felt stifling; not always, but often enough that whether she needed to use the facilities or not, she told him she did. He gave her space in the apartment they shared, but somehow, just knowing that he was only the length of the hallway away from her made Rachel feel like he was still watching, still listening, that nothing she did was unattended. For a woman who had lived in what she jokingly referred to as “spinster splendor” up until the day he had arrived in her life, it was a difficult transition to make, even though Rachel appreciated the necessity. Dylan’s phone—which was the fourth phone she had seen him use in their time together so far— rang almost as soon as they were through the door. Rachel kicked off her shoes, turning away from him

and sauntering over to the sofa in the living room; she knew better than to even give much thought to what the other side of his conversation might be. “Yes. Absolutely. Still stable. No signs. Understood.” Rachel sprawled across the sofa, staring up at the rough, plastered ceiling, contemplating the change her life had undergone. It was nice to live in Rouen. It was nice to be able to shop when she felt like it, to order her days the way she pleased. What wasn’t nice was wondering how much longer they would be together; how much longer Dylan would have to look around constantly, poised to defend her from any attack. She wanted to take some kind of action. No matter how many activities she packed into the day, or how many times they made love to the point where Rachel was exhausted down to her bones, she went to sleep feeling restless. “Unless someone notices your presence in the city, we’re staying here another month,” Dylan said as he set his phone down, sinking into the cozy, wingback chair next to the couch. “Why do we have to leave in a month? And what if someone notices?” Dylan shrugged. “I’d assume another fire, though they might not have the guts to be that

direct again—not in another country. And we have to leave because we have to keep them guessing.” Rachel frowned, closing her eyes with a sigh. “If they haven’t noticed me being here a month from now, how dangerous could it be to stay here?” “Love,” Dylan said; she could picture his facial expression in her mind: slightly exasperated, with a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “If we can, we need to move around while they don’t know where you are. If they find you, it’s easier to track you. If you leave before they find you, the trail’s already gone cold.” Rachel pressed her lips together, irritation warring with a flicker of instinctive fear. She didn’t want to leave Rouen; not only had she come to love the city, but the prospect of another multi-day trip without knowing where the endpoint would be, shifting from plane to train to bus, was more than she thought any reasonable human being could stand. “We have way more stuff than we did when we got here,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly whining tone that she normally despised hearing. “God.” Rachel opened her eyes, turning her head to look at Dylan. “If he’s so high and mighty and powerful, why hasn’t he figured out how to get me safe yet?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s a complicated mess. He doesn’t like keeping you on tenterhooks any more than he likes no longer being in control of his company.” “Are they at least after him, too?” Rachel knew she shouldn’t wish her own troubles onto someone else—particularly someone who had given her so much—but she almost resented the man who put her in the position of having received a foolishly-given fortune. “If he wanted to give me money, why didn’t he just give it to me out of his own damn account?” Dylan laughed. “I don’t try to plumb the minds of the people paying me,” he said with a shrug. “And yes, they are after him too—so at least you have company in your misery.” He stood quickly, and Rachel felt her heart beat a little bit faster as Dylan stepped towards her, kneeling on the edge of the sofa, leaning in to hover over her face. “Company other than your suspicious bodyguard.” Rachel softly moaned as one of his hands trailed along her body, cupping her breast and then shifting to her waist. He moved again, turning around to straddle her hips. Rachel reached up to wrap her arms around Dylan’s shoulders as his lips came down upon hers, sealing off any protest she might have made. Rachel opened her mouth as Dylan’s tongue

swept along her lips, teasing her. She moaned again as he rocked his hips against her, able to feel the hardening ridge at the crotch of his pants pressing against her. Dylan’s hands moved all over her body, caressing and teasing her everywhere seemingly all at once as he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing her mouth. His fingers moved quickly, unbuttoning her cardigan, peeling the fabric back to expose the camisole underneath. Rachel found herself rising from the couch and then falling back against its cushions again as Dylan quickly stripped off her clothing layer by layer, barely breaking away from her lips to pull the fabric over her head. Rachel’s hands fumbled as she moved to unbutton his shirt, her dexterity suffering in the face of her rising arousal, the distraction of Dylan’s lips shifting from her lips to her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin. He cupped her breasts, squeezing them carefully, finding her nipples by touch as they hardened against the thin, lacy fabric of her bra and teasing them until they were firm, tingling to his touch. Rachel writhed, feeling her pussy becoming wetter and wetter, her inner muscles tightening convulsively as her arousal intensified. Dylan pulled back; Rachel knew she wasn’t imagining the admiring look in his eyes as he looked down at her, breathing heavier already, his cock already fully hard, straining at the fabric of his jeans.

“When I saw you put this on,” he said, lightly tracing circles around her nipples over her bra, “all I could think about was taking it off of you again. God bless French lingerie makers.” Dylan lifted her up once more, moving his hands to her back; his deft fingers worked the clasp free while he kissed her hungrily. Rachel felt him shifting against her as the fabric slid along her skin, falling away. She somehow managed to finish unbuttoning his shirt and tugged it down over his shoulders, along his arms, tangling her limbs with his as she struggled to get him naked. The first time they made love, it had been in Dylan’s bedroom in the dark; since then, no matter how many times she saw it, the impact of Dylan’s body still had power over her: the deep muscling of his chest, the ridges and valleys that formed over his abdomen, the deep cut of his hips, all thrilled her. The fact that he found her body gorgeous, impossible to resist—his words from their first time together, that any man who wouldn’t try to make her scream with pleasure was a fool, echoed in her mind—was difficult to believe, but impossible not to respond to. Her clothes fell away as she focused on stripping Dylan. As his hand slipped up along her bare thighs, moving up to caress her alreadydrenched folds, Rachel shivered. Her legs spread wider from instinct; her hips pushing down as

Dylan stroked her, his fingertips feather-light and then more firm, teasing her with touches that sent hot and cold tingles through her body. Rachel reached down, realizing that she somehow succeeded in getting the last of Dylan’s clothes off, and wrapped her hand around his hard, throbbing cock. Dylan groaned, his fingers working her faster, his lips trailing all over her face, her neck and chest. Rachel writhed and twisted underneath him, panting and gasping; her fingers tightening around him. She felt the slickness of his fluid beginning to flow against her fingers and brought her thumb up to rub it against the tip. “Woman, you’re going to kill me,” Dylan said between panting breaths, bringing his lips back up to hers, kissing her hungrily as they moved together. Rachel cried out as he slipped two fingers inside of her all at once, rubbing her clit with tight, swirling movements of his thumb as he probed her wet, tight inner walls. His voice dropped lower, growling in her ear, “You always feel so good, Love. So hot, wet and tight...I just can’t stop myself from thinking about you constantly.” He nipped sharply at the sensitive patch of skin just beneath her jaw, where her pulse fluttered. Rachel tilted her head back, pushing her hips down to meet his thrusting, rubbing fingers as she stroked his cock faster. She felt him twitching, his hips

bucking as she touched him, and knew that he was struggling to keep himself under control—to keep from succumbing to the eroticism of their foreplay. Dylan’s fingers brushed up against her g-spot and Rachel gasped, shuddering, her whole body going tense in reaction. He smiled against her skin, finding her pleasure center once more and stroking it slowly as his thumb played with her clit. Rachel was too distracted by sensation to continue pumping him, her hand nearly falling away as she pitched and arched with reaction to the pleasure that was so intense, it was on the verge of being pain. She cried out as she tumbled over the edge, Dylan’s fingers thrusting into her as she gushed around him. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her as she writhed, pressing her body against Dylan’s, holding onto him for dear life. Rachel gasped and panted, moaning over and over again. Dylan worked her continuously, backing off of her clit and g-spot just long enough to prolong her climax for as long as possible. It was only as her spasms of pleasure began to abate that Rachel felt Dylan’s fingers begin to slow down, to retreat gradually from her body, stroking more lightly, almost soothing her as her muscles clenched and released erratically in reaction. Her arms fell from around him, her head

falling back against the throw pillows and cushions, panting as jittering impulses of sensation danced up and down her nerve endings. She barely felt his lazy kiss against her lips as Dylan shifted on top of her, his arms moving to support her, cradling her shoulders. The stubble along his jaw rasped against her skin as he nuzzled her, dragging his lips along the column of her throat, murmuring words she could barely hear—praise, compliments, sweet things her hazed brain barely took in. It was in moments like this that Rachel really thought there had to be something more between them than convenience and paid duty. She recovered quickly, able to feel the heat and hardness of Dylan’s cock pressing against her hip; Rachel brought Dylan’s face back up to hers and kissed him hungrily, reaching down to touch him. “If I feel so good, why would you only give me your fingers?” she asked him. Dylan chuckled, shifting down between her legs, his fingers sliding along her folds in a teasing caress. “I never said anything about only, Love. But you can come twice without having to wait; it’s a little tougher for me to pull that off.” He rocked his hips against hers and Rachel let out a noise—not quite a gasp, moan or whimper, but something between all three—as his hot, hard length rubbed against her, sliding along her lips, the

tip of his cock pressing against her already-sensitive clit. Dylan shifted again and they both moaned in unison as he thrust into her all at once, pushing past the token resistance her inner walls made, her slickness making it impossible to go slow. They fell into a steady, even rhythm together, their bodies falling into a tidal flow, Rachel twisting her hips and pushing them down to meet Dylan’s thrusts, taking him deeper and deeper. He kissed her everywhere, murmuring in her ear how sweet she was; how good she felt wrapped around him. “You fit me like a glove, Rachel. God, I love how you move.” He picked up his pace, thrusting harder and faster. Rachel found herself matching him, her heart beating faster, her body tingling as Dylan’s hands wandered over her, caressing and teasing. He rolled and twisted her nipples between his fingers, nipped along her neck, and brought her breasts up in turn to his mouth, sucking and licking and kissing until Rachel thought she couldn’t possibly hold back her orgasm any longer. One of his hands slipped down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit by touch—by memory it seemed— stroking and rubbing her as he continued to push deeper and deeper inside of her body. Rachel’s thighs tightened around Dylan’s waist, her hips arching up from the couch cushions,

pushing down seemingly of their own volition. She couldn’t control herself as the pleasure mounted in her body, hot and cold flashes of sensation crackling along her nerves. She felt Dylan’s body growing more and more tense, holding back as long as possible even as the inexorable need for relief consumed them both. Rachel moaned louder and louder, the sounds turning into cries, near-shouts of pleasure as the tip of Dylan’s cock brushed against her g-spot; his fingers working away at her clit, dissolving any ability to think. It seemed like only a matter of moments before her whole body went rigid, every muscle tensing in an instant before the first wave of pleasure crashed through her. Rachel hit her second orgasm, grabbing at Dylan in desperation, crying out as her fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders and her inner muscles flexed around him. Spasms of sensation shocked through her that were so intense, she barely felt Dylan reaching his own climax. His cock began to twitch inside of her, the flood of his sticky-slick heat gushing along her inner walls. They continued moving until they were spent; their hips slowing to a halt, their bodies sagging together and their limbs tangling as the last ability to hold themselves up evaporated. Rachel panted, her mind reeling, her body tingling with aftershocks. She smiled to herself as she felt his weight against her, the sweat from their bodies mingling, trickling

down between wherever their skin touched. For the moment, everything that bothered her, everything that made her restless and irritated and insecure, was gone from her mind; all she could think of was how good she felt, how pleasant the feeling of Dylan’s body was against hers. Rachel succumbed to the deep pull of relief and satisfaction, burying her face against Dylan’s shoulder and slipping into a doze she couldn’t resist even if she wanted to.

**** A few days later, Rachel’s frustration about her fugitive status had not gone away; instead, it had steadily increased. Every time she thought about it, she found she could justify her benefactor’s actions less and less. Yes, it was very nice of him to have provided her with a bodyguard and protector—someone to be the brains behind the operation and keep her safe. But if he had given her the money in a better way—or, she had to admit wryly, if he hadn’t given her the money at all —she wouldn’t need a protector. Granted, she also probably wouldn’t have ever met Dylan. They were eating breakfast, lazily discussing what adventures they might have that day, and Rachel’s irritation crested. “Exactly what the hell is he doing? It’s been over a month since this shit started, and I’m no closer to being able to go home.” Rachel put down her mug of hot chocolate and looked at Dylan. Somehow, they’d both come into the habit of simply referring to her benefactor as “he” or “him” without referencing the name of the man who had started the mess she was in. “He’s on the run, too. Kind of hard to get all

your ducks in a row if you can’t stay in one place. Besides, I thought you liked Rouen.” Rachel scowled at him, picking at her croissant. “Except that, apparently, I don’t even get to stay here—I have to leave again on some crosscontinental expedition to get to wherever we’re going next by the least traceable route.” Rachel could appreciate the necessity of avoiding detection even while she resented it. “There are some who’d enjoy never having to stay in one place, you know,” Dylan countered. Rachel snorted. “It’s not a matter of not having to stay here, it’s a matter of not being able to. I don’t share your romantic attachment to being a nomad.” Dylan smirked at her, finishing his coffee with a slurp. “Might as well see the bright side of things,” he suggested. “Maybe we’ll head to Spain, and you can enjoy the flavors of Catalonia next.” Rachel shrugged, looking irritably at her halffinished breakfast. “Why can’t we just…I don’t know...do something? I mean—you know who it is, right?” It occurred to Rachel that she couldn’t actually be sure of how much Dylan knew of the broader situation. He told her more than once that he didn’t ask questions that weren’t pertinent to the assignment at hand. But he had also informed her,

once the necessity of fleeing the country had arrived, that the people after her were not part of the company her benefactor had failed to strike a deal with, but rather members of his own company. “I know a few names, but what kind of action do you think we can even take?” Rachel frowned. “If you seek them out, you’re going to lead them right to your door. What exactly would you say to them?” Dylan’s voice was not quite mocking. “They were willing to torch your apartment building to get at you—I don’t think ‘Please leave me alone and accept your losses’ is going to accomplish much.” Rachel stood, her cheeks burning. “Haven’t you ever heard that the best defense is a good offense? Maybe we could track them down and start taking them out, one by one.” Dylan shook his head. “I get that you’re restless, Love,” he said. Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to need you to stop calling me ‘Love,’ especially when you’re laughing in my face.” Dylan’s smile, if anything, became broader. “But you’re such a Love, especially when you’re angry.” Rachel took a deep breath, shook her head and turned away, walking towards the bedroom.

Whatever tentative plans they had formed for that day—Dylan had suggested maybe they could catch a train into Paris, lose themselves in the crowds for a few hours and get a change of scenery—she suddenly had no interest in. I want some time to myself. I want to be able to sleep alone for once. Or go into a store without someone two steps behind me. Or just leave the apartment without any particular plans and wander around! Rachel threw herself onto the bed she shared with Dylan. How much of his attention towards her was due to the fact that he actually liked her, and how much was merely due to convenience and opportunity? If he hadn’t come into her life as her bodyguard, would they have anything in common at all? Would she have even gone on a single date with him? Rachel chuckled to herself, turning her head into the pillow. Who are you kidding? Of course you would have gone on a date with him— he’s gorgeous. And you’d have brought him home at the end of the night, too. The lilting Irish accent didn’t hurt either. But under normal circumstances, Rachel couldn’t imagine that they would have been together—much less living together—if it weren’t for his need to constantly protect her from the mysterious henchmen. Rachel’s irritated thoughts were interrupted by the chirping of her phone. Like Dylan, Rachel had

gone through four phones since she fled from her apartment; this was the latest one, with a number she didn’t even know. It almost seemed like a formality rather than something that actually had a function; no one who actually knew her had her phone number—and most of them were probably still living under the assumption that she was dead. The fact that she had just received a message—a text, by the particular tone—was strange enough to stir her to pull herself up off of the bed and find the phone. The number that flashed on the screen was encrypted; just like the number from her first phone call from the people who were chasing her, it didn’t have enough digits to be a real number. Rachel frowned. She unlocked the screen and opened the message. What do you really know about the people who claim to protect you? Do you want to know the truth? Or do you want to continue going along with plans you aren’t even privy to? Rachel stared at the screen. The timing and the encrypted source of the message were suspicious. Had “they,” whoever they were, just been waiting for her to become disenchanted with fugitive life? It was too convenient. Clearly, Rachel thought, they were having trouble hunting her down —though the fact that they had her number implied

they at least had some idea of who she was and where she was, and they wanted her to make a bigger move out into the open. In spite of her suspicion, Rachel was more than a little curious. What truth could they possibly have to tell her? For a moment, Rachel decided she was going to delete the message completely—but maybe it would be better to tell Dylan about it. If they had found her new phone number, they were probably close to finding her. In the back of her mind, almost like a tickle, she had the impulse to respond—to ask what the hell they thought they were doing and why she should trust them any more than the people who’d kept her alive, providing her with more money than she could realistically spend over the next twenty years. She grappled with the idea for a few minutes, pondering. Rachel knew that if she told Dylan about the text message, he’d insist that they had to leave—soon, if not immediately. And she would be inclined to agree with him, just in theory. If they had her number, they had a lead on her. Maybe not a great one, but a lead, nonetheless. If she didn’t tell him, that would give the people after her time to track where the text message ended up. She might not be as lucky to already be out of the apartment when they decided to attack. But the message itself gave her a feeling like an itch deep in

her brain; what did she know about Dylan? About her mysterious benefactor? Only what she had been told. By the time she decided to hedge her bets and tell Dylan about the text message, Rachel found that it had disappeared. She sighed; her decision seemed to have been made for her. She couldn’t really tell him about a message that was no longer there, and her apprehension rose at the fact that whoever had sent her the encrypted message also had the ability to then extract it. Dylan would never believe her if she told him she’d not only received a text from “them,” but that he couldn’t see it because it vanished from her phone. She’d just have to hope that he was as good at his job as he claimed to be. Dylan was making dinner—coming from the same system, he was more comfortable with the settings on their stove than Rachel was. Just then, the second text message came through; once more, Rachel was torn between telling him about it immediately and keeping it to herself—or even responding. How do you know you can trust the people you’re with? Wouldn’t you rather make up your own mind instead of being told who’s good and who’s bad? A third one came while she was in a public

restroom, a few days later. How do you know who really started the fire in your apartment? Each time, the messages disappeared as abruptly as they showed up. Each time, Rachel debated whether or not to tell Dylan. The fact that no one had yet attacked them—that Dylan hadn’t remarked on them being followed—implied that whoever was behind the text messages, and whoever was after her, didn’t know exactly where she was. Or did it? Surely someone who could put messages on her phone and then take them off again was just as capable of discovering her whereabouts based on where the messages went. It was as good a tactic as any, Rachel had to admit. Getting her to come out of hiding would save some trouble in sending people after her. It also preyed on the very doubts she’d already had about Dylan, and about her mysterious benefactor. She had just accepted the idea that the people who’d threatened her had been the ones to start the fire in her apartment; after all, she had been with Dylan when it happened—it couldn’t have been him. But did it have to be the others? “You’re rather lost in thought lately,” Dylan commented as they ate lunch sitting in the front section of a café. One thing that Rachel had quickly appreciated about French culture was the extended

midday meal; eat a few bites, sip some wine, maybe smoke a cigarette, eat a few more bites. The leisurely attitude that considered an hour for lunch to be the bare minimum was definitely something that Rachel, being a longtime slave to the time clock and before that, a rigid school schedule, appreciated. “Just wondering how long I’m going to be on the run before things get settled for good,” Rachel said, hedging slightly. She glanced over the top of her wine glass at Dylan. He was smoking a Gauloise, the food on his plate for the moment forgotten. “If it makes you feel any better, you can come back to Rouen and live here as long as you like as soon as it’s all over with,” Dylan suggested. Rachel shrugged. “Doesn’t really help me now,” she pointed out. She noticed—her mind already suspicious—that he said that she could come back to Rouen, not that they could come back. The shifting around of increasingly frustrated thoughts started to crystalize, and Rachel thought to herself that she’d have to find a way to make a real move—for better or for worse—soon. She needed more information than Dylan was willing to give her. She needed to know what was really going on; what the other side of the story was. Even if she found that the other side of the story was

unbelievable, she wanted to know what it was. Rachel finished off her roast duck and potatoes, trying to decide how she would go about getting in touch with people she didn’t even know, whose whereabouts were a complete mystery. They made their way back to the apartment that evening, while Rachel continued to ponder the best way to contact people who should—by all indications—already know where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing. If they knew, why hadn’t they moved? Why had there been no attacks, not even the faintest sign of someone tailing them? Rachel didn’t doubt that Dylan would be hyper-aware. Even if he hadn’t been entirely honest with her, if there was someone after them, he had a vested interest in not being caught himself. “Hey, Love,” Rachel’s ruminations cut off at the sound of Dylan’s voice. She startled slightly as she felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind, coiling about her waist. “Do you realize,” he murmured lowly, his lips brushing against her neck, “That you and I have not made love in twelve hours? I think that’s a damn shame.” Rachel laughed, her heart beating faster from a mixture of arousal and doubt. “Has it really been that long?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “My hips feel like it’s been more recent than that.” Dylan’s teeth grazed her

skin and Rachel shivered, her body beginning to heat up. “I’ve been counting every last minute,” Dylan told her lowly. “It was before breakfast—maybe you were half-asleep, but I was definitely awake for that.” His hands wandered over her body, caressing her, cupping her breasts and then dropping down to her hips. “I was starting to worry that maybe you don’t like me as much anymore.” Rachel snorted. “How much would that really matter when I’m stuck with you, regardless of what my feelings are?” Dylan’s hands faltered for just an instant. He kissed the nape of her neck gently. “Well for one, there would go my ability to get laid for the foreseeable future,” he said lightly, his hands coming to life once again. He tugged at the drawstring on her soft, linen pants, untying it with nimble fingers. “For two,” he added, slipping one hand under the waistband, his fingertips skimming the lace underneath, “It’s much harder to protect someone who doesn’t want to be around you.” In spite of her misgivings, Rachel began to respond to his touches, leaning into his hands, arching back against Dylan’s strong body behind her. A soft, half-whimpering moan left her lips as Dylan began to stroke her through the thin lace of

her panties, his other hand teasing one of her nipples until it began to harden to his touch. Rachel tilted her head back and to the side, resting it against Dylan’s shoulder, gasping as Dylan’s hand slipped underneath the lace to stroke her alreadywet heat. She could feel the hard ridge of Dylan’s erection pressing against the curve of her back as she rubbed against him instinctively, her deeper need overriding any concerns about his intentions or feelings towards her. Dylan wanted her; that was enough for the moment. Rachel twisted and squirmed as Dylan’s fingers continued to work her, his other hand leaving her breasts to tug the hem of her shirt up along her abdomen, past her ribcage. His lips trailed along her neck and shoulder, barely parting as he pulled her blouse over her head and cast it aside. Dylan made quick work of her clothes, and in an instant Rachel found herself down to nothing more than her panties, soaking wet and tingling all over with hot and cold flashes of sensation. She reeled as he turned her around quickly in his arms to face him, pulling her up and kissing her hungrily, his hands squeezing her newly-bared breasts. Rachel tugged at the hem of his shirt, distracted by Dylan’s lingering caresses and the sharp jolts of pleasure that shot through her as he rolled and

twisted her nipples between his fingers. In an abrupt movement, Rachel felt Dylan lift her up. He cradled her hips in his strong arms, holding her body flush against his with her legs dangling on either side of his waist, her feet no longer on the floor but somewhere in the space behind him. She could feel the hardness of his cock straining at the confines of his jeans, pressing against her through the fabric of her panties, rubbing slightly as he carried her to the bedroom. Dylan tumbled Rachel onto the bed. She looked up, her eyes drinking in the sight of him from where she sprawled, her legs spread wide. Dylan stripped out of his clothes in quick, determined movements, tossing his shirt across the room. He pushed his jeans down over his hips and kicked off his shoes at the same time, leaving him in nothing more than his boxer-briefs. The late afternoon light seemed to almost gild the ridges and lines of muscles across his broad chest and narrow waist, highlighting his strong shoulders, tinting his dark hair reddish. The next moment, Dylan launched himself onto the bed with her, covering her body with his own, his lips descending on Rachel’s before she could even form any kind of objection—not that she could think of anything else she wanted more at the moment than to feel his body against hers. Her

hands wandered over his back, exploring the crests and valleys of his shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, as Dylan rocked his hips up against hers, pressing the ridge of his cock seemingly right against her clit through the fabric of their underwear, rubbing against her constantly. “Isn’t it so much nicer when we’re like this?” Dylan murmured, barely breaking away from her lips. “Let’s see how long I can make you stop thinking.” Rachel moaned as Dylan’s lips trailed along her jaw, dropping down to the column of her throat, his breath hot against her skin. His hands slid down her body, lingering only briefly at her breasts to give her a teasing caress on their way to her hips. Rachel felt his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down—somehow never losing contact between their bodies. Dylan’s teeth grazed the pulse in Rachel’s neck, making her gasp and arch against him, her eyes falling closed, her body beginning to move with a will of its own. He reached down between her legs and began to stroke her slowly, teasing her—barely touching her at first and then pressing more and more firmly along her inner folds. Rachel became wetter and wetter by the moment, her pussy tightening convulsively as she reacted to Dylan’s touches, the feeling of his lips against her skin, the pressing of his body weight into her.

His mouth moved down over the mounds of Rachel’s breasts, his tongue darting out to lick and tease each nipple on the way. Rachel threaded her fingers through his hair as he continued his descent, taking his time. When he nuzzled her hip, nipping sharply at the sensitive skin just at the inner curve, she was trembling with anticipation, moving in reaction to his fingers playing away at her clit. Dylan buried his face against her pussy and Rachel cried out, arching up off of the bed, her grip on his hair tightening as her legs moved to close around him instinctively. She heard Dylan’s low, selfsatisfied chuckle the moment before he began to lick her, dragging his tongue along her drenched slit, teasingly avoiding her clit until she was convinced she couldn’t stand it anymore—that he was actively attempting to torture her to death. Dylan sucked her into his mouth, his tongue flicking back and forth against Rachel’s clit; she shook with pleasure, twisting and writhing against the sheets as he lit up her nervous system. She moaned out, words tumbling from her lips that she barely knew or even paid attention to. While his lips and tongue worked her clit, Dylan spread her folds apart, plunging two fingers deep inside of her fast enough to wrench a half-surprised, halfdelighted cry from Rachel’s throat. He broke away from her, fingers and lips retreating at the same moment; Rachel keened, writhing and pushing her

hips down, hungry for the orgasm so close she could nearly taste it. “Patience, Love,” Dylan said with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the curve of her hip. He slithered up along her body, dragging his lips along her skin, teasing her as she shivered. Dylan shifted against her and Rachel felt the heat and hardness of his cock brush against her soaking wet pussy, tantalizingly close. She moaned against his lips as Dylan rocked against her, rubbing the length of his erection along her sex, teasing her alreadysensitized clit with the tip. “Not that I don’t love the way you taste,” he murmured against her lips, “But I couldn’t wait much longer.” Dylan thrust into her slowly, pushing past the instinctive flex of her muscles as pleasure rippled through her. Rachel held him close, kissing him everywhere her lips could reach as they moved together. She moaned as Dylan pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, rubbing along her inner walls, the friction steadily building up between them. Rachel’s legs tightened around Dylan’s hips as she pushed down to meet his thrusts, every nerve in her body tingling. In a matter of moments, it seemed she was no longer on the edge as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Rachel clung to Dylan, her hands slipping against the sweat of his back, her

hips moving automatically as her orgasm intensified. She kissed him hungrily as she felt his cock beginning to twitch inside of her. Rachel gasped, shuddering; he drove up into her harder and faster until reaching his own climax. Slick heat gushed into her as they both continued to move, touching each other everywhere, twisting and writhing as spasms of pleasure took them both over. Rachel felt Dylan slump against her, his hips slowing to stillness, and slipped into a deep, satisfied sleep; her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her body—for the moment—content. She was soaking in the tub when her phone— playing Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Phenomena”—chirped. Another text message. If you want to know the truth, the text message read, make sure to be at the entrance of the Joan of Arc church at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Rachel frowned; obviously, they knew she was in Rouen. Did she really want to go through with it? Could she trust the people pursuing her? They torched her apartment, outright threatened her, and sent some kind of hired heavy to attack her. But if they knew what city she was in, they surely had sussed out where she lived—and yet they hadn’t attacked her. At the very least, Rachel thought, they had clearly decided another approach was in

order. What would happen if she showed up at the rendezvous? Would they attack her and Dylan? Rachel set her phone aside as the message magically disappeared, climbing out of the tub. She would sleep on it; the next day, she would decide if it was worth the risk. A little voice in the back of her mind suggested that if she hadn’t told Dylan about the text messages yet, she had already decided her course of action—but Rachel pushed it aside.

**** Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest as she and Dylan neared the church of Joan of Arc. She had made an excuse of wanting to see it during lunch. She didn’t know if Dylan was suspicious of her sudden interest, but he went along with the plan anyway, barely giving her a glance as he lit a Gauloise. “For a woman with no religion, you’ve got a keen interest in churches,” he’d commented as they started to make their way across the city. At least, Rachel thought, it wasn’t entirely out of character for her; she had visited several cathedrals within the city during their stay so far—she just hadn’t made a point of visiting this one as of yet. She wondered if the people looking for her— intent on giving her the truth of the situation, or so they said—knew that it was a meeting place where she could go without attracting much suspicion from Dylan. Did they know her habits that well? Or was it simply a lucky guess—a tourist destination within the city that wouldn’t raise many eyebrows? Assuming I’m making the right choice, I guess I’ll know about it soon enough, she thought.

Rachel glanced at the time on an enormous clock set up on one of the buildings nearby. It was ten minutes to 2. Her skin crawled as she tried to imagine how exactly this was going to go down— was someone watching for them, already in position? They had to be. They arrived at the front of the church with only a few minutes to spare; beads of sweat started to form on Rachel’s brow. She stopped short of actually going onto the grounds, telling Dylan, “It’s not like we’re on a schedule here—I want to look at the outside first.” Against the stately, picturesque gothic and medieval cathedrals of the city, the modern lines of the 1970s-built church were almost a disappointment, though she had to admit that the sweeping, curved lines of the roof were at least breathtaking. Suddenly, she saw something move in her peripheral vision. Rachel felt Dylan’s grip on her hand tighten as they were abruptly surrounded by a group of men in the uniform of Gendarmes de Rouen, quietly penning them away from the flow of people moving through the city center. Dylan immediately moved to pull her away, but there was no way for them to escape—and he saw it in an instant. “Mademoiselle, venez avec nous s’il vous plait.”

Dylan refused to let go of her hand, and Rachel realized that the men were not—as their uniforms suggested—actual police officers. The uniforms were too clean, too immaculate, and too new. They were ushered quickly away from the public street. “No one here is authorized to harm either of you,” one of the fake police officers told them, as they were gently, but inexorably, led towards a waiting car. “But if you struggle, we will immobilize you, and then silence you.” Dylan looked at her and Rachel felt her heart lurch in her chest. He knew. None of the men tried to attack them. “You couldn’t have just told me what was going on, could you?” Dylan asked her. “Why should I? You’ve never given me that courtesy.” Rachel pressed her lips together, feeling guilty without being certain of why; Dylan hadn’t told her anything more than he absolutely had to for the entire time they’d been stuck together. Rachel saw the car door open. The next moment, the crew of false police officers pushed them both towards it; Rachel ducked her head, climbing in, not knowing whether or not she had made a horrible mistake. Dylan’s grip on her hand fell away as he slipped in behind her. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she heard someone

say. Turning her head, Rachel saw the car door close, and then spotted the man they had been brought to. He was seated across from them at the back of the low limousine. The man’s hair was graying at the temples, the rest of it a dull dark brown, combed immaculately back from his forehead. The car began to move, and the man smiled slightly. “Thank you for joining me, Rachel,” he said. He glanced at Dylan. “It’s good to see you again, Dylan. Though I’m sure you probably have a million places you’d rather be.” Rachel looked over and saw that Dylan’s hands were behind his back, his wrists bound by handcuffs—when had that happened? She remembered his touch falling away from her as she went into the car. “Okay,” Rachel said, feeling the sweat building up on the small of her back; her palms getting clammy. “Just what the hell is going on here?” “My name is Jeffrey Brock. I am the current CEO of Vantech Incorporated, having taken over the position after my predecessor, James Whitley, was ousted for erratic and irresponsible behavior.” Rachel glanced at Dylan; his jaw was set, his lips pressed firmly together. She turned her

attention back to Brock. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.” Brock smiled again, more broadly this time. “Very astute of you.” Dylan shifted as the car turned, pressing against Rachel. She felt his fingers grope for her hand to communicate something he wasn’t willing to say in front of whoever this man was. “As for what’s going on...I’m sure you’re probably less than inclined to trust me.” “Well, considering that you—or at least, some people working for you—threatened me, tried to attack me, and then burned down my apartment, no. I’m not.” She caught a flash of a smile on Dylan’s face. “How do you know that all of those things were done by me, or at least by my command?” Rachel furrowed her brow. “I suppose there’s a possibility that someone decided to give me a ton of money and then torture me with the fear of being killed over it to get his jollies off, but I kind of doubt anyone’s that depraved.” “I didn’t say none of those things were at my behest,” Brock countered. “Just that not all of them were.” He glanced at Dylan. “The phone call, regrettably, I have to take credit for. It wasn’t me who made it—but it was made under my directions. The man who broke into your house was an agent

of mine, much like Dylan here on retainer. He exceeded his instructions and, Dylan, I’d be glad to pay you a reward for taking him out of circulation.” Rachel looked at her bodyguard and erstwhile lover; the tension in his shoulders, above and beyond the constraints of the handcuffs, was unmistakable. “So, then you’re telling me that the fire in my apartment building had nothing to do with you,” Rachel said, looking from Brock to Dylan. Brock shrugged. “I didn’t order it, and none of my people on the ground reported having done it. I had already decided that the best course of action was to appeal to you directly and without threats. So, you should ask yourself a question, Rachel: who would benefit the most from getting you away from me?” Rachel stared at Dylan. He couldn’t have set the fire—he had been with her all along. “Dylan, what do you know about this?” she asked him, her throat tightening with a growing sense of betrayal. “I don’t know anything,” Dylan said. “I told you, I don’t ask questions.” Brock sat back in his seat. “Dylan is excellent at following orders—in fact, that was why I originally brought him to Jim’s attention. He goes where the money is. How much is Jim paying you

for this escapade, Dylan?” “That’s between me and him,” Dylan said, his voice nearly a growl. Brock turned his attention back onto Rachel. “By my estimate, he’s making about as much as you are from this transaction—it’s rather arduous, guarding someone who thinks they’re being constantly pursued.” Brock’s lips twitched. “Which brings us to the main problem—and also an opportunity. The money James Whitley gave you wasn’t his to give—it belongs to the company I now control. It was earmarked for a merger that we still very much want to go through with, and the accounting for it is…let’s say, less than amicable to the IRS. If we don’t get it back—if it stays as a mark in our ledgers as it stands right now—we could be in serious trouble.” “So basically, you’re trying to convince me to give it up. Doesn’t sound like an opportunity to me: Rachel, you’ll be stranded in a foreign country— but you’ll have our eternal gratitude for keeping us clean with the IRS!” She shook her head in disbelief. “The opportunity would come with the reward earmarked for the fund’s return,” Brock said quickly. “You have to understand—I don’t necessarily care that the money came to you. In the overall scheme of our profits, it’s a drop in the

bucket. What I care about is a long, drawn-out audit that costs us a fortune. If you’re willing to return the money to us, I have the authorization to give you a five-million-dollar reward—provided you are also prepared to testify against James Whitley in an impending lawsuit we have filed against him.” Rachel stared at the man in shock, barely noticing the fact that the car had come to a stop. “As a gesture of good faith, I will give you two weeks to decide what you want to do. You can leave freely right now.” Rachel glanced at Dylan. “He’s handcuffed, you ass,” she said to Brock. Brock’s eyes widened and then he nodded, evidently only just realizing the significance. “There are some more…personal police standing outside the car. They’ll free him the moment you step out,” he said. Rachel looked from one man to the other incredulously. Brock reached over and pushed the car door open. Dylan followed her out of the car, and true to Brock’s word, there were several more fake police stationed around it, apparently at attention. Rachel caught a flicker of movement and then Dylan’s hands were freed. The car pulled away and the “police” began to drift off, one by one, as if called by other duties. “We need to get back to the apartment, get

your things together and go,” Dylan said quickly. Rachel opened her mouth to protest; for a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in Dylan’s eyes. “Don’t argue with me right now. I swear, I will explain it to you later.” He grabbed her wrist and started pulling her down the street, still shocked by everything that had happened.

**** As they hustled back to the apartment, Rachel’s head was spinning over the information Brock had given her. She glanced over at Dylan, embittered by what little she had been able to pull out of him about his assignment and the man who paid him for it. Just then, Dylan’s phone rang. Without stopping, Rachel watched as he pulled it out of his pocket and began talking the moment he tapped the accept icon. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. Yes—yes, we were just with him. No, we didn’t stay for tea. I’m going to get her out of the city as fast as I can. It’s all gone to shit.” He hung up without waiting, and Rachel’s mind reeled; once more, she realized she had no idea what the hell was going on in her life—and now, she had no idea if she could even trust the man who was supposed to be protecting her.

PART THREE Rachel found herself at a table, on the terrace of a tiny brasserie, in a tiny town whose name she was no longer even sure of, somewhere in the border territory between France and Switzerland. On the table in front of her were a pack of cigarettes, a tiny coffee cup with deep, dark coffee thick as syrup, a shot of myrtille eau-de-vie, a lighter, an ashtray, and her phone. As she looked out from the terrace from behind a pair of sunglasses, she watched a man re-loading his beatup van with leftovers from the market that was dispersing. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, reaching for her packet of Gauloises bleus. Note to self: if you ever do quit smoking, do it in a country that doesn’t love cigarettes so much. She had never been much of a smoker before she had met Dylan; but then, Rachel thought wryly, she had done a lot of things she wasn’t accustomed to since Dylan had dropped into her life. Dylan was no longer, technically, in her life. Rachel lit a cigarette and took a long draw of the smoke, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses as she exhaled. She had left him a little over a week before, after she had met with the man Dylan had

painted as her enemy, and learned that the situation regarding her mysterious newfound fortune was much more complicated than it had even initially seemed. Rachel’s phone buzzed and she started; even without the constant suspicion that every blind corner might bring a henchman to grab her off the streets and carry her away to be either killed or somehow forced to relinquish her fortune, Rachel had grown so accustomed to the jittery feeling of anxiety that it was hard to give up. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she missed the feeling of protection that had come along with Dylan’s presence. She picked up her phone and unlocked the screen, taking a deep breath again to steady her nerves. She set her lit cigarette down lightly on the rim of the ashtray and picked up the jigger of myrtille-flavored liquor. It didn’t, technically “go” with the coffee, but the eau-de-vie was more popular in the Alps than Calvados, and of the flavors available, Rachel had favored the wild blueberry sweetness more than any of the others. The number listed was unidentifiable; it wasn’t even a European number. Rachel frowned; she knew it couldn’t be Brock—he wouldn’t be calling her quite so soon to get her decision. She bit her bottom lip for a moment before knocking back the burning, faintly sweet liquor to steady her nerves.

She set the tiny glass down and brought the phone up to her ear. There was a message—another sign that it wasn’t Brock contacting her. Rachel swallowed convulsively, deciding that she might as well hear whatever it was. The message started with a gritty riot of rhythmic electric guitar, almost too loud. Rachel winced slightly, listening to it. “I feel you/ your sun it shines…I feel you/within my mind…You take me there, you take me where, the kingdom comes/ You take me to, and lead me through/ Babylon…this is the morning of our love/ It’s just the dawning of our love…” Rachel felt her throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the eau-de-vie and knew, suddenly, exactly where the call had come from. Her eyes stung as the song played, far beyond the usual limits of what her voicemail would allow. Dylan. Jesus. Rachel shuddered and put her phone down, the sound of shrieking, distorted guitars and yearning wails of lyrics filling her mind. She picked up the tiny cup of coffee and sipped at the syrupy-bitter liquid, a hot tear rolling free of one of her eyes as she sighed. She could remember the events that had led to her current state, sitting on the terrace, in the middle of nowhere, as clearly as if it had been hours instead of days before. They had gotten back to the apartment after her meeting in Brock’s car, Rachel trailing in

Dylan’s wake as he led her through the streets of Rouen. Rachel’s mind had still been reeling from the information she had received from Brock. “We need to get the hell out of here as soon as we get the call, so you’d better start packing, Love,” Dylan had told her, propelling her through the front door and towards the bedroom. “Why do we need to leave?” she had asked, stumbling slightly as she stopped her headlong run and turned to face him. “Listen; I know he came off nice in the car, but Brock is not a man who has your interests in mind.” Dylan’s slightly swarthy skin had been pale. “He’s offering me more money to give up what I got illegally,” Rachel countered. “While I’m sure he’s not Santa Claus that doesn’t seem like a terrible offer.” “He’s faking you out,” Dylan had told her. “I know him. I’ve worked for him.” Rachel’s insecurities began to rise up inside of her mind, along with all of the questions she had been asking herself since their sexual liaison had begun. “Yes, you have,” she had said, pinning him down with her gaze. “And now you’re working for some dude who apparently thinks endangering my life and forcing me to live as an international fugitive with a fake name are great enhancements

to my life.” “That wasn’t in the plan,” Dylan had countered. “The plan was just to give you the money, instead of going through a merger that would have hurt the company.” “Why’d he have to do it an illegal way, then? Just what is your boss hiding?” Dylan had rolled his eyes at her, sighing with exasperation. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. “Once we’re out of the city, I’ll explain what’s really going on.” Dylan had closed the distance between them, his hands falling to her waist. “I know you’re anxious and worried,” he had said quietly. “We’ll get the hell out of here and hopefully it’ll take Brock a while to track you down again.” “I’m not anxious, and I’m not worried,” Rachel had said, pulling away from Dylan’s touch. “I’m frustrated and I feel like I’m being lied to by everyone.” “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Dylan had asked her. “Plenty! You have given me plenty of reasons not to trust you. Until Brock’s people torched my apartment building you wouldn’t even tell me anything about anything! And now…” she shook her head. “I don’t know who to believe.” Dylan grabbed at her waist carefully, pulling her towards

him, and Rachel found her body beginning to respond in spite of her irritation and distrust, reacting to the proximity of his muscled body, the scent of his cologne, the heat of him. “Believe me,” Dylan had told her, his voice dropping to a low almost-growl. Rachel had struggled slightly in his arms, not quite resisting as his lips brushed against hers, as his hands tightened on her hips, pressing her body against his. She couldn’t honestly say that she didn’t want him, but Rachel wanted answers more—she wanted answers to her questions, she wanted to know who to trust, what to believe. “You said we don’t have time,” Rachel had murmured as Dylan’s hands slipped underneath her blouse, caressing her bare skin with a feather-light touch that trailed up from her hips to just underneath her breasts. “We always have time for this,” Dylan had replied, claiming her lips once more to stop her from talking. He cupped her breasts, giving them a slow, firm squeeze through the fabric of her bra, and Rachel had moaned, arching into his touch as her thoughts and questions began to evaporate like alcohol in the desert. She broke away from Dylan’s lips, intending to tell him that he couldn’t expect to distract her—that she was going to pursue the issue —but before she could form words, Dylan’s mouth

dropped to her throat, his lips, teeth and tongue teasing her sensitive skin until Rachel moaned again, her head falling back to give him better access. Dylan had slipped her blouse over her head in a flash of a movement, his lips trailing down from her neck to her collarbones, and Rachel found herself groping for the hem of his shirt, irritated by the separation between their bodies rather than her unanswered questions. She wanted to feel his skin pressed to hers, she wanted—needed—to feel him inside of her. Rachel’s body heated up, and she felt the slick, hot feeling along her labia as her inner muscles flexed convulsively. Dylan tugged the thin, lacy fabric of her bra down, freeing her breasts and bringing first one and then the other up to his mouth. Rachel let out a cry, her breath catching in her throat as Dylan claimed each of her nipples in turn, worshipping them both with lips and tongue and careful grazes of his teeth. He guided her towards the bedroom, lifting Rachel up into his arms almost effortlessly when she tripped over her own feet, no longer certain they were real; they certainly seemed rather remote and abstract as her brain focused almost entirely on the sensations Dylan was creating in her breasts and tight heat that built up somewhere deep down in her hips as she became wetter and wetter by the

moment, more and more turned on. Dylan laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling back from her breasts to look down at her with such unmistakable lust in his dark hazel eyes that Rachel decided—for the moment—that nothing mattered as much as the satisfaction she knew she was going to get from him. She gasped as Dylan tugged her skirt down over her hips, pulling the fabric along her legs and casting it aside without any concern for where in the room it would land. “See? You must trust me,” he said, his voice little more than a murmur as his hand slid along her inner thigh, moving up to cup her soaking wet pussy through her panties. “Or else you wouldn’t let me see you naked, would you, Love?” “If you don’t stop talking,” Rachel had told him, tugging his shirt over his head and throwing it across the room. “I am going to start remembering why I don’t trust you.” “Can’t have that, can we?” Dylan asked, raising a dark eyebrow with a faint grin as he began to rub her slowly. Rachel pulled his face back down to hers, kissing him hungrily as the heel of Dylan’s palm pressed to her clit through the fabric, sending tingles of hot-and-cold electricity through her body. Dylan nipped at her lips playfully as his fingers slid underneath the lace, brushing against her bare skin, stroking her, slipping along her soaking wet folds to

find her clit. “You want me, don’t you, Love?” Dylan asked her lowly, barely breaking away from the kiss. “Mm,” Rachel had replied, pushing her hips down to meet his touch, for better contact between his fingers and her pleasure-center. “I told you to stop talking.” Dylan had chuckled, his fingers withdrawing for a moment; just long enough to hook into the flimsy, thin fabric and pull it down over her hips. Rachel reached out, grabbing at the fly of Dylan’s jeans, struggling to locate the button or the zipper—anything that might bring her closer to getting him naked. Dylan broke away from her lips and began to kiss a path downward along her body, lingering at her breasts to kiss and lick and suck, making it impossible for Rachel to focus on anything. She growled with frustration, tugging at the waistband of Dylan’s jeans, and he chuckled against her ribcage, nipping sharply at the ticklish skin as his hands left her body. She felt him shifting against her, pushing her hands away, and then there was nothing between them but the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs; Rachel moaned as the heat and hardness of his erection pressed against her thigh, slightly damp where his precum had begun to flow at the tip. Dylan continued his path down along her body, nibbling playfully just below her navel, and Rachel shivered,

combing her fingers through his hair as her hips moved automatically, pushing down and twisting to meet him. Dylan slipped down below her hips, and spread her legs wide, and Rachel moaned long and low as he nuzzled his lips against her labia slowly. He parted her labia, his tongue darting out to lap at her fluids. Rachel clutched at Dylan’s hair, breathing in sharply through gritted teeth as he teased and tasted her. Rachel squirmed and writhed as Dylan flicked his tongue along her slick folds, probing and tasting, working his way upward towards her clit slowly. She moaned out and grabbed at his shoulder, tugged at his hair as he teased her, barely missing her pleasure center. She felt the vibration against her skin as Dylan moaned, his tongue sliding closer and closer to the bundle of nerves that needed attention the most, and Rachel’s hips moved as if with a mind of their own, twisting and pivoting, her body trying desperately to get the contact it craved. She cried out as he thrust two fingers inside of her, his tongue sweeping up at the same time to lap at her clit, swiping at it playfully before beginning to flicker faster and faster. Her nails dug into his skin as Dylan sucked the bead of nerves between his lips, his fingers working inside of her, rubbing along her inner walls as her pleasure built up more and more. She heard the wet, slurping sounds of his

attentions as her fluids flowed more freely, felt her muscles tightening around him as if her body itself didn’t want to let go of him, didn’t want to let him leave. Rachel reached her climax seemingly all at once—a shockwave of pleasure crashing through every nerve ending, making her muscles tense in spasms as more and more waves washed through her. Dylan was relentless, continuing his assaults on her only too willing body as Rachel pitched and arched up off of the bed, grabbing at him in the desperate need to hold onto something. He only backed off as the spasms began to abate, pulling back gradually, his tongue slowing against her clit before he retreated. Dylan kissed a path up to her mouth, his hands soothing her just enough for Rachel to stop trembling, and just when she felt the last of the tremors abating, he began to rock his hips against hers. She felt the heat of his cock brushing along her drenched labia and wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing his face up to hers to kiss him hungrily. Dylan nipped at her bottom lip as he guided himself up against her pussy, rubbing her clit with the tip of his erection in a final tease before he thrust into her, filling her up in one fast movement. They fell into a rhythm together, touching each other everywhere, their hips meeting as they

moved, and Rachel for a moment couldn’t believe that she had ever doubted that there was something between them—something more than just the relationship between a bodyguard and his charge, something more than convenience. As they kissed each other wherever their lips could reach, and Rachel felt the pleasure building up inside of her again, tension mounting and mounting to an inevitable climax, she ceased to think about all of her misgivings about Dylan, about Brock, about her benefactor; all she could think about was how good she felt. She clung to him as the first wave of sensation washed through her, muffling her moans against the side of his neck. Rachel felt Dylan tensing against her, felt his cock twitching inside of her, and he followed her into orgasm, shuddering slightly as the pleasure gripped them both. Rachel was ripped out of her reverie by the sound of her phone vibrating again. She glanced at her cigarette; it had burned down to the filter while she had been woolgathering. Once more, she glanced at the screen and saw an unrecognizable number, a message. Rachel glanced around; no one seemed to be near, no one was paying any attention to her—all of the other terrace inhabitants were locked in their own conversations. She reached into her purse in the chair next to her and withdrew a

pair of ear buds and plugged them into her headphone jack, taking a final sip of her coffee and lighting another cigarette. The message started with throbbing, heartbeatsteady drums, with a winding, wandering guitar coming in over, bass weaving in between. Unmistakably sensual, Rachel shuddered; it was the sonic embodiment of slow, lazy lovemaking—she could almost feel Dylan’s hands on her. “Have you got color in your cheeks/ D’you ever get that fear that you can’t shift like summat in your teeth/ Are there some aces up your sleeve/ have you no idea that you’re in deep, I dreamt about you nearly every night this week/ How many secrets can you keep? ‘Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat…” Rachel gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. She exhaled, feeling a mixture of intense desire and dread. “Been wondering if your heart’s still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts…” She opened her eyes and picked up her phone, clenching her teeth as she ruthlessly tapped the icon to delete the message. Rachel swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and took her sunglasses off, looking around for a server. She wanted another shot, she wanted another coffee, and she wanted, more than anything, to forget that

the last two weeks had happened. It had been after the sex, when her mind was finally clearing from the haze of multiple orgasms, that Rachel had remembered her misgivings. She had sat up in their shared bed and pinned Dylan down with a scowl. “I told you,” she had said, pulling away from him, moving out of easy range of his caressing hands, “I wasn’t going to be distracted forever. You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on and how you figure in all of this.” “We have to get ready to get out of town,” Dylan had said. “Oh, but we had time for you to fuck my brains out? You keep telling me I’m in danger— but…” She remembered Brock’s words. How did she know that the guy who’d been at her apartment had really been one of his henchmen? How did she know that her apartment building had been torched at Brock’s orders? Dylan had shown up so conveniently after she’d gotten the first threatening phone call. “I told you,” Dylan said, sitting up in the bed with her, reaching out to pull her back to him. “I’ll explain everything when we get out of here—it’s not safe.” “Tell me one thing,” Rachel had said, pushing him away and slipping out from underneath the

blankets. She had looked around for her clothes in irritation, feeling vulnerable and somehow like prey in her naked, sexed-up state. “Are you…” she had taken a deep breath, both needing to know the answer to her question and dreading it. “Are you having sex with me because you want to, because it’s convenient, or because… because it makes me —it keeps me complacent?” Dylan had looked at her for a long moment in silence, and Rachel had clenched her teeth and gathered up her clothes. “Love, it’s not as simple as that,” he had protested. “Really? Because from where I’m standing it seems pretty damn simple. Why are you having sex with me? I mean it’s not like it keeps happening accidentally.” She had dressed quickly and began grabbing things from around the room almost at random, her eyes blurring with tears. “You came onto me the first time,” Dylan pointed out. “You practically threw yourself at me, Love.” “So tell me the truth!” Rachel had shouted. “Are you just screwing me because it’s a way to pass the time, or—or…” her heart had pounded in her chest. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t even want to know.” She had found her purse, grabbed it quickly, and ran out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, as quickly as she could; she had barely

heard Dylan’s shouted protest over the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears. Her card and her rudimentary French skills had gotten her a ticket to Paris; an hour later she got off of the train at Gare Saint Lazare, her head still spinning. She lost herself in the crowds for a while, going outside for a cigarette and watching all around her in defensive anxiety. A series of impulsive decisions sent her to Lyon, and then quickly to Geneva on the TGV and a reserved first class seat on a commuter rail. The pristine alpine city with its churlish people had palled on her after two days, and the urge to keep moving—to get away from both Dylan and Brock —sent her back into France, to the Haute Savoie region close to the border; close to a major city but buried at the same time in rural splendor. It was between seasons, and while the pickings were slim, Rachel managed to find a house for rent on a permonth basis, and set about navigating a new town. She knew Dylan was looking for her; she knew that if Brock’s henchmen were able to track her movements in Rouen, they would certainly have known that she had fled the city. What Rachel did not know was whether Brock had taken that as a sign that she hadn’t believed him. She had received no more messages from the man who had been painted as her enemy, who had treated her

with a mixture of condescension and courtesy when they met, but Rachel was wise enough to realize that the lack of messages didn’t mean much of anything at all. Her skin crawled with the sensation she felt of being constantly watched. She knew she should get rid of her phone; if Dylan was still reaching out to her that way, then she could be tracked by it. What she wanted, more than anything, was to know what to think. She wanted to know how to react, what to do, whom to believe. She wanted to be able to sleep a full night without waking up three or five times wondering if it was a noise that had stirred her out of her dreams, and whether that sound was something she could react to or just the regular noises of a wood-and-stone house shifting in the night. A waitress appeared at the table, and Rachel summoned up her best polite smile. “Un autre café, et un autre myrtille, s’il vous plait,” she said. The waitress gave her a much more genuine smile than Rachel could bring herself to exchange, quietly collecting up her dirty cups and nodding her agreement to the order before walking briskly away. Within a few moments, another tiny, steaming cup of dark coffee, another clear jigger of liquor, and a paper-wrapped cube of sugar was in front of Rachel once more, and she took a deep

breath. She had to think; she had to figure out what her next moves were. She peeled the paper from around the sugar cube and dropped it into her coffee, sitting back and opening up her music library on her phone. She knew she was being a glutton for punishment, but she didn’t care as she flipped through the songs she had filled the phone with and found “Everlong.” The gloomy, glittery sound filled her ears, and Rachel knocked back her shot, setting the glass down and picking up the coffee spoon to stir the dissolving sugar into her coffee. “Breathe out, so I can breathe you in/ hold you in/ And now, I know you’ve always been/ out of your head, out of my head I sang…”

**** Rachel was making her way back to the tiny house she had rented, weaving slightly from the eau-de-vie burning through her veins, when she felt the sensation of being watched. She cussed softly to herself; she had been stupid to drink a third shot. She felt a flicker of genuine regret for leaving Dylan—even if she couldn’t trust him, at least she had felt safe, protected around him. At least he was alert when she was incapable of it, even if the people he was alert to were apparently not necessarily her enemies. Rachel stumbled, reaching out blindly to grab onto something to steady her on the unevenly paved road, looking around in the early evening gloom to try and find the source of her sudden presentiment. “Rachel, please, let me steady you,” someone said, and she felt a firm hand on her shoulder doing just that. The voice was unfamiliar—and the fact that the voice was speaking English, when she had become accustomed to a constant gabble of toofast French and weird Swiss German, sent a thrill of fear through Rachel that made her try and lurch away from the hand holding her up. “I’m not here to hurt you, Rachel; calm down.”

“Who are you?” Rachel asked, turning her head. She caught a vaguely familiar face; a middleaged man, around the age of fifty or maybe sixty on the outside, impeccably groomed and clean-shaven. “I don’t blame you for not remembering me,” the man said with the faintest glimmer of a smile. “Why don’t we talk at your place? That seems much more comfortable than out here on the road —these Alpine drivers play fast and loose with speed for people would could careen off the side of a mountain at any moment.” “I’m not leading you back to my house until you tell me who you are and why I shouldn’t start screaming right now,” Rachel said. “James Whitley,” the man said. “I’ve been looking for you ever since you dropped out of Dylan’s care. You’re in a great deal of trouble, my dear.” Rachel stared at the man in shock; this was her mysterious benefactor? He looked like someone’s father-in-law. He looked like someone she might have seen at a bistro in Rouen. He didn’t look like an unstable billionaire CEO who knew the kinds of people who could procure a fake passport that had fooled four different countries. “We have a lot to talk about, Rachel.” “Yeah, I suppose we do,” she said, sighing. There was obviously no getting away from him now; his arm was around her shoulder, and even if

she wasn’t just shy of drunk, Rachel didn’t think that she could have managed the steep road up to where her rented house stood at a run. “Okay. I’m guessing you probably already know where I live, if you managed to accost me on the way there.” “I had a good idea of the neighborhood,” James said with another quick smile. “Let’s get you up this last hill and then we can have a nice, long conversation about what’s going on in your life.” “My life?” Rachel began to walk slowly, following the road, leaning against James slightly. “My life is shit right now, thanks to you; that’s what’s going on in it.” “There are quite a few people who would find your life pretty romantic,” James pointed out. “But I can sympathize; you’re not wandering around Europe by choice, and you’re under constant threat. I promise you there are a lot of reasons for the things I have done—I’m not out to torture you. But I think that part of the conversation is best saved for home, don’t you?” “Sure,” Rachel said, stumbling slightly and catching herself. “I don’t seem to have a hell of a lot of choice in anything that’s been going on for the past two months, I might as well just go along with your plan.”

**** Dylan worried at his bottom lip as he watched the scenery flash past the windows of the train. It had been over a week since he had seen Rachel; over a week since she had asked him why he was having sex with her—a question that, in his stunned mind, had nothing to do with the real issue at hand —and then ran out of the apartment. He had been so baffled by her question that it had taken him a few minutes to get his clothes on and follow her; and she had taken advantage of that head start to lose herself somewhere in Rouen, and then leave the city altogether. He knew that she had left, but he didn’t know where she had gone. Dylan shifted in his seat, taking a slow breath. This is why you don’t get involved with the target, you dumbass, he thought to himself. It had been much easier to track her before; he had been able to remain objective, he had been able to think clearly about where a woman like Rachel would go, what she would do. When Whitley had called him to give him the details on their arrangements—the planned escape from Rouen that he and Rachel would have made if she hadn’t left—Dylan had felt ethically bound to

tell his client that he had lost the girl. “What the hell did you do, Dylan?” Whitley had asked him after a moment’s silence. “We got into a fight and she ran off.” Another moment of ominous silence. “When I told you to stay with her at all times, I didn’t mean to stay in her bed,” Whitley told him slowly. “You could have just as easily watched her without sleeping with her.” “I don’t take my job quite that seriously,” Dylan had remarked caustically. “Look; from what I can gather she hopped a train, probably to Paris. That’s the only place she could really go to get the hell out of dodge from. I’ll see if I can pick up the trail there.” “Do what you can,” Whitley had replied. “I’m going to take other measures. Do you think Jeffrey knows?” “If he doesn’t now, he will soon,” Dylan said grimly. “We have to get to her first.” “One of us does, anyway. Do what you have to do; send me the expenses later on.” With that, Whitley had ended the call, and Dylan had been left to his own devices to attempt to track a woman he thought he might never fully know across the country—and perhaps out of it—without having

any idea of what she might do. It had taken him a few days in Paris and a few persuasive questions to find someone who remembered the woman he described; slowly, Dylan began to trace the path that Rachel had taken, the trains across the country, out of it and into Geneva. He knew that if he was able to do it, Brock with his superior resources would be just as capable—if not more so. Dylan worried at his bottom lip as he watched the French countryside pass by the window of the TGV. He picked up his phone and flipped through his music library; he had sent Rachel a few messages, a last-ditch effort to get her to reach out to him—but he had gotten no response. She may have ditched the phone, he thought grimly. For all I know I’m sending these messages to some confused French girl who has no idea why she keeps getting songs in her voicemail. As he picked another song from his collection to send to her— not knowing whether she would get it, whether she would understand—the lyrics filtered through his mind. “This indecision’s got me climbing up the wall…How did this come over me, thought I was above it all…Give me some rope I’m coming lose, I’m hanging on you…”

**** Dylan wandered the station at Geneva, sniffing the air as if it could possibly contain some trace of Rachel’s particular warm, spicy scent. He shook his head, clenching his teeth and working to control his irritation. She wasn’t in Geneva, he was somehow certain; she had landed there, dropped by the train, but if he knew her at all—if he understood the strange woman whose life he had been part of for over a month, until he and Brock had ruined the setup—she wouldn’t have stayed. She’d have moved on, prompted both by the need to lose herself even more thoroughly and the lessthan-warm Swiss themselves. A big city could conceal her well, but it would also provide plenty of opportunities for her to be grabbed without anyone noticing it. So where would she have gone? Some keenly refined sense twinged, and Dylan turned on his heel, coming out of his reverie abruptly. Something wasn’t right. He felt the skincrawling sensation of being watched, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Looking around, at first Dylan saw nothing to alarm— people milling about the station, greeting friends who had come to meet them, rushing out to catch

the next train leaving the station. But he became aware of a group of men who were standing a distance away, oddly still in the rush. Brock. Dylan felt his heart speed up. He had a few options; they wouldn’t want to take him down in public. They wouldn’t want to create a spectacle, reveal the falseness of their pretend-uniforms. They’d want to get the drop on him. There would be taxis outside, along with the bus; Dylan could get into a vehicle, get away from them—maybe lose them, if the driver was good enough. Or he could jump onto another train, take the fine when they came to check tickets and get ejected somewhere. The options flitted through his mind as he moved through the station, doing his best to appear not to hurry; he had no more interest in drawing attention to himself—yet—than the hired hands looking for their opening to drop him. If they started to make their move, that would be the time to make a scene. The Swiss might be standoffish, but they were not about to let a bunch of people tarnish the reputation of their police with impunity. Dylan started towards the entrance to the station, glancing around him in quick, darting gazes, keeping track of where Brock’s henchmen were, how they were moving to follow him as unobtrusively as possible. As he reached the doors,

his heart beating faster, he heard one of them call out for him to stop; they had evidently come to the conclusion about what his plan might be to evade them and decided that a little scene was not as bad as losing their quarry. He broke into a run, and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Fuck. Of all the times. Dylan slipped his hand into his pocket, darting out through the doors. He heard another shout behind them; one of the false officers was telling him to stop, that he was being detained—that he could face serious injury if he resisted arrest. Dylan plowed into a woman rushing towards the station and sidestepped, mumbling an apology in panicked, stilted French. Passersby, passengers waiting for their train, watched with morbid interest as Dylan made for the taxi stand, darting between and around people. More shouts from Brock’s henchmen behind him, the sound of one of them colliding with a very indignant Swiss man. Dylan heard the air splitting crack an instant before he felt the impact of something hitting his back—he had no idea what. He staggered, almost but not quite stopping, as he continued towards the salvation of a cab; whatever it was, he was certain it had come from one of the henchmen, and as the shocking jolt of it settled into a sharp, prodding ache, he knew that if he let himself stop he didn’t

want to know whatever other jollies they might have to apprehend him with. It would be in Brock’s interest to have him killed if he suspected that Dylan knew anything about Rachel’s whereabouts. Dylan sucked in a burning breath, feeling the sharp crackling pain settle into a throbbing ache in the back of his ribs. “I’m not bleeding, I can pay you, let me in and get me out of here—those aren’t real cops,” he told the driver. The man looked out at the oncoming men in uniforms and glanced at Dylan, taking in the import of his less-than-ideal French. The doors unlocked. Dylan threw himself into the back seat and pressed his lips together firmly to muffle the grunt of pain that rose up in him as he was thrown back against the bench when the driver pulled away from the curb in a fast, lurching turn. He took a deep breath and unlocked the screen on his phone— somehow miraculously intact. I found her, it said. Come to this address. I suspect Brock is on your heels. Dylan thought wryly that he more than suspected it and took another deep breath. “My man,” he said, looking up to catch sight of the man through the mirror in the front of the car. “You are about to make the fare of the month.”

**** Rachel could feel the headache gathering at her temples as the slight buzz she had worked up began to fade. She looked at James Whitley closely, trying to decide if it was even worth the effort of thinking anymore. “I understand why you feel manipulated,” James said, returning her regard without a trace of concern. “But I need you to understand where I’m coming from too, Rachel.” “What I understand is that you could have easily given me some kind of note before I started getting stalked by people,” Rachel said. “I mean, I really appreciate being a millionaire and all, but a simple, ‘Hey, Rach, so there’s this guy who’s going to come after you—I’m sending help, but you might want to vacate your apartment and uproot your entire life right about now’ would have been nice.” “I’ve been trying to evade him too,” James pointed out. “In case you haven’t noticed, Rachel, you and I have the distinction of swapping places as first on Jeffrey’s list to be eliminated depending on what day it is.” “Okay,” Rachel said, standing unsteadily. She

walked across the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets to retrieve a bottle of water. “Would you like one?” She asked, reaching for another bottle before James replied. “Thank you.” Rachel returned to the table, handing James his bottle and opening her own before she sat down once more, heavily. “I’m going to need you to explain exactly what the hell is going on to me,” she said, taking a long sip from the bottle. “Because honestly at this point the whole mess is as clear as mud to me.” “Jeffrey has been trying to get control of the company for years,” James said, cracking the seal on his own bottle. “Before I was put in charge, his father ran Vantech Incorporated, and Jeffrey thought it was his just desserts to inherit the position.” “I can see that,” Rachel said, taking another long pull from her bottle. Her impending hangover was not dissipating fast enough. “Where exactly do I come into this?” “That is a bit complicated,” James told her, a faint smile curving his lips. He drank from his bottle of water and seemed to think for a long moment, spinning the cap on the tabletop. “When I came into my position as CEO of Vantech, Jeff became involved with another company; at first, we were

all relieved—it seemed like he had decided to take his ‘loss’ gracefully.” “Who do you mean by ‘we’? The shareholders?” The ghost of a smile crossed James’ face once more. “The family; Jeffrey is my step-brother.” Rachel’s eyes widened. You bet your sweet ass it’s complicated, she thought. “In any case, the company he was involved with is the one that he’s trying to get Vantech to merge with now; if he succeeds, then he’ll have as close to a monopoly in our industry as the government will allow. And he would use the merger as a way to boot me and take over his father’s company for good.” Rachel absorbed that for a moment. She could see why James would want to avoid the merger; it would remove him from power. “So you send me the money meant for the merger, I get that. But why does he have to come after me? If he’s in charge of the company now with you ousted…” “He will have to take legal action to make it permanent,” James said. “There is a will involved —complicated estate issues and lawyers’ problems, ultimately. He’s only in power as long as I’m alive and able to defend myself. And from what you told me before of his explanation to you, he’s telling the truth about one of his motives: while you’re in

possession of the money, his position is bad indeed.” “How would killing me fix that?” “If he kills you, there won’t be anyone in a position to dispute his claim that the money was transferred in error—and he could get it back with a minimum of fuss from the bank. The people running Vantech other than myself have no real interest in me as a person; they’re interested in results. If Jeff gets results, they have no reason to back me in the courts.” Rachel drained her bottle, shaking her head. “Things just get better and better, don’t they?” she sighed. “So, what do I do?” “You stay out of his clutches, and give me time to get everything the way it should be.” “How exactly does that benefit me? Brock offered me five million to give back the money you gave me.” James laughed. “He would have had you killed the moment the transfer was complete,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I know my step-brother very well.” “How do I know I can even trust you?” “I don’t seem to have given you many reasons, have I?” James chuckled. “How about this:

I have a contract at the hotel I’m staying at in this area. It is absolutely legally binding and states that in return for assisting me, you will receive an additional five million dollars.” Before Rachel could respond to the offer, there was a knock at the door. She jumped, nearly tumbling out of her chair. “Shit, shit, he found me,” she said. James shook his head. “Not just yet, I think. That will be Dylan.” “Dylan?” Rachel stared at the man across from her at the table in disbelief. “I’m going to have to cut his pay, I think; I managed to find you before he did.” James shook his head and stood, walking to the door. “Do I get to have any control or say over anything that happens in my life anymore?” Rachel asked, directing the question to the ceiling. “Welcome to the life of wealth and prestige,” James said wryly from behind her. Rachel heard the door open. “They’ll be here soon, I think,” Dylan said, and Rachel deliberately kept her eyes in front of her. She didn’t want to see him; even if the effort in his voice implied that he was struggling in some way. “Were you followed?” James asked. “I see

they caught up with you at some point at least.” “Cracked rib, not much of a thing; I don’t think they could get their hands on legal guns, felt like a bean bag.” Rachel felt her stomach lurch— Dylan had a cracked rib? She turned her head almost involuntarily and watched as he approached the table in a slow, slightly staggering walk, with little of his usual upright cockiness. “Hello, Love,” Dylan said, smiling. “You learned well from me, picking an out-of-the-way place like this.”

**** “So,” Rachel said, looking from Dylan to James as they watched her. They had managed to get Dylan to a hospital using James’ car, and after a five-hour wait, Dylan’s cracked ribs—both of them —were taped down, and he had taken some ibuprofen for the pain, not wanting to dull his senses with narcotics. “What’s next?” She tried to focus more of her attention on James rather than on Dylan. He’s being paid. The galling thought that he might only have started having sex with her due to convenience or because it would keep her close still hovered in her mind. “We get you out of here,” James said, glancing at Dylan. “I can pay someone else to take over guarding you.” “I’m fine, James,” Dylan said, shifting slightly in his chair. Rachel saw him wince as the movement sent pain through him and couldn’t quite help feeling a flicker of guilt and remorse that he’d been hurt tracking her down. “You have two cracked ribs, Dylan. You don’t have a gun, and Jeff’s people are going to want to take you out as much as they do Rachel.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dylan said, setting his jaw in a way that Rachel immediately recognized. He was going to be stubborn about it. She didn’t know why; he had already made plenty of money from protecting her—something that James had confirmed while they were waiting as the doctor saw to Dylan’s injuries. Dylan was not making quite as much money as the amount that Rachel was seeing, but it was enough that he could take a good, long vacation once his service was over. “You’re sure you can keep her safe?” James asked Dylan. “As long as she doesn’t go running off without me,” Dylan answered, glancing at Rachel. “Maybe if people would have given me the full information I kept asking for in the beginning, I wouldn’t have run off,” Rachel countered, pinning him down with a scowl. It wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew it; she had run off not only because she didn’t know who to trust—but because she didn’t want to be around Dylan, sleeping with him, being protected by him, when she didn’t know what his motivations were or whether she herself mattered to him as a person at all. “Well, Love, you’ve got all the information now. Jeff wants the money back, and he wants you out of the way so that he can clean up this mess that James here made.” Dylan gestured to her

benefactor and Rachel rolled her eyes. She could understand that James had made decisions about her—about his company—with self-interest in mind, but it had certainly made her life a lot more difficult, being the person who apparently was going to keep his company from going out of his control. “I wouldn’t say I have all the information, but I have enough to know that running to Brock isn’t going to prolong my life any.” Dylan held her gaze steadily for a long moment and smiled slightly. “So, where are we headed, boss?” he asked, glancing away from her to look at James. “You can’t go to Geneva, that’s for damned sure,” James said. “I’m going to make a few calls and arrange for the two of you to get on a train at Annecy, head north towards Belgium. That probably is not going to be your destination, but it’s a start.” James stood and stepped away from the table, taking his phone out of his pocket and moving towards the other door to step outside, leaving them alone. “Are you hungry, Love? You seem cranky.” Rachel narrowed her eyes, frowning. “I am not going to get sucked in by that ploy again,” Rachel told him firmly. “Besides, I ate while you were in the hospital.”

“Aw, Love,” Dylan said, smiling slightly. “I will say that you picked a good hideaway. I don’t know how James figured it out, but I’d have had a hard time finding you here if he didn’t give me your address.” “That was kind of the point,” Rachel told him. “I didn’t want to even be part of it at all anymore. Just… alone for a while. To think.” “Well, you’ve had a bit over a week, and now Brock is after you.” “It seems to me he’s after you,” Rachel pointed out. “Both of us, then. It’s not a competition, Love.” “Stop calling me that.” “Why? You are a little Love, you know—with your scowl and your arms crossed over your chest like I don’t know what’s underneath, looking like you’d love to rip my ankles to shreds.” Rachel found herself letting out a sound like a growl. “See? There’s that Pekingese growl I’m so fond of.” “What if I don’t want you to protect me? You’re busted up and I can’t trust you anyway.” Dylan shrugged, wincing only slightly at the pain the movement caused. “Told you the day we met: I will follow you anywhere. Even if James

stopped paying me.” “That makes you sound a little bit like a stalker,” Rachel said. Dylan smiled broadly. “If you didn’t have any feelings for me at all, you wouldn’t have stormed out when I couldn’t answer your questions fast enough.” Rachel gritted her teeth, irritated with Dylan. She stood quickly, not even entirely sure of what she actually intended to do. “You like me, little Love. Admit it.” “Liked,” Rachel said, turning to go into the bedroom and pack the few possessions she had managed to acquire since her arrival in the Alps. Dylan didn’t follow her, and Rachel wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed. Rachel fought back the urge to fidget, glancing at Dylan occasionally as they strode through the train station at Annecy. She told herself that she didn’t want to trust him; that she didn’t even want to be in his company. But she had to admit that she felt slightly less jumpy with him around, even if she knew that he was injured. “Shame we couldn’t take in the old town,” Dylan said, acting as if there was absolutely nothing amiss. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful; the lake, too.” Rachel had passed through Annecy on her way to

her secluded village in the Alps, a tiny little town in the Haute Savoie region called Tannings. “Maybe once you’re all good, we could come back.” James had ordered additional security efforts around them, saying that while he appreciated Dylan’s dedication to the contract, he wasn’t going to trust Rachel’s safety solely to a man who was barely able to walk upright. “When are you going to give up?” Rachel asked him, her irritation rising once more. “When you tell me flat out and honestly that you have no feelings for me. And trust me, Love, I know when you’re lying.” Rachel had no response for that; she couldn’t honestly say that she didn’t have some kind of feelings for Dylan, even if a large component of her feelings at present was confusion. All she wanted at the moment was to keep living, to get out of the mess she was in, and have something approaching a normal life. Dylan winced as they descended the stairs to the platform and Rachel shifted her backpack to one shoulder, wrapping an arm carefully around Dylan’s waist to cushion him against the jarring. “See? I knew you cared.” “I don’t want my body guard to have a punctured lung,” Rachel retorted.

“That would, in fact, make it harder for me to keep you from getting killed,” Dylan admitted. “But I think you mostly just wanted an excuse to get close to me.” “You’re infuriating,” Rachel muttered lowly. “Says the woman who took five trains so I wouldn’t be able to track her.” “If you had left me alone you wouldn’t have two cracked ribs.” “Ah, but I also wouldn’t have this story to tell about chasing after the woman I love, following her from one country to another and then back to the original country, risking life and limb.” Rachel stopped, her grip on Dylan tightening convulsively in surprise. He groaned, taking a deep breath. “The woman you love?” she asked him, ignoring his discomfort for the moment. “Did you really think I’d keep protecting you after getting shot just for money? I’m greedy, but not that greedy, Love.” Rachel stared at Dylan for a long moment. “If you’re just saying that,” she said, holding his gaze. She couldn’t think of how to finish the threat. “I thought we’d agreed that I don’t disclose information that isn’t important to you?” Dylan said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, our agreement was that you don’t disclose information that isn’t vital to you doing your job.” “Same thing. Wouldn’t you say it’s vital to me doing my job for you to know I will keep protecting you until someone ends me? I’d say it is.” Rachel bit her bottom lip. “We have a train to catch,” she said, turning to look away from Dylan’s probing stare. She heard his chuckle but pretended to ignore it as she helped him the rest of the way down the stairs and towards the voie. The feeling of being watched didn’t leave her as they boarded the train carefully, finding their reserved seats and settling in them. Dylan had suggested that they travel as if they were tourists, backpacking their way through the country; their tickets were first-class, but the distinction was not as obvious as it was on a flight. Rachel looked around her constantly, even as the train pulled away from the station. “Don’t look so nervous, Love,” Dylan said, sitting back in his seat heavily. “Where are the guys James is tailing us with?” Dylan shrugged. “Tailing us, I would suppose.” “Ha ha. You trust James?” “I wouldn’t work with him if I didn’t trust

him.” Rachel absorbed that for a moment. She looked around again. There was something that wasn’t right; some sensation, some presentiment she had. “It’s unlikely that they’ll attack us on a moving train, Love. They’d want to get the drop on us.” “Unlikely isn’t the same thing as impossible. They could be getting desperate. You got away from them and they shot at you in a train station.” “With a bean-bag gun.” “Which only means that they’ll want to use a real gun next time.” “Are you worried for me, or for you?” “Both of us.” “They’d have a hard time bringing a gun on a train. Be more worried when we get to our destination.” Rachel sat back in her seat, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling—the near-certainty—that Brock’s people were there, waiting for them. Halfway into the trek, the ticket-takers came into the car, and Rachel got her ticket out irritably. I won’t even know what to do with myself when I’m no longer running away from people, she thought. She handed her ticket and Dylan’s to the man, barely looking at him.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your passport,” the ticket-taker said. Rachel rummaged in her purse; Dylan’s hand came down on hers, and she looked up. The uniform was just close enough to pass inspection from jaded, harried passengers on a train; the look the man was giving her was not the bored, ready-for-an-argument expression of a ticket-taker, but something more interested. It occurred to her then that not a single other ticketchecker on any of the trains she had been on had been the least bit interested in her passport. “Can I see your credentials?” Dylan asked in French. “Sir, Ma’am, please stand and we can discuss this situation in private.” Rachel looked from the fake ticket-checker to Dylan. He held her gaze for a moment before nodding. She was surprised to see that as he stood, Dylan did not cringe or even wince, despite his pain. The man grabbed her arm as they moved away from the incurious first class passengers, pulling her towards the door between cars. Rachel twisted, digging her heels in. “I know who you are, asshole,” Rachel hissed. In an instant, they were surrounded by fake uniforms, pretend ticket-takers blocking them from

the view of other passengers who probably thought that they were just in the wrong section or had counterfeit tickets. She heard a ratcheting clink, the snick of a knife flicking out of its handle. “Mr. Brock said to take care of him first,” one of the men said, and Rachel saw a flurry of movement. Dylan dodged a blow, and Rachel saw his reactionary wince for the instant it flickered across his face. “How exactly are they getting all these uniforms, do you think?” Rachel asked as she tugged her wrist free of a man’s hands, aiming a kick with her heeled foot into another man’s shin. Dylan’s hand closed on her wrist and he pushed forward, hitting the toggle to open the door between cars. The pretend authorities crowded them, and she heard one person mutter that Brock hadn’t said they had to kill the girl right away; they could take their time with her. There was something sinister in his voice, something that implied that they weren’t just going to ask her nicely to give up the money before killing her. She felt a flash of cold and then hot rake along her arm and Dylan shoved her through the door, following her into the second class passenger compartment. They hurried up the aisle, luggage and overspilling passengers slowing their pursuers. “As long as we can keep them in front of other people, they can’t do much,” Dylan said lowly. Rachel felt hot

liquid streaming down her arm and looked down to see a flash of red along her sleeve. “Motherfuckers cut me!” she said with a gasp. Dylan nodded hurriedly, shoving her through another door. Rachel glanced at him and saw that he was holding his already-cracked ribs. “They got you too, didn’t they?” “It’s nothing. Keep moving.” But their progress into the adjoining car was blocked by more fake ticket-takers. Rachel turned; they were surrounded again. “Shit,” she muttered. “What do we do?” Dylan looked from one group to another. “Keep fighting. Try and snatch a knife. Protect your middle.” Brock’s henchmen surrounded them in the space between cars, and everything became a blur to Rachel. She kicked, she punched, she grabbed for flashes and glints of metal. Next to her, she heard Dylan’s grunts of effort, crunching sounds, gasps. She clenched her teeth as she felt a burning, searing pain along her hand, and the next moment, it seemed her hand was full of something hard and cold—a knife. Figures crumpled around them, to be replaced by other figures, and Rachel struggled to stay upright as she felt blows land along her ribs, against her arms and legs. She felt hot, sticky blood—her

own, and that of henchmen—as she fought to keep her organs protected, as she dodged and collided with phony ticket takers and Dylan alike. She felt the train shifting underneath her, slowing down—it was coming into the station they were going to change at. “You okay?” she called out to Dylan. “Keep it up,” he told her. “I’m still alive and so are you.” “That’s something at least,” she agreed, slashing at yet another phony ticket taker. How many of them were there? The train’s brakes squealed, and through the window Rachel saw the station flashing into view. More people were arriving—but they were not in phony uniforms. “We got you; we’ve got you. You’re all right.” Rachel felt her head swimming as the world spun and swooped around her and wondered just how many times she had been cut, how much blood she had lost. She staggered against Dylan and struggled to keep her eyes open, to know just what was going on as they arrived at their destination. A bland voice announced their location in both French and English. Rachel realized that the people who had come were the backup, the extra security that James had sent to tail them, as a failsafe. “Took you long enough,” she said, as darkness swirled around her. “Dylan, you okay? Dylan?”

There was no answer from the man and she tried to pull him around to see his face, but her hands were nerveless and heavy. As the train came to a stop, the floor seemed to rise up underneath her even as her knees turned to jelly. “I’m okay, Love. Let’s get off this damn train.”

Epilogue “Is it incredibly cliché of me to notice how incredibly green everything is here?” Rachel asked, turning to look at Dylan; he lay on a dinosaur of a couch, sprawled and looking as at-ease as ever. “Even if it is, it’s not like it’s a cliché for no reason,” Dylan pointed out. He opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling slowly. Rachel felt a rush of heat flash through her at the sight of the smile, accompanied by the tantalizing view of his nearly naked body, barely covered by a blanket. They had arrived in Ireland a week before; it was, as Dylan pointed out, the safest place for them to wait things out. After the narrow escape on the train, they’d both had to spend a little time at a tiny hospital in Belgium; the struggle had earned Dylan another cracked rib, and a few broken bones in his hand, and a few of the cuts that Rachel had received had required stitches to heal properly. But between them and the backup that James Whitley had set up, they had more than enough evidence to link the henchmen—dead and alive—to Jeffrey Brock, and enough witnesses to attest to multiple crimes. The henchmen who were alive were rotting

in a Belgian jail, while Brock himself had gone into hiding. When it hit the presses, James had called Rachel directly. “You and Dylan should go to Ireland,” he had suggested. “Dylan has informed me he still has friends there, and you could lie low while I sort out the rest of this mess.” Rachel had only been too glad to get moving again. “You’ll catch a chill like that, Love,” Dylan said from the couch, extending one arm invitingly towards her. Rachel reluctantly left the window, walking across the living room to where Dylan sprawled. She sank down onto her knees next to the couch, looking at him intently. Dylan coiled his arm around her, drawing her closer, his hand sliding up along her back to cup the base of her skull. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Rachel murmured, though she didn’t resist his move to kiss her. “Not if you’re careful,” Dylan countered, claiming her lips. He lifted her carefully and Rachel found herself standing, climbing onto the couch, straddling his hips slowly and carefully as the kiss deepened, Dylan’s hands wandering over her halfclothed body. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-track mind?” Rachel asked, barely breaking

away from the kiss. Dylan chuckled lowly, his hands sliding up underneath the loose sweatshirt she was wearing to cup her bare breasts, giving them a lingering squeeze. Rachel’s nipples began to harden to his touch, a rush of heat flowing through her in automatic reaction to the caress. “A few busted ribs… are not going to stop me,” Dylan murmured, his fingertips wrapping around her nipples, teasing and rolling them slowly. Jolts of hot-and-cold pleasure crackled through Rachel’s body and she felt herself heating up from within, her pussy starting to feel slick. “I need to make up for lost time.” He pulled the sweatshirt up, over her head, and tossed it across the room, his hands falling to her hips. “You’re insane,” Rachel told Dylan, kissing him on the lips lightly. He shifted underneath her, groaning slightly; his ribs were healing, but slowly. Rachel squirmed against Dylan’s hips as she felt the blanket that separated them slipping out from underneath her. “You love it, really,” Dylan countered, and Rachel felt the heat of his erection pressing against her slick folds as he moved her body on top of his. She moaned as his cock slid and slipped along her labia, tantalizingly close but not exactly where she wanted it. “Let’s just take it slow,” Dylan suggested, rocking his hips up against hers. Rachel

nodded, for the moment too turned on to speak; she caressed him carefully, holding herself up on her knees, balancing her weight on her hands above his shoulders. Dylan’s fingers slipped down between their bodies and Rachel moaned out again as he found her clit by touch, stroking her teasingly. “Slow is good,” Rachel managed to say, shivering as Dylan rubbed the bead of nerves, rocking his hips steadily to rub his cock along her slick labia. “But if you don’t—if you keep teasing me like this—it’s not slow, it’s just mean.” “Can’t have you thinking I’m mean…can we?” Dylan’s fingers retreated from her pleasure center and Rachel gasped as she felt him guide his cock up against her, as he thrust his hips upward, sliding inside of her inch by inch. She pushed down to take him in deeper, opening her eyes to look down at his face. Dylan’s dark eyes were nearly black with desire, staring up at her with undisguised need as they began to move together, friction building up between their bodies enough to make Rachel sweat in moments. She rocked and twisted her hips, rising and falling, as Dylan’s hands danced all over her body, caressing and teasing her. He cupped her breasts, bringing them up to his mouth to claim each of her nipples in turn with his lips and tongue. Rachel felt the tension mounting in her moment by moment,

felt her body heating up, her muscles flexing in spasms around Dylan’s cock as she became more and more turned on. Dylan’s hand slipped between their bodies once more and as he thrust deeper and deeper inside of her, Rachel cried out at the feeling of his fingers playing against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through her body in crackles that lit up her nervous system. She struggled to hold back, wanting to savor the closeness of their bodies, wanting the moment to go on forever; but as Dylan pulled her face down to kiss her hungrily, his tongue probing her mouth as he thrust harder and faster inside of her, Rachel felt her self-control breaking. She held herself up off of his injured body with an effort, shifting her knees up to take him deeper, pushing herself down onto him harder as she moaned against his lips. In a matter of moments, it was nearly impossible for her to hold back her climax anymore, and Rachel grabbed at the pillow underneath Dylan’s head, every muscle in her body clamping down as the first wave of her orgasm jolted through her. Dylan kept himself under control, holding back, and Rachel’s climax deepened, pleasure rippling through her as he slowed down and then sped up once more, his hands wandering over her with possessive lust. Her spasms began to abate and Dylan continued to touch her, working her out of

satisfaction and into renewed need. He groaned as her body heated up again, hands tightening on her, and Rachel found herself moving to his rhythm, falling into his movements as readily as a dance, as aftershocks crackled through her nerves and she felt the tension mounting once more. Her second orgasm crashed through her as abruptly as the first, and Rachel fought to keep from collapsing onto Dylan’s body, supporting her weight on arms that felt like jelly and legs that seemed more and more unreal with every driving thrust of Dylan’s cock inside of her. This time, they reached their orgasms together—and Rachel swallowed down Dylan’s moans hungrily as she felt his warm gush flooding into her once, twice, a third time. She carefully picked herself up off of Dylan’s body, and he shifted on the couch lazily, pulling her around and cradling her next to him. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and Rachel thought hazily that they’d both want a shower in a matter of minutes, but she was too satisfied to move. They would stay in Ireland for a while; James was still working to regain full control of his company, and to clear up her precarious legal situation. But upon their arrival in Ireland, Rachel had not been at all surprised to find that her bank account showed a balance of nearly ten million

dollars, with a note on the bank transfer that brought her to that balance telling her to enjoy herself. “We could just stay here, you know,” she said to Dylan, reaching up to swipe a lock of his hair away from his face. “We could do that. Or we could go back to Rouen and work on your French some more.” Rachel rolled her eyes, swatting at him playfully, careful not to hit him where he was injured. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are,” Rachel said quietly. “I told you: you’re not getting rid of me. I’ll follow you anywhere, Rachel,” he said, tucking a wisp of her hair behind her ear. “I love you.” THE END

RIDING RYAN A Story By Eva Pierce Mona Myers was not like most girls. At the age of eight, she had ridden on the back of a motorcycle with her father for the first time, and though she never got her own bike or claimed to be a ‘biker,’ she grew up finding that the people who inhabited the world in which her father lived and breathed were the best kind of people to surround herself with. At the age of twenty-seven, she was tall, lean and muscular with a pixie cut dyed black with blonde highlights in her slightly-too-long bangs. She had two tattoos, one on each arm, and if a day went by that she wasn’t wearing black it was a sign that something was up. On the day in question, she was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a green t-shirt that her father had given her when she was in high school. It clung to her chest and sat on her weirdly, too tight for her fully-grown and matured frame, but today she had to wear it. Today was the day she would bury her father. Benny Myers was more than a founding member of the Running Hill Motorcycle Club – one of the biggest, most well-respected racing motorcycle clubs in not just Detroit, but all of the

US. Along with being Mona’s dad, he quickly became everyone’s father figure and best friend from the moment they entered his group. Benny built the riders many years before Mona was born, and carried the group until it grew to its fortyperson size, structured as innocently as a ladies’ yacht club but functioning much more like a family of misfits, knitted close by loss and hardship. Because of this, Mona wasn’t the only person who took Benny’s death badly, and it comforted her to know that she would be surrounded by her motorcycle club family as they shared in her grief and sorrow at the loss of such a great guy. Mona worked at a bar that was a popular haunt of the Running Hill Riders for many obvious reasons. She was the owner and bartender; the drinks were half-price for members of the club; the music there was always loud and good. No one ever had to punch the jukebox or pay a waiter to change the song. The aptly named Hog’s Grogs was the riders’ meeting spot, a place to unwind, and more or less, a second home to all of them. On the morning of her father’s funeral, she stood behind the bar, doing her best to keep it together while she waited for her friends in the club to arrive. The first familiar face to show up was Ryan Kirby. He was a sight for tear-filled eyes. Biting her lip, Mona gave him a smile and a friendly nod. She

hadn’t seen Ryan in years. He’d been badly injured in a race about a year ago and had been on the mend ever since. She’d sent flowers and cards to him while he healed. Now that her father was gone, Mona was thinking of making Ryan the new leader of the Running Hill Riders. If it had anything to do with the giant crush she had on him, she was never going to admit that out loud. Ryan Kirby was tall and devilishly handsome, with black hair, green-blue eyes and a sharp chin that he liked to keep covered in a close-cut beard. He had dimples when he smiled, so he did his best to never smile when he was in a race, lest people not take him seriously as a competitor. He was thirty-two years old and had been a part of the club for twelve years. Mona had adored him for just about all of those years. He smirked when he came into the Hog’s Grogs and saw her there. “Hey there, gorgeous.” Before she could go towards him or say anything, they were interrupted by the arrival of several of the others – including, quite possibly, the worst member of the motorcycle club. “Ryan? Ryan Kirby?” Ryan had appeared to be all set to hug Mona and console her, but he froze as a man spoke from somewhere behind him. He turned toward the voice numbly, clearly holding out hope that he was wrong about the

speaker even as his eyes rested upon Lance Olsen — as angular, pale and freckled as ever, but slightly more broad than he’d been the last time they met. Mona’s mind flashed back to the last time the two young men had met up, and she had to suppress a smile; they’d been racing down the city’s smallest hill, and Lance’s bike had stalled unexpectedly, sending him tumbling onto the pavement, his pride more bruised than his knees. “Hey, Lance,” Ryan said, trying to keep his voice light. “How are you?” Lance grinned, flashing a silver cap on one of his front teeth that glinted under the glowing yellow lights of the bar. “Much better now, especially since I changed up my ride.” He nodded his red head toward a cherry colored Harley leaning against a glowing street lamp outside. Mona scoffed at him. “You’ve finally upgraded to the big boy bikes, then?” Lance’s smug look faded. He was known for being fond of smaller, Japanese models of racing bikes when he joined the club about three years ago. Benny had been reluctant to invite him in; Lance was a cocky jerk. Mona couldn’t deny that. If it had been up to her at the time, she would have denied him entry. But now that Benny was gone, she couldn’t make such a rash change without angering more than just Lance. Her father trusted

her to do right by the club. She was its owner now, by rights, but she was no biker. She didn’t know how to go about choosing racers for the team. Lance looked from Mona to Ryan and the grin returned. “You up for a practice run later today? Ten bucks towards the club says I can beat you.” “We’re a charity racing club, not the kind that just races along residential neighborhoods,” Mona argued. He pointed a long index finger at her without looking her in the face again. “You stay out of this, bar wench. The men are talking.” Ryan kicked aside a chair. “I’ll never be afraid of racing you, Lance. Ever.” Lance’s smile widened, and he lowered himself into a chair at a table by the front door, his muddy brown eyes glinting with malice. “Sure, Ryan. Just come get me when you’re done fluffing up your feathers.” Ryan bunched his hand into a fist, seconds away from breaking Lance’s freckled nose— “That’s enough, boys!” Mona shouted, hitting her rag against the bar’s countertop. That alone wasn’t threatening but she had banned people from her bar before and was not above banning members of the club if they got too violent in her establishment. “Ryan, don’t forget that you have been arrested for fighting once in your life, peaceful and cool-headed though you may seem.”

Guiltily regarding the fine, wooden floor of Mona Myers’s bar, Ryan nodded and sat down at the bar. She did her best to contain herself that he’d chosen to sit close to her, though it wasn’t so surprising. Compared to Lance, anyone would want to sit by the level-headed daughter of their late leader. Lance was the newest and youngest member of their gaggle of misfits. He was twenty-nine years old, but one wouldn’t know it to look at him or observing him in conversation. Because he was a rather green racer, he took losses hard and far too personally, and the loss of the group’s de facto leader was one he apparently hadn’t learned to deal with. Ryan was baffled; his temporary departure from the riding club had gone very smoothly for the most part, but he hadn’t anticipated the flak he eventually caught from some of the younger, lowerranking members. Most of them settled for making him the butt of ‘friendly’ ribbing that targeted his masculinity or even his dashing good looks, and that he could handle; he was less able to deal with the aggressive, strangely leading questioning that Lance preferred. Now that Ryan was back in the motorcycle seat, Mona hoped that he would get everything back in order with the club. Several of the members had been absent lately and many of their charity

races had gone with only one or two members racing. Benny’s ideal motorcycle club involved racers who knew their bikes and knew how to win. Their winnings earned money for military hospitals and families who had lost loved ones in combat. Sure, a lot of motorcycle riding was fun and games, but it was a sport that Benny took seriously. It wasn’t about being cocky or being the best to him; it was about following the rules and being the fastest. Their races were performed largely as exhibitions at things like air shows and festivals. They were performed on race tracks. Benny did not condone street racing of any kind, which was why Lance’s roughhousing on the road was a problem for Mona. She was not good at being an authority figure. That was one of the many reasons that she was glad to have Ryan back around. Now that the two boys had settled down and more and more of the other members of the Running Hill Riders were present, they could get started with their memorial service. “Dad loved you all,” Mona said as she stood on the bar, looking as many of them in the eye as possible as her eyes scanned the large room full of leather-clad men. “He loved racing, too, and nothing would please him more than to know that we are going to continue on in his mission statement. We are going to participate in as many

fundraisers and biking performances as we can possibly fit into a schedule. And we are going to do it… FOR BENNY!” “FOR BENNY!” everyone else chanted in unison. Everyone drank beer and celebrated the life of Benjamin Myers that morning. Mona and her workers did her father proud in the wining and dining department long into the night. Everyone seemed to take notice and appreciate all of her efforts and hard work getting the whole gang back together for this event. No one noticed half as much as Ryan.

**** After everyone else had filed out of the place, Mona was startled to discover that Ryan was still there. He’d stayed near her through the entire wake, almost as though he knew that she wanted him there. They hadn’t spoken to each other much in their lives, beyond the passing motorcycle- or Benny-related conversation. Ryan was gregarious, but Mona was rather shy, particularly while her father was around. She was his baby girl and he worked hard to keep her tender heart protected from the bad biker boys he’d rounded up. Benny’s Running Hill Riders always felt like a close-knit group of people on the fringes and margins of society, a veritable mixing pot in a place where differences often went ignored, uncelebrated, or even condemned. Benny Myers’s wife Leila was a Native American woman who died of cancer not long after Mona first befriended Ryan at the tender age of 15. Benny always said he would never forget the stories of injustice and prejudice he heard from Leila and her family when they’d gotten married back in the late 1960s. Benny was forever changed, always bent on being as caring and compassionate as possible, and that included sharing his passion for bikes. Because of that, the Running Hill Riders worked hard to find

bikers who were shunned or expelled from other groups, and it worked out splendidly; now, however, that sense of kinship and camaraderie was gone… Mona didn’t know why, though she supposed it had something to do with the fact that they’d been under her kind but misguided leadership while Ryan dealt with his wounds. There was no respect towards her. She was young and she’d only ever been on the back of her daddy’s bikes. She didn’t know what she was doing. Now that Ryan was back, she was prepared to fully step aside and not be part of it so much anymore. “You did a great job putting all of this together today, Mona,” Ryan said to her once they were alone. His black helmet was off and still on the bar. He didn’t look like he was planning to leave any time soon. Mona blushed. “Thanks. I highly doubt that anyone else agrees with you, though. I get so nervous when everyone’s together, all eyes on me. That’s one of the many reasons I’m not cut out to be the de-facto owner of the club now. I’ve got a voice like a chipmunk when I’m nervous and a raspy voice otherwise.” “Your voice is my favorite sound. Why wouldn’t I want to hear that?” Mona opened her mouth a little, not quite

knowing what to say to that. She hadn’t expected him to stay there with her after the wake, and she had expected him to pronounce his affection for her voice even less. “Come on, I sound like a smoker who swallowed a bag of rocks,” she quipped, trying to lighten things. She couldn’t take him seriously, right? They’d known each other for years and he’d never made a move. So why now? “And it’s hot,” Ryan insisted, prompting Mona to dissolve into awkward giggles. She stopped laughing abruptly as a thought entered her mind. “I suppose that it would be better to talk to you about this while I’ve got you here alone,” she said. His eyes widened before he waggled his eyebrows. She was starting to realize that he’d just been kidding around about her before. He often wasn’t serious about much of anything, except for motorcycles and charity work. “I think that, now that you’re fully recovered, you should take over as the leader of the club. I’ll go back to being the barkeep.” With that, she opened up the bar and stepped out from behind it, though she stayed leaning against it because it was her turf and she aimed to look after the register until closing time. This really did seem to surprise Ryan. “Me? leader? I don’t know… You’ve seen the way the others respect me.”

“That’s only because they’re jealous,” Mona pointed out. He couldn’t deny that. He was a topnotch rider, and he’d always been one of Benny’s favorites. “Who else should be leader? Lance? Give me a break.” “Why not you?” Ryan asked. She laughed, but then she realized that he was serious. “I’m not one of you, Rye. I love you all as my family, but I’m no biker. I can’t lead the team to glory from behind a bar. I can’t schedule races. I don’t know the first thing about it. I’m just an accessory.” This seemed to displease Ryan. He shook his head a little. “I don’t know if the boys will feel right with me assuming the leadership position.” Mona shrugged. “I’ll tell them it was Daddy’s idea. No one will argue with Daddy’s ideas…” She suddenly thought of something else, too. “Speaking of Daddy’s ideas and ways of getting the old band back together, when’s the last time you ran a charity race? Are the boys all still doing monthly food drives? This is something you’d know more about than I would.” Benny had set up monthly donation drives for low-income families nearly twenty years before, and the members took turns making grocery drop offs. “I actually haven’t heard about one in a few months,” Ryan admitted. “Months?” Mona repeated with a note of

alarm. “How many months, Ryan?” He searched his memory as anxiety knotted in his stomach. “About…eight? Nine?” He knew then that he’d made a mistake, but it still wasn’t clear what had happened within the group to cause this change. “But you have to remember,” he said defensively, “I’ve been out of the game for a while now. Broken legs don’t heal within only a few months, you know.” Mona let out a noise of exasperation and threw her hands into the air. She knew that she shouldn’t be too hard on Ryan. He had an excuse. The fault was largely her own. Ever since her father’s death, she’d been preoccupied with funeral arrangements and her own grief process. She hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the schedules of the club. “What the hell is going on with my father’s riders, Ryan? I thought everyone had their shit together.” “Everyone had their shit together before I got hurt,” Ryan said sadly, “but I can’t orchestrate food drives while laid up in a hospital bed. I got too depressed to imagine all of my friends out on their bikes. And you know Lance. He’s…wily. And sharp. Like a needle. He would always speak over people and start assuming control of small groups whenever we did a charity drive without them even realizing it.” Mona nodded.

“He hardly even came to meetings before Benny died, though, so I didn’t really consider it.” Ryan was regretting it now. “I think we’ve splintered off into factions. I hate to say it, but that’s what it’s beginning to feel like. And I don’t like it any more than your dad would.” The Running Hill Riders that she had inherited and she was asking Ryan to help run were no longer her father’s dream team. “What do you think we should do?” she asked, feeling beaten before she’d even begun. “I think we should start fresh,” Ryan answered. “Assemble the team and find out if people are actually for continuing or if they want to follow Lance’s more illegal approaches to racing.” Mona thought about that. “Only one problem,” she said. “What if everyone is for leaving?” Ryan slowly shook his head at her and smiled. “Trust me; the majority of us want to be with you.” She blushed again, wondering if there was a double meaning in that. “Okay, then, you organize a meeting and have people sign up. Let me know when it’s planned. I’ll be there, at least to make sure you don’t screw everything up.” He grabbed his helmet from off the top of the bar and put it on, grinning at her. “And I’ll be there, hoping that maybe you’ll consider signing up.”

**** Going to her father’s house was not easy for Mona. She needed to tidy it up now that he was gone. She’d been on the fence about whether she was going to sell it or not, but it was her childhood home, so she couldn’t. It would be much nicer to move out of her small apartment and into the modest, two-bedroom house. She didn’t exactly need the space, but it would be nice to have it. Loving father that he was, Benny had willed the home to her, as well as the ownership of the motorcycle club and a pretty decent amount of money. He trusted her. That was why, even though she was out of the loop on a lot of the stuff going on with the club, she couldn’t just abandon it. When she went into the house’s garage, her eyes fell on Benny’s radiant, teal and pearl, 1994 Softail Harley. He’d owned that bike for ten years, remodeling it and fixing it up until it practically sang as it raced past. Benny called it The Duke because he’d purchased it from a now-out of business bike shop known as Duke & Wessox Motorcycle Emporium. Benny had other bikes, but none of them meant as much to him as this one. Mona carefully got atop it, lying against it a little. She missed her father. Ryan expected her to ride with the club, and if ever she was to do so

she’d want to ride The Duke. The trouble was, she didn’t trust herself not to crash and ruin it. Ryan was going to be hosting a sign up for the Running Hill Riders at a barbeque joint in town. Mona knew that he, and several of the others from the team, were hoping to see her there. She closed her eyes as she straddled the old bike, wishing that it could connect her to her father. “I don’t know what to do,” she said softly, sadly. “I need your strength…” Deciding that showing up at Ryan’s meet, even if she was undecided, was better than not showing up at all, Mona put on some tight blue jeans and a black t-shirt, then slipped into her father’s worn, brown leather jacket. It wasn’t fashionable to wear brown with black, but who would really care about that? She elected to drive herself in her red and white Mini to the place, knowing full well that she’d be the only one to not arrive on the back of a hog. Mona Myers was responsible. She was no show-off. She didn’t plan to appear on the back of The Duke til she knew how to properly handle it. And she knew who she wanted as her teacher. All eyes were on Ryan as he stood at the front of the room; he looked up and smiled when he saw Mona come into the restaurant. “—we just wanted to make it official that we will be continuing on in the traditions that Benny started. We have no plans

to start taking on some of the more risky and illegal types of cycling. We are first and foremost about helping the less fortunate, not about showing off.” He eyed Lance, who was sitting in the front row. Mona walked past the troublemaker, lifting her nose in the air a bit as she sat beside him. She wanted to be close to Ryan, close to the front in case her input was wanted. But what she ended up getting was ogles and leers from the Running Hill Riders’ red headed problem child. “And now that she’s here,” Ryan said. “I’d like to welcome Mona to the front. She is, after all, the owner of our little club. Any of the decisions I make will be made with her full backing.” Everyone clapped as Mona stood and went up beside Ryan. When she looked out into the small crowd that had gathered for this sign-up, she recognized several of the club’s trusty members. Weasel, Ryan and Arthur were there. They spanned the generations since Benny had started the club. Weasel was a few years older than Mona, Ryan was in his early forties and Arthur had to be close to her father’s age. She appreciated all of them for showing up. “Hi, I’m Mona Myers. For those of you who don’t know, my father Benny started the Running Hill Riders back in the mid-seventies. I have been entrusted with continuing his legacy. Ryan here has been put in charge of leading our group, but that doesn’t mean he’s the one who’s

responsible for everything. What I’d really like is for all of us to have input. All of us to work together to keep this club successful and to keep my dad’s dream alive. I know that I can count on each of you here to carry on the club’s good name. We are like family. Any of you newcomers here today, I urge you to consider signing up. You won’t be disappointed.” She went back to her seat to a round of applause. “So, with all of that being said—” “Wait just a minute,” Lance said, standing up from his chair. He looked around at the assembled group, smirking, full of contempt for the people he chose to spend his time with. “As Mona said, we are all allowed to speak our minds here. Isn’t that right?” He looked at her. She was loathe to listen to him, but she couldn’t deny that she’d just claimed that everyone who signed up would be allowed their say in things. She gave a curt nod of the head. She hadn’t been thinking of him when she made that statement… “Good,” he said. “Now, I say that there’s no reason to stick to the plans of an old hippie. We’ve got bikes with power, built to race and built to impress. Why do we always have to perform stunts at charity shows? Why must we continue to be seen as nothing but circus acts? I think that Benny’s dreams should be buried with Benny.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “We are a motorcycle club, Lance, not a motorcycle gang.” Lance shrugged, appealing to the startled and confused expressions in the crowd. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference to me. People come to see these races and pay good money. Why not give the paying people want they want and have some real races? I for one am tired of these peaceful, exhibition shows.” “The people who come see the shows are largely veterans with PTSD, you prick,” Mona argued. There was suddenly a hush. She saw it as an urge to continue. “My dad started this club as a group of vets trying to raise money for more vets. He and his friends rode in Roaring Thunder, in tours across America, racing each other and raising awareness about the consequences of war. Well, the wars have continued and so the Riders must continue to do their good service to this country.” “Here here!” Arthur called over the clapping. “If a club that promotes violence and crashes is what you’re hoping for, then Lance I think you’re in the wrong club.” Grabbing his chair, Lance overdramatically knocked it over to the floor with a clang. He stormed down the aisle and out of the restaurant. He’d always been the most hot-headed asshole that

Mona and her dad had to deal with. She couldn’t help rejoicing inwardly that he appeared to finally be gone. “So… With all that being said, unless anyone else has a…complaint,” Ryan said, pausing to look around and make sure no one else stood up before concluding. “Please come to the table to my right and sign the sheet confirming that you’d like to be a member. Thank you.” Everyone clapped. He came towards Mona in her chair, gesturing for her to accompany him at the sign-up table. She got up without question and joined him, sitting beside him as everyone wrote down their names and email addresses. “We’re going to need to have a race soon,” he told her once everyone who wanted to sign, did. About thirty of Benny’s original forty or so members re-signed. The rest, Mona supposed, had joined the dark side with Lance. She nodded. “What did you have in mind?” “The Flag Day festival,” he said readily. It was clear that he’d been thinking it over for some time. “It’s not as big of a deal as Independence Day or anything like that, but it’s enough of a reason for people to be interested in showing their patriotism and support, you know?” Mona smiled. “You’re pretty good at this.” He smiled back. “Thanks.” She stood up from her seat and was just about

to start heading out when he placed his hand on top of hers on the back of her chair. “You know, I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t write your name down…” She looked at him quizzically. “I thought it went without saying.” He chuckled a little. “Not about being a part of the club, but about riding with us.” Blushing, Mona flashed him another smile. “I’ve been on the fence these past few days. I was kind of hoping you might make up my mind about that.” “Oh really?” Ryan asked. “And how would you like me to do that?” “Come home with me and I’ll show you.” He waggled his eyebrows a little at that. As if he would turn down that invitation.

**** Mona drove in her Mini, making sure that Ryan and his black Harley stayed in her mirror at all times. She had a giddy, school girl sort of feeling about inviting this gorgeous man back to her house, even though she’d extended the invitation with the purest of intentions. At the time, anyway. As soon as she’d pulled into her driveway and watched as Ryan parked his motorcycle beside her Mini, she smiled at him. “Follow me.” He unfastened his helmet and placed it into the storage compartment on his bike. As he followed her up to the front door and into the house, he gave her looks of curiosity and confusion. “I can’t tell if you’re about to tell me a huge secret or if you’re planning to murder me,” he joked. Mona laughed. “No, silly. I just wanted to show you this.” She opened up the garage door off of her kitchen and walked down four steps before standing beside the sparkly old Duke. She gestured towards it with her arms outstretched as though she was presenting a prize on a game show. “Tada!” “Whoa,” Ryan said, coming towards The Duke but too reverent to dare touch it. “You have The Duke? I mean, of course you do. It makes sense that you’d be the one that got it. It’s just…”

“It’s just that I don’t ride motorcycles,” Mona finished for him. “But your proposition got me thinking. I have this motorcycle anyway. I just don’t know how to ride it… I’d hate to crash or even ding it. But I thought that maybe you could show me how to handle it?” He looked into her eyes. She could tell that he was touched by her saying that he would be the best teacher for her. Suddenly, instead of saying anything, he had his arms around her. Ryan hugged Mona’s lithe frame to his body and kissed her for a full minute, though it felt like no time at all. She looked slimmer and her skin was a little more pale than usual, but her smile was as earnest and dazzling as it had always been. After they got over their giddiness—which took quite a few wordless minutes filled with urgent, breathless kisses—he said, “I would be happy to show you the ropes.” She blushed, smiling shyly at him. “I never knew you liked me like that…” Unless she was crazy, Ryan was blushing slightly as well. “I’ve liked you for a long time,” he replied. “But you’ve been so supportive of me over the years, Mona. So caring. I want to be that for you. I would love to help you with this, and with anything else you need.” Gazing into his beguiling green-blue eyes, Mona kissed him again. It was a sweet, little kiss.

After all, this was her school girl fantasy coming to life. “You’ve always been the strong, tough guy among the club members,” she said, batting her lashes flirtatiously. “Are you going soft on me now, Kirby?” Ryan smiled and pulled her close, whispering into her ear. “I’ve always been soft for you, Myers.” Mona burst into laughter, and Ryan felt heat rush to his cheeks. “Wait! I meant—” “I know what you meant,” Mona said, chuckling. “And that’s not true, at all.” She pressed her hips against his and gasped softly. “Especially not right now.” His cheeks were bright red, but he made himself gaze into Mona’s deep blue eyes. “No. I guess I’m not letting you down that way, huh?” “No, you aren’t.” They gazed at each other a moment longer, and then Mona smiled wide. “What?” She didn’t answer him. Instead, she pulled away and took off her leather jacket, tossing it over the handlebars of her dad’s prized motorcycle. She was wearing a black tank top, and it clung to her firm waist and the heavy swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the soft fabric like an invitation to reveal them. His eyes dropped to her hands, and his heart started to pound when he

realized she was wiggling out of her jeans. “Mona!” “Ryan,” Mona responded, and her voice was so full of need that he took a few steps forward, looking over his shoulder nervously as she turned around and placed her hands against the wall of the house’s garage. They were alone in the house, amongst Benny’s most prized possessions. Hell, Mona was Benny’s most prized possession! He’d kill Ryan if he wasn’t dead… She turned her head and smiled coyly as he finally moved to stand behind her, the front of his jeans stretched tight by his erection. “Please? I’ve finally got you alone with me. Let’s do something a little naughty.” “A little?” “A lot,” Mona allowed, waving her round behind in his direction. “Please, Ryan? And then we’ll go upstairs and do it in bed.” Ryan laughed and started to unzip his jeans, relishing the heat that rushed to Mona’s eyes when he pulled out his rigid shaft. He slipped her briefs off and pocketed them before steadying her waist and leaning forward to nestle himself between the curve of her cheeks. Mona shivered and arched her back, closing her eyes as Ryan pressed the head of his member against her soft, wet opening. “I love you,” Mona said quietly, looking back at him as he pushed himself inside her from behind.

She gasped as he filled her walls, and Ryan gripped her waist as slow waves of pleasure started to roll through his body. “I love you, too,” he whispered in her ear. The sensation of her tightness wrapping around him was so intense that he couldn’t keep himself quiet, and his words came louder than he meant them. “I never thought I’d find out this way...” Mona was pushing her hips back against him to meet his strokes, making small noises of pleasure as his head pressed against her sensitive G-spot. He slipped his hands under her shirt and cupped her full breasts, delighting in the low moan he drew from his lover’s lips and he pulled and twisted on her nipples. “Ryan!” his name sounded like an incantation on her lips, and it sent a bolt of electricity through him, wrapping his muscles in a sweet, sizzling heat that deepened his pleasure. He threw himself against her harder, pushing his length as deep within her walls as her body would allow. “Faster! Faster!” Ryan wrapped his arms around Mona’s waist and held her against him as tightly as he could. She took one of his hands and placed it on the swollen nub of her clit, and as he massaged it, her breath quickened and started to come in soft shrieks. Mona grinded her hips against his harder and harder, driven to desperation by the ecstasy

flooding her body as Ryan slammed into her in perfect rhythm again and again. “Oh my God! Baby, I’m coming!” she shouted, as Ryan felt himself reach his peak simultaneously and with mind-shattering force; his long, thick shaft exploded deep inside Mona’s wetness, just as she spasmed, gripping every inch of his thickness tightly, as they both fought to remain standing. They stood together for a moment, then the sound of a car in the street outside the garage startled them apart, and they dressed quickly in their embarrassment, the headiness of the explosive sex they just had still fresh in their minds. They’d both wanted it, clearly. And now that it had actually happened, Mona felt like pinching herself to be sure that it all hadn’t been a hot dream. “Wow,” she said as she zipped her pants. “Just as good as I always imagined.” “You always imagined that?” Ryan asked, feigning surprise. “But…You never told me.” She laughed. “You never asked.” Ryan gasped as though she had just said the most mystically baffling thing in the world, and they both burst into laughter.

**** After the hot episode that they shared in the garage, Mona wasn’t quite ready to hop on the back of a motorcycle. She was feeling giddy and slightly embarrassed, which wouldn’t help her focus on the road. “Do you want to come back inside and have a coffee or a beer or something?” When the going got awkward, she could always rely on her barmaid and hostess skills. Ryan nodded, giving her a shy sort of smile. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He gave The Duke one last, lingering look before following her back into the house. They went into the kitchen and he sat backwards in one of the chairs at the small, white table while she got out some mugs and prepared the coffee maker. “So, what’ll it be, coffee or beer?” He chuckled, gazing at her. “Whatever you’re having is fine with me.” She could see, from the corner of her eye, that he was checking her out. His eyes were focused on her butt. She smirked at him. “Do you like hazelnut coffee? I could make you another kind.” “Aw, no, hazelnut’s fine.” She put enough spoons of coffee grounds into the filter for two, then turned the maker on. While it brewed, she leaned against the counter, looking at

him and scratching at the back of her neck. Her pixie cut sometimes itched her there, but never enough to make her regret the hairstyle. It made her appear more like one of the club members, someone who belonged with them. At least, to her. “What do we do now?” she asked him. “Would you like to go out with me?” he asked her without hesitating. “We could go see a movie, get dinner somewhere…?” Mona laughed. “I meant about the motorcycle club.” Ryan looked down, smiling embarrassedly at the tabletop. “Oh. That. Well, if you want, after we’re caffeinated up, I can take you out for a ride. You probably don’t want to start just driving The Duke. You want to ease into it.” She nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Get a feel for it before taking control. I still am not sure if I’d be able to race with you guys, but…” He looked up at her and smiled. “No one expects or wants you to race. You’re the group’s lovely owner. If you got hurt or something, it’d be all over.” That made Mona scoff. She didn’t want to be thought of as a precious flower or anything, even if she was hesitant to ride a bike and risk injury. “I can handle myself.” Ryan raised his hands up defensively. “No one doubts that you can. We’d just rather keep you as

our Supreme leader.” She smiled, nodding a little. “Supreme leader,” she repeated. “I could get used to that.” The coffee pot let out a beep to alert Mona that it was done. She went to it and carefully poured them each a cup of coffee. “Milk and sugar?” she asked him. “I only have artificial sugar. I hope that’s okay?” He smirked at her. “That’s fine. Thanks. Are you watching your calories or something?” “I’m not,” she said, pretending to glare at him. “My dad was. He was a big guy, as you well remember I’m sure. He was afraid of getting diabetes. But you can see how that worked out in the end anyway…” She frowned slightly, stirring the fake sugar into the coffee cups. Ryan gave her a sad look. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing… I didn’t realize he’d been such a health nut.” Mona guffawed at that. “He wasn’t a health nut. He loved packing away the burgers and ribs at Hog’s Grogs. He just—I don’t know, I guess he felt some kind of a sign that he needed to be careful.” She added a few drops of milk straight from the carton and then placed Ryan’s mug in front of him before sitting beside him at the table with her own. The mug she’d given him said ‘World’s Greatest Dad.’ He looked over at her curiously

before taking a sip. The hazelnut coffee was heavenly. It tasted kind of like Nutella, but liquefied. Setting down his mug, he continued to look at her in a concerned, thoughtful sort of way. “Mona… How have you been holding up?” He placed his hand on hers. “I get the feeling that no one’s really asked you that. Everyone was so in shock and sad about what happened to Benny.” She looked into his eyes, surprised that he was asking about how she was doing. It seemed as though everyone assumed that their grief was her grief and that she didn’t need anyone to confide in about it. After all, she was Benny’s tough girl. She was taking care of herself. But sometimes taking care of oneself did not mean that one was feeling ‘okay.’ “Thank you for asking,” she said, looking at him and giving a vague, little smile. She wished that she could reassure him that she was fine and everything was taken care of, but honestly, she felt like she was broken up inside and had no way of letting that out. She had cried, of course. She cried a lot, these days. But she also tried to keep most of her feelings inside. She was Benny’s strong little girl. She couldn’t reveal how weak she actually felt now. He gave her hand a soft pat; almost as if he knew how she was feeling and understood that it

was difficult for her to just let go. They finished their coffee in a comfortable silence. She was glad that he was there with her. She was glad that she could depend on him. “As to your other question,” she said. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you.” She stood up and took away their empty mugs. Leaning towards him as she scooped his up, she winked and added, “Normally guys ask that before fucking the girl, but I love you so I’ll let it slide this time.” He watched as she went to the dishwasher to store the mugs away, admiring her ass again and the way her hips swayed when she walked. She was a bit like a runway model, except she wasn’t quite so thin and she had muscles. She could probably beat the shit out of a runway model. She put girls like that to shame. “So,” she said, clapping her hands together and grinning at him. “Are you ready to take me for a ride, Mr. Kirby?” Ryan grinned back at her. “It would be a delight, Miss Myers.” She led the way back down the steps into the garage. Aside from The Duke, the other bikes had been cleared out, but there was a row of helmets on the shelves around them. “I sold the rest of the motorcycles and put the money into the kitty for our club,” she explained. Ryan wasn’t surprised that she’d done

something like that. “It must’ve been hard to give away those bikes,” he said. Mona nodded. “Yeah… That’s part of why I kept the helmets. They’re sort of a memorial to them,” she explained. Going over to the shelf, she lifted up a blue and black helmet, then eyed The Duke to see if the colors would work well enough together. She didn’t want to clash, even though it didn’t matter. Case in point, her black outfit and brown jacket. She put the helmet on, unfastened, and looked at him. “How do I look?” she asked. He tried not to laugh, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he was holding back. She felt frustrated and started to remove it, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm, chuckling a little. “No, don’t take it off. You look good. It looks like it’s supposed to. You just… It looks so cute on you.” Mona balled her hand into a fist and moved like she was going to punch him in the stomach, but then she didn’t. She smiled, chuckling slightly herself. “It’s not supposed to look cute; it’s supposed to make me look like a serious biker.” He nodded. “You look like a serious biker,” he said. “Although, you don’t have to actually be serious.” He winked at her. Once he’d grabbed a helmet from the shelf as well – a simple, black one that had been paired with

one of Benny’s more standard, less impressive bikes – they went over to The Duke. Mona took her leather jacket off of its handlebars, tossing it over onto the shelf. She eyed the bike as though it were a priceless artifact. In a way, it was. “So, what do you think we should do now? Start your lesson, mister.” First, he demonstrated the proper way to mount a motorcycle. Once she seemed to have mastered that, he got on and patted the seat behind him. “I think the best thing to do is just go out on the road. I’ll show you the tricks of the trade. Watch everything I do carefully.” Mona nodded briskly. “Got it.” Gingerly, she got onto the bike behind him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and he started revving the engine. Pulling out the garage’s remote control from her pocket, she opened up the door and they were off.

**** The Running Hill riders met at the race track on Flag Day, as planned. Mona was there to hand out their numbers and collect the money they raised in the event. Audience members could bet on different racers from the different teams and all of the proceeds went to the charities that each club sponsored. The riders on Benny’s team took motorcycling seriously, but they were not competitive. They rode in races to thrill spectators and earn money for their cause, not to actually win. The winning was simply in participating and being able to give back. That was what Lance could never seem to get through his thick skull. Mona had shown up on the back of Ryan’s beloved motorcycle, CopyCat. It was a black Harley with small, red paws painted into the back. All of the riders on the racing team had motorcycles with a unique insignia. That way, each rider could be recognized by both his number and his logo. Doing her part to join in with the fun, Mona wore a black and red outfit, resembling a harlequin character. She even went so far with the theme as to draw black and red diamonds on either cheek, under her eyes. The theatricality of these events

was something she loved to get behind. Riding practice with Ryan was going well, but she was in no way ready to race. She still wasn’t sure she’d ever want to full-on race with the club. She’d be happy just to ride with them. She sat at the Running Hill Riders table, watching as her club started their engines and took off down the track. She knew that it didn’t matter who won and that there was more than one rider on her team, but she secretly hoped that Ryan would win anyway. Perhaps it was not actually much of a secret. She was pretty sure that he knew. Suddenly, there was a giant burst of flame as one of the bikers crashed and went down against an outer wall of the circle. Mona jumped up, hands over her mouth, and a stunned hush went over the crowd. It wasn’t until some of the smoke had cleared before she realized that the injured rider was one of her own. It was Weasel. A handful of people were running around beneath the glowing lights of the racetrack in complete panic. Many of the bikers from both Mona’s team as well as competing teams stopped racing when they saw the crash. The fire was quickly put out. His motorcycle lay on its side in a melted, molten heap, but Weasel was okay. He was on the ground and in pain, but he

was alive. “Weasel, don’t squirm!” she told him, kneeling beside him. “You’ll bleed more.” She knew basic first aid for situations such as this. It was a good thing indeed that she’d shown up for this race instead of sitting at home and only wishing she had. Weasel’s eyes were moving nearly as fast as his mind, and he felt like his body was going to start revolving next. Soon, he’d go whirling off into space, a shuttle made of bones and muscle, spinning until he found a void as cold as he felt now. Weasel struggled to feel present, and Mona’s voice brought him solidly back to earth. Weasel forced himself to take a deep breath as the alcoholsoaked rag crept toward the jagged slice on his right arm again, bracing himself for the burning sensation the cloth would bring. Some of the other Running Hill Riders were milling around behind Mona, looking at him and trying their best to find some of the discarded pieces of his crashed motorcycle. Mona knew that they were trying to keep themselves focused on the task, and not consider the chaos the race had descended to. The first needles of pain from the alcohol seeped into Weasel’s wound and actually seemed to help sharpen his focus. “Can you count how many fingers I’m holding up?” Mona asked him. She was holding up three and Weasel informed

her as such. That made her smile. He was going to be okay. With any luck, he was not even concussed. He’d just had a bad tumble and got some glass in his arm. No big deal, right? “This was no accident,” he growled suddenly so that only Mona could hear. “What?” she asked, startled and wary of what the accusation implied. Surely, he was just being paranoid… “My brakes wouldn’t lock,” he said, looking her in the eyes so she would hear him out instead of just shrugging it off as nothing. Weasel was a trusted rider. He was no liar. But she didn’t want to believe that anyone in their club would do such a thing. She pressed the rag into his arm more firmly, bringing his left hand up to replace hers. He applied pressure as she pulled her hand away. “If you’re suggesting that somebody on our side sabotaged your bike, maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. We’ve weeded out the rats already, remember?” Weasel tried to get to his feet and winced as he put pressure on his right leg. “Yeah, I remember. But this isn’t a rat. It’s a cancer. And those are more insidious.” Mona grabbed his arm as he tried to walk away, whirling him around to face her again.

“Don’t go around accusing our family of trying to fuck with you, Weasel. Not until we know more about this.” “Are we a family?” he suddenly asked her. “Or are we all just a bunch of riders looking out for ourselves now?” It pained her to think this way about the people who had been by her side for years, but there was a shred of truth in what he said. Who else had access to their bikes before races? The clubs they were racing with were not their enemies. Everyone was there to raise money and have a good time. Mona saw no reason that any of the other racers would want to hurt any of her men. But something lurked at the back of her mind. There was someone who was set against their club and the wishes of their fallen leader. Lance Olsen. He was a sore loser and even sorer when he didn’t get what he wanted. Mona didn’t want to believe that he’d actually cause a crash like this and endanger Weasel’s life, but there was that lingering ‘but…’ that wouldn’t go away from her mind. Ryan carefully lifted up the battered and broken bike, moving it away from the wreckage and off the track. Mona went to him now that Weasel had made his way to the first aid tent and was recovering from his shock and injuries. An ambulance would be coming for him soon, but meanwhile she and Ryan had bigger things to deal

with. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute alone?” she asked him. “Sure,” he said. He wheeled the bike towards the grassy area everyone had arrived from and let it lay down against the softer ground there. The bike was going to need a lot of repairs now. It was unlikely that Weasel would be able to cover it all on his own, but that was what this club did for each other: they helped out when it was needed. “What is it?” he asked. “Aside from something getting fucked up back there…” “Weasel seems to think he was sabotaged.” Ryan sniffed and shook his head, smiling a sardonic smile. “No shit,” he said. “And I think you and I both know who it was.” Mona sighed. “Lance.” It wasn’t even a question. They both just thought it, felt it, knew it. No one else was as vehemently against the Running Hill Riders continuing on as a showmanship, charitable club. No one else was has foolhardy and dangerous either. “I didn’t think the bastard had it in him,” Ryan said. “But he was pretty annoyed when he left our meeting.” Mona looked into Ryan’s eyes. If he was going to start secretively showing up at their events and ruining their rides, would any of her teammates be safe? Would she be safe?

**** Mona and Ryan didn’t know quite what to do. There was no evidence of foul play on the bike, largely owing to the fact that the bike was nearly destroyed. There were likely no fingerprints because all of it had been engulfed in flames. It was a carefully plotted out scheme. That didn’t stop them from filing a police report. At the next race, they would also be sure to have at least two people standing guard by the bikes beforehand, to keep any delinquents from manhandling the motorcycles. Mona was in a state of panic. Her first race had ended in fire and fear. They raised a considerable amount of money, but a large chunk of it was going to go into fixing Weasel’s beloved Night Rod Special. That and helping him pay off some of his large medical bills. The young rider had broken one of his leg bones as well as sliced up several of the tendons in his arm. He was going to be out of the running for quite a while. Mona kicked the trashcan in her garage, causing it to clang loudly and tip over, knocking its contents to the floor. She put her head in her hands, crying in angry frustration. Thank goodness Ryan was there with her. He wrapped his arms around her and let her

cry against his broad chest. She’d been working so hard and was even close to riding herself. Now, she was too afraid to get on the back of her bike, just in case some asshole had tampered with it while her back was turned. “It’s going to be okay,” Ryan told her soothingly, gently rubbing her back. “We’ll catch the creep who did this. We won’t live in fear.” “Maybe not you,” she said sadly, looking up into his eyes. “I’m the one who’s got to worry about this. I’m the one who’s already—” She cut herself off, but he already knew what she was going to say. “Scared?” he suggested. She looked down. “On-edge, I would say… Can I just say something?” He put his hands on her shoulders supportively, looking at her with care and concern plainly written on his face. “You may.” He didn’t want to prod her, but he had been able to sense for a while that something was not fully right with her. That was why he’d asked how she was holding up in the first place, the other evening. Returning her gaze back to his caring bluegreen eyes, Mona sighed and wiped at her wet cheeks even though it didn’t do much to remove the tears that had slid into position there. “I feel like I’m losing it,” she said. “I feel scared and alone and pretty depressed, actually. I’ve been working so hard to keep it together for the Riders. I just…

Can’t always. And now, with this, I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s a bad idea to even try and keep this up.” “Hey…” Ryan said. He gently lifted her chin with an index finger and leaned down towards her face, kissing her softly. “Don’t give in to Lance. Don’t let one bad apple spoil the bunch. We will deal with this together. You’re not alone. Do I look like a ghost to you?” She smiled and chuckled a little then. “No,” she said. “Definitely not a ghost.” They kissed again. “Now, what about that date?” he asked her. “Nothing will take your mind off of things better than a date with this guy.” He pointed both thumbs at himself and grinned. “Dinner? Movie? Dinner and a movie?” She thought it over. “Arcade.” Ryan beamed at her, impressed. “Niiiice.” They went back into the house and out the front door. She pulled out her keys for the Mini, but he shook his head at her and gestured to his CopyCat. Mona eyed the sleek black motorcycle nervously. “I don’t know,” she said. “Come on, Myers. You can trust me. No one touches my baby without my say so.” He took a spare helmet out of the storage compartment and tossed it to her. Mona caught it

and put it on, a look of trepidation in her blue eyes. Ryan smirked a little at her and put on his helmet, buckling it and kicking one leg over the big bike. He patted the seat behind him. “You’re safe with me, Mona,” he said. “I promise.” With a long, deep sigh, she got onto the back of Ryan’s bike and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He took off down her driveway and turned down the street. Before long, with the wind on her face and the world zipping past her, she forgot to be scared and she was flooded with excitement. When they got to the arcade, the place was popping. There were so many flashing lights and sounds. Mona felt like a kid again. She rushed to a shoot-em-up game involving zombies and gestured with her big, plastic zapper gun for Ryan to come over and join her. They worked together to annihilate as many zombies as they possibly could in three minutes. When it was over, a little paper ticket came out of the machine. Mona cackled. “Aww, we even get a token for participating! Oooh, I wonder what sort of ridiculous prizes we can even win.” He smiled at her. “I’ve already got my ridiculous prize.” She giggled. “Oh yeah?” Wrapping his arms around her, the walked along – albeit slowly – checking out the games. He

was more concerned with kissing her neck and enjoying being with her than actually playing any games. However, her enthusiasm was infectious and any time she “aww”ed or “ooh”ed one of the games, a piece of him felt electrified with adoration. Probably it was his heart. “Mona,” he said to her as they were tossing skee-balls side by side. She smiled but kept her attention focused on the holes she was aiming for. “Yeah?” “I think we should move in together.” She let loose and her ball went flying… backwards. “Oh shit!” she said, laughing and watching as the small but heavy white ball went sailing through the air, hitting one of the games about ten feet away. “Sorry!” she called to everyone around. Mona turned back towards him while the attendant was bringing back the wayward ball. “What did you say?” she asked. He blushed. Now that he had her full attention, he was a lot more nervous about the proposition. “I think we should live together.” Mona stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. The idea was a pretty good one. Ever since her dad died and she’d moved into the old house, she’d felt lonely. Perhaps this was the best solution. Especially if she factored into the equation the fact that she loved Ryan. Not just as a member of

the club. “I think that sounds like a great idea!” she said, leaping into his arms and hugging him tightly. Just then, the attendant handed Ryan the wayward skee-ball. He chuckled. “Thanks.” He turned his full attention back to Mona. “Really? I know that living in your dad’s place has got to be kind of nice for you. You get to feel close to him there, at least, right? I don’t want to be in the way of that. I just don’t want you to feel alone. And I want to be around you more… is that okay?” “Aww,” she said, touched. She planted a kiss on his lips. “That’s more than okay. In fact, now that you’ve come up with this idea, I insist that we go through with it.” If anyone could keep Lance away from her, it was Ryan. She trusted that he would be able to protect her from harm, including the harm that sadness sometimes did to her late at night. She’d be able to rest easy now, she thought. But that soon changed.

**** Mona was awakened by a loud crash a few mornings after Ryan moved into Benny’s old house with her. She shot up in bed, surprised and instantly scared. “What was that?” she yelped. Ryan was sitting up beside her, awake and with large eyes as he looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said, throwing the blankets off of him. “It sounded like it came from the garage.” He and Mona quietly and quickly crept down the stairs towards the door to the garage that came off of the kitchen. He signaled with a finger for her to not make a sound and he opened the door just a crack. Sunlight shone through. The garage door was open! After a cursory glance around revealed that no one was in the garage now, Ryan pulled the door into the kitchen the rest of the way open. They didn’t even have to step inside the garage to see what had happened. “The Duke!” Mona shouted, shocked and horrified. “It’s gone!” The teal and white beauty, Benny’s pride and joy, was no longer in its place of honor in the garage. The door appeared to have been opened from the outside. Someone had clearly come in and stolen the bike. Someone who shouldn’t have

access to the garage… Ryan rushed to the opened garage door, standing in its wide doorway. He looked around for any sign of who had been there. Suddenly, he saw something shining in a nearby bush. He reached down and grabbed it. It was the remote control garage opener. Mona instinctively reached back and touched her butt, feeling for her back pockets even though she was wearing silk pajama bottoms. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed. “Oh my god. It must have fallen out… I always had it. I… I made sure.” She started to cry angry tears. “This is all my fault. I’m so fucking stupid.” She crouched down on the short staircase that led from the kitchen down to the garage. Ryan came back inside and went up to her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin against her back. “It’s going to be okay. It’s not your fault… Hey, it’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out. You probably even had it on you and someone snatched it.” Mona sniffled and shook her head. “It was on me last night, but it… it could have fallen out anywhere, Ryan!” He thought about that. It was possible that she’d lost it while they were out at the arcade, or while they were riding to or from. He hadn’t seen anyone that he knew, anyone that they shouldn’t

trust. Then again, they hadn’t really been paying that much attention to anyone other than each other. Ryan got out his cell phone and called the police. “This is the second police report we’ve had to file this week,” he said as he rubbed Mona’s back. “But whoever is doing this to us is being careless. These two motorcycle-related incidents this close together? It’s obviously someone we know who has a vendetta—Hello? Hi, yes, I need to report a theft. A motorcycle has been stolen from 2223 North Bishop…” He rose from his place on the steps and paced around the garage, pausing to listen to the officer on the line and speaking whenever he was asked for further details and information. “I’m the vice president of a motorcycle club. My girlfriend lives here. This is her house. She is the president and it’s her father’s motorcycle. Yes. Teal and white Harley Davidson…” He looked over at Mona. She watched him with her face slightly contorted in her grief. She’d lost her dad and now she’d lost his bike. What a terrible daughter, she thought miserably. “I can’t run his club without someone getting hurt. I can’t keep his bike safe…” Ryan looked up at her and pouted, shaking his head. “That’s it,” he told the officer over the phone. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch. Bye.” He

ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket. “It’s going to be okay, Mona. I promise. We will get to the bottom of this and get his bike back.” “Weasel’s bike was destroyed,” she pointed out, stressed about that still as well. “There may be no chance of ever seeing Dad’s bike again.” He sat beside her on the steps again, pulling her into another hug. “Don’t be so negative. I will make this right again. Okay?” Mona nodded against his back. She felt like curling up into the fetal position and never leaving that spot, but soon enough Ryan carried her inside and set her down by the breakfast table in the kitchen. He fried some eggs for her and placed a plate of them, plus a tall glass of orange juice, in front of her on the table. She stared into space. She didn’t think it was possible, but she was now feeling even more depressed than before. “Who keeps doing these awful things?” she said with a sad sigh and a shake of her head. The universe responded with a knock on the door. Ryan and Mona both jumped, and the air was thick with tension. They stood silently in the kitchen for a moment, but the knock came again, and Mona finally started to move. Ryan got to the living room just as she opened the door to Lance Olsen – the tall, slim redhead with the silver tooth.

“What do you want?” the couple shouted. Lance laughed and looked between them, his copper-colored eyes wide in mock amazement. “Wow, in stereo and everything! Did you two practice that?” “What do you want, Lance?” Ryan repeated. Mona stepped back to let the traitor in, her face grim. “Come in.” Ryan fixed a glare at Lance, who was now politely examining the colorful Chihuly vase next to their fireplace while they spoke to each other in hushed voices. “Is he really this stupid?” Mona whispered. “Have you met him?” Ryan shot back. Lance had never been friendly, but he’d never been unfriendly, either. Ryan realized then that this was why he’d taken so long to realize Lance was a problem. Lance walked the fine line between charming and alarming better than anyone Ryan knew, and it had gone unnoticed by everyone but he and Mona so far. It had even gone unnoticed by him until Benny died. Ryan looked at Lance now, sitting with one leg crossed over his knee and humming something under his breath. Was Lance Olsen there to hurt him again? Was he there to hurt Mona? Ryan strode over to him, and Mona followed close behind. “Talk.” Lance gazed up at him and smiled, his rodent-

like face twitching in delight. “Nice to see you too, Ryan. You as well, Mona. I didn’t expect to find you both here together. How interesting. How… new.” Mona scoffed. “Just stop messing around and tell us what you want, you jealous rat.” The smile dropped from his face so quickly that Ryan’s blood turned cold. “Now now, is that any way to treat your old friend? Your dad’s old pal?” Mona lunged for Lance, but Ryan caught her around the waist. “Calm down!” “This is my house! I can hit him if I want to!” Lance laughed smugly. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Mona stopped struggling to be released, and Ryan immediately dropped his hands. “Yes. Tell us, and then get out.” She and Ryan both felt convinced that they already knew that Lance had stolen the bike. The question was whether he was going to be quiet about it or gloat. Lance sighed. “When are you going to be nice to me, Mona?” Ryan wanted to spit in his face. “Never. Tell us what you want, then leave.” Anger flashed in Lance’s eyes, and he closed them. “I want to race,” Lance said, keeping his voice steady and cool. “One or both of you.”

The room was silent for so long that he opened his eyes to find them gaping at him in shock. “Well?” He prompted. Ryan laughed, and it had an edge of hysteria. “You came over here to offer us a race? Lance, you’re not even on our team anymore. You’re also rude as hell. What could either of us gain from racing you—besides getting you to shut the fuck up for a while?” Lance smiled. “Remember The Duke?” Mona let out a soft gasp; there was the confession they were hoping for. Ryan had half a mind to call the cops right then and there, but he held fast. He wanted to see what Lance was brewing up first. They would be able to nab him better if they knew the motive and where the bastard was keeping the bike… Mona stepped close enough to Lance to smack him if she wanted, and Ryan didn’t bother to get near enough to be able to stop her. “You found The Duke?” She kept her voice slightly more casual, not accusatory, in the hopes that they’d get more information out of him. Lance’s smile became smug. “Well, found isn’t the right word. I have it.” “You stole it,” Ryan said immediately. “You slimy asshole. You stole from Benny. You stole from Mona.” The redheaded man shrugged. “I did what I

had to do.” “Why did you have to do it?” Mona demanded, and there were angry tears in her eyes. “Why’d you have to fuck your family over?” Lance laughed, but the sound was harsh to Ryan’s ears. “None of you are my family. You’ve never been my family. I’ve been in this group for five years, and none of you knew my last name until two years ago. You don’t respect me, you don’t praise me, you don’t laugh at my jokes— there’s no positivity from you people at all!” His voice had nearly risen to a shout, so he paused to take a breath. “Anyway, I knew I’d need a bargaining chip when one of you fucked up—well, initially, just Ryan.” “Why not me?” Mona asked. Lance smiled. “Because I had a thing for you, Mona. But you never noticed…I guess because you hardly noticed me.” Mona made a face of pure detestation. Ryan cut in to save Mona the hassle of coming up with a retort worthy of vocalizing. “So, let me get this straight… You want to race me in order to reclaim Benny’s bike.” “Uh huh,” Lance said, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you game or are you chicken?” That made Ryan smile wryly. “Oh, I’m definitely not chicken, you asshole… Your rules or mine?”

It felt ridiculous to have to race the cocky son of a bitch over Mona’s motorcycle. Especially because there was already a police report on the theft. Ryan didn’t want to let this threat go, however. There was a chance that he could beat the smarmy smile off of Lance’s face and ‘win’ the bike back before the police even needed to intervene. Ryan didn’t back away from a race, even though he should know better than to race using Lance’s rules… Lance sniffed. “You and me, no spectators – except the pretty Miss Mona Myers, of course.” She spat at his feet, crossing her arms in front of her chest and refusing to look at him any longer. Lance Olsen was the worst kind of cretin. She wanted to bash his nose in for laying a finger on her dad’s bike. “We start in the alley behind Hog’s Grogs,” Lance continued. “Tomorrow night, eight p.m. sharp. No late arrival. You arrive late, you don’t bring home The Duke. Sound good?” “No,” Ryan spat. “But it will have to do.” She nodded in agreement with Ryan, and anxiety started to eat at her muscles. “And if we lose?” Lance clapped his hands together. “Ah. If you lose…then you leave.” There was silence again, and Ryan looked at

Lance for a long time. He saw that he was still basically a kid—only three years younger than him, but still so full of malice and cunning that it was difficult to look him in the eye. Lance was a monster—but Ryan also needed that Harley more than Mona knew. He’d dreamed of getting it back for her and proving to her that he was the man who could help her out and make her happy again. He wanted to impress her, sure, but he also really wanted her to trust that he had her back. Mona wasn’t having any of it, though. “Get out. Now. Or I’ll hit you again, and I won’t stop this time.” Lance stood up, and for a moment, he towered over Mona and looked down at her with such hatred and disgust that Ryan started to move between them. But he moved past them both and strode toward the door, his shoes smacking on the wood floor. He paused at the entryway with his hand on the knob. “See you tomorrow night at Hog’s Grogs for the race, then, Ryan?” Mona started to move toward the door, but Lance slipped out and slammed it behind him. She took one deep breath, then another, then several more while Ryan stood there, staring into space as he turned over what had just happened in his mind. Mona walked over to him and slumped on the couch, burying her face in her hands. At the same

time, Ryan finished thinking, and his heart felt lighter for having a plan. He wasn’t going to let Lance get away with this—and he also wasn’t going to let the bike get away from them again. “What now?” Mona asked, her voice numb with shock. Ryan sank to his knees and took her hands in his. “Now? We get your bike back, and we get that motherfucker out of our family.” Mona’s mouth opened in surprise, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “There’s my tough guy.”

**** The following evening, Mona and Ryan stood in the alley behind her bar, as planned. He had his CopyCat all shined and ready to rumble, but she was starting to worry that they’d been tricked into being there. “Is he going to show?” she asked Ryan. “He’ll show,” Ryan said with a nod. “He’s too cocky to let an opportunity like this pass by.” “If that bastard even gets one microscopic dent on that bike—” “Surprise surprise,” Lance’s voice said from behind them, “I’m a few minutes late and you’re already talking shit about me.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “You said we had to be on time,” he pointed out. “I guess that means you lose and we get The Duke back,” Mona added. Lance laughed harshly, more like a bark than a human laugh. “You wish,” he said. He was leading the teal and white Harley into the alley with him. It shown in the light of the streetlamps, just as beautiful as Mona remembered. Oh, please don’t let him hurt my baby… Kicking one leg over The Duke, he got onto the motorcycle and snapped his helmet in place atop his stupid orange-haired head. “You ready to

go, Kirby? Or do you need a permission slip from your mom?” “Oh, cut the shit, Lance.” Ryan got onto his sleek, black bike and put his helmet on as well. Mona hoped that this race would be over quickly and that no one would end up hurt… At least, not Ryan. Lance, on the other hand, could use a few broken limbs. Maybe a broken face… “Ready?” Lance called out. The two young men lined up their bikes so they were starting the race from the exact same place, parallel to a set of dumpsters. “On your marks,” Mona shouted. “Get set… GO!” As soon as the two pristine Harleys were off down the long stretch of road, Mona got out her cell phone and, sticking to Ryan’s plan, called the police number he’d used before. There was no way she and Ryan were going to let this race end in a victory for Lance Olsen. If everything went right tonight, he was going to be ending this race in handcuffs. Ryan shot up the hill, but Lance was surprisingly able to keep his pace given that The Duke probably hadn’t run in a while. Ryan looked over at Lance, and Lance held up his gloved middle finger and shouted something unintelligible. “What?” Ryan shouted back when he was close enough beside the other rider.

It was another stretch of time before they were able to hear each other again. “I saw your girlfriend on the phone!” Lance yelled. “You call the cops on me, the deal is off!” Lance took a sudden swerve and went off in a direction that Ryan hadn’t anticipated, down a different alley and onto a large and populated street. Surprised, Ryan pulled back and turned so he could follow Lance. He suddenly smiled when he realized where they were and how close they were to the city center. Lance seemed to have forgotten what could be found in the city center. Several police stations. Ryan could hear the sirens before he saw the police motorcycle following Lance at top speed. The dumbass didn’t stop, but instead sped up, trying to outrun the cop in a highly-populated area. The race was over between Ryan and Lance. Cutting off his engine, all Ryan could do now was sit and wait for the results. He pulled out his cell phone and noticed that he’d received a text from Mona about ten minutes ago. “All cops are on the lookout for The Duke and The Dick who’s riding it.” Ryan grinned down at his phone. God damn did he love this girl. Lance was being pulled from The Duke by

two policemen not much bigger than him. Ryan heard Mona running up behind him, and he removed his helmet. They exchanged proud grins and stood together watching from a distance as the cops confronted Lance in tense silence. They shared a look before Ryan dismounted, walking hand in hand with Mona over to the squad car so they could hear the conversation better. “Here! Here’s my license!” The cop was unimpressed. “Hm. That’s funny; this says Lance Olsen. This bike seems to be registered to a Benny Myers.” Lance started to speak, but he stopped midword. “This is my bike.” The other cop grinned. “Really? Think I should run the plates again?” Lance bristled. “You just got here. How did you have time to run my plates?” “This bike has been reported stolen, son,” the first cop said breezily. “Just yesterday, as a matter of fact—I don’t suppose you knew that, did you?” Ryan didn’t think it was possible to see Lance go any paler, but he did. Then he turned around and saw Ryan and Mona standing side by side. Mona waved flirtatiously, and Ryan smiled. “They lent it to me!” Lance said, and Ryan was impressed; he only sounded a little desperate, and he might have been convincing if his voice wasn’t shaking. “They lent it to me the other day. I

guess they forget to tell you they found it.” “I guess they did,” the cop said. “When they reported it stolen yesterday morning, and mentioned you as a primary suspect.” The second cop started to put Lance in handcuffs. As he was being told his rights, Lance started to laugh—it was barely a laugh at all, more of a jagged scream filled with hatred. “I’ll be out soon!” Lance said, his copper eyes now looking quite crazed. He was trying to jerk free of the handcuffs. “You can’t do this to me! I’ll be out soon!” Mona walked over to him and got close enough to touch him—and she actually did, touching one hand to his cheek as gently as a lover’s embrace. He stilled, surprised, and Mona smiled. “I think you’d better drug test him,” she said. “His eyes look pretty red.” Lance looked so shocked he forgot to be angry. “I haven’t had any drugs, you idiot.” It was then that Ryan realized his eyes weren’t red because of drugs – that was true. Lance’s eyes were red because he’d started crying. “Oh, this is one for the history books,” Ryan taunted him as the cops got Lance into their car and slammed the door. “Lance Olsen is literally crying like a baby.” “We’ll see how that helps him in jail,” Mona

said. They stood, arm in arm, and waved at Lance as the cops slowly pulled away and drove him back down the street to the precinct. Approaching The Duke, Mona threw her arms around the bike and hugged it as thought it was a person… As though it was her father. “I’ve missed you, baby.” “Hey, Myers,” Ryan said to her, tossing his helmet. “How about it?” She caught his shiny black helmet and looked at him, surprised for a second before his meaning dawned on her. Giving a smirk, she placed his helmet onto her head and buckled it. Mona hopped on board her daddy’s old bike. She took a deep breath and started its engine. This was going to be easy. This was just going to be a quick ride back to the bar. And she could take it as slowly as she needed to… Ryan was not going to let her get hurt.

**** After the slow ride back to Hog’s Grogs, Mona dismounted before bouncing excitedly up and down. She was so proud of herself. “You did it!” Ryan said, stopping his bike a careful distance away from The Duke. She hadn’t even bothered to take off his helmet, and she looked so cute as she wore it, dancing around like a child who’d just learned to ride a bicycle on their own. “That was exhilarating!” Mona exclaimed, beaming. “But how are we going to get it all the way back to our house?” Our house. Ryan liked the sound of that. “I have an idea. You wait inside here. I’ll keep my bike parked in the lot and ride The Duke back home and make sure it’s safe there. Then I’ll come back and get you. Does that sound good?” She nodded, still smiling. “Okay. That’s a good idea. Ride carefully.” Mona removed her helmet and handed it over to Ryan, who swiftly put it on and mounted The Duke. She was sad to watch it ride away again, but she knew that it was in good hands. She gave the CopyCat a pat before heading into her bar. With everything that had been happening in the past few days, Mona hadn’t really checked in

on the place. She was happy to see, once she was inside, that it was as rowdy as ever. She smirked and sidled up to the bar, ordering herself a whisky sour from the bartender, Lenny. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “Are things still cool with you?” She nodded a little and gave a sigh of relief. “Things definitely have gotten better, finally. I think everything is going to be pretty much back to normal soon.” “Anything I should be aware of?” Mona thought about it. “In about two years, if some guy by the name of Lance shows his face around here, show him to the door. He is no longer welcome.” Lenny gave her a thumbs-up. “You got it, boss.” He brought her the drink she’d asked for and she took a long sip of it, feeling smug that she had solved the issue that her club had been having. Finally, she could relax. She just needed Ryan to come back. Once her whisky sour was finished, she tipped Lenny even though she technically didn’t have to and headed back outside to find her boyfriend. Was he her boyfriend now? They had not actually discussed it yet. Things kept getting in the way… Just then, she realized that Ryan would need

to walk back to the bar from her house. That wasn’t a long drive by any means, but on foot it was probably less fun. She pulled out her cell phone and called him. “Hello?” “Hey,” she said. “I just realized that you could probably use a friend on your walk back. I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it before. I’ve just been so…” Ryan chuckled. “I know. It’s okay. It’s really not that far. Besides, it’s a nice evening. Especially now.” “I told Lenny not to allow Lance into the bar ever again. He is officially blacklisted.” “Good thinking. Hopefully, once he’s out of jail, he will have lost interest in trying to be in our club.” Mona laughed bitterly. “Trying to sabotage our club, more like… How big of a dumbass can he be?” “Apparently a rather large one.” They both laughed. “Hey,” Ryan suddenly said, “when I get back there, do you want to go out with me again? I saw this restaurant downtown while I was riding.” Mona smiled. “Ooh, a restaurant. Things are getting serious.” The call ended and she decided that she would rather just wait beside Ryan’s bike. Ten minutes later, she saw him strolling along into the parking

lot. “Hey, stranger,” he said. She ran over to him and gave him a hug. “How was your walk?” she asked him. He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. How is the bar?” “I had a whisky sour,” she told him. “I’d offer to buy you one, but you probably shouldn’t drink if you’re going to take me to dinner.” Ryan laughed and put his arm around her as they walked back to CopyCat. “I’ll drink at dinner. Responsibly.” They got on the back of his motorcycle and sped away back towards downtown Detroit. As he drove, he pointed up ahead at this little hole in the wall place called Diesel. Mona raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t ask him about it because he wouldn’t have been able to hear her very well over the engine anyway. They pulled in front of the place and he parked his bike in one of the street parking spots. “I hate that that asshole’s got me paranoid about your bike getting stolen now,” she said to him once they had dismounted and stored their helmets away in the space under the seat. “Don’t give that asshole the time of day,” Ryan replied. “You know, like before.” He smirked at her and took her hand. The restaurant was not as fancy as he had made it out to be at first. Perhaps she had just

assumed. It seemed to be decent enough, though. The smell of wood-fired pizza greeted them upon entry and they were quickly seated by the restaurant’s large, street-facing window. “So, what are we going to do now that all of this is behind us?” Ryan asked as they waited for the pizza they were going to share. “I for one wouldn’t be opposed to becoming more discerning about who we let into our club.” Mona smiled at him. “I think the people we have in with us now are enough. We’re a good bunch, now that we’ve weeded out some of the bad apples.” Ryan smiled back at her. “Your dad would be really proud of you.” She felt a blush creep over her cheeks. “I know,” she said. At last, she knew and truly felt that Benny would be happy about the decisions she had made. “Does that mean you’ll race with us next time?” Ryan asked, grinning cheekily and waggling his eyebrows at her. Mona grabbed a rolled-up napkin and threw it at him, laughing. He ducked and it hit the wall behind him before falling to the floor. “Hey, there was a knife in there!” he shouted. But he was laughing, too.

**** They could barely keep their hands off of each other on the ride home. As soon as Ryan and Mona made it inside and shut the front door to the house behind them, they started kissing each other deeply. He held her, back pressed against the door and they made out, tongues getting reacquainted with each other, before he finally swept her off her feet and carried her upstairs to their shared bed. The way her body responded to him was astounding, and as he slid inside her, she knew he’d never want to be with anyone else. Mona’s legs locked around his waist as he hilted himself inside her velvety wetness, pulsing against her most sensitive place as he planted soft kisses on her neck and breasts. It was hard for him to pace himself at first, what with the fervor of the alcohol still running through his veins, but Mona locked her thighs around him and bucked her hips in time with his strokes, keeping his motion from breaking the slow and steady rhythm that brought her cries to a high-pitched frenzy. After that, she flipped him over onto his back and braced herself on the thick muscle of his chest. Ryan was mesmerized by the way her body moved smoothly as he pushed his hips upward, her ecstasy written in the lines of her body and the melodious

notes of her moans. She looked like a living work of art, her eyes sparkling with joy and need as she lowered her hips down the rigid length of his shaft. Ryan’s body was shivering with pleasure beneath her, his hands moving to cup her small breasts and pinch her erect nipples until her cries started to get higher and more breathless. Her energy seemed boundless, her strokes were fast and rhythmic—and she soon brought both of them to a screaming, spine-tingling orgasm that was quickly becoming the norm. Both of them would be more than happy to get used to this norm. Mona slumped forward as his hands slipped down her back, his legs tensing as his pleasure neared its peak. Her lips covered his, and she pulled back to look at him just as her walls started to clench and spasm around his slick shaft. Ryan exploded inside her, and his vision had nearly faded to black as his body finally stilled underneath her, his breathing ragged and shallow. Mona slid off him and started laughing. It took a while before Ryan’s breathing had steadied enough for him to ask what she was laughing about. Smiling at him and resting her head against the tops of her knees as she held her bent legs up towards herself, she gazed at him with all the bliss the world could possibly contain. “I’m so glad you asked me out,” she said simply. Her tone sounded like she wanted to say more.

Ryan smiled so wide his cheeks started to hurt. “Is that so? You’re glad I asked you out?” Mona nodded and kissed his cheek. “Ecstatic.” She got out of bed and wrapped one of the white sheets around herself before heading out of the bedroom. Ryan put his boxers back on and followed her curiously. They padded down the hardwood stairs and went into the kitchen. He thought at first that she might be planning a snack before bed, but instead she opened the door to the garage. Cautiously, Mona went down the steps. They were less smooth and safe for uncovered feet due to the fact that they were built of unsanded wood and there was a chance of nails jutting out from them. Benny had added the garage steps onto the house, and he was not exactly a carpenter. Ryan flipped the light switch on and she jumped a little before turning around and smiling at him. He smiled back. “Hi.” “Hello.” They walked down to The Duke together and Mona gently touched its shiny teal frame. “While it was gone, it was like he was gone, you know?” Ryan nodded slightly. “But it wasn’t really gone. And neither is he. You’ve done good, kid. Everything is going to be fine now. You’ll see. I think the Running Hill Riders have finally turned a

corner towards getting back on track.” She tilted her head a bit, gazing at her father’s bike. Then she shook her head. “Not yet. There’s still something I have to do before things will really get back to normal.” Slowly, she straddled the motorcycle and lay down atop it as though she was hugging it. She closed her eyes. “We need to find a way to be more inclusive. I don’t want anyone to be out of the loop again for so long, just because they got hurt. That’s a rotten way to run things. No offense, Dad.” Ryan chuckled a little. “Being out of the loop wasn’t so bad. It would have broken my heart to hear about everything and not be able to participate.” Mona sat up and smiled at him a little. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about finding a way to have our injured riders in attendance at least. After all, wheelchairs still have wheels.” Ryan wasn’t quite sure what she was saying. Was she planning to start racing players in wheelchairs? “This doesn’t sound safe…” She laughed. “It would be perfectly safe. They could work the merch table or control the numbering system. Just because you’re in a wheelchair or a neck brace doesn’t mean you can’t do anything anymore. I know I still want Weasel around.”

He thought about it. “I don’t know. It might scare people who come to see us race.” She shrugged. “It would be a silent warning about the fact that there are risks.” She got up off the bike then and wandered back to the steps before turning her head towards Ryan. “Are you coming, vice president? Or need I conduct everything entirely by myself?” Laughing, Ryan followed her. “Hey! Who got your bike back?”

**** The following day, Mona and Ryan went to visit Weasel. He was laid up in bed with his broken leg and banged up arm, but his spirits were obviously lifted at the sight of his friends coming into his bedroom. “I was beginning to wonder if you guys had forgotten about me,” he teased. Mona sat on his bed, tisking. “Oh, don’t even say that.” “How are you feeling?” Ryan asked. Weasel smiled. He had cuts and bruises on his face, but seeing him smile still made them glad; it worked to brighten up his expression and make him look much less wounded. “I’m definitely feeling better now.” “Great,” Mona replied. “We hoped so. We’ve been thinking… Would it help you if you were able to come to races, even though you can’t race in them?” She was hesitant to say ‘can’t participate’ because what she was planning involved participation from everyone who was willing and able. Weasel didn’t even pause. “Yes!” he said with a nod. “I’d much rather be out there with everyone than holed up in here with nothing to do except reading and watching motocross on TV.”

Mona beamed at him. She had guessed correctly. “That’s what we thought! Ryan and I were thinking that it might be a good idea to have you at games, working our merchandise table or taking bet money, or anything you feel like doing. What do you think?” Sitting up in bed, Weasel favored his left arm so as not to jostle his injured right arm and scooted himself up into a sitting position in his excitement. “I think that sounds great! I’d be more than happy to help you guys out, no matter what.” “Of course, the number one way you’ll help us out is by getting better.” Weasel smiled and gingerly touched his leg. “I’m working on it.”

**** After the calamity of their last race, Mona wasn’t sure if anyone would want to show up for another one, but when she arrived at the track with Ryan on the back of CopyCat, she smiled when she saw all of the club members assembled. They were laughing and talking together as they set everything up. She could not have been more proud to see them there. She also felt more than a little touched. Maybe no one saw her as a screw-up after all. “Hey!” Arthur said when he saw them, waving them over. “There you two lovebirds are. Weasel was just wondering whether or not you were going to race, Mona.” She smiled and blushed a little bit, both at ‘lovebirds’ and at the question of racing. Although she had been learning how to ride The Duke, she still was not good enough to want to ride a far distance, let alone be very fast about it. “I’d better not,” she said honestly. “I’ll be your fearless leader behind the scenes while Ryan is your fearless leader on the track.” Ryan placed his arm around her, smiling fondly. “Every team needs a mastermind, after all.” As promised, Weasel was there behind the table with the merchandise and the wagers. He was sitting there in his wheelchair looking rather like a

king. Mona was sure that he’d be able to be a part of things like that, instead of sitting at home or merely watching from the sidelines. After affixing his number to his helmet, Ryan turned to Mona and gave her a kiss. “See you at the finish line?” he asked her. She grinned back at him. “I’m already there.” He put his helmet on and got atop CopyCat, riding it to the starting line in the track. Mona got a seat close to Weasel, to help him out at the table and keep him company. They had some awesome shirts, totes and mugs for sale that were designed by the wives of some of the Riders. As the racers got on their marks, she wondered if someday she was going to be a wife of one of the Riders. Number nine on the back of the shiny, black bike specifically. A shot was fired and the motorcycles took off down the lanes. The roaring engines were now all that could be heard over the cheers as the line of twenty bikes went around and around the track. This was the first race of the day and they had scheduled four more. Mona hoped that they would all go smoothly and they wouldn’t be sending any more riders home on stretchers. She got up onto her chair when she realized that Ryan was in the lead. He hadn’t been riding in so long that this would be a major comeback. He just needed to last three more laps…

Two more laps… One more lap… And he sailed over the finish line as if it was nothing! Mona screamed and jumped up and down, nearly forgetting that she was standing up on a chair until she almost toppled over in her excitement. Then she hopped down and cheered loudly with Weasel. “Don’t fall down,” he teased, holding her hand and shaking it giddily. “We don’t need you in a wheelchair now.” She laughed and wished that she could rush out to Ryan, but she didn’t want to interfere with the races or leave Weasel alone at their table. There’d be plenty of time for celebrating later. Together, Weasel and Mona watched the next few races, cheering on their team and politely applauding if another team’s member won. These races were all for fun, so there wasn’t really any competitiveness about it. That was something that Lance could never stomach. “We – well, I guess I – should tell you something that we didn’t want to bring up before,” she told Weasel. “Lance Olsen is the one who messed with your bike. He must’ve tinkered with it while we were setting things up…” Weasel did not look surprised, just tired of the whole affair. “How do you know?” he asked.

“We don’t one hundred percent know,” she admitted. “But he stole The Duke from my house and we caught him red-handed. There’s no one else who would have stooped to such childishness, or anyone else who had such a vendetta against our club. But it’s okay. He won’t bother us again, because he was arrested after stealing The Duke.” Weasel smiled a little then. “I guess we can finally put all of that behind us then…” She smiled back at him, but then she remembered how battered his bike was in that race. He was healing, but his bike still needed a lot of repairs. She was going to have to speak to the rest of the club about that. Maybe they could surprise him by repairing his bike, too. Weasel and Mona sat side by side and watched excitedly as the bikers careened past them in another race. In the interim before the final race of the day, a line of people came over to place their money on Ryan. Mona felt so proud and happy for him. She couldn’t have picked a better leader for her dad’s club. Not only was he kind and diplomatic when it came to their meetings, he was also an inspiring rider on his own. They watched the race, supporting all of their teammates while Mona silently hoped that Ryan would win this race, too. Today certainly seemed to be his day! The roar of the engines as the bikes whizzed

past was enough to make her rethink her opinion about racing herself in one of these… As long as everyone was following the rules, they didn’t seem quite so dangerous. Mona thought that, going forward, she would not rule out anything. She stood up in her chair again as Ryan made his final laps. He came in second this time, which was still very exciting. She was so excited for him. Second place still earned their team a lot of money for their charity of choice. Now that the races were over, she ran out to where Ryan was standing, shaking hands with his fellow riders and congratulating them. Mona tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to her, grinning. She threw her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. “That was amazing!” she told him. “You really did us proud. Especially me.” He chuckled into her ear. “I did it for you.” Several of the other members of their club came over to congratulate him with pats on the back. They all got on their bikes and Mona hopped on the back of Ryan’s, ready to ride off to a victory celebration at Hog’s Grogs. However, she made sure that they all helped Weasel pack up their table and that he got safely into his car before they took off. “You’ll meet us at the bar, right?” she asked him. “Are you kidding?” he asked, wheeling around

to look at her, smiling. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**** Seeing the whole band back together made Mona swell with pride. It had been quite a long time since they were all last assembled there for a completely joyful occasion. It was also the first time that a certain asshole wasn’t in attendance. Ryan stood up in front of everyone at their tables and held up his glass of beer in a toast. “Tonight, we raised a little over two thousand and five hundred dollars!” Everyone cheered. “Of course, the majority of the proceeds will be going to the veterans’ fund. But Mona and I have decided that a percentage of it and anything else we can raise in the next few weeks will go towards our friend Weasel and his motorcycle’s repairs.” The loud applause and shouts went up again. Weasel sat at a table of honor in the front. He blushed and looked shy when Ryan made that announcement and everyone cheered his name. Mona still had no idea why Lance had gone after the most unassuming member of the club. Perhaps it was because everyone liked Weasel, or perhaps it was because he was the one least likely to try and seek vengeance. She thought it was mostly just the fact that Lance was a bastard and

was trying to lash out at any member of the club. From her place at the bar, she put in an order in the kitchen for a special cupcake to be delivered to Weasel’s table. She also made sure that Ryan got as many glasses of his favorite beer as he wanted. “So, what about you, Mona?” Arthur asked her when he came up to the bar to order a new drink. “Any chance we’ll see you on your own bike one of these days?” She smirked a little. “I don’t know. The others might be worthy of that, but are you?” He laughed. “Maybe not.” “I’ve been practicing riding around on The Duke,” she replied. “Now that we’ve rescued it from the jaws of Lucifer, I’m never letting that baby out of my sight again. Though it remains to be seen if I’ll be able to race on it. I’m mostly good at not crashing it so far.” Arthur smiled, amused at her. She was young and spunky, which was different from the older, father-like figure they’d had in Benny. But the group had already gotten used to their new supreme leader. She showed a lot of promise, too. “Not crashing is the first step in becoming a good motorcycle racer,” he said with a wink. She smiled and handed him his drink. “I’ll keep working on it,” she promised him. Maybe, if she could convince Ryan to teach her, it wouldn’t even take that long before she was

out there on the race track, whizzing past the merchandise table. She’d been riding bikes for so long that there was really no reason she couldn’t at least try. The baby would have to remove her training wheels at some point, right?

**** With the money they had raised in hand, Mona and Ryan took Weasel’s banged-up motorcycle in for repairs. It was an estimated one thousand dollars’ worth of damage. It was going to need new brakes certainly, along with new controls and fixed up bodywork in order to run right again. But Mona didn’t want to stop there. She didn’t want his bike to simply work again. She wanted to improve upon its performance, because she felt like she owed it to Weasel. She put in about six hundred dollars of her own money to add on some extra features. They would give Weasel’s bike a nice, new blue finish. It wouldn’t just be puttering along again; it would be singing down the race track. Before they left the bike shop, she checked out the helmets and decided to buy a new one for herself. It was teal and white like The Duke, though a slightly lighter shade of teal. Buying a new helmet for her rides meant that Mona meant business. The repairs on Weasel’s bike were going to take a week, which was fine with them because his recovery from his injuries was going to still take quite a bit longer than that. As long as the bike was ready for him when he was back on his feet, they would be happy. Later on, after they’d come home from the

bike repair shop, Ryan took Mona out on a date to a restaurant that was a more classy affair. He wore a suit and everything! Mona put on a sexy red dress that showed off the tattoos on her upper arms and the paleness of her skin. Her dyed black hair was a stark contrast with her light skin, particularly when more of her skin was on display. She was not a prude by any means, she just usually reserved showing off this much skin for when she was on a date like this. She had been waiting to go on a date like this with Ryan. “Why didn’t you tell me so?” he laughed when she confessed that to him. “I asked you what you wanted to do on our first date and you said you wanted to go to an arcade.” Mona smiled at him. “It’s better to have waited for you to think of this.” She gave him a wink. “You picked out a nice place.” The restaurant had white tablecloths, paintings of the walls, a piano player, the works. It did not seem like the sort of place two motorcycle club members would go to. Mona loved that. Just because she lived a life of engine grease didn’t mean that she didn’t want to be treated to a fancy meal. When she looked at the menu, she let out a giggle. “What?” Ryan asked her curiously. He looked

a bit uncomfortable to be wearing a suit, though it looked quite nice on him. She had not noticed before how young Ryan still looked. Sure, he was older than her by a few years, but he was at the young end of the Running Hill Riders’ spectrum. She wondered, feeling suddenly bashful, if she looked young to him, too. Pointing at the menu, she showed him the cause of her giggling. “They actually have caviar. Ryan, where did you find this place?” He blushed a bit. “I looked it up online. I actually searched for ‘fancy restaurants in Detroit.’” “Awww,” she said, grinning at him. “Are you serious?” Ryan looked down, embarrassed. That only made her coo more. “AWW! Well, I think you did a great job. This place is very fancy.” The duo ended up mostly sticking to tried and true entrees. She got some ravioli and he got a steak. “I’d get the caviar as an appetizer,” she said. “Except that I’ve heard from reliable sources that it’s a fancier concept than an actual food. I heard it’s really salty.” She made a face. Ryan chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief because it’s also expensive.” After they gorged themselves on fancy, less familiar types of food, they went home together to

have a dessert of Tarts Du Pop. The s’mores flavor. “Given the choice between fancy and laidback, I do prefer laid-back,” Mona told him, taking a bite of her lightly-toasted pastry. “Let’s save dinners like that for once a year.” Ryan smiled at her. “I like the way you think. Although, some years might need to be fancier than others.” “What do you mean?” she asked. All of a sudden, Mona felt like she was dreaming. Ryan got down on one knee beside her chair in the kitchen. He placed his small plate on the table in front of her. It had his pop tart on it, as well as a diamond ring placed on top of the pastry as though the chocolate and graham flavored treat served as its cushion. “You don’t have to answer right now, and it doesn’t have to be anytime soon, if you want to wait, but… Mona Myers, will you marry me?” Mona brought her hands up to cover her mouth. This was a surprise. It felt like they hadn’t been dating for very long, but then again, they had known each other for years. She was already so comfortable with him. She trusted him more than anyone. She lived with him. She loved him. “Yes!” she said, looking into his eyes and beaming tearfully. She nodded to confirm it. “YES!” Smiling back and getting a little tearful

himself, Ryan took the ring off the pop tart and placed it onto Mona’s left ring finger. They kissed happily. He laughed softly. “You taste like s’mores.” They were going to have quite a few announcements to make at their next meeting. For now, they celebrated privately over their silly treats, before going upstairs and celebrating further between the sheets.

**** It was several months before the Running Hill Riders held another meeting at Hog’s Grogs. In that time, so as not to spoil the fun for everyone, Ryan and Mona kept their engagement a secret. They wanted to have a big summer meet-up in order to celebrate Weasel’s recovery and kick off a summer of races and events around the community. Some new recruits even showed up and signed their names on the members list. Mona was so happy that their little club was growing and garnering attention for Benny’s noble, charitable cause. As usual, Ryan stood before everyone else as they sat at their tables. Mona was behind the counter at the bar, keeping the beverages flowing and making sure that everyone was having a good time. “Hi everyone,” Ryan said, speaking in his usual friendly, upbeat voice. “Welcome back to Hog’s Grogs. I hope you all have been having a great summer so far. We’re very excited to kick off the summer season of biking. We’ve got a lot of fun activities and events planned this year. There’s going to be a Fourth of July race. That’s a normal thing, but this year we’re planning to hold this event at Belle Isle Park. It’s going to be a bigger

deal, more up-scale and, we think, tons of fun.” The bikers that were assembled cheered. Weasel was sitting in the front row. His leg was finally out of its cast and he seemed to be back in full form. Mona wondered if he had been on a bike since his accident. They were about to find out. “And now, we have two more announcements. Mona, please come up here with me.” She grinned and hopped over the bar, making everyone laugh and applaud even more. She jogged up and joined Ryan at the front of the room, wearing one of the black shirts that Arthur’s wife had designed for the team. “Hello!” she said. She couldn’t help but beam as she looked around the large space of her bar. This was her family. “I’m not sure if you all realize this yet, but you people are the most important people in my life. The number one person is standing right up here with me.” Mona looked up at Ryan and took his hand in hers. “Ryan and I wanted to announce that Weasel has a surprise gift from all of us. And it’s waiting outside, so if you all want to, follow us!” She and Ryan went outside, followed by the rest of the group. Standing on the sidewalk right by the entrance of the bar was Weasel’s shiny, newlycrafted bike. He stepped out and looked at it, his mouth falling open. “Wow!” he said. He went up to it and got on

immediately. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!” “We all pitched in and made sure that it was modified in a way that would make it run smoother and cooler.” Mona grinned. “I can’t wait to race now,” he said. All the Riders clapped for him as he started up the engine and listened to it purr. “And now, we have one final announcement,” Ryan shouted over the lovely sound of Weasel’s purring bike. “Mona and I are getting married!” She held up her left hand so everyone could feast their eyes on her diamond engagement ring. More applause rang out and echoed in the parking lot. “We haven’t set a date yet, but of course you will all be invited,” Mona told them excitedly. “Now let’s go back inside and get wasted!” Weasel secured his bike in a parking space and they went back inside to drink, chat, listen to the fun music blaring from the speakers and enjoy each other’s company. Mona continued to work the bar for a while before Lenny finally insisted that she go relax and celebrate with her friends. Then she joined Ryan at his table and sipped happily at her whisky sour. “What have you guys been talking about?” she asked curiously. “Are you planning to ride up the aisle on the back of The Duke?” Arthur asked. “Everyone

wants to see you ride that beauty.” Mona blushed a little. “Oh, yeah?” she asked. “Well, all right. I think that can be arranged. Just don’t leave early.” She winked. She was being her typical, playfully mysterious self. She’d been like that with these guys since she was knee high to a grasshopper. Ryan ate, drank and was merry while Mona took it upon herself to be his ride home. They’d arrived before everyone else, as on the day of her father’s funeral and dammit if they weren’t planning on leaving last in much the same way. She sipped Diet Coke and munched on French fries while sitting beside him, laughing along with their in-jokes and feeling like, at last, she was a part of the club instead of just an outsider who wanted in. As everyone began to stand up and collect their helmets and things for their rides home, Mona whistled. “You all are so eager to see me ride The Duke?” she said. “Well, you can watch me ride it right now. I’m going to take Ryan home with me.” She mimed drinking and pointed a thumb at Ryan. He’d had a bit too much. Several woops went up. She grinned and turned off the lights in her bar, locking up once everyone was outside in the parking lot. They all got onto the bikes and Mona felt a buzzing in her body as the adrenaline and excitement filled her up. For the first time, she

knew what she was doing and everyone was going to witness. She made sure Ryan’s helmet was on and buckled before double-checking her own and starting up her engine. She was truly one of the club members now. “For Benny!” she suddenly called as she peeled out of the parking lot ahead of the rest of them. “FOR BENNY!” they all yelled, following her on each of their big, wonderful, souped-up Harleys. Benny Myers would be so proud. THE END

ALPHA BILLIONAIRE’S DESIRE Damian Wyles has climbed his way to the top of Silicon Valley’s tech security industry in a few short years, and he refuses to jeopardize his empire for any reason—even it means losing friends in the process. This learned stubbornness has led to a general lull in the handsome billionaire’s life, but he’ll take unhappiness over failure any day—as long as he’s still filthy rich and making loads of money. Miserable and alone, the software mogul takes to drowning his sorrows in strong spirits at a hole-in-the-wall: the oldest therapy in the book. Becca Hilton is just passing through the bar he’s in, but something draws Damian to latch onto her before she can fly away. When he does, he discovers that their chemistry is too explosive to ignore, and he’s pulled along on the most stunning ride of his life.

Unfortunately, wild rides often end with someone getting hurt, and Damian soon finds out that this pain is part of a plot against him—and it’s coming from somewhere inside his circle. Will Becca teach Damian’s heart to let down its walls…or will their love crumble under the force of the unending war for wealth and power?

“So, hopefully, with this feature, we’re going to see a real growth in new accounts at IQID, and thus be able to start building toward our goal of being able to tailor responses to client need. And remember, we need more clients for more capital… So what are we focusing on?” The room was too warm to be productive for this kind of meeting, he realized. When the eleven men before him responded with “more clients!” it was not only less hearty than he would have liked, several of them looked genuinely confused as to what the meeting had actually been about. Damian couldn’t talk to anyone about turning up the air conditioning without being reminded that their planet was being destroyed because of their need for ultimate comfort—at least, that was the way Brian in HR put it every month when Damian went to complain. “Okay,” he continued. “Let’s all look forward to tomorrow’s recap email; you can shoot back any questions—” “I’ve got a question,” said Jamie in his jagged baritone. He leaned back in his chair, his lids drooping as he spoke. “Is the retreat still going to be catered?” At the mention of the quarterly retreat, every

man in the room straightened up. This year, they would be in Maine in a luxurious resort where they could request more types of massages than they could possibly have time to receive. It was one of the perks that many higher-level employees signed on for exclusively, partially because of the parties Damian tended to fund while they were there— Damian Wyles’ parties had always been worthwhile in Silicon Valley. Jamie was still speaking. “Those salmon rolls were divine last year. Most perfect things ever. I’ve been dreaming about them every night since the last one cleared my system.” “With Lola next you?” Gary said, leaning across the gleaming table to show Jamie his roguish wink. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.” Damian closed his eyes, resisting the urge to roll them. “Guys, can we keep things professional here?” Jamie snorted. “You wouldn’t be so eager to jump behind the wheel with Lola if you’d been on the rides I’ve been on,” he said darkly. Gary’s expression turned curious. “What do you mean?” Jamie shrugged. “My tastes are a little more vanilla, I guess. Once I start bruising, I’m out. There’s a reason Lola has so many private tennis

lessons—better him than me.” “Okay, gentlemen, it’s nearly eight,” Damian said hastily, waving his arms toward the door. “We should all head out. We can talk about the retreat as we get closer to the event.” The men finally started to stand, but now they’d all broken out into various shades of lewd conversation. Damien pulled his blazer on and walked through the long, mirrored conference room, thankfully slipping out before Jacob could finish telling Miles about the time he and his girlfriend went skinny dipping in Majorca and nearly got arrested for indecent exposure. Someone near the door called his name before he closed the door, but they were pulled into another conversation before they could even finish addressing him, so he turned out and completed his exit uninterrupted. The dim fluorescent lights told him it was past eight o’clock now, so the silence of the hall wasn’t at all out of place. His footsteps were completely swallowed by the plush blue carpet, the fibers reaching up to sweep the top of his gleaming black loafers. Damian caught sight of himself in the glass door of his office before he unlocked it, and he was shocked to see that his skin was far paler than usual, his wavy black hair making him look more vampire-like rather than camera ready. His legs

were aching as he closed the door behind him, and he took solace in the fact that it was Friday— meaning he could sleep in as late as eight or nine if he wanted, though his body surely wouldn’t let him lay around that long. Damian’s office sat in the corner of the thirtieth floor of a slate gray building on Palm, two blocks from the center of Mountain View’s downtown area. He could see the bay, and the windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling of his back wall also gave him an incredible view of a good half of the city, and even parts of Palo Alto if the fog wasn’t pressing against the glass. He remembered the first time he’d seen the view from his window, four years before; IQID had just begun to come into its own, with its first televised commercials rolling out around Labor Day. “IQID is Identification protection—that’s the ID—that works smarter to keep you safe—that’s the IQ!” Chirped the bubbly young woman in front of her laptop. The letters floated above her as she spoke, and Damien was so shocked at seeing his company name in glossy, computer-generated letters on his flat screen that he had been momentarily convinced that someone was actually pranking him. By the fifth time he’d viewed the commercial, things were starting to feel real, and his half a million subscribers went a long way

toward helping that feeling solidify. Then Damian got the news that they could buy three floors of the huge building on Palm he’d strolled past a million times while he interned at Intracode, and his dream-like sensation sharpened and receded at the same time, somehow—like he was trapped in limbo, or that strange space between sleep and waking where thoughts and words drifted away and were never heard from again. He got that feeling every time he looked out the window for nearly two years; after that, the reality of the relentlessly gray life in the tech capital of the world started to dull his reactions to everything else. Damian kept his shades drawn during the daytime, especially. A soft chime filled the room, and the cool voice of his assistant followed. “Will you be needing takeout ordered, Mr. Wyles?” “No, Alexis,” Damian answered, “and hey— go home. Have a good weekend.” “Yes, sir,” Alexis said, and he could hear the relief in her tone, though she tried hard to hide it. “You, too. Don’t forget to find your dress shoes tonight.” As the intercom fell into silence again, Damian felt confusion tint the words tumbling around his skull. Dress shoes? What did he need dress shoes for?

Damian’s eyes rose to the LED calendar he kept on the wall at the exact moment he remembered his gala. Despair flooded his weary bones, and he collapsed into the chair behind his desk as his visions of a relaxing Saturday evening at home were dispelled. He’d forgotten he bought a $20,000 table at a charity gala a month ago, and not only did he invite friends to fill the seats, the chairman of the Lupus charity was expecting him to show. That would mean a minimum of three hours of rubbing shoulders with men who would kill their own trophy wives to be able to steal his youth and vigor, and women who would smother their lauded husbands for a weekend with him—every one of them climbing all over themselves to impress or undermine him with every word. He got enough ass-kissing in his school days; he’d done enough ass-kissing, too, come to think of it. A crowd of voices moved down the hall toward the bank of elevators around the corner from his office. His inner door was open, so their words were just clear enough to make out as they went by. “Yeah, I’d like that too,” someone was saying. “But we already know that doesn’t work.” “Those women went about it all wrong,” said a second voice. “You have to be accommodating and transparent every step of the way—or at least

appear that way.” “For the shareholders?” “No,” the second voice said mildly. “For the public. That was their downfall—the public can and will affect your success, even before you open the doors on your product.” “How do you even call a people tracking app a product, anyway?” the man said, who sounded a lot like Gary. “Don’t call it tracking, for one,” said the other man, who was probably Miles. “It’s surveying. Curating. Recording.” “Stalking,” said a third man. “You can’t have an app where you review people, period. I know you want this to work, Miles, but it’s going to fail. Hell, the boss tried to do it before you did—you think you have a better shot?” Damian rose from his seat and closed the door to his inner office before he had the time to catch Miles’ indignant reply. His face was burning, and he was struggling to contain his shame at the mention of his old project, even though the name hadn’t even been uttered aloud. A people reviewing app. Damian smiled, bittersweet memories rushing back as he recalled his time only seven years before. The app had begun as a way to alert

vulnerable people about abusive men in their area, aptly named Lookout4. Damian’s younger sister June had a habit of attracting men who were as violent as they were good looking, and he wanted a way to warn other women before they walked into the same trap. After a year, the app had a respectable presence on college campuses, and the then 24-year-old Damian Wyles was riding high on his own success. He felt that he’d done his duty to make sure the app was stable and functional, so when a buyer came forward with a price tag far higher than the app’s worth, he jumped at the chance. Suddenly, he had enough money to start a new business while the app he founded spiraled into a bloated platform for advertisements and pointless features that turned Lookout4 into more of a social media hangout than an alert system. “They added aesthetic ratings,” Damian told June over the phone one night. “And stickers. You can slap on a cherry stamp or a sparkly birthday cake next to Richard Banks’ long list of domestic offenses, if you want.” “Good thing you got out,” June said calmly. “Sounds like it really changed.” “It changed because I left,” Damian replied. “If I hadn’t sold the company, who knows what it would have been.” This wasn’t how the rest of the world saw it,

however; because of media spin, the world thought Damian Wyles’ pet project tanked after a year, only to be rescued and then eventually mercy killed by Johnathan “Jack” Summers, the investor whose managerial and operational tweaks often rescued a project that should have been dead. Worse, Jack Summers didn’t deny this rumor at all—it was better than letting people know the truth, which might lead them to realize that his success rate wasn’t as high as it seemed. Damian didn’t push the issue, because Lookout4 was long gone—plus, he really hated dealing with Jack Summers. Jack loved riding his old friends’ coattails to his destinations and then throwing them under a passing bus if it felt convenient, so they were closer to enemies than former business partners; still, Jack’s acquisition of Lookout4 made IQID possible, so Damian tried not to harbor too much animosity toward him. Damian realized the hall had been silent for quite some time. He put away his notes and locked the drawers on his desk, pulling his phone off its charger before switching off the overhead light in his inner office. His outer office was already dark, but he knew how to locate the door handle from five years of making this exact trek in various states of darkness and daylight. This office had been his home more than the apartment he owned had been at first; Damian remembered his long nights of coding and correcting with a mixture of fondness

and joy—he’d never be so young and energetic ever again, but he also was far more confident now, and his success was undeniable. He might get nostalgic, he decided, but he was definitely happier now. The elevator doors showed him his face again in their reflective surface as they slid closed, and he was struck by the depth of the circles beneath his eyes—they were soft and purpled, like two impressionist black holes beneath twin pools of crystal blue water. He closed his eyes again. I need a drink.

**** Damian hesitated before pulling the royal blue door of the bar open, noticing the strange coolness of the metal handle as he pressed his palm against it. He could feel all of his nervous energy getting transferred to the chipped paint, and he wondered if his hand would come away with blue when he pulled it back, the colors warmed and runny from his heat. Just go in, he told himself firmly. You’ve been to bars before. So this one’s sketchy? You’ve been to sketchy bars before. Just go in, don’t look at anyone, and head toward the bar. The gloom upon entering didn’t surprise Damian. Circular lamps hung from the high ceiling, dangling fifteen feet above their heads like huge fireflies without wings, punctuating the dark every ten feet or so with their soft yellow glow. He wasn’t surprised to find the jukebox playing a country song he couldn’t name or even recognize as five or six patrons sat in chairs near the center of the room, seated around each other but not in a way that suggested they were sitting together. Damian was surprised to find the bar almost completely deserted except for two women and a man who appeared to be sleeping, unless corpses could snore.

The stool was softer than it looked, and Damian was only seated for a second before the bartender appeared before him, the cleanliness of her uniform somewhat ruined by her unkempt chestnut-colored bun. “What’ll you have?” “Uh, Fat Tire, please?” The bartender nodded and shuffled away to pull out a glass from under the bar. Now that his eyes had adjusted, Damian could see that there were a few more people present than he realized— and more of them were women than he’d first noticed, as well. As the waitress came back with his beer, he could feel more eyes turning toward him and climbing the fabric of his slacks and blazer— and doing more than just studying the carefully muscled body filling out the all-black ensemble; Damian knew from experience that many women who approached him in bars knew the price tags of his clothing better than he did. His eyes turned to the two women at the other end of the L-shaped bar, giggling together with their heads almost touching above their drinks. The one with her face turned away from him had short, curly black hair and a low, sultry laugh, but the one he could see was laughing loudly and in such a high-pitched tone that it almost seemed like the call of some jungle bird—sharp and lilting and echoing

through your body so as to almost be alarming, but commanding, so you could do nothing but listen. She had thick red hair softly curling inward just above her collarbone, and the deep blue of her collared button-down shirt brought out the warm tones of her chocolate brown eyes. Her heartshaped face was alive with delight at something her friend was saying, and as she lifted her drink, the deep pucker of her lips sent a violent shiver down his spine. Damian turned away, suddenly conscious of his staring. He took a long drink of his beer, uncomfortably aware of every fiber in his blazer as he fought to sort through the storm of emotions prohibiting his train of thought. Drink, he thought desperately, and his hand was halfway to his mouth again before he clarified to himself: Send her a drink. You should send her a drink. Damian waved the bartender over with a twenty between his fingers and noted that she moved much faster this time. “Would you please send another of what that lovely redhead is drinking over to her at the end of the bar? And keep them coming. Let her know she doesn’t owe me a thing.” He ran a sweaty palm through his hair and glanced at his reflection in the dusty mirror over the bar. Pushing his hand through it had given him a

pleasant bed-head look, but his eyes were still worryingly bagged. Should he call it a night after this? Damian looked over at the young woman, whose eyes were trained on the bartender as she explained where the new drink had come from. The curly haired woman looked over at him curiously, but the redhead stared at the martini in shock for a few moments before looking up and smiling at him —wide enough to show dimples on both of her cheeks. She lifted the drink and nodded, and Damian forced himself to do the same, just to be in motion so the fine tremble in his body wouldn’t be evident from across the room. A wave of energy slid across his skin— slow and bone meltingly-hot, like lava— and the burn lingered even after she finally tore her eyes away from his. Good job, Damian congratulated himself as he drained the last of his beer. Now don’t screw it up. You should probably leave ASAP, in fact. His eyes finally noticed the television in a high corner near him, and he glued his eyes to the screen as a slow smile slid across his face. He had no idea what he was looking at, because the redhead’s dazzling grin was branded into his vision like an afterimage, so the moving pictures before his eyes might as well have been static. He felt like a stone had been sitting on his heart, and the lift in her

cheeks had tumbled it over. You sound like you hit your head, he told himself sternly. It’s definitely time to leave. Before he could motion to close his tab, the bartender thunked down another frosty glass of Fat Tire, smiling faintly at his surprise. “From the… ‘lovely redhead’ drinking martinis. Says you’re a true gentleman.” Damian’s gentle smile was spreading when another voice spoke at his side, “Should have just told you that myself.” He turned and had to fight to hide his surprise to find the redhead standing before him. She laughed, and Damian realized he hadn’t hid it well at all. “I’m Rebecca—or Becca, if you like.” The woman gestured to the empty seat beside him. “May I? My friend has had enough, and I hate to drink alone.” He nodded and looked in time to see her friend stumbling out on coltish legs on the arm of a rotund man he hadn’t seen at the bar. “I’m Damian...wow. It’s before ten and she’s already had…enough?” Becca shrugged, and Damian realized she was nearly a foot shorter than him just before she settled onto the stool, which made her around five-

two. “We’re celebrating. Well, she is.” She wrinkled her nose and shot a dark glance toward the now closed door, scratched and covered in faded stickers from chain restaurants and now defunct bands and brands. Damian didn’t say anything, but his raised eyebrows provided all the permission Becca needed. “She got a promotion at work, but it’s not for a good reason,” she said carefully, sipping her drink as she paused. “The boss—you saw him with her— did a favor for her once, and now he’s holding this over her head so she’ll do one back… if you know what I mean.” Damian was shocked—that it was happening, and that Becca was telling a man she’d just met. The shock must have shown clearly on his face, because she laughed again—the same hard, almost braying laugh that compelled him to lean closer rather than further away from the noise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m screwing with you. It’s her thirtieth and she got a little too saucy on her birthday shots. Her husband is taking her home.” Damian laughed, but shock was still coursing through him, but for a different reason now. “Do you normally play jokes like that on strangers who buy you drinks? Or just ones who are clearly stuck-

up tech guys like me?” Becca’s eyes widened with remorse, and Damian regretted the sharpness of his words. “No, oh god, no! I’m sorry, I just have this horrible sense of humor—I mean, my friends like it, and so does my mom, but that doesn’t mean you should, too.” Her cheeks were rapidly turning from cream to rose quartz to satin red, and Damian took pity on her. “I’m sorry, I’ll just…I’ll just go—” “No,” he said, and it cut off her speech immediately. “No, it’s fine. I can be a little stuffy at times. It was funny, I’m just…” he trailed off, wondering if he should tell the truth. Damian looked into Becca’s contrite eyes and saw nothing but warmth in their depths, so he decided to plunge ahead. “I kind of hate my job,” he said at last. “I used to be passionate about it, but now it’s all about the money. Just money. And now, I’m always bored and angry,” Damian said, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s terrible. I’m miserable, even though it seems like I have everything I could ever want.” He paused. “I lost all my friends building this wall around me until I became…this. And I know it probably seems like I’m some rich jerk feeding you lines so he can get off and put another notch on his bed post, but that’s not the case.” Becca’s frown had been neutralizing as he

spoke, and now she smiled at him, her lips curving under her wonder. “Well, I’m a newspaper journalist who also hates her job, and who took it because she thought it would lead to nobility and prestige. I do alright for myself, but I’m certainly not in your tax bracket,” she said, her eyes rolling at him over the rim of her glass. “So even with all that money, you’re still not happy, Mr. Silicon Valley Millionaire?” “That’s right,” he admitted. technically, I’m a billionaire.”

“Although

Becca’s eyebrows shot up, and she laughed. “Billionaire, then. Gosh. And to think I almost didn’t come over here and talk to you.” Damian smiled. “Why did you decide to?” Becca leaned in as the bartender replaced her drink. “This is embarrassing, but my best friend pressured me to do it.” He laughed, but kindly. “Peer pressure?” “We live thirty miles away, in Daly City,” Becca explained, her eyes shining. “Her husband wanted us to relive the nights we used to have in college…and we kind of did,” she said, chuckling. “Laura always ended up puking, Jeff danced on tables…that’s probably why none of us drink anymore.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I was always the wild card, and I’d do anything on a dare.

Laura dared me to come over and talk to you, so I was bound by the laws of best friendship.” Damian smiled and took a drink of his beer. “It’s sweet that you still adhere to that code. A lot of people let that kind of thing go as they get older.” Becca leaned a little closer to him and shrugged again. “I’m only twenty-eight. Not old enough to use age as an excuse to be a bad friend.” He felt his smile grow sad before Becca’s frown told him it did. “Sorry,” he said hastily. “You reminded me that a group of people I used to think were friends did exactly that five years ago. But don’t let me put a damper on things.” Becca looked curious now. “No, tell me about it. I want to know about you.” She smiled, and the heat beneath it sent a bolt of lust through Damian mid-sip. “That’s the real reason I came over here, after all.” So he did. Damian told her all about how he, Jack Summer, Roger Wolf, and Ian Rivers had all been roommates throughout college, sharing goals and ideals as well as toothpaste. Then Jack and Ian started to get money-hungry, buying tiny tech businesses and flipping them on the side for profit. Then Damian’s company got involved, and when Jack flipped it, he took credit for the surge in stock

while also distancing himself from both Damian and Ian. Roger assumed they’d all been colluding and pulled out, forming an angel investment group and spreading dirt about all three of them so that their reputations were tarnished before they knew it. He told Becca all of this, and about his lingering pain over losing his best friends. She told him about growing up in Maine and nearly drowning in the river because her brother convinced her that she was a mermaid. They told each other secrets and stories for hours, until it was past midnight, and both of them were flustered and giggly from drinking and talking with their dizzy heads close. “Okay,” Becca said at last. “Okay…wow, I put away five of these things,” she slurred, leaning a hand on Damian’s thigh. “I really am reliving those wild college nights.” She giggled shrilly, and the sound was just as charming as her squawking laugh. Damian felt an odd tug on his heart, and he smiled. “I’d be studying if that were true for me,” he said, his voice louder than he realized. “And a fox like you would have never spoken to me while I was driving my daddy’s car.” Becca laughed and leaned against him harder, her breath smelling of gin and mint. “Fox?”

Damian blushed, but he met her eyes, his heart pounding now that he saw how close her lips were to his. “Yeah,” he said brazenly, covering her hand with his. “Fox. A stone cold one. What of it?” When Becca laughed this time, her breasts brushed across his arm, and he noticed, for the first time, how full and heavy they seemed against the front of her shirt. Her thighs were shapely, perfectly filling out her black pencil skirt; he reached under the table and stroked her knee, slowly inching his hand toward her hip. To his surprise, Becca leaned closer, brushing her lips across his jawbone before she spoke. “Are you a lazy dog, or do you wanna jump this fox?” Becca turned toward him again, and Damian leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers as she did. A tide of last crashed over him, and he felt it roll over her as she shivered and strained to be nearer to him. He reached out and scooted her stool closer, and she made a soft moan of surprise, but wrapped her arms around his neck as he gently nibbled on the flesh of her bottom lip. Becca’s right hand slipped down his chest and lingered on his belt loop, and Damian’s heart nearly exploded as it finally drifted south to squeeze on the growing bulge in front of his slacks. His hands rested on her thighs, then slid slowly up until they forced up the fabric of her skirt, his fingers digging into her

curves until she cried out into his kiss. Suddenly she was pulling back, and Damian felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He was gasping slightly, not caring that the bartender was staring. “Sorry,” Becca was saying as she tugged on her skirt. “Sorry. Oh god—” She hopped down from her stool and wobbled toward the door, hooking her purse under her arm as she wrenched the door open. Damian closed his tab out and ran after her, hoping he wasn’t too late. He was nearly as drunk as she was, but he spotted her in the parking lot as she was walking toward the bus station. “Becca!” Amazingly, she stopped. Damian ran until he caught up with her, and was alarmed to see that her eyes were swimming with tears. “I don’t do that anymore,” she said softly. “I don’t go home with pretty boys on the first night because they buy me drinks—not anymore.” “Then don’t,” Damian said earnestly. “I’m not asking you to.” Becca looked suspicious. “Really,” he continued. “I’m not. Becca, you’re beautiful, but that’s not what I want in a

woman. I want strength, intelligence, humor…” Damian paused, dropping his eyes. When he pulled them up again, he took a chance and grabbed hold of one of her soft, warm hands. “Becca, I want you, and I want to get to know you more, if you’ll let me. And I know you feel the same about me…I can see it. I can feel it.” Becca was watching him silently, her eyes unreadable. Damian thought she might walk away, or even laugh in his face or slap him—but she smiled, and it was like the sun slipping out to burn away the clouds. “Okay,” she said. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in it.”

**** “Mr. Wyles? Mr. Wyles?” Damian looked up to find Alexis standing over him, a look of concern on her face. “Sorry?” “I asked if you wanted lunch?” Alexis repeated. “Something from the bakery—” “No,” he cut in, smiling. “That’s fine, thank you.” Alexis hesitated, but she backed away, nodding. It wasn’t the first time in the last four weeks she’d found him daydreaming, and it wouldn’t be the last—not if he kept seeing Becca as frequently as he did. Hell, even if he stopped seeing her, he’d probably continue to think about her uninterrupted until the day he died, because nothing on Earth was better than being with her. It wasn’t an overstatement or a delusion. Spending time with Becca made him happier than anything had in years, and it showed. He was more productive while he was working, but when he wasn’t, he was reliving the previous night’s date or heavy physical encounter with eyes wide open, sometimes even with people around. Becca continued to keep sex off the table, but Damian was more than happy with where they

were at presently. She really was the most striking woman he’d ever seen, and though she was small, she was strong and passionate and seemed as enthralled with him and he was with her. Because it sometimes took her an hour to get to his place, he sent a car for her and sent one back so she wouldn’t worry about falling asleep. They both worked early and had long hours most days, so their few hours were either languorously sensual or crammed with activity. Their first week, he took her to Chinatown and they had a private dinner on the rooftop of his favorite restaurant. The second week, he flew her to New York to see her favorite play on Broadway. They stayed in a swanky hotel on Fifth Avenue where he’d spent all night exploring her supple body with his mouth and tongue, kissing over her pale nipples and nibbling the mounds of her breasts as his fingers ran over the slowly dampening triangle of cloth between her legs. While he kissed her, she tugged on his throbbing shaft while he struggled to keep from exploding, not wanting the moment to end before it had to. She only let him caress her until she got close, and when his breath came too fast, she made him back off. Still, they lay together for hours, and by the third week, Damian was sending Becca roses at work every day. His own employees were giving him grief for

it, but he didn’t mind—until something happened to bring him under a microscope. “Have you seen this?” Victor, his security expert, was showing him reports of a data breach. Their software, which was supposed to protect sensitive information and alert its users of credit changes, had somehow glitched and made thousands of customers vulnerable. Damian stared at the report helplessly, trying to understand how this could have happened. He triple checked all the code himself before it was implemented, and it was run through security walls. They’d done tests with the best hackers available, and everything had checked out. This isn’t possible, he thought, even as his eyes told him it was. It’s not happening. “This is bad, boss,” Miles said gravely. “People are upset. They feel exposed, upset, like we messed up—and I feel like we did.” Gary was nodding, but his eyes had a nasty glint. “Not trying to point fingers, but you’ve been very strict with who’s allowed to go over that code before it was implemented. Maybe if you hadn’t…” Damian bristled, rage flashing through him. “What are you saying, Gary? That you’re a better coder than I am?” Gary shrank back into his chair, but his eyes

remained defiant. “I’m just saying. You’ve been understandably distracted. We dropped the ball on this one, because you always say we’re a team— but maybe we wouldn’t have dropped it if we were more of a team. Do you know what I’m saying?” Damian did, but he didn’t respond. The rest of the men sensed his anger and fell silent, dropping their eyes one by one. “Get back to work,” Damian said coldly. “All of you.” The shock of their faces was worth his sudden change in tone. He watched them stand and start to filter out, but their motion was stopped by Victor standing and raising his hand. “Just got word,” he said, peering at his tablet. “I ran a sweep, because I don’t think you’d make a lazy mistake,” he shot a look at Gary, “and it paid off. Looks like we have evidence of a bug being planted from our side that weakened our defenses, then the hack occurred.” Damian swallowed, his heartbeat speeding up. “Wait. You mean…it was an attack? And someone planted the bug from within our systems?” Victor nodded, then frowned as he realized the implications. His eyes swept over the men, and smiled a predatory smile that held no warmth.

“Looks like we’ll be working late tonight, boys.” Damian sat in his office and called Becca from his cellphone. “Hello?” “Hey,” he said. “I have bad news.” “No!” Becca said. “You’re cancelling on me?” “Yeah.” Damian sighed. “It looked like we were hacked, and someone helped them from our side.” Becca gasped. employees?”

“What?

One

of

your

“Probably a higher up,” he confirmed. “Victor is doing some questioning now, and he’s also trying to find out more about the bug.” Becca made a thoughtful noise. “Hey, why don’t I come visit you? You sound super stressed. I bet I can help with that.” Damian laughed. “Becca, I highly doubt what you’ll do to me will relieve pressure.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke again. “Are you sure about that?” Damian started to respond, but her velvet tones made him pause. “Are you saying you want to…”

“Yeah,” Becca chirped. Damian let out a startled laugh. “Here? Now?” “No time like the present,” she confirmed. “I’m putting on my shoes now. But no pants,” she said softly. The front of his slacks were straining at the zipper when he hung up, and Damian passed a hand over his erection, his mind buzzing with thoughts. He had no idea what had made Becca decide she was ready to have sex with him, but he was incredibly grateful she was finally comfortable enough. She used sex as an ice breaker in college, she explained, but she tried to make it more personal now.

**** Damian heard her lock the outer door behind her as she came in, and his heart leapt to his throat. He’d taken off his shirt and belt in anticipation of her arrival, and he was standing when she strode in, red hair floating around her like a burning halo. She was wearing his own tan-colored trench coat belted tightly around her waist, and her eyes were alive with fire as she looked into his eyes. Becca unwound the belt and let the coat fall to the floor, revealing her naked body in all its glory. Her tear drop shaped breasts swung as she stepped toward him, and he started to push his pants to the floor just as she reached his side of the desk. Becca met his eyes and smiled, flashing him her dimples as she stretched up on tip toes to wrap her arms around him. Her stomach brushed his erection, and she giggled. “Someone’s happy to see me.” Damian slid his palms against the warm curve of her ass and pulled her soft body against his. “I’m always happy to see you, Becca. I want you, and I love you.” Her mouth fell open, and Damian realized he’d never said it aloud before now. He wondered

if he should take it back, but he couldn’t do it without feeling like he was lying, so he waited for her to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. There was fear in her eyes, but something else, too —and it was slowly taking over and warming her gaze until her dimples returned, and she smiled again. “I love you, too,” she said softly, and Damian saw at once that she meant it. His heart cracked open, and he lifted Becca with both hands and lowered her body to the desk, raking his eyes down the curve of her body as he pressed his engorged cock against her already slick folds. Becca pressed her hips upward as Damian leaned forward, sinking himself inside her slowly, so that her walls quivered as they swallowed his shaft. Damian leaned his body against hers, relishing the press of her round breasts against his hard chest as he hilted himself inside her. He gasped and thrusted again, grinding his weight against her clit as he moved. “Oh,” she breathed against his ear. “God, Damian. You feel…perfect.” Becca’s strong thighs locked around his waist as he slowly drew back and pushed his shaft inside her again. His body was on fire with pleasure, but he fought to pace himself as he slipped inside her over and over again. Damian gazed down at

Becca’s face, her features a picture of rapture as he slipped out of her and surged forward again, pressing against her g-spot as his strokes grew harder and faster. Damian buried his face in the soft curve of her neck, fingers pulling and twisting on the point of her nipple. He’d never felt anything so incredible, and he was sure he’d never feel it again, so he needed to make it last as long as possible. Becca’s sharp, delirious cries spurred him as he drove his hips against hers, and Damian felt controlled as he pounded her body harder and faster against the desk, but the gentle squeeze of her body was too intense to resist for long. “Becca!” Damian called, digging his fingers into her breasts as his member rocketed between her thighs, slick with her wetness. “Becca, I’m coming!” “I’m coming!” she screamed at the same time, throwing her head back as she shouted her pleasure to the ceiling. “Damian! Oh, Damian!” She bucked her hips upward and screamed a final time, just as he exploded inside her spasming walls. Damian saw stars as he slumped over her body, pushing himself against her weakly as her cries softened and lowered in pitch. Damian kissed her as he pulled out, handing

her a towel he’d kept by the desk for this occasion in particular. Becca giggled at the gesture. “Thank you. You’re prepared.” Damian pulled out a towel of his own. “Damn right I am.” The intercom chimed, and Victor’s voice issued into the room. “Hey, boss? I need you. Alone.” Damian raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Wow, that sounds serious. Think we got caught?” Becca smiled as she pulled the trench coat over her body, but it was distracted. “What?” Damian laughed. “I’ll let you collect your thoughts.” He finished dressing and walked out to his outer office to find Victor standing near the door, his expression grim. Damian frowned. “Did we hit the intercom button? Did everyone hear us?” Victor shook his head and held out a manila file folder. “Look at this.” Damian was disconcerted by Victor’s attitude and opened the folder without question, flipping through the pictures and sheets of paper as he

spoke. “Looks like you were targeted,” Victor said. “But not just in general—someone was trying to embarrass you. Ruin you.” Damian’s eyes skidded over emails between someone named Falcon and a series of people who only went by their initials. They were all discussing various plots to take his company down, shame him publicly, and hurt him—but why? These people had personal knowledge of him and his family members…as well as his old friends from school, Jack, Roger, and Ian, who were mentioned there by name. So someone is targeting some tech brats? Damian looked up, the confusion clear on his face. “What do we do with this?” he asked. “It seems like this is your arena. Find out motive, turn this in, that kind of thing.” The door opened behind him, and Victor looked uncomfortable. “One of the people conspiring against you was actually someone they recruited, and they pulled out early. I thought that was odd, so I did some digging…they only went by B. But there’s a series of pictures there, of them meeting and handing over a small device that was probably used to hack into the system.” Damian went through the pictures again, more slowly this time. Victor was watching him, so he

assumed he’d know it when he saw it—and he did. It was Becca. He turned around to find her standing before him, tears streaming from her eyes. She already knew. “Did you just fuck me because you knew you were about to get caught?” Becca winced at his phrasing and took a few steps toward him. “N-no! Damian, it’s not like that —” “Then what is it like?” he spat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Becca held up her hands, as if in defense. “They told me you had something to do with a human trafficking ring,” she said softly. “A few tech giants are, they’ve proven it to me and a few others—and they thought you were one of them.” “So you attacked my company?” Damian shouted. “You planted that bug on my phone with that little device, didn’t you? Used the moment to get what you wanted. Why not just call the cops?” “The police weren’t cooperating!” Becca said, stretching her arms toward him. “They weren’t listening to us! And Damian, I only planted that device because I thought you were in on it, and they needed to make you vulnerable so you’d come

forward—” Becca sobbed. She pressed her hands over her mouth and took a deep breath before dropping them. “They were going to use me to do it. But then… I fell in love with you,” she said gently, resting a hand on his arm. “I did, Damian—I love you so much.” Damian was shaking his head. “Fuck no.” Becca’s eyes were wide with terror and pain. “Damian, please, let me make this up to you—” “You can’t,” Damian cut in, and the finality of his tone made her stop short. “You betrayed me. I don’t forgive after that.” He looked at Victor. “Get her out of here.” The heartbreak on her face was sharp enough to slice his veins. Becca screamed as Victor pulled her back. “Damian!” He turned away from her cries, stone cold from the feeling of betrayal that now wracked his soul.

**** Damian tried hard to come into work the next day, but he couldn’t get further than his doorstep. Everything in his apartment reminded him of Becca, even though they’d only been seeing each other a month: a keychain from the Museum of Modern Art; a finger trap they’d gotten caught in before the first night he dipped his tongue between her legs; a t-shirt she’d danced around in after finding out she had one more vacation day she could take this month. That day, they’d stayed in his bed and eaten pizza while watching movies and kissing the breath from each other’s lungs. Her hair left a scent on his pillow each night, no matter how long she laid her head on the case, and he breathed her in while he had slept. By the third day, he was dodging calls as well as concerned emails, shutting down all queries with a single, artful word. Some of the customers wanted monetary restitution—would he make a statement? No. The shareholders wanted to be reassured that nothing out of sorts was going on at IQID. Would he send an email? No.

A new employee has been hired, can he sign off on the forms? No. Was he okay? No. The ache after the initial pain was somehow worse than the sting itself. Damian couldn’t believe how hollow he felt, like a straw had just been pulled from his back. Even after the end of the first week, he couldn’t feel anything stronger than mild annoyance; then, one day, he broke a mug Becca had given him. Instead of being upset, he’d gotten angry, and he’d stayed angry since—though sometimes the bubbling rage cooled to a gently meandering acidic river. He poured his energy into pure loathing: of the mailman, of the birds outside, of bicycle bells; even a delivered lemon tart wasn’t exempt from the irrational hatred that kept him up at night. The only place his hatred never ended up was around the thought of Becca. He never considered why because he never directly thought about Becca. Damian forced himself to think of other things, and it worked splendidly—until it didn’t anymore, and he was lost in a pit of despair again. One night he made the mistake of wandering around the city and ended up that dive bar where he first met Becca. Against his

better judgement, he even went in. Everything was exactly the same. It gave him more than comfort, and Damian signaled for a Fat Tire as he settled into the same stool. The room was just as empty as before, which wasn’t surprising, because it was a Wednesday morning. The bartender eyed him as he handed over his credit card, and he felt the stubble on his jaw as she plucked it from his fingers. He felt a flash of hatred for her, but it was half-hearted. Hate Becca, he told himself. Why don’t you hate Becca? The answer was simple: love. Damian had never been so in love with someone in his life, and part of him was happy to stay head-over-heels for her as long as he’d let himself. The other part of him was tired of being walked on, though, and it was hard and unyielding inside him. But what had that part gotten him since he’d developed it? Nothing, he realized. In fact, it had lost him more than anything else. He’d just had a chance at an incredible love, and it had withered away because he didn’t want to forgive. Damian gulped his beer, tears burning the backs of his eyes as he realized he may never have another chance. “Bad beer?” Damian nearly choked. Becca was standing beside him, holding a glass of Fat Tire out to him with her brown eyes held wide and careful. He

started to rise and leave, but the hope in her eyes was too fresh to kill. I’ll hear her out, he decided. Though nothing can fix this. Becca sat on the stool and stared at her hands for a moment. Damian felt another flash of hatred, but this time for himself—he wanted to kiss her already, and she hadn’t even begun speaking. When she did, it didn’t get better. She raised her eyes to his, and a ripple of need passed through him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t say it enough. I’m so sorry. But I have to tell you—I never lied about anything else.” Damian snorted. “Right.” Becca winced. “I deserve that, but I’m telling you the truth,” she said urgently. “And I think I’ve figured out how to show you.” She pulled something from her purse and set it on the bar, sliding it over for him to examine under the dim light. Damian saw that it was a laminated identification badge for her newspaper. His thoughts descended into a confused chaos, but his heart pounded in acknowledgement of what this must mean. “I quit,” Becca said. “And before you say anything…I didn’t quit for you. I hated my job anyway, you know that. I would have quit if a better job offer came up.”

Damian smiled. “But?” Becca smiled back. “But…I did quit because of you. Because you reminded me that I can be passionate about things, and love things with all of my being. You taught me that I’m still alive, so I should be living…and that starts with love.” She placed one hand on his, and the warmth made him ecstatic. “You made me rediscover what it felt like. Even if you don’t forgive me…thank you. I can go chase my dreams now. I feel like my heart was clogged, and you snaked the drain.” Becca blushed as she finished speaking and dropped her eyes. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.” Damian watched her study the glass of beer before her, brown eyes anxiously tracking the bubbles as they zipped around the glass. A part of him wanted to leave—just turn around and walk out of Becca’s life, never to see her again. It wouldn’t be hard to avoid her with the amount of money he had—but it would be hard on his heart. It was clenching even as he watched her frown, just knowing she was unhappy; Damian desperately wanted to kiss away her tension and sadness until she laughed like the first night he met her. Could he forgive her after her betrayal? Could he love unguarded again? Damian made several decisions at once. He

drank the rest of his beer and set down a tip for the bartender before he turned to Becca. She gazed at him hopefully, the warmth in her honey brown eyes heating him to his core. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “There’s only one way I’ll forgive you.” Becca’s hopeful smile faltered. “If we’re going to be together, we need to work as a team—and this team likes kayaking. I have a little house in Maine that’s right on a river; I know you’re afraid of deep water because of your little mermaid stint, but I need you to at least try for me.” The smile that spread across Becca’s face was infectious. He was grinning as she leapt into his arms, and Damian stood and spun her around as her arching laughter filled the darkened bar. The patrons shot them dirty looks as they celebrated, but neither Damian nor Becca noticed—they were far too comfortable in their steely bubble of new love. One of the yellowed lamps above them fizzled and blew out, but their lips touched as the bulb darkened; Damian’s heart pounded in his chest, heavy with joy in the realization that Becca’s love brought him the key to feeling like a real person again. He was never letting her go.

THE END

RAVAGED: A MENAGE A fun little bonus just in time for the Halloween season… Madison raked her fingers back through her hair and stared at the computer screen, reading through the email again just to make sure that she had understood the message. She gave a short laugh when she realized that she had, indeed, read it correctly and that the people who sent it were absolutely serious about their offer. It had been less than a week since her grandmother had left her the sprawling mansion on the hill at the edge of town, but she was already having a paranormal group asking permission to do an investigation. She wasn't sure if she should be offended at their hastiness, or feel bad that they had nothing better to do with their careers than cruise the obituaries and real estate logs waiting to pounce on whoever inherited the next creepy old house. Going through the email one more time just for good measure, Madison reached across the desk to pick up her phone. She dialed her best friend and didn't bother to wait for a greeting. "What do you know about Noah Hix?" she

asked as soon as she heard the click that indicated Dianna had picked up the phone. "Hi, Madison. Are you feeling better?" "Yes, yes, yes. Hello, I'm alive, my grandmother still isn't, but there are silver linings and rainbows after the storm in my future. What do you know about Noah Hix?" "Mourning doesn't do good things for you." "Does mourning usually do good things for people, Dianna?" There was a long pause and Madison could almost see the expression on her best friend's face as the question churned through the gears in her mind. "No." "Ok, then. What do you know about Noah Hix?" The truth was Madison wouldn't really describe herself as being "in mourning". She hadn't seen her grandmother in months after her condition disintegrated so far that she didn't even resemble the woman Madison had always known, and in that time she had already had the opportunity to mourn her. Her death was just a formality and by the time it happened, Madison had already worked through all of the emotions and accepted it. "You mean the gorgeous paranormal investigator?" "I'm assuming that's the one."

"He has his own web show where he goes to haunted locations and does paranormal investigations and then posts the evidence. It's really fascinating. Why do you want to know?" Dianna's voice had gone from dreamy to confused between the two sentences. She knew that Madison was the consummate skeptic when it came to anything having to do with the paranormal. "It seems that Mr. Hix and his team want to do an investigation at Grandma's old house. Apparently there have been legends lurking around the place for the last couple centuries and they have been trying to set up an investigation for years, but Grandma would never give them the time of day." "So they're contacting you hoping for a different response?" "Evidently. I guess they've been cyber-stalking the house and found out that Grandma died and left it to me so they decided they would swoop in and try again." "That seems…tacky. Are you going to do it?" Madison sighed. She had clicked through the link at the bottom of the email that connected her to the website of the group and was browsing through some of the images. There seemed to be an abundance of vaguely humanlike shadows and doors standing partially open, but with dramatic captions that told her whoever posted the pictures

had apparently read far more into the pictures. "I'm not sure. I mean, if Grandma didn't want them doing it, I'm sure she had her reasons." "I doubt it. Grandma didn't have to have a reason for anything. She'd refuse a package delivery for something she ordered just for the fun of it." "That's true. I guess I'm just torn. You know how I feel about all of this paranormal stuff." "That it's bull-honkey?" "I don't think that's a phrase I would ever use to describe it, but yes, that's the basic idea." "Actually, that's the exact phrase you used. I wrote it down. September 17, Madison talking about paranormal investigations…bull…honkey." "That's written on your calendar?" "Yes." "Well, I'm glad to know you're chronicling my life in such detail." "Only the outlying moments. I'm keeping track to screen for early-onset Alzheimer's." "Dianna, just because your neighbor said one weird thing, you said she had Alzheimer's, and it turned out that she actually did does not mean that that’s how it always works out. Anyway," Madison lifted her voice a little to try to regain control of the conversation, "The point is that this Noah guy wants to meet with me to discuss filming at the house for his Halloween special, and I think I might

be considering it." "But I thought it was all bull-honkey?" "Bull-honkey aside, they are offering to pay me to rent the place out for three days and to appear with them in their evidence video." "Ooo! Hello sexy ghost hunter, goodbye student loan debt." "Exactly my thought process." They chatted for a few more minutes before Madison hung up the phone and turned her attention fully to the website on her computer screen. The investigator certainly was beautiful, she couldn't deny that. She just wasn't sure all the badass black clothing in the world and even eyes and lips that could probably charm the panties right off the ghosts of the schoolmarms that once taught at her grandmother's mansion could make her get over the ridiculousness of the concept of a paranormal investigation.

**** "I don't think I can do this." It was the next day and Dianna was sitting in front of Madison's computer, clicking slowly through the pictures on the paranormal investigation website. "Why not?" "Have you seen the so-called 'evidence' that they've posted? There are about 30 videos of creaking floorboards, another 30 of windows being pushed open by the wind, and at least two of what I'm fairly certain are reflections of wayward Halloween decorations in vanity mirrors." "I will admit those are not the most compelling." "But he's freaking out about them like he just watched a ghost walk by in its underwear brushing its teeth." "He may be a little excitable, but you're missing the most important element all of these evidence videos have in common." "And what's that?" Dianna spun the computer around to face Madison and pointed at a still image of Noah, his face turned just enough to the camera so that a strand of his dark hair fell across one shockingly

blue eye. "He's so damn pretty. Look how pretty he is." Dianna stroked her fingers along the screen like she was petting Noah's head and gazed at him like she was about two seconds away from licking him. "Ok, that's enough," Madison said, pulling the computer away from her. "I don't understand why you are being so difficult about this." "I'm not being difficult, I just don't want my grandmother's house turned into some freak show and me edited so that I look like some screaming imbecile because a mouse sneezed and set off the motion activated cameras." "So let me go. I'll be you and run around investigating with the boys, and you won't have to worry about it anymore." "I don't think that's going to work out." "Why not?" "What was my grandmother's name?" Dianna hesitated. "Grandma…?" She looked at the picture closer and sighed. "He is gorgeous." "And?" "And it would be nice to be able to pay off my student loans and not have to continue pretending I don't exist between the hours of 9 AM and 6 PM,

or 9 PM when they switch it up and have the west coast office call me." "And?" Dianna's voice had risen to an almost frightening pitch. "And I’m going to let him investigate my freaking house." "Yay!" "But only, only, if they agree to accept that I am a skeptic and that they will not edit me to look like anything else." Madison fired off an email back to Noah, agreeing to meet at the house to discuss the project, and closed her computer, leaning over to rest her head on it. This was going to be a long weekend.

**** Two days later, Madison drove slowly up the winding driveway toward her grandmother's mansion. The crunching of the gravel beneath the tires was familiar and she felt herself smiling as she remembered all the times she had heard that same sound when she arrived for visits with her grandmother when she was a child, and then when she moved in with her when she was a teenager. It was a sound of comfort and of coming home. Her private musings were cut short as her car crested the final swell of the hill and found the small patch of grass at the back of the house already crowded with people. Several people were milling around looking out over the view of the city beneath, and one man was teetering precariously on a cinderblock trying to peek into one of the windows positioned high off of the ground. She climbed out of her car and shut the door hard enough that the sound brought the attention of everyone in the yard. A few looked uncomfortable and Madison wondered just how angry her expression was as she stood there watching them make themselves at home. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone approach and turned to face him. Stunning blue eyes stared back at her and she

felt her breath catch in her throat. "Hi, I'm Noah." His voice was a dark and smooth as she would have expected, it to be, and held the slightest whisper of an accent that she couldn't quite place. She hadn't noticed it in any of the videos, and she thought she may have made her decision to go through with the video a bit quicker if she had. He didn’t smile at her and she sensed a bit of tension in his presence. "Madison," she said, taking the hand he offered and shaking it, "I see you all got here promptly at twenty minutes earlier than the time we agreed to meet." Now that she had gotten over the initial shock of being face to face with the beautiful man, the frustration at being denied a few minutes of time to herself to assimilate to the strange feeling of being back at the house after so long and to come to terms with the situation was bubbling out of her. "We like to get started on time." "I can see that." She glanced over at the house, "Who's that?" "That's Jesse, the other investigator on the team." The man standing on the cinderblock had gone completely still as if trying to blend in with the house. When he heard his name, he waved over his shoulder in her direction, and then turned slowly to

face her. "Hi. I'm sorry. It's a really great house." He smiled at her, puppy-dog eyes staring hopefully from under shaggy brown hair. The effect was a softer, more innocent attractiveness than Noah that immediately disarmed her. She felt the anger slide out of her when she saw the excitement in his eyes and realized that it was time to let go of her defensiveness and anger, and allow the team to enjoy the space that obviously meant something to them. She offered Jesse a smile. "Yeah, it is." He grinned and turned back to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes to try to see into the house. "Jesse is very into all of this." Madison felt Noah step up behind her so close that the warmth of his breath rippled down her neck. She shivered slightly and looked back at him. "I thought you were the lead investigator." Noah shook his head slightly. "I'm the look." "So you don't really think there are ghosts in there?" He shrugged and Madison thought she saw a shimmer of a smile in his eyes. "We'll see."

**** "What do you know about the history of the house?" Madison had just stepped through the back door and was standing in the middle of the kitchen. The emotions running through her made it so she barely heard Jesse's question. Everything around her was so still, as if suspended in the moment right before her grandmother died. It had been a week, but everything looked as if any moment she would come walking down the stairs. A single glass sat in the dish drainer, the kitchen curtains were open, and there was a sponge tucked behind the sink where the care provider left it on her last day of service. The house didn't feel empty even though it had been days since the cleaning crew she had hired came in and cleaned out her grandmother's bedroom and no one else had stepped foot inside since. She sighed. There still wasn't sadness, only a strange sense of calm and finality. Jesse repeated his question and Madison jumped slightly, brought out of her thoughts and back into the moment. "Oh. Um, not much actually. I know it's been here for a long time." "Just a couple hundred years," Noah said from

the living room where he had wandered. "My grandmother inherited this house from her mother, but that's as far as I know. She never really talked about it much." "Is there any electricity?" "Yes. In most places." She was walking out of the room and could hear Jesse questioning her response from behind her. "Most places?" "I was never allowed in the basement when I was younger and my grandmother told me that there wasn't any power down there. There's also a room in the back of the house that hasn't had power as long as I can remember." "Why?" "I don't know." "Can you show me?" Noah asked the question from behind her and she turned to nod him. "Sure." Madison led him toward the back of the house to the small room beside the library where she had spent much of her childhood curled onto the green leather chairs reading through the old books lining the shelves. Many had been there since long before she was born; some since even before her greatgrandmother was born. The small room was as dark and close as she

remembered from when she was young. Noah stepped up beside her and turned on his flashlight. There were no windows in the room, so the narrow beam was the only illumination to cut through the darkness. The light danced across the desk set on one wall and the fireplace on the other. They were the only two things in the room and Madison was starting to turn to leave when she saw Noah step forward toward the fireplace. "Did you know that this house was allegedly designed and built by a serial killer?" Noah asked, his voice low, calm, and without even a hint of trying to shock her. She shivered slightly. "Really?" "Mmmmhmmm. Years before it was a school, it was his private residence. He supposedly wanted it to look completely normal to anyone who visited, but he added features that would let him conceal and do away with his victims whenever he pleased." He was running his hand along the front of the mantelpiece, and when he stopped talking, he pressed on the center of a carving. A section of the wall beside the fireplace shifted and slid out of the way. Madison gasped. She couldn't believe that it had been there here entire life and she had no idea. Noah ducked into the space revealed by the false wall, and then stuck his head back out.

"Are you coming?" he asked. Madison hesitated for a moment, thinking about what he said about the serial killer. She could almost hear Dianna taunting her if she admitted she was nervous about going into the hidden passage because of a story a ghost hunter told her while creeping around in the dark. "Absolutely," she said, hoping she sounded confident. The passage was small and tight, forcing her to nearly stand up against Noah as they inched their way along the space. He stopped short and she ran into his back. She caught herself by grabbing his muscular hips and hesitated just a second before letting him go. "Where does this door lead?" Noah asked, flattening his hand on a thick wooden door at the end of the hallway. She gave an exasperated sigh. "I have no idea. I didn't even know this passage was here until about three minutes ago." "Well, we're about to find out. Step back." Madison did as he asked and he handed her his flashlight. Noah stepped back close to her and then lunged forward, bashing his massive shoulder into the door. She let out a startled scream and he repeated the move, hitting the door in the same place over and over until it crashed open. "It would have been nice for you to let me

know that you were going to bash down my door." "You didn’t even know that door was there." "It still would have been a nice courtesy." They climbed through the broken door and Noah took the flashlight from her so he could sweep the beam around the room. There was a damp chill in the air and as soon as she started looking around Madison realized they were in the basement. She hadn't even noticed that the floor in the passageway had been tilting down, gradually bringing them beneath the house into the massive room. "Legend has it that the killer kept some of his victims down here for weeks on end. He was only caught because one of them lost so much weight that he was able to slip out of his chains and escape." "Chains?" Noah stepped further into the room, following the walls with his flashlight until the light fell onto a set of shackles hanging from the stone. Her breath caught in her throat. "Of course, that's just the story. There could be any number of explanations for that." There was a hint of teasing in his voice and Madison felt the eerie chill down her back as he led her out of the expansive basement, up the stairs, and through the door that she knew would let them out into the kitchen again. The door had always

been locked throughout her childhood, but they found a key protruding from the lock on the inside of the door. Something about that made her even more nervous. Jesse and the other crewmembers were wandering somewhere elsewhere in the house. She could hear their voices and followed them until she got to the second floor where the bedrooms were, including one with a door she insisted remain shut. "Why?" Noah asked when she placed her hand on the doorknob and told him that that room was off-limits for their investigation. "I just don't want anyone going in there. My house, my rules." He scoffed at her and walked into the room beside it. She followed and saw piles of bags and strange equipment stacked across the floor and along the white-and-yellow bedspread that had always adorned this guest room. "Do you want to see some of the equipment we'll use for our investigation?" Noah asked. "Sure." He picked up a few items, describing the purpose of the EVP recorders, the spirit box, and the EMF detector. As he showed her each one, she couldn't get the "Ghostbusters" theme song out of her head, but fought to keep it inside. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to what looked like a complicated black army jacket draped

across the bed. "This is my favorite piece of equipment," Noah said, putting down a recorder to pick up the jacket, "It detects changes in the environment as well as your vital signs to show possible spirit interference with the atmosphere." "What does that mean?" she asked. Noah stepped toward her and guided her into the jacket. He stepped back and Madison held her arms slightly to her sides, somewhat worried the jacket would short circuit at any second. "The diodes on the sleeves change colors and light up in different areas depending on the temperature to show sudden changes. There is an EMF detector embedded in the side that will alert the person wearing it if there are any changes in the electromagnetic field." "And my vital signs?" she asked. Noah's lips curved slightly in a mischievous smile. "There are strips in the lining that monitor respiration and heart rate." He stepped closer, "Let me show you." Madison watched as his face drew closer and his lips touched hers. The kiss was soft at first, and then his hands slipped beneath the jacket to smooth along the curve of her waist and clutch her hips before his lips parted over hers and she felt his tongue flick prodding, encouraging her to open her

mouth. When she did, the kiss deepened. Their tongues tangled and she felt herself whimper into his mouth. She was so lost in the sensation of him that she almost didn't hear the alarm emanating from inside the jacket, indicating her heart rate had suddenly spiked. "See?" he said slightly breathlessly, smiling down at her, then walking out of the room.

**** Madison's belly was trembling before she even climbed out of her car the next day. She sat in the driveway for what to her seemed like an eternity, staring up at the house and the single light she saw glowing in the window of the dining room. The crew was in there setting up sound equipment and linking cameras to their computers, and also in the house, somewhere in those secret-keeping walls as Noah. She could still taste his hot mouth against hers and feel his strong hands grazing her body. Getting through the night filming with him was going to be a challenge. Finally she collected herself and went into the house. It still felt strangely still and suspended, even with the sound of the crew's voices filling the halls. It was as if the walls absorbed them, adding them to the thoughts, memories, and secrets that they already held. Madison placed her keys in the same wicker basket by the back door that she always did, wondering how many more times she would actually do that, and cautiously entered the dining room. It took several seconds before one of the crew members noticed her and straightened from where he leaned over the array of computers they had set

up on the dining room table. The juxtaposition between the gleaming technology and the delicate lace tablecloth made her smile, thinking that in the years that her grandmother was still lucid, she probably would have been fascinated by the entire experience. "Hey, Madison," he said. She waved and Jesse looked up at her from the other side of the room where he seemed to be trying to fix one of the cameras. "We're just about set up here. I just finished setting up the cameras in the upper floors and the hidden passageway. All that's left is getting all of the audio linked up and then we can get started." His eyes sparkled and she smiled at him. Suddenly she felt a touch on the back of her pants and the spicy smell of Noah filled her lungs. Gently tugging her closer to him with the finger tucked into her belt loop, he looked over her head at the rest of the crew, who didn't seem to notice his hold on her. "Are we about ready to go?" he asked. The firm and deliberate pressure of his hand at the back of her pants brought the tremble back to Madison's belly and she fought to keep her breath controlled. She didn't want the other members of the crew to notice the way he touched her, or the way that simple touch made her feel. "Yep," Jesse said, "We can get started."

"Perfect. Let's go dark." Someone flipped the switch on the generatorrun floodlight set up near one wall and the room went dark except for the blue glow from the computer screens. Madison felt Noah's face came close to her ear. "You're coming with me," he whispered before lifting his voice louder to talk to Jesse, "I'm going to start in the basement. Why don't you head upstairs and we'll work our way back here." Before Jesse could acknowledge the idea, Noah gave a firmer tug on her belt loop and started leading her backwards out of the room. When she had stumbled a few steps backwards, he released her and let her turn around, then resumed his grip on her with his finger through one of the loops on the front of her pants. With the beam of his flashlight illuminating the floor in front of his feet, Noah led her down the hallway, through the kitchen, and down the stairs into the basement. A chill rose up through her as soon as they descended the stairs. She liked that space just as little as she had the day before, and the fact that it was creeping close to midnight didn't help the eerie feeling that slowly crept up her spine and sent a shiver at the base of her neck. They had only made it halfway into the room when Noah extinguished his flashlight. Madison gasped and instinctively reached out

for him, grasping at his shirt and trying to pull herself into his arms. He took her by her upper arms and held her still. "I want to do a little experiment," he said calmly. "What kind of experiment?" Her voice sounded timid in the darkness, but hearing him responding to her helped to calm the nerves that were giving her the compulsion to run. She still wasn't convinced that there were disembodied spirits lurking throughout the house, but there was definitely something in the darkness, a feeling that kept her just on the edge. "Sometimes," Noah said, starting to guide her backward slowly, "we like to use what we call trigger objects. We believe that it can help the spirits connect with us when they see items or people or situations that they find familiar, or maybe that upset them. This gives them the motivation to communicate with us. I want to use you as my trigger object." Madison felt her back touch the wall. The stone was cold and uneven against her, but Noah's hand on her belly kept her in place. "How?" she asked. "Can you imagine what it must have been like for the people who were kept in this basement?" he asked. She gasped as she felt him lift one of her hands

above her shoulder and the cold clamp of metal close around her wrist. A second later, he lifted the other hand and she realized he was locking her into the chains that hung on the wall. She made a sound of protest and pulled against the chains, trying to release herself. In the darkness, she was starting to panic. "Shhhhh," he hushed her quietly. She felt his body come closer to hers and his fingertip touch her lips to quiet her. The warmth of him close to her quickly eased the anxiety building within her. "They were in constant darkness," he whispered and she felt him step back, "But it must have made the rest of their senses much more intense."

**** Her body shook slightly and she ached to get closer to him, but instead, she stayed still and quiet like he had instructed her, falling further and further under the power he had over her with each second that passed. He leaned forward so that his mouth brushed against her ear but his body stayed just far enough away that she couldn't yet feel his heat. "Their sense of hearing," he gently whispered and she heard a fluttering sound followed by the soft metallic hiss of his zipper going down. "Their sense of taste." The tip of his tongue lightly brushed and parted her lips as she opened her mouth further to take him in even further. An instant later, his finger touched her tongue and she tasted something salty and slightly sweet against his skin. She closed her lips tightly around his finger and gave a gentle suck, pulling more of the taste into her mouth. "Their sense of anticipation." His fingers came to the buttons on the front of her shirt and worked their way down, releasing them at a torturously slow pace. When her shirt finally sprang open, she felt him blow a stream of cool air across the swell over her breasts and down

the soft curve of her stomach. She whimpered and the feeling stopped. As soon as she quieted, the air returned and continued along the dip of her waist and then along the top of her pants to trace from hipbone to hipbone. Her hands lifted slightly and wrapped around the chains, gripping them tightly to give herself stability against the intense feeling. The fear was gone now, replaced by absolute focus on the sound of his breath, the lingering taste of his skin on her tongue, and the shivering anticipation of further touch. This focus was so deep it startled her when his hands came to the shackle at one wrist and released it. He caught her hand as it dropped and she heard him whisper again. "Their sense of touch." He drew her hand closer to him and she felt him place it on his firm chest, then slowly guide it down so she could feel the smooth, hard ripples of his abs. She felt the trail of coarse hair leading down from his navel and she let him trace it with her hand until her fingertips brushed the soft, hot skin of his erection. A moan escaped her and she bit down on her bottom lip, but before she could wrap her hand around him, he lifted it up again. He touched his lips to the inside of her wrist and Madison felt her knees buckle slightly. "If there are spirits down here," he whispered, "What do you think they are thinking?"

"That you should release my other hand." "Oh, really?" Noah stepped closer, bringing her free hand to the back of his neck and pressing down on it so that she held him. She could feel his hard thick shaft graze her belly and her breath caught as he pressed against her to stroke it against her smooth skin. "Mmmmhmmmm," she murmured in affirmation. "And why is that?" He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and she moaned ever so softly. "So I can explore my senses more." Noah released her other hand and she immediately combed her fingers back through his hair, gripping the back of his head so she could pull his mouth directly onto hers. Her wet lips parted willingly beneath his and their tongues tangled. "Which senses?" he asked breathlessly when their kiss finally broke. "Hearing," she whispered and bit into his neck, bringing out a deep groan. Madison smiled and kissed the place she had just bitten. "Touch." She hungrily kissed her way along his neck and then brought her fingers to his broad shoulders so she could run them down his thick arms to his large hands. Once they traced beyond his fingertips,

she brought her hands back to his chest and flattened them, smoothing them down his chest and tight stomach so she could feel every curve and plane of his body. Her fingernails scraped lightly over his hipbones and she heard his breath catch in his throat. "Taste." Madison lowered herself to her knees. Using the position of her hands as guidance, she leaned forward through the darkness and ran the tip of her tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft. When she reached the head, she was rewarded with the same slightly sweet, salty taste he had spread on her tongue as she gathered a drop of liquid that slipped across the tip. The darkness around her brought incredible awareness to each of these senses, elevating the experience so that she could revel in the tiniest details of her fingers tightening on his hips, the groans emanating from his throat, and his hips rocking subtly to press the his ridged and eager cock against her soft lips. She complied with the request, opening her soft mouth further and drawing his entire length across her wanting tongue. Noah's hands dug feverishly into her hair and she felt the muscles of his hips begin to spasm as he seemed to arch back slightly, his sounds increasing so they seemed to surround her and push her forward. She had just gotten into a smooth, steady

rhythm when sudden footsteps made her pause. "Noah?" Jesse's voice rang throughout the basement and Madison felt Noah begin to pull away, but she held him in place, unwilling to release him just yet "Back here," Noah called in a slightly strangled voice. She smiled, loving how the simple glide of her mouth was shattering the dark, intense shell around him. Jesse's footsteps approached. "I've been listening to what your recorder's been picking up. There've been some interesting," the beam of a flashlight fell on her and Madison heard the air stream out of Jesse as he paused a few feet from them, "…EVPs." Madison hadn't realized that Noah had his recorder with him, or that it linked directly to Jesse so that he could listen to whatever the recorder picked up in real time. She glanced up at Noah and from the look on his face, he had forgotten about it, too. The thought that Jesse had been listening, however, just made her body clench harder and a shiver that had nothing to do with the eeriness of the space roll down her spine. Carefully withdrawing Noah from her mouth, she took the waistband of the pants pooled at his ankles and pulled them up as she stood, catching his lips in a kiss before taking the tips of his fingers in hers and guiding him toward Jesse. When she

reached the slightly flustered-looking man, she released Noah's fingers and lifted her hand to trace the lines of Jesse's face, then brush her fingertips across his lips.

**** "Just you listening?" she asked quietly. Jesse nodded, his eyes traveling down to gaze across her breasts and the lush curve of her waist. "The rest of the crew went out for coffee." She laughed softly. "So it's just us here?" He nodded again and she saw him lick his lips. She leaned in and kissed him, pressing her body to his so he could feel the warmth of the skin exposed by her open shirt coming through his own clothing. She didn't say anything when she ended the kiss, but looked at both boys in turn, took Jesse's flashlight, and started back through the basement. After a few seconds, she didn't hear them following her, so she paused long enough to remove her shirt and tossed it back toward them. She heard it land near their feet and the click of Noah's flashlight as he turned it on to find out what she had thrown. There was a moan that was slightly softer than Noah's and she realized it was Jesse. Continuing to weave through the basement, she stopped to remove her shoes and leave them a few feet apart. Finally she heard footsteps that told her the boys were following her and she smiled. She was quickly running out of clothing to leave as

breadcrumbs, so she had to be strategic. Shaking her hair down, she looped her ponytail holder around the doorknob to the basement door and then shimmied out of her pants. She laid them out in the middle of the hallway and hurried toward the stairs leading up to the second floor. Stopping just long enough to slip out of her panties, she draped them over the newel post and ran the rest of the way up the stairs. Even without the benefit of the flashlight, she knew where she was going, and when she reached the landing, she turned off the light. Moonlight coming through the large windows on either end of the hallway created a pool of illumination beside the closed door she had forbidden them to open, and Madison stepped into the light. She leaned back against the wall, bending one knee so she could rest her foot to the wall behind her. Seconds later, she heard the boys climbing the stairs and her excitement built. They both stopped as soon as they got into the hallway and stared at her, the shock and desire mirrored on their faces. "Do you remember when I told you that you couldn't go in this room?" she asked, her voice hot and powdery. They nodded and she pushed against the wall to straighten. Opening the door just enough to fit through, she slipped in, unhooked her bra, and held it out into the hallway so all they could see was her

hand as she let the thin lace slip from her fingers onto the floor. She stepped back into the middle of the room and a second later, the door slowly opened the rest of the way. Noah stood closest to the door, his hand pressed in the middle of it, and Jesse stood beside him, both watching her hungrily. She bit her bottom lip and took another step back toward the massive four-poster bed set in the center of one wall so it protruded into the room. They nodded and she returned the gesture. "That," she said, stepping back again until she felt the edge of the bed against the back of her thighs and sat, "is because it's mine." The two men hovered in the doorway and she smiled, sliding back further on the bed and patting the spaces beside her with her hands. "You can come in now," she purred. Noah was the first to surge forward. He crossed the room in two long strides and pressed her back onto the bed with an intense, crushing kiss. The warm, smooth skin of his chest melded with her breasts and stomach, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. As their mouths played across each other, Madison felt the mattress beside her dip down and realized Jesse had climbed onto the bed with them. She took one hand from Noah's back to feel for Jesse and found him kneeling beside her.

Madison grabbed a handful of Jesse's shirt and nudged it up, wanting him to be as bare as Noah. He complied with her suggestion and she heard him toss the shirt aside so she could rest her hand on his belly. It didn't have the same chiseled muscle as Noah's, but the contrast between the two men's bodies was delicious, like enjoying the different textures in a sinfully decadent dessert. Noah pulled his mouth away from hers and kissed his way down her body until he backed off of the bed and stood, kicking his shoes off while unbuckling his belt. Taking her eyes from Noah, Madison slid up into a sitting position, and then turned to mirror Jesse's position so their bodies just brushed against each other. She heard him draw in a breath as she touched her lips to his neck and ran a hand down his chest. He tucked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his, lowering his mouth to cover hers and slipping his tongue between her lips. They kissed languidly until she felt Noah climb back on the bed behind her and wrap his arms around her waist to pull her back against him, taking possession of her. She leaned back against him, nestling her hips back into him, groaning slightly as she felt his erection again. It pressed into her, nudging her as Noah dropped his mouth to the curve of her neck and shoulder. One of his hands closed over her breast, filling his palm so he kneaded her gently but

insistently, while the other slipped around her hip to dip between her thighs. He eased them apart and finally touched her, bringing a gasp from her lips. Her body was hot and wet, and Noah's fingers slid easily across her as she met Jesse's eyes. Jesse watched Noah touch her for several long seconds before he mimicked Noah's actions of climbing off the bed to finish undressing and return to his place across from them. Madison's eyes trailed down his body and watched Jesse stroke himself. She whimpered at the sight and felt Noah twitch behind her. His mouth came to her ear as his hand left her breast to take her hair, coiling it around his palm to hold it away from her shoulders and neck. "You want him, Baby?" he asked. She nodded, but at the same time arched her back to press harder into him. "You want me, too?" he asked. Madison turned over her shoulder to kiss Noah, reaching to her side to grip his thigh. He kissed her back passionately, then pulled just enough away so he could talk. "I think that can be arranged." Noah used the hand in her hair to turn her gently and push her forward so that she caught herself on Jesse's hips. She indulged herself by drawing her tongue in one, long lick along the entire length of his shaft before opening her mouth

to take him in completely. Just as she felt him settle against her tongue, Noah pulled her hips back and buried himself inside her. Madison cried out, but didn't release Jesse, not wanting to lose the decadence of both of them within her. They fell into a perfect rhythm, Noah's thrusts and the dominant pressure of his hand on the back of her head leading her along Jesse's length until both men were moaning and she could feel their bodies tensing. Suddenly, Noah stopped and Madison felt him withdraw from her body and his hand leaving her hair. Jesse touched her neck, carefully easing her away from him, and then leaned down to kiss her. As he guided her back onto the bed she realized that Noah was no longer there, but was standing on the floor at the foot of the bed. Jesse led her down onto her back and stretched his body over hers, slowing their pace and creating a calm, peaceful moment between them. He kissed her softly, running his palms along her arms to her hands to pin them down to the bed on either side of her head. His mouth traveled down to her neck, then onto her chest. The slow, tender pace left her gasping and arching against him, desperate for him to release the pressure building low in her belly. Finally he reached the valley between her hipbones and he let his tongue trace the soft swell between them before dipping down to

flick through her folds. Madison let out a strangled cry, completely relinquishing herself to the feeling and letting go of all of her control.

**** She opened her eyes and saw that Noah had walked around to the side of the bed and was now standing beside her. He watched Jesse nurturing her with his tongue, then turned his slumbering eyes toward her. Arousal had taken the vibrant edge off of the blue shade, making them look deep and velvety. Noah reached down and took her hand out from under Jesse's, bringing it up to wrap around his own hard cock so she could mimic the flicks of Jesse's tongue with rhythmic strokes. Jesse drew her taut, swollen bud into his mouth and gave a hard suck, bringing a short scream from her throat and causing her to bend her knees higher and spread her thighs further so only the tips of her toes touched the mattress on either side of him. He took the invitation, suddenly lunging forward so he rose up over her. He paused to kiss her, and then slid deep inside. Madison's hand fell away from Noah as Jesse gathered her against him and reared back until he came up onto his knees so she straddled him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her so that her breasts rose and fell tightly against his chest as she rocked in his lap. The position brought them face to face and she stared into his eyes, leaning forward to briefly rest her forehead against his. Sweat beaded on his

skin and she licked it off of his shoulder, following the flick of her tongue with the graze of her teeth. Behind her she felt Noah rest one knee on the mattress and then his tongue was on her back, trailing down her spine until it reached Jesse's arms. She rode Jesse harder, bringing him deeper inside her until she felt like she couldn't accommodate any more. Finally she stopped and pushed down on Jesse's shoulders to still him. She climbed off of his lap and turned to Noah, using one finger to beckon him closer. Jesse moved out of the way and Madison used her hands on Noah's chest to guide him onto his back with his head rested on the pillows. She straddled his chest on her knees and leaned forward to take both of his wrists. The gesture brought her breasts directly over his face and he lifted his head slightly to suckle on of them, briefly grazing his teeth across her nipple. Madison took one of his hands and brought it up to the post above him, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing to show him she didn't want him to move. "You started this," she murmured, and repeated the move with his other hand so that he gripped the posts on either side of him, "Now you're going to finish it." She gave him a hard kiss, biting his bottom lip, and then slid backwards along his body so he could feel the heat of her core and the brush of her

breasts from his chest down his belly. When she got to his hips, she rose up on her knees and grasped the base of his erection so she could hold it and tease the tip between her thighs. It slipped through the slippery fluids, but she kept her hips just high enough to prevent him from entering her, reclaiming her control and delighting in the deliciously tormented look in Noah's eyes and the groans that poured from him as she continued to use him to stroke herself. Using her other hand, she reached behind herself and grasped Jesse's wrist where he stood at the edge of the bed. She led him until he stood beside her, and then dipped her head to take him into her mouth again. Noah grunted, the sound telling her that watching her with Jesse pushed him even closer to the brink. She could hear the wood of the bed creak and he strained against the posts, wanting to touch her, but behaving admirably. Jesse's hand came to the back of her head, gathering her hair out of the way so he could guide her into a fast, steady rhythm. She moved Noah's cock against her to mirror the speed until she heard Jesse let out a gasping moan and felt him release into her mouth. Slowing her pace, she sucked the hot, salty streams from the tip and swallowed luxuriously, smiling as Jesse fought to steady his breath. Suddenly Noah's hands grabbed her hips. "Let go," he growled and Madison complied,

gasping as he impaled her. His sounds were wild and unchained as he drove into her harder and faster; moments later, she felt him pulse and he roared as he spilled into her body. The feeling was enough to topple her over the edge and she gripped him, milking him with the tight tremors of her body until she collapsed, shuddering, in his arms.

**** Two weeks later, Madison settled in front of her computer to check the website. It was Halloween; time for Noah and Jesse to post their special about her house. Considering the amount of investigating that they did the first night, and the fact that the final night hadn't fared much better in terms of exploring the house beyond the secret passage where the three of them hid from the rest of the crew, she was very curious to see how they pieced together an evidence video. Taking a sip of spicy pumpkin coffee, she clicked the link and immediately had to put down the mug. The screen filled with the stark white lines of an audio analysis, the peaks spiking in time to the indistinct whispers and low moans of the recording. The caption read "Disembodied Voices" and she covered her mouth to muffle her laugh. The screen changed to the feed recorded by a camera apparently set up in the doorway of the parlor, aimed toward the stairs. In the darkness, she saw a shadowy image move past, pause, and then bound up the stairs. It was dark and there was no audio attached, but she knew she was watching her own nearly naked form rush up the stairs to her

room. Seconds later, two more shadows crossed in front of the camera and went up the stairs. "Shadow figures," a voiceover of Noah said mysteriously. Madison bit her bottom lip as the screen changed again to show the feed from a camera positioned at the end of the hallway. The recording appeared to show the door to her bedroom swing shut on its own, then the screen returned to the audio analysis for a few more minutes of muffled moans and whimpers. She writhed against her seat, pressure building between her thighs as she listened to what others would think was evidence of spirits —and what she knew to be evidence of very talented spirit hunters. When the video ended, she picked up her phone and scrolled through until she found Noah's number. "What are you up to tonight?" she asked when he answered. "Nothing," he said back, the heat in his voice ratcheting up the excitement in her belly. "Want to come trick-or-treating at my place?" THE END

DESIRE ON THE RUN My mother always told me not to talk to strangers...but this time, how could I possibly resist? “Chelsea Davies, good morning. You are in a great deal of danger. I strongly advise you to call into work sick today. In fact, it would be best if you remained exactly where you are in your apartment for the next thirty minutes.” Pfft...and you thought your Monday was bad? Imagine waking up to a call like this? “Someone wants to kill you. They think you know something that they’d rather keep hidden.” And why should I believe a word you're saying? "It doesn’t matter at the end of the day whether you know it or not—the person after you thinks that you do, because you have the information.”

Within no time, there's a man at my door here to whisk me away to safety...and he's drop dead gorgeous. Do I trust him, grab my stuff and run? Or is he as much of a threat as the people that he claims are after me?

PART ONE Chelsea had finally managed to sink into the depths of the sleep she craved after spending an entire night tossing and turning, her mind going over the petty details and stresses of her week at work. Finally, as the sky had already begun to lighten, her mind had succumbed to the bone-deep exhaustion of her body, and given up the task of enumerating all the things she needed to do. She was in the midst of a dream—a sweet, uncomplicated, comforting dream—when the sirenslide sound of Hot Hot Heat’s “Future Breeds” reached into her brain, splitting the air and cutting through the threads of her dream state. Chelsea groaned, the sound almost a sob of frustration, as she reached out and blindly grabbed for her phone where she kept it; not on her bedside table, which she knew from experience would make it easier to turn the alarm off altogether, but on the desk next to her bed. Fumbling, she closed her fingers around the slippery device and by memory thumbed the snooze feature. Chelsea knew that the nine minutes’ silence would not actually help; it felt as if every joint in her body had been attacked by bat-wielding

assailants, as if her eyelids had been replaced with sandpaper. The dull throb at her temples told her readily that nine minutes was simply not a replacement for the hours of sleep she had missed. But for a precious few moments, at least, she could pretend she didn’t have to get up and out of bed, that she didn’t have to go to work. Chelsea let the phone fall onto the blankets, curling in on herself tighter and burying her face against the pillows in denial of the idea that it was already morning. She began to slip into a doze, her muscles relaxing one by one as the silence stretched out. Maybe—just maybe—she’d get a few minutes of quality sleep. Chelsea’s breathing evened and slowed, and she was on the edge of falling asleep once more when she found herself once more pulled sharply into wakefulness by the sensation of her phone vibrating. Her sleep-fogged brain at first protested that it couldn’t possibly be nine minutes yet; but then, if it had been, she would be hearing her alarm tone—not feeling the buzzing vibration of her phone’s silent “ring.” Someone was calling her. “It’s like no one in the entire world wants me to sleep today,” Chelsea muttered to herself, opening her eyes and scrubbing at her face in selfpity. Her phone continued to vibrate, and she ruefully gave up on the idea of getting any more sleep. The only people her exhausted mind could

think of who would call her at such an early hour were her coworkers; her friends knew better, and the few members of her family still alive and speaking to her did as well. Chelsea yawned as her hand found the phone where it was buried in the blanket. She picked it up and squinted against the light in the room as she tried to force her dry, sleepy eyes to focus on the number flashing on the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized. For a moment—a flicker of a thought—she considered throwing the phone across the room, curling up once more, and considering the day a complete failure to launch. But Chelsea realized that she was already fully awake; and if it was a telemarketer, she at least could get the lesser comfort of verbally tearing whoever it was into pieces. “Who the hell is this?” she asked as soon as she had tapped the “accept” icon on her screen and saw that the call had connected. “Chelsea Davies, good morning. You are in a great deal of danger, and I strongly advise you to call into work sick today. In fact, it would be best if you remained exactly where you are in your apartment for the next thirty minutes.” Chelsea took the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen for a long moment, confused and irritated. “What are you talking about? And just how do you know my name?”

“You have plenty of sick time. You should take some of it today, and stay right where you are until you hear a knock like this.” Chelsea’s frowned deepened as she heard a tapping pattern over the phone line: tock-tock-tock-ti-tock. “Did you get that, Chelsea?” “I’m not going to agree to anything until you give me some answers,” she said irritably. “We don’t really have time for this; I need to be off the phone in the next thirty seconds. Be a good girl and listen to that knock one more time, and tell me clearly whether or not you understand what I’ve told you.” Once more she heard the tapping pattern. Curiosity overwhelming her irritation at the mystery caller and the interruption of her sleep, Chelsea listened to the pattern carefully. “Okay, fine, I heard it,” she said sulkily. “Good girl. You’ll hear it again in about thirty minutes. Call your office and tell them you’ll be sick for a couple of days and stay exactly where you are.” Chelsea opened her mouth to protest the peremptory command when she heard the lowtoned beep-beep-beep that signaled that the call was disconnected. She let the phone slip from her fingers and sank down against the pillows, puzzling over the mysterious call and the equally strange caller. Chelsea frowned, her eyelids descending

over her eyes as her deep fatigue settled over her once more. He had known that she had plenty of sick time—that much was true; she had banked almost a full week of sick time. You’re not calling in sick because some mystery asshole told you to, Chelsea told herself as she forced her eyes open and reached for her phone once more. “I’m calling in sick because I am exhausted and I’d be useless at work anyway. It’s a mental health day.” Chelsea opened up her contacts list and found the number to the office, coughing a few times experimentally to roughen her voice. She waited for the automatic prompt to come on—the office didn’t officially open for business for another hour and a half—and put in the number for her manager’s extension. Elise wouldn’t be at her desk either; Chelsea knew that she’d go straight to voicemail, which was for the best. When she heard the tone, she coughed again. “Hey, Elise,” Chelsea said, pitching her voice low and giving into the fatigue she felt in every bone of her body without any pretense. “I’m not going to be able to come in today. I feel like I just got ran over with a Mack truck.” She coughed again for effect and sniffled harshly. “I may check my email just to keep on top of things and send a message to HR, but I’ve gotta stay in bed today. I’ll give you an update later.” She ended the call and let her head fall back against the pillows, yawning again.

Chelsea’s irritation rose as minutes passed; she felt vaguely silly about responding to the call, even if she knew that she was too exhausted to be of use in the office that day anyway. Her bladder gave a spasm, informing her that it was uncomfortably full —and that she should take care of that issue. Her mystery caller had told her to stay exactly where she was; but surely, he just meant in the apartment. Chelsea grappled with the idea before deciding that literal adherence to an order from someone who hadn’t even been courteous enough to introduce himself was ridiculous. It’s not like he’s going to know, anyway. She picked up her phone absently as she climbed out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, yawning a few more times as she made the short trek. She felt faintly ridiculous that she was waiting in her apartment for the mystery caller —or at least, she assumed that the coded knock would be coming from him—when she had no idea of who he was, what he wanted, why he had called her. Wasn’t there some kind of urban legend with this set up? This is the way that women get abducted, isn’t it? Chelsea washed her hands and splashed water on her face when she finished taking care of her needs, and went back into the bedroom, resenting the intrusion on her sleep, her routine.

**** Chelsea had once more fallen into a doze, with nothing better to do to pass the time waiting—she had told herself that the caller was probably a prank in the first place—when she heard, at her door, the knocking pattern that the man on the phone had performed for her. Opening her eyes, Chelsea groaned, sitting up in her bed. “No one wants me to get any sleep today, that has to be it. The whole world is in on it.” She flung the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, getting to her feet unsteadily. How do you even know you can trust this guy? He’s probably here to abduct you, and you’re playing right into his game plan. Chelsea frowned and grabbed at her phone. She heard her mystery guest repeat the coded knock at her door and stirred herself to pad out of the bedroom. Considering, she opened up her recent calls and checked for the unfamiliar number; she didn’t know for certain if the caller and the person on her doorstep were the same individual, but it was worth making the phone call anyway, wasn’t it? She hit ‘recall’ and stood, a few yards away from her door, waiting as it rang. “I’m here,” the voice said the moment the call connected.

“I assumed as much from the knock-knockknocking at my door,” Chelsea said wryly. “What I don’t know is whether I should let you in.” “You should,” the man said. Now that she was more awake, she could detect a faint accent in the man’s deep, almost rasping voice, though she couldn’t identify where the accent came from. “I promise you, Chelsea, that I’m not here to abduct you. You are actually in some danger right now. If you let me in I can explain it to you.” Chelsea glided her tongue along the front of her teeth, hesitating only a moment longer. She took the last few steps to the door and unlocked first the deadbolt, then the chain, and finally the twist lock on the knob, before opening the door. For a long moment, Chelsea stared. The man on the other side of the door was more than tall; he dwarfed her, easily a foot taller than she was, over six feet. He had dark blond hair, cut short with razor-precision, parted to the side, and bright blue-green eyes that shone intently as he looked down at her. Chelsea’s gaze took in the slightly darker stubble that roughened the man’s cheeks and jawline, contrasting sharply with the soft look of his Cupid’s bow mouth. He wasn’t just tall; the man filled up the frame of her door: broad shoulders and chest, tapering to a narrow waist and hips, and long legs. He wore fitted jeans, and a

black tee shirt that clung to the lines and ridges of his torso, with a dark leather jacket over it. “Are you going to let me in?” He asked her, raising one wheat-colored eyebrow. Chelsea took a step backwards, blinking and shaking off her confusion; she felt disastrously underdressed in her pajamas, next to the man who strode quickly through her door, closing and locking it behind him. “This is the part where you explain what the hell is going on, right?” Chelsea threw herself onto the couch, feeling irritated at her own reaction to the man. “We have some time now, but not very much,” the mystery guest said, sitting down in the wingback chair nearest to her. Chelsea frowned. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. She was acutely aware of the effect of the slight chill in the air when her guest had come in, of the fact that underneath the thin fabric of her top and the pajama bottoms she’d managed to pull on before she’d gone to bed the night before, she was bare. “Someone wants to kill you.” Chelsea stared at the man in disbelief. “They think you know something that they’d rather keep hidden.” “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chelsea

protested. “I don’t know anything—I can’t even think of something I know that might make someone want me dead.” The man shrugged. “It doesn’t matter at the end of the day whether you know it or not—the person after you thinks that you do, because you have the information.” “What are you talking about? I’m nobody. No one’s handed me some mysterious parcel or anything, I haven’t even gotten anything in the mail.” The man’s lips twitched in a smile. “And who the hell are you, anyway?” The man’s smile deepened. “My name is Johan Lindstrom,” he said. “Tell me, Chelsea; what comes to mind when I say the name Aaron Rosen?” Chelsea stared at the man blankly. “The CEO of the company?” Chelsea frowned. “What does he have to do with anything?” Johan raised an eyebrow, the smile not quite leaving his lips. “Are those really the first words that come to mind?” he asked her. “The first words that come to mind are ‘the scumbag I work for,’ ” Chelsea retorted, feeling the heat rising into her cheeks. Johan inclined his head slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“The scumbag you work for, that’s much more accurate. I’m sure you’re aware he’s engaged in some…less than savory practices.” Johan made the statement an almost-question and Chelsea shrugged. “Everyone in the office knows that,” she pointed out. “If he didn’t want that getting out he’d have to kill us all, not just me.” Johan’s lips twisted into a wry expression. “Drug running, profiteering…those are the common-knowledge things,” he said slowly. “But you know what happens to people who think they’re untouchable. They start taking bigger and bigger risks.” Johan shrugged. “The CEO of your company has had—dealings—with someone who’s now decided that it suits him better to roll over, give himself up—basically, to out Aaron Rosen for some very dire crimes indeed.” Chelsea swallowed at the tightness she felt in her throat. “And that man is one of the clients you’re working with right now.” “Why would he give that information to me?” Chelsea shook her head in disbelief. “It’s not like… I’m not anyone with any authority. I’m not even a project manager.” Johan watched her intently for a moment. “Have you noticed a few people going missing at the office?” he asked her. “Just…dropping off

the radar? No explanation, they just aren’t there anymore?” Chelsea felt her mouth go dry as she tried to rack her tired brain for the answer to that question. Johan held his silence for a moment before speaking again. “Perhaps Sarah Johns, Micah Paxton…Cary Knowles?” Chelsea felt as if her stomach had fallen to her knees. Sarah Johns was the project manager for one of the clients that Chelsea was assigned; Micah Paxton was the account manager. Cary Knowles was one of the salesmen. “They were all involved in this particular client’s business dealings with your company, and they’re all deceased.” “No,” Chelsea said, shaking her head in denial. “You’re lying to me. Whatever kind of sick prank this is, it isn’t funny.” Johan exhaled, reaching into one of the many pockets on his jacket. He withdrew a folded-up bundle of papers. “I have proof,” he told her, almost sympathetically. Reluctantly, Chelsea took the papers from him and unfolded them, staring down at the pages. The first several she flipped through were obituaries—featuring each of the names he had mentioned, listing unknown causes of death, presumed accidents. As she continued through the stack, Chelsea’s blood began to run cooler and cooler as she saw emails, text messages. Target has been handled, one read. No information found.

Confiscate their work computer. At the bottom of the pile, there was a picture of her—the one she had taken in the office, that was used for her email signature; it was attached to an email that read like a macabre dating profile, listing her address and phone number, the hours she worked, the fact that she typically went out to happy hour with her department on Fridays. “No,” Chelsea said, her voice little more than a breath. “This…I don’t even know anything!” She looked at Johan as her heart began beating faster in her chest, her eyes stinging. “We need to do a few things, and we need to do them quickly,” Johan told her, his tone level. “Can you access your work computer from home?” Chelsea nodded absently, glancing down at the papers in her hands. She felt her fingers trembling, almost unable to hold the surprisingly slippery sheets of paper. “You need to download the information the client sent to you, and we need to get the hell out of here.” “Where are we going?” She looked up again, meeting Johan’s level gaze. “Away. That’s all you need to know for right now.” He paused. “Away for several days.” “Do I have time to pack? Change clothes?” Johan shrugged.

“We should be out of here in an hour; by then your boss will have probably reported you phoning in sick.” His gaze trailed over her slowly. “Pack whatever you feel you can’t live without.” There was something so final in the statement; as if to underscore the point, Johan added, “I can’t guarantee anything you leave behind will still be here at the end of the day.” Chelsea stood unsteadily, letting the papers fall from her hands and onto the coffee table. She wished—fleetingly— that she had made coffee, instead of using the time she spent waiting for Johan’s arrival to get sleep; she had the feeling that it was going to be a very, very long day.

**** Chelsea paced back and forth along the length of the living room area of the suite she had checked into with Johan only a few minutes before, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at the floor beneath her feet. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she was not doing any favors to herself; but as she turned sharply and counted the steps to the other end of the room, she couldn’t help herself. They had driven for three hours; that was the most that Chelsea knew. She was not even certain that they were three hours away from the city she lived in. It seemed somehow as if Johan had doubled back at some point, as if she had seen the same vague landmarks—a stand of trees, or a particular unfamiliar sign—more than once, though she couldn’t be sure. Fatigue throbbed in her bones, waging war with the adrenaline surging through her veins. Chelsea felt as if there were tiny bugs underneath her skin, making her tingle, making her nerves twitch inside of her. Johan had given her exactly an hour and a half before they left; he had told her to bring her laptop out, log into her work station, and then dismissed her to pack her things while he went in and downloaded whatever files she was supposed to

have been given, the information that had led to the CEO of her company deciding that she needed to be eliminated. “Why didn’t he just fire me?” she asked out loud, glancing at Johan. He was seated on the other end of the room, reading a book; a perfect picture of tranquility. Who the hell is he, anyway? Chelsea wondered, frowning at the sight of the man reading. The front cover of the book gave her no clues as to what its contents might be; Chelsea couldn’t make heads or tails of the foreign words, and there was no picture to provide any context. What the hell kind of guy carries two guns, three knives, drives a sports car, and reads in his downtime? Johan glanced up from his book, his expression almost bored. “Because, he can’t be certain that you don’t already have the information—or didn’t already have the information. If he fired you, that wouldn’t do him any good.” Johan licked his lips, smiling slightly. “If it gives you any consolation, he’s after the criminal mastermind who decided to roll on him, too.” Chelsea felt a shiver work down her spine. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel great about my chances. He’s killed three people already.” Chelsea remembered—bleakly—a fortune she had gotten once at a Chinese restaurant: “Three can keep a secret, if you get rid

of two.” She wondered if Rosen had received that same advice, or if as a lowlife, the epiphany came naturally to him. She started walking more quickly, feeling like a lion trapped in a cage. The hotel they had come to was much nicer than Chelsea would have expected; the suite was as big as her apartment, with two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchenette. It was obvious to her that Johan had had much more lead-time than she originally thought; the room they were in was already booked when they arrived. “Who do you work for?” Chelsea asked him suddenly, stopping in mid-step. “That really isn’t your concern,” Johan pointed out, glancing up from his book once more. “I would think it is,” Chelsea countered. “I mean—as far as I know, you’re just…you might even be working for Rosen. Holding me here until someone can come and get me.” Her feet started moving again as the adrenaline flowed through Chelsea’s veins, making her heart beat faster. “Because Rosen would want you to be comfortable while you waited?” “Why not? Lull me into a false sense of security.” Johan laughed. “His goons could have snatched you out of your apartment at any time. They didn’t. I could

have grabbed you on your way to your car this morning and drugged you to bring you here.” “That is probably the least comforting thing you’ve said to me all day.” Not that he’s been exactly chatty. Chelsea looked down at the floor, numbering her steps as she made her way from one end of the room to the other. “You should stop pacing,” Johan said, his voice perfectly level. “It’s making you more anxious.” “Well excuse me!” Chelsea countered, her feet coming to a stop in spite of her protest. “I just spent three hours on the road with someone I don’t even know, I have no idea where I am, and my morning started out with being told that someone wants me dead, and I have an hour and a half to pack up anything I couldn’t bear to lose, because my house might get wrecked—who knows?” She crossed her arms over her chest, pinning Johan down with a stare as brittle anger built up inside of her. Chelsea fleetingly wished that she hadn’t outgrown the kind of tantrums that had marked her toddler years; it would be so satisfying to throw herself onto the floor kicking and screaming. “Someone could come in at any moment and try to kill me. How the hell are you so calm?” Johan’s lips twitched and Chelsea’s anger deepened at his amusement.

“Because I know that someone could come at any moment and try and kill me, or you—or anyone,” Johan said. “At any time.” He shrugged. “Or you could get hit by a car. You could get struck by lightning. Hell—people have been killed by animals falling out of the sky. The difference is that right now you know someone is out to get you. At least right now there’s someone between you and your death.” “I’m sorry I don’t have a fabulous, detached attitude about my entire life going to pieces around me,” Chelsea said, carefully keeping her voice low. She could feel the anger rising inside of her, the temptation to raise her voice, to scream, to shout, making her throat tighten. “You should do something to relax,” Johan said matter-of-factly. “Take a bath, or get a massage. I’m fairly certain the mini-bar is well stocked.” Chelsea clenched her teeth, suppressing the shriek of indignation that threatened to rip through her throat at the dry, almost bored tone of Johan’s voice. “Take a bath?” she asked him finally. “When someone could bust through the door at any minute, you suggest I take a bath.” “You’d have ten minutes or better to get dressed before they broke in on you,” Johan pointed out. “Or if you don’t mind fighting naked,

you could use that time to find a weapon.” Chelsea stared at him in utter disbelief. “Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth right now?” She bit off the rest of the words that threatened to tumble past her lips as she heard the volume of her voice rising. Johan set his book down, regarding her for a long moment. Chelsea felt a thrill of instinctive fear at the sight of him seated a few yards away, absolutely still, completely silent. “I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down, Chelsea,” Johan said, his voice a low almost-growl. The sound sent a shiver down Chelsea’s spine; somehow his accent was more pronounced, the rasping edge of his tone sharper. “Go take a bath. You look exhausted, and if you’re going to keep moving for the next few days, you’re going to need to sleep at some point.” Chelsea felt her mouth go dry; there was something about Johan’s absolute stillness that reminded her of a predator about to strike. “If you aren’t in the bathroom and running a bath in the next five minutes, I will pick you up and carry you there, and instead of a nice hot bath, you’ll have a cold, fully-clothed shower.” For just a moment, Chelsea’s brittle rage rose up, and she reveled in the thought of defying him, of telling Johan that she was not about to do what he said, that he wasn’t in charge of her and she

would take a bath or not as she damned well pleased. But after the satisfying fantasy played through in her mind, she felt the fatigue of her inadequate sleep, even less adequate caffeine, and the stresses of the day come crashing down around her. She turned away from Johan, walking quickly in the direction of the master bedroom. “I’m not doing this because you told me to,” she shouted over her shoulder, casting a resentful glance in the direction of the back of his chair. Chelsea knew it was petty; but she couldn’t resist saying it, as she closed the door behind her and began to strip off her clothes. Irritation carried her through as she peeled off her jeans and tee shirt, as her arms tangled somehow in the straps of her bra. Chelsea flung her clothes away from her with bitter disregard for where they ended up, muttering to herself as she twisted the knobs on the taps. “I need to calm down, he says. I look exhausted he says… maybe, Johan, that’s because I am exhausted, because my entire life is falling to pieces around me and I have no idea what the hell is going on.” She plunged one foot into the water and hissed, reaching out blindly and turning the cold water on to lower the temperature. Chelsea climbed over the high lip of the deep tub, appreciating it almost resentfully. As she sank

down into the water, the bitter words crowding their way past her lips began to ebb, and she felt her muscles slowly relaxing as the heat swirled around her. Try as she might to hold onto her resentment, the warmth and support of the water surrounding her began to lull her mind, even as the ache of fatigue flowed out of her body. She found a ridge in the wall of the tub and rested her head on it as drowsiness overcame her.

**** For the fourth time that day, Chelsea fell out of a deep doze, her sleep interrupted by the sound of someone tapping at the bathroom door. “Are you alive in there, Chelsea?” Chelsea glanced in the direction of the door, scowling even though the person on the other side of it obviously couldn’t see her face. “Yes,” she said, sitting up slightly in the stillwarm water. “I have something for you,” Johan said. “Consider it a peace offering.” Chelsea raised an eyebrow, her lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. She glanced around the room. “I’m naked,” she pointed out, raising her voice just enough to be heard through the door. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” Johan replied. Chelsea rolled her eyes, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it for a moment in thought. Curiosity won out over both spite and modesty. She reached out and pulled the shower curtain along the length of the tub, providing what little cover she could for herself. “Fine. The door’s unlocked.” She realized that

Johan could have easily just walked in; she had been so angry and so tired when she acceded to his demand that she take a bath that she hadn’t even given thought to locking it. Chelsea’s cheeks heated up from more than the humid temperature of the room. A moment later, Johan came through the door, bearing a large basket full of items that Chelsea didn’t have the energy to examine in more detail. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the shower curtain and shrugged, shifting down into a crouch only a few feet away from her. “It occurred to me that if I expect you to relax, it would make more sense to help you relax.” His tone was not quite apologetic; Johan gestured to the basket. “I ordered this from the spa downstairs off the room service menu—it has toiletries, massage oils, candles, I think a bathrobe…” Johan shrugged again. “Are you suggesting that I massage myself?” Chelsea asked him, glancing from the basket to Johan’s face doubtfully. Johan smiled slightly. “I am suggesting that I could give you a massage,” Johan said. “I studied it a few years ago.” Chelsea opened her mouth, found that she wasn’t entirely sure what to say, and closed it again, staring at Johan in silence as the explanation filtered through her brain. “You—how, exactly did you study it?” she sat

up slightly in the tub, heedless of the fact that more of her body showed. “I mean you’re—what, some kind of bodyguard-assassin-commando kind of guy?” Johan smiled, his bright eyes glinting with amusement. “Sometimes cover means working as a massage therapist, and that cover works better if you know what you’re doing.” Chelsea bit her bottom lip, trying to absorb that information. “So, you’re suggesting I let you rub me down with oil to relax me,” Chelsea said slowly, the heat intensifying in her cheeks as she spoke, spreading down over her chest. She finally realized that her breasts were in Johan’s view and shifted slightly behind the shower curtain. “You’re blushing,” Johan said, his faint smile deepening. “Why’d you move? I was enjoying the view.” Chelsea grabbed at the shower curtain, her heart beating faster. “I’m not getting a massage from someone who’s already leering at me,” Chelsea told him tartly. “I’m not leering,” Johan said matter-of-factly. “I forget sometimes how Americans feel about nudity.” He licked his lips, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Of course, we could have sex. That’s another way to relieve stress—and it kills time.”

Chelsea’s mouth opened in surprise. “You’re a beautiful woman; I’ve been told that I’m very good in bed. There’s nothing worth watching on TV, and it would serve the purpose of giving you some appetite.” “That has got to be the least romantic comeon I have ever heard,” Chelsea said, staring at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. “I started with you being beautiful,” Johan pointed out, amusement flickering in his blue-green eyes. “You are. As soon as you came in here, I thought about that solution to the problem of you being so tightly wound.” Johan leaned in slightly closer, his gaze never leaving her face. “When was the last time someone got you off, Chelsea?” Chelsea bit her bottom lip, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was completely naked, nothing more than some fabric and plastic separating her from Johan. “See, I think it’s been entirely too long —or you’d have an answer for me.” “It’s none of your business,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms instinctively over her chest. “Oh-ho,” Johan said, grinning broadly. “It’s been a while then.” The smile disappeared in a flash, and Chelsea felt her body heating up in a way that had nothing to do with the water swirling around her as Johan gazed at her intently. “You can’t sleep in the tub; you’d drown or dissolve.”

Johan rose to his feet in a lithe, almost feline movement, reaching out and nimbly snatching one of the towels off the rack without even looking. “You’ve gotten as much relaxation out of this as you possibly can, and I can see it all over your face that you’re still on the edge of another panic attack. Let me help you, Chelsea.” Before she could react, before she could think of anything to say to the offer, Johan pulled the shower curtain aside, his gaze trailing over her body in a quick appraisal before he reached down, his hand closing firmly around her arm. He pulled her up, out of the water, and Chelsea shivered as the cooler air hit her. Johan lifted her over the lip of the tub, wrapping the thick, warm towel around her body. His arms coiled around her waist, drawing her close, and Chelsea gasped as his hard, muscular body pressed against hers. Johan’s hand moved up, tilting her face slightly, and he brushed his lips against hers—a barely-there caress, feather light at first. Chelsea’s legs weakened, her body swaying against his as Johan deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against her lips, his hands beginning to move over the curves of her body. She opened her mouth, moaning softly as Johan held her tightly, his tongue slipping quickly past her lips to probe and explore. The towel fell away from her, but Chelsea barely

noticed, her own hands coming to life, trailing over Johan’s broad shoulders, exploring the muscled plane of his chest through the thin fabric of his tee shirt, trailing around to his back. All at once, he broke away from her mouth, his lips gliding along the line of her jaw, the softness of his skin contrasting with the roughness of his stubble. Johan nipped sharply at the spot just below her ear where Chelsea’s pulse fluttered, rabbit-fast. “You should never be allowed to wear clothes,” Johan murmured, his hands gliding down along her waist to settle at her hips. “Never anything more than a towel. It’s a sin to cover this up.” His hands slid upward to cup her full, heavy breasts, giving them a light squeeze. “Or these.” Johan’s teeth closed around her earlobe, nibbling at the tender flesh, and Chelsea gasped, arching into his body instinctively, a slight whimper breaking through her lips as Johan’s fingers claimed both of her nipples at once, rolling and twisting the already firm nubs. Johan’s lips traveled down along the column of her throat, his stubble rasping against her sensitive skin as he kissed and nipped, making Chelsea gasp with sweeping laps of his tongue. All at once, Johan broke away from her, his intent gaze capturing her eyes for just a moment. “You want to do this,” he said, the sentence not quite a question. Chelsea nodded, tingling all over,

unable to bring her mind to think of words. Johan lifted her up into his arms, draping her legs around his waist and coiling one arm underneath her buttocks. He carried her out of the bathroom as if she weighed nothing at all, kissing along the line of her neck almost meditatively as he brought her into the bedroom. Johan gently deposited her on the bed, taking a step back. Chelsea blushed as his intent, avid gaze trailed over her body slowly, drinking in every inch of her with undisguised hunger. “Hey,” Chelsea said breathlessly, resisting the urge to cover herself up. “How come I’m the only one naked here?” Johan blinked, glancing up from his admiring inspection to look at her face. He smiled slowly. “That’s easily fixed,” he said. Chelsea licked her lips as his hands moved to the hem of his tee shirt. He pulled the fabric up, revealing the flat ridges and planes of his abdomen, the swell of his pectoral muscles, a dusting of wheat-colored hair spattered across his chest. Chelsea glanced down to see the deep crease of his pelvis just above the belted waistband of his jeans and felt something inside of her tighten at the sight. Johan unbuckled his belt quickly, not even bothering to free it from the loops of his pants before he attacked the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it in a movement almost too fast for Chelsea’s dazed eyes

to catch. Her breath caught in her throat as Johan hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants, tugging them down over his lean hips, along his muscled thighs. He stepped out of the fabric, standing in almost absolute stillness for a moment in nothing more than a pair of boxer-briefs. Chelsea’s mouth watered even as her throat tightened at the sight of the ridge his hard cock formed at the front of his underwear; Johan’s erection strained at the tight confines of the material, giving Chelsea a moment’s trepidation. She swallowed convulsively, her body heating up even more intensely as Johan pulled at the elastic waistband, dragging it down. His cock sprung free, fully erect, and Chelsea’s eyes widened; even if the shape of him had warned her, she was still surprised at the sight of his thick, hard, long cock. In an instant, it seemed, Johan was on top of her, his body covering hers. He claimed her lips with his own, his hands dancing over the curves of her body, tickling and teasing and caressing her everywhere all at once. “Feeling relaxed?” he murmured lowly against her lips, as one hand drifted down between her legs. Chelsea shivered as his fingertips brushed against her slick folds, barely touching her. “More and more relaxed by the moment,” she answered almost absently, gasping sharply as

Johan’s fingers slid between her labia to stroke her slowly. She was already soaking wet; Chelsea could feel the heat of her fluids along the folds of her pussy, spreading along her inner thighs. “I’m going to make this last,” Johan told her, trailing his lips down along the column of her throat to her collarbones. His fingers found her clit by touch—but barely missed it, making Chelsea’s hips twist as her body struggled for better contact. Johan chuckled lowly, dipping his fingers down to her inner labia, stroking and rubbing slowly—achingly slowly. Chelsea murmured an incoherent protest, a soft whimper leaving her throat as she moved underneath him in instinctive reaction. “Patience, Chelsea,” Johan said with a chuckle, one finger barely sliding inside of her before withdrawing to tease once more. “We have nothing but time right now.” “You are such a jerk,” Chelsea told him, clenching her teeth as she writhed and squirmed, twisting her hips. Her hands kneaded and caressed, exploring the lines of Johan’s lean shoulders, the ridges of his spine, and the dip at the small of his back. “You’re…supposed to be…helping me relax…not—not making me more tense.” Her breaths came in panting bursts, her whole body humming with sensation, tingling with anticipation as Johan brought his fingers to just below her clit

over and over again, denying her the touch she wanted more than anything in the world. “Stop fighting it then,” Johan murmured, nipping sharply at the base of her throat. “As soon as you stop fighting it you’ll enjoy this much more.” He brought his fingertips up to swirl around her clit for just a moment—a flicker, no more than a heartbeat—and Chelsea cried out, every muscle in her body seemingly tensing from the short-lived relief. Johan teased her relentlessly, bringing her to the point where Chelsea was on the verge of pleading him to give her what she needed before he gave her pleasure-center a lingering stroke of his fingers, only to dip down lower once more. Chelsea gave into the torture gradually, the rising heat in her body making it impossible for her to continue fighting; she writhed and twisted underneath Johan, her hands wandering all over his body, reaching down to stroke his hot, hard cock and then up to clutch at his shoulders in desperation. Threats, promises, pleas, left her lips in a rush that she barely heard as Johan brought her to the edge of orgasm over and over again. Finally, he withdrew his fingers altogether, pulling himself up as his hips shifted downward between her legs, and Chelsea opened her eyes without knowing when she had closed them to see him looking down at her intently, his brilliant eyes

blazing with lust. “Keep your eyes open,” he told her lowly. Chelsea shivered as she felt the heat and hardness of his cock sliding against her drenched labia, barely rubbing against her as he rocked his hips slowly. “Let go of everything but me, Chelsea.” She nodded, not quite certain what she was agreeing to, her mind hazed over completely with the need for relief. Johan shifted against her, and Chelsea felt his finger barely brush her as he guided the tip of his cock between her slick folds. He thrust into her in one slow, steady movement, pushing past the resistance of her flexing muscles. Chelsea gasped as he filled her up in seconds, barely managing to keep her eyes open. Johan’s lips curved in a satisfied smile as his hips met hers. “Feel me, Chelsea,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. He stayed absolutely still for an agonizing moment, his cock buried deep inside of her, twitching slightly. Johan began to rock his hips once more, somehow pushing deeper and deeper inside of her, the thick heat of his cock rubbing along her inner walls with every movement. Chelsea gripped his shoulders tightly, falling into his rhythm like a tidal flow. Johan’s bright eyes gazed into hers even as they both began to move faster, panting as the heat built up between them. Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting moment by moment, her whole body tingling with it, and gave into the rush of sensation

that coursed through her, holding Johan’s gaze even as she moaned out again and again. “Fuck—fuck, Johan…” her fingernails bit into the skin of his back as she struggled to hold back, to savor the tingling, hot and cold flashes of sensation that crackled through every nerve in her body. “Give into it, Chelsea,” Johan told her, his voice ragged and hoarse. She shook her head, trying to reject the command, but as his hand slipped down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit unerringly, she cried out, throwing her head back against the pillows. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her, so intense it might have been pain, and Chelsea twisted and arched and writhed, pushing her hips down to meet Johan’s, as sensation washed through her, obliterating any ability to think. She was barely aware of the sound of Johan’s voice as he groaned, foreign words filling her ears meaninglessly; she felt his cock twitching inside of her and then felt the hot, sticky-slick gush of his orgasm flooding deep inside of her. Chelsea had not even finished her climax as darkness rose up, wrapping around her in a warm, buzzing coil.

**** “Chelsea…” She came back to herself at the sound of Johan’s slightly wheedling voice, opening her eyes to blink a few times in confusion. “There you are.” Turning her head slightly, she caught the sight of Johan, propped up on his elbows, watching her intently; he was only inches away from her, blond hair tousled, a smile playing at the corners of his full lips. “Hungry?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” Chelsea said, surprised at the fact; her stomach had felt as though someone had twisted it into knots ever since Johan had told her about the plot to eliminate her. She laughed, turning onto her side as she shook her head in amazement. Chelsea could still feel the tenderness between her thighs, the ache in her hips; how long had she been asleep? “I got us some food,” Johan said. “If you can make yourself climb out of the bed, it’s in the living room.” Chelsea started to sit up, only to sink back down with a groan. Her body felt deliciously heavy, her legs not quite real. “You relaxed me too much,” she protested, turning her head. “I can’t get up.” Johan laughed and she felt his weight shift on the bed. A moment later, his muscled arms slid underneath her, and

Chelsea let out a yelp of surprise as he lifted her from the bed, cradling her body against his chest. He carried her out of the room, and the smells of something delicious met her nose as Johan stepped through the door into the living room of the suite. Something tugged at Chelsea’s mind, but she felt too tired—and too satisfied—to pursue it. “You were asleep for an hour,” Johan informed her, settling her neatly on the couch. “I thought you’d be hungry finally. Then, of course, once you’re done eating, we can relax you just a little more.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a moment, feeling her body heat up in memory of just how thoroughly he had relaxed her before. “I think if I were any more relaxed, I’d be comatose.” Johan chuckled, and Chelsea watched as he strode to the room service cart a few feet away from the couch, lifting the cloche on one of the plates. “I have no idea what you like, so this was my best guess.” Even as they ate, Chelsea found that she and Johan could barely keep their hands off each other; the thought of more sex—even though she was thoroughly exhausted—was too tantalizing. She ate more quickly than she ever had before in her life, cutting the filet that Johan had ordered her into small bites and dipping it into the béarnaise sauce quickly. Everything tasted so good, but all

Chelsea could think about was the promise of more sex. She put her plate aside, meeting Johan’s gaze as he finished his own meal and smiling. “Unless you want to carry me into the bedroom again, I suggest we stay right here.” Johan chuckled, setting his dishes aside and reaching out for her. He pulled her into his lap in one deft movement, his hands wandering over her body, teasing and exploring. “We have to leave tomorrow,” he told her. Johan’s lips brushed against hers, and Chelsea felt his cock against her thigh, rapidly hardening as they began to move together instinctively, rubbing against each other, touching each other everywhere. “They already tossed your apartment. They’ll get our trail eventually—it’s impossible not to leave some kind of trail.” Johan kissed her hungrily, settling Chelsea’s hips against his and rocking up against her, rubbing his heat and hardness against her still-slick folds. “Don’t talk about that,” Chelsea said, barely breaking away from his lips. “I don’t even want to think right now.” Johan nodded slightly, shifting her on top of him. He reached down between their bodies and gave her clit a quick, lingering rub before he guided the tip of his cock up against her. Chelsea sank down onto him slowly, inhaling in an almost-gasp at the feeling of Johan’s heat pushing into her body. He felt familiar and strange all at

once, and as she took him deeper and deeper, Chelsea thought absently that as long as he wanted her relaxed, she would be happy to follow Johan’s program. Johan rocked his hips up against hers, and in moments they found their rhythm; Chelsea rode him steadily, rising and falling, twisting her hips as she took advantage of her position perched on top of him to kiss everywhere her lips could reach, explore every line of Johan’s body with her fingertips. Johan groaned as they moved together, thrusting up harder and faster, his hands trailing over her body but seemingly coming to a stop every time he reached her hips, pushing her down onto him, gripping her tightly. It seemed like mere moments before Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting faster and faster, her body heating up, tingling flashes of sensation rushing through her nerves. She buried her face against Johan’s neck, rocking and twisting her hips as the first wave of climax washed through her, blotting out her ability to think once more. She nipped into the sensitive skin of Johan’s neck and he groaned out, clutching her body tightly to his, his cock twitching against Chelsea’s inner walls as he followed her into orgasm.

**** As they loaded their paltry belongings into Johan’s car the next morning, Chelsea found herself smiling and shook her head at herself, utterly aghast at the fact that with her apartment thoroughly ransacked and a price on her head, she was actually grinning—she who even under the best circumstances barely found the enthusiasm to smile at all before nine in the morning. She could still feel the ache in her thighs, the lingering slickness from their morning tryst. “If it will help you relax during the car ride,” Johan had jokingly murmured as he pulled her into her arms only an hour or so before. She had no idea where they were going to next; all she knew was that they would be on the road for most of the day, putting distance between themselves and the nameless, faceless criminals who wanted to kill her. For the moment, with the lingering effects of more orgasms than she could count coursing through her system, Chelsea decided that it was enough.

PART TWO Chelsea pulled herself out of a doze as she felt the now-familiar slowing of Johan turning into a parking lot, the shudder through the body of the third car they had been in over the course of as many days. She had no idea where they were—and for a while, anyway, she had been telling herself that it didn’t matter where they were. She had abandoned her job, her home—her entire life. The day after Johan had whisked her out of her apartment and into a life on the run, he had told her quite simply that there was no choice but for her to throw away her cell phone. “If you want to smash it first, that would be even better,” he said as they stood at a gas station, waiting for the tank to fill. “Why do I have to do that?” she asked him— and two competing ideas filled her mind. If she trusted Johan’s assertion that the CEO of the company she worked for was after her, then her phone was like a big, flashing electronic beacon, charting her movements. But were the thugs that were supposedly after her technologically savvy enough to find a way to track her phone? And if

she didn’t trust Johan’s assertion, then throwing away her phone would mean getting rid of one of the last methods she had at her disposal to call the police, to get herself free of him. “They may be able to track you with it, Chelsea. I don’t know for sure what their capabilities are.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “They were able to find your apartment and trash it looking for your computer. They may have already found the hotel we stayed at last night. Anything that can give them an edge is something you don’t want to hold onto.” Chelsea fought down a sense of unease; after all, she had seen the documentation, hadn’t she? She had seen the emails and text messages between Rosen and whomever he had hired to come after the people who might be able to testify against him. But could she trust what she had seen? “Okay,” Chelsea said finally, taking her phone out of her purse. Johan nodded solemnly and glanced around the gas station, as if he thought that the people tracking them might appear in a flash to prevent him destroying their ability to follow. He let her phone fall to the ground and then, looking as if he was doing nothing more than crushing an insect, brought his heel down on it. Chelsea grimaced as she heard the crunch and clinking shatter of the screen, the grit of it grinding against the cement.

“But what about your phone? If they’re after us, they’d know I’m with you, wouldn’t they?” Johan had smiled slightly, taking his phone out of his pocket and showed it to her; it was strangely different from her own iPhone, sleeker, black and oddly almost dangerous-looking. “This is not commonly available on the market,” he told her, unlocking the screen in a series of movements her eyes couldn’t quite follow. “It’s encrypted. It’s specifically designed to be as difficult to hack as humanly possible—though, of course, with enough time and effort anything can be hacked.” Johan slipped the phone into his pocket as the gas pump stopped. He extracted the nozzle from the tank and hung it up on the stand, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It also has an interesting feature: a non-static phone number. Every time I get a notification about what’s going on, it comes to me through a different contact number—which makes it that much harder for the people coming after you to track us down.” Chelsea had had to accept this idea, as strange and science fiction-like as it seemed. After all, presumably Johan was in contact with someone; she had heard the tail end of conversations he had with his contact—whoever it was—apprising him or her in a series of short, terse sentences about their progress.

But who was he in contact with? She couldn’t quite fight down the lingering suspicion that she might have let herself into an enormous trap. But then, Chelsea thought as she looked around her in the car, if Johan was trying to take her to people who would go on to murder her, why would he keep the ruse going up for days? “If I didn’t know that the CEO of my company was trying to kill me,” she said, stretching against the back of the passenger seat, “I would almost feel guilty for missing so much work without much notice.” Johan had decided that it was pointless to keep up the ruse of being home sick shortly after she’d let him destroy her phone. After all, if the thugs pursuing her had trashed her apartment, it was easy to believe that her boss was either in on the situation, or had been told that she wouldn’t be in the office anymore. “You’ve always been somewhat of a good girl, haven’t you?” Johan asked her with a slightly leering smile. “Always at work on time, staying late when you have to, carrying your weight?” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him, frowning. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as defensive irritation crept through her body. Johan laughed, shutting off the ignition and lightly jiggled the keys in his palm.

“I think deep down you’re different,” he told her. “There’s another Chelsea—one you don’t let out often, and you probably should.” Chelsea’s eyebrows knit together as she stared at him in confusion. “I can see it in you when you get irritated with me,” Johan explained. “There’s a hellcat in you that you keep on a really tight leash. A woman who could shoot a man if she thought she had to. Or beat the shit out of him.” “And yet you’re not the slightest bit afraid of me,” Chelsea observed, tightening her arms across her chest. In fact, she thought wryly, Johan had— over the course of their few days together— demonstrated just how little he was afraid of her, just how powerful he was, picking her up and carrying her, pinning her to the bed, lifting her into his arms and holding her tightly. “You have yourself under tight control,” Johan said, shrugging. “It’s when you finally give into that —that Valkyrie you’ve got buried inside of you— that’s when I’ll be afraid.” Chelsea laughed, shaking her head at the image of herself as a Valkyrie. “Let’s check in, already,” she said, glancing around the parking lot of yet another hotel. “I feel nervous out here in the open.” Johan nodded and opened the driver’s side door, unfolding himself from the seat as Chelsea unbuckled her seat belt

and climbed out of her side. As they walked towards the ornate, opulent entrance of the third— or was it the fourth—hotel that they would be staying at, it occurred to her to wonder at the fact that they had yet to spend the night at a Motel 6, or a Howard Johnson—not even a Hilton. All of their overnight stays had been in impossibly luxurious hotels, in suites that would have boggled her mind if she had ever given serious consideration to places to stay before her life on the run. Where was Johan getting the money for the expensive hotels? How was it that he managed to have access to a different, beautiful car whenever they needed to change vehicles? If she had ever imagined what life would be like on the run, Chelsea would have pictured dingy, dirty hotel rooms close to the interstate, places where the front desk clerk didn’t look up as he took the money and handed over the key. Certainly, she would never have imagined a plush, comfortable suite at a hotel that had a spa on the ground floor and a menu of exotic choices, an entrance flanked with burbling, whispering fountains and lush, meticulously-caredfor plantings. Chelsea stood back as Johan conducted the business of checking them in, giving a fake name to the desk clerk. She glanced around the lobby, taking in the marble floors, the cedar-lined walls,

the real leather of the furniture nestled in cozy, conversational clusters. She had no idea if they were even still in her home state; she had no idea what the name of the city they were in was. “Sweetie,” Johan said calling her attention back to the present. “Did you want to go right up to the room, or browse some of the shops?” Chelsea shrugged. “We can come back down later,” she said, giving him a warmer smile than she felt. The clerk handed over the keys—real keys, not just a key card, Chelsea noticed—and went back to whatever he had been doing before they walked in. Johan took her hand, giving it a light squeeze, and led her to the elevators. “I told the guy at the desk that since we were only here overnight, we didn’t bring anything in the way of luggage,” he said quietly. “We can go get our things later when the shift changes.” Chelsea nodded, still mulling over the opulence of their surroundings, confused at the strange level of comfort that had come along with her life on the lam. She stepped onto the elevator, not quite able to ignore the lingering touch that Johan’s hand left at her hip as he steered her forward. One thing that she could very easily believe was the amount of time they had spent having sex, over and over again, over the few days she had been away from her daily routine. It was—

as Johan had pointed out their first night together— both an excellent form of stress relief and a good way to kill time. And it serves the added bonus of making me compliant, she thought wryly. The possibility that Johan was using sex to keep her in a state of ready belief for whatever he chose to tell her about her predicament had crossed her mind more than once. It was difficult not to believe that someone had your best interests at heart when they could make love to you like a house on fire. The elevator chimed, announcing their arrival at the floor that Johan selected, and he took Chelsea’s hand once more, steering her off of the car and down the hallway. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Johan told her lowly, his hand on the small of her back, giving Chelsea a very clear picture of just what he had been thinking about specifically. She smiled in spite of herself, feeling her heartbeat quickening in her chest, her body beginning to heat up. Questions about their lavish lifestyle started to trickle out of her mind as Johan unlocked the door to their suite, leading her through it in quick steps and closing it firmly behind them. Chelsea took just a moment to appreciate the sight of hardwood floors, a small gas-powered fireplace, deep and comfortable living room furniture; she hoped that she would never quite lose the pleased shock she felt at the splendor of the rooms they had at their disposal, even if she

questioned the source.

**** Chelsea didn’t quite suppress the yelp of surprise that came out of her lips as Johan reached out for her, pulling her towards him with a strong hand. He brushed his lips against hers, his arms coiling around her waist, lifting Chelsea up off her feet slightly to press against him all over. “Did you know,” he murmured, his lips tickling hers as he spoke, his hot breath tracing against her skin, “that you look absolutely adorable when you’re curled up asleep?” Chelsea smiled, her skin tingling as Johan’s hands slipped and slid along the curves of her body, caressing and teasing her. “Have I ever seen you asleep?” she asked; the question seemed distant—there were so many other, more important things to think about somehow. Johan chuckled lowly, sliding his hands underneath the hem of her blouse, making Chelsea shiver as he tickled her ribs. Chelsea draped her arms around Johan’s broad, strong shoulders, arching into him, pressing her body against his. “I’m not nearly as cute as you,” Johan told her. His hands moved up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her bra, and Chelsea moaned softly as

he gave the mounds of flesh a careful squeeze. Her nipples hardened, straining against the thin, lacy fabric. It was all too easy for Chelsea to remember what Johan looked like naked, the sight of his muscular chest, the flat ridges of his abdomen, deep creases at his hips and the delicious—irresistible— look of his hard cock standing proudly erect. “Who—are you—kidding?” Chelsea asked, gasping as Johan’s lips left hers, moving down to the column of her throat. He kissed and nipped at her skin playfully, teeth grazing a spot just underneath her jaw where her pulse fluttered. She trembled, shivering as if she had been plunged into ice water, although Chelsea’s body was only getting hotter and hotter as Johan’s fingers twisted and rolled her nipples, sending jolts of sensation directly to her already-wet pussy. Johan’s tongue swept against her skin, and Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat as she tilted her head back, giving him free and ready access to her sensitive skin. Somehow her shirt disappeared, falling to the floor before Chelsea could think of what was happening; her bra followed, and she realized that Johan was leading her through the suite, halfcarrying her in his strong arms as their clothing fell away piece by piece, trailing after them through the living room. She dragged Johan’s face up to hers, kissing him hungrily as she let her hands wander

over the planes of his chest and back, exploring the topography of his body as eagerly as she had the first time they’d had sex. Johan lifted her up into his arms almost effortlessly, carrying Chelsea the last few steps into the bedroom part of the hotel suite. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind them, instead bringing Chelsea directly to the bed and almost throwing her onto the soft, unbelievably luxurious surface. He reached down, gathering up the fabric of her skirt in his hands and tugging the waistband sharply down over her hips. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day,” Johan told her, his bright eyes darkening as he drank in the sight of her. “We just had sex this morning,” Chelsea said, chuckling lowly as she squirmed and shifted on the bed, helping him to remove her skirt as he pulled it down along her legs. He tossed the garment over his shoulder, not even looking to see where it landed, and the next moment Chelsea moaned softly in pleasure at the feeling of his body covering hers as he pinned her to the blankets. “Ever since then,” Johan murmured, kissing her hungrily on the lips. His hands left her body, but Chelsea could feel him moving and shifting on top of her, feel the heat of his body as he wriggled out of his thick, fitted jeans. Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of the hot, hard ridge of his

erection pressing against her, thin layers of fabric the only thing separating her from what she wanted the most. Johan rocked his hips against hers, rubbing against her, a hot rush of pleasure flooding through Chelsea as the friction crackled against her clitoris. Chelsea wrapped her legs around Johan’s waist, pushing down against him, her hands wandering over his broad back eagerly. No matter how many times they had had sex—and in how many different locations—Johan’s body was still a revelation to her, even days later. Chelsea gasped and panted as Johan hooked his fingers in the elastic waist of her panties, dragging them down from her hips. She fumbled at the front of his boxer-briefs, her fingers not quite catching the waistband, as she shifted and squirmed underneath Johan, hungry to feel his body against hers. It seemed like only a moment later when Chelsea felt the heat and hardness of Johan’s cock brushing against her slick folds, sending a tingle of sensation through her. He held himself up, looking down into her face, smiling slightly as he rocked his hips slowly and steadily, teasing her with the feeling of his cock just barely grazing her, slipping against her drenched labia. “Do you want it?” he asked her playfully, pulling his hips back when she pushed down to try and rub herself against him more thoroughly. Johan’s smile deepened as he evaded her.

“You’re such jerk,” Chelsea said, her voice taking on a growling note of frustration. “Answer the question,” Johan suggested, once more pressing up against her only to withdraw when Chelsea tried to get better contact. “Tell me you want it, and I’ll give it to you.” Chelsea squirmed, and Johan caught up her wrists in one hand, lifting her arms over her head and pinning them there against the mattress. “All you have to do is ask…” Chelsea groaned in frustration, struggling against his strength. Johan nipped at her bottom lip, carefully evading her attempts to break the hold on her wrists, to rub against him. Chelsea let out a little scream of frustration, twisting her hips away from him, pouting up at Johan as she fought against the need that consumed her. “You’re such an asshole,” she told him, shivering as she felt his cock brush against her yet again. “I’m not going to do it. You’re not going to make me beg.” Johan chuckled lowly, his lips dragging against her jaw. “You’re not patient enough to hold out, Chelsea,” he murmured lowly, nibbling sharply at the pulse point just below her ear. Chelsea shuddered, gritting her teeth as she fought against the absolute need to feel him inside of her. She wasn’t going to give in, she told herself; she wasn’t going to let him win. Chelsea tried to breathe

slowly and deeply, but every movement brought the warm, sharp-sweet scent of Johan’s body into her nose, made parts of her body brush against him, sending a thrill of even deeper need coursing through her. “Fuck! Fine—yes, yes I want it,” Chelsea said, panting. “I swear to god if you don’t stop teasing me, I am going to find some goddamned way to get out from under you and—and—lock myself in the bathroom.” Johan laughed, bringing his mouth up to hers, kissing her hungrily. He reached down between their bodies, and Chelsea moaned against his lips as Johan guided the tip of his cock up against her, rubbing against her clit for just a moment. He shifted, and Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat as Johan thrust inside of her slowly, pushing past the initial resistance of her body. He rocked his hips, the thick, hard heat of his cock rubbing along her inner walls, filling her up inch by inch as he moved deeper and deeper inside of her. Johan let go of her wrists, holding himself up on his elbows, and Chelsea fell into his rhythm, pushing her hips down to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper. She kissed everywhere her lips could reach, licking his sweat-salted skin, writhing against his body as pleasure crackled through her veins like static. Chelsea moaned out as the tip of

Johan’s cock barely brushed against her g-spot, a hot-and-cold jolt of sensation shocking her. She let her hands explore the planes and contours of his body, caressing and kneading, as she twisted and shifted her hips underneath him; every thrust brought his pelvic bones up to rub against her clit, every third push of his hips made her shiver as the tip of his cock barely rubbed against the pleasure center inside of her. They moved together in an irresistible rhythm, exploring each other’s bodies, touching and tasting, and Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting every moment as the friction built up between their bodies. She clung to him in near-desperation, her hips rising and falling, twisting against his body, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she felt herself coming closer and closer to orgasm. “It’s worth it—isn’t it?” Johan murmured lowly against her lips. “I always make it worth it, don’t I, Chelsea?” She shook her head, resisting his words even as her body tingled all over with sensation. Johan pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, carefully worrying it as they moved together as one, sweat gathering and slithering over their skin as they both heated up. Chelsea cried out as Johan began to thrust into her steadily, the tip of his cock rubbing back and forth against her pleasure center, every movement

of his hips building the friction against her sensitive clit. She fought to hold back, wanting to savor the pleasure coursing through her, wanting to deny the subtle, sexual power that Johan had assumed over her; but in the span of a few heartbeats, she felt the last of her self-control breaking, and Chelsea shuddered as wave after wave of sensation worked through her, blanking out all thoughts. She heard Johan murmuring something in a language she couldn’t understand, heard his breath hitch as her muscles tightened around him in erratic spasms, but all Chelsea knew was the pleasure flooding through her. She hit the apex of her climax as Johan’s cock began to twitch inside of her; the spasms of pleasure had only just begun to abate as the hot, sticky-slick gush of Johan’s orgasm rushed into her, even as he let out a long, low groan of pleasure. They moved together mindlessly, pushing their hips together, touching and clutching at each other, and Chelsea was only barely aware of her waning orgasm as she slipped into a warm, dark, humming doze, sagging against the mattress, her arms and legs remote and nerveless.

**** Hours later, after they had gotten their things out of the car, Chelsea found her mind once more turning to the questions that had plagued her earlier. “You should probably visit the salon here,” Johan suggested, sitting back on the couch while she flipped through the channels, trying to find something she wanted to watch. “Hm?” Chelsea glanced at him; Johan had another book in his hands, and not for the first time she considered how utterly bizarre it was to think that a guy who carried multiple weapons on his person as a matter of course, who only had about three or four changes of clothes in a backpack to his name, somehow also had half a dozen books. “We’re putting distance between us and the guys after you,” Johan said, putting the book aside. “But it would be even easier to evade them if you changed your appearance a little bit.” Chelsea glanced at him sharply. “The salon downstairs would probably cost several hundred dollars,” she said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m unemployed at the moment.”

Johan smiled. “They charge it to the room automatically; no need for you to use your card.” In fact, Chelsea realized that from the moment they had left her house days before, Johan had paid for everything, one way or another; usually with cash, when they got gas or food on the road. “I would go with you, of course. There’s no point in you being undefended.” “Just how different could a salon make me even look?” Chelsea was not entirely sure why she was resisting the suggestion so much—a mixture of her doubts about Johan, her sense that everything in her life was changing, an irrational clinginess to one of the few things that hadn’t changed. Underneath that, there was a little voice in her mind, a subtle insecurity, that said that Johan didn’t find her very attractive. Even though he’d had sex with her every day since they’d fled her apartment, and Johan had told her she was cute, or gorgeous, or beautiful—the comment he’d made that she should never be permitted to wear more than a towel came to mind obediently in the man’s low, almost growling murmur—Chelsea had been plagued with doubts her entire life; no amount of compliment from even a gorgeous man like Johan was going to undo the years of taunts. “You would be surprised how much they can do with a haircut, color, things like that,” Johan

said, shrugging. “Even if they start flashing a picture of you around, most people don’t pay that much attention to details.” Chelsea worried at her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth for a moment while she considered. “How are you affording this?” she asked him, putting down the remote to the TV and pinning Johan down with a level gaze. “The hotels, the cars, the gas? I have never traveled this well in my life, much less while fleeing people who want to kill me.” Johan shrugged off the question, looking unconcerned. “I have an expense account. When we’re sure they’re not chasing you anymore, I’ll request funds to get you an apartment, and to get you new documentation—ID, bank account, all that. You’ll basically be in a kind of witness protection program until Rosen goes to trial.” Chelsea frowned. “But who’s paying you? This isn’t a federal thing—if it was, we’d be staying in cheaper hotels and eating more fast food.” Shadows flickered across Johan’s bright eyes quickly; so quickly that Chelsea almost missed it. “We have funding. You could get a full makeover in the salon and it would be a drop in the barrel. Don’t worry about it.” Chelsea brought her tongue up along the roof of her mouth and clucked it against her teeth.

“Fine, if you want me to change the way I look, I’ll change the way I look,” she said tartly. “After all, I let you talk me into destroying my phone, I let you talk me into leaving town, I let you talk me into eating, sleeping, and fucking on your schedule…” she stood up quickly as her anger flowed to a sudden flashpoint she hadn’t realized she was approaching, snatching up the remote control and turning the TV off before letting the device clatter onto the coffee table once more. Johan’s eyes widened and her stared at her with something almost like alarm. “Let’s go down to the salon so they can make me look like a completely different person who isn’t running away from her entire life!” Johan stood in a quick, fluid movement that made Chelsea start. In an instant, it seemed, he was only inches away from her, looking down into her eyes. “If you don’t want to fuck me, all you have to do is say no,” he told her lowly. “If you don’t want to sleep, then don’t sleep. If you don’t want to eat, don’t eat. If you don’t want to go to the salon, don’t to go.” Johan’s hands dropped to her shoulders, sliding to her arms. “My only job is to get you away from the people who want to kill you and keep you safe,” he said, his hands tightening on her slightly. “If you want to make that harder for me, you are more than welcome to. If you want to sulk and starve yourself, or if you want to be an

insomniac, be my guest.” “I don’t even know what I’m running from! I don’t know what I’m running to! All I have is your word that you’re supposed to protect me. Until what—four days ago?—I had never even met you before.” Chelsea twisted and pivoted, breaking his hold on her arms and stepped away from Johan, scowling at him. “I barely know you, I barely know anything about what is going on in my life, and you keep popping these—these—suggestions to me. ‘Let’s have sex to kill time.’ ‘Let’s get rid of your phone.’ ‘Let’s change your appearance.’ ” Chelsea waved her hands about wildly, feeling the anger thrumming through her body, the doubts exploding out of her in a torrent. Everything she had been thinking and yet not letting herself think rose to the surface of her brain. “I’m fucking terrified, Johan! And you’re just sitting there, driving the car, or reading a book, or—or—getting me off like nothing is going on at all. Because you know everything, don’t you?” Chelsea glared at him. “You probably know the damned size of my underwear.” Johan’s eyes flickered with amusement, his lips twitching. “Seven,” he said lightly. Chelsea inhaled sharply. “I helped you pick up your clothes yesterday.” Her hands curled into fists, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. “You know what? No. I am not going to the

salon. I am—” she felt a jolt of fear; she had no idea where she was, she had no access to the car— at least not as long as Johan had the keys—and she believed him that there were, in fact, people after her. Where could she realistically go? “I am going into the bathroom, and I am going to enjoy being by myself for however long I feel like it.” “Sure,” Johan said, eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “Like I said, you can sulk if you want to. Sulk as long as you want to, in fact. Stay in there all night.” Chelsea let out an irritated little scream, breathing in deeply and staring at him for a long moment. “I am locking the fucking door behind me,” she said, stomping barefoot in the direction of the master bathroom. Chelsea slammed the door shut behind her, only remembering afterward to twist the lock on the knob before she threw herself onto the rim of the bathtub. A sharp jolt of pain shot up from her buttock to remind her that anger would not make her invulnerable to injury, but Chelsea ignored the lingering ache, inhaling and exhaling slowly through her nose as her anger died down from a rolling boil to a simmer. I am not sulking, she thought bitterly. I need time to myself. I need space. I need to not be in the company of some gorgeous man who makes me forget that my entire life is in fucking shambles right now. Chelsea

stood, pain rippling through her buttock and leg as she began to pace the small floor of the bathroom, unwilling to let go of the irritation she felt. She was going to stay in the tiny room until she figured some things out, she told herself. However long that was. Even if it did mean sleeping in the bathtub.

**** “Chelsea,” Johan’s voice came through the locked bathroom door. “If you want to starve yourself, that’s your prerogative, but there’s food if you’re hungry.” Chelsea felt her stomach twist at the mention of food. She was hungry. She was also slightly chilly from the cold tile and porcelain of the bathroom, tired and slightly dizzy from walking in near-circles for what she estimated had to be over an hour. She worried her bottom lip, trying to decide if the blow to her pride was worth leaving the room and eating something, or if she wanted to stand on firm—if self-defeating—principle, and stay there all night just to show Johan he couldn’t and wouldn’t control her in any way. Screw it. I’m hungry, there’s food, I might as well eat. When she heard Johan’s steps retreating from the bathroom door, Chelsea took a deep breath, steeling herself from any comment he might make about her tantrum. She unlocked the door and opened it, breathing in the scent of another truly delicious meal. If nothing else, Chelsea thought, Johan had excellent taste in ordering room service. The object of her ire was seated in the living

room, busily arranging and uncovering platters and plates, bottles and glasses and silverware. As she took in the oddly domestic sight, Chelsea’s eyes widened at the veritable feast of selections: chilled seafood, something that looked like it might be chocolate mousse, steaming, seared steak and chicken with crackling skin, buttery roasted potatoes, a crisp Waldorf salad, fresh strawberries, flaky croissants; so much food that Chelsea wasn’t certain that it was even remotely possible for them to eat it all. “You know, if you were trying to calm my fears about where all this money is coming from, this was not the way to do it,” she said. Johan looked up, casting a smile in her direction over his shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to eat,” he said mildly. “I was trying to come up with a way to slide a plate under the bathroom door but the gap is so narrow it seemed hopeless.” He gestured for Chelsea to join him on the couch, unfolding a cloth napkin and placing it a foot or so away from him. “Okay,” Chelsea said, gathering up the napkin and laying it in her lap. Johan took one of the plates and began filling it with small portions of everything on the table. “Let’s hear all about how it was stupid and immature of me to throw a temper tantrum.” Johan glanced at her, barely raising one wheat-colored eyebrow.

“You’re afraid, you’re under stress, and you’re dealing with a great deal of uncertainty,” Johan said. He extended the plate towards her utterly piled with delicacies. “It seems fair that you would want some time alone, even if I can’t give you much space.” Chelsea felt a ripple of irritation at his reasonable tone of voice. “Are you a hostage negotiator on your days off?” she asked, snagging a fork from one of the bundles on the coffee table. Johan chuckled lowly. “I have dealt with plenty of people in a similar position to you.” He began helping himself to the abundance of food in front of them. “Of course, I haven’t had sex with all of them. And I don’t think any of them have been as delicious as you are.” He popped a hulled strawberry into his mouth. “It’s good, you wanting to take control. You’re not just a helpless victim.” Chelsea pushed around one of the cold shrimp on her plate, not certain of exactly how she felt about the compliment. “I think I bruised my tailbone,” she admitted, smiling wryly. “If you’re interested, I can examine your cute ass in detail later,” Johan suggested, his bright eyes warming as he looked at her. He shrugged, perhaps remembering the part of her diatribe about having sex with him. “I’m sure a hotel like this has a doctor if you’d prefer a professional.” Chelsea

sighed. “I want to not want to have sex with you,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she tried to decide whether or not she had spoken correctly. “I’d really rather not be attracted to you, but you’re just…” Chelsea chuckled, shaking her head and bringing a bite of lobster to her lips. “It’s not really fair, you know.” Johan sat back with his plate, his graze trailing over the lines of her body slowly. “And it’s fair for me? I have to focus on keeping you away from bad guys when all I want to do is keep you in bed all day.” His lips twitched in an amused, slightly lust-tinged smile. “We’re both dealing with hardships.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, though she could feel her cheeks—and the rest of her body—heating up at the suggestive tone of Johan’s words. She turned her attention more fully onto the food in front of her, tasting everything in quick bites before settling in to really enjoy the few things that appealed to her the most. Somehow, they managed to make their way through most of the astonishing volume of food, and as Johan gathered up the plates and implements, loading them onto the room service cart, Chelsea shook her head at the carnage they’d jointly wreaked. “I had no idea I was that hungry,” she said. Johan’s lips twitched with a smile. “I thought it might have contributed to your

hair-trigger temper,” he said quietly. “You seem to be more prone to bad moods when you’re hungry.” Chelsea raised an eyebrow, twisting her lips into a wry almost-smile as she tried to decide whether it was condescending or merely matter-of-fact. “Yeah, well,” she said finally, picking at imaginary lint on the couch cushion she sat on. “We’re ready to move past that, I hope?” Johan guided the room service cart to the door of the suite and flashed a grin at her. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of being controlling or unfair,” Johan said, opening the door and pushing the cart through it. He locked the door as it fell shut, turning to face Chelsea and leaning against the doorframe. Chelsea rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together to suppress the smile that threatened to form, trying to hold onto her irritation at Johan. She decided that it wasn’t worth it; Johan was gorgeous, and she knew from experience that he was extremely good in bed. She didn’t think that spending the night on the couch, or in the bathroom, was a very appealing option. “I’m not going to the salon,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Johan shrugged, watching her with an odd mixture of calm and intensity. Chelsea felt more like an antelope under the surveillance of a lion than the object of Johan’s protection.

“Don’t go if you don’t want to go,” he replied evenly. Chelsea groaned, sliding inelegantly lengthwise on the couch. “You know, it’s kind of annoying that you keep being so—so—agreeable,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s irritating as hell that you’re not trying to either console me or bully me or...” she pressed her lips together, trying to think of what it was she wanted from him. “Well you put the kibosh on trying to seduce you; you don’t need comforting, and you made it clear how you feel about bullying.” Chelsea closed her eyes, feeling her irritation rising. Before she could make a reply, she heard a soft, distant noise. Chelsea opened her eyes and turned her head just in time to see Johan approaching her, striding in quick, decisive steps across the room. He sank down into a crouch just inches away from her in front of the couch. “Or maybe you weren’t really telling the truth with all your indignation about— how did you say it? ‘Fucking on my schedule?’ ” Johan’s voice dropped lower, and in spite of her irritation, Chelsea felt her body start to tingle, start to warm up. “Did you want me to see if you bruised yourself?” His hand barely brushed against her hip, and Chelsea shivered. She bit her bottom lip. “Fine,” she said, even as her heart started beating faster in her chest. She blushed, slightly

embarrassed at the fact that she had injured herself in the adult equivalent of a temper tantrum, and turned over gracelessly on her stomach. Johan’s fingers brushed against her skin lightly as he lifted up her skirt, as he gently—gently—tugged her panties down over the curve of her buttocks. Chelsea heard a sharp intake of breath. “You definitely bruised yourself,” Johan said, his warm fingers trailing in a line from one side of her hip to the other. “You probably won’t be comfortable sitting in the car all day tomorrow.” Chelsea shivered as his touch lingered against her tender, bruised skin, squirming slightly in a mixture of discomfort and—oddly—desire. She was almost as embarrassed at the cause of her injury as she was at the fact that Johan’s light touch was beginning to turn her on. “What a shame.” She heard Johan clucking his tongue against his teeth as he continued to caress her. Chelsea turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder. “I think you’ve exhausted the potential for staring at my ass that comes with examining the bruise,” she said, biting her bottom lip. Johan smiled unabashedly, his fingers withdrawing. “What do you want to do about it? I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.” Chelsea chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean—I’m reliably informed that sex is an excellent pain reliever, but

finding the right position could be a challenge, and then there’s the fact that you don’t want to want to have sex with me…” Chelsea scrambled up onto one elbow, using her other hand to cuff Johan on the shoulder. “You are such an asshole sometimes,” she said. Johan tilted his head to the side slightly, not even reacting to the smack she had delivered, and his hand slid against her sensitive skin once more, cupping the curve of her buttocks. “I think the fall must have scrambled your brain; the asshole is closer to here.” Johan gave her buttocks a careful squeeze and Chelsea gasped; the little twinge of pain from the bruising just above his hand was nothing compared to the rush of sensuality she felt flowing through her. Johan grinned at her as if he understood her predicament entirely. “We could watch TV and I could see if the front desk has some aspirin,” he suggested innocently. “Ugh.” Chelsea squirmed away from him, dragging herself up off of her stomach and wincing as the movement of sitting up put more pressure on her bruise. “Fine! I want to have sex with you.” Johan chuckled, his gaze meeting hers. “You’ll feel better afterward,” he pointed out, leaning in close to her. Chelsea started to retort, but Johan brushed his lips against hers, his hands

beginning to come alive on her body, stroking and caressing her. He peeled off her clothes quickly, letting them fall to the couch, to the floor, and Chelsea broke away from Johan’s lips as she felt him lift her up carefully, rising from his crouch and settling her body against his. He carried her into the bedroom of the suite, carefully laying Chelsea down onto the bed. Johan looked down at her hungrily; before she could prompt him, however, he had already begun to strip off his clothes, hauling his tee shirt over his head and casting it aside, quickly unbuckling his belt. In a matter of moments, he was pushing his boxers down over his hips, revealing the slim, muscled body Chelsea had come to enjoy so much. She took in the sight of his lean hips, his broad chest with its scattering of wheat-colored hair, the muscled thighs, and the hard, proudly erect cock just above. Johan climbed into the bed with her, carefully arranging himself next to her as he let his hands wander and trail over Chelsea’s body slowly. He cupped her jaw, shifting on the bed next to her, and kissed her hungrily. Chelsea moaned as his hand fell away, slipping along the lines of her body, down between her legs. Johan’s other arm slid underneath her, shifting Chelsea onto her side to face him, holding her body close. Johan cupped her alreadywet folds in his palm, his fingers brushing up and

down along her labia. “If I take you like this,” Johan murmured, barely breaking his lips away from hers, “I think we can keep from hurting your poor, injured ass.” Chelsea chuckled breathlessly, gasping as Johan’s fingers pressed more deeply against her folds, as he stroked and rubbed her up and down teasingly. “I’ll—I’ll take your word for it,” Chelsea said. Johan’s fingers retreated and she groaned in frustrated desire; but the next moment, as he kissed her again, she felt Johan’s hand moving along her leg, felt him moving and shifting her. One of her legs draped over his hip, her foot barely touching the mattress beyond him, and while she could feel the flicker of tension along her bruise, the appealing feeling of his cock brushing against her slick folds soon distracted her. Johan held her tightly, cradling her body against his, and Chelsea moaned as he thrust into her, filling her up quickly, his thick, hard cock rubbing against her inner walls. Chelsea’s pleasure mounted quickly as they moved together, kissing and touching and rocking their hips, twisting and writhing on the bed. Hot and cold tingles of pleasure coursed through her; the way her body was draped over and wedged against Johan’s meant that every movement brought friction to bear on her clit, crackling sensations shooting through her to compete with the sharper,

hotter pleasure of Johan’s cock filling her up over and over again. “This—was a good—idea,” she said, panting, barely breaking away from Johan’s lips. Johan chuckled lowly, taking advantage of the position to play with her breasts, cupping and squeezing them, teasing her nipples with his fingertips. His mouth traveled all over her, it seemed, kissing and nipping, sucking and licking as they both moved faster and faster together, falling into a rhythm that neither could resist. Chelsea gasped and shivered as Johan’s cock brushed up against her g-spot steadily, the tip rubbing along her inner walls to press her pleasure center with almost every movement of his hips. Somehow Johan was shifting her around, even as they continued to move together, even as he thrust deeper and deeper inside of her, and Chelsea found herself on top of him, straddling his waist. Johan’s hands rested on her hips, slid up to her breasts, and Chelsea rode him hard and fast, taking him deeper, moaning and crying out in pleasure as she came closer and closer to orgasm. Johan sat up slightly, pulling her by the shoulders down against him, kissing her hungrily, and as their bodies rubbed together, Chelsea couldn’t hold back any longer; the last of her self-control dissolved as every muscle in her body flexed and then released, wave after wave of pleasure washing through her, obliterating any thought of pain or fear. She barely

heard Johan’s moans of pleasure as her inner walls flexed around him, but as he reached his own climax, the hot stickiness of his come rushing into her, her climax intensified. Chelsea barely held herself up as Johan managed a few final hard, fast thrusts, before she collapsed against him, panting and gasping for breath.

**** Chelsea was still coming back to herself, basking in the hazy glow of pleasure, when she felt Johan’s body tense underneath her. “What?” she asked, something about his tension triggering an internal alarm. “You need to get out of bed quickly,” Johan said, his voice little more than a murmur. “And you need to get dressed. Now.” “What’s going on?” Chelsea pulled herself up to look down at Johan. He lifted her off of him in a quick, deft movement, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up seemingly all at once, with a grace that Chelsea envied. “I hear people outside,” Johan told her. He picked up his clothes. “Quickly, Chelsea,” he said, giving her a firm look to underscore the urgency. She scrambled out of the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain from her bruised buttocks, and darted into the living room area of the suite, quickly retrieving her panties, her bra, her skirt. She pulled and tugged to get them on; in the living room, she could hear the sound of movement in the hallway.

Johan came into the room behind her, the keys to the car in his hand. “Take these,” he said. “If it’s them, you’re better off making a getaway in the car on your own.” “Where the hell am I supposed to go?” Chelsea asked him, though she took the key chain instinctively. “There’s money in the glove compartment,” Johan told her. He moved, and suddenly there was a gun in his hand. He shifted again, his hand going down to a subtle bulge along his hip, and produced a knife. “There’s also a spare phone in there. The only number in it will connect to my phone.” There was a loud, shuddering boom at the door and Chelsea jumped back, yelping in surprise and alarm. Johan put the knife into her hand, bringing both hands around the butt of his pistol. “Get yourself out of here, get into the car, and drive like hell,” Johan said sharply. “I’ll take care of everything else.” Four men poured through the door into the room, and Chelsea staggered backward, gripping the hilt of the knife tightly. “Found you, Princess,” one of the men said, sneering. The four were all dressed in nondescript clothes: jeans, tee shirts, and work boots. Chelsea thought wildly that they must have gotten into the hotel by pretending to be workers, part of the staff. Their hair and faces looked greasy, and Chelsea

thought fleetingly that the men had obviously not had the benefit of luxury hotels in their pursuit. Everything became a blur, and Chelsea went almost deaf at the air-ripping report of the first shot Johan fired. She glanced at him quickly and then rushed forward, even as reinforcements came in behind the first four men. Pivoting on her heel, she looked around frantically for an alternative exit; there was a balcony attached to the suite, but the thought of the long drop down made her stop. “Go, Chelsea!” She darted towards the door to the suite, ears ringing as another shot from the pistol echoed through the room. One of the men went down. Chelsea darted through the opening the hired man’s fall created, slashing with the knife to attempt to fend off the grabs his comrades made for her. She made it through the door, but one of the men was hot on her heels. Before she could get down the hallway, she felt a heavy weight collide with her back and she was falling forward, holding her arm out to the side instinctively to avoid stabbing herself as she hit the floor, covered by the heavy man. Chelsea screamed, struggling and squirming, and stabbed blindly with the knife Johan had given her. There was a sharp jolt of pain across her back, another against her shoulders, and she could hear—dimly— shouts and shots coming from the room behind her,

thuds and thunder of the struggle. Chelsea thought wildly that they had certainly racked up a huge bill for themselves. She shouted incoherently, heart pounding in her chest, blood roaring in her ears, and stabbed down at the lump of black, pink, and blue; once, twice, three times, until he went still, groaning. She got to her feet and staggered towards the elevator, trying to ignore the misgivings she felt at leaving Johan behind. In minutes that felt like an hour, Chelsea found herself in the parking lot, the blood-reddened knife still in one hand, the keys to the car in the other. She ached all over—sharper aches that told her she was injured indeed, though the adrenaline of the fight made them seem like a minor consideration. She limped to the car, shivering and shaking, and unlocked the door. She could only hope that she would be able to get to wherever she needed to be, and be able to get in touch with Johan when she did.

PART THREE Chelsea pulled into an empty parking spot at a rest stop in what seemed—to her—like the middle of nowhere, exhausted. She hadn’t seen Johan in twenty-four hours; the only sleep she had gotten was a brief nap at a hospital. An hour into her panicked flight away from the hotel, the adrenaline had begun to ebb out of her system, and Chelsea had slowly realized that she was bleeding in a few places, with pain throbbing in many more. Thoughts of Johan—worries about whether or not he was still alive, concerns about where he was, if he was alive, and how she would get in contact with him once more—distracted her enough to keep going until she saw a sign on the highway with the H indicating there was a hospital nearby. She had decided that two hours away was far enough, if Johan had indeed taken out their assailants. Chelsea had finally checked the glove compartment to find the phone and the money; much, much more of it than she would have guessed that Johan would have felt comfortable just leaving in the car. Her fingers had trembled as she attempted to count the contents of the envelope, but there was at least a thousand dollars in it.

Chelsea had stuffed the envelope into her purse, slipped the phone in her pocket, and limped into the hospital. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity —but was, she found out later, only an hour and a half—Chelsea had been called back. In addition to the cash, she’d found a note in the card to submit any bills to a particular agent, and had provided that person’s contact information to the hospital; they must have called and confirmed it, because they were more than happy to x-ray seemingly every inch of her body, run a full panel of blood tests, and examine each injury in minute detail. Chelsea had a badly sprained ankle, a partially torn ligament in her knee, a bullet graze on the back of her shoulder, and bruised ribs, all of which she had struggled to explain with as little detail as possible. Against medical advice, she had simply let them put an air cast on her sprained ankle, a brace on her injured knee, and a bandage on her bullet graze. There was not much they could do about the bruised ribs, but the hospital had prescribed her pain medication, which the on-site pharmacy had filled. Chelsea had stuffed that into her purse and went on her way, in spite of the encouragement of the attending doctor to stay for a few hours of observation, and warnings that she might injure herself more if she was too active.

She had managed to stay on the road in spite of the gnawing pains that seemed to come from all over her body, stopping every so often to get coffee. Chelsea hadn’t even wanted to find a hotel to stay at; she had no idea where Johan was, had no idea where she should be going, no idea if the people after her were on her trail once more. She also knew that if she stayed alone in a hotel, she wouldn’t be able to get decent sleep anyway. She would toss and turn, likely sending twinges of pain through her legs and torso every time she moved, worrying about the lack of contact with Johan, wondering what she would do with herself if she found out that Johan was dead. Chelsea had called as many times as she had dared, using the odd phone with its singular number in the address book. Each time, for the first twelve hours of her flight from the hotel, she received a message that the person she was attempting to call was unavailable; that they had not established a voice mail, and she should call back later. Chelsea reasoned to herself that if Johan had been killed, most likely the people who’d attacked them would have gotten the phone; they would have tried to convince her to meet them somewhere. She refused to think that it was just as likely that Johan was dead, the phone left behind, nothing for her to do and no one for her to reach. Eventually, Johan would call her back.

After they had been separated for almost twenty hours, Chelsea had begun to lose hope. She made one final call to Johan as a Hail Mary, and was shocked enough to nearly trip over the hose to the gas pump as she walked back and forth as the call connected. “Where are you?” Johan had asked immediately. “I have no idea,” Chelsea had said wryly. “I’ve been driving steadily for…I don’t even really know how long anymore. Ten hours at least.” She heard Johan sigh. “You didn’t even stop to sleep?” “Coffee and fear, they do a pretty good job of keeping a person awake.” Chelsea wanted—almost needed—to ask Johan how he was, if he was injured, if he had slept. “The longer you go without sleep the more likely you are to do those assholes’ work for them by crashing into a pylon,” Johan said sharply. “Are you at a gas station or something?” Chelsea started to ask how he had guessed, but realized it was one of the few sensible places for her to be, if she was sticking to the road; she wouldn’t be calling him if she was driving on the highway at the maximum legal speed. She admitted she was. “Is anyone there with you?” Chelsea had glanced around. There was one other person, two pumps down. “Ask them what city you’re in.”

Suppressing the embarrassing feeling that she would definitely come across as a complete idiot, Chelsea followed the instruction. The woman at the other pump told her that she was in a town called Green Tree. When Chelsea passed that information to Johan, she heard him cluck his tongue against his teeth, considering. “Hold on,” he said, and Chelsea heard the sound of something rustling, movement on the other end of the line. A few moments later, Johan spoke again. “You’re about two hours west of me, unless you’ve really made good time and are in a totally different Green Tree,” she could hear him smiling. “Turn around, come east, we’ll meet at a rest stop and I’ll get you to a hotel.” “What rest stop?” Chelsea thought longingly of the pain pills in her purse; but while she had to drive, she couldn’t let herself take the risk of having one, or even half of one. Johan gave her a highway exit number and told Chelsea to call him when she arrived; he would probably already be there, but he wanted her to confirm it before she got out of the car. Now, finally arrived, Chelsea picked the phone up from the passenger seat, unlocked the screen, and found the only number in the contact list. She yawned as she held the phone to her ear, listening to it ring once, twice, and then stop—the call connecting. “Are you here?” Chelsea nodded

before realizing that obviously, Johan couldn’t see her over the phone. “Yeah, I’m here. I think. Exit 96B, right?” “I’ll come to the car.” Chelsea tilted her head back against the headrest, letting the phone slip from her fingers. She couldn’t remember ever being so exhausted in her life. Her ankle, her knee, her ribs, almost her whole body, it seemed, throbbed with pain. Chelsea wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath for about an hour and sleep for ten hours following that. Preferably under the influence of hospitalgrade opiates. She almost fell into a doze, and jumped when she heard the soft tapping at the window. Looking out, Chelsea saw Johan—unmistakably it was him —standing at the driver’s side door, peering in with the faintest trace of a smile curving his lips. She summoned up the strength to unlock the door and Johan opened it, quickly reaching across her to unbuckle her seatbelt before pulling her out of the seat with only a small show of effort. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her eagerly on the lips, his hands tightening on her. As he brushed against her bruised rib, Chelsea yelped, clenching her teeth as she broke the kiss. “How badly are you hurt?” Johan asked her, concern in his bright eyes.

“Bruised rib, torn ACL, sprained ankle. There’s a bullet graze somewhere that they bandaged up for me, and I accidentally cut myself while I was stabbing one of those guys to death—at least I hope he’s dead.” Chelsea sighed, smiling wryly. “What about you?” Johan shrugged. “Bullet graze on my shoulder, a few bruises here and there, one of them got me with a knife across the leg, but it’s stitched so it’ll heal.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I take it you stopped at a hospital somewhere?” Chelsea nodded slowly. “I gave them the contact for the billing, so they subjected me to every test they could justify,” she said with a sigh. Johan laughed. “Yeah, I’d expect that.” He hugged her gently. “Come on, get everything you want out of this car. We’re abandoning it.” Chelsea was too tired to question it; with Johan’s help she got her purse and the few possessions she still had in the car with her when she’d fled the hotel. “I got your luggage out of the hotel in one piece,” Johan informed her as he led her towards yet another anonymous—yet subtly luxurious-looking—car. “Oh, that’s great,” Chelsea said, only then realizing how much she had left behind. “Probably a huge bill.” Johan shrugged, wincing slightly. “It’s paid for.” Chelsea nodded again, too tired

and in too much pain to argue or even press the question that had been plaguing her from the beginning of their flight from her home town. “Do you want me to carry you?” Johan looked at Chelsea as she limped. “You’re injured too,” she pointed out tartly. “I’m hurting, I’m not half-dead.” “I hope they gave you good pain pills.” “They did. The best. I think.” Chelsea shook her head slightly to clear it. “I haven’t been able to take them because I’ve been driving, but I want to say it’s Vicodin. I’m really thrilled.” Johan chuckled. “I’ve got a hotel for us. In about thirty minutes you’ll be able to take one of those magical pills and drift away for a while.” Chelsea nodded, too exhausted to speak. Johan opened the passenger side door and collected everything but her purse from her, stowing it in the back seat as Chelsea gingerly climbed in and fastened her seat belt. Within a few minutes, they were driving out of the rest stop and towards their destination.

**** “Chelsea, you should get up long enough to eat something.” Chelsea groaned, burrowing deeper into the warm, soft pillows and blankets that surrounded her in protest. “Eating is for suckers,” she proclaimed, raising her voice to be heard over the muffling effect of the bed linens. “Sleep is where it’s at.” She heard Johan laugh, and felt the blankets pulling away from her, felt Johan’s strong hands tugging aside the sheets, the pillows, she had cocooned herself in shortly after the Vicodin had begun to take effect. She groaned again in frustration, trying futilely to pull them back. “If you want to take another Vicodin, you need to eat something or you’re going to puke all over the nice clean bed and I’m not cleaning it up,” Johan said firmly. “But if I eat there will be more to puke,” Chelsea pointed out. She gave up on the idea of sleep, letting Johan pry the sheets and blankets out of her hands until she lay, fully exposed and completely naked, looking up at him. “You’re mean,” she said, sticking her tongue out as she crossed her arms over her chest. The pressure sent

a jolt of pain from the site of her bruised rib and Chelsea winced. “I let you sleep for six hours. You need to eat something, take a bath, and take another Vicodin.” “Wait, wait,” Chelsea said, frowning. “You’re hurt too, you can’t just stay up and—what have you been doing for the past six hours?” Johan smiled. “There was a marathon of Bones on TV,” he told her. “I took a little nap. I’m not as badly injured as you.” Johan frowned slightly. “Maybe I should have given you the gun and kept the knife for myself.” “They would’ve just killed you,” Chelsea pointed out, shrugging. “Okay, I’ll eat, and all that other stuff. I’m feeling a little bit better anyway.” She carefully pulled herself up, grunting as pain flared up in her various injuries; she could easily believe it had been six hours—the Vicodin she had taken within minutes of arriving at the hotel was starting to wear off. “Before you go off into painkiller mode again,” Johan said, helping her out of the bed and leading Chelsea into the living room area of their suite, “we need to discuss a few things.” The room was every bit as luxurious as the ones they had stayed in before—but the hotel was obviously more

secure; Johan had apparently learned from his mistake, or the person masterminding their flight from the people pursuing Chelsea had. “Like what?” Chelsea cinched the sash of her robe tightly around her waist and sat down slowly on the couch. She looked over the food that Johan had ordered them with real interest; the hotel had three chefs masterminding the room service menu, and Johan had apparently opted for the Asian fusion specialties. There was a selection of sushi, some noodles, a big bowl of fried rice, and other things that Chelsea couldn’t identify; but which looked absolutely mouthwatering. “I’m fairly certain that there’s no one after us right this moment,” Johan said, beginning to serve Chelsea from the various bowls, plates, and tureens on the table. “I killed everyone who showed up at the hotel. Or—excuse me, everyone but the one you stabbed to death.” Johan gave her a quick smile. “Our benefactor is smoothing things over with the local police, but we’ll likely have to fill out some paperwork.” “Okay, so we can stay here for a little while, I take it?” Johan shrugged. “For a few days, maybe,” he said. “I doubt your CEO is going to just let us go after that business. He’s gotten himself in far too deeply— now not only will he face charges for

embezzlement, drug running, and fraud, but also conspiracy to commit murder. He’s going to be put away for life if he can’t get rid of the evidence.” “The evidence being me,” Chelsea said, sighing. She picked at her food, suddenly feeling as though her stomach had been coated in lead. “Eat. You can’t have any more Vicodin until you eat.” Johan served himself and ate a few bites quickly, giving Chelsea a moment to absorb what he’d told her. “The important thing is that we need to stay ahead. You’re going to have a new identity in a few days, and then…” Johan licked his lips, setting his plate down on his lap to look at her. “You’re going to have to be okay with the idea of living with me for a few months while we wait for this to go to trial.” Chelsea put down her fork and stared at him for a moment. “So even with a new ID, a new life…I still won’t be safe.” Johan smiled slightly, his eyes regretful. “Not until your CEO is behind bars,” he said. Johan set his plate aside and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Chelsea’s. “So, I will be living with you until the end of the trial.” “How do you know I’ll be safe then?” Chelsea asked, anxiety beginning to prickle and tingle through the last dregs of drug-induced euphoria.

“Very shortly thereafter, you’ll be as safe as you can possibly be. If you want me out of your life then, I’ll go peacefully.” Johan’s lips twitched in a smile. “Onto another cute girl to protect?” Chelsea asked him, raising an eyebrow. “What if I don’t want you out of my life then?” Johan’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze trailing over her body slowly. “I’ve got some skills,” he said, almost absently. “I could get a job somewhere.” Chelsea set her plate down, startled by the comment. “Would you want that?” Chelsea asked. She couldn’t imagine Johan in any other lifestyle than the one he’d been leading with her over the past week or so they had been on the run. “I mean— you seem to like—whatever it is you call this job.” Johan smiled slightly, shrugging. “It’s a good living,” Johan admitted, taking up his plate once more. “It’s exciting.” He glanced at her once more. “But then, it’s been pretty exciting with you.” Chelsea chuckled, taking another bite of her noodles. “We’ve also been on the run.” Johan shook his head. “Even without that. You’re an exciting, unpredictable woman. I think you could keep me

guessing enough to make up for no longer being shot at or chased.” Chelsea laughed out loud, grabbing at her ribcage as the movement sent pain through her. “Finish your food, woman. We’ll dose you up with drugs and before they kick in, we’ll make love.” “I thought I was supposed to get a shower,” Chelsea said. “I can handle you in a shower. Remember?” Chelsea bit her bottom lip, her body beginning to heat up, her skin tingling with the first stirrings of desire. She had missed the ready opportunities for sex with Johan more than she would have thought —more than she would have admitted to herself. Chelsea picked up a piece of sushi and ate it quickly, holding her body as still as possible so as not to jar her injuries. Suddenly the desire for more sleep and more pain relief took a back seat to a few hours’ passion with Johan. They finished the meal, and Johan gathered up the plates, platters, and everything else, trundling the cart out to the door of the suite before returning to Chelsea’s side. “Is it terrible of me that one of the things I’ve missed most while we were separated was the ability to fuck your brains out whenever we got bored?” Chelsea tried to stifle the laugh that bubbled up inside of her at the frank question, knowing it would only bring pain.

“I was just thinking,” Chelsea said, as Johan carefully moved closer to her, draping his arm around her waist to cradle her against him as he leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. “That I had really missed the stress relief.” Johan nibbled at her bottom lip playfully, his hands moving over her body slowly, gently caressing. “We’ll have to be careful,” Johan murmured. “But I think we can manage to relieve your stress without hurting you worse.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, draping her arms around his broad shoulders, deepening the kiss for a long moment. “Screw not hurting me worse,” Chelsea said as she pulled back slightly. “Ah-ah-ah,” Johan murmured, tugging at the sash of her robe. “I am supposed to be taking care of you. I’m supposed to keep you safe and at least mostly intact.” “Mostly?” Johan chuckled lowly. “I already failed at ‘perfectly’ intact,” he told her. Johan lifted her carefully up off the couch, her robe falling from her shoulders and onto the floor. He carried her through the living room, past the bedroom, and into the bathroom. “It’s a good thing this room has a nice, large tub,” Johan remarked, settling Chelsea on the lip of the bathtub. He twisted the knobs, testing the

water that came out with his fingers a few times, and then dropped the plug in the drain. “How is this going to help?” Chelsea asked, glancing down at the water filling the tub doubtfully. “You’ll see,” Johan said, grinning confidently. He stood, stripping out of his clothes in quick, deft movements, and for the first time since she met with him, Chelsea was able to see the extent of his injuries: the long line of stitches along his upper thigh, the bruising along his hip, his chest, his arms and legs, a few obvious marks, bandaged, that Chelsea thought were either bullet grazes or other, shallower cuts. Having a gun in his hand had prevented Johan from greater injuries, but he hadn’t come out unscathed. Johan gathered Chelsea into his arms, holding her gently. “I think we can find a way, don’t you?” He lifted her once again, climbing over the lip of the tub as it filled. Johan settled Chelsea on his lap, and she hissed— pleasure mingled with pain—as the hot water flowed around her. Johan’s hands drifted over her body slowly, caressing and stroking. “We should order you ice packs,” he murmured, one hand slipping down between her legs. Chelsea gasped, shivering slightly as his warm fingers slid up and down along her labia, feather-light, only slightly more substantial

than the water. She could feel Johan’s cock beginning to stir against her back as his other hand cupped her breast, teasing her nipple into a firm nub. “Are—are you sure we can do this?” Chelsea asked, her breath catching in her throat as she began to shift and twist on top of Johan’s body, desire welling up inside of her. “Mmhmm,” Johan murmured, dragging his lips along the side of her neck as his fingers slid up and down between her labia, his hand spreading her legs just slightly. “I’m going to take you just like this. Nice and slow.” Johan’s fingers found Chelsea’s clit by touch, and Chelsea gasped, shivering, as his touch sent jolts of pleasure through her nerves. He pressed her body against his, rocking his hips against the curve of Chelsea’s ass, and Chelsea could feel his cock hardening faster. Johan’s fingers withdrew from her vulva, and Chelsea let out a groan of disappointment, grabbing at his hand instinctively. Johan chuckled, lifting her uninjured leg up and out of the water. He carefully rested it along the lip of the tub, shifting her around on his lap. “Lean forward just a little bit,” Johan murmured. Chelsea did, and she felt the tip of Johan’s cock brushing against her labia, working its way in between. Johan pushed down on her hips, thrusting up at the same moment, and Chelsea

moaned out in pleasure as he slid into her slowly. As soon as he was fully inside of her, Johan pulled Chelsea back once more, and she shivered, loving the feel of him slowly sliding along her inner walls, the tip of his cock pressing and brushing steadily against her pleasure center. “All you have to do is float,” Johan murmured, one hand drifting down between her legs once more to stroke and tease her clit while he worked his hips underneath her, thrusting up. His other hand cupped and teased her breasts, rolling and twisting her nipples as they moved together. Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting more and more—she was shocked at how good it felt, at how well they fit together, at the way the water swirled around her as Johan pushed deeper and deeper inside of her. Chelsea arched against Johan, moaning out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body. She grabbed at his arms, his legs underneath her, and as their movements together became more frantic, she could barely hear the water sloshing in the tub, spilling out onto the floor. Chelsea threw her head back against Johan’s shoulder as her orgasm intensified, as she felt his body tensing underneath hers, and he joined her in climax, groaning something in his native Swedish. They both moved until the last of their spasms of pleasure abated, and Chelsea sagged against Johan,

spent and satisfied.

**** The next morning, Chelsea awakened to the smell of breakfast wafting into the bedroom from the living room area of the suite. She realized she was alone in the bed, and sat up carefully, holding her hand against the bruised rib to minimize the pain. After their tryst in the bathtub, Johan had carefully lifted her up and out of the water, gave her another Vicodin, and ordered ice packs. She had struggled to keep from laughing at the big, strong mercenary bodyguard as he played nurse, taking the throw pillows off the couch and positioning them so that her knee and ankle were elevated, bringing her water when she got thirsty, insisting that Chelsea shouldn’t get up for any reason. Under the humming, cottony influence of the pain killers, Chelsea hadn’t even felt the slightest self-consciousness when Johan carried her into the bathroom to use the toilet, waiting politely just on the other side of the door. His lack of presence nearby made her irritated in some way that Chelsea couldn’t quite put a finger on. She carefully leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve the braces that the hospital had given her and strapped them around her ankle and knee. Chelsea took a deep breath and slowly

climbed out of the bed, trying to bend and twist as little as possible, putting her weight on her uninjured leg. She grabbed up her bathrobe and limped into the living room area, where she found Johan, seated near the patio to their room, talking on his phone. A few feet away, Chelsea took in the sight of an extensive—and, she had no doubt, expensive— room service breakfast with pancakes, bacon, eggs, fruit, yogurt, toast…more things than she could imagine even the two of them being able to consume in one sitting. Johan glanced up and flashed a quick smile in her direction, holding up a finger to indicate he was nearly done with whomever he was speaking to. Still feeling slightly irritable—slightly hung over from the pain pills leaving her system, with dull, aching throbs echoing through her body—Chelsea sat down gracelessly on the couch, propping up her injured leg along the length of the furniture. “I have good news,” Johan said as he tapped his screen to end the call. Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “Someone killed the CEO of my company so now I can go back to having a normal life?” She paused and added, “At least, a normal unemployed life until I can get another job?” Johan smiled wryly and shook his head.

“Almost as good. My client has your new paperwork, and he got us an apartment. Do you think you can manage to deal with sitting in a car for a few hours while I drive us to your new home?” Chelsea scrubbed at her face. “I think I can manage,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “Can we cut back my dose of the Vicodin somehow? It was kind of nice to be totally oblivious of everything, but I’d like to start being at least partially aware of the world around me again now.” Johan nodded, standing in a quick, graceful movement that Chelsea resented for the way it underscored her current injured state. “I’ll give you a full dose after breakfast, and the next dose will be half, how about that?” Chelsea shrugged. “Why not a half dose to begin with?” “Because, my dear, it’s a lot easier to prevent pain than it is to kill it. If you have a full dose now and we give you a half dose on schedule, it’ll work better.” Chelsea shrugged, scratching at the skin around her knee brace idly. Why are these stupid things always so itchy? Johan began filling a plate for her from the platters and bowls on the table. “It’s a good thing I turned you down last night, or I’d feel horrible right now,” Johan said absently. “You turned me down last night?” Chelsea

frowned. Johan grinned at her, handing her the plate and a roll of silverware. “You turned over in the bed at about… I want to say midnight? And started groping me.” Chelsea’s cheeks flared with heat. “I mean really going to town.” She looked down at her plate as her blush deepened. “You said something about how I could fuck you however I wanted. But since you didn’t sound exactly like yourself I figured it was the Vicodin talking.” Chelsea swallowed the tight ball of embarrassment in her throat, taking a slow breath. “It’s a good thing you did,” she said, picking at the food on her plate. “Although I probably wouldn’t have remembered it.” She felt Johan’s fingers against her jaw; he tilted her face up so that she had to meet his gaze. “I want every time we have sex to be memorable. Why waste an opportunity when you’re too drugged to even know what’s happening, much less tell me the next morning how good it was?” Chelsea chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “Besides, I wasn’t sure how to feel about you calling me ‘Mr. Honey-cock’.” Chelsea stared at him in shock. “I—I called you—Mr.…” “Honey-cock, yep.” Chelsea closed her eyes

as new waves of embarrassment washed through her. “It was cute. A little weird, but cute.” Chelsea bit her bottom lip, unsure of whether she felt more resentment, embarrassment, or amusement at the situation that Johan had described. “One of these days, somehow, I’m going to drug you and—and make you horny and record the stupid things you say,” she told him. Johan chuckled. “Good luck with that,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. He pointed to her plate, pulling back to serve his own plate of breakfast. “We’ll eat, pack up your things, give you your first dose, and get on the road,” Johan told her. “New life!” Johan glanced at Chelsea, and she took a bite of her food more out of the feeling that she should than out of actual hunger. “It’ll be okay,” Johan said, holding her gaze. “Hey—there are lots of people who go to crazy lengths to ditch their old life.” Chelsea shrugged. “I guess I’m not really one of them,” she said, taking a deep breath and exhaling on a sigh. “But I’ll have to become one.” Chelsea gave Johan a tight, tense smile and decided resolutely to focus on her food. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward.

**** “We’re here.” Chelsea grunted softly as Johan’s voice called her out of a doze. She had drifted off to sleep shortly after Johan had given her the half-dose of Vicodin during their rest break at a restaurant on their way to what Johan was calling her new life. “How is it possible,” Chelsea had asked then, realizing that they had been doing an improbable amount of driving over the past week—including her twenty-four-hour harried flight. “How is it possible that we’ve driven this much without being halfway across the country?” Johan had chuckled. “Well, for most of the time we’ve been together, we’ve been traveling in interesting shapes around the state, avoiding your home town,” he had explained. “Of course, I knew when you went out on your own you’d probably pick a direction and keep going, so I went after you that way. Fortunately, I picked the right direction.” Her new life would be in the next state; Johan had explained that they were several hours away, but that everything would be ready for them when they arrived. Chelsea opened her eyes, yawning as she came out of her doze. Johan had parked in the

driveway of a respectable-looking house, on an anonymous street. “Wow, this is an upgrade,” Chelsea said, staring at the front of the home for a long moment. It was two-story, with butter-yellow walls and clean white trim, the door painted a deep red. The yard was well maintained, with trimmed grass and a low, landscaped garden. “Let me go in first,” Johan suggested. “I’ll make sure there’s no one hiding out inside, and come help you up and into the place.” Chelsea saw the three steps leading from the walkway to the front door and nodded. Much as she would have liked to bristle at Johan’s authoritative tone, she was slightly woozy from the pain pills and knew that she wouldn’t be an asset if someone had found their way inside. Johan locked the car behind him and strode to the front door, and Chelsea watched him as he located the key to the door—somehow—and let himself in. She sat back, glancing around the neighborhood. It was a place for someone like her former boss, the project manager; not the kind of place she would have seen herself living in alone, not with her salary. Of course, right now you have no salary and you won’t be living in it alone, Chelsea though wryly. She felt her eyes stinging slightly as it once more dawned on her how completely and utterly her life had changed in a

matter of mere days. By the time Johan came back, nodding slightly as he approached the car to indicate that the house was clear, Chelsea had managed to regain her composure, dashing away the few tears she had allowed herself to shed. Johan unlocked the car and walked around to the passenger side to help her out, pulling her up from the seat with almost the same strength he had possessed from the first time she’d met him. The house she had been given—or at least, loaned—to live in was as beautiful on the inside as its exterior had promised; fully furnished, with a slightly plastic smell of brand-new rugs and upholstery, it looked—on the surface—as if the people who owned it had been living there for a year. Art prints dotted the walls, the beds—both the master bed on the ground floor and, Johan informed her, the two guest bedrooms upstairs—were made, there were towels, and the kitchen was fully stocked. “It really is just…like slipping into another life,” Chelsea said with a mixture of awe and consternation, as Johan settled her on the couch. “Witness protection—privately funded, in this case,” he grinned slightly. “Much nicer than what you’d get from the government, I can promise you.” Chelsea shrugged. The luxury of their surroundings—solidly upper middle class—

compared to the apartment she had left behind, and combined with the prestigious hotels and fancy cars they had had at their disposal, had begun to worry her once more. Without the full dosage of Vicodin in her system to make worrying about anything seem completely useless, more and more of their circumstances seemed unsettling. “I think it’s time you tell me what the hell is going on,” Chelsea said as Johan returned from the kitchen, armed with three re-freezable cold packs. He raised an eyebrow, perching himself on the coffee table to remove her braces and apply the freezing packets. Chelsea shivered, wincing against the pain that came along with the intense cold. “You’re in waiting,” Johan said with a shrug. “Nice digs, no need to work until probably after the trial—too much risk involved with routine coming and going—and entertainment.” He pointed at himself. Chelsea looked around at the living room, at the staircase leading to the second floor of the house. “This is insane,” she said, turning her attention back to Johan as the cold started to gnaw into her from the ice packs, increasing her irritation and unease. “How the hell does someone just—this is crazy. This house is too good.” Johan stared at her in confusion. “This is like—hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of hide-out! And—and the cars,

and the hotels, and the room service… and my hospital bill…” Chelsea shook her head, her heart beating faster as the incalculable costs started to stack up in large, blank shapes in her mind. “You are probably the only person I’ve ever met who would even question this,” Johan said, his voice roughening slightly with something like irritation. “If this is privately funded, how the hell am I going to pay this back? Am I some kind of—am I in debt to the mob now or something? Who the hell are you? Who’s funding this?” Chelsea stood up quickly, and immediately regretted the impulse, pain flaring through her body as her injured knee and ankle took the pressure of her sudden stand, and her rib protested the movement of her torso. Johan pushed her carefully but inelegantly back down onto the couch, gathering up the ice packs and half-slapping them back into place. He pulled a spool of ACE bandage out of his pocket and silently strapped the packs down while Chelsea fumed futilely. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, finally meeting her gaze. “Since I can tell you’re going to throw another tantrum if you don’t get your way—” he began, raising a hand to forestall the protest that started to leave Chelsea’s lips. “And after driving half the day I don’t really feel like having to haul you to the hospital for

orthopedic surgery when you make your injuries worse—I’ll tell you what’s going on.” “Good,” Chelsea said, shivering as she decided to ignore the ‘tantrum’ part of the comment. “Talk.” Johan took another deep breath. “You’re not in debt to the mob. My client is interested in buying up your company; but of course, your CEO won’t sell. He thinks it’s a worthwhile investment to keep you alive to testify against the scummy asshole, and he wants you to be as comfortable as possible. He figures that when your CEO goes to jail, the cost of the company will plummet, and he’ll make up the difference in a matter of months.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a long moment, digesting the information. “Your client doesn’t sound all that much better than my CEO,” she said finally. Johan shrugged. “He’s putting you up pretty well,” Johan pointed out. “He isn’t a great guy, but he’s decent enough to want you to testify because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re being forced into it.” Johan smiled wryly. “And before you ask, no— I didn’t have orders to seduce you. You’re just too good-looking to pass up.” “Unless I’m drugged.” Johan snorted. “Yes, unless you’re drugged.” Chelsea pulled her bottom lip between her teeth,

worrying at it for a long moment as she considered. “What about the other guy?” she asked. “The business partner and all that?” Johan shrugged again, standing and moving onto the couch next to her carefully. “He’s getting put up, too,” Johan said. “It’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of situation.” Chelsea sighed. “So, what happens after the trial?” Johan reached out and closed his hand around hers. “You’re free to do as you want. I could probably persuade him to let you keep the house; give me the car as a bonus. If you need rehab for your injuries, obviously, that’s something he’ll cover.” “But—I had a whole life.” Johan brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm delicately. “So, you'll rebuild it, once we’re over the hump.” “We?” Johan grinned. “Oh, you’re not losing me until after the trial,” he said, his bright eyes warming. “And even then, you’ll have to tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled weakly. “Well I guess at least I won’t have to do it all alone,” she said, leaning against him as the stresses

of the week—and especially the acute stress of the last several minutes—weighed on her. “I want another Vicodin. A whole one. Standing up was really dumb.” “You have to eat first,” Johan said firmly. “And then I’ll give you a pill and get you tucked into bed.” “You sound like my mom,” Chelsea complained. Johan brushed his lips against her ear. “After you wake up, I will prove to you that I am nothing at all like your mom,” he promised, his voice low and slightly rough with desire.

**** “Chelsea…wake up, sleepy-head.” Chelsea turned over in bed, for a moment uncertain when she had gotten into the warm, soft sheets. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, shifting and stretching—and then, as a flicker of pain crackled through her, remembered everything: eating an early dinner with Johan, taking a Vicodin, watching a little TV and dozing off. She had barely awakened when Johan had carried her into the master bedroom. “Mm, what time is it?” Chelsea opened her eyes, blinking quickly as light flooded into them. “Morning,” Johan said, slithering under the blankets and sheets next to her. “I seriously slept—what? Ten hours?” “Twelve,” Johan told her with a little grin. He wrapped his arms around her carefully, avoiding her bruised rib. “I thought you were going to show me about —something, something, you’re not my mom.” Johan chuckled lowly, his hands beginning to wander over her body slowly. “That is, in fact, why I’m here,” Johan said,

cupping her breast in his palm. He turned her face towards his and kissed her on the lips, his tongue darting into her mouth, exploring and probing. “How’s the knee? And the ankle?” he asked, breaking away for just a moment. Chelsea shivered as Johan’s caresses teased, lingering at her breasts one moment and then drifting down to her hips, slipping between her legs to stroke her lightly. “Better,” Chelsea said when her lips were once more free. Johan’s lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, dragging along her throat. “How—how are we going to…” Chelsea gasped as Johan’s fingers slipped and slid along her already-slick labia, rubbing slightly. She shivered, twisting her hips as Johan’s touch deepened, his fingers finding her clit unerringly. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” Johan said, his voice rough with desire. “Gave me something to…while away the time you were asleep.” Johan kissed her lightly on the lips, and slowly, carefully maneuvered himself on top of her, holding himself up as he withdrew his fingers from her soaking wet vulva. “First, I’m going to make you come,” Johan murmured, pulling Chelsea’s legs apart gently. “And then… well, you’ll see.” Johan grinned at her, and then began to trail kisses down from her lips, along the column of her throat, past her collarbones. Chelsea shivered as Johan lingered

at her breasts, claiming each of her nipples in turn, licking and sucking each one. Johan’s fingers stroked just between her labia as he worshipped her breasts with lips and tongue, sending tingling jolts of pleasure through her body. Just when Chelsea thought she couldn’t stand any more teasing, Johan continued downward, kissing and nibbling along her ribs, past her abdomen. He nuzzled her hip, nipping sharply at the sensitive skin there, and Chelsea gasped, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair. Johan slithered down between her legs, spreading her thighs just slightly wider, careful to support her injured knee. Chelsea moaned out as Johan buried his face against her soaking wet pussy, sucking and licking hungrily. He pulled her labia into his mouth as he flickered his tongue up and down along her folds, tasting her thoroughly. Chelsea’s hips bucked and twisted as Johan brought his tongue up to her clit, barely swiping against the bead of nerves before moving down to the well of her pussy once more. She tugged at Johan’s hair without thinking, grabbed at his shoulder, too wrapped up in the pleasure of his mouth against her to remember where he was injured or even try to avoid it. Johan nuzzled against her, focusing his efforts on her pleasure center, and even though she tried to hold back, to

savor the sensations coursing through her, Chelsea found her self-control slipping every moment, until she felt the growing knot of tension between her hips unravel, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. Johan continued his worship even as Chelsea pitched and writhed, forgetting all about her own injuries, lost in the sensations coursing through her nervous system. Johan began to pull back as the spasms of pleasure began to abate, lapping up her fluids more slowly and then retreating, leaving Chelsea shivering in the aftershocks for just a moment before he slithered on top of her once more. “Are you ready for more?” Johan asked her, kissing her lightly on the lips. Chelsea struggled to catch her breath, draping her arms limply around his broad shoulders. “Not really but keep going anyway,” she said, smiling breathlessly. Johan chuckled and Chelsea felt him shifting her body around, moving above her even as he held himself up to keep from putting pressure on the parts of her body that still ached. She could feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against her, and even though Chelsea was still hovering in the haze of orgasm, she felt a ripple of renewed lust. Johan carefully brought Chelsea’s injured leg up, resting her calf against his shoulder, and

Chelsea bit her bottom lip, briefly uncertain; but as he thrust into her slowly, filling her up inch by inch, any worry about hurting herself evaporated. Johan rocked his hips, pushing deeper and deeper inside of her as Chelsea began to move with him. Hot and cold flashes of sensation crackled through her, and she reached out, carefully stretching to touch Johan everywhere. He held her leg on top of his shoulder, his free hand trailing over her body, stroking and caressing her, teasing her nipples one moment and then drifting down between their bodies to rub her clit the next. Chelsea arched and writhed, moaning out as the friction between them built up. She could feel Johan’s cock twitching inside of her, feel the tension in his body as they continued to move together; Chelsea forgot even the memory of pain as more and more pleasure coursed through her, bringing her swiftly to the edge of orgasm, grabbing and clutching at Johan’s body as if for life itself. They both reached orgasm at almost the same moment—Chelsea felt her self-control give way, and then felt the first hot, sticky-slick splash of Johan’s come rushing into her as they moaned together, crying out in pleasure. Johan carefully fell to the bed next to her, letting her leg slide from his shoulder as he draped his arms around her. Chelsea trembled, turning onto her side to cuddle close to Johan as they both

panted and gasped for breath. “Okay,” she said, smiling slightly as she looked up into his face. “You’re definitely not my mom.” Johan laughed out loud, his arms tightening around her. “I would hope not!” Johan kissed her eagerly. “How do you feel now?” Chelsea considered the question. “Like I want half a Vicodin, breakfast, and then some more of this.” Johan chuckled. “I mean about your life,” he told her, tousling her hair playfully. “Well it could be all the pleasure chemicals in my system, but I’m pretty optimistic, on the whole,” Chelsea said. “You’re not just going to leave me when this is all over, are you?” Johan shook his head. “I told you yesterday: you’re stuck with me until you tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled. “What are we going to do until the trial? I mean, I can’t work…” Johan brought her face up to his and kissed her hungrily. “Well, personally my plan is to keep you fed, keep you from getting hurt again, and regularly fuck your brains out, as long as you want to fuck me.” He nibbled along the column of her throat. “I seem to recall you having an issue with me

‘bullying you’ into fucking on my schedule.” Chelsea laughed, and clutched at her bruised rib as the movement sent a ripple of pain strong enough to cut through the haze of pleasure and painkillers. “Okay, okay,” she said, breathing carefully. “No more complaints about that.” Johan pulled her closer, nuzzling against her neck. “Then I think we’ll be just fine.” Johan kissed her again. “No more tantrums until you’re healed up, got it?” Chelsea nodded. “Got it. Now when are you going to feed me?” Johan guided her hand down along his body, and she laughed, half-groaning as she realized he was starting to become hard again. “One more time. Then we eat and get some drugs in me.” “We have nothing but time,” Johan murmured, and they began to move together once more.

**** Chelsea managed to walk into the courtroom without limping, although the high heels the attorney had insisted she should wear for her stint on the witness stand made both her knee and ankle ache. She was healing—and Johan’s client had generously covered the expenses of her physical therapy, as well as the continued visits to the doctor —but it was slow. She was grateful to have Johan at her side; Chelsea glanced in the direction of the defense table and saw her former employer, Aaron Rosen, glaring daggers in her direction. There was no doubt in her mind that if Rosen somehow did manage to avoid conviction, he would continue to send people after her—only it would be for the pleasure of revenge rather than the desire to keep her silent. She had mentioned that possibility to Johan the night before, as she lay awake in bed, worrying about her first day of testimony. “If he gets off,” Johan had said, pulling her around and on top of him, “then I will take you with me to Sweden, and we’ll live there. He’s small time, Chelsea-baby. He doesn’t have the resources to follow you outside of the country.” The prosecutor had told her that with her testimony—and the evidence that she had

provided—it was practically no contest. The trial would end, and Rosen would be convicted and spend the rest of his days serving out consecutive sentences—to which the district attorney had added murder and attempted murder. Whatever happened, Chelsea thought as she gave Johan’s hand a brief squeeze, glancing at him for support, she knew that the man who had come into her life so unexpectedly, and who she had fought against so hard, would stand by her and support her. THE END

ALPHA COWBOY ROMANCES WRANGLED BY TWO COWBOYS I was finally starting to come to terms with the fact that my long-time boyfriend left me for my former college roommate—and got engaged a mere three weeks later—but then, Bryan and Angela decided to host their Jack and Jill party at the bar I've been going to every Friday night for the last five flippin' years. As I attempt to drown my sorrows and have a pity party with my best friend (and terrible bartender) Patrick, a delectable cowboy with eyes like hot chocolate saddles up beside me. Damian brings me out of my awkward hell and into his world, where he introduces me to the equally gorgeous Remy. These two have been playmates since they were young, and now, these very grown men are looking for someone new to play with. Hell, I'm game... ;)

"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Drop dead." Patrick reached forward carefully and withdrew the glass from in front of Nixie, pulling out the picks she had thrown into it with each exclamation. "Honey, it's lovely that you have reached the point of aggravation and, apparently, intoxication at which you feel free to express your emotions, but you are using up all of my little plastic swords and I need those for my sissy mixed drinks." Nixie sighed and slumped down onto the bar, resting her head on her folded arms and squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that had been threatening them since she sat down. She actually wasn't drunk. She wished she was because it would probably help her get through the night more easily, but the drink that she filled with picks had only been her second and Patrick had confiscated it before she was able to take more than a sip. "What's wrong with me, Patrick?" Nixie asked, lifting her head from her arms and digging her fingers back through her hair. "Nothing's wrong with you. You have completely legit reasons to be upset right now. Your

boyfriend broke up with you because he said he needed to work on himself and wasn't ready to make any major commitments and then got engaged three weeks later to your former college roommate who, incidentally, introduced the two of you in the first place, and they are having their joint bachelor-slash-bachelorette party tonight." "Thank you for that rambling run-on sentence of a recap." Patrick tilted his head and looked into the distance like he was going back over what he had just said. "No, that was actually completely grammatically correct. Wordy as hell, perhaps, but grammatically correct." There was a loud cheer from the small private room at the back of the bar and Nixie rolled her eyes, sagging back down onto the bar. "I guess he could have been more tactful than to hold the party at the bar he knows you have gone to every single Friday night for the last five years," Patrick said, glancing over at the room and then back at Nixie, "Speaking of which, why are you still here?" "I am showing how positive and strong I am, and that he can't get me down," she replied, not bothering to lift her head from her arms.

"Yeah," he said, sounding unconvinced, "You show them, girl." Nixie felt him pet the back of her head awkwardly, "Not that this whole situation you've got going on here isn't effective, but do you know what would really make an impact on Bryan?" "What?" "Dancing with someone like that delicious piece of man candy that has been eyeing you for the last hour." Nixie raised her head to look at Patrick. "How many times have I asked you not to use that phrase? It makes me uncomfortable." She turned around to look in the same direction as Patrick, "Damn." "I told you. Man candy." Nixie turned back to Patrick. "Where the hell did he come from?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at the gorgeous man across the bar. "I don't know, but he's looking at you. Maybe he's looking at me." Patrick struck what Nixie could only assume was meant to be a subtly sexy pose, held it for a few seconds, and then relaxed again, "No, definitely you." "Great. I've had an audience for my emotional

breakdown." Patrick suddenly picked up a rag and started randomly wiping down any surface he could reach without moving from his spot. "I don't think that's why he's been looking at you. Perk up, Fancy, he's on his way over here." "What?" Nixie half-shrieked, half-whispered, but before Patrick could respond, she felt someone step up beside her. She glanced up and saw the man from across the bar standing close to her, gazing down at her with eyes the color of chocolate and lips that looked like they were just as sweet. "Hi," he said and the smooth, silky rumble of his voice rolled through her like thunder. "Hi." "Is there anyone sitting here?" He rested his hand on the back of the barstool beside her and Nixie shook her head. "No." "Can I join you?" There was a strange yip sound from Patrick and Nixie looked over to see him suddenly extremely invested in cleaning and arranging the glasses in the ceiling racks that likely hadn't been

touched in several years. "Absolutely," she said, turning back to the man. He settled his denim-clad body onto the barstool beside her and looked at Patrick. "Is he ok?" Nixie let out a long breath. "He's fine. He's just not very good at his job." Patrick shot her a disgusted glance over his shoulder and the man beside her laughed. "I'm Damian," he said, extending his hand to Nixie. "Nixie," she said, tucking her hand into his. He didn't so much shake her hand as give it a gentle squeeze and Nixie felt a flutter in her belly. "So, what are you doing sitting here all alone tonight?" There was another cheer from the private room and Nixie cringed. "They're pretty loud, huh?" "That is an engagement party for my former college roommate," she started. "Shouldn't you be in there, then?"

"And my ex-boyfriend." "Ah. Well, that's uncomfortable." "It most certainly is." Damian slid off his stool and held out a hand to Nixie. "Let me take your mind off it." There was another yip from Patrick, but Nixie had such focus on Damian she didn't even look his way. She took Damian's hand again and let him guide her off her stool and toward the small dancefloor in the center of the room. Only a few other people were dancing, but Nixie didn't care. Damian pulled her into his arms and rested his hands on the full swell of her hips. She could feel the heat coming off his body as he moved against her, encouraging her to roll with him to the rhythm of the music throbbing around them.

**** "I can't believe that I'm actually going to ask this," Nixie said, her eyes flickering to the DJ booth a few feet away. "Do you come here often?" Damian laughed and pulled her a little closer. "This is my first time." "That would explain why neither Patrick or I recognized you." "I guess you do come here often?" Nixie sighed, unsure if whether her answer was going to sound impressive because of her devotion and consistency, or really pathetic because she has had nothing better to do for five years of Friday nights. "Every Friday night." There was yet another cheer from the back room, this time even louder and more rambunctious, and Nixie cringed. "So that would be why you are subjecting yourself to being here while that's going on. You don't want to break the streak you have going." "Something like that." No matter how hard she tried to hold them

back, Nixie felt the beginnings of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Dammit all to hell. Back foul beasts! That didn't work either. She had lost all control of her emotions and was officially reduced to a pool of uselessness and sniffling. The worst part about this whole situation is that she had felt like she was over Bryan. She had even been considering breaking up with him in the weeks leading up to him crushing her soul with his little whirlwind romance with her former best friend. Things had felt a little distant between them for a while. Of course, that was probably because the further he was getting from her, the cozier he was getting with Angela, but that was not something that Nixie really wanted to dwell on at that moment. Damian tucked a finger under her soft chin and lifted her face to look at him. Eyes like hot chocolate stared back at her. Dear lord she loved a good cup of cocoa on a chilly autumn night. "Do you want to get out of here? You've officially been here. Your streak is intact. Let's go somewhere where you can actually have fun." A rousing and decidedly drunken rendition of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" rose up out of the banquet room with a few people throwing in a couple of "she"s for good measure. That pushed Nixie right over the edge.

"Absolutely," she said, "Where are we going?" Damian's face broke into a wide smile. "It's a little bar called Caddy's. It's just up the road a bit. You can follow me there." Nixie nodded and glanced back at Patrick who was leaning so far over the bar she thought he was in distinct danger of toppling over. He noticed she was looking and started frantically polishing the bar again. "Just one second." She crossed back to the bar and smacked a hand down on it. Patrick jumped, the bar towel falling from his hand. "I'll have you know that you are interrupting my sacred bartender-ly duties." "Uh-huh. Look, Damian invited me to go to a different bar with him. It's called Caddy's and he says it's right up the road. Can you meet me up there?" "Well, it's pretty dead in here tonight and Sasha is supposed to be coming in in about an hour, so I could probably get off then and come up there. Why do you need me?" "Because I am going to a strange bar with a man that I just met. Don't you ever watch TV? If he plans on murdering me, I'd at least like to have

someone that knows where I'm supposed to be so it doesn't take weeks to find my body." "That was unnecessarily graphic." "I'll see you in an hour." Nixie walked back to Damian and flashed him a smile. "Alright. Let's go. Patrick is going to meet us up there in a bit. Is that ok?" She watched Damian look back over at the bar like he was evaluating Patrick, and then back at her, scanning her body up and down. He shrugged. "He should fit in just about as well as you do." He turned to walk away and Nixie scurried after him, the words striking her as strange. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, but he just laughed and kept going out into the parking lot. Nixie climbed into her car and watched as Damian got into a sleek black truck a few spots away. For the first time, she really noticed how his fitted jeans molded to his ass under the tail of his pale grey and white plaid shirt, and the wornlooking boots tucked beneath the legs. "Mmmm, cowboy take me away," she muttered to herself and turned the key so that she

could follow him out of the parking lot and down the darkened road. His interpretation of a "little bit down the road" was a little shady and by the time they had driven for fifteen minutes down the progressively emptier road, Nixie was truly starting to think that the potential for impending murder might be higher than she was comfortable with. A moment later, though, she saw the vibrant orange glow of a neon sign in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. There really was a little bar and it seemed to have a nearly full parking lot, reducing the chances in her mind that he was bringing her out into the middle of nowhere to keep her as a pet or turn her into a scarecrow for his fields. She shuddered. She really needed to stop watching late-night true crime documentaries. Damian pulled into the parking lot and slid into a spot in a row of remarkably similar trucks that seemed to be in varying degrees of newness and cleanliness. It was like looking at a timeline of the progression of the modern farm use automobile. He hopped out and glanced at her, but she shrugged, not seeing anywhere to park. She rolled down her window and he approached her car, gripping the window so that he could lean in. "Go around back. There's more parking back there. It's not as well-lit, though, so be careful."

Considering the front parking lot was lit exclusively by the glow from the neon sign and whatever light was trickling from the bar itself, that warning did not bode well for the condition or safety of the lot in the back. Nixie drove cautiously around the building, narrowly missing a group of men dressed very much like Damian, and found a spot in the nearly pitch-black lot. Peeking in her review mirror, she was relieved to see Damian walking around the building to meet her so that she didn't have to walk through the darkness herself. She took a few seconds to brush through her hair and try to reconstruct her makeup as well as she could before he got to the back of her car and peered in through the back window at her. Climbing out, she gave a smile that she hoped would come across as confident and strode toward him. The gravel of the lot felt loose and unsteady under her spiked heels and she fought to maintain her balance. Her tight black dress and fishnet hose were not designed for tumbles in a dark parking lot.

**** "There sure does seem to be a lot of trucks here," she said as she came to Damian's side. He made an affirmative sound that she did not find terribly reassuring and took her by the elbow to guide her toward the back of the building. This was a place he had obviously been many times before because he led her directly to a door on the back brick wall that she would never have noticed in the darkness and pulled it open. Immediately a wave of yellow light, the smell of cigarette smoke and beer, and the sound of a country song being fed through a meat grinder washed over her. She hesitated and Damian eased around her, giving her a gentle tug so that she would follow him inside. They stepped into a brightly lit area with a cracked linoleum floor and wood paneled walls. A door to one side marked the entrance to a kitchen and two doors on the other wall had little vinyl stick figure drawings that indicated the men's and women's restrooms. In between these doors was a tiny table with a single chair and a dusty-looking silk flower in a narrow bud vase. "What is that?" Nixie asked.

"The non-smoking section," Damian replied. "Charming." "Come on," he said, smiling as he reached for the handle of a second door in front of them. As he pulled the door open, the smell and sound intensified and Nixie had to take a moment to assimilate herself. She had spent plenty of time in bars, but they had been more of the cocktailsand-flashing-lights-type bars. This one had the distinct feeling of the corner destination that wives would often lose their husbands to and that was the receptacle for countless drowned hopes, dreams, and sorrows. They walked up a dark blue-carpeted ramp into the main section of the bar. Just as they reached the top, the horrific song ended and a smattering of applause rippled through the room. Nixie took another step into the bar and suddenly she felt every pair of eyes in the space turn to face her. She stood in a sea of cowboys and women of ambiguous ages who appeared to be made of tanned leather that had been lightly tinted with fluorescent orange. They all stared at her intensely, taking in her long black hair, brief black dress, fishnet hose, and high heels to Jesus. A few eyes flickered to her red fingernails and matching

lipstick. The bravest settled on the black crystal drop pendant that nestled in the swell of her ample cleavage. "Oh, lord, they look like they think the Angel of Death has come for them," she muttered to Damian. He laughed and reached down to take her hand. His hand felt warm despite the chill of the air outside and she enjoyed the rougher texture of his skin against hers. She let him guide her further into the bar. As they walked she noticed that someone had climbed up onto a small carpeted platform at the far end of the bar and was clutching the microphone in front of him like he was preparing to breathe life into it. Holy hell, it's a karaoke bar. A karaoke bar filled with cowboys. At least that explained the frightful music when they first came inside. "So, this is your idea of fun?" she asked as they slipped onto the stools around a high-top table toward the front of the bar. "Yes." "Fantastic," she said, glancing around for a drink list, "and do you sing?" "Only once I have enough tequila in me." "What, you don't drink moonshine?" she

cracked. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You don’t drink blood?" "Fair enough. Speaking of libations, how do we get service around here? The bartender seems to be a little on the busy side." Damian scoffed. "You only use the bartender if you are sitting at the bar ordering a beer. If you are sitting at a table, you use Missy." He gestured and seemingly out of nowhere a woman with approximately six shades of blond hair and a chest that made Dolly Parton look dainty appeared beside our table. "Damian! How're you doing, Honey?" "I'm good, Missy. How's about a couple of shots?" Missy turned to evaluate Nixie and Nixie had the sudden feeling that she was continuously being stripped down and brought up for inspection. She glanced at Damian who smirked at her. Maybe being stripped naked wouldn't be so bad as long as he was in the room. "And who's this?" "This is my new friend Nixie."

"I'm just sure she is," Missy said, pivoting and walking away. "What did she mean by that?" Nixie asked. "I’m sure she didn't mean anything by it." "No woman ever says anything without meaning something by it." "Oh, really? And why do you say that?" "Because all women are bitches. All of them. Every single last one of them." "That seems like a perception of your own sex."

fairly

pessimistic

Missy sidled back up to the table and settled two shots along with a bowl of lime wedges between them. Nixie picked up one of the shots and tossed it back. "I'm just a realist," she said, hissing through the burn of the tequila. Damian laughed and took his shot with a bit more poise and control than Nixie had, sucking a lime wedge after. His eyes met hers as his mouth pulled across the wedge, the tip of his tongue slipping out to run across it as he took it from his lips. Her body tightened and she licked her lips unconsciously. Missy appeared back by the side of the table

and put two more shots on the table, this time with a touch more force than was probably necessary, but even the clink of the glass hitting the wood didn't pull Nixie's attention away from Damian's mouth and hot chocolate eyes. He reached over and took her fingers in his hand again, gently pulling her off the stool toward him.

**** Damian was sitting facing her and as Nixie stepped down from her stool and toward him, he parted his knees so he could pull her to stand between his thighs. His hands came to her full hips and kneaded gently into them. She sighed and leaned closer, letting her body brush against his. "You know, everyone is looking at you," he said softly, "It's not every day a woman that looks like you comes in here." "Oh, really?" she said, nudging her hips against him subtly, "and what exactly is it that I look like?" "The pin-up model of the damned," he said and laughed softly, "Luscious," he ran his hands down her soft waist and the swell of her hips accentuated by the tight black wiggle dress. "Tempting," he cupped his hands around her plump ass and pulled her in a little closer. "Sexy as hell." "Let's give them a little more to look at." Nixie reached beside her to pick up a wedge of lime and the saltshaker. Tucking the lime into his mouth so that he gripped the rind between his teeth, she ran her tongue along the side of his neck and coated the damp skin with salt. She picked up one

of the new shots and leaned against him. Damian groaned as she licked the salt from his neck, took down the shot, and then bit down into the lime in his teeth, sucking the juice into her mouth. His hands tightened on her hips and she felt him harden at the front of his pants. He released her hip with one hand and reached between their mouths to remove the lime, tilting his face up so that his lips settled onto hers. She sighed and relaxed into the kiss, bringing her hands to the back of his neck so she could hold on to him as he parted her lips with the tip of his tongue and explored her mouth. After a few seconds, she pulled back slightly and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. He tasted just as sweet as his eyes looked and she dipped in for another kiss. "I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what happens." Nixie's mouth tore away from Damian's and she turned to see Patrick standing beside their table. In her indulgence of Damian's hot chocolate eyes and citrus-flavored tongue, she had completely forgotten that Patrick was supposed to meet them and the sight of him suddenly standing there startled her. The look of him against the backdrop of the cowboys with the strains of a heartbreaking Patsy Cline ballad made all the more painful by the fact that it was sung by a woman

who seemed almost incapable of standing was somewhat disorienting. She glanced down at Damian's watch and then back at Patrick. "Technically, it’s been forty-five minutes. You're early." "I managed to claim emotional distress and get out of my shift early." "Emotional distress?" Damian asked, "Is that a legitimate excuse?" "You would be surprised," Nixie said, running her fingers through the thick, silky hair at that nape of his neck and leaning in to touch a soft kiss to his lips again. "I'm just going to take this seat right here," Patrick said. He squeezed between Nixie and the stool she had recently vacated and hopped on. "I guess you're just going to have to sit right here," Damian whispered against her hair and turned her around to lift her up into his lap. Patrick picked up one of the slices of lime and sucked on it, grimacing at the sour flavor. "I need something with a little more substance. I think I'm going to make a visit over to the bar."

Patrick hopped down again and started over to the bar. "Is he going to be ok?" Nixie asked. Patrick weaved his way through the crowd of men standing three deep at the bar and slipped his way in between two to stand up against the edge. Some of the men gave him confused, appraising looks, but none seemed outwardly disturbed at his presence. "Yeah, he's going to be fine. Cris'll take care of him." "Cris?" Damian gestured to the bar and Nixie saw a strong-looking woman with short hair the color of flames step up to Patrick. She gave him a grin and patted him on his cheek. "Everywhere he goes, he collects people. It's pretty impressive." "I bet you get your share of attention." Damian's mouth was tucked close enough to her ear that she felt his lips move across it as he spoke and his hands grazed against her generous thighs. She nestled into his lap and felt him twitch in response. "I got your attention," she said.

"Not just me," he replied, "You have this entire room in the palm of your hand." She looked at him skeptically. "You don't believe me? OK," he turned so that she was facing the stage and could see the man standing at the microphone, waiting for his song to come on so he could sing. "That is my buddy Remy. Look at how he's watching you." Nixie saw Remy's eyes burning into her, scanning her hungrily as the first notes of a song built around him. It was not a country song like the last string of karaoke performers had attempted, but a metal song that brought much the same shocked stares from the assortment of men throughout the bar as she had when she first walked in. He licked his lips and she moaned softly. Remy was just as beautiful as Damian and filled out his jeans in the same irresistible way. The song's introduction ended and Remy started to sing. His voice was rich, deep, and just growly enough to send a shock through her core and make her wriggle slightly in Damian's lap. Damian made an approving sound and lifted his hips just enough to press against her. "You like him, don't you?" he murmured into her ear. Nixie bit her bottom lip and ran her hand down to the side of Damian's rock-hard thigh, digging her nails into him. Remy continued to stare

at them, his gaze on her getting hotter and more intense the longer he sang. Damian ran his hand up her waist, just barely grazing along the underside of her breasts as he dipped his mouth to nibble on her earlobe. "Well I think I have just enough tequila in me to get me up on that stage. What do you say we let Remy take care of you while I sing?" Nixie turned to look at him, her eyes searching his. He smiled at her and kissed her. "Don't worry. I'll be right back." He kissed her again, scraping her bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away from her. The song ended and she heard Remy put the microphone back into its stand. Damian carefully eased her off his lap so that she stood beside him. He stroked her face gently and walked toward the stage, giving Remy a meaningful glance as they passed. Nixie's belly trembled as Remy approached her. The faintest hint of a smile curved his full, soft lips and his smoky grey eyes slumbered at her from under long, dark lashes. "Hi," he said as he got to within a few steps of her. His speaking voice was just as sexy as his singing voice and she felt a tingle between her thighs.

"Hi," she said back, her voice dropping so low she didn't know if he could even hear it. Without another word, Remy's hand came to her stomach and he led her backward a few steps until her back touched the wall behind her. His mouth crushed down on hers and she felt her body respond immediately. She ran her hands up Remy's chest, feeling chiseled muscles beneath the soft fabric, and onto his neck so she could bury her fingers in his hair and hold his mouth against hers.

**** Nixie whimpered into Remy's mouth, putting a voice to the desire that had been building since she first saw Damian. He gripped her hips tightly, pulling them against him so that she could feel the already-hardening erection pressing toward her. A moment later she felt him pull her away from the wall so she was up against his chest, led her sideways a step, and then pushed her back. She expected to hit the wall again, but instead, she felt her body come into contact with someone else. His hands came to her ribs and she felt him ease her back so that she rested her head against his shoulder. She breathed in the scent of Damian and her body tightened again as if seeking their touch. "It seems that someone else got to the DJ before I did," he said into her hair, and then kissed the side of her neck. "Who?" she managed to say through her labored breath. The opening strains of "These Boots Were Made for Walking" game over the speaker and she knew exactly who. She opened her eyes and glanced around Remy's shoulder to see Patrick in the middle of the stage, his back to the rest of the

bar and his hips bouncing to the beat. "Oh, lord." Patrick suddenly whipped around and started singing, his heart pouring out every ounce of Nancy Sinatra he could muster as he performed a dance that looked like this was not the first time he had done this song. She waited for the redneck renegades to start an uprising. Instead, it seemed that Patrick's retro venture had touched something inside them and several of the women streamed onto the small dance area in front of the stage to reminisce about their teen years. Many of the men were nodding their heads and she even saw a few mouthing the words. Well, damn. Patrick was apparently the cowboy pied piper. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to say right now," the DJ said over his microphone as Patrick dropped to his hands and knees and started crawling across the stage, "I usually heckle new people, but I just don't even have any words for what's happening." "I think that he has found his new home," Nixie said. She felt Damian's arms encircle her waist and he bent over slightly so that he molded to her body.

"I guess that means we have a little bit of time on our hands. Let's take a walk." "A walk?" she asked, her hand coming up to cup the back of Damian's head as the tip of his tongue played across the curve of her neck and shoulder. When Remy first pressed her to the wall she had felt the eyes of everyone in the bar on them, but now that Patrick was in full diva mode she probably could have taken off all her clothes right then and no one would have noticed. No one, of course, but the two men she very much wanted to notice her naked. "Mmm-hmmm," Damian murmured affirmatively, "That field across the street backs right up to Remy's ranch. I've walked through it a thousand times." Nixie leaned her head back to afford Damian better access to her neck and bent her knees slightly so she could stroke her body against him. Remy's hands were still gripping her hips and she felt his thumbs massaging in circles into the front of her pelvis. "Is Remy coming with us?" she asked breathlessly. Damian let out a soft, short laugh and kissed her shoulder.

"Why don't we let Remy stay here and keep an eye on Patrick there while he regales the bar with a few more numbers?" Nixie nodded and Remy leaned forward to catch her mouth with his, slipping his tongue between her lips again. She wrapped her free hand around the back of his head so that she held both men, her body closed tightly between them. When the kiss ended, Remy backed away from them and Damian led her out of the front door of the bar. The glow of the neon sign made shadows on the ground but it offered just enough light that she could see the edge of a field stretching into the darkness across the street. Damian held her hand as he led her across the street and into the grass. "Why is there a bar across the street from a ranch?" she asked, trying to navigate the grass but having a difficult time in her spiked heels. "The ranch was here long before the bar was," Damian answered, walking calmly and securely across the field, "Some kin to Remy started a tavern here more than a hundred years ago, then once the travelers stopped staying there, they turned it into a bar." She nodded and the gesture took her concentration away from walking enough that one

heel sank into the ground and she stumbled. Her hand grabbed for Damian and he caught her, sweeping her up into his arms so that he cradled her against his chest. She squealed and he gave a deep laugh before taking off at a faster pace into the darkness of the field. They had gone on for a few more minutes when Nixie noticed the dark outline of a barn ahead of them. Damian carried her to it, releasing the arm that supported her back long enough to open the door and carry her inside. The interior of the barn smelled sweet and earthy, and provided a barrier from the chilly breeze outside. Damian reached beside them to touch the wall and she saw an electric lantern turn on so it filled the space with a warm, comforting glow. He carried her a few more steps forward and then she felt the strong support beneath her disappear as he tossed her forward. She let out a short scream, but a second later she landed in a deep, soft pile of hay.

**** Damian crossed to one of the stalls along the wall and took a blanket from where it was draped over the gate. He carried it over to the hay and spread it out beside her, and then reached for her hand. Nixie rested her fingers across his palm and let Damian pull her to her feet with a hard enough tug that her breasts crushed into his chest and her breath caught in her throat. "Where are all the animals?" she asked. She felt his hand come to the zipper at the back of her dress and start to ease it down. "In a different barn. It's just us." The zipper went all the way to the bottom of the dress, allowing him to release it into two pieces and peel it away from her. He groaned when he saw her black mesh bra, matching panties, and the garter belt holding up her fishnets. She had worn the lingerie hoping it would make her feel better about herself as she faced down the embarrassment of being in the same bar as the party earlier, but she was much happier with the function they were serving now as Damian lowered to his knees in

front of her and buried his face between her breasts. His tongue slid across her skin and Nixie gasped, arching her back slightly to press into the feeling. The air in the barn was still cool and the contrast with his warm, damp breath along the middle of her soft stomach as he eased his way down made her shiver. Damian dipped the tip of his tongue into her navel, working his way gradually down her body as his fingers moved to the buckles on her shoes to release them and pull the heels off of her feet. His mouth had come to the waistband of her garter belt and he traced it with the tip of his tongue as he unhooked the garters from the tops of her hose and eased the belt down her hips and onto the ground. Hooking his fingers in the tops of the thigh highs, he rolled them down her legs and let them join the rest of her clothing. She felt his breath on her core and suddenly his mouth closed on the front of her panties, sucking on her gently through the mesh fabric. He continued the tender torment as his hands ran up her back to the fastening of her bra. With a single flick of his fingers it opened and she moved her arms to let it fall away from her body. Suddenly she was in nothing but the scrap of her panties and Damian hadn't even taken off his boots.

"Hold on, cowboy," she said, easing his head away from her so that he looked up at her, "Aren't you going to take anything off?" He smiled at her and let his hands travel down her body, moving slowly as if luxuriating in all of her soft curves and swells. His head shook from side to side and he dipped forward to kiss her stomach again. "I want to see all of you," he said, his voice low and raspy with arousal. "I want to see all of you, too." He guided her back, crawling forward with her a few steps before pushing her so that she tumbled down onto the blanket. "Me first." "You certainly are spoiled," she said teasingly as he crawled forward until he hovered over her. "I'm an only child," he said. "So you don't share very well?" He got a devilish glint in his eye and bit his bottom lip. "Oh, I share extremely well," he said, sitting back on his knees and taking the sides of her panties in his fingers, "especially with my very favorite playmates."

Nixie felt him pull the last of her clothing off of her and toss it away, leaving her completely bare in front of him and craving him like she had never craved anything in her life. "How do you like to play?" she asked. Damian growled low in his throat and flipped her onto her stomach. Nixie gasped and looked back over her shoulder to watch him lick from the small of her back up to the base of her neck as he used one hand to part her thighs and push her leg up so her knee bent and tucked up against her side. He moved his body down and a second later she felt his tongue flick across her core, teasing through the folds to bring her taut, sensitive nub forward. Nixie buried her face in the blanket to muffle her cries and Damian continued, swirling his tongue along her until her hips bucked involuntarily against his mouth. His teeth nipped at her thigh before his tongue delved into her, wrenching a scream from her chest. She heard the sound of a belt buckle being released and boots hitting the floor. Her hips rolled as Damian continued to lick and suck her, bringing her so close to the edge that she was gasping for breath when she felt him move away from her. A moan poured from her lips as one hand pressed into her thigh and the tip of his erection stroked against her, nudging her closer to climax.

She pressed her hips back, trying to will him to enter her, and he complied, sinking into her in one smooth thrust. Nixie was so enraptured with the feeling of being filled so completely that she barely noticed the shift in the blanket beneath her as someone came to kneel in front of her. She gasped as a hand slipped under her chest and lifted her so that she came up on her hands. Damian was on his knees in front of her, his fully engorged cock standing out from his unzipped fly. Her head snapped around to look over her shoulder and she saw Remy behind her, his hips rolling slowly to sink into her deeper with each stroke. Nixie pulled herself up onto her knees so that she leaned back against Remy and turned her head to kiss him. The kiss seemed to spur him on and his pace increased. Without taking her mouth from Remy's, Nixie reached forward for Damian. When she felt the fabric of his shirt touch her hand, she turned to him and started unbuttoning the buttons, keeping her back arched so that Remy stayed deep inside her. "I told you that I share very well," Damian said as she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders. "Good boy," she said breathlessly, pulling him forward into a kiss.

Nixie wrapped her hand around Damian's erection and began to stroke him to match Remy's rhythm, reaching back with her free hand to hold onto Remy's thigh. She could felt Damian's hands pushing his pants away and soon she had both beautiful cowboys naked and pressed close to her. Damian rested his hands on her hips and drew her forward toward him. She gave herself over to them, allowing them to move her as they wanted to. He eased her away from Remy so that he withdrew from her body. "Lay down," he whispered. Nixie settled onto her hip and lay back, letting Remy guide her so that her head rested on his thigh where it connected with his hip. Damian parted her thighs and draped them over his own, lifting her hips up so that he plunged into her. Nixie cried out and he replied with a harder thrust, causing her to arch higher. Remy's hand came to the side of her face and he stroked her cheek for a few seconds before guiding her head to the side toward his erection. She opened her mouth and let it glide against his length, her tongue tracing the veins and ridges until she reached the head. Grasping the base of his shaft with one hand, she lifted her head enough to slide him in across her tongue. He tucked his hand behind her head to support it as she let his cock slip

out of her mouth so that she could continue licking around the head and back down. Like she had with Damian, she grasped Remy's shaft tightly and mimicked Damian's thrusts so that the three of them moved in the same rhythm together. Remy leaned down to kiss her as he slid his hand down over one breast, along her stomach, and to the apex of her thighs. His fingers slipped over her peak and she drew in a breath, her head falling away from his for a moment before she lifted it again to kiss him with greater intensity. As if they had choreographed it, both men suddenly moved. Damian withdrew from her and moved to her side while Remy held her head up off his lap and eased himself around to her other side. She felt him push gently on her shoulder so that she curled over onto her hip and he tucked forward to mold his body to hers. Remy's hand came between her knees and he pulled her top leg up and back so that it draped over his, allowing him to enter her again. This new position afforded Damian an unobstructed view of her and he watched hungrily for a few seconds before leading her head toward him so that she took his shaft in her mouth. Nixie whimpered, nearly overwhelmed by the pure, unrelenting pleasure of both men worshipping her body and allowing her to worship theirs. The harder

Remy thrust into her, the hungrier she became and she soothed that hunger by sucking Damian deeper into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip of his erection and gathering the drops of saltysweet fluid that formed there. It was the perfect balance, an extraordinary sense of completeness and fulfillment she had never experienced. Remy's hand cupped her breast, both kneading into it and using it for leverage as he pounded into her. She reached back to grab his hip, keeping them tightly connected in a way that allowed him to increase his speed and pressure. Damian completed the circle, letting his hand trail down her stomach before his fingertips touched her swollen bud, applying just enough pressure that within seconds she crashed into an all-consuming climax. Her body shuddered with the tremors that rocked through her and she opened her mouth further, allowing Damian to thrust into her throat several deep times before his body tightened and he growled with release. At the same second Remy grunted and bit down into her shoulder to muffle his own sounds as he spilled into her. Nixie moaned as the boys filled her, both clutching at her and gasping for breath as she swallowed deeply to pull Damian in further and milked Remy with the final tremors of her climax.

Finally, the three collapsed onto the blanket together and Nixie entangled herself in both of her boys, cuddling back into Remy's body while draping an arm and a leg over Damian. She kissed both of them and they nuzzled her, their hands stroking tenderly along her body as they all cooled and relaxed. "So how many times have you done that before?" she asked when she finally felt like she could speak again. "Never," Damian replied and she felt Remy shake his head in confirmation. "Really?" Remy kissed her shoulder. "Really." "Are you going to do it again?" "With you?" Remy asked. Nixie nodded and saw Damian grin, those craving-inducing eyes flickering to Remy over her shoulder and then back to her. "Absolutely," he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

**** A week later, Nixie sat on her usual stool, watching Patrick try to master a pink and blue princess-themed cocktail that she felt was way too complicated considering it contained so many different types of liquor the person drinking it would have no idea what it looked like after one sip. "A literal roll in the hay?" he asked, dropping a cherry down into the drink and creating a murkylooking blend of colors. "Dammit." "Mmmmm," Nixie murmured her affirmation and took a long sip of the far-less complex drink in front of her. "How much tequila did you have exactly?" Nixie laughed. "Two shots. Trust me, I was fully cognizant of everything that was happening." She sighed, "Everything." Patrick started to say something, then looked down sharply, dropping several more cherries into the drink with quick succession. Nixie felt a kiss come to either side of her neck and reached up with both hands to touch Damian and Remy's faces.

"Hi, boys," she said happily. Remy climbed up onto the stool beside her and Damian patted her hip until she got up and let him sit down so he could pull her down to sit between his legs. "Did you have a good ride, gentlemen?" Patrick asked and both of the guys laughed. Patrick reddened and struggled to come up with more words, "I mean on your horses. Your horses! You are cowboys, right? I mean… that's what cowboys do. You ride…horses. I'm going on break." They were still laughing as Patrick scurried away from the bar. Nixie intertwined her fingers with Remy's and turned to kiss Damian on the cheek, nestling back against him contentedly. "Hi, Nixie." A familiar voice broke the comfortable, happy moment. She turned to see Bryan standing a few feet away. "Hello, Bryan," she said icily. She held Remy's hand a little tighter and felt Damian tighten his grip on her protectively. "I see you still come here on Friday nights," he said awkwardly. As if you didn't know that and didn't come here the last two weeks expressly for that reason.

"Every Friday," she confirmed. Bryan reddened slightly and he shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said, "I heard. I wanted to say I'm sorry about the whole party thing last week. I should have picked a better place. Um, speaking of that… can I talk to you for a minute?" Nixie stared at him blankly. For the first time, she really felt nothing for him. There was no sadness, no anger, no frustration. She honestly hadn't thought about him for a single second in the last week and it was an amazing feeling. "Go ahead. Talk." Bryan shifted again, his expression becoming more and more agitated with each passing second. She could see his eyes jumping back and forth between her hips tucked between Damian's thighs and her hand holding Remy's. "I've been thinking a lot about everything that happened and I…Do we really have to talk about this right here?" Nixie nodded. "Yes. I'm done doing things on your terms, Bryan. If you want to talk to me, it's going to be right here, right now." He gave a deep sigh.

"Fine," he said, "The day after the party I found out that Angela has been sleeping with my best man." Nixie fought to withhold the triumphant laugh that was building in her chest. "That's so sad for you," she said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. "Yeah, well, it got me thinking. Maybe I was too quick about everything. I just got so wrapped up that I made a really stupid decision ending things with you the way I did and maybe we could have another chance." Both of the men holding her tensed, but Nixie rubbed their hard, jeans-covered thighs soothingly, her body already tingling at the thought of how those thighs felt without the jeans covering them. She gave each a deep, connecting kiss before turning back to Bryan with a smile "I'm sorry, Bryan, but that's just not going to happen. You see, while you thought you were celebrating finding 'the one', I was absolutely celebrating finding my two." THE END

RIDING THE RODEO COWBOY I thought it was going to be a typical girls' night out at Cowboy South, but little did I know it'd be a night I'd never forget. I reluctantly agreed to try my luck at riding the mechanical bull, but I'm no cowgirl—that thing threw me to the ground in no time! I didn't realize that a gorgeous rodeo cowboy named Jesse had been watching my little “performance,” and I nearly died from embarrassment when he came up to give me some expert advice. I took him up on his offer, though, and managed to ride that freakin' bull like a pro...which gave me a little practice for what would be in store for Jesse and I later that night... ;) It was only supposed to be a one-night stand, but good lord...that cowboy couldn't keep his hands off these curves if he tried. The thing is, Jesse's only in town to compete in the rodeo, and his future hinges on winning the grand prize. Is this just a summer fling, or is it the beginning of our long, wild ride together?

As a man sings about how all he needs in life are his whiskey, his chili, and his woman (most likely listed in order of importance); I wish I still wore a watch. Taking my phone out to check the time would be too obvious, but I bet I could check a watch without any of them noticing. Stupid technology. “So, how’s work going?” Sherry shouts at me over the insufferably loud country music. Her narrowed brown eyes say, You said you would try to have fun. So try! Sherry’s friends, who look just like Sherry (long, shiny hair; perfect skin; thin enough that I keep having to resist shoving sandwiches in their general direction), whip out their phones as soon as Sherry mentions “work”. Clearly, they don’t care about offending Sherry with their lack of attention. I do, though. Sherry and I have been best friends ever since we worked at the library together, before I quit to freelance full-time, and she quit to get married and start popping out babies. Even with an army of children, Sherry still manages to have a more active social life than I do. She dragged me out with her gaggle of other young, beauty-pageant-ready mothers and insisted I stay until at least ten. “Work’s been good,” I answer Sherry.

A blonde member of the gaggle—I think her name is Lou-Ann or Mary-Lou or something of that ilk—lifts her eyes from her phone to look at me. “I still don’t get what exactly it is you do, Annabelle. You write … but you don’t write books, right?” Her voice has that Western twang that some Cheyenne residents have. “No,” I answer. “I write for a bunch of different individual clients.” “How do you find ‘em?” Lou asks (I know there’s a “Lou” in there somewhere, so that’s what I’m calling her for now). “Online, mostly, and sometimes referrals from other clients I’ve worked with.” “Like on the computer?” Lou wrinkles her nose. “But what do you write?” “Blog posts, tweets, Facebook posts— whatever the client needs.” Lou looks at me like I’ve started speaking a different language. But she’s being nice, so I go on. “Actually, right now I’m working on—” “Guys!” another one of Sherry’s friends interrupts. This one’s a brunette with big blue eyes. Maddy. I’m 89% sure that’s her name. “Let’s do shots!” She says this as though it is the most original and intriguing idea anyone has ever had. That is also exactly how her suggestion is received by the other women sitting in our circular booth. They whoop and holler, and before I know, it a shot of something blue is sitting in front of me.

Generally, I don’t do shots. I enjoy decent beer and whiskey but have never seen the point of forcing liquor down my throat. I realize when I squint that I can see the time in the corner of the sports game playing on the television behind the bar (I’m sure Sherry would know what kind of sport it is). It’s a few minutes after nine. Accepting that I’m stuck here for another hour, I drink the blue stuff back. It tastes how a moist towelette would taste if it decided to procreate with a bag of Skittles. I take a large gulp of my beer to drown out the sickening sweetness. A middle-aged man in a red flannel shirt and a black cowboy hat steps up to a microphone near the bar. Please don’t let it be karaoke night, I pray. It’s bad enough hearing the booze-soaked country songs through the radio—I don’t think I could survive the amateur version. “I just wanted to let y’all know that we’re startin’ Bessie up for the night,” the man in the flannel says. “Come on over and try your luck!” “Bessie!” Maddy shouts. I’m not sure she knows how to operate at a lower decibel. “Oh my God, you guys, we have to ride her!” “Who the hell’s Bessie?” I ask. “The mechanical bull!” Lou says. I vaguely noticed the bull when we came inside, but it kind of blended into all the animal heads, antique guns, and

other honkytonk bullshit that fills this bar. “And since this is your first time at here at Cowboy South, Annabelle, that means you’ve got to go first!” I can feel the blood drain from my face. “I, uh … no. No, thanks. One of you guys should go.” “Why not?” Maddy asks. “Are you scared?” I grit my teeth. “Of course not.” “Not drunk enough?” another member of the gaggle asks. “Because we can fix that!” She shoves another one of the blue shots in my direction. I look at all of their expectant faces. From the seat next to me, Sherry lets me know with her eyes that she won’t hate me if I refuse the challenge. I drink down the second shot and stand. I’m stuck here for another forty minutes—what else am I going to do? Explain to Lou how Twitter works? The girls applaud as I walk away from the booth. I approach the man in the flannel, who’s now standing in front of a black box with buttons on top —that’s probably what controls the bull. And in the center of a big, red padded circle is my nemesis: Bessie. The man smiles wide at me. “You going first, little lady?” I roll my eyes. Nothing about me has been “little” since I hit puberty. I give him a silent nod and do my best to negotiate climbing on the bull

around the fact that I’m wearing a dress and not pants. I eventually succeed and give another nod to the mechanical bull operator. He turns on his microphone. “All right, all right! We’ve got our first rider. I forgot to ask you your name, darlin’.” He gives another wide grin. “So how about we just call you Marilyn?” I’ve already rolled my eyes once at the man— I shouldn’t risk doing it a second time. He’s the one who’ll be controlling the bull, after all. Besides, he’s not the first one to make the Marilyn Monroe comparison. It’s a fate that befalls all curvy blondes, although people usually add “crossed with a sexy librarian” for me, thanks to the glasses. Suddenly a spotlight’s shining in my eyes, and I can hear the operator calling, “Get ready, get set, go!” Before I have a split second to get my bearings, my ass goes flying off of Bessie, my face pressed into the red cushion on the floor. I curse myself for not removing my glasses beforehand and pray they’re not broken. After a few seconds of blindly searching, I finally retrieve them. I quickly pull my skirt over my legs (something I probably should have done sooner) and get up, not at all gracefully. “Aw, better luck next time, little lady,” the operator says.

I give him that second eye-roll I wanted to give him earlier and head back toward my booth. Sherry looks at me with concern, “Are you all right, Belle?” “Yeah, that looked bad,” Lou says. I nod, blushing slightly. “Nothing’s broken. But I’m pretty sure I was right—Bessie and I are definitely not a soulmate match.” “But you’ve barely gotten to know her,” a man’s voice says behind me. “Won’t you give her another chance?” I turn and have to work at not gasping. Like the mechanical bull operator, he’s wearing a flannel shirt and a cowboy hat. That’s kind of the uniform in a place like this. But this man’s flannel doesn’t cover a bulging belly—he looks like he’s in terrific shape. His skin is honey-brown from the sun and he has what looks like light brown hair under his hat. What makes his face are his eyes—they’re bright blue with little yellow stars around his pupils. He’s the sort of guy who always comes by to hit on Sherry or one of her other friends when Sherry manages to drag me out of the house. Sherry always immediately tells these gentlemen callers that she’s married—the others usually flirt a little first, especially if the man in question is as handsome as this one. But he’s not looking at Sherry or any of the other women sitting at the table—he’s looking at me.

“Bessie’s the one who pushed me away,” I reply. “And I’m pretty sure she would do the exact same thing if I tried again.” “Relationships take work,” he says with a slightly crooked smile that makes him look even cuter. “You’ve just gotta learn how to give Bessie what she needs. I could give you a few pointers if you want.” I notice that his accent isn’t Western. It’s a down-home Southern accent, like buttermilk. I look over my shoulder at the others. They’re all smiling encouragingly. Lou flashes me a thumbsup. I really need to learn to be nicer to Sherry’s friends. They’re good people, at the end of the day. “Yeah, all right,” I reply. He leads me to a two-person table at the other side of the bar. We sit down and he extends his hand across the table. “I just realized I never introduced myself. I’m Jesse Adams.” I shake his hand and am surprised by its roughness. “Annabelle Stevens. Now tell me everything you know about mechanical bulls.” He laughs and proceeds to do just that. I thought he was just feeding me a line before, but he actually seems to know a lot about how not to get thrown off a mechanical bull. After about ten minutes I stop him. “Okay, okay. So, my feet are more important than the hand holding onto the bull?”

He nodded. “You should hold the handle with your dominant hand, and hold it tight, but no, that’s not gonna keep you on the bull. You’ve gotta dig your feet into the sides of the bull, and hug him with your legs.” I want to hug you with my legs, I think, then blush. Luckily, I don’t think he can tell in the bar’s soft lighting. “And while I’m holding the handle with one hand, I hold the other one up in the air for balance?” “You catch on fast, Annabelle.” “You know, I always thought people put one hand up on mechanical bulls to look cool—I didn’t think it actually served a purpose.” “Staying on that bull is an art,” Jesse says. “And I think you are ready to become an artist.” Without another word he stands, grabs my hand, and leads me back into Bessie’s clutches. “My friend, Annabelle, here would like to give Bessie a second try,” he tells the operator. The operator raises his eyebrows. “You sure, darlin’?” he asks. I’m not, but I get back on the bull anyway. It’s not like this would be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done because of a cute guy. Hell, it’s not even the third stupidest. The bull starts up and somehow Jesse’s advice reaches up through my nervousness. I shift my weight subtly back and forth and squeeze my feet

into Bessie’s sides. I feel like an idiot with my left hand up in the air, but it really does help me keep my balance. When I feel myself beginning to lose balance, I jump off the bull like Jesse told me to do. I land on my feet on the red mat and turn to smile at Jesse. He puts his hands up to his mouth and whistles. I can hear loud applause coming from Sherry & Co.’s booth as well. “Two seconds to two minutes,” the operator said. “That’s got to be some kind of record. Well done, Marilyn!” Jesse raises his hand to give me a high five after we return to our table. There wasn’t even a question of whether I would keep sitting with him, despite the fact that he’s already dispensed all that sweet mechanical bull knowledge he promised. “So, you really seemed to know what you were talking about with that mechanical bull,” I say. “Do you ride horses?” “Yes, ma’am. I think it’s riding bulls, though, that makes me so good with the mechanical ones.” My brow furrows. “You’re … a bull-rider?” There’s that crooked smile again. “What, don’t I look like one?” He tips his cowboy hat at me. “This is a honkytonk bar,” I huff. “I’m a part of the 5% of this place not wearing a cowboy hat.” “This ain’t really your scene, huh?” he asks.

I look down, unsure of how to answer. No, of course honkytonk bars are not my scene. In fact, I avoid them like the plague. But if I say that, he might stop smiling at me like that. “It’s my first time at this particular one,” I say, searching the cluttered wall for something to talk about. “Annabelle?” Jesse asks after a moment. “Hang on,” I say, still staring at the wall. “I’m pretty sure that deer over there thinks I stole its soul.” His gaze follows mine, then he chuckles and shakes his head. “Well,” he says. A stuffed deer head on the wall thinks you stole its soul? THAT IS NOT A SEXY THING TO TALK TO THE SEXY COWBOY ABOUT, my mind screams at me. “So, you’re here for the rodeo?” I ask. “The Daddy of ‘em All,” he replied with a wistful expression. “Yep. It’s taken a long time, but I’ve finally made it to the CFD.” I smile a little. I’ve always had all of zero interest in the Cheyenne Frontier Days. The main meaning it’s ever had for me is a week and a half in July when it’s noisy 24/7 and all the roads are blocked. I usually try to schedule a lot of work for myself around the rodeo so I have an excuse to stay hunkered down at my apartment. But it’s obviously important to Jesse, and I think that’s kind of sweet.

“What events do you do?” His face lights up. “Bronc riding—bareback and saddled—and bull riding.” “Wow, so you’re the real deal. No fancy rope tricks for you.” “Oh, I’ve done plenty of fancy rope tricks in my time.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Rodeo life? Since I was a kid. I couldn’t afford tickets to the rodeo back then, but I’d ride my horse Peanut as close as I could get. Eventually they offered me a job cleaning up after the animals, and I worked my way up from there. I started touring with the PRCA as soon as I graduated high school.” “Where are you from?” I’ve never felt so thirsty to know more about a person. “Slocomb, Alabama,” he replied. “It’s just a little farm town. Not a nice city like this.” Even though I know Cheyenne is technically a city, it’s never felt that way to me. It’s still small enough that I know most everyone, or at least recognize their faces. There are too many people for it to be peaceful, but too few for anyone to be able to fade into the crowd. “Where are you from?” he asks me. “Here,” I reply. “Born and raised.” “You grew up in Cheyenne, and yet that was your first time on a mechanical bull?”

I grin. “I’ve never even been on a horse.” He raises his eyebrows. “Then what do you like?” “Writing,” I answer instantly. “What kind of writing?” “Any kind,” I reply. “I mean, I guess I like writing stories best—that’s what I grew up doing. But mostly I just like getting better and better at using words, you know?” “Not really.” His blue eyes shine at me. “But I like that you like it.” “Well, I like that you like riding bulls.” We smile at each other in silence for a few moments. “Uh, Annabelle?” Sherry’s come to check up on me. She looks between Jesse and me. “We’re all heading home soon. Did you…?” Sherry drove me here in her minivan. “I could take you home, if you’d like,” Jesse says. Sherry looks at me, asking if this is okay with her eyes. “Thanks, Jesse,” I tell him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sherry.” Sherry looks between me and Jesse again. “Okay… Call me so I know you got home all right!” She disappears through the door with the other Beauty Queen Mothers. “So,” Jesse says after

they’ve gone. “You’ve never ridden a horse, huh?” “Never,” I reply. “Well,” he replies. There’s my friend Mr. Crooked Smile again. “Would you like to change that?” “I … uh, what do you mean?” He just keeps smiling at me. “How about we get outta here?” I barely know this guy. Leaving a honkytonk bar with a handsome stranger is about as in character for me as … well, being in a honkytonk bar in the first place. But I’m not ready to say goodbye to Jesse. Not yet. I check to make sure my phone has plenty of battery left (10:37—take that, Sherry!) and nod. “Yeah, all right.”

**** There are a few ways I thought tonight would go. Shining my phone’s flashlight over a bull-rider’s shoulder while he unlocks an ancient-looking lock on a stables’ pair of front doors an hour shy of midnight was not one of those ways. I hear the lock click open and Jesse holds the door open. “After you, ma’am,” he says. I can’t see him very well, but I’m pretty sure he tips his cowboy hat to me. “Haha, nice try,” I say. “You lead the way.” As he walks into the darkness I reach into my purse and hold my cell phone. The drive here was the opposite of creepy—Jesse explained in a friendly tone that we were headed to stables that belonged to the family of a rodeo friend of his. He asked questions about my writing, and actually seemed interested in my answers. Still, I think, tightening my grip on my phone, better safe than sorry. Deserted stables in the middle of nowhere would be pretty much the ideal location for a murder. “Could you shine your light over here, Annabelle?” Jesse’s voice calls. With some reluctance, I pull out the phone I’ve been fondling and shine it in his direction. He’s

standing in a stall next to a powerful-looking black stallion. “This is Colt,” Jesse introduces me. He puts his hand in front of Colt’s nose and the horse noses his hand just like a cat eager for petting. The tender expression in Jesse’s eyes as he pets Colt stamps out my axe-murderer concerns in a hurry. “He seems to like you,” I comment, joining him beside the horse. Colt only gives me a brief look of acknowledgement before he goes back to nosing Jesse’s hand. “We’ve been training together for a month now,” Jesse replies. “We’ve had some time to get to know each other.” I lift a hand and pet Colt’s silky black mane. “He’s beautiful.” I pause. “You’re also crazy if you think I’m going to ride this big bastard.” Jesse laughs. It’s the first real, full laugh I’ve heard out of him. He’s in his element here: standing inch-deep in hay, surrounded by horses. Without a word, he grabs my hand and leads me to the next stall over. A much smaller but no less impressive yellow-tan horse neighs at the sight of us. Jesse reaches up to pet her and she instantly calms down. It seems I’ve wrangled myself a horse whisperer. “This here’s Buttercup,” Jesse tells me. “She’s real gentle—great for beginners like yourself.” I try to help as Jesse saddles the horses. Jesse moves to help me onto Buttercup’s back and I

hesitate. “What’s wrong?” he asks. He’s so sweet— almost too sweet. Aren’t handsome, alpha men like him supposed to be assholes? “I’m afraid I’ll fall,” I whisper. On the outside, I’ve always acted like I was above the horses everyone else in this town is obsessed with—really, I’m terrified. I mean, we all saw what happened to the little girl in Gone With the Wind, right? He leans closer. “I won’t let that happen,” he whispers in my ear. “Trust me.” I do. I manage to get up onto Buttercup’s back without too much difficulty, aside from my skirt bunching up around my hips. The dress was most definitely a mistake. We make our way out to the enclosed dirt pen. Jesse literally rides in circles around me and Buttercup as she slowly walks around the pen. He makes riding a horse look as easy as breathing. I actually don’t do too horribly. After a few minutes, I realize that everything Jesse taught me about how to stay on the mechanical bull applies to horses. By the end, I’m even able to steer Buttercup in one direction or the other using the sides of my feet. Jesse smiles up at me once we’re back in the stables and he’s dismounted. “Not too scary, huh?” “Not scary at all,” I reply. I stumble getting off the horse and fall right

into his arms. He twirls me around, away from the startled Buttercup. “Are you alright?” he asks. His arms are tight around my waist while mine loop around his neck. “I’m actually great,” I reply. Neither of us makes the first move, exactly. One second, we’re looking into each other’s eyes, and the next, we’re kissing. I can’t get enough of the taste of him and gently bite at his full, beautiful lips. He walks me toward the wall without moving his lips from mine. He presses me into the wood and moves from my lips and down to my neck. His lips feel so soft on my skin. I wrap my legs around his waist and the feel of his hardness against me makes me wet. He bites the area where my neck meets my shoulder and I shiver. “What should we do now?” he asks into my neck. In response, I place my palm over the hardness between his legs. “I know what I want to do…” I know there are rules about sleeping with a guy on the first date but 1) I’ve never been a big fan of rules, and 2) He’s leaving in a few weeks, anyway, so it’s not like there’s any future here. He kisses me again on the lips, then pulls back and smiles. “Good.” His kisses trail back down my neck. He

reaches up to untie the halter straps of my dress and pushes down my bra, leaving my breasts exposed. I’d be embarrassed about being half naked in front of all these horses, but then Jesse starts kissing my nipples and I can’t think about anything but his lips, his mouth, and the soaking wetness between my legs. Without taking his attention away from my breasts, he reaches down under my skirt and grabs my ass. “This right here is a work of art,” he whispers in my ear, giving my bottom another extra-hard squeeze. “Glad you like it,” I reply, and grace my hand over his ass. It is firmer than I even knew asses could be. “Yours isn’t too bad either.” I unbutton his jeans to reveal his manhood, which is every bit as impressive as the rest of him. I reach out to touch it, but after a few strokes of my hand, Jesse backs away. “Not yet,” he says. Then he kneels down in the hay in front of me, his head a little above the hem of my dress. He pulls the skirt up to reveal my flowered silk panties. “Well, hello again,” he says. I hike an eyebrow. “What?” He snaps the elastic on my panties. “We’re old friends. I caught sight of ‘em when you fell off Bessie.” I turn scarlet. “Is that why you came over to talk to me?”

“I came over to talk to you because you’re beautiful,” he says, kissing my upper thighs. “The fact that you flashed me was just a bonus.” He pulls my now soaking wet panties down over my legs and feet and flings them away, spreading a few more kisses around my upper thighs. Then, Jesse thrusts his long tongue inside me; my knees go weak, but he winds his strong arms around my thighs to hold me up. Two of his thick fingers replace his tongue, which is now slowly, agonizingly circling my clit. Maybe the dress wasn’t such a mistake after all. Warmth spreads from my inner core through the rest of my body and I can feel my toes go numb. “Oh God, yes,” I whimper as I begin to come, my orgasm wracking through me. Jesse pulls his fingers in and out, intensifying the waves of pleasure crashing over me. Jesse pulls away to smile up at me. “Well,” he says. “That’s one. Let’s see how many more times I can get you to come.” He sticks yet another thick finger inside me and picks up the pace with his tongue, which is now pressing firmly against my sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing deep, fast figure eights around my clit. I’m not sure if I’m coming over and over, or just having one long, magnificent orgasm. I can’t say I really care either way. I almost feel like I’m

watching myself from above, floating on a cloud of ecstasy. Eventually I can’t stand, even with Jesse’s help, and take the chance to kneel down in front of him. I begin to slowly lick up and down his shaft, planting little kisses here and there. He moans every bit as much as I do, which is an enormous turn-on. I hate always having to guess whether what I’m doing feels good or not. Jesse doesn’t leave me guessing, and after a few minutes he pulls me up and into another passionate kiss. I take back every bad thing I ever said about one-night stands, I think, wrapping my legs back around Jesse’s waist. One-night stands are wonderful…

**** I wake up with the sun in my eyes and hay in my mouth. I spit out the hay, put on my glasses, and sit up. Bright sunlight streams in through the stable windows. Jesse’s already awake. He’s standing in front of one of the windows, facing away from me. His cowboy hat is gone and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him without it. His hair is a little longer than I expected—it stops around the bottoms of his ears. He turns and smiles down at me. “Good morning, Sunshine.” “Morning,” I reply, using my fingers to dispel some of the hay that’s tangled in my hair. “People are gonna start showin’ up soon, so we’d better skidaddle,” Jesse says, settling his hat back on his head. He holds his hand out to me and helps me up. He reaches into his pocket and hands the contents to me. “You might want these.” My panties. I blush and am 100% sure he can tell—no dim bar lighting or darkness to hide it this time. I take them and awkwardly pull them up over the cowboy boots I slept in (the one part of the country lifestyle that I do support). “Now, what do you say to some breakfast?” he asks as we walk from the stables toward his

pickup truck. “I … really?” I ask. I’ve never had a one-night stand before, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how they usually go. “You don’t have to. You can just drop me off at my apartment.” We stop beside the car and he cocks his head to the side at me, confused. “You’re saying you don’t want to come get breakfast with me?” I sigh. “No, I do … but what’s the point?” “Sustenance, good company … what about bacon? Bacon seems like a good reason to do just about anything.” I can’t help cracking a bit of a smile at that. He’s a man after my own heart. “This was great. But … I mean, you’re leaving in a few weeks, anyway.” He nods. “That’s true.” He pulls me into his arms and pulls another piece of hay from my hair. “But I’m not leaving now. And I’d like to keep getting to know you better if you don’t mind.” He kisses me. It’s not a passionate, hungry kiss like last night, but it’s every bit as satisfying. He pulls away and meets my eyes. “Would that be okay with you?” This is a bad idea. As of right now last night could be a wonderful memory for both of us. Going to breakfast means this becomes real. It’ll mean a few weeks of fun followed by months of heartbreak.

But I just smile at him. “It would be more than okay. It would be perfect.”

**** I don’t usually rise before eight AM, and when I do, I certainly don’t drive out to the middle of nowhere to watch hundreds of steers walk down the street. The reason I’ve done both on this particular morning walks over to me carrying two coffees. Jesse. The last two weeks have been Jesse, Jesse, and more Jesse. Other times I’ve fallen for guys I haven’t been able to focus on my work—but I don’t think I’ve ever been more efficient with my writing than I have been since I met Jesse. I’ve been laser-focused, since getting work done faster means spending more time with him. I keep expecting the other shoe to drop. But it hasn’t. He’s kind, courteous, and has a good sense of humor. He’s got Southern charm without any of the judgmental attitude that usually goes with it. And I can’t seem to stop touching him. Every other second, I’m catching his rough hand in mine, combing my hand through his hair. It isn’t even about how handsome he is, though of course that’s nice. It’s this insatiable, Jesse-specific hunger that isn’t satisfied no matter how many times we have sex (and we have had a lot of it!) I’m getting too attached, just like I knew I

would. He looks over at me with his crooked smile and all I can think is Don’t leave. “Belle!” I turn to see Sherry, her husband, and their brood approaching us. Little Scotty and Diana toddle over on unsteady legs while even littler Zoe rides in a Baby Bjorn on Sherry’s chest. Her husband, John, is overloaded with various bags full of whatever it is parents use to amuse/feed/diaper their children on family outings. “How did you do it, Jesse?” Sherry demands when they reach us. “I’ve been trying to get Belle to come with me to the cattle drive since we met! But every year she makes some excuse.” Jesse looks at me. “Is that right?” In the last two weeks, there hasn’t really been a good time to explain my hatred of all things rodeo to Jesse. With a quick dirty look at Sherry, I sigh. “It’s true,” I confess to him. “This is my first cattle drive. And when I come to see you next week, it’ll be my first time at the rodeo.” His blue eyes get as big as saucers. “Wait, you’ve never been to the CFD?” “I mean, I’ve passed by it,” I reply. “I’ve just never gone out of my way to be involved.” “She goes out of her way not to be involved,” Sherry says. “Here they come!” John exclaims, much to my relief.

I look down the street and there they are: steers as far as the eye can see. Ranchers on horseback keep the cattle in line. “Wow,” I say. “There’s got to be at least a hundred of them.” “Try four-hundred and fifty,” Jesse says with a chuckle. The ocean of steers passes by on their way into town and I can’t help but smile. It’s not every day you see hundreds of steers walking down the street. I startle when I feel arms wrap around my waist. “So, you’re not such a big fan of the rodeo?” Jesse whispers in my ear. I lean back against him. “Not exactly. Actually … I kind of hate it.” “Why?” “It’s so noisy for like ten days straight, and the animals don’t get treated well, and so many of these cowboys are such douchebags—” I stop myself as I realize what I’m saying. “Not you, obviously…” I can feel Jesse’s stomach moving as he laughs. “You must like me a lot, then,” he says softly, and lightly kisses my neck. I look back and forth but everyone else is absorbed by the cattle drive. I turn my head to look Jesse in the eyes. “You have no idea.” He hugs me closer and we watch as the cattle

retreat toward Frontier Park in the distance. They get smaller and smaller the farther they get from us. Most of the spectators race to follow the steers, but Jesse and I stay put. Don’t leave, Jesse, I think again. Please don’t leave.

**** The rodeo has officially started, and I hate it every bit as much as I thought I would. It’s hot enough that I’m sweating through my shorts and tshirt and the air is thick with horse manure. There is also no real walking to be done at the rodeo, just moving in the tiniest of steps through the stifling crowd. This aspect of the rodeo is especially annoying when you are trying to find your bronc-riding boyfriend’s event that starts in five minutes. Not that Jesse’s my boyfriend, I think. He’s called me his “girl” a few times and I don’t think the moniker of “boyfriend” would bother him. But it’ll just make things harder. Jesse’s not even staying through the whole rodeo. He’s leaving the morning after his last event, which is in four days. I finally find where I’m supposed to be. I race into the stands and am able to snag a seat in the front row since I’m all by myself. Sherry and her family met Jesse and I for the pancake breakfast this morning (free pancakes: the one thing I do like about the rodeo), but they can’t cart their kids out for too long before it turns into a disaster. Jesse is one of the first cowboys to ride. This is

bareback bronc-riding, which looks as terrifying as it sounds. Horses buck around, trying to unhorse their riders. I’ve seen Jesse on a bronc already, out at the stables—his body was loose and fluid despite the insane animal jerking beneath him. That’s not how he looks now, though; I notice immediately that Jesse looks stiff. Loosen up, I think at him. It’s what he’s told me every time we’ve gone horseback riding together in the last few weeks. Why is he so tense? He doesn’t heed my mental advice, and he falls off the horse as quickly as I fell off that mechanical bull the night we met. I stand and rush to the railing. Luckily, Jesse is able to get up and make his way out of the arena. I rush out of the audience, ignoring the glares of the people whose laps I’m climbing over. I head over to what I can only think of as the “backstage” area—what’s that called in the rodeo? A cowboyhatted man stops me. “You need a pass to come any farther, ma’am.” I see Jesse talking to a few other cowboys and wave. He walks over, looking at the ground. “Hey, Annabelle.” “Hi!” I greet him with forced brightness. “I’m pretty sure you deserve a beer. Let me buy you one.” “I’m not really in the mood.” This is a Jesse I don’t recognize—cold and

distant. “Are you okay?” I ask. “I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. The cowboy/rodeo bouncer looks at us with interest. Jesse takes my arm and leads me to where there are less people, behind a hot dog cart. “Are you really fine?” I ask. He doesn’t seem to be walking weird or anything. “Physically, yeah.” “What does that mean?” He looks around us at the crowd. “You know what? I will take you up on that beer. Not here, though.” Jesse drives us to Cowboy South, the bar where we met. If possible, it’s even gaudier during the day. There are a lot more day-drinkers than usual, but it’s still blissfully empty inside compared to the rodeo. We sit down and I order a beer while Jesse ends up ordering a double whiskey. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask. “I know losing is rough, but—” “No, you don’t know,” he snaps. Then he takes a deep breath and his face softens. “This rodeo is worth a lot more than just winning or losing to me. You see … what you just saw wasn’t exactly unusual. I’ve been riding broncs and bulls since I was a kid. Made real good money at it too, for the first few years. But lately, things haven’t been going so well.” “But I’ve seen you ride at the stables,” I say.

“You’re incredible.” “Out there with old Colt? Sure. But when I get in the arena, I freeze up.” I reach out to take his hand. “What changed?” He shrugs. “My mama passed on a few years back. That took my mind out of the game for a while. And once I fell enough times, I just couldn’t relax out there. The last few months have been better, but I still haven’t been winning enough money to get by. This rodeo has the biggest prizes out there. The rider who wins the bull-riding championship wins $100,000. If I even place, I should be able to get by for a while on that money.” “And if you don’t?” His face hardens. “Then I have to go work on my dad’s dairy farm back in Slocomb.” “Well… milk is good, right?” He doesn’t smile. “I hated it, Annabelle. My dad just ran me and my brothers ragged—he didn’t care what we wanted. I was up at dawn and working til sundown. He treats his cows like trash. He treated the horses even worse before he sold ‘em all off.” “He sold Peanut?” His eyes darken. “No. Peanut broke her leg, so he shot her instead of taking her to the vet.” We sit in silence for a few moments. “Well, it sounds to me like you need to relax,” I finally say. I down the rest of my beer. “Do you think I might be

able to… help out with that?”

**** Within ten minutes, we are out of the bar and on the way to Jesse’s hotel. We’re kissing before he’s even able to fit his key card into the lock on his door. He blindly gets the door open and we stumble inside. Jesse pulls off my t-shirt and unhooks my bra with stunning accuracy. He kisses me again with an urgency that hasn’t been there the many other times we’ve kissed these last few weeks. I unbutton his shirt and pull off the white t-shirt underneath so we can be skin-to-skin. I love the feeling of my soft, full breasts pushing up against his rock-hard bare chest. He pulls back and teases my nipples a little roughly, but not in a bad way. In fact, it’s rough in a very, very good way indeed. He bites them lightly as I feel them turn into stiff peaks in his mouth. He moves back up to my lips and I push him back toward the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them and his boxers down. He’s almost completely hard already; I take him in my mouth and he moans. “Oh, Annabelle,” he says and runs his fingers through my hair. I take him deep in my mouth and look up so I

can meet his eyes with my half-lidded gaze. Then I surround his cock with my D-cup breasts, pressing them together, moving them up and down his length. After a few minutes, he reaches down to pull me on top of him. He guides the head of his engorged cock into my entrance and I moan as I begin to ride him hard, my clit rubbing against his pelvis. Jesse cups my breasts, biting my nipples again and I shudder. He rubs my clit with his other hand and I pick up speed, riding him harder and harder. Suddenly he rolls me over. “Get on your hands and knees,” he orders. I quickly obey and he stands at the edge of the bed behind me. After a few seconds, I move my hips back and forth in his direction. He bends over to whisper in my ear, his cock sliding up and down my drenched folds, but agonizingly not going any further. “What do you want, Annabelle?” he asks. “I want…” I trail off and push back against his cock again, but he backs away. “I want to hear you say it,” he says. “Oh, fuck me,” I say in rush. “Just please fuck me.” “Is that what you want?” he asks, the tip of his dick teasing me. “YES!” I scream. “FUCK ME, JESSE!!”

He thrusts his whole length into me and, for a second, my vision goes black. He pumps his dick into me from behind and I bounce up and down on him in the same rhythm. When his fingers go back to my clit, I can barely even stand it. But he keeps going, faster and faster, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. His cock gets even harder and I know he’s about to come. “Annabelle, I love you,” he calls out in a rush as his hot release shoots deep into me. I come at the same time, my inner walls clamping rhythmically along his length. I lie still on the bed for a moment, letting the last jolts of my orgasm ripple through me. He comes to lie on the bed and I rest my head on his deeply muscled chest, now covered with beads of sweat. “Has that ever happened to you before?” I ask, my fingers tracing the pronounced V of his pelvic muscles. “What?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. “Coming at the same time.” He thinks for a moment. “No. I don’t think it has.” “Me neither.” I pause. “So, did you really mean…?” He rolls over so we’re face to face. “I meant what I said, Annabelle.” He cups the side of my face with his hand. “I’m in love with you.” “I love you too, Jesse.” We kiss, but soon I

feel a dropping feeling in my stomach and pull away. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “It’s just … I love you, and you love me, and that’s wonderful and all. But you’re leaving in four days. You don’t even have a permanent address!” “Well, I do. My dad’s house, for taxes. But I know what you mean.” He pauses. “Well, what if you came out on the road with me?” “What? …Could I even do that?” He nods. “Sure. A lot of guys bring their wives. A buddy of mine even brings his little boy along.” “I…” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Three weeks ago, we didn’t even know each other. Now I’m considering “going on the road” with him indefinitely? The word “wives” keeps coming back to mind. “Are you asking me to…?” I ask him. His brow furrows then he laughs. He has dimples, I realize. I am considering running away with a man whose dimples I didn’t even know about until two seconds ago. “Not necessarily, though we should talk about that. I just know that I love you, and I want to keep spending time with you.” “I have to think about this,” I say slowly. I touch his cheek. “Thank you for asking me.” He pulls me to him. “Meeting you, getting to

know you—it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time. So, thank you, Annabelle.” I look at the clock. “You don’t have another event until tomorrow, right?” “Nope,” he agrees. We don’t leave the bed until morning.

**** When we get back to the rodeo, Jesse races off toward the arena to avoid being late. I meet up with Sherry, whose husband and mother have combined babysitting forces at home so I won’t have to watch another event alone. “Aren’t those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” she asks. “Shut up,” I reply, but can’t keep from smiling. He loves me! a happy little voice inside keeps screaming. He loves me! We make our way into the stands and take our seats to watch the saddle bronc riding competition. I hate the idea of Jesse falling again. It sounds like his mother’s death hit him pretty hard; I wonder if they were close, unlike he and his father. His offer to come on the road with him pops up in my brain. “Sherry?” I ask. “Yeah?” “When did you know that John was the one?” She looks thoughtful. “I’m not sure I think there is a one. I think you meet someone, you fall in love, and you commit to a lifetime of working on your relationship.” She looks at me. “Are you falling for the cowboy?” “I think I already fell,” I confess. A smile

creeps onto my face. “He told me that he loves me.” She squeals as only a best friend can upon learning such news. “And you said it back?” I nod. “Then he asked me to go on the road with him.” She wrinkles her nose. “What does that even mean?” “I’m not sure. I think it means I go with him to rodeos all over the country until … I don’t know.” “But you hate the rodeo!” I look around the arena. Just the sight of a cowboy hat used to fill me with contempt, but now I have much more positive associations with it. “It’s not so bad,” I say. “And I can freelance from anywhere.” “You’re really considering this, aren’t you?” “I might be.” I grab her hand. “I’d miss you, though.” She squeezes my hand. “I’d miss you, too.” She looks down into the arena where Jesse’s due to appear. “Jesse’s good people, though. And he’s crazy about you.” “You think?” I ask. She scoffs. “Are you kidding? His whole face lights up when you walk into a room.” The event begins and we lean forward to watch the cowboys in action. One man falls and has to be helped out of the arena. My stomach lurches

as I imagine a similar fate befalling Jesse. When he rides out, though, Jesse doesn’t look like the same rider as yesterday. Instead he looks more like he did back at the stables: loose, but confident and in control. He looks over in my direction, waving his hat wildly, grinning ear to ear. I jump from my seat, waving and cheering, “You’ve got this, Jesse!” He rides wonderfully and ends up placing! Sherry and I both give him a standing ovation as he receives his medal. Doing well in this event is nice, but I know it’s the bull-riding championship that really matters. If he doesn’t win money in bull riding, then his offer to come on the road with him will become moot. He’ll be stuck back in Alabama milking cows while his domineering father cracks the whip. Some “relaxing” time seemed to help him loosen up before this event. Luckily, we’ve got time for a lot more of that before the bull-riding championship begins tomorrow night.

**** It’s the last night of the bull-riding finals, and I’m right in the front row with Sherry and her family. My stomach is full of butterflies. Jesse’s done well so far—I’ve gotten so used to seeing him on horses that it’s strange seeing him atop a big, hulking animal like a bull. But he manages these beasts with seemingly effortless grace. His stiffness has completely left him now. I like to think I had a little something to do with that. I still haven’t given him an answer about going out on the road. And he leaves tomorrow morning. I try to put these thoughts out of my mind and focus on the rodeo. The stands are twice as packed as they’ve been for any other event. All the other events have taken place during the day, while for the past two nights, lights have lit up the arena for the bull-riding championship. Jesse’s explained how bull-riding works but I still need John, Sherry’s husband, to point out which cowboys are doing well. We watch the third cowboy in a row get bucked off his bull almost as soon as they enter the arena. “Are the bulls in a feistier mood today than yesterday?” I ask.

“Don’t you worry about Jesse,” John says. “Your man is some kind of animal,” he says in an admiring tone. “He may be in line to win this thing.” I raise my eyebrows. $100,000. That would put any worries about having to go back home to the dairy farm out of Jesse’s mind. Jesse comes out for his last ride on the bull. At first, he looks a bit off-balance and my heart leaps into my throat. The audience gasps, and then sighs in relief as Jesse rights himself. He’s become a crowd favorite during the last two days of the championship—not that I’m surprised. From there, Jesse performs magnificently. I thought he was good on a horse, but I can see that bull riding is truly Jesse’s event. I don’t even need to ask John to explain. Jesse’s told me before that the points are out of 100 in bull riding, and that an 80 is a terrific score. Getting above a 90 is nearly unheard of. Jesse gets a 95. And when the champion is announced, they call Jesse’s name. Outside the arena, I run into Jesse’s waiting arms. “You were so good, Jesse,” I tell him. “I’m so proud of you.” He hugs me back hard. “It was all thanks to you.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just kept thinking if I don’t win this

thing, I might not ever get to see you again.” He looks down. “Not that I…” “Yes,” I say quickly. “What?” “Yes, I’ll go with you,” I tell him. “I can do my work from anywhere, and Sherry’s already given me her blessing.” Jesse’s face splits into that crooked smile I’ve come to love so much. “I love you, Annabelle.” “I love you, too … Cowboy.” He pulls off his cowboy hat and settles it on my head. “You’re a cowgirl now.” My old biases against the rodeo start to rise up in my chest, but they settle back down as I look into Jesse’s star-studded blue eyes. If getting to be with Jesse means being a cowgirl, then sign me up for some spurs and a pistol. THE END

THE BILLIONAIRE COWBOY’S DESIRE Ava Mitchell, a sassy and voluptuous fashion design student from Rhode Island joins her best friend on a vacation to a beautiful and scenic ranch in Colorado. There, she meets Noah, a gorgeous cowboy who she feels irresistibly drawn to, and who manages to invade her thoughts night after restless night. Noah has a secret that he likes to keep from the guests: he's really not a ranch hand after all. He actually owns the place, along with a massive mansion nearby. Up until now, he's maintained a strict "hands-off" policy with his visitors, but when Ava walks into his life, the rules that he established are challenged. Soon his desire boils over, driving him into Ava's arms where he unveils his true identity...and gives her an unforgettable private education about life on the ranch.

“You want me to pass up Donna Karan, Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang, and Mathieu Mirano? All to spend a week in the company of cows and chickens?!?” Ava exclaimed. “And horses...” her best friend Christie interjected, as if that should adequately justify passing up a trip to the fashion houses of New York in exchange for a week-long “life on a ranch” experience. It wasn't that Ava had anything against farm animals, she just made a rule of keeping them as far away from her Gucci stilettos and her Jimmy Choo pumps as possible. OK, up until now, there had been no rule on the subject, but given her friend's ludicrous request, it was about time the rule be made. “You know I could never afford the trip on my own, and admit it, you can't possibly think your meager savings is going to get you through those houses' front doors, never mind walking out with bags of irresistible clothing.” Christie may have a point, but Ava wasn't ready to back down just yet. Besides, she'd be

perfectly happy sitting outside of Michael Kors, watching the wealthiest of society prance in and out. She'd be content to dream of the day women would prance in and out of her shop, adorning themselves in her fabulous creations—just not at the same ridiculous price tags. It was her driving force; Ava loved everything about the fashion industry, except for the astronomical cost that came with being fashionable. It was what had kept her dressed in thrift shop finds as a kid, instead of in the beautiful clothing that only the rich girls could afford. She wanted to learn every couture secret out there and use her knowledge to make the art of fashion accessible to the next generation of lessthan-filthy-rich teens and young women. “Then why don't we pool our money and you come with me to New York?” she posited, thinking it to be a far more reasonable request, even as Christie's eyes seemed to bulge out of her head at the suggestion. “You can throw on a pair of overalls and look just fine on a ranch. What do you think it's going to take to get me prepped for a fashion house?” Christie asked dryly, surveying her generic brand leggings and oversized T-shirt. “Besides, you're at the top of your class. We

both know you're destined for a glamorous internship and a star-studded career in the fashion industry. What need is a ranch going to have for a mediocre paralegal when I'm finished school? So, it's only fair that you come with me before your career takes off and you no longer have time for us little people,” Christie cajoled, with puppy dog eyes and a devilish grin. Ava had no doubt that Christie knew she was about to win. It was one of Ava's greatest gifts and her biggest flaw at the same time. She was too kindhearted. Not in the way that made her a good person, but in the way that made her a perpetual doormat. Throughout her childhood and high school years, she was a habitual people-pleaser, and it had interfered with every facet of her life, from her social life to her academic performance. However, from the day she was accepted into the Bachelor of Fine Arts in Apparel Design at the Rhode Island School of Design, her life changed. She had found something she was good at, something she could take pride in. Ava was happy, and her confidence soared. When it came to Christie, her spine seemed to turn to Jell-O. Christie was right; Sarah would likely be spending the last year of her degree in fashion hot spots like New York, Milan and Paris. Meanwhile, she knew

Christie had dreamed of learning to work with horses since she was a little girl—and even less well-off than Ava—and who knew how long it would be before she had another opportunity like this one. Ava exhaled heavily, rolling her eyes. Christie's grin transformed into an enormous smile, recognizing the resignation and knowing she'd accomplished her goal. She threw her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly for a moment before standing upright, a frantic look on her face. “OK, so that means we have exactly two weeks until we leave. I'll take care of all the arrangements. You just make sure you pack something that the cows and chickens can't ruin,” Christie teased. Ava nodded, trying to mentally envision the contents of her closet and cringing at the thought of manure-soaked crepe de chine pants or mudsplattered silk tunics. It wasn't that her clothing was the most expensive stuff out there—most of her wardrobe was actually comprised of her own designs—but she'd hate to ruin so many one-of-akind creations. Deciding not to think about the impending defilement of her attire, she glanced at her watch, realizing she'd been dallying at lunch for

too long. “I gotta go!” she announced, rising from the diner's booth. “I've got a heavy schedule all week, so give me a call this weekend and we'll finalize the details.” “...and see if I can't figure out how to weasel my way out of this rustic excuse for a vacation,” she mumbled under her breath. Unfortunately, the week passed by too quickly, and by the time the weekend arrived, she hadn't even a pitiful excuse in sight. Worse, Christie had investigated the itinerary for the vacation, and as she recited it over the phone, Ava fought valiantly against the urge to back out. Early mornings, horse grooming, ranch maintenance—which she could only imagine meant cleaning out stalls and other ungodly tasks. But at the end of the long list of indescribable horrors sat the reason Ava stood strong against the innate desire to flee. Horseback riding, training sessions, sunset trail riding and other stuff that she knew meant the world to Christie. She committed the trip—and its wretched itinerary—to the back of her mind for her remaining week in civilization, and did her best to make every moment pass by as slowly as possible. Unfortunately, the fates were unkind to Ava, speeding her through the week at an exorbitant speed and before she knew it, their day of departure was upon her.

She awoke early to squeeze in a shower and prep time before their flight. Slipping on a pair of form-fitting, bootcut jeans and a simple viscose tank top that had a deceptively demure neckline in the front but plunged all the way to the waist of her jeans in the back. She checked her reflection in the mirror, sliding her hands along the outline of her curvy figure. At first, studying in the fashion industry, she'd been terribly self-conscious about her curves, but as time went by and she saw one skinny model after the next, she realized something. Those women, while beautiful, were cookie cutters, exact replicas of one another. Even worse, from studying behind the scenes she had come to see their many flaws; sunken faces, bony thinness, Botox and volume injections and a steady calendar of plastic surgery to keep up with the latest body trend. In contrast, Ava saw herself as absolutely unique, with a curvy, one-of-a-kind frame, long, golden blonde hair and crystal blue eyes that captured the attention and admiration of men and women alike. Satisfied with the woman staring back at her in the mirror, Ava nodded, heading out into the small, common living room of her shared apartment. She grabbed her luggage from next to the front door and forced her feet to usher her downstairs to the lobby where Christie was, no

doubt, already waiting anxiously. She did her best to plaster a smile on her face, seeing no point in making this a miserable experience for both of them, and made small talk all the way to the airport and throughout the plane ride from Rhode Island to Colorado. Ava loved to fly, though her tight budget didn't allow for air travel very often. The four-hour flight flew by quickly, and Ava took a deep breath as she stepped off the plane. This was it; there was no turning back. She wasn't entirely certain what she had against ranch life so much—aside from the obvious muck and mud issues, of course. She supposed it must have something to do with the unfamiliarity of the situation. In truth, the only pet Ava had ever had was a goldfish, her parents both allergic to most domestic animals. She felt very out of her comfort zone when she thought about spending time on a ranch, surrounded by large, strange animals and burly farmworkers. So much land somehow seemed unnatural, too, having grown up in a two-bedroom apartment before moving into the apartment she shared with two other fashion students. Perhaps it was about time she opened her mind and gave ranch life an honest try—at least for the week—she thought as she spotted a man holding up a sign with their names. Walking over to

him, he greeted them both kindly, offering to take their bags and escort them to the vehicle waiting outside, which turned out to be a luxury sedan, pleasing Ava immensely. She had imagined having to ride in the back of a rusty old pickup truck all the way from the airport to the ranch, and was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected luxury ride. Traveling at least thirty minutes to the ranch, the car pulled into a long, winding driveway that lead to a well-kept, moderate-size ranch house. Ava stepped out of the car, turning to take in the view around her. She had never seen so much open space, and it was...breathtaking. Beyond the open expanse was lush, green forest in every direction and the mountain range beyond drew the eye upward, making it seem like the land went on indefinitely. She had expected to be greeted by the noxious smell of animal and manure, but instead the air smelled...clean. “I told you it wouldn't be so bad,” Christie whispered, obviously recognizing the awed expression on Ava's face. “I'm willing to concede that the place doesn't smell like an outhouse,” Ava teased quietly. A man came out of the house to greet them

then. He must have been nearly seventy-maybe older-and as wrinkled as a prune, but he wore a kind expression that made him seem immediately likable. “Hello ladies. My name's William Winchester —just call me Will, but not Bill. I managed to avoid the name all these years and I don't want to pick it up now. I'm the owner of the ranch,” he welcomed them, extending his hand in greeting. “I'll take you over to your cabin so you can get settled, and then what do you say you join me at the house for lunch? Don't worry, I'm not the one doing the cooking. We have an in-house chef for that, or else all our guests would be stuck with my specialty night after night.” “It's hot dog spaghetti, in case you were wondering,” he whispered conspiratorially, and Ava couldn't help but laugh. “It sounds like your specialty might rival mine —macaroni and cheese whiz...a la Ava,” she teased back. “That sounds wonderful,” Christie replied, beaming brightly. “Um, the cabin, not the spaghetti...or the macaroni,” she smiled apologetically. The three laughed and the two women

followed Will beyond the house to a grouping of cabins about twenty yards behind and to the right. The cabins were quaint, but immaculately maintained with a small, wooden front porch on each one. Inside the “grand” one-bedroom cabin— the largest unit the ranch had—was a cozy living room with a fireplace and a kitchenette off to one side. The bedroom was a decent size with two double beds and a large curtain that could be pulled to separate the space. The bathroom was painted and decorated in the same style as the rest of the cabin, but beyond the stand-up shower and small pedestal sink was a deep, luxurious-looking hot tub —a welcome sight but it looked a little out of place in the rustic cabin. Their luggage was deposited by the front door by the man who had picked them up at the airport, who nodded goodbye and waited for Will on the grass beyond the front porch. “If you need anything, just mention it to anyone you see working around here,” Will explained. “They all know that, outside of taking proper care of our animals, making sure the guests are comfortable is our number one priority. Now, lunch will be ready in about half an hour, so you just go ahead and take your time getting settled. I'll see you up at the house shortly.”

Will turned and left the cabin then, and Christie turned to look out the back window, overlooking the vast fields and forests. “Tell you what, Christie,” Ava started, making her way in the opposite direction. “You go ahead and shovel manure and rub down cows...or whatever it is you do here, and I'll spend the week right here in the hot tub. Deal?” “Ava,” her friend complained good-naturedly. “OK, fine. You can join me in the hot tub, but keep to your side, and you're the one who has to tell Will that we've opted for a week of luxurious relaxation instead of rustic farm work,” Ava teased. She turned into the bedroom instead, depositing her luggage there and then reemerged into the living room. Wandering out onto the front porch, she intended to take another look at the scenic forest and mountain range but was greeted by another sight instead. There, not thirty feet in front of her was an impressive, four-legged creature. It's long, chestnut mane and tail glittered in the sunlight, and its eyes met Ava's, surprising her with the alertness she saw there. Next to the horse stood a young man, he couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old, rubbing

the animal while he spoke to it in quiet tones before taking hold of its reins and slowly stepping backward. The young man's movements were deliberate, as if he were reciting a set of instructions in his mind. Although Ava hadn't seen a horse or its trainer once in her life, she could easily tell he wasn't very experienced. It was interesting to watch; the horse more accustomed to the movements than the young man. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another figure moving into view from the direction of the ranch house. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad chested. Wearing a simple, white T-shirt, she could decipher the outline of every sinewy muscle. His five-o-clock shadow did nothing to hide the rugged outline of his jaw, and he wore a cowboy hat, shielding his face from the sun, but drawing attention to his dark, vivid, sapphire blue eyes. He walked over to the boy who was stiltedly leading the horse around the pen. He spoke to him for a moment and then stood back, observing. Suddenly, the boy moved more confidently; his steps were more fluid and his eyes were focused on the task at hand. Ava's head filled with naughty images of the delectable cowboy, wondering if he was as skilled in other areas as he appeared to be in training

horses and aspiring, young horse trainers. Perhaps a week at the ranch wouldn't be such a horrible experience now. With eye candy like that, who cares about mucking out barns or chasing away chickens. She'd do it all happily if she could keep that talented cowboy in her sights. Maybe she should make the suggestion to the owner—he'd have a whole lot more guests on the ranch. Hell, women would flock in hordes to watch that man at work. Ava had always figured herself to be the kind of girl who would go crazy over a hot fireman or sexy policeman, but she couldn't imagine any one of them—or even a whole group of them—holding a candle to this guy. He looked up then, glancing in her direction. His eyes found her, grazing over her body from head to toe. It was an incredibly bold move, given that he knew she could see him, and Ava couldn't help but wonder if the sexy cowboy was more cocky or confident. At the same time, she could feel heat begin to creep into her cheeks and she nearly laughed aloud; she was blushing like an inexperienced school girl! “Great,” she thought wryly. “Next, he'll have me tongue-tied and giggling like a teenager, too.” He turned away a moment later, the young

horse trainer garnering his attention. Ava turned away, too, heading back into the cabin, still smiling over her silly, adolescent response to the sexy wrangler. Christie was there, all ready to head up to the house for lunch with Will, and by the time they walked back outside the cabin, the wrangler was gone; only the boy and the horse remained in the training pen and he was nowhere in sight. “Am I imagining things?” she thought halfhumorously, wondering if perhaps the country air was messing with her head and she'd imagined the too-hot-to-be-real cowboy. Wandering up to the house, the door was open for them before they reached the top of the front porch, Will already standing there beyond the threshold. “Come on in,” he welcomed them, leading them to the oversized dining room beyond the front foyer. “This is Noah. He's um...a wrangler here,” Will motioned to the man walking into the room from the opposite direction. “Oh, thank God,” Ava thought silently. It wasn't only that she got to see the sexy wrangler again—sure, it was a nice perk—but his presence there confirmed that she wasn't losing her marbles.

“You joining us for lunch, Noah? I'm sure these fine ladies wouldn't object to your company,” Will offered, the light of an ever-ready matchmaker gleaming in his eyes. Noah was silent for just a moment, his eyes grazing over Ava just as they had outside of the cabin. He spoke to Will without turning to look at him. “I really wish I could, Will. Unfortunately, I need to get a few hours in if I'm going to see what I can do with the new arrival later on.” His eyes stayed fixed on Ava as he spoke, and while she had no idea what he was talking about, it seemed to her there was a double innuendo in his words. And if she was the “new arrival,” she'd love to find out what he could do with her, too. He left then and the remaining occupants of the room sat down at the table as a plump, middleaged woman brought in a giant tray, laden with food that smelled a thousand times better than anything Ava or her roommates could whip up in between classes. Will chattered on about life on the ranch as they ate, and Ava had to admit that it sounded a little more interesting than she had originally thought—at least it didn't seem that he spent all his time knee-deep in...less appealing aspects of the

job. He offered to take them out to the training pen after lunch to see a wrangler in action, but as they strolled over to the fence, she experienced a small wave of disappointment, hoping it would have been the sexy wrangler from earlier working with the horse. Instead, Will introduced them to John, an experienced cowboy who'd been working on the ranch for decades. He held a long rope in his hand, attached to the horse's bridle, and he spoke loudly but calmly to the docile creature, leading it around the pen. Though he never used it, the man held a whip draped over one arm, and Ava covered her mouth aghast when she first saw it. Will was quick to explain that the whip was never used to harm or discipline the horse. The pressure exerted was only ever enough to express to the horse how it should move. Ava wasn't entirely convinced; she couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a better way to train the horse. The rest of the day passed by in a hurry, Christie pulling Ava along to one area of the ranch or another. As the two returned to the cabin long after night had fallen, Christie headed for bed while Ava opted to indulge her tired legs in a relaxing dip in the hot tub. Turning on the jets, she climbed in, and instantly she could feel the luxurious heat of the water soothing her muscles. Closing her eyes, she leaned back as images of the sexy wrangler

sprang to her mind. “Oh, no you don't,” she chastised herself. This was intended to be a relaxing bath, not a stimulating one, and given that her vibrator was miles away back at home, sexy men and naughty sex needed to be the furthest things from her mind. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped a towel around her and tiptoed to her bedroom in search of clothing. It was too warm for a bathrobe, so she opted for a strapless, azure blue sundress instead with an A-line fit and a hem that fell to mid-thigh. Now too revved up for sleep, she walked out onto the front porch, the lights from the training pen catching her attention immediately. “Damn,” she breathed, relinquishing all hope that her mind and body might settle down. “Out of the hot tub and into the fire,” she mocked herself dryly. The sexy cowboy was there with a different horse than the one she'd seen him and the young trainer with earlier that day. He had ditched the cowboy hat, no longer needing it to shield his eyes from the sun, and she could see that his hair was dark, left just long enough that it added to his rugged appeal.

The horse was larger than the one from earlier and jet black without a single marking anywhere on its body. Its head was lowered slightly, waving back and forth from side to side, and its ears appeared pinned back, near his neck. It pawed the ground with his foreleg forcefully, and although Ava had no experience with horses, its body spoke volumes in a language that even she could understand. The horse was nervous, angry, untamed, and there was no one else there for it to vent its aggression on but the cowboy. It wasn't wearing a bridle or saddle, and the cowboy had no whip like the man she'd seen earlier. Noah appeared to have absolutely no way to get the horse under control but he also wasn't moving out of its way. Ava's pulse sped up, her breath catching in her throat. Instead of retreating, the man moved in closer, meeting the horse's gaze directly and speaking to it in hushed tones. Slowly, the animal's head stilled, its ears turned forward and slowly, it ceased pawing at the ground. The cowboy continued to speak quietly, his hand coming up to touch the side of the horse's head. He held his hand still for a moment and then stroked the horse gently. Ava hadn't realized she'd been moving forward until then, down the steps of the front porch and halfway across the distance that had been between

them. She stopped, watching, mesmerized by the way the man calmed the wild animal. It was breathtaking. He moved along the length of the horse, talking all the while, and then steered the horse's direction with a single, firm push. It began to follow his rudimentary commands, obeying the cowboy, moving around the pen. He stopped each time the horse seemed to be getting riled up, calming him with only his hands and voice. Ava didn't know how long he continued; it could have been seconds or hours, she really wasn't sure. The cowboy stopped then, reaching for a bridle slung over the fence. Approaching the horse slowly, he fit it into place, though the horse began to paw at the ground lightly, increasing Ava's heart rate once again. But, as soon as the cowboy was finished, the pawing stopped. Stroking the horse's head with one hand, he reached into a container behind him, retrieving a handful of apple slices and feeding them to the horse one at a time. Patting the horse for a job well done, he turned then, spotting Ava right away. He looked at her for a moment, his hand moving to calm the horse who had begun to paw nervously again, noticing Ava's presence. As the pawing ceased, the cowboy started over toward her, and although she hadn't the slightest idea what to say— a rare occurrence for Ava—she moved forward,

slowly closing the distance between them. “He's brand new here,” the cowboy spoke, saving Ava from having to delve deep for some witty remark. “I bought him from a man who was going to make him into a gelding, thinking he was too unruly to ever be manageable.” “But, you were able to train him,” she replied, disturbed by the thought of such an atrocity over an animal's natural behavior. He smiled then, “Not exactly. He'll let me near him, sure, and he'll even follow a command or two, but it will be a while before he's letting me ride him without bucking me off every chance he gets.” “How did you do it? I mean, Will was explaining how it works earlier, and there were ropes and whips...” “I just do things a little differently. The trick is to start off fully knowing the horse will respond, instead of trying to convince him to. He recognizes that. He trusts that you know what you're doing,” he said simply, opening the pen's gate and stepping out, closing it firmly behind him. “It's like walking into a room full of toddlers; you have to know you've got everything under control or they'll walk, run, skip, hop and jump all over you.”

“Come on,” he motioned for Ava to follow. “I'll show you.” “Sure thing,” she replied aloud. “But I bet you've got other tricks I'd love for you to show me,” she added silently. Though, she was genuinely interested in how the cowboy managed to control a horse so easily. “You haven't spent much time around horses,” he surmised accurately. “No, not once before today actually. I thought I was a city girl through-and-through, but I'm enjoying it here much more than I thought I would.” “Of course, the sexy scenery doesn't hurt,” she mused wordlessly. He led her beyond the barn to another corral, stopping briefly to ask a young man in the barn to bring out a particular horse. He opened the pen gate, motioning for Ava to step inside, and she did so nervously, not certain she wanted to come face to face with a wild animal like the one in the other pen. A moment later though, she breathed a small sigh of relief, the young man leading a much smaller, more docile-looking horse into the pen. Noah removed the horse's reins, patting its head and speaking quietly once again. He started

moving then, signaling for the horse to follow—and it did. He stopped and the horse came to a halt. “Come here,” he told her, and she complied, feeling a bit like the obedient horse for a second. Taking her hand, he guided her fingers to the horse as a tremor of desire surged up her arm in response to his touch. He continued to guide her, stroking along the horse's head, and Ava did her best to focus on the task at hand instead of the cowboy's body, so close to her own. He released her hand then and she nearly sighed in disappointment, reining in her response at the last second. She continued to stroke the horse, surprised by the sleek, soft feel. “Now, tell her what you want her to do,” he told Ava, moving directly behind her. “I'd love to tell you what I want you do to,” Ava spoke, realizing too late that she'd spoken aloud, heat creeping into her cheeks once again. “I'd love to hear what it is you want me to do,” he responded easily, his voice huskier, just a hair's breadth from her ear. “But first, we should finish with Maggie, or she might feel jilted, coming out here for nothing,” he continued, but he was suddenly even closer than before, his lips lingering

close to her ear while she could feel the heat radiating from his body, now less than an inch away from hers. She nodded, grateful the cowboy couldn't see her face at the moment, giving her a chance to regain her composure. “I want her to follow me,” Ava told him, turning her head as she spoke, finding his eyes bright with desire. Taking her hand, Noah showed her the command she'd need and then stood back just a step to let Ava take the helm. Feeling a little silly, she stood tall, summoning all the confidence she had, and motioned to the horse. Maggie started toward her instantly and Ava smiled, taking a step back to start moving around the pen. “Um, how do I tell her to stop,” Ava asked the second time around the pen, realizing that they might continue around in circles all night otherwise, Maggie appearing perfectly content to follow Ava's movements. Noah showed her from where he stood, leaning against the fence, watching her from the other side of the pen. She motioned for Maggie to stop and the horse complied instantly. Ava reached out her hand automatically, stroking the animal's

smooth head, pleased accomplishment.

with

their

mutual

“That was amazing!” she beamed, having had no idea that working with a horse could be so enthralling. Though, it didn't hurt that the trainer could have been GQ’s sexiest man of the year. “Yes, you were,” Noah commented huskily, the combination of Ava's enthusiasm and her feminine curves driving him crazy. Since he'd started helping Will out, he'd made it a policy to keep his distance from the newcomers vacationing on the ranch. They'd show up usually more interested in bashing country living than learning about it, sticking up their noses at any task or ranch hand they felt was beneath them. Unfortunately, it usually didn't take them long to figure out who he was though, and then he was stuck fending off every uppity young gold-digger throughout the entire duration of their stay. But, there was something different about Ava, and he just couldn't help himself. Ava was quiet as Noah walked over to where she stood, still gently stroking the horse. “What do you say we let Maggie have a rest?” he asked, stopping just inches away from her.

Ava nodded, wondering what he had in mind once Maggie was resting. “Then, tell her,” he told her, walking over to the gate and opening it up without attaching the rope the horse had worn when she was brought in. Ava panicked a little; it was one thing to guide the horse around an enclosed pen, but it was something else to be responsible for her out in the open. “Remember, all you have to do is know what you want, and you can have it,” Noah's voice was soothing but she was beginning to think he might also be an expert in double innuendos. Using the motions Noah had taught her, she focused her attention on the task at hand and lead Maggie out of the pen, through the open field and into the stable. Once there, Noah secured the horse in her stall and then turned to drape the rope over one of the hooks on the stable wall. Turning to follow his movements, Ava caught sight of the wall and her eyes grew large, noticing a multitude of strange and cruel-looking implements there, including a row of whips like the one John had been holding earlier. Noah recognized her response before she could cover it and he smiled devilishly.

“They're not meant to harm the horse. At least, they shouldn't be,” he told her, lifting one of the whips off of its hook. “See,” he told her, letting the end of the whip dangle, sliding it slowly up Ava's arm, across her bare shoulders and down the length of her other arm. “That doesn't hurt, does it?” he asked, leaning close to whisper in her ear as he moved in slow circles around her wrist with the whip's end. “No,” she admitted, her whole body tingling with arousal. “But, I don't think that's how it's supposed to be used.” “Maybe not. But when something can feel good, why use it for anything else?” he asked, his eyes meeting Ava's gaze. She didn't think what Noah was saying had anything to do with horses anymore, and that was fine with her. “Two can play at this game,” she thought, a smile curving up the edges of her full lips. With her free hand, she moved to Noah's wrist, trailing her fingers up his arm slowly, across his broad, muscular chest and down his arm to the hand holding the whip. “But why use anything else? Wouldn't you rather touch me...wouldn't you

rather feel me beneath your fingers?” “Let's find out,” he said easily, returning the whip to its hook on the wall. He started at her neck this time, allowing his fingers to slide down over her collarbones. He slowed as he reached the upper swells of her breasts, hovering there for a moment, and he watched as Ava's body moved, her chest jutting forward just slightly of its own volition, trying to spur on his descent. Instead, he traced the outline of her breasts, gliding down her sides to her hips. “I think you may be right, but I'd like to explore more to be sure,” he whispered against her ear before his hands started sliding upward. This time as he reached her breasts, he didn't detour, his palms grazing over her nipples, amplifying the arousal coursing through her and making her throb with desire. Noah leaned forward, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from her own, so close her lips began to quiver in anticipation Voices sounded several yards from the barn, barely audible at first but growing louder as a group of four or five men approached. Ava closed her eyes fighting against a wave of frustration as Noah gritted his teeth, his hands leaving her body.

“Noah? You in there?” one of the voices asked, the group now not more than three or four yards from the barn. “One of your guys came looking for you. Says there's a problem on one of your ranches.” “Damn!” Noah cursed silently. Not only had they interrupted at the most inopportune time, but they were hollering out information he didn't want Ava to have. Sure, his gut told him there was something different about her, but he wasn't banking two weeks of gold-digging on it. “Sorry, Ava. But I guarantee you they're going to come barging in here in about a minute and a half,” he smiled ruefully all the while his hands itched to touch her again, to explore all the areas he'd yet to discover. She nodded, looking around for another exit. Finding none, she looked up at Noah quizzically. “I don't suppose there's a secret door hiding in one of these stalls?” she mused aloud. “Sorry. Only one way out of here, but it'll be fine,” he assured her, having no doubt that every ranch hand knew of his no-fraternizing-with-thevacationers policy.

Nearly one and a half minutes later on the dot, the big stable door opened as four men of various ages walked in. They came to an abrupt halt, most of them eyeing her appreciatively while the eldest of the group turned a quizzical eye toward Noah. It was obvious that none of them had been expecting to find anyone inside with Noah, but he was already leading her toward the now-open exit. He stopped when he reached the group, casually telling Ava how to get back to the cabins before turning his attention to the group, talking quietly as she continued on outside. Ava padded back to the cabin, tiptoeing up the steps of the front porch. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain herself to Christie. She entered the cabin, opting for a night on the living room sofa rather than disturbing her friend in the shared bedroom. Every inch of her body was revved up, still sensitive even to the brush of the sofa's canvas-like fabric. The rub, so different from the feel of the fingers that had grazed over her skin just moments before, reminded her of the whip Noah had wielded. God, that was naughty. She'd never been much of a whips and chains kind of gal, but the way he had teased her with it—that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Breathing deep, she tried to cool down,

knowing she wasn't getting a moment's sleep in her current state. She contemplated taking matters into her own hands, letting her fingers graze along her thighs, but it wasn't her own hands she wanted to feel touching her body, and so it only served to intensify her frustration. She debated sneaking back out to the barn to pick up where they had left off, but she figured she'd just come off as the desperate, sex-starved city girl. Besides, the guy probably had a whole flock of women at his beck and call; Ava had just been within convenient proximity at the time. By now, he was probably long gone, crawling into bed with one of his eager followers. “Arghhh!” she fumed, shifting to try to find a more comfortable position on the sofa. It wasn't that Ava was a glutton for sex; she had resignedly accepted that her studies didn't provide her with a whole lot of time for a romantic life outside of the occasional weekend fling. It was the damn, sexy cowboy that was throwing her hormones out of whack. Burying her head beneath one of the sofa's throw cushions, she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing pictures of the latest runway designs to fill her mind and drown out the images of the too-hot wrangler. Finally, sometime before the sun began to lighten the sky, Ava's body succumbed to sleep. In slumber, though, she lost command over

her thoughts as wild and wanton fantasies filled her dreams, making the night about as restful as a marathon. She awoke before Christie the next morning; she'd forgotten that her friend could sleep eight hours through an earthquake and still squeeze in a nap during the aftershocks. “That girl sure loves her sleep,” Ava mused silently as she rubbed her shoulders trying to ease the tension that had built over night from her heated dreams and the makeshift bed. She tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to risk even the slightest chance of facing Christie just yet, she started the shower and hopped in, letting the cold water cascade down her body and cool her overheated flesh. Wrapped in a towel ten minutes later and hoping her luck would hold, she grabbed her suitcase from the bedroom quietly, bringing it out to the living room. Pulling out one of her favorite dresses, she slipped it on the near-replica of the iconic Marilyn Monroe dress. It was a white, halter-style with a tight-fitting bodice that plunged low, revealing ample cleavage. The ruffled skirt fell to her knees and made her feel like a movie star every time it blew in the wind. Sure, it wasn't the most practical choice for a day on the ranch, but it

was just Ava's style, whether she was sketching her newest idea or walking around training pens with the sexy as hell Noah. She'd just finished brushing out her long locks when Christie sauntered out into the living room. She had to hand it to her friend; she hadn't seen her wearing a smile before noon since Michael Duncan waved at her in the gym at a senior year pep rally in high school. She really did love it here on the ranch. “Good morning, Sunshine,” Ava chirped, trying to join in on Christie's good mood. “Morning Marilyn,” Christie teased, looking over Ava's outfit. “I didn't think you'd be up already. I figured you'd be sleeping through every minute you could,” she smiled. “Nonsense. I've come to find a thing or two here that makes getting out of bed worthwhile.” “Oh? And does that thing happen to be the hot guy who was checking you out yesterday?” Christie asked with a grin. “What would make you say that? Couldn't I just be happy to be here with you?” Ava feigned exasperation.

“Sure, you could. But if he had been checking me out, I'd be a hell of a lot happier getting his attention than yours,” she smiled in jest. “Ha!” Ava dismissed the subject. “How about you get dressed so we can go get some breakfast?” Five minutes later, the two headed out the cabin's front door, Ava stealing a surreptitious glance around in search of a certain cowboy. Seeing no sign of him, she turned her attention back toward the house, watching as Will opened the door, already anticipating their arrival. “Good morning ladies. Sleep well?” he asked them cheerfully. Ava just nodded, smiling as Christie filled him in on her opinion that the country air served to provide a better night's sleep. “Funny,” Ava thought. “I guess the two of us weren't breathing the same air last night,” she mused silently, remembering all the time she spent tossing and turning. Once seated, the same woman wheeled in a cart laden with breakfast foods, everything from biscuits and fruit to bacon and fried eggs, and arranged them on the table. The small group

conversed amicably while they ate, but not five minutes before the meal was through, Noah walked in through the far entrance, a devilish smile briefly crossing his features as he met Ava's gaze. “Morning, Noah,” Will greeted him easily. “You know, I was hoping to show Christie the new extension we've been working on behind the stable. Why don't you give Ava an inside tour of the property?” Will suggested casually, though she could easily spy the twinkle in the matchmaker's eye. Noah nodded, but there was something less than pleased in his disposition; not angry or disappointed, but rather like he felt uncomfortable with the arrangement somehow. Ava tried to think of an excuse quickly to let him off the hook, but Will was already getting to his feet and Noah was there, offering his hand. “Ready for a behind-the-scenes look at running a ranch?” he queried with a boyish grin, mock enthusiasm in his tone. “As long as 'behind-the-scenes' doesn't mean mucking out stalls or chasing chickens,” she remarked in good humor. Noah smiled, waving to Will and Christie as he

lead Ava out of the house, down the front steps and toward the training pen he'd had Maggie in last night. It wasn't that he didn't relish the idea of a few hours with Ava—he could think of a thing or two, or a dozen, he'd love to do with her—but he really did have work to do and that meant there wasn't opportunity for anything but conversation with her right now, and the chance to run into at least a dozen other workers who could give his secret away. “So, Noah...if you have things you have to do, you don't have to keep me in tow all morning,” Ava interjected into his silent worry. Good. He was off the hook. He could send her on her way to go catch up with Will and her friend right then. “It's about time you see what ranch life is all about, don't you think?” “What the hell was that?” he wondered silently. So much for off the hook. She'd given him an easy out and he'd been poised to take it, so why the hell didn't he? Because she was enthusiastic, feisty and brave...and God how he wanted to touch her...to loosen the knot of fabric securing her dress behind her neck and watch it fall away from her breasts...to slide his hand up her thigh, pulling the skirt's fabric up as he went,

revealing inch after inch of her soft flesh... “So, you've really never spent any time in the country?” he inquired, trying to steer his thoughts elsewhere. “Nope. I went from an apartment in Dayton, Ohio to an apartment in Providence, Rhode Island, and nowhere else in between. That's it,” she replied simply. “Not much for travel, are you?” “Actually, I love it. I'd spend half my life in an airplane if I could. It was just never in the cards, that's all. When I'm finished with school, it'll be different. At least, that's the plan,” she smiled easily. “What about you? Ever spend any time in the city?” “Some. My parents retired in Florida, and my brother's in New York. I get down to see them when I can.” “I guess Will keeps you pretty busy?” “I guess you could say that,” Noah replied, but that same discomfort she'd sensed back at the house crept into his tone once again.

Ava didn't know why, but she searched her mind for a different topic, hoping to keep up the casual conversation. It was comfortable. As much as her body was revved up, arousal coursing through her veins over the close proximity, dying to yank every stitch of clothing off Noah's muscular body, at the same time, she was actually enjoying talking to him. “It must be something in the country air,” she thought wryly. “So, how long have you been working with horses? It seems you have quite the talent.” Ava's tone changed as she remembered back to the exchange the night prior, making the double innuendo in her statement clear. “As far back as I can remember. And what about you? What are you going to school for?” “Fashion design,” she replied, knowing she sounded far more like the typical city girl in that moment than she would have liked. She wanted to explain further. “I love fashion, it's true, but, I loved it just as much when I was younger, too. But, when your parents spend more time shopping at the second-hand thrift shop than at Bloomingdale's, it's hard for a young girl to keep up. I want to change that; I want anyone with a flair for fashion to be able to delve right in. It's a kind of artistic

expression, in my opinion,” she finished, the passion that fueled her for so long flaring in her eyes as she spoke. Noah's eyes were locked on hers, his gaze intense, and she felt a light blush creep into her cheeks. He didn't speak and her expression turned quizzical, wondering what he was thinking. “You're captivating,” he whispered harshly just seconds before his lips descended on hers. Not expecting it, she was thrown off guard and without thinking her lips parted for him. Suddenly, his hands were on her waist, pulling her hard against him, and the arousal that she'd sought to keep at bay flooded through Ava, her hands twining in the hair at the back of his neck. The stable door opened behind them and Ava jumped back, smoothing her hair as one of the men she'd seen in the stable last night came walking out. “Hey Noah. You get that thing sorted out last night?” the man asked. “Yeah. Everything was fine, thanks.” He looked uncomfortable again, but he quickly moved on, putting an end to whatever they had started just a moment before.

“OK, Ava. Are you ready to learn a thing or two about what we do here?” He asked, a devilish gleam lighting his eyes once again. She nodded nervously, not certain she liked the sounds of that. “How about we go find ourselves a private spot to pick up where we left off,” she wanted to say aloud. Instead, Noah led her into the stable, returning to Maggie and the wall of naughty torture tools. He launched into an explanation of the care their animals receive and what a typical day was like depending on the season. By the time Noah was finished, she couldn't believe it, but she was fascinated. It all had seemed so simple before—riding around on horses and such–but there was more to running a ranch than she ever could have imagined. And a great deal of it intrigued her far more than she felt comfortable admitting. The day went by in a flash as Ava learned to help out with one task after another, though her favorite was certainly the time they'd spent with the horses. “Great, I'm turning into Christie,” she'd mused silently at one point. It was hard not to feel that enthusiasm, watching Noah work; it looked effortless, natural. With bated breath, she'd watched as he worked with the black beast she'd seen him with last night, breathing a sigh only when

it had calmed and let Noah approach him. She was still awed by the way he seemed able to communicate with the animal. Evening approached and he didn't seem in any hurry to run screaming from the inexperienced city girl, joining them for dinner at Will's, and conversing easily with the group. Though, all the while the conversation carried on, she could feel Noah's eyes on her, and what tedious hold she had left nearly gave out right there at the table. She wanted him naked, panting above her now, and the look in his eyes told her he'd be more than happy to oblige. She'd kept her hormones on a tight leash all day, but now that there wasn't work to keep her distracted, she was losing her grip fast. Soon after the meal was done, Christie and Will were still deep in conversation, Noah stood, offering to walk Ava back to her cabin on his way home. Doing her best to conceal her enthusiasm— and failing miserably at it—she was on her feet in seconds. The two barely made it out the front door when Noah turned, pressing her back against the brick wall. His mouth swooped down on hers and she met him eagerly. Ava had no idea if anyone could see them, and when she felt Noah's hands on her waist, pulling her hard against him, her soft curves molding to his hard body, she wouldn't have

cared if every worker on the ranch was there watching the spectacle—kind of kinky if she thought about it. Her fingers reached for the open collar of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons to expose more of the hard, sinewy muscle she'd been desperate to touch all day. She'd barely revealed more than an inch or two when the older man who had walked into the barn last night came around the corner from the front of the house. Noah released her begrudgingly, but it was too late. The man sauntered over to them, a big grin on his face. “So, Noah. It looks like you're breaking your own rule, huh?” the man said in a teasing tone. Ava didn't know what the man was talking about, but she was busy trying to regain her composure, not paying much attention. “What can I do for you, Robert?” Noah asked the old man, obviously trying to hide his frustration. “That same horse of yours is giving your guys a problem tonight. Broke one of the fences,” Robert answered, an apologetic look on his face now. Breathing a rugged sigh of resignation and

frustration, Noah nodded, “I'll be there in a few minutes.” As Robert left them alone, Noah turned back to Ava, gritting his teeth against the arousal he still felt coursing through his veins. “Responsibility always seems to call at the worst time, doesn't it,” he mused wryly, but he couldn't resist leaning down, his lips covering hers one more time. Three minutes and an apologetic goodbye later Ava was walking back to her cabin. “Damn, damn, damn!” she cursed under her breath, foreseeing another restless night. And she was right, tossing and turning until the early morning hours, she finally abandoned her hope for more than an hour's sleep at a time. The day passed uneventfully; Christie headed off early to some activity or another while Ava opted to hang out in the cabin for a while, figuring a soothing soak in the hot tub had to beat early morning chores. An hour later, the water in the tub cooling to an uncomfortable temperature, she hopped out, wrapping a towel around her and stepping out into the living room to retrieve her suitcase. A knock sounded at the door before she could open her luggage. She walked over, opening the door a moment later to find Noah on the other

side. “Good morning,” he greeted her as his eyes took in her scantily clad form. OK, Ava wasn't generally the overtly forward type, but given the number of times circumstance had thwarted her in the past days, she didn't mind stepping out of character for a while. Without saying a word, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into the cabin. Reaching up on tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around him and covered his mouth with hers, her tongue plying against his lips instantly. She could feel his warmth radiating from his body and her skin tingled everywhere he came in contact with her. Her hands gripping his shirt, she was the one to pull him in hard against her this time as his hands roamed down her back, over her hips. He groaned as she ran her fingers down his abdomen, coming to a halt where the waist of his jeans hindered her descent. Reaching down, he lifted her up in one, smooth motion, and then he started through the living room toward the bedroom beyond. Noah had taken two steps when they heard footsteps on the porch's front steps, and he stopped, lowering Ava's feet to the floor. He didn't know if it was Christie returning to

the room, Will or one of the ranch hands in search of him...All he knew was so long as he was on the ranch, there'd be one interruption after another, but he happened to know of a place they could go where no one would disturb them... Noah contemplated the thought for a moment, wondering if it was wise to so thoroughly break his rule, but he knew his gut hadn't been wrong. And hell, he wanted Ava enough he really didn't care if he was wrong; he'd deal with the repercussions later. “Go get dressed,” he whispered to her, smiling conspiratorially, before the unwelcome visitor opened the front door. Ava didn't know what Noah had in mind, but if there was some chance it would put an end to the incessant interruptions, she didn't care where he was taking her...as long as he intended to take her. The double innuendo made Ava smile as she slipped into another one of her favorite dresses, this time a strapless, fiery orange creation with seethrough flames licking up the entire length of her torso. Somehow, the dress seemed fitting. Trying to appear as calm as she could, she walked back out into the living room to find Noah and Will conversing quietly, a bright smile on Will's face.

“Are you going to be back later today?” Will asked Noah, and he shrugged noncommittally in response. The exchange struck Ava as odd; generally, the employer dictated an employee's hours, whereas Will acted more like Noah was doing him a favor showing up to work. But, what did she know about the ranch industry? “Ready?” Noah asked, turning to take in Ava's new attire. It didn't provide quite the same easy access as the towel, but it was one hell of a sexy dress. His appreciative gaze told Ava he was OK with the trade-off for now. She followed Noah out of the cabin, walking up to the house and around to the long front drive. Stopping at the passenger side of a ridiculously expensive-looking vehicle, he opened the door for her, motioning for Ava to slide in. She had no idea wranglers made such a good living. “So, where are we going?” she asked as he slid behind the wheel. “You'll see,” he told her, the same smile on his face. He didn't keep her wondering for long. Less than five minutes later, he pulled up the iron front

gates of a property down the road, buzzing at the gate before it opened for him seconds later. Cruising up the long front drive, Ava's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the massive house sitting at the top. It had to be at least three or four times the size of Will's ranch house. Stopping, he came around to the passenger side, opening the door and waiting for Ava as she slowly exited the vehicle. Stunned, she couldn't figure out why he'd taken her here. Did he work for another rancher? Is that why he brought her here? Strange given that she'd been led to believe he was planning on picking up where they'd left off. A morning sex session at work? He led her up the grand front staircase which stopped at an enormous set of double doors. The door opened before they had reached the top step, an old man greeting them there. “Good morning, sir. Back already?” he asked good-naturedly. “Yes I am. Ava, this is Michael,” he motioned toward the old man. “Michael, this is Miss Ava Mitchell.” Ava nodded politely, but then turned a quizzical gaze to Noah. He just smiled devilishly.

“I'll be home for lunch today, with a guest. If you could let Margaret know, I'd appreciate it,” he spoke to Michael. The man nodded and then he was off, through the grand, open living area to a hallway at the far left end of the house. Noah started forward, ascending the tall, spiral staircase that lead to the second floor. Still perplexed, looking around in awe, Ava followed. He turned to the right as they reached the top and continued down the hall to the last door on the right. Opening the door to reveal a grand bedroom inside, Ava stopped mid-step. “This is your house,” she stated quietly. That's why Noah had a ridiculously expensive-looking car. That's why the old man had opened the door for them, greeting Noah. She had no idea how a wrangler—even one as good as Noah—could afford a house so large it looked as if it had swallowed several others. But it was definitely his house. She was certain. “Yes, this is my house, Ava,” Noah confirmed, his eyes intent on hers as if he were looking for something there. She felt a bit uncomfortable, and more than a little out of place. She'd never believe that money

made a person worth anything more than someone without—particularly having been the one without for her entire life—but still she somehow felt a little out of her league here, enough so that she took a step back, hovering at the room's entrance. Noah's gaze changed right then, as if he'd found the answer to whatever he'd been looking for, and suddenly there was nothing but molten, hot fire blazing in his eyes. Grabbing her hand, he pulled Ava into the room, closing the door behind them. All thoughts of money and mansions fled as he backed her up against the door, his mouth covering hers as it had before. After days of thwarted arousal, this time, she realized there would be no interruptions, and a wild abandonment surged through her. Ava's hands returned to where they had been not long ago, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her eyes fixed on his chest as the fabric parted to reveal inch after inch of the muscular breadth of him. Unable to resist the temptation, she leaned forward, the tip of her tongue tasting his tanned skin as she kissed her way from his neck, down solid pecs and his, immaculately chiseled, washboard abs. She paused briefly when she reached the waist of his jeans, then her lips continued, from one hip to the other, just above the

denim fabric that hindered her descent. Noah's hands twined in her silken, blonde hair, and he groaned as she returned to his center, unzipping his fly, hooking her fingers in the waist of his jeans and continuing to kiss every inch of skin she exposed. It was Ava's turn to moan as his cock sprang free, her mouth and lips growing moist instantly at the long, hard length of him. As she worked her way from his neck to where she was now, kneeling in front of him, she'd intended to tease him; to drive him wild with anticipation, but she couldn't resist. Opening her mouth wide, she sheathed him between her lips, taking in every inch of him she could. She moved slowly, savoring his scent, the taste of him on her tongue, the way he felt against her lips. After a long while, her pace increased, but not more than a few seconds later, Noah had pulled her to her feet, his fingers moving to the zipper at the side of her dress. “My turn,” he whispered, and Ava moaned, the blazing heat in his eyes and his devilish grin nearly sending her over the edge. As he lowered her zipper, Ava's dress fell to the floor. She hadn't bothered putting anything on under her dress and so in an instant, she was completely naked, her soft curves, her ample breasts and smooth pussy bare before him. Gritting his teeth in an attempt to keep his arousal in check,

he had her on the bed in one swift movement, laying her back as he spread her legs. He leaned forward from the edge of the bed, his lips making contact with the inside of one of her thighs, kissing his way up slowly until he reached the apex. Ava held her breath, waiting for him to continue upward, her body writhing to spur him on. But instead, Noah's lips started back down the inside of her other thigh, and she moaned in frustration. He smiled evilly, knowing he was driving her wild and continued his descent before working his way back up again. Hovering no more than an inch away from her pussy, Noah's fingers touched her instead, sliding along her wet slit before parting her lips, spreading her wide open. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever felt; to be so completely exposed to someone she barely knew. He leaned in further then, his tongue darting out to lick along her parted lips. Ava was so aroused that her hips nearly bucked off the bed in response to his sensual touch, and she fought against the urge to scream as he moved to her clit, licking gently at first before sucking her into his mouth. The strange pressure was exquisite, and already she could feel her orgasm building quickly. He sucked harder and she moaned loud, her hands clawing at the downy soft blankets on the bed, and as she felt his finger slip into her open pussy, her back arched off the

bed as her orgasm shuddered through her body. He released her then, his finger leaving her pussy and she watched as he sucked it into his mouth before going straight to the source, plunging his tongue deep inside her, darting in and out. Although the aftershocks of her last orgasm had yet to subside, she could already feel her body stirring again. She moaned softly as his pace increased but whimpered a moment later as his tongue left her warmth. Ava wouldn't feel bereft long, as two fingers replaced his tongue, plunging in and out fast. And then something changed. Noah bent his fingers as he continued to thrust, stimulating the tiny, most sensitive pleasure zone in her body. Instantly, an exquisite pressure began to build deep inside her, and before long she was thrashing wildly beneath him, her erotic screams of ecstasy filling the room as she started to cum, an orgasm unlike any other soaking her pussy and thighs. Noah was on top of her then; he leaned down to kiss her as she felt his cock pressed against her wet entrance. But rather than plunge inside, he rolled then, pulling her with him to sit astride him. All of a sudden, she felt wickedly powerful, hovering above his massive cock, his expression consumed with desire as his gaze took in every inch of her. Her hands moved to cup her breasts, leaning

forward so that she was only inches from his face as he watched intently. Sitting up straight, she lowered herself down then, ever so slowly, the tip of his cock sliding into her wet slit. Inch by inch, she continued until she'd taken every inch of him inside her, stilling for a moment to adjust to his enormous girth. Finally, she started to move, slowly at first, desperately trying to maintain the tenuous hold on her arousal, pacing herself to draw out the incredible experience as long as she could. But as Noah leaned up, flexing his flawless abs as he squeezed her tits, sucking a nipple in his mouth, her restraint snapped. Ava's pace increased, riding him faster; her fingers digging into his shoulders as he released her nipple, leaning up further to reach her lips. She kissed him back with a wild fervor as she rode him harder, their moans twining together as Noah's tongue delved into her mouth. Ava started to cum, the tremors of her orgasm coursing through her body, and as her pussy spasmed around his cock, Noah toppled over the edge, too, cumming hard as he thrust deep inside her one last time. His arms wrapped around her, Ava's head resting on his shoulder, they remained in that position, breathless as the aftershocks of their orgasms slowly subsided. Finally, Noah fell back against the bed, bringing Ava with him as he slipped from her warmth. She sighed, immediately feeling

empty. As exhausted as her body was, she wasn't ready for this to be over. “What would you say to lunch in bed?” Noah whispered against her ear a moment later. “A little sustenance to keep our energy up?” “Apparently, Noah isn't in any hurry for this to be over either,” she thought to herself with a smile, her body already humming with anticipation. She'd have to return to the ranch at some point; Christie would begin to worry eventually otherwise, but Ava was quite certain that the rest of her vacation was going to be a whole lot more interesting than she could ever have imagined.

THE END

CLAIMED BY THE COWBOY BROTHERS When Layla entrusts her two best friends Quinn and Eli to plan their annual vacation, the last thing she expects is to be dragged out to a place literally called the Middle of Nowhere Guest Ranch and Spa. The only one of the group not impressed by the ranch's garish décor and kitschy amenities, Layla ironically finds herself to be the only one taking part in the activities planned for their week out in the wild. From horseback riding to archery, she decides to dive in and channel her inner frontier woman. Layla’s participation comes with an unexpected bonus: she gets to have brothers Roy and Nathan all to herself. These cowboys are not only too gorgeous to exist, but are also incredibly eager to show her just how well they play together. With cowboys this delicious running around, voluptuous Layla is more than happy to be the warm, gooey marshmallow for their decadent s'more.

"This is exactly why I am always responsible for planning our vacation every year." Layla reached beside her to grab onto the wooden edge of the wagon and hold on for dear life as it shook and bounced its way along a dirt road that very well may have been a throwback to the Westward Expansion. "Why?" Eli asked. At the same moment he replied, the wagon hit a particularly deep rut in the road, tossing the small man off the bench across from Layla and into the thick bed of hay at their feet. "Because if I had planned the trip like I always do we would be lounging on a tropical beach somewhere instead of bumping our way along in a freaking covered wagon on the way to the Middle of Nowhere Guest Ranch. The one time in the history of the Annual Vacation Extravaganza tradition that I entrust the two of you to plan our trip, you end up making straw angels." "Middle of Nowhere Guest Ranch and Spa," Quinn corrected for her place beside Layla. She held out the brochure so that Layla could see the idyllic-looking image on the front, but Layla just glared back at her. The wagon pulled to a rough stop, sending Eli back down into the hay and nearly toppling Layla and Quinn down on top of him, which would have brought an abrupt and

unpleasant end to their journey as each woman outweighed him by at least 70 pounds. "Have you never met me?" Layla asked, grabbing her suitcases off the floor of the wagon where she had been gripping them between her feet so they didn't skitter out during the ride, "What part of 'Middle of Nowhere Guest Ranch' just screamed 'Layla' to you?" "And Spa," Quinn said again, holding out the brochure, "You like spas." "I like real spas," Layla said, walking unsteadily toward the opening at the end of the wagon, "With crisp white sheets and aromatherapy oils and pretty boys telling me to take off my --- oh, holy hell." Layla stepped down out of the wagon and got her first full view of the guest ranch…and spa. She immediately knew why whoever owned this place had named it "Middle of Nowhere". Tucked in what looked like an area that had been blasted out of the woods with haphazardly thrown dynamite, the scattered buildings of the ranch were a strange, teetering balance between a kitschy tourist stop and the backdrop for a low-budget horror film. "This is perfect!" Quinn gushed, putting down her suitcase so she could extend her arms to her side and spin around joyously. "For what?" Layla asked. Quinn stopped spinning and gazed at Layla

with enormous brown eyes that looked like they held all the hopes and dreams of the generations that came before her, and the innocence that said she actually believed she could accomplish them. "To achieve my life goal of riding a real horse through the great outdoors. I'm going to be a rhinestone cowboy. Well, cowgirl." Layla winced. "I don't think that means what you think it does." Just then an old man who very well may have been the one who blasted through the trees climbed down from the bench at the front of the wagon and shuffled his way around to them. "Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere," he said, holding out an arm as if to encompass the eerily quiet ranch, "I hope you enjoy your week with us." "Five days," Layla said, "We leave Saturday morning." Eli came up beside Layla and looped an arm around her waist. "Can't you try? Just a little bit? Q is so excited and it could be fun. You don't know. You didn't think that you were going to enjoy the Sweet Corn Festival she made us go to, either, but you ended up having a blast." "I ate seven ears of roasted corn, drank some moonshine, and woke up the next day." "See? Fun."

Layla looked back over at Quinn who was now closely scrutinizing a map of the ranch and bombarding the little old man with questions. She sighed and put her arm around Eli's waist, resting her head on his thin shoulder. "Alright. I will try to be good. She really does look happy." Ten minutes later Layla was already starting to regret her promise. She lugged her suitcases up onto the small front porch of their assigned cabin and let out a long exhalation, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead to remove the sweat that had beaded there during their hike through the rest of the ranch to get there. "Why did they put us in the very last cabin?" she asked through her panting breaths. "I asked for something quiet and secluded," Quinn replied as she fought with the old-fashionedlooking key trying to get the front door open. Layla straightened and put her hands on her full hips. "The whole damn place is quiet and secluded. They didn't need to send us on our very own personal trail of tears to get here." "I don't think that was tasteful," Eli whispered, glancing around them as if a political activist group was going to jump out at them from behind one of the trees.

"I'm sorry. Look around you, though. We are so far out I think we left the middle of nowhere and now very well may be closer to somewhere." "Is 'Somewhere' on the map?" Quinn asked. The door finally relented under her coaxing and swung open. Layla let the other two enter first before dragging her suitcases behind her into the cabin. As soon as she stepped inside she let them drop from her hands. "Oh my god, it's the East Village revival of 'The Last of the Mohicans'."

****************************** Whoever had decorated the cabin truly left no inch untouched, filling the space with everything from vibrant polyester tapestries and rugs that had a vaguely Native American design to massive wooden statuettes of cowboys on dramatically reared horses to various sets of antlers hung on the walls. Even the coffee table seemed to be nothing more than a large tree split in half and turned on its side so it could balance on stumps from smaller trees. "Aww, poor Bambi," Eli said and Layla turned to see him standing beside the wall, cradling the set of antlers positioned lowest. "Don't worry," she told him, "They don't hurt the deer to get those. The animals shed them every year so you can just go out and pick them up off the ground." "That's convenient. It's more masculine than gathering wildflowers, too. Maybe they have baskets available at the front desk so we can go gather." Layla shook her head at Eli, not wanting to break his soul by letting him know that there probably wasn't an overabundance of antlers just strewn across the ground waiting for him to skip by with his wicker basket and scoop them up. She

glanced around the cabin again, finding herself liking the awkward surroundings a bit more with each passing second. It was almost like the cabin version of Linus sitting in the pumpkin patch waiting for the Great Pumpkin on Halloween. Never could there be a more sincere tiny cabin trying to look like a real cowboy retreat. "Where's Quinn?" she asked as she realized only she and Eli were still in the living room. "I'm in the bedroom!" Quinn called back through one of the two doors along one wall. "Bedroom? As in singular?" Eli asked, releasing the antlers and crossing the living room toward the door. Layla and Eli met in front of the bedroom door and peered in cautiously. "Perfect," Layla said, sighing and sagging against the doorframe. Inside the small bedroom, Quinn was standing proudly beside a triple bunk bed that appeared to be made primarily out of rejected firewood lashed together at the corners with strips of brown leather. Layla sent up a silent prayer that was only for show, hoping that the bed had a bit more structural integrity so that it at least had a shot of supporting two curvy women and one rather tiny man. "I get the bottom bunk!" Eli shrieked, pushing past Layla into the room and tossing himself sideways onto the lowest bunk.

"Like hell you do," Layla said, stepping toward the bed so she could grab him by his ankle and tug him back out. "Yeah, I don't think those physics work out," Quinn agreed, "There's a reason pyramids are pointy at the top and not at the bottom. We need to arrange this by size. Since I am the most prominent of the three of us, I will take the bottom. Eli, you weigh nothing so you take the top. Layla, you come in somewhere in the middle, so that's where you'll sleep, too." "A Layla sandwich!" Eli said, scrambling up to the top bunk and lying down. Quinn followed suit, stretching out across the bottom bunk. "Delightful," Layla said and sighed before performing an awkward half-crawl, half-jump into the middle bunk and lying down. The position left her with her face approximately six inches from the bottom of Eli's bunk, and her bunk around the same distance from Quinn's face. "This place does have running water, right?" Layla asked after a few seconds of silence while they all got used to their sleeping arrangements. "Of course. The toilet is in the room right beside here." "The toilet? What about the shower?" There was a long pause.

"That's outside." Twenty minutes later, they had trekked back to the front of the ranch and were inside the optimistically named "General Store" tucked in the row of buildings that contained the front lobby and the dining hall. Eli had insisted that they needed to buy supplies for the week, but the shop looked like the retail version of their cabin and Layla was even more grateful there was no survival element of this whole ranch adventure. Layla wandered through the rows of souvenirs and completely impractical clothing choices, chewing on a length of watermelon-flavored fruit rope until she found Quinn, who was at the far end of the store trying on a pair of rhinestone-studded pink cowboy boots. "Those are lovely," she said. Quinn grinned up at her from under the brim of a matching cowboy hat. "Aren't they? I told you – rhinestone cowboy!" "I still don't think that means what you think it does," Layla said, taking another bite of her candy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the curtain in front of a small dressing room open dramatically, "Dear lord, here comes Dances with Queens." Quinn joined her gaze to take in Eli walking toward them in what Layla could only imagine was supposed to be a Native American warrior, but in reality, consisted of little more than a loincloth,

fringed arm bands, and a feather headdress that would have made any Vegas showgirl proud. "Come on, Layla! Get into the spirit!" he said, linking arms with Quinn so they both grinned at her. "I am absolutely in the spirit. I'm eating watermelon jerky." Layla waited while Eli got dressed and then walked with them to the front counter so that they could make their purchases. A dark-eyed man smiled at Eli from behind the old-fashioned cash register and Layla nudged him playfully. She felt his hand brushing her toward the door and she took Quinn's arm to steer her out of the store. As she leaned on one of the rough-hewn wooden posts on the edge of the wooden platform connecting all the buildings, Layla caught sight of two men standing at the edge of a corral. They both looked better than anyone should be allowed to in fitted blue jeans and faded plaid shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Weathered boots and well-worn hats completed the look of Western lusciousness and told Layla these two beautiful boys were the most authentic thing in the Middle of Nowhere. One of the men glanced up at her and put his fingers to the brim of his hat to tilt it slightly downward at her. Layla got far closer to swooning at that moment than she would have liked to admit and was thankful when Eli stepped out of the store

looking like he, too, might catch the vapors at any second. "Why didn't I get one of those in my welcome basket?" he breathed, fanning himself with the ends of the headdress feathers that were sticking out of the bag in his hand. "You know," Layla said, linking arms with him as she took one more glance at the cowboys by the corral, "I think I'm starting to feel a bit more amiable about this whole ranch idea."

****************************** "I thought this was the call of your people or something," Layla said as she and Quinn huffed their way along the dirt path from their cabin to the main corral at the front of the ranch. "I know," Quinn said, keeping her eyes focused on the ground in front of her rather than looking at Layla, "but I'm just not feeling as sure about it now." "But isn't the whole reason we came to this place so that you could fulfill your life's goal of riding a real horse and becoming a rhinestone cowboy?" "You know, I looked that up and you were right; it doesn't mean what I thought it did. So, no, I do not want to become a rhinestone cowboy." "What about riding the horse?" Quinn squirmed a little and made a sound like she was contemplating the idea but was not entirely sold on it yet. "I don't know." "Come on!" Layla said encouragingly, "You can do this! We started taking these vacations together so we could try new things, right?" "Right," Quinn said, sounding unconvinced. "Well, this is your new thing. You are going to walk the rest of the three thousand miles up to the

front of the ranch, climb up on that horse, and ride off into the great outdoors just as you envisioned." The pep talk seemed to boost Quinn slightly and she raised her head to smile at Layla. "You're right. I can do this. I'm a grown-ass woman. I can ride a horse." Quinn's newfound confidence in herself lasted the five more minutes it took for them to get to the corral. As soon as she saw the horses standing just outside the fence, she took a few steps back and grabbed Layla's arm. "Nope," she said, shaking her head emphatically, "I will not be doing this today." "But you’re all dressed up in your fancy boots and your sassy hat. You can do this, Quinn. Come on, I'm right here with you." "Do you see how big those horses are? One false move and you would be burying me in my fancy boots and sassy hat out by the trail 'City Slickers'-style." "I thought you were a grown-ass woman." "Apparently not grown enough. I just can't." Layla saw the genuine fear in Quinn's eyes and patted her on the back comfortingly. "It's alright. You don't have to ride. Why don't you go to the 'and spa' and get a tumbleweed massage." "Those did look rejuvenating." "I was absolutely kidding. Are you serious—

that’s a thing?" Quinn nodded and Layla sighed, stroking her best friend's arms, "Ok, then go do that." "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to go ride a horse. At least one of us has to. We can't go back home having spent five days at a ranch and not have had somebody gotten on a horse." Layla hugged Quinn and took a steeling breath. "Where's Eli? Maybe he'll join me for a massage." "I doubt it. He's off playing cowboys and Indians with the guy from the General Store." Quinn grinned and Layla shook her head, "I'm not even kidding. I saw him leave the cabin at dawn wearing the loincloth and the headdress." "He's definitely not allowed to be responsible for the trip scrapbook this year." "Agreed." Layla sighed and squared her shoulders, "Alright, I'm ready." She turned on her heel and strode bravely toward the corral. The man standing with his back to her beside one of the horses turned and her breath caught in her throat. It was the cowboy who had tipped his hat to her while she stood outside the General Store the day before. He smiled at her now and Layla felt her heart speed up a bit. He had that type of smile that was sweet and boyish but held

just a hint of devilishness that proved he was all grown up. "I thought I was guiding a group of three on the trails this morning?" he asked. His voice was a smooth, silky rumble that Layla could listen to all day. She paused and held her hands out a few inches from her thighs before smacking them back down. "Just me. The other two jumped ship." "Afraid to ride?" he asked, loosening the leather straps that held one of the horses in place at the corral fence. "Oh, no, that’s not the problem with at least one of them. They just aren't that into horses, apparently." The man cocked an eyebrow at her and she smiled back. "How about you?" he asked. "I'm just fine." He smiled and Layla felt the little shiver in her belly again. "I'm Roy," he said, extending one stronglooking hand to her. Layla rested her hand in his. "Layla." "Well, Layla, are you ready for a ride?" She nodded and Roy turned away to loosen the straps of another one of the horses. Layla looked down and bit her bottom lip as she walked

towards him, trying to maintain at least a modicum of composure. Roy patted the flank of a grey horse and turned to look at her. "Are you sure I'm not going to hurt her?" Layla asked nervously, stroking the animal's warm coat. "Positive. Misty here is strong enough to carry me and a full saddlebag with no trouble at all." "Uh-huh," Layla said, still not feeling confident that she wasn't going to overwhelm the horse. Roy stepped up closer to her and Layla saw the hint of a smolder in his dark eyes. "You are going to be just fine. Trust me." Layla nodded and the cowboy reached forward to take her hand so he could help her up into the saddle. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over. His hand came to the back of her lush hips and lingered even after she settled in place in the saddle. She wrapped her hands around the leather reins and looked down at Roy. "I think I'm ok now," she said, her voice coming out softer than she had intended. Roy's hand ran across her back and down her hip before he walked away from her horse and swung himself quickly and gracefully up onto the back of a massive black animal to one side. Gently tugging the reins to guide the horse to one side, he tilted his head as if gesturing for her to join him.

They walked over to the building beside the general store and Roy called inside. "Nathan?" The other lovely cowboy Layla had seen by the corral the day before stuck his head out of the door. "Hmmm?" "Can you take care of those other horses for me? Layla here is the only one who showed up for my morning ride." Nathan's eyes traveled across Layla and she saw the hint of a smile curve his lips. "Absolutely," he said, "You have a nice time, Layla." She liked the way her name sounded on his lips just as much as Roy's. This vacation was seeming like a better idea minute by minute.

****************************** Layla watched admiringly as Roy's body swayed on the back of the black horse, the movement making his broad shoulders shift beneath the soft, light-colored plaid fabric of his shirt. They had been riding in silence for several minutes and Layla wondered if he had forgotten that she was trailing along behind him. "So how long have you been working here?" she called up to him. Roy's head tilted back slightly as if trying to catch her words. "My whole life," he answered. When she didn't reply, he continued, "Nathan and I grew up with our grandfather. That's the man who drove you out here in the wagon. His daddy started this place when Pops was little." "It wasn't like it is now, was it?" she asked. As soon as she said it, she felt bad, but Roy chuckled. "No. It was an actual ranch. They raised cattle in the fields that are a bit back behind the trees. I'm not sure what happened along the way." Roy fell silent and Layla sensed a touch of something sad and even angry in the quiet. They went on for a few more moments with the only sound the thud of the horses' hooves on the ground and the distant chatter of birds in the woods that

flanked the trail. "Nathan is your brother?" she asked. She knew the question was ridiculous, but she wanted to say anything to fill the stillness. "A year older and he never lets me forget it," he said with a laugh. "Wow. You must be close." "We do everything together. So how are you feeling back there? Have you had enough of the nice, leisurely pace?" "Sure," Layla said. Without another word, Roy tapped his heels into his horse's sides and surged forward. In an instant, all Layla could see was the dust in front of her. "Oh. That's what we're doing," she muttered and tapped her heels the way he had, trying to remember everything she learned in the exactly two times she had ridden a horse when she was younger. Her body was bouncing wildly in the saddle and she was increasingly concerned about the resilience of her bra when Roy came back into view. He had stopped on a grassy patch by the side of the trail, but when she tried to stop her horse, it just kept right on past. "You ok?" he called over as she finally managed to pull the horse to a stop and dragged it around to face him.

"Nothing but nailing it over here." The horse struggled against her trying to lead it back toward Roy and she heard him laughing from where he sat casually on his perfectly calm, wellbehaved horse. "Shut up," she said, then leaned down to mutter at the horse, "Alright, that's enough. Stop being a little bitch and bring me over there to him." That seemed to work and Misty walked obediently over to Roy where it dipped its head and started nibbling on the grass at the side of the trail. "Hi," she said. "Hi," he replied, grinning, "Did you just call my horse a bitch?" "Sometimes you just have to keep it real." Their eyes met and they dissolved in laughter. Layla found herself feeling glad that Quinn and Eli had opted out of the morning ride, giving her the opportunity to enjoy the time just with Roy. "I want to show you something." Roy climbed down off his horse and came over to her. He placed one hand on her thigh and slid it up to her hip, then along her back. She felt him apply pressure to the other side of her hip so she started to slide down toward him. He scooped her into his arms with surprising ease, allowing her to glide down the front of his body as he lowered her off the horse and to her feet. Layla's breath caught in her throat as his hands moved around her

hips and down to fill with her flesh and pull her harder against him. His nose nudged hers and Layla nudged back, letting her hands rest on his arms. Roy leaned forward and kissed her lightly, opening his mouth just enough so he caught her bottom lip. Their faces parted slightly and an instant later their mouths were on each other again, lips parting as their kiss deepened. Layla was breathless when the kiss finally broke. "Is that what you wanted to show me?" she breathed, laughing softly. Roy shook his head. "No. I just couldn't resist." He slid his hand down her arm to intertwine with hers and pulled her gently further away from the trail. She hadn't noticed that the grassy section was actually a drop-off, leading down a steep cliff to a sparkling crystal pond beneath. "How far do you say that drop is?" she asked. "About 15 feet." "And how deep is the water?" She took a step back from the edge, letting her hand fall away from his. "Too deep to know. Are you afraid of…" Before he could finish his sentence, Layla had run forward and leapt off the edge, straightening out just before she hit the water so that her toes cut through the surface first. She came up laughing, the

cold water making her feel awake and alive in the early morning air. Roy stared down at her incredulously. "Are you coming?" she called up to him. He seemed to pause for a beat to think about it, then disappeared from the edge before running forward and diving seamlessly into the water beside her. The sound that came from him when he emerged from the water was less joyous than hers and she saw him pull his arms close as he shuddered. "It's cold!" he shouted and she laughed harder. "Come on, cowboy. Don’t tell me you can't handle a little bit of cold water." Roy swam toward her with two long strokes and gathered her in his arms. She pressed a kiss to his mouth, crushing her breasts to his chest so she could feel the warmth of his body through their cold, wet clothes. He touched his tongue to her lips, tempting them to part so that he could explore her mouth further. She complied, welcoming his tongue in against hers. Suddenly she realized they were moving as Roy used one arm to hold her close to him and the other to paddle them toward the edge of the water. A few moments later, they were close enough to the bank that she felt the sand beneath her feet and could stand. Roy stood in front of her and took both of her hands to guide her along with him

toward a smooth, flat rock beside the water, his mouth continuing to play against hers as they went.

****************************** When they got to the rock, Roy ended their kiss so he could pull back to look at her. His fingers combed back through her wet hair and trailed down her neck. "You're beautiful," he murmured. Layla shook her head. "No, I'm…" He cut her off, holding her head in place with his hand and staring directly into her eyes. "Yes. You are beautiful. I was captivated the moment I saw you standing outside of the store." "You were?" "It took a bit of wrangling for me to get Nathan to let me guide the ride this morning. I thought the other two were coming along, too. I didn't realize I was going to be lucky enough to have you all to myself." He kissed her again and Layla smiled against his lips. "Maybe I'm the lucky one to get all of the instructor's attention." "Well, if you are going to get the most out of your private lesson, I should probably tell you that I saw some problems with your riding." "Oh, really?" she asked. Roy nodded and took a step back to sit down

on the rock. He put his hands on the back of Layla's hips and pulled her forward, guiding her to straddle his lap, and then easing her down onto him. She moaned softly when she felt the firm bulge of his erection hardening beneath her and he leaned forward to kiss the side of her neck. "You need to get more comfortable in the saddle," he said, "Relax into it," he ran his hands down onto her thighs and pulled them apart gently so that she settled more deeply onto his lap. "Comfortable?" "Mmmm-hmmm," Layla murmured in affirmation. "Good. Now your instinct when you feel the horse move under you is to lift away from it. Instead, move with it." Roy returned his hands to her hips and started to rock them, mirroring the movements with his hips so that they rolled together. The motion started building pressure deep in her center and Layla moaned, letting her eyes flutter closed so she could enjoy the sensation more fully. She felt Roy's fingers come to the buttons on the front of her shirt and work their way down until he revealed her body. He gave a groan of appreciation and ducked his head forward to press a series of open-mouth kisses down the deep valley between her breasts. Maintaining the connection between his lips and her skin, Roy pushed her shirt off of her

shoulders and away from her body. He moved his head back just long enough to discard his own shirt and then dipped down again, drawing his tongue across the ample swell of her breasts as he kneaded his fingers into her hips, rolling them against him harder. "The better you move with your saddle," he whispered, raising his hands up to release her bra and peel it away from her, revealing her bare breasts to him, "The smoother your ride is going to be." Roy flicked his tongue across the hardened peak of one nipple and Layla gasped. She arched to press her nipple into his mouth, burying her fingers in his thick, wet hair to hold him in place as he suckled her. After a moment, she pulled him back and stared intensely into his eyes. "What if I like it rough?" Growling deep in his throat, Roy stood, sweeping Layla up against his body with incredible strength and control and carrying her over to the rocky wall of the ledge. He lowered her to her feet, pressing her against the wall, and used one hand to unfasten her pants. She kicked off her shoes and he got on his knees in front of her to pull her pants from her hips and down her thighs. Roy kissed his way up her inner thighs, trailing his mouth up the soft curve of her belly and along her breasts until he stood in front of her. He crushed his mouth

down onto hers and he flattened one hand onto her stomach and ran it down until it slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and cupped her pubic bone. Layla cried out as Roy plunged two fingers deep within her, mimicking the motion with his tongue as he kissed her hard enough to force her back against the wall. The intensity with which he thrust his fingers inside her made Layla rise up onto her toes, parting her thighs to give him even more access. As she regained control of her thoughts, she moved one hand from where she had been gripping his back and brought it to the front of his pants, fighting to loosen the belt buckle even as his hand pushed her closer to the brink of madness. She had just managed to release the buckle and was working at the button of his jeans when she heard a loud, high-pitched beeping sound. A few creative expletives spilled from Roy's lips as he pushed back from her to look down at his watch. "What the hell is that?" she asked breathlessly. "My alarm." He kissed her, giving one final hard thrust with his fingers that elicited a sharp cry, and withdrew his hand, "We have to head back to the ranch." "Why? It's not like there are any other guests you need to…guide." Roy looked at her with slumbering eyes and kissed her again, groaning as if fighting within

himself. "No, but if there is one thing that Pops actually does right around here, it is safety. If we aren't back within 20 minutes of the time that we were supposed to be, he will be out here looking for us, and trust me, that man is fast and thorough." "Twenty minutes is quite a while, though," she said coaxingly, curling her fingers through his belt loops to draw him closer to her. "There is plenty that I could do in that long." "I'm very sure that's true," he said, running his hand down the side of her face and then tracing one finger across her mouth. Layla parted her lips to draw his finger in across her tongue and gave a gentle suck. Roy moaned and pressed his hips against hers so she could feel the rock behind her biting into her back, "But when I get you naked, I want you for much longer than that." He pulled his finger carefully from her mouth and replaced it with a long kiss that held the promise that this was not the only time she would be in this position with him. "And I wouldn't want him to have a heart attack out here on the trail if he found us," Layla said, reluctantly stepping away from the wall and reaching down to gather her clothes and put them back on, "Lord knows my horse would never get me out of here to get help."

****************************** Eli was waiting for her when they finally arrived back at the ranch. Her horse had decided she was mortified by Layla's behavior and was simply not going to cooperate for the rest of the ride, so they had to meander their way back up the trail with the horses side-by-side and Roy gripping Misty's reins so he could lead them along. This gave her plenty of opportunity to lean across and kiss him as they rode. She was greatly disappointed when the trail ended and she saw Eli at the edge of the corral in denim cutoff shorts and a plaid shirt tied at his waist. "You took off your loincloth," she said, climbing down from the horse. "It's not exactly afternoon wear. Are your clothes wet?" The sun had dried their clothes most of the way but her pants and shirt still looked damp and Layla knew her hair was a wet mess even though she had tried to tame it under a clip at the back of her head. "I fell into a pond," she answered quickly. Eli's eyes scanned Roy, who was visibly just as damp as he led both horses into the corral. "I went in after her to rescue her." "That was chivalrous," Eli called to him.

Layla couldn't get Roy out of her head for the rest of the day and that night she lay in bed sandwiched between Eli and Quinn, staring into the darkness thinking about him. Her body still hummed with the feelings he created within her. She was still thinking about him the next morning when she arrived at a field on the opposite end of the ranch from her cabin for an archery lesson. She was yet again alone as Eli ran off to possibly contribute to the delinquency of a minor (he assured her that he was trying to sneak a look at the cashier's ID just to make sure) and Quinn went to have a self-prescribed meditation session with the pygmy goats in an effort to overcome her sudden irrational fear of farm animals. It was beginning to feel like her days of being picked last for kickball at summer camp all over again. Her bitter feelings lifted somewhat when she saw Nathan ambling across the field toward her carrying a bow and quiver. He placed them on the stack of hay bales beside her and let his eyes, green rather than the brown of his brother's, trace over her languidly. "Good morning, Layla," he said, "Is anyone else joining us?" Layla held out her hands in much the same way that she had when telling Roy she would be the only one riding. "No. It's just me. Again."

"Lucky me," he said. Roy had used the same sentiment to describe his time alone with her and Layla felt a tremble ripple through her. Nathan scrutinized her again and she touched the cotton skirt of her sundress selfconsciously. "You're wearing boots," he said with a hint of teasing in his voice. "Quinn made me wear them, they are ridiculous, and I hate myself for putting them on," she said all in one fast rush, crossing her arms over her chest. Nathan smirked and picked up the bow and quiver again. He stroked under her chin with the edge of one finger as he passed her and Layla trailed behind him with a smile on her lips. Summer camp was certainly looking up. "Have you ever shot a bow and arrow before?" Nathan asked. "No." "Have you ever wanted to shoot a bow and arrow before?" "No." He chuckled and shook his head at her. "Then why are you taking archery lessons?" "I'm channeling my inner Robin Hood." He cocked an eyebrow at her and Layla sighed, "Quinn planned out the entire itinerary. I just do what the laminated pink schedule she put in

my luggage tells me to do." "You are very compliant." "I aim to please." Nathan stepped up closer to her. "I'll remember that." Layla felt her mouth water at the subtle proposition, but a second later he handed her the bow and was instructing her on how to rest the arrow across the string. Her long nails made it difficult to hold both pieces in place properly and she fought to maintain control over the weapon. She felt Nathan step up behind her and wrap his arms around her so he could help her stabilize the bow. He helped her pull back the string and his hand grazed across her breasts, immediately causing her nipples to tighten in response. They let the arrow fly and Layla felt a shiver of excitement as it burrowed into one of the hay bale targets across the field. He helped her load another arrow, and by the time she had gotten through most of the quiver, her shots were consistently hitting close to the bullseye. "You’re pretty good with a bow," Nathan murmured into her ear, "I wouldn't know it by how sweet you are," he nuzzled his face against her neck, "How soft. I think that makes you more like Maid Marian." Nathan's lips touched the curve between her neck and her shoulder as he loaded another arrow

onto the bow. She sighed and leaned back against him, letting her hands fall away from the bow and grabbing his powerful thighs behind her. He shot the last arrow, and lowered the bow, bringing one hand around her belly to press her harder back against him as his mouth moved across her neck. She moved her hips in response to his touch, kneading her fingers into his thighs. Suddenly he broke away from her and started walking toward the targets. She felt a tug on her skirt and realized he was holding onto it, pulling her after him as he walked. The show of dominance made her bite her lip as she followed, her body now aching. When they got to the hay bales, Layla noticed that the last arrow had struck directly in the middle of the bullseye. "I guess that makes me Robin Hood," Nathan said and pulled her towards him to capture her mouth in a deep, seeking kiss. Their tongues tangling and frantic, heated sounds coming from their throats, Nathan pushed Layla back against one of the stacks of hay bales and pressed his body against hers as he kissed her harder. When she felt like she could barely breathe, Nathan tore his mouth away from hers and lifted her by her hips to place her on top of the hay. He pushed her knees apart, running his fingers down the insides of her thighs and calves until he reached the tops of the pink boots.

"You're right," he said through panting breaths, "These are ridiculous." Nathan pulled the boots off and dropped them to the ground. He tucked his hands around the back of her hips and brought her forward to the edge of the hay bale. Layla's breath caught in her throat as he reached under her skirt and eased her panties away from her body, forcing her to lift up so he could remove them and drop them to the ground alongside the boots. He leaned forward to kiss her as his hand moved forward to explore her just as Roy's had. His fingers slid into her and Layla whimpered against his mouth, rocking her hips forward to seek more of the feeling. Nathan moved slower than Roy, massaging inside her at a gentler pace that started the pressure building gradually but intensely through her thighs, stomach, and pelvis. As if he could sense how close he had already brought her, Nathan pulled his mouth from hers and took a step back. The position he had placed her in put her open thighs right at his chest level so he only needed to dip his head slightly to draw his tongue up from where his fingers coaxed her to her hot, swollen bud at the top, where he paused and swirled the tip of his tongue into her sensitive folds. He repeated the masterful lick only twice more and a strangled cry escaped Layla's throat as her body contracted tightly around his hand, then released

into blissful waves of tremors. She tried to draw her thighs together, but Nathan pushed them apart with his free hand, flicking his tongue across her a few more times so that she cried out and pushed his head away, gasping at the intensity of the sensations rolling through her. Nathan brought his mouth up to her ear and kissed it before whispering to her. "That's a good girl. Sometimes it just takes a big brother to take over where his little brother left off." Layla gasped and pulled back from him to meet his eyes questioningly. "You know?" she asked. Nathan smirked and kissed her, biting her bottom lip playfully. "Don't worry, Sweetheart. Roy and I share everything." "Always?" He looked slightly sheepish. "Well, to be completely honest, we haven't shared anything quite as much fun as you since our toys when we were little." Layla licked her lips and combed her fingers back through Nathan's hair. She enjoyed knowing that she was the first girl to make these beautiful boys act this way. "I think I like being your toy," she murmured to him.

Nathan smiled and she felt his hands go to his belt buckle, but she stopped him. "What's wrong?" he asked. "If you're going to share me, don't you think you should take turns? It's Roy's turn next." She hopped down from the hay bale and wiggled her feet back into the boots. Not bothering to slip her panties back on, she kissed Nathan, and then turned and strode back across the field, feeling his eyes watching the sway of her hips as she went.

****************************** The next night, Layla finally had her travel companions with her for an activity as Quinn and Eli joined her for the ranch's traditional mid-week campfire and sleep-out. She was sure that this activity would seem far less wildly inappropriate if there had been children at the ranch, or at least a few other adults. She sat on a log beside Eli and Quinn, who were making a valiant effort to toast marshmallows, while staring across the glowing flames at Nathan and Roy. Pops had apparently decided that such things were for the younger crowd and left the five of them to venture into the woods without him. The cowboys looked back at her through the flames, each sitting on his own log and gazing at her with enough hunger in his eyes that she might as well have been the toasted marshmallow. She squirmed slightly against the aching feeling between her thighs that looking at them caused and tore her eyes away from them to look over at Quinn and Eli. They had their arms around each other and were swaying to a nonsensical and off-key version of "Kumbaya." "Hey, Eli," she said, lifting her voice loud enough to get over their singing, "Why don't we tell a few ghost stories?"

He immediately stopped singing and shot a sharp look in her direction. "Why would you say that?" Layla shrugged innocently. "It's a campfire. Don't people tell ghost stories around campfires?" There was the snap of an animal stepping on a tree limb somewhere deep in the woods and Eli startled, grabbing tightly to Quinn's arm and looking around frantically. Quinn reached down beside her and picked up her flashlight, turning it on and sweeping it through the perimeter of the campfire where the glow from the flames hadn't penetrated the darkness. "I actually heard one about cowboys," Layla started. An owl hooted nearby and Eli jumped to his feet. "I'm going back to the cabin," he announced, grabbing Quinn's flashlight and bolting off, marshmallow skewer still in hand. "I guess I'll go with him. Are you coming?" "No. I'm going to stick around here. I did all of your other activities. I might as well do this one, too." There was a frantic screech from down the path and they all looked in its direction, "You go take care of Screamy over there. I'll be fine. I have these two big cowboys to take care of me in case the ghosts come."

Quinn handed Layla her marshmallow and ran toward Eli, who was still shrieking despite being close enough to the campfire that Layla could still see the beam from the flashlight. She peeled some of the blackened toasted part of the marshmallow off with her fingers and put it in her mouth, sliding her fingers out slowly. She could feel the boys watching her and she didn't make eye contact with them but continued to pull off pieces of the marshmallow and eat them. When she could no longer hear the sound of Eli and Quinn running through the trees back toward the cabin, she stood and walked around the fire toward Roy. She had worn a black wrap dress that tied in the front, and as she approached him, she used her free hand to loosen the bow and let the dress fall open. "Eli hates ghost stories," she said, "I guess that means it's just us now." He opened his arms to her and she stepped over his thighs to straddle him like she had when they were beside the pond. Layla pulled off another piece of the marshmallow as Roy took her by her hips and lowered her down into his lap. She fed it to him and leaned forward to kiss along the side of his neck until she felt him swallow. He was rocking her hips against his again and when she picked up his rhythm, he took his hands from her hips to open her

dress the rest of the way and push it off of her shoulders and onto the ground. She looked over at Nathan, who was still sitting in the same place, his eyes fixated on her. Crooking one finger, she gestured him to come over to them. She pulled another piece from the marshmallow and then tossed the skewer aside. Nathan came up close beside her and leaned down so she could slip the piece of marshmallow into his mouth. Roy's mouth was playing along the swell of her breasts now and she tilted her mouth up to kiss Nathan, letting the tip of her tongue tease along his lips where she could still taste sugary sweetness. "Undress me," she whispered as she took her mouth from his. Nathan moved around behind her and she felt his hands release the hooks on her bra. His fingertips stroked down her spine as she removed her bra and let it fall from her hand onto the ground. She complied with the pressure of Nathan's hands at her waist, pulling her backwards so she climbed off of Roy's lap and stood in front of him. Nathan eased her panties off and guided them down her legs and completely away so she was totally bare in front of her cowboys. Roy ran one hand down the center of her chest and down her belly. She could see in his eyes he was enjoying the feeling of every inch of her and she relished feeling beautiful under his hands in the glow of the

firelight. Layla took Roy's hand from her stomach and tugged him to his feet, tilting her face up to kiss him as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off of his incredible body. She took a moment to trace his muscles with her fingers before bringing them down to his belt buckle. Behind her, she could feel Nathan nearly mirroring her movements, undressing himself as she took off Roy's clothes. Roy kicked off his boots and stepped out of his jeans. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his trunks and pushed them down, finally revealing the long, thick erection she had been thinking about for days. It was bigger than she had expected and so beautiful that she couldn't resist bending down to run her tongue along its tip. Roy drew in a sharp breath and she smiled, repeating the lick to gather a droplet of crystalline fluid that formed there in response to her touch. His hand brushed back through her hair and cupped the back of her head, not pushing her, but holding her steady as she swirled her tongue around the swollen head of his cock and took a moment to concentrate on the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside. Nathan's hands touched her hips from behind, gliding over her curves and kneading her flesh with strong, sure fingers. Layla adjusted her position slightly so her hips nestled back against Nathan as she gripped Roy's thighs, opened her mouth, and let

his cock slide in over her tongue. He groaned deep in his chest and Layla felt his hand guiding her in to a smooth rhythm. She closed her eyes as he moved in her mouth, enjoying the feeling of each vein and ridge. She sighed happily and arched her back slightly, presenting herself to Nathan. An instant later she felt him grab her hips more firmly and plunge inside her. She moaned her appreciation, moving one of her hands to the base of Roy's erection so she could hold him steady as she let Nathan's thrusts guide her mouth along its hard length. Nathan reached around and dipped his fingers between her thighs, swirling them around her most sensitive place and he pushed hard and deep inside her. Layla cried out at the intense combination of sensations, pulling her mouth away from Roy and standing so she could loop one arm back around Nathan's neck. With the other hand she reached for Roy, coaxing him forward so she could kiss him. His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing as he kissed her. She could feel them bouncing against his palms with the motion of Nathan inside her and Roy's cock twitched in response. Roy stepped away from her and she felt a flicker of disappointment, but saw him drape his shirt across the log, then sit down on it, reaching out for her.

"Come here," he said. Layla carefully withdrew Nathan from her body and walked up to Roy. He turned her by her waist and brought her down into his lap, filling her. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and let out a gasp, spreading her thighs further to take him in completely. When she sat up again, Nathan had stepped up close to her and she eagerly took him into her mouth, lavishing him with the same attention she had given Roy. She could feel Roy's mouth on her shoulders and the back of her neck and his hand come around to stimulate her as Nathan had. The sensations began to build out of control and within moments she pulled her mouth away from Nathan to scream as a dizzying orgasm consumed her. Her hard, rapid tremors squeezed down on Roy, milking him until he stiffened within her and roared with his own release. She was stroking Nathan with her hand to mimic the waves of pleasure rolling through her body and soon he gave a strangled cry and hot streams began to pour out of him. She caught them with her tongue, swallowing luxuriously and cleaning him carefully with her tongue as she continued to roll her hips so she could ride Roy's pulses within her. Not bothering to dress, they gathered their clothes and walked together to the largest tent set up at the edge of the campfire area. Layla collapsed

into the middle of the pile of sleeping bags and pillows inside, and her boys fell on either side of her, cuddling close so she could feel their sweat against her skin. She smiled contentedly and kissed each of them, nestling back into the curves of Roy's body and entangling her legs with Nathan's in front of her as she draped an arm over his waist. "I'm going to have to apologize to Eli and Quinn for making fun of their vacation planning," she said as her breath started to normalize again. "I think they did a good job," Roy said, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder. "Me, too. And I still have two days left." Both boys let out sighs of appreciation and Layla smiled, letting her eyes close and a deep, fulfilled sleep take over. THE END

DRILLED BY THE BILLIONAIRE COWBOY Sassy reporter Brooke Jordan’s latest assignment from hell is to interview none other than uber-rich Texas oil tycoon Tyler Harding for De Luxe Magazine’s “Twenty Rich and Famous Bachelors of 2015.” Initially, the prospect of spending two long weeks on his massive ranch sounds like utter torture. But when lusciously curvaceous Brooke suddenly comes face to face with the impossibly gorgeous Tyler, she simply can’t resist his effortless ability to make her all hot and bothered. While on assignment, Brooke soon catches wind that Tyler harbors an incredibly deep secret that could shame his family and cause the very foundation of their entire business to crumble. Despite the drama, their voracious appetite for one another reaches a fever pitch and within no time, the two find themselves within the throws of passion at every turn. Will Brooke and Tyler’s newly found passion have the strength to break through the wall of the lies,

secrets and deceit that surround the Harding family?

Brooke Jordan swore softly as she stubbed her toe against a loose piece of rock lying beside her car. This was an assignment from hell and if she hadn’t talked smart to her boss last week, she knew she wouldn’t now be traipsing through some backwater ranch in six-inch heels and city clothes that stood out like a sore thumb amidst the vast collection of jeans, cowboy hats and boots milling around. She couldn’t help it though; Henry Collins rubbed her the wrong way. He was the new editorin-chief at De Luxe Magazine and he seemed to think he was God’s gift to women. If the rumors were true, he had already slept his way through half the bullpen staff in less than two weeks which was quite a feat when one considered that there had to be at least thirty women in the bullpen of the large office in New York. He had never made any overture to her--which was too damn bad because she would have slammed him with a sexual harassment suit so fast it would make his ancestors dizzy--but he had shown a decided penchant for verbally filleting her in front of her colleagues instead. She had borne his unfair put-downs as long as she could until one day when she had decided she’d had enough; she informed him, in full view of everyone, that she

thought he was a ‘chauvinistic Neanderthal who didn’t have the good taste to appreciate talent.’ Henry had been cool to the point of being almost arctic when he had calmly informed her that she had just bought herself two weeks on a farm as appreciation of all her ‘talent’. She had called his bluff and now here she was! She was supposed to interview Tyler Harding and also stick close to the man for a minimum of two weeks to make certain she had gotten enough materials to complete the article De Luxe Magazine was doing on “Twenty Rich and Famous Bachelors of 2015”. Brooke whistled now, low and long under her breath as she took in the opulence of her surroundings. She had known Tyler Harding was one of the few billionaires around but she hadn’t really appreciated how rich he was until she was looking at the evidence of his wealth up close and personal. The ‘ranch’ had to be the size of at least 50 golf courses with a huge sprawling mansion sitting at the end of the drive. Tyler was the debonair head of the ‘Oil Hardings’, a family known for owning just about half of Texas. They were so wealthy, it was rumored their wealth rivaled that of one-third of the world’s countries put together. Orchids and some very expensive looking flowers lined the driveway, circled the fountain and ended up inches from the door. Wealth screamed from every inch of the

mansion and the surrounding premises; cowboys strode in and out of out-buildings which she assumed were stables or something. “Mr. Harding?” she said, grabbing the arm of one surly-looking cowboy as he strode past her. “Best check the stables,” he grunted shortly before continuing on his way. Brooke blinked. He hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries; so much for Southern hospitality, she thought. She pursed her lips as she walked. At fiveeight she was considered tall for a lady. She had ash-blonde hair that someone once said made her look like a porcelain doll with large green eyes and full red lips. She was beautiful, with an hour-glass figure that made her the recipient of many a male's attention--like now. But perhaps she should not have worn the six-inch heels currently digging into every inch of loamy soil spread around the stables. As she traipsed towards the stables, trying valiantly to walk in heels that kept digging into the soil beneath her feet, a little yip drew her attention to the animal racing towards her and she did a double-take. Was that a wolf? Horror skittered down her spine as she turned and ran the rest of the way into the stables, shrieking like a banshee from hell. She saw two men raise their heads in surprise to look up at her and, without stopping to think about it, Brooke flung herself straight into the arms of the taller man

and wound her legs around his hips, safely out of reach of the animal. “Who the hell are you?” the shorter man grated. “It’s alright, Roy. It’s not every day a beautiful woman climbs right up my legs and into my arms,” the other man laughed good-naturedly. Brooke didn’t have time to be embarrassed; she clung tighter to him, plastering her breasts against his chest as her eyes fearfully flew over her shoulders to the wolf. It wasn’t snarling anymore though, instead it was rubbing up against the legs of her ‘savior’ and almost purring. What the hell? “Isn’t that a wolf?” Brooke asked, her voice a little more than a petrified squeak. The man chuckled as he gently unwound her long legs from around his narrow hips and urged her to her feet, “Shelby would be flattered. She’s a dog, not a wolf. She’s also a bully though; she sensed your fear which was why she chased after you.” Brooke stared disbelievingly as the tall man stooped down to caress Shelby. She shifted, keeping as far out of reach of all that fur as she could. The ‘dog’ had to be at least part-wolf! “I need to find Mr. Harding,” Brooke said. “You've found him already, ma'am” the man quipped, looking over his shoulder and blasting her

with the full force of his languorous dark eyes. Brooke stared, her heart skipping a beat as she got her first good look at the man Collins had described as an ornery and eccentric oil tycoon. He had to be the most handsome man this side of the sun! He had a strong chiseled jaw, sexily tousled black hair, intense black eyes and sex appeal out the wazoo. If that wasn’t enough, he also happened to have deep slashing dimples in either cheek, so prominent they were on display whenever he moved his lips. His skin glistened with sweat from his work in the barn and his muscles bunched with every movement, revealing hard, sinewy strength, and a beautifully chiseled stomach. He was insanely hot and more than a little dangerous to any woman; worse, she suspected he knew it. She swallowed. Dear lord, how was she supposed to get through two weeks beside this man?

**** “Sit down Ms. Jordan and let me know exactly what you need from me,” Tyler ordered a few minutes later as he led Brooke into what she immediately saw was his study. His dark eyes clung to the womanly curves of her hips. She was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful woman and seemed completely unaware of her effect on men, himself included. Why, Roy had been unable to close his mouth the entire time they stood in the stables, which was why he had decided to take the meeting into his study before the other man embarrassed himself. He himself had been tamping down his arousal ever since she had swept into the stable like a whirlwind and plastered herself all over him. He had felt every inch of her soft, pliant body and he had been hard as a rock before he had so much as gotten a good look at her face. Innocently unaware of Tyler’s scrutiny, Brooke scanned the room, her experienced eyes immediately recognizing the perfect finish of the imposing Henkel Harris desk gracing one end of the room with an equally imposing chair planted behind it. Her heels sank into the thick Aubusson rug in the middle of the room as she deliberately crossed to

slouch gratefully into the cushion beside the coffee table instead of the seat he had indicated in front of his desk. Several paintings lined the walls and she didn’t have to be an expert to know they were originals. His black eyes tracked her progress, and when she looked up deliberately into his eyes, she was surprised to see a look of reluctant respect in his gaze. “Mr. Harding, I have a lot of questions for you. I hope you have ample time because this could take quite a few hours,” she added. “I thought you were supposed to be here for two weeks?” he asked, watching her intently, his gaze roving over her features as he lowered himself into the seat. Brooke mentally rolled her eyes. “Yes, but if we can cover a lot of ground today, we’ll get rolling.” He stared at her for a beat, then shrugged as he leaned back in his seat. “Now, off the record, you never grant interviews to press of any kind. Why now? And why us?” Tyler chuckled, the sound low and dark like chocolate. “Are you saying De Luxe is not good enough?” “I’m just saying why did you suddenly decide to grant an interview, and for two weeks no less,

after stonewalling for years?” His firm lips canted to the side in a sexy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Try free positive publicity. Hardings’ Drilling didn’t get to the top by looking gift horses in the mouth. You, on the other hand, apparently never heard of gift horses Ms. Jordan—" "Brooke," she cut in. “Brooke,” he said slowly, drawing her name out and rolling it around on his tongue. She tamped down on an inexplicable wave of heat and excitement that surged through her as he said her name. Suddenly nervous, Brooke’s tongue darted out to lick her lower lip and then her breath hitched in reaction as his eyes followed the tiny movement, rose to meet her own gaze, and then darkened with heat. They both jerked their gazes away guiltily at the same time. Silence reigned, thick and pregnant, and then Brooke deliberately steered them back to safer ground with a crisp, “Let’s talk about your family.” “My family?” Was it her imagination, or did he seem suddenly tense and guarded? Hostility was suddenly coming off him in waves. “Yeah, remember them? Reclusive, beautiful, rich as sin and about as accessible as the moon? The Oil Hardings?”

His lips canted in that half-grin again, but this time, the smile reached his eyes. “The Oil Hardings? Is that what you’re calling us now?” Brooke shrugged, helpless against the charm of his smile as she returned his grin, “The Hardings are into everything from oil to race horses, to real estate; you name it. But you’re the most visible member of the family; not to mention you’re the family businessman. Your mother is the most reclusive of all, your twin sisters seem to be all about school and your brother seems to enjoy fast cars, fast women and designer clothes.” His grin died, “Yeah, I know. It’s my family, remember?” Something in the way he said it niggled at the edge of her consciousness and Brook’s reporter’s instincts went on red alert. There was a story there, as surely as she knew her own name. “So, anything you want to tell me?” she asked, leaning forward and deliberately softening her features to invite confidence. She had always had a flair for getting people to relax around her and confide in her. It was one of the things that made her such a success as a reporter. “Like what? My shoe size? You seem to know so much already, so why bother with the interview?” A vein ticked dangerously in his forehead warning her that he was good and pissed.

“Did I say something wrong? We just want to understand you better; to see what makes you tick. We want the different facets of the man: your personality, your family life, business ideals, strategies, vacation ideas. Come on, it’s for our “Twenty Rich and Famous Bachelors of 2015” article. Not to mention, we cap it off with an event where all bachelors are auctioned off for two hours of their time with the highest bidder and all proceeds go to charity.” His lips softened perceptibly, “You seem very passionate about this. Don’t tell me this was your brain-child...” Brooke shrugged, “In 2012, it came to me that we had over half the world’s population living in poverty. It was a mere proposal; management ate it up and here we are. We’ve already had three successful events the last three years.” He sighed, “When you put it like that, fine. But we won’t be here for the two weeks. It’s my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday and we are all heading to Montana to celebrate. You have to come with us.” Sheer panic floated through Brooke. She was originally from Montana and she was one of those people who literally couldn’t go home again. She had left Montana at the ripe old age of sixteen when she had run away from home and vowed never to return. Fear rose to choke her throat as she

hurriedly rose to her feet before she could check the movement. “Perhaps we could take a rain-check? Two weeks is not such a long time. I can return here for the interview when you guys are done with the celebrations,” she offered with deliberate emphasis on ‘here’, her eyes wide and innocent. He wasn’t buying any bullshit though. She had never seen anyone look more coldly displeased than Tyler did in that moment as he regarded her steadily out of uncomfortably blank eyes. “Ms. Jordan, I assure you, contrary to what you seem to think, I am a very busy man. I will not be sitting here wringing my hands and waiting for you to get around to conducting an interview guaranteed to help your business. Besides, I have a trip to Africa for three months right after the birthday party. So, you can either come along, or get out right now.” Brooke glared at him. She didn’t much care for his tone and she had a good mind to tell him so right before she slammed out of his life. But she just knew that if she dared that, she would have a pink slip waiting for her on her desk by the time she got back to New York. Besides, Tyler Harding was so powerful she was willing to bet her pay-check that he could guarantee she wouldn’t get a job in the States again if she angered him enough. Everything in her revolted at the thought of

Montana and the deep, dirty secrets buried there, but everything in her revolted even more at the thought of moving to a studio apartment and starting the job-hunt all over again. With a sigh, she slumped back into the seat and said with a marked lack of enthusiasm, “That settles it then. I’m all yours for the next two weeks.” His answering grin was pure evil.

**** Montana in May was a sight to behold, Brooke decided as the four-wheel drive roared down the road towards yet another Harding estate. Everywhere was either wet or white with flecks of melting snow. The landscape was just as beautiful as she remembered with beautiful white-capped mountains rising proudly to kiss the skies. Roiling fields of greenery disappeared into deep valleys on either side of the winding road, making the passing landscape breathtaking and absolutely beautiful. She stole a glance at her companion from beneath her lashes and was pleased to note that he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the landscape either. As though sensing her scrutiny, he turned his head and held her gaze with his. Unbidden, a flicker of awareness skittered down her spine and Brooke unconsciously licked her lips as she tried to hold back a surprised gasp. It had been like this since she arrived yesterday and the attraction which she had chalked up to a temporary aberration hadn't eased; if anything, it had heightened. Her stomach had been all aflutter with butterflies since yesterday and she was quickly losing patience with herself. What was wrong with her, she wondered churlishly. No man had ever

affected her like this; one glance and she could barely keep her nipples from beading into hard points beneath her blouse. His eyes dipped to her red lips and she saw him swallow even as his gaze darkened perceptibly. Desire sizzled, hot and potent in the air and every nerve-ending in Brooke’s body went on high alert. His eyes locked with hers, drawing her in inexorably and making her lose all sense of time and place as though hypnotized. Without being aware of moving, Brooke was in his arms. Urgency ripped through her as Tyler immediately lowered his head to hers, his hard lips slanting across hers, seeking, searching. Brooke leaned back in his arms and opened her mouth to apologize but Tyler didn’t give her a chance; his tongue delved into her mouth and he grabbed her close to him as he deepened the kiss. His hands tightened about her, as his large, slightly callused palm drifted boldly to her chest and cupped one firm round breast. All the breath whooshed out of her in startled surprise and Tyler immediately released her. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “Sometimes I move from zero to one hundred in a nanosecond.” “Um...it’s alright,” she assured him, moving back to her side of the seat in the limo. Gawd, that was some kiss! How did he manage to get her so hot and bothered in less than a

few seconds? She felt a red flush steal up her neck as her eyes stole a look at his large, masculine hands. Even now, she could feel wetness pooling between her thighs just remembering how those large palms had tenderly cupped her breast. Brooke forced herself to look away, turning her gaze once more to the passing landscape; she had never been this unprofessional in her entire life before. What would Collins have to say about that? She could just picture his frown of displeasure coupled with a smug grin as he whipped out a pink slip. The man seemed to have one about him all the time. Anger coursed through her as she remembered her boss and deliberately, she looked at her watch, “Are we there yet?” He chuckled, “Almost, Dorothy.” She grinned back, relaxing as she leaned back against the soft, plush leather seat of the limo. She could get used to this kind of luxury, she thought, wriggling her behind and settling it deeper into the soft-as-butter leather. Tyler grinned anew as he watched her obvious and unpretentious enjoyment of the luxurious interior. “First time?” “What gave it away?” she purred unconcerned, shutting her eyes as she caressed the

soft leather with her hands. Too soon, the limo drew to a smart stop in front of the mansion and the chauffeur opened the door. Tyler dimpled at her, “Time to meet the welcome wagon.” Since there was no ‘welcome wagon’ at the front door, Brooke looked at him askance. “Oh, my mother would never stoop to leave her exalted position in the drawing room where she holds court,” he said bitingly. “We go to her.” It occurred to Brooke that this was no way to speak of one’s mother. But she said nothing. Tyler led the way down a long corridor lined with stern unsmiling pictures of a long line of Harding ancestors and then they entered what had to be the drawing room. A woman dressed in a gown fit for a princess in the Victorian ages was sitting ramrod straight in one chair facing the doorway as she tried valiantly to look as though she wasn’t expecting anyone. The scene both amused and touched Brooke. Why would she feel the need to pretend about being glad to see her son come home? Wasn’t it natural for a mother to be excited by her son's return? “Mother,” Tyler murmured as he leaned down to press a brief kiss onto her cheek. The woman’s eyes shone like twin jewels as she smiled at her son, then her face went back to its

glacial formality when she focused on Brooke. “The reporter,” she murmured, managing to put enough inflection in the words to make Brooke feel like she just crawled out from beneath a stone. “Welcome, my dear. Show her to her room, Tyler,” she added dismissively. Tyler turned to wink at Brooke and she understood that they had just been dismissed. “Who built this...mansion?” He shrugged, “My grandfather, about twelve generations back.” Her eyes took in the modern decorations, the plush surroundings; she shook her head, “No, this is way too modern.” “Okay, so I renovated and redecorated a bit three years ago,” he conceded. Brooke stared at the back of his head. There were just too many undercurrents with the Hardings. What on earth was going on? She opened her mouth to ask yet another question but he forestalled her with his announcement, “This is where we'll put you: the cream room." He swept the door open to reveal a bedroom that looked as though it was straight out of a magazine. The theme was cream alright, from the bedcovers to the curtains to just about every visible surface was cream and gold. The room was breathtaking!

Brooke was so enthralled, she spun around in a circle taking it all in. Tyler’s jaw tightened as he watched her. He had been right to pick this room for her; with her pale coloring, the room accentuated her features, made her appear almost ethereal and so damn sexy he could actually feel his blood roaring through his veins in reaction. His hands tightened into fists at his side as he strove for control. He walked towards the windows to pull the curtains to the side and then turned back around to beat a hasty retreat from the room; he almost mowed Brooke down. She was standing right behind him. It was a measure of how distracted he was that he hadn’t heard her come up behind him. Brooke grinned up at him saucily, “The view is to die for. I think I can understand why your mother never wants to leave here.” His gaze went unerringly to her soft red, lips. Yeah, the view was to die for. Without a second thought, he lowered his head to hers and urgently took her lips in a hard, passionate kiss. Kissing her felt like coming home, he thought dimly as his hands wrapped around her soft waist and pulled her flush against him. Brooke gasped as his lips melded with hers, but instead of pushing him away, her traitorous hands wrapped about his neck. Her fingers

hesitantly delved into the thick black hair at his nape and he groaned as he kissed her. Brooke stroked her hand down the thick column of his neck and then his hard, wide chest. He was pure male and absolutely delicious; she would never be able to get enough of him, she mused. As though reading her thoughts, Tyler murmured against her lips, “I just can’t get enough of you. This is crazy; I've never felt like this.” Before she could respond, his tongue plunged deeper into her mouth, engaging hers in an intimate dance that made every last one of her toes curl in pleasure. His hands cupped her breast through the sheer material of her blouse, and in mere seconds, he had tumbled them both onto the bed, shoving her blouse up to reveal her lace bra. Brooke moaned and arched her back, almost falling off the bed as Tyler’s lips closed over one taut, erect nipple. He gently nipped at her breast through the thin material of her bra, his hands caressing every inch of silky skin he could touch. Electricity bolted through her nerve endings as he kissed her and Brooke went wild in his arms, clutching and twisting and caressing right back. “I want you,” Tyler murmured, his dark eyes boring into hers. Staring up at him, Brooke understood immediately that he was asking permission to go

further. Without giving herself time to think about it, she reached up and pulled him back down, effectively giving him her answer. His kisses were scorching as he trailed his lips down her chest and then her stomach. His hands slipped down, caressing her soft thighs under her skirt. “Please,” Brooke sighed, not even knowing what she was begging for. Tyler was not proof against that soft, breathless, whisper. He bent his dark head to the juncture of her thighs and tenderly opened his lips over the soft folds of her wet, willing pussy. Brooke’s eyes shot open in alarm; this was moving way too fast for her! "Tyler—” she began. “Hush. Let me take care of you. I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you jumped clear across the stable and into my arms. Don’t make me stop now, baby,” he murmured as he slowly laved his tongue through her pussy. His tongue was softly probing and gently exploring as he licked her pussy, sending spasms of pleasure coursing through her body. Brooke cried out helplessly, her hands pressing to his head as he licked her hot and slow. A vibrating sensation near her thigh jerked Brooke back to reality and she looked up in

confusion, her green gaze clashing with Tyler’s dark eyes. “My phone,” he growled, apparently intent on ignoring it. But the ringing sound had been about as effective as a dash of cold water in her face and desire fled as though it had never been. This was crazy. What was she doing? And with an interview subject? Hastily, she shoved at his shoulders, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” He raised his head, staring up at her blearily. “You want me to stop?” “Just stop! And get out! Get out!” To his credit, Tyler immediately lifted away from her and then without another word, he quietly left the room, leaving Brooke with a frown between her eyes.

**** “Took you long enough." Lily, one of his younger twin sisters, grumbled the moment Tyler stepped into the dining room. His confused gaze flew to hers, “I’m sorry?” “You were in there with that reporter woman forever,” Leila, her twin chipped in, rolling her beautiful grey eyes. Tyler coolly surveyed the occupants of the table as he slid into his seat at the head of the table. His brother, Max, watched him with cool contemplative eyes, as did Anne, their mother. “Anyone else have any observations they want to share with the rest of the class?” he asked. Silence fell around the table as he glared around. Anne Harding was the only person staring him down as she whispered, “Why did you agree to this interview? That woman looks nosy. I heard she already interviewed half the staff on your Texas ranch before you brought her here. What if she discovered our secret?” Her pained grey eyes stared steadily into his. “Mother, I don’t want to get into this. Not right now,” he said mildly as he buttered a slice of toast.

Anger surged through him but he deliberately tamped down on it. He was starting to feel things for that reporter; things he couldn’t explain; things he had no business feeling. “Well when are we going to discuss this?” his mother pressed, oblivious to his inner turmoil. She always seemed oblivious to everything about him, he mused. She never understood him. “Well?” she continued. “When she comes down and starts prying our secrets right out of our mouths?” “Leave it alone, Mother,” he said shortly, his tone deliberately mocking as he raised his coffee mug to his mouth. A tense silence reigned around the table. Anne’s eyes glittered coldly as she glared at Tyler. “Brooke is just here to get material for a documentary for charity. She is my guest and I expect her to be treated with civility. Leave our secrets to me. I’ll make sure she’s too distracted to delve that far.” “How? You gonna seduce her?” Max asked. “No.” “Then what?” Max pressed. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done to keep our family safe. Now everyone, just leave Brooke to me.” On the staircase, out of sight of the dining room, Brooke slowly retreated, creeping back to

her bedroom. What were they talking about? And what on earth had Tyler meant when he said he was going to do whatever it took? Perhaps there was some secret they didn’t want her to discover? She had stepped within hearing range just in time to hear Tyler say he would do whatever needed to be done. What did he mean by that and what had she gotten herself into? Several minutes later, Brooke stepped out to the dining room again. The Hardings were all wrapping up and while she noticed they were civil enough, they all left the room almost before her buttocks touched her seat. She forced a grin as she looked at Tyler, “Is it my imagination, or did I just clear the room?” “Nah, they’re just done with breakfast. We’ll be inspecting some wells today,” he added. He looked so handsome sitting there with a slight frown on his face, his dark head of hair in artful disarray. “We?” “I thought you were tagging along for the rest of this week?” “Yeah,” she agreed as she ate a slice of bacon. She closed her eyes, savoring the incredibly delicious taste. Who knew bacon could taste so wonderful? “Wheels up in ten,” he said smoothly as he got to his feet and strolled out of the dining room.

Brooke made a silent vow as she sipped the last of her coffee; she would not let him touch her again with so much as a ten-foot pole. “I think I’ve gotten enough answers to questions about your work,” Brooke said, leaning back against her chair in Tyler’s office, five days later. “Now there’s another angle that we must work: family.” She pretended not to notice that he had tensed up at the word ‘family’. “We want to explore your relationship with members of your immediate family. Having family gives our rich, powerful, dynamic bachelors a human face and makes them more likable to our readers. That’s all we’re after.” Tyler studied her out of veiled eyes. “What do you want to know exactly?” Brooke studied her notes, then looked back up at him, her eyes shining with excitement as she said, “You took over Harding Corporation at a very young age. Your management style obviously differs from your father’s. Can you tell us what he thought of your style?” Tyler cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, “He was glad I took his legacy so seriously. He was proud. What more do you want to know?” Brooke stared; he wouldn’t meet her eyes and he was more than a little uncomfortable. Clearly, he was lying.

A past news-clip went through her mind and acting on a hunch, she said, “Tyler, there was an incident at the annual Hamilton Business Conference last year. A reporter caught a clip of Mr. Harding grabbing your lapels and getting in your face about something. He didn’t seem very proud that night,” she added, her pen poised over her notepad. Tyler’s dark eyes glinted at her as he studied her. “I don’t hear a question in there.” “What was your relationship with your father really like?” He grinned suddenly, “Do you have any idea how cute you look?” The non-sequitur made her blink, but she carefully hid her surprise as an irrational flush of pleasure shot through her. Was he trying to distract her? “Uh...thanks, I think.” He chuckled, rising from his position on the seat across from her to lean over her, placing a hand on either side of her chair. Brooke shrank back into her seat. What could he possibly be thinking of? “I haven’t been able to keep my mind off you all day,” he murmured, letting her know exactly what he had been thinking of. “And I think if you’re honest, you’ve thought of me a great deal, too.”

“Yeah, add modesty to your list of traits while you’re at it,” Brooke uttered dripping sarcasm. He laughed, unperturbed. Then his laughter faded slowly away to be replaced by a look so hot, probing and intense that Brooke could have sworn it melted the very skin off her bones. Tyler raised one hand and slowly, gently caressed her cheek. Hot tendrils of sensation spread from the slight brush of his finger and a moan of pleasure escaped her unbidden. Tyler leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in a heart-wrenchingly tender kiss that made her hands curl into fists. “I want to make love to you, Brooke,” he whispered against her lips. “Huh?” she muttered dazedly, hungrily raising her lips for more of his kisses. “I need to make love to you, Brooke. I want to feel my hard dick entering your soft, wet pussy. I want to fuck you until you beg me not to stop. I want to brand you from the inside out as my own,” he finished. His words were so erotic, a pool of moisture rushed between her legs. Brooke grabbed his head and pulled his lips down to hers for a hot, deep French kiss. Tyler swung her up off the chair and into his arms, not breaking the hot deep kiss for a second. He was half in love with her, he mused as his hand

moved to cup one full thrusting breast through the smooth material of her silk blouse. Brooke moaned and arched in his arms. He gently deposited her ass onto the table with her legs hanging over the edge of the desk as he raised her skirt to bunch around her waist. Her lace pantyhose were a bit rough against his palms and he groaned with impatience. He wanted to feel her—now. He caressed her briefly though her pantyhose and panties, swallowing her moan with his lips. “Fuck this,” he said, forcefully tearing the crotch of her pantyhose using both hands. “I can’t wait,” he told her, looking into her eyes as he reached for the zipper of his pants and pulled free his hard, thrusting arousal. Urgency burned right back at him from her bright green eyes and he grunted in satisfaction as she spread her legs wide. He positioned himself between her legs, using his finger to shove her panties to the side. Tyler rubbed the head of his dick against her wet, soft, moist opening and she groaned in pleasure, rubbing up against him as he entered her slowly. Her chest was plastered against his chest with his arms holding her up on the edge of the table. “Yes, yes, yes,” Brooke chanted mindlessly as he entered her again and again. He plunged deeper into her, thrusting so fast it seemed his hips were a jack-hammer.

Brooke clung to him as he increased the tempo, raising her hips to meet his thrusts and matching her rhythm to his own. Brooke was helpless to stop the onslaught of feelings he had unleashed. Her back arched in ecstasy as she moaned even louder, panting now with excitement. Pleasure pooled between her thighs, and within seconds, her pussy was pulsing and clenching with the force of her orgasm as a hot, wet rush poured from her pussy. The waves lasted, drawing out longer and longer and when it was finally over, she sagged against his broad chest, sated and spent. Tyler slowly began to thrust into her again, his dark, slumberous gaze scanning her face as he began to thrust into her again, his face contorted as he concentrated on his thrusts. He changed the angle of his thrusts and began to rub her clitoris between his forefinger and thumb, his thrusts rubbing against her G-spot. He moaned as he entered her, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her and making her spread her legs wider. He paused in his thrusts to lean her back down onto the table. His large hands shoved her blouse up, exposing her breasts to his view. They were round, plump and beautiful and as smooth as silk. He leaned down to lick one nipple, his tongue laving against the sensitive tip and making her moan in his arms. He entered her as he sucked, shoving against her g-spot while rubbing her clit.

Brooke jerked wildly, going berserk as she was assaulted with pleasure from every angle. Suddenly, another rush of heat pooled in her pelvis and before she could react, the world was tilting on its axis and she was clenching and unclenching around him. Within seconds, he felt the familiar pleasure rush to pool in his groin and he increased his pace. His threw back his head, groaning as he came, spilling his seed straight into her wet, tight pussy. As the haze cleared, he realized one scary fact: he had never felt this way about another woman before. His hands tightened around her as he drifted back to earth. What had he done? Max had only to hear about this to give him a knowing grin and congratulate him for having the good sense to make love to Brooke like he had suggested.

**** Brooke slathered some sunscreen onto her back and laid down to stretch beside the pool. Tyler had been trapped in a series of business meetings since morning and he had wanted to know what she was doing. He sent someone to find her and then sent the person three more times to check on her. It was very flattering and she couldn’t stop the blush that stole up her cheeks as she sunned herself by the pool. She had made love with Tyler every night for a week now and she was due to leave in just two days. So far, he seemed to have let down his guard with her; he was freer, always joking and laughing. He loved teasing her, and in the week since they had first made love, he had displayed a voracious appetite and a boyish good humor that had endeared her to him. She had fallen in love with him, she admitted to herself. She loved him as she had never loved anyone and sometimes, when he stared at her, she could almost imagine that he loved her, too. A small sound beside her made her turn her head to look up; someone was standing over her, but the glare of the sun entered her eyes, making it hard for her to see the person’s face.

“Ty?” she said, grinning as she sat up. “Guess again,” Max said coldly. “Oh. What do you want?” she asked, sitting up. She had never cared much for Max. She had caught him several times staring at her ass, but she couldn’t even complain about it to Tyler because they hadn’t defined who they were; they hadn’t defined their relationship. “I was just wondering how long you planned to be here.” “What?” “You came to interview Tyler. I assume you're not doing that while he’s fucking you, and frankly, you've been disturbing my family’s sleep with your incessant moaning. When do you plan to get on the first flight back home?” Hot color flooded her cheeks as embarrassment surged through her. He knew they were sleeping together? Did everyone know? They had been so careful. She looked at him, her eyes astonished. “Yes, Brooke, I know he’s fucking you. I mean it was my idea and all, but even I'm surprised it’s taken him so long to divert you.” Color drained from Brooke’s face. Sleeping with her was Max’s idea? How? Why? And to divert her from what? Max chuckled cruelly, “I can practically see the wheels turning in your brain. I assure you,

watching you prance around has been fun to watch, but it’s getting old.” “You’re lying,” Brooke said shakily, tears welling in her eyes. “Tyler would never discuss something like that with you.” “Something like what?” “He would never seduce me because you told him to.” Max looked chagrined, “I never meant to say that, Brooke; it just slipped out. Forget you heard it,” he added as he rose to his feet and slowly strolled away, leaving her feeling as though her heart was splintering into a million pieces in her chest. Brooke rushed into the house, shrugging into her bathrobe to cover her bikini as she raced towards Tyler’s library, her flip-flops slapping against the tiles noisily. She walked into the room without knocking, her eyes wild and frightened as she spotted him sitting behind the desk. Two men in suits sat before him; their faces turned towards her in curiosity. “Brooke?” Tyler said, coming smoothly to his feet. “I need to speak with you,” she announced baldly. "I’m in a meet—" he began. “Now!” she cut in. “I need to speak with you now!”

He stared around at the men sitting before his desk, then his measuring gaze returned to her tearstreaked, pale face. With a nod at the men, he dismissed them. The moment the door shut behind the men, Brooke exploded, “Is it true?” “I don’t understand.” “Did you decide with your family that you were going to seduce me?” “Where did you hear a crazy story like that?” he asked. Brooke couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t deny it. “I'm not sure what you’re talking about,” he added. “You decided to seduce me so I wouldn’t ask questions you didn’t want to answer, right?” “What the hell?” “Don’t lie to me. Did you decide to seduce me to get me to stop asking questions?” “Do you honestly think that poorly of me?” he asked quietly, his gaze trained on her face. “What I think is that there can be only two answers to the question: yes or no. You’re being very cagey, Tyler, which means you did seduce me for kicks. What, so you and Max could laugh?” “Max? Is he the one who told you that?” he asked, his gaze sharpening. “Like it matters,” she spat bitterly, before

turning on her heels to exit the room. “Don’t. I love you,” he said grabbing her arm. Brooke glared balefully at him, wrenched her arm from his grasp and slapped him as hard as she could. “That’s too damn bad because I hate you!” She ran out of his library and into her bedroom, slamming the door shut after her. She could hear him calling her name even through the shut door but she ignored him. She flung herself onto the bed and cried for all she was worth. Minutes later, she dragged herself out of bed and started throwing her belongings into her suitcase; she was done here, she thought. She felt empty and drained; Tyler had taken everything she had and flung it right back in her face. It was time to go. She had never liked Montana anyway; too many skeletons.

**** Brooke whistled to herself as she brushed her hair into a glossy sheen. She had all the time in the world on her hands these days. She had quit her job soon after returning to New York and was currently searching for a new job. Handing her resignation letter to Collins just as he had been about to whip out one of his famous pink slips had been sheer bliss. She grinned anew just remembering his flummoxed expression. As she grabbed her handbag and headed towards the front door, she adjusted the strap of her leather wristwatch. She opened the door without looking up and promptly slammed into a brick wall. All the air whooshed out of her lungs as a pair of strong, masculine hands shot out to grab her and hold her steady. Brooke looked up disbelievingly into a pair of hooded grey eyes and watched in disbelief as his lips canted one of those slow sexy smiles he did so well. “What are you doing here?” “We need to talk. Then you can toss me out on my ass. Please.” Longing warred with reluctance inside of her;

longing won and she angrily stepped back to allow him into the lobby. “Yes?” she said aggressively the moment he sank onto a sofa. “First off, I’m sorry for the way things went down. I never meant to hurt you and I swear on my life I did not seduce you for any reason other than the fact that I could not help myself.” Silence. “Brooke, you have no reason to believe anything I say, but if you will believe nothing else, believe this: I went after you on my own accord.” “I don’t understand.” “My family has an awful secret yes, but I was never bothered about it. That was always my mother’s headache.” “I see. And what’s this horrible secret?” “My dad had an affair right after their marriage and had me. She has always taken it as a personal kick in her teeth and seems convinced that knowing he left the reins of the company to an ‘illegitimate’ son may affect the company’s stocks, especially since the family is associated with strong family values and all.” It all made sense now. Painful sense. “I was never bothered by my roots. He loved me and cared for me, but I think she sees me as a symbol of his infidelity and I don’t blame her. I understand, which is why I barely go to Montana.”

It was so simple and yet so complicated. She dropped her head, examining her hands. Then deciding, she raised tear-brightened eyes to his and said, “I am originally from Montana.” She saw surprise flit across his features which he quickly suppressed. “I ran away from home when I was sixteen.” “Why?” She shrugged, “The usual; drunk mother, weird step-father and step-brother. They never hurt me but I knew they could one day. I broke my stepbrother’s leg one night and ran away that night. I have not looked back since.” Bile rose in Tyler’s throat, “Did they hurt you?” “No. I was just afraid they might.” “Why did you tell me that?” he asked. “You trusted me,” she said simply. Their gazes clashed, held and no more words were necessary as she crossed the room to sit on his lap. “I never discussed seducing you with anyone. Max might have suggested that at a family meeting, but my sights were already set on you. From the first day I looked into your eyes, I was a goner.” Brooke blushed prettily, ducking her head and making him chuckle in amusement. “So where do we go from here?” “I want to get to know you better, Brooke. I

am already in love with you, but I would love to see what more it could be.” Her heart melted as she gazed into his dark, languorous eyes and said, “I love you too, Tyler.” His grin was pure evil as he hauled her closer and said, “In that case, you’re gonna have to stop wearing those damned pantyhose.” “Huh?” He stroked his thumb across her lips. “You’re going to go insane replacing them because, I promise you: I will destroy every pair that gets in my way.” Laughter fled as he replaced his finger with his lips, kissing her with enough tenderness and heat to make her toes curl. THE END

SHARED BY TWO COWBOYS A curvy seamstress is asked to create one-of-a-kind outfits for a pair of rodeo cowboys who are in town for a brief time. While measuring every inch of their muscular and taught athletic frames, the attraction between them swells and explodes into a night of pure pleasure and abandon. The Blake Brothers are coming to town--and they always go out with a bang. Eliza has seen the flashy duo perform more than once, and she likes a good trick as much as the next woman, but rodeos have never been more than a way for her to pass the time. Her real passion is intricately designing the most flamboyant hats and formal wear, but after a scintillating encounter in her little boutique, these two gorgeous cowboys have been on her mind a lot more than clothing. It doesn't take long for Eliza to figure out that Joseph and Zachary Blake hardly ever agree on anything--except for when it comes to the curvy seamstress with the most detailed designs in the West. Before she knows it, they're vying for her attention at the same time, revealing a fiery need she never knew existed within her.

Will Eliza wrangle her desires in time to remember her control, or is she about to discover why three's not always a crowd?

“Tighter, please.” Eliza tightened the velvet strings of her customer’s bodice, watching her admire herself in the tall, ornate mirror with more than a little satisfaction. Terese turned her head to get another angle of her long neck, running her hands down the red silk as she spoke. “I think that’s quite a nice silhouette, don’t you? And the ruby really does go well with my hair; I didn’t think it would compliment such a dark auburn, but you were right! It really does.” “Yes,” Eliza said absentmindedly. She was snipping at errant strands at the hem of the dress, and she was grateful for the short ladder she’d found to keep the fabric from brushing the floor. “It suits you nicely.” Terese sniffed. “I think it does more than suit me, but if you insist on making me feel hideous the day before my big event, then all right...” Eliza suppressed a smile and shook her head behind Terese’s stiff spine. “You’ll be the belle of the ball, Terese.” Terese patted her voluminous up-do with one hand, her hazel eyes regarding her reflection in the mirror nervously. “Yes, I suppose. Father got me the big stagecoach, like the one from our Estate in Edinburgh, and he’s having it painted the same

shade of red as my dress as we speak. Victor may have broken our engagement, but I’m still turning 23, so there’s no reason to change the scale of the affair. We’re still having it at the mansion on the hill.” She frowned as Eliza finished snipping at the hem. “I feel like I’ll look so barren, though. Maybe I should get those pearls I saw at the shop—or some gold, do you think? With such a dark dress, perhaps gold would be a touch less…ostentatious.” Eliza stood and turned away from Terese to put away her pins, unable to contain her smile any longer. “I think you’re right. Less is more.” When she turned around, Terese was smiling and gazing at her with more warmth than before. “Exactly! I do think I’m rubbing off on you.” Eliza chuckled and shook her head. God forbid. “I’ll go put these away while you get changed in the dressing room. Go on.” Terese lifted her skirts and skipped off to the dressing room, her pile of auburn hair swaying as she moved. Eliza touched her blonde curls, which were pinned at the back of her head in a much more conservative style; she was less than ten years older than Terese, but she still couldn’t imagine spending that much energy on her hair. She also couldn’t imagine wanting to cinch her waist tight enough to restrict her breathing, however—though she’d tried to make her soft, curvy body appear more slight in the past. Now she was pleased the

lines of her rounded frame, as well as the thickness of her hips and the softness of her thighs; Eliza had spent enough time learning to love her body to let a customer start up her old bad habits again. “And you’ll have the ribbon as well, Eliza? The plain one, not that disgusting frilly one you tried to sell me?” Terese called from the dressing room. “Yes,” Eliza called back wearily. “I’ll make it tonight and wrap it with your extra laces. Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything.” “Don’t tell me not to worry!” Terese snapped. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little nervous in the days after having my heart shattered and thrown in the street, to be trampled on dumped on like some common trash!” Eliza pressed her hands to her scalp, trying to massage away the prickles of tension that were creeping toward her hairline. “I’m sorry, Terese. I understand you’re stressed out. I know you’ve just been through a lot.” The dressing room door flew open and Terese flounced out in her normal gown, her face as red as a beet. “And what does that mean?” Eliza took a step back. “What?” “Exactly what have you heard that I’ve been through, hmm?” Eliza froze. The truth was that she had heard something—Terese’s fiancée hadn’t broken her

heart; he’d called off their marriage after he discovered her affair. Eliza heard a lot of gossip, however, and even though she thought this one was true and longed to throw it back in the spoiled woman’s face, she knew she couldn’t risk losing Terese’s business. She had a mouth bigger than anyone else in town, and she wouldn’t take the humiliation lightly. “Terese, you’re stressed,” Eliza said slowly, holding her hands up in defense. “You haven’t been sleeping. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I bet you haven’t seen your little dog in a while.” Terese’s face softened immediately. “I haven’t,” she mumbled. Eliza watched the rage drain from her face and let out a sigh of relief as she turned and started to walk slowly toward the door. Her toy poodle was the one creature capable of snapping her out of her rages. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Terese said, dazed. “And maybe the week after, if I like the ribbon and want more colors.” “Okay,” Eliza said as the bell above the shop door tinkled. The noise and bustle of the street floated in for a moment—the quartz miners on their way to and from work, young women chattering about lip color and dresses, and the pounding of hooves and feet alike upon the earth. As the door swung closed, the shop sank into silence again, and

Eliza took a long, deep breath. Her shop had only been open for five years, but she already felt like she’d been in one place too long. Eliza saw dozens of different people each week, but they all felt the same—every person was a variation of an archetype that she already knew like the back of her hand. People were like dresses and suits: they were hundreds of shapes and colors and materials to choose from, but in the end, it was still a dress or a suit. Eliza lived above the shop, and sometimes she people watched from her sitting window as she sipped coffee or had breakfast. She wondered how many people walked by her window more than once each day, and how many would continue to do so until they died. Maybe all of them, she supposed; would she be one of those people? Eliza shook her head vigorously in the silence of her store. Normally, she had one or two shop girls to help with simple orders and repairs, but they were both at one of the rodeo shows downtown. She’d given them the day off, but they swore to come in during the afternoon to help close up. “We’ll be back by four!” Daisy said. “Five, tops!” said Anna. Eliza smiled at them knowingly. “All right, just be safe.” She knew they wouldn’t be in until the next day, though; the Blake Brothers were in town, and

that meant more than just any old rodeo. Eliza herself had seen them once before, and they were skilled—flashy and a little inappropriate at times, but fast and strong and gentle enough with the animals that she considered going again someday. The girls had requested she go along, but she refused. “Who will work the shop?” Daisy and Anna had shared a knowing look of their own, and Eliza didn’t have to ask what it meant. She made clothing for rich and sometimes even famous clients, and she had no shortage of offers and even a proposal on one occasion; she’d been compared to works of art more times than she could count. Nothing could ever convince her to leave her shop, though, not if meant leaving it unattended. Since suitors rarely agreed to go on dates in her place of business, Eliza hadn’t been on one in nearly four years. She told herself that it was because she couldn’t afford it, but that stopped being true after her second year. Then she claimed that it was because she wanted someone serious about marriage, but a farmer had asked for her hand two years before, and she gently declined. For a while, she said she just liked being alone; it didn’t take her long to realize that this was the least true of all. Eliza liked being alone fine, but she was so crushingly lonely so often that she gave up on using

it as an excuse fairly quickly. Now it was a matter of simply forgetting how to be courted—she flinched away from advances so often that it had become a reflex. The men in town knew she was shy, so they simply stopped trying; at least, she thought, she didn’t have to think of excuses anymore. Luckily, there were lots of orders to prepare before the day was over. Eliza got started on the repairs for the Warren children’s wardrobe. All four boys were off at boarding school the rest of the year, and the eldest girl was a teacher herself; this meant that there was more patching and adding of cloth than anything else. She worked for a solid hour and got a quarter of the way through everything, then stood to walk through her shop to stretch her legs. Eliza stopped in the mirror by the door to gaze at her reflection, startled by how disheveled her curls were. She smoothed them back into place, examining the collar of her dress for spots or stray fibers. Her hands tugged at the silver buttons down the front, the small disks bright against the dark blue cotton. It was her favorite dress because it was simple, but still made her feel beautiful and alluring —at least, it normally did. Now, she felt unsure of herself, like something was off, but she didn’t know what; Eliza thought she might just be sick at first, but it was more of an abstract feeling than a

sensation. She realized that the feeling was making all the hairs on her body stand on end, charging the air around her with an invisible energy that made her skin crackle. Did Terese rattle you that badly? The thought sent a ripple of anger through Eliza’s body. The day Terese rattles me is the day I’m a bag of bones. Eliza spun on her heel and headed to the back room to the little stove to make a pot of tea. I’m just on edge because the girls aren’t here and I have some big orders. I just have to keep telling myself I can handle this. Her hands worked resolutely, as automatically as they would work at trimming a hemline or looping thread through a needle. One good thing about being in the same place for a while was that routine was there when you needed it; Eliza’s body often went on auto-pilot in times of stress, and knowing her surroundings helped facilitate that. She was setting a mug on the table next to the back door when she heard the bell above the front door tinkle again. Eliza hurried to the front. “Hello, welcome to Simmons Creations. How may I help you?” Two men were standing with their backs to her, both roughly the same height and build. One had a head of softly waving black hair that graced the collar of his rust-colored shirt, and his shoulders were a touch broader than the other man’s, whose hair was soft chestnut brown and cropped close to his head.

Eliza turned as she spoke, and he gazed at her with emerald eyes. She felt a slow warmth spread over her skin as his boyish face broke out into a smile as slow and sweet as molasses, and he stuck out a calloused hand for her to shake. He looked strangely familiar, but Eliza would have remembered such a striking face, so she knew he’d never been in her store before. “Joseph,” he said as she pulled her hand back from his grip. His eyes dropped to the hem of her dress and zipped up to her eyes again, and his grin broadened a little more. “And you must be the Eliza Simmons.” He paused and cocked his head. “You know, from your reputation, I thought you must be some old hag, for sure.” The black-haired man spun around and glared at Joseph with a set of icy blue eyes, his square jaw set in anger before he opened his mouth to speak. “Joey!” Joseph shrugged sheepishly, but he had the good graces to blush. “They said she was conservative, skilled, and fair. Sounds like an old woman to me.” The black-haired man shot Eliza an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Miss Simmons, my brother doesn’t remember his manners around ladies of import. Forgive him.” Eliza blinked, feeling like she’d been doused in cold water. Both of the men gazed at her,

embarrassed, but she was still getting over Joseph’s words. “Reputation? And what do you mean, ladies of import?” The black-haired man put one hand over his eyes briefly. “Speaking of manners,” he mumbled. “We’ve come here because you’re highly recommended. I’m Zachary Blake, and this is my brother, Joseph.” “Joey,” the man in question said, flashing her a bright smile. Eliza smiled and nodded shyly at the both of them. “Hello, nice to meet you.” Then she paused, her brows knotting in confusion. “Wait, did you say —” “The Blake Brothers, yes,” Zachary said, looking around the shop nervously. “You don’t have any other customers, do you? The last time we got cornered in a shop, we nearly got trampled to death.” Joey chuckled. “Well. Not trampled.” Eliza was looking between the men with her mouth open, their words zipping through her head. “Um, no, no one else here.” “Good,” Zachary said, sounding relieved. “We can talk in peace.” Joey started to move slowly around the shop, looking at the spools of thread she had behind the counter and the stacks of cotton and silk she had just out of sight. “You seen our act, Miss

Simmons?” Eliza watched his biceps bulge through the fabric of his brown shirt as he lifted a bag of denim next to the till. “Yes, once.” Joey turned to her and smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh? Did you like it?” Eliza felt heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered seeing one of them sprint around without a shirt on, encouraging the women to cheer. Were they really the same men who were standing in her shop right now? “Well—” “Not important,” Zachary cut in, shooting Joey a dark look. “The point is, you know we use tear-away clothing. Would you be able to make us some fancy-looking suits and shirts, but maybe ones you can button or snap together?” Eliza was happy to be able to give an answer. “I can do that! Quite easily, in fact.” Joey walked back to Zachary’s side and peered at her intently. “Really? You mean that? Without knowing our ideas?” Eliza smiled at him, and she made sure to let him see her confidence. “I think you said that I come highly recommended. That’s for a reason, I assure you.” Joey looked surprised, but there was something like heat in his eyes, too. “Self-assured,” he said softly. “I like it.” His gaze was so intense that Eliza couldn’t

resist the shiver that rolled down her spine. Zachary rubbed his eyes again and sighed. “Joey, focus. How long do you think two sets of tear-away suits would take you? Three days?” Eliza paused, mentally calculating the time it would take her to teach Daisy and Anna the new technique. “Four days,” she said finally. “If I push it. When do you need it by?” Zachary’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Next week, but—” Eliza was pulling out her sketch pad, though, already lost in her thoughts. “And that’s a set of each of you. Now, what material were you thinking? Cotton is cheap, but I expect you’ll want something dyed to make it look flashier? Would you be needing ties—perhaps bow-ties? And will you be wanting long johns, as well?” Zachary looked taken aback, and it was so endearing that Eliza had to fight against a tide of girlish giggles. “Uh, yes. That will be fine.” Joey laughed at his brother’s shocked expression. “Come on, Zach! Let’s throw some ideas at her. See how good she really is.” Zachary and Joseph’s ideas weren’t complicated, thankfully. It took her twenty minutes to sketch them, and they were both so impressed that Eliza was thankful the girls weren’t there to see her blush. The men stood on either side of her, their arms touching each of hers so firmly that she

couldn’t move away if she tried. “Wonderful idea,” Joey said at last. “I think this will work.” Eliza nodded absentmindedly, trying not to concentrate on the sturdiness of his shoulders and back, and what it might look like completely unclothed. She kept having to curb her thoughts about Zachary, too; they both had been shooting her lingering glances from the moment they’d set foot in her store. “When can we pick them up?” Zachary asked, his lips inches away from her ear. Eliza suppressed the shiver that longed to snake across her skin as his low voice hit her eardrum. “Five days from now,” she said softly, hoping her voice sounded stronger than it felt. Finally, they both moved away, and Eliza felt like she could breathe again. They stood side by side at the head of the counter, gazing at Eliza with a mixture of respect and curiosity. It felt oddly intense and intimate—like she was being disrobed and memorized by their eyes without even having to lift her skirt. It made her happy, and her thighs trembled as Joey handed over money and their hands touched. They seemed reluctant to leave after Eliza wrapped up their designs. “I’ll see you gentleman soon,” she said brightly, though the words felt clunky and wrong in

her mouth. She wanted to be saying why don’t you stay for tea? or are either of you hungry? Eliza couldn’t bring herself to be so bold, however—and besides, what could she possibly do when she got them alone? Zachary looked as though he wanted to ask her something, but he decided against it, his wavy head of hair swaying as he moved toward the door. Joey stood in his place a moment longer, and Eliza thought he was going to ask to stay. Heat consumed his green eyes, and she saw the words float just behind his lips and stop, unable to carry on any further. The moment had passed. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Simmons,” he said before he turned away, and the words sent a bolt of need shooting through her muscles, as though he’d spoken some kind of carnal incantation instead of a mere farewell.

**** The whole event happened so fast that she was still going over the exchanges during the rest of the day. She kept giving back the wrong change, dropping pins, and giving the wrong garment back to the wrong customers. Daisy and Anna didn’t arrive before she locked the door and blew out the gas lamps, and she was secretly glad; she needed at least one thing to be predictable today. Eliza undressed slowly and slipped into her nightgown, but she felt too restless to get into bed. There was no real reason to think she might see them again before they came to get their order, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the Blake Brothers weren’t through with her. The way they both made her feel was intoxicating, and it was scary—but she wanted to ride that feeling to its peak more than anything else in the world. Eliza remembered seeing their rather risqué show, and her mind’s eye recreated the scene with her new knowledge of their bodies in vivid detail; eventually, she began to imagine them sitting by her bedside, and finally in bed with her—Joey stroking her blonde curls while Eliza kissed down his body, and Zach massaging the plumpness of her backside while he pushed inside her from behind. Her fingers drifted between her legs, moving feverishly against

the firm, wet button of flesh between her nether lips until her body seized with pleasure and her energy was spent.

**** Eliza woke the next morning intending to put her desires behind her, but Daisy and Anna wouldn’t stop talking about the Blakes. “Joey is so fast!” Daisy gushed, her pale blue eyes glazed over with admiration. “Like a deer, or a…stallion.” Anna clapped her hands and laughed. “Yes. But Zachary’s more of a bucking bronco,” she said, winking. “At least, I’d like to think so.” Eliza’s cheeks burned, but she kept her eyes on her needlework, willing her thoughts to stay clean. Daisy wouldn’t allow it. “I bet you’re not wrong,” she said conspiratorially. “I’ve heard he’s not exactly waiting for marriage.” Anna scoffed, her strawberry blonde braids swaying as she shook her head. “What do you know?” “A lot more than you!” Daisy said, her cheeks pinking up. “Ladies tell me when I go to my mother’s work. It’s not like I’m clueless. You’ve never even had a boyfriend!” “So?” Anna shot back. “You shouldn’t go spreading rumors around, especially about a client.” Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not rumors if they’re true. Show cowboys have lots of girlfriends.

Everyone knows that.” Anna looked like she wanted to retort, but her mouth shut when Eliza rose from the long table they were all sharing. Her eyes looked frightened, and Eliza knew her anxiety was showing on her face, but she couldn’t help it; she felt so ashamed she was physically ill. “Eliza?” Daisy said uncertainly, hurrying to her side. “Are you all right?” Eliza forced a smile to her face, hoping it looked more natural than it felt. “I just feel a little dizzy,” she lied. “I need to go upstairs for a moment.” Anna was wringing her hands and dancing from foot to foot. “Are you sure? It was our bickering, wasn’t it? My dad always said me and my brother’s arguing gave him headaches.” “No, dear,” Eliza said. “You’re fine. I’ll be back before you know it.” When she was alone in her room, she started to cry, and it didn’t make sense to her at all; neither of them made any sort of desire known to her, and Daisy was right—show business people tended to be more promiscuous than most, especially gorgeous cowboys who flaunted their physiques for thousands of people each week. So what if they’d stared? Lots of men stared, and some women, too —that didn’t mean they wanted to have sex with her, and if they did, it didn’t really matter to her

who they’d been with before. It was so unlikely they would actually ever be together that the whole idea should seem like details in a made-up story, she decided... Don’t be silly over this, Eliza. It’s just a crush. After ten minutes, Eliza smoothed her hands down her plum colored skirt and started downstairs again. Anna and Daisy were still talking about the brothers—but, thankfully, they were onto a different subject. “That’s what I heard, too,” Daisy said earnestly as she finished the loops on a silk shirt. “Mavis saw them arguing after every single show.” “That’s just how brothers are, isn’t it?” Anna asked, nonplussed. Daisy frowned. “Well, yes and no. It was arguing, but she said it was always constant and sometimes really vile—really nasty insults, shoving, that kind of stuff. And about the strangest things.” “Like what?” “Like…candles. And the best size to make good flapjacks. And bolo ties, and butter,” Daisy laughed. “Just stupid things. The point is, they don’t seem to get along. They don’t ever come to the same conclusion…it’s a miracle they don’t tear each other apart.” She smiled at Eliza as she rejoined them at the table. “No wonder you’re so worn out. I bet they had you in here for hours and hours, huh?”

Eliza froze. They were in the shop for less than an hour, and they were both in perfect agreement while she showed them potential designs. Did she catch them in a good mood? “Just about,” she said finally, the cogs of her mind spinning at lightning speed. “Did you say they fought yesterday?” Daisy looked surprised. “Oh yes. Nearly started slugging each other, and the only reason they didn’t is because they saw us and thought we were kids.” “They didn’t believe we were 19,” Anna giggled. “Thought we were playing hooky, and so they didn’t yell at us for trying to sneak into their dressing room.” Eliza laughed, and her joy was real. They were at each other’s throats at all other times—except for when they were in her shop. That had to count for something, didn’t it? “So what else did you do yesterday?” she asked the girls, her heart feeling far lighter than before. She listened happily as Anna described getting ice cream and feeding ducks at a little pond behind the elementary school. Daisy raised to answer the doorbell once, but it turned out to be a simple repair—Eliza nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the tinkle, hoping it was one of the brothers to request something new. “How was your day, Miss?” Daisy asked when

she got back. “Any funny stories? Did that awful Terese come to get her mourning dress?” Anna gasped, but Eliza laughed at her. “Yes, she came to get the last alterations checked. She seems quite cheerful, though.” “I’ll bet,” Daisy said darkly. “She was cheery at the rodeo, too. Tried to fling herself all over Zach —then Joey—when they were shaking hands on the way out. She wasn’t the only one trying, though, so she never got close. She’d die if she knew they came here afterward.” Eliza smiled, her heart warming at the memory of Zachary and Joey leaning against her as she explained the thoughts behind her designs, their eyes meeting hers and refusing and to pull away. “I bet she would.” The bell above the shop door tinkled again, and Eliza’s heart leapt into her throat again. She only heard one set of footsteps, though, so she tried to reign in her pulse while Anna leaned in and whispered to her conspiratorially. “What were they really like?” Eliza laughed, startled. “I don’t know,” she began. “They were charming, I suppose.” Anna smirked. “I bet they were charming. Men are always charming around you.” “Until they’re not,” Eliza said. “But these two really were genuinely nice. It’s strange…” she hesitated, wondering if Anna would laugh at her.

“What?” the girl pressed, her eyes widening. She leaned in further, apparently not wanting to miss a word. Eliza took a breath. “You say they don’t get along well, but they got along perfectly around me. Especially when I was showing them designs. They agreed with each other the whole time, even supporting each other’s ideas.” Anna was quiet for a while, then she smiled. “That’s not so strange,” she said finally. “You’re a peace bringer. You’ve got a lot charm of your own, Eliza.” Eliza laughed. “Sure.” Anna frowned. “I’m serious! Give yourself more credit. You’re humble, talented, and lovely; why wouldn’t they want to behave themselves for long enough to make you give them the time of day?” Eliza didn’t get a chance to respond. Before she could open her mouth, a huge vase of roses floated through the doorway, followed by Daisy’s fast-moving legs. “Special delivery for Eliza!” Eliza rose from her seat, her heart pounding thickly in her chest. There was a rolled-up piece of parchment tied with a piece of dark green ribbon, and she recognized it the moment she pulled it from the scroll: it was part of a sample of fabric she’d sent home with the Blake Brothers, in case they

wanted bow ties. “Who is it from?” Anna asked Daisy. Daisy shrugged. “The flower shop. It was just sent along with that message, but it looks like it was expensive.” Eliza’s eyes scanned the paper, and she had to read it twice before the words finally sank into her brain. Eliza, You greatly impressed us in the short amount of time we spent in your shop today. I think that’s obvious by now—unless this message didn’t come with 24 roses. If that’s the case, please imagine two dozen fragrant roses of the most staggering beauty and then read the following: We are certain you have heard about our reputation by now, and we make no excuses for it. Cowboys have a certain lifestyle that’s easy to slip into, but we’ve done our time in that world, and we’re ready to leave it behind. You, however, make us want to try something altogether new — something real, and special, and probably a little insane. We wouldn’t ask you this if we didn’t feel that there was something between us, but we know we could be wrong. If we’re not, please allow us to visit you tonight to talk about this further. If we are wrong, ignore our knocks and we’ll never bother you again.

Yours, Zachary and Joseph Blake

**** Eliza looked up from the parchment, her fingers trembling. “It’s from the Blake Brothers,” she said calmly. “They’re…interested in visiting later.” Daisy’s mouth fell open with shock, but Anna smiled knowingly. “See?” she said quietly. “I told you.” “They want to visit?” Daisy repeated, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “Oh, goodness! You have to wear something special! You have to use that hair pomade I got you, and—” “Daisy,” Eliza said. “Oh! And what about those rollers? Or perhaps we could straighten your hair. Either way, we—” “Daisy!” Eliza cut in, waiting for the girl to fall silent before speaking. “I don’t even know if I’m going to speak to them yet.” Both of the young women gaped at her, more outraged than shocked. Anna spoke first, her slim face coloring as she spoke. “But you said yourself, they were charming! Don’t you want to see what they have to say?” “I know what they have to say,” Eliza said, annoyed. “They want…me.” Daisy tsked. “That’s obvious,” she said. “But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “Unless you’re afraid of what you do want?” Eliza shook her head. “I don’t know! And I don’t have to think about it. We have until closing.” But closing came a lot more quickly than she anticipated. She had let the girls go home early, and the sun was sinking below the horizon by the time her last customer came—Terese. “I do hope it doesn’t rain,” she said darkly, tapping her foot while Eliza slipped everything into a bag. “That would be the worst thing to ever happen to me.” Terese stared at Eliza as she took the bag, as though she were daring her to challenge her on her statements. Eliza smiled, biting her tongue with great difficulty. “I hope your party is wonderful.” Terese eyed her, trying to decide if she was being sarcastic. “Would you like to come? I didn’t think to ask before, but you’re actually quite nice. I don’t think I’d mind having you there.” Eliza stared at the woman, the urge to roll her eyes becoming almost unbearable— but she saw that Terese truly seemed to be thinking that she was paying her a compliment. “There will be lots of bachelors there,” she continued, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe even someone you can manage to snag. Some oil men, or someone who owns a foundry?”

Terese paused. “What sort of men do you think would go for a seamstress? Factory owners?” Seamstress? Eliza’s anger bubbled to the surface before she could force it back down. “I prefer cowboys, actually. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Terese snorted, tossing her sleek auburn hair in derision. “Cowboys? Like, the show business kind? I think they go for girls a little more…” she paused as her gaze slid over Eliza’s plum colored curves. “Refined.” Eliza glared. “You mean flashy? All style, no substance?” “No, I meant class,” Terese said viciously, her voice raising to a shout. “And yes, a certain elegant beauty you don’t quite possess.” “Sounds boring to me,” Eliza said coldly. “Cowboys aren’t stuffed shirts that go for snores like you.” Terese laughed, but it was utterly humorless. “I’m sure the Blake Brothers won’t be bored at my party tonight.” Eliza’s heart stopped in her chest. Her blood felt chilled, like she’d been submerged in a bank of snow and buried to her ears. “What do you mean?” Terese’s smile widened, but it lacked warmth and vibrancy, so it was just cruel. “You didn’t know? I caught them after the show, right after your girls ran away from them. They were so eager

to get me alone, I had a hard time getting them to wait to see me again until now. They’re coming to my party,” she said, lowering her voice until it was almost a growl. “…and I expect they’ll be there all night long.” Eliza’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her rage only sharpening the grief that was starting to creep through her. She knew Terese wouldn’t try and sleep with them both, but she also knew that the younger woman was far better at seduction than she was—and far more glamorous. “Get out.” Terese smiled, simpering as she put a hand on her bony hip. “What’s wrong, Eliza? Can’t stand the thought of me dancing between those two fine hunks of men while you sit here, alone, twiddling your thumbs in the dark?” “Get out!” Eliza shouted. “Now! Never come back!” Terese sniffed and spun on her heel, but the door opened before she could reach it. Zachary stepped through, and he held the door open while her face turned the color of a tomato. He looked between her and Eliza, and his expression turned to one of discomfort. Eliza saw that Terese hadn’t expected to see them at all—her mouth was hanging open, and her skin was rapidly turning white. “Here you are, miss,” Zachary said after a moment, when it was clear she was frozen in shock.

Eliza watched them stare at each other, her emotions so confused she couldn’t react. Terese sputtered a meek ‘thank you’ and moved slowly over the threshold. Eliza heard a sharp squeal a moment later, then Joey slipped in behind his brother, laughing. “Who was that?” he asked. “She looked like she’d seen a ghost!” Eliza’s heart skipped a beat. “So, you don’t know her?” she asked nervously. Zachary moved toward her, his rugged features tinged with confusion. “No. Well, I don’t think so. We meet a lot of people.” He stopped a few feet before her, and Eliza realized that he was more than a foot taller than she was; his broad chest was above her eye line, so she had to stretch her neck back to meet his gaze. “She didn’t…invite you two to a party?” Joey moved next to his brother and leaned against the long counter, gazing at Eliza with equal intensity. “Nope! And we wouldn’t have gone, regardless. We don’t do, uh, parties,” he said lightly. Eliza laughed. “It was a real party!” Joey smiled at her and moved toward her until he was close enough to touch her. “Yeah, but she didn’t want to just party with us—at least the way you said it.” Eliza felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Well, no, she didn’t,” she admitted. “But how do I know you two are serious about what you said, anyway?” She shook her head like she had water in her ears and took a step back. “How do you know I even want to do this with you? You haven’t even told me exactly what you want.” Zachary and Joey shared a look of bemusement. Zachary spoke first, fixing her with his chilly blue gaze before reaching out to take one of her hands. “What we want is you.” Eliza couldn’t speak; her heart was threatening to leap out of her mouth. Joey took her other hand and brought it to his lips, his green eyes never leaving hers. A burning desire spread over her skin the instant his lips made contact, and she let herself be pulled toward them. She stopped short of standing between them, fighting the lust coursing through her veins. Zachary’s hand slipped against her lower back, and Joey placed a gentle kiss on her temple. Her thighs clenched as wetness began to pool in her lace panties, a small sound of yearning slipped past her lips. “Wait,” Eliza said desperately. She stepped back, looking between the two brothers as they gazed back with an identical need. “We need to talk about this.” “What’s there to talk about?” Zachary said. “We want you. You want us.”

He bent forward to kiss her, and Eliza’s heart felt like a hummingbird in her chest. A lock of his black hair fell forward over his eyes before they kissed, and then his lips melded against hers like they were made for that purpose only. Eliza moaned softly, placing both of her hands against his broad chest as his palms slipped down her back and settled on her rounded backside. Zachary pulled back suddenly, his eyes wild with raw need. “I want to make sure before we continue,” he said throatily. “Do want both of us?” Eliza nodded eagerly. Joey chuckled from somewhere behind them. “Should we take this upstairs?” Zachary smiled at Eliza. “I think so.” The next moment, she was being lifted and carried up the narrow flight of stairs to her bedroom. Eliza locked her arms around Zachary’s shoulders, gazing at Joey as he followed them up the steps. His eyes were as lusty as his brother’s, and he licked his lips as she watched him ascend. It occurred to her that she’d never brought a date up to her room before—and now she was bringing two. Zachary set her on the wide bed, and Joey shut the door behind him. “No one else is here,” Eliza said as the men slowly began removing their clothes. Zachary’s full lips curved into a delicious smile, his eyes never

leaving hers as he pulled off his garments. “Better safe than sorry,” Joey replied, fastening the lock. Eliza turned back to him and gasped—he was already nude. He grinned at her, and her eyes took their time travelling the long, firm lines of his body; he was even more incredible than she remembered. Eliza stretched out one hand and pressed her palm against his chest, surprised to find his heart beating wildly under her flesh. Her eyes dropped below his waist to find his cock jutting toward her, thick and curving from a patch of dark curls. Joey covered her hand with hers and brought her gaze back upward, his emerald eyes sparkling with lust. “Your clothes now.” Eliza nodded, her mouth oddly dry. She felt hands at her back, her dress slipping over her head. Joey helped her pull off her clothes, his eyes on hers even as he stripped the last garment away. When she was naked, she turned to find a very nude, statuesque Zachary gazing at her, his face a perfect expression of awe. Eliza felt a thrill of pride move through her as the other Blake brother took in the fullness of her breasts and thighs, the soft curve of her waist, and the full glory of her blonde curls tumbling around her shoulders. “You’re a goddess,” he said, and his voice was oddly strained. Eliza smiled. “You two are the gods here.”

Zachary shook his head, moving toward her slowly as his blue eyes moved over her body. His long member bobbed when he stopped, and Eliza wanted to reach out and grip its base until it stilled. “You’re amazing, Eliza,” he said. “It’s not just your looks.” Joey’s hands wrapped around her waist from behind, and she felt his hardness nestle between the fullness of her cheeks. “It’s you, Eliza. It’s like we were meant to find you.” His lips kissed her neck, and Eliza shivered as desire weakened her knees. Zachary caught her chin with one hand. “I need your pussy so badly, I can hardly even think right now.” Eliza gasped, but it was from the violent shiver that rolled through her in response to his words rather than the vulgarity of them. He pulled her right hand away from her body and placed at the base of his cock. “I want you to taste me. I need to know how soft you feel.” Suddenly, Joey was bending her forward and holding her waist with both hands, and Zachary was sinking onto the bed, her other hand using his thigh for balance. The bulbous head of Joey’s member pressed against the slickness of her entrance, and a sharp pleasure shot down her legs. Is this really happening? she thought deliriously. “Are you ready?” Joey asked. “Because God, you feel ready.”

Zachary placed one hand on the back of her head, and his blue eyes were clouded with desire. Eliza nodded and smiled. “Oh, I’m ready alright.” She lowered her mouth over Zachary’s head just as Joey’s hands tightened on her hips. Eliza slowly ran her tongue over the slick flesh of the cock before her, bracing her body as Joey slid himself inside her to his hilt. Eliza looked up at Zachary as she worked her mouth lower on his shaft, and his expression was one of unbearable delight. Eliza threw her hips back into Joey’s slow thrusts, sighing as his shaft dragged against the tingling nerves of her walls. He let out a long, low moan as his body pressed against hers, and Eliza felt his hands slip forward to cup her heavy breasts. “Your pussy feels incredible,” he grunted, thrusting himself against her, hard, with each word. Eliza’s body squirmed in happiness, and her tongue worked more furiously against Zachary’s slick shaft. His hand was gripping her curls, and his breath was coming heavy and slow as her head bobbed before him. Eliza hummed out small moans of pleasure around Zachary’s cock, but her cries were drowned by Joey’s low grunts. Joey’s fingers twisted her nipples as his pushed deeper within her walls, every movement sparking a flame of ecstasy between her legs that spread

over her skin like a wildfire. Her mouth tightened around Zachary’s shaft, desperately trying to bring him the same pleasure that Joey’s thick cock was pounding into her. Zachary’s hips bucked desperately against her mouth, his strokes starting to match the quickening motion of his brother’s strong hips. Eliza moaned as loud as she could as Joey pounded into her body from behind, his strokes growing harder and faster as his pleasure grew and intensified. His hands twisted her nipples expertly, sending tiny streaks of pain to mingle with incredible pleasure radiating from her core. Zachary’s strokes were reaching a fever pitch, too —Eliza looked up and met his eyes as his hand tightened on her hair, and she felt an energy exchange occur that she couldn’t quite explain. Then, Joey’s stokes grew frantic and wild, and Eliza lost all ability to focus. She sealed her lips around Zachary’s shaft, trying to breathe deeply enough to moan as Joey’s head beat against her gspot hard enough to make her vision go blurry. Eliza’s body clenched and vibrated as her the walls of her pussy seized around Joey’s cock, and there was a brief moment of stillness where all three of them reached their peak at the same moment; there was an explosion of sound as the Blake brothers moaned and emptied themselves into Eliza’s pleasure-wracked body at the same time.

She wasn’t sure how, but she got to the bed before her legs gave out completely. Eliza laid on her back, struggling to catch her breath and solidify the day’s event at the same time. She felt one hand rest on her stomach, and another on her breast— Joey was on her left, and Zachary was snuggled on her right. Eliza had a brief moment of unreality; did this really happen? Are these boys even real? But she looked at first Joey’s emerald eyes, then Zachary’s pale blue gaze, and she finally began to believe her own eyes. Eliza was the first to speak. “So…now what?” Joey smiled, looking at her curiously, “What do you mean? You want to go again?” Eliza laughed and planted a kiss on his chest. “No, silly. I mean…is this all you want from me? Great sex? And just tonight?” Zachary started to play with one of her curls. “Let me ask you this: what do you want?” Eliza started to say that she didn’t know— then she realized that it wasn’t quite true. She remembered her fantasy the night before: the two of them bringing her on stage for an act—carnal or not. Was that what she wanted? To leave her business behind in favor of something flashier and more fast paced? Eliza thought of how depressed she’d been before this; maybe this was just the change she needed. “What sort of help do you need on the road?”

she asked. Joey and Zachary shared a look she couldn’t read. “Lots of things. Stage crew, announcers, opening acts.” “A woman swallowed swords for us once,” Joey said. “We had some clowns, a beast, a circus act—we have a lot of flexibility, and thus a lot of potential positions.” “But nothing you should sully your hands with,” Zachary said finally. He kissed her cheek, then spoke softly in her ear. Eliza felt dizzy, like a spell had been cast over her. “Do you want to come with us? Is that what you mean?” Eliza paused. “I don’t know,” she said. She imagined making her own costume, and shouting their arrival from a huge yellow cone. How flashy could she bring herself to be? “I don’t know.” Joey smiled. “Let me give you some help: if you say you don’t know the answer to a big ‘yes or no’ decision, it’s probably a no.” Heat flooded her face, and she looked away from them. Why isn’t this easy? “What then? You just leave me behind…even though you said I was special?” “No!” Zachary said immediately. “We want to be with you. Whatever that takes. Whatever that means for you.” Eliza’s heart did a somersault in her chest. “I want to be with you, too.”

Joey grinned. “See? I knew we’d all agree on this. And you were worried.” Zachary chuckled. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy.” Joey frowned. “What do you mean?” Zachary sighed. “Do we just come by once or twice a week until we’re done touring? Be part time husbands? Play this by ear?” Eliza listened to them in silence until then. “Why not?” They both looked at her like she’d just spoken French. They were quiet for a long time, so she continued talking. “Why not? This is new for us… so let’s make the rules as we go along. Play it by ear.” Joey looked at her, but a slow smile was spreading on his face. Zachary finally smiled, too, and it was like being kissed by the sun. Eliza laughed and pulled both of them to her, feeling like she was going to burst from all the joy spreading through her. Maybe I’ll marry one of them, and invite nasty Terese. Eliza smiled to herself, gazing down at her two new lovers. She wasn’t exactly sure how this arrangement would work out, but she knew she was in for one hell of a ride. Make that two. THE END

RIDING THE COWBOY BROTHERS Left with zero job prospects despite graduating at the top of her class, Olivia is forced to admit defeat and return home to her family’s ranch. Nearly penniless, she uses the last of her meager savings to make the shameful trek back home. Little does she know, her luck is about to change in ways that she could never have imagined. Soon after arriving home, curvy Olivia catches a glimpse of Dean, an irresistibly hot ranch hand who’s been a staple on her parents’ ranch for years-and her long-time crush. That afternoon, she also happens to meet Christian, Dean’s gorgeous younger brother who can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. Later that evening, she finds herself in an empty barn with none other than Dean and Christian, who are anything but shy about showing their intense desire for her. Will voluptuous Olivia be able to resist their temptations, or will she end up showing them just how much of a woman she's become and allow them to satisfy her voracious appetite?

“OK, I guess that's everything,” Olivia sighed as she closed the trunk of her navy blue Focus. She turned to Michelle, the young woman standing behind her, and wrapped her arms around her tightly. The two had been roommates, classmates and best friends for the past three years. Olivia swallowed hard, fighting back tears that were brimming in her blue-green eyes. “I'm going to miss you so much,” Michelle choked, and Olivia nodded in reciprocation. Olivia felt like the proverbial lion with her tail tucked between her legs. She couldn't believe she was heading for home. No doubt, her family would view her as the petulant child, determined to do things her own way until she realized mommy and daddy had known best all along. She'd driven away from her family's ranch three years ago toward a better life; a life in the glamorous fashion industry —or a two-year program at a prestigious fashion school to be precise. She'd decided there was no way she was going to spend her life surrounded by cows, horses, chickens, goats and every other animal that made her feel like she was living in a petting zoo. “And somehow that seemed unfair,” Olivia thought ironically. With the nearest neighbor living miles down the road, Olivia was the only creature on her

parents' ranch who was not getting any petting. But, a year after graduating at the top of her class and absolutely no job prospects in sight— unless one would call a part-time job at the local Walmart a prospect—and Olivia was forced to admit defeat. Nearly penniless, she was using the last of her meager savings to make the shameful trek home. “Just think, I'll be the most stylish woman on the ranch. And you never know. One day Diane Von Furstenberg's car might break down right outside and she'll be so impressed with the fashionable girl who gives her car a boost that she'll take me under her wing. I could be designing for one of the most prestigious fashion houses in no time,” Olivia tried to lighten the mood. She released Michelle then and slowly made her way to the driver's side door. Olivia waved goodbye, slid into the car and slowly drove out of the apartment building's parking lot. And in just a few short hours, she'd be pulling into the ranch's long front drive. “It isn't all bad,” she reassured herself as she drove. In truth, she'd missed her family terribly, finding it strange and difficult to see them so infrequently. She had assumed she'd get used to it, but even now as she drove home in defeat, she knew that at least a small part of her was already

excited to see her parents once again. They had empathized with her when she called to tell them she'd be moving back home, but the tone in their voices was hard to miss—they were sad to hear their daughter was struggling but obviously happy to have her back. Olivia smiled. She supposed she could have it worse. Sure, she'd bombed in the real world, but her family was right there waiting for her with open arms. Still, she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do now, and her thoughts meandered through the limited possibilities as she merged onto the highway that would lead her home. “Do I resign myself to an ordinary life on the ranch?” she wondered. “Bring modern fashion to the countryside in hopes of eking out a meager existence dressing the local ranchers in style? I could always become the first fashion designer for farm animals,” she considered wryly, and then giggled aloud at the ridiculous images the thought brought to mind. It was enough to jostle Olivia out of her misery. “That's the end of it,” she determined as, hours later, she pulled off the highway and onto the road that was so familiar. Just twenty more minutes and she'd be home, and she would sulk no more. Sure, she had no idea what lay ahead of her, but she was young and had time to figure it out. A smile returned, as she used up the brief

remaining moments of the drive to reminisce over her years away from home. She'd left the ranch an inexperienced juvenile, eager to sample everything the big city and life in the fast lane had to offer. She'd met a multitude of wonderful people—and a few creeps and degenerates—along the way. She'd grown in so many ways over the past three years that, even if her adventure in fashion ended here, she was a better person for it. Olivia took a deep breath as she spied the gates that marked the entrance to her parents' ranch, and she whispered as she exhaled, “Home.” Another minute and she had pressed the buzzer and the gates had opened before her. She began to ascend the long drive to the sprawling house at the top, vaguely able to make out the two figures awaiting her on the front porch—her parents, no doubt. But her attention was drawn elsewhere. A new figure appeared from beyond the side of the house, moving easily but deliberately toward the home's front porch. Even after such a long absence, she would recognize his confident stride anywhere. Dean. She'd spent countless hours watching him throughout her teen years and even more conjuring images of him in her adolescent fantasies. Oh, she'd almost forgotten how hot and bothered he'd made her, but it was coming back to her quickly now. Olivia had never been quick to envy—she was

generally happy to see others get, even when she didn't, but she remembered one evening Dean had forced her to succumb to the green-eyed monster. She'd been sixteen at the time. She had walked into the horse stalls late in the day to find him brushing down one of the family's horses after a hard ride. She'd never before thought she could be so jealous of a horse. She'd stood there, unable to move or tear her gaze away, watching the taut, sinewy muscles of his arms flex as he moved along the horse's body. He'd obviously gotten a good workout too; his naked torso still glistening with sweat. God, how she'd wished she was the horse right then. Hell, she would have been happy to be the T-shirt casually draped over his shoulder. He spoke and her eyes were drawn to his lips, watching them move as he talked softly to the horse. Until then, she had no idea a man's lips could be so captivating, but her body had begun to ache and throb as she imagined all the wicked things those lips could do to her. Olivia shook her head, trying to stem the flow of arousal that had begun to course through her veins and force her thoughts back to the present. She'd been just twelve years old when nineteenyear-old Dean had first come to work on the ranch, and only a doe-eyed virgin seventeen-year-old when he'd left at twenty-four to attend to some family matter. He'd never seen her as anything

other than the rancher's kid. Olivia had left for college while he was still away, but seeing him now told her absolutely nothing had changed. “Damn!” she cursed quietly, begrudgingly acknowledging her hopeless infatuation with her parents' number one horse wrangler. She slowed as she approached the top of the drive, giving herself an extra moment to regain her composure. Dean had reached the porch at the same time she slid her car into park, and she watched as he spoke with her father, doing her best to keep her gaze from settling on his lips. “Enough! Let's go, Olivia,” she chided herself, forcing the car door open and stepping out onto the pavement. Dean had just begun to turn away, heading back in the direction from which he'd emerged. But he saw her then and stopped, and Olivia could have sworn his mouth dropped open for the briefest of seconds. His eyes swept down her body and back up to meet her eyes as she ran her fingers nervously though her long, auburn tresses. Dean's jaw took on a harder edge before he turned quickly and headed around the side of the house. It happened so fast that Olivia wondered if perhaps she'd imagined his response to her; years of longing leaving her just a smidge delusional. But her parents were already descending the front steps, hurrying toward her, and just seconds later

she was wrapped in her mother's arms. She forced Dean to the back of her mind once again. It seemed inappropriate to be thinking about the hot horse wrangler as her father leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Hi Mom. Hey Dad,” she greeted them, returning her mother's hug and kissing her father's cheek. “I've missed you guys.” “And we've missed you terribly,” Olivia's mother uttered as she fought against the tears welling in her eyes, squeezing her daughter tight for one more moment before releasing her hold. “We're so sorry it didn't work out like you'd hoped, but you're here now, and we'll figure something out. Miracles happen, Olivia,” her mom told her emphatically. From birth, everyone had called Olivia the miracle baby. Her parents, Christine and Robert, were much older than most, told for years they would never conceive a child of their own. And then one day, years after giving up on ever having a baby, Christine had surprised everyone by announcing she was pregnant. Can't argue over miracles with Mom, Olivia thought wryly, nodding her acquiescence instead. Robert turned toward the house, leading the small group inside and out of the blazing heat of the midsummer's sun. “So, your mother has a surprise for you,

Olivia. Might as well get it out of the way now, Christine,” he mentioned as casually as he could manage. She eyed her mother suspiciously. “Well, you know we're just so glad to have you back home for now, Olivia. And there are others here who have missed you while you've been away, too.” Christine paused, but Olivia remained silent, waiting for her mother to continue. “I know you're not one for big parties and such, but I was just thinking a little gathering to welcome you home wasn't too much,” Christine smiled innocently. “And all the fun starts in a little over five hours,” Robert grinned, no doubt knowing Christine had planned on breaking that part to their daughter more gently, but unable to resist getting his wife into a little trouble. Olivia feigned an angry look, but couldn't help joining in her father's joviality with a grin of her own. Truth be told, she'd become much more accustomed to large crowds since going away to school. While the college campus wasn't large, she'd attended her fair share of parties both oncampus and off, and even frequented the occasional nightclub to further her worldly experience in the big city. “It's OK, Mom. I know you couldn't resist,” Olivia smiled and kissed her mother's cheek before turning past the main foyer and through the open

concept living area toward her bedroom beyond. She paused mid-step, realizing her parents might have changed things around while she'd been gone; perhaps they'd turned her bedroom into a sewing room, or replaced her bed with a billiard's table. Her parents must have understood her hesitation. “Of course it's still your room. You'll always have a place here at home,” Christine assured her. Olivia smiled brightly and then continued to her room with her rolling luggage in tow. Closing the door behind her, she rolled the luggage to the bed and immediately began stripping off the viscose dress clinging to her heated skin. She unzipped her luggage, rummaging for a cotton sundress and then continued onto the window, enjoying the coolness of the room's air conditioning on her naked flesh. She pulled the curtains aside—there was seldom anyone so near to the house in the rear yard. As she looked around, it surprised her to find the familiar scene outside so comforting. It's as if she'd been away out of necessity for all these years and just now coming home to the place she'd missed so much. “Strange,” she thought, feeling rather perplexed. Had she really just been the petulant child, determined to do things differently? Is this where she had belonged all along? Her thoughts changed direction quickly as she saw Dean striding through the yard. God, he was

gorgeous. Over six feet tall, broad shouldered, sinewy muscle everywhere. Olivia could feel her satin thong getting wetter with every second she continued to stare at the cowboy Adonis in the yard. Funny though, she remembered him spending a whole lot more time with the horses when she was here last, and less time looking like he was running the place... Oh, hell! That was it, wasn't it? Her dad was in his sixties, and his daughter had shown absolutely no interest in taking over the ranch. Dean looked like he was running the ranch because he was. The idea of Dean permanently ensconced at the ranch both aroused and frustrated her; drooling over him day-in, day-out—no person should be subjected to such torture. Olivia raised her arm, reaching for the curtain's edge, but her movement must have caught Dean's attention and his eyes found hers instantly before traveling down her body. She knew she should move away from the window or close the curtain in a hurry, but she stood there, clad in a skimpy satin bra and thong. And when his heated gaze returned to her eyes she forced herself to meet him there, staring back like the young, desirable woman she was, no longer the doe-eyed teenager. She'd never been so bold in her life, and a thrill coursed through her body knowing he was looking at her. But he didn't stop. Was he as aroused as she

was? Or was he having fun with her, seeing if he could make her squirm? The thought of the latter made her blush profusely and she darted away from the window. But, not before she saw the corners of his lips pull up in a sexy smile, leaving Olivia quite certain he must have been toying with her. She stretched out her arm to close the curtain and then crossed the room to sink down on the bed. Damn! I'm not here twenty minutes and the guy's already got me acting loopy! Of course it was a joke...I'm still just that little kid to him, right? Olivia closed her eyes, breathing deeply—an exercise she'd learned when stress overcame her at school—and waited for her calm to reemerge. It was one silly encounter at a window—not the end of the world. OK. That's enough humiliation for one day, she affirmed as she opened her eyes and committed to getting on with the day. She slipped into the cotton sundress, smoothing it down over her body and checking her reflection in the mirror. Dean might still see her as a kid, but she really had blossomed over the past several years. Her soft, feminine features gently framed by her thick, wavy hair; the firm, upper swells of her breasts rising above the low neckline of the white fabric of her dress; her soft waist and tantalizing voluptuous curves. She really had become a beautiful, young woman.

Olivia looked around the familiar confines of her bedroom one more time before leaving to rejoin her parents. Unfortunately, her father had retired to his room for a nap and her mother was busily engaged with the caterer she'd apparently hired for tonight's “small” gathering. Olivia wandered to the living room and outside through the sliding glass doors that looked out on the yard. She stood still for a moment, perusing her surroundings and hoping Dean had moved on to some other task elsewhere. There were plenty of ranch hands busy with work around the barn about a hundred yards from the house, but she moved in the opposite direction, heading directly for the forested path she knew was just a few moments' walk away. A minute into her stroll, she kicked off her sandals and started to run, enjoying the open space, the breeze against her skin and the familiarity of the path she'd wandered so often in her childhood. She entered beneath the shady canopy of the trees and slowed, catching her breath. A sound caught her attention up ahead and she froze, not frightened, but listening carefully to discern the noise. And it became clear quite quickly; the fervent whisper of a man and the quiet moans of a woman. She tiptoed forward until she found them, moving behind a nearby tree to disguise her presence. The woman was completely naked, laying on the blanketcovered ground while her shirtless companion

moved along her body, his lips exploring every square inch of her skin. It was so erotic; something Olivia had craved for so long, but the few intimate partners she'd had were too concerned with seeking their own release to spend much time seeking out her pleasure. “How are the front row seats?” Olivia nearly jumped out of her skin as a male's voice whispered behind her, just inches from her ear. She turned then, stumbling slightly in her hurry and the stranger's hands came out quickly, gently grasping her arms to steady her. Olivia was flaming red and desperately trying to whisper a plausible excuse for her presence. “I just got home, and I'd been here so many times before. I just wanted a few moments to myself...and then...” she couldn't find the words to continue. Her embarrassment and the feel of the stranger's rough hands on her soft skin were muddling her thoughts. “And then you stumbled onto a real-life sex show and couldn't take your eyes off it?” the man teased quietly. Instead of releasing her arms, his thumbs began to rub up and down slowly. Perhaps it was a result of her arousal from the erotic scene behind her, or maybe Dean still had her feeling loopy, but the stranger's thumbs were sending tiny ripples of pleasure through her body.

“You're Olivia,” he whispered, a statement not a question, but she nodded regardless. “Wow, I definitely get why he had such a...hard...time keeping his hands off you,” the stranger continued cryptically. “I don't understand...do I know you?” she asked, running his handsome features through her mind in search of some recognition. But although there was something so familiar about him, she was quite certain she'd never seen him before in her life. “My name's Christian. I'm a horse wrangler here on the ranch,” he told her. “Oh, nice to meet you,” she whispered and then instantly realized her polite greeting was entirely out of place in their current situation. “It's very nice to meet you, too, Olivia. I hope we have an opportunity to get...better acquainted. But for now, you should be going. Their break time is over in about three minutes,” he told her, pointing to the moaning couple behind her. Olivia nodded but didn't move. It wasn't until Christian had released his hold on her arms that she found her feet again and urged them to propel her back toward the house. She ran until she reached the clearing and then slowed her pace. She couldn't help but break out in laughter then, covering her mouth with her arm to muffle the sound. It certainly had been an unusual homecoming thus far. But that was enough venturing out. No more

stumbling onto sex shows; no more running into handsome strangers; and absolutely no more Dean. And the best way to ensure it: an afternoon with mom. Olivia picked up her pace once again and headed straight for the glass doors at the rear of the house where she'd exited not long before. She smiled. She saw her mother there, watching as she approached. Just a few more steps and she could secure the rest of the afternoon—nothing but peace and party preparations. Her mother stepped through the open glass doors and motioned her over. Olivia sped up even more until her mother called out to her. “Sweetheart, you remember Dean, don't you?” Christine motioned to the man who was just now walking out onto the back patio. Olivia nearly stopped dead in her tracks. “Damn! Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Can't a girl catch a break?!?” she cursed silently, exasperated by her luck. He stood casually next to Christine, but upon close inspection, she could see the hard set of his jaw return. “Hi Liv,” he greeted her and his deep, husky voice sent arousal coursing through her anew. He was the only person in the world who got away with calling her “Liv.” “Dean is taking over for your father,” Christine explained what Olivia had already figured

out. “Though, I think Robert will have to be six feet under before he releases the reins completely,” her mother teased the man standing next to her. Olivia hadn't stood this close to Dean in almost four years, and if she had thought he was drop dead gorgeous from a distance, it didn't hold a candle to what he looked like up close and personal; five-oclock shadow, tanned, glistening skin, and vivid, green eyes. “Are you alright?” Christine asked concerned when Olivia appeared to make no effort to respond. “I think I'm just feeling tired from the long drive, Mom. I'm just going to go lay down for a while and I'm sure I'll be good as new for the party this evening,” she uttered the lie quickly. “It's good to see you again, Dean.” She glanced in his direction, avoiding eye contact as she stumbled through the cordiality and quickly escaped into the house. In her room, she collapsed on the bed and quickly realized her excuse had not been entirely untrue. Whether from the long drive or the ridiculous chain of events since she'd arrived home, Olivia really did feel worn out. Her eyes fluttered closed and she was asleep within moments. But all the while she slept, her mind tormented her with images of the man she'd longed for since her youth. Strangely though, a new face entered her tortuous fantasies sporadically as she slept: Christian, the

man she'd run into in the forest. His rough hands held her from behind, sending shivers of pleasure through her body as Dean approached. Dean's lips found hers, but they didn't linger there long; moving from her mouth to explore her body and leaving a fiery trail with his lips as he descended. Christian's lips moved to her neck as his hands left her arms to cup her breasts. Dean was on his knees in front of her, just inches from where she ached and throbbed, desperate to feel his mouth on her clit. He covered those inches slowly, drawing out his sweet torture. Christian moved from behind her. Suddenly his face was within her view and she saw his jaw harden as he fought to maintain control over his desire. Her jaw dropped open. She'd recognize that jaw anywhere...the way it tensed as he gritted his teeth... “Olivia! It's time to get ready,” a voice broke into her dream as she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Olivia sprang up and nearly fell off the bed, stunned from sleep by her mother's voice while still reeling from the shock of that last discovery in her dream. Christian was Dean's brother—a much younger brother who bore little resemblance to his older sibling. Perhaps he was a cousin? But no, that jaw was too much the same to have come from some distant familial connection. “Are you awake, Sweetheart?” her mother

inquired further. “Um, yes Mom. I'm up. I'll be there in just a few minutes,” Olivia replied, buying herself a little more time. She rummaged through her luggage once again, looking for something that hadn't been wrinkled and dampened by her vivid imagination. She forced her thoughts toward preparing for this evening's event, finding her favorite semi-casual dress: a mid-thigh length cream-colored A-line dress. It had a deceptively demure front neckline while the back plunged nearly all the way to her tail bone. She stripped off her cotton sundress and slipped into her silky favorite. Combing her fingers through her hair, she checked her reflection. Satisfied, she stepped out of her room a moment later at precisely five-o-clock, taking a deep breath before making her appearance for the crowd she could hear congregating in the living room. She found her parents talking to an elderly couple across the room and joined them. From there, Olivia was reintroduced to the familiar friends and workers she'd grown up with, and introduced to other newcomers to the ranch and the surrounding area. She caught sight of Dean, standing just inside the room's sliding glass doors, talking with two young women she didn't recognize. Before jealousy could settle over her, she felt two warm, rough hands rest gently on her hips, his

thumbs coming in contact with the bare skin of her back. “Hello again, Olivia.” She recognized Christian's voice, whispering to her just inches from her ear as he'd done earlier that day. “No...entertainment for this evening?” She began to blush, but forced herself to reply flippantly. “I just thought I'd get myself a good seat in case something happens over there,” she teased back, nodding her head in Dean's direction. “Smart,” he commented back, “but something tells me Dean's not likely to settle for those when something he wants so much more is so close.” Olivia's gaze searched around the room looking for someone who might be of more interest to him, but she couldn't find anyone more attractive. Christian just chuckled behind her and carefully turned her around to divert her attention. His hands remained on her wide hips as his eyes, ablaze with desire, met hers. “I don't suppose I can talk you into ditching this event for a private party with me?” he queried, half serious and half in jest. “Sorry, I'm the guest of honor,” she replied in a voice so sultry it surprised her. Where did that come from? she wondered. “I suppose I'll have to steal you away some other time, when all this glitz and glamor doesn't have you so captivated,” he continued to tease.

Olivia smiled. A very large part of her had desperately wanted to say yes. Her brief encounters with Dean that day seemed to have every fiber of her body sensitized, and Christian was an incredibly attractive, compelling man. But it was odd, wasn't it? The younger brother of the man she'd wanted...forever? Her mother eliminated the need to make a decision a moment later, walking over to her with yet another new neighbor anxious to meet Robert and Christine's daughter. Christian released his hold on Olivia before her mother noticed. And by the time Christine had made the introductions and she could turn her attention elsewhere, he was gone. Glancing around the room, it seemed Dean had disappeared, too. The rest of the evening passed rather mundanely and by the time the last guest exited the front door, Olivia was exhausted. She bid her parents good night and retired to her room quickly, changing into a simple tank top and boy-cut shorts. Laying on her bed, she closed her eyes expecting sleep to overtake her within seconds. But ten...twenty...thirty minutes passed and still she laid there wide awake. Her body was simply too wound up. She stood and quietly left her room, tiptoeing through the house to avoid awaking her parents on her trek out into the yard. She wandered out to the familiar structures

she'd avoided earlier that day, stopping at the horse barn as she remembered the evening she had found Dean inside years ago. It was silly, but she couldn't resist. She strolled over to the doors and pulled one open, intending to slip inside for a brief moment of reminiscence. She must have been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard the voices carrying on inside, but as the door opened, she came to an abrupt halt. There were no horses there but rather a small group of men sitting around a poker table. Her eyes immediately found Dean; he would stand out to her in any crowd. She recognized Christian sitting to the left of him, but the other two men there were unfamiliar to her. “Oh, sorry. I didn't realize the barn had been converted to...” Olivia wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. What exactly had the barn been transformed into? “It's OK, Olivia,” Christian spoke up as his eyes grazed over her meagerly clad body appreciatively. “A new barn was built last year a little further out, and your Dad hasn't quite figured out what he wants to do with this old thing.” She nodded and turned to leave, but stopped short of the door. Christian certainly didn't seem to mind her presence, nor did the other two men who were doing their best to muster up their x-ray vision at the moment to see through her clothing. Perhaps now was an opportunity to get Dean to start seeing

her in a brand-new light; the poker-playing seductress instead of the tag-playing kid. She didn't have any money on her at the moment, but a brief trip back to her room for her purse would remedy that. “So, what are the stakes?” “Um, we don't generally play for money, Liv,” Dean explained slowly, reluctantly. “It isn't really worth the time. We've found it a whole lot more interesting to play for...favors,” Christian piped up. “What kind of favors?” Olivia asked, a little perplexed. She couldn't imagine this group betting manicures and laundry days, like she'd done with the girls on campus. “Like this,” Christian held up a slip of paper that read, “Two hours of barn work.” He held up another, “West end fence repair.” “Oh. So, I suppose I'm going to have to remember all the stuff my dad taught me in a hurry.” She felt a little out of her league at the moment, but refused to back down. Perhaps it was the wine she'd had at the house, or maybe she was just determined to be viewed differently now. “It's probably best if you don't, Liv,” Dean told her, his hands clenching as he spoke. She couldn't understand why Dean objected. Did he really think she wasn't capable of a little work on the farm?

“Oh, let her play,” Christian urged and the other two men muttered their agreement. Dean was definitely outvoted. He was silent for a moment, obviously searching fervently for a plausible excuse. Finding none, he nodded reluctantly. Christian was quick to pull up a spare chair next to his own and held it out, waiting for Olivia to take a seat. He passed her a pen and a handful of slips of paper and the group waited for her to write up her “favors.” And then the game was on. Dean seemed to relax some as the rounds continued, even cheering for her briefly as she won her first pot about six rounds in. But a few rounds later, his jovial mood fled. “OK, John. It's your bet,” Dean had goodnaturedly urged the man sitting to the right of him. John was silent for a moment before scribbling down a new “favor” on a blank slip of paper. He took a swig from the bottle of beer in front of him, glanced at the cards in his hand once more, and placed the slip on top of the pile in the center of the table. “I think I've got enough menial chores stacked up for one night. What I want is Olivia's shirt,” he grinned. Olivia's head shot up almost as quickly as Dean's. At first, she was confused; what would this young man want with one of her shirts? But as his eyes settled on her breasts, she quickly figured out

his meaning. Dean had apparently figured it out faster than her because he was already on his feet. “That's it. Game over. Everybody out!” he spoke menacingly. “But I'm not done playing yet,” Olivia spoke up before thinking, fortifying her resolve with another drink from the vile-tasting beer the guys had given her. Dean was protecting her...still seeing her as the little kid she'd always been to him. If the only way to snap him out of it was to shock him, then so be it. “You can sit there until the cows come home, Liv. Game's over.” He eyed the three men, making sure they knew he meant it. John and the other man left without another word but Christian remained seated, smirking at his brother. “Let's go, Christian,” he spoke, meeting his eyes directly. “You heard the lady. She's not done yet,” he smiled. Dean was still for a moment, a torn look on his face as his eyes darted to Olivia. But he turned then without another word and walked out of the barn. “You must have a good hand if you didn't take that 'out', Olivia,” Christian commented after Dean had left. She put on her best poker face and nodded seriously, but her mind was spiraling in a multitude of different directions—wishing he'd fold, hoping

that he wouldn't and wondering if she should have left five minutes ago. He was silent for a moment and then, “You know, Dean called the game over. You can walk away if you want to.” His hand moved to her arm. She figured it was meant as a considerate gesture, but the feel of him against her skin sent a plethora of new thoughts spiraling through her mind. She shook her head. “Then let's see your cards,” he told her, meeting her eyes as his thumb began to rub against the back of her arm. She laid her cards out on the table and waited for Christian's to join hers. His free hand placed his cards next to hers and she sighed, realizing she'd lost, though at the same time her body came to life in anticipation. “I guess that means I need your shirt, Liv,” he whispered. “Don't call me that,” she replied automatically, but still she moved from her chair. Christian swallowed hard as Olivia stood before him. His eyes flamed with desire but she could see something else dawning there, too, and she looked at him quizzically. “Dean called you 'Liv' and you didn't object,” he began as his hands reached for the hem of her shirt. He paused there, obviously giving her one

more chance to change her mind but she didn't move. Christian lifted her shirt's hem slowly, leaning forward to press his lips against the skin he had exposed. He raised the hem higher and his lips traveled upward, too. “You want him,” he told her, his lips still pressed gently against her. Perhaps it was because of her limited experience, but somehow it seemed wrong to blatantly lie in her current position, so she remained silent as his lips set her body on fire. “He wants you, too, you know?” Christian continued. “He's wanted you for so long, Olivia. You have no idea what he'd give to be where I'm sitting right now.” Olivia shook her head in objection. She had no idea why Christian was telling her such things...some strange sort of foreplay? But, she definitely didn't believe a word he was saying. He distracted her then, standing abruptly, having reached as high as the shirt would go before exposing her breasts. As soon as he was on his feet, the hem of her shirt continued upward swiftly. Her large breasts sprang free as her arms moved upward, Christian pulling the shirt over her head and off her arms. “God, you're gorgeous,” he groaned. And then his hands were on her quickly, cupping her full breasts as he moved to take one

nipple in his mouth. She moaned softly in response, the arousal coursing throughout her body settling between her legs. Olivia reached for him, her hands tugging at his shirt, and he moved to let her pull it over his head. Her fingers grazed along his heated skin and he groaned louder, releasing her breasts and pulling her hard against him. His mouth moved to cover hers; he was just a hair's width away. “Oh, hell no!” a deep, husky, so-familiar voice startled Olivia. “I kept my hands off her for years, Christian. You do not get her all to yourself,” Dean whispered harshly. Olivia's arms fell to her sides, stunned by the unexpected intrusion, and Christian released his hold on her, a smirk on his face. Dean moved quickly, crossing the room before either of them could respond. His hands moved to grasp Olivia's wrists, lifting her arms above her head and backing her up the few steps to the wall behind her. His eyes met hers and her mouth gaped open at the fire she found blazing there. He took advantage right then, his mouth coming down hard on hers; his tongue demanding immediate entry into the warmth of her mouth. Olivia struggled against his hold on her wrists, not wanting him to stop, but rather needing to touch him, to run her hands along the firm, sexy body

she'd fantasized about for years. His groan was guttural, almost inhuman, when Olivia's tongue moved to meet his own. It was a long moment before he came up for air, but finally, “You've driven me crazy since you were sixteen years old,” his husky whisper was filled with long pent-up arousal. “I've seen the way you've looked at me, and God, how I've wanted you. I don't give a damn if I burn in hell for it; I have to have you, Liv.” He took a step backward, pulling her with him before releasing his grasp on her wrists. His hands trailed down her arms and stopped once he reached her full breasts; he lingered there, his fingers outlining their sides. It was so unreal; Olivia's head was spinning. She gasped then; Dean's hands moved to her breasts, cupping them firmly while his thumbs moved back and forth across her nipples. She'd never been more aroused in her life. And then she felt something else; Christian's hands were at her wide hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her shorts and slowly pulling them down over her ass, past her ample thighs, leaving her smooth pussy fully exposed to Dean's view. Christian slipped the shorts off her feet and then she felt his hand wedge in between her thighs from behind, encouraging her to spread her legs open. She complied easily, so aroused that she doubted she'd have the will to resist anything either of these men wanted at the

moment. His hand moved higher, slowly working his way to her entrance. Dean watched as Christian spread her lips open, sliding a finger along her wet slit. His teasing was driving her wild and she writhed, trying to force his finger to do more. He obliged seconds later, plunging two fingers deep inside her. Olivia moaned, but Dean's mouth was there, kissing her with a fervor she'd never before experienced. Her hands moved to his shoulders, but the fabric there frustrated her. He recognized her vexation quickly, moving to grab the hem of his shirt, and yanked it off over his head. “Oh God,” she breathed, realizing that he was even more magnificent now than he had been years ago. Her fingers trailed along his shoulders, his arms, his broad chest and his firm, rippling abs before the waist of his jeans prevented her further descent. Dean's hands returned to her body, one hand squeezing her breasts while the other found the aching bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. He touched her gently at first, obviously enjoying watching her body writhe and buck in response. But then his speed picked up, rubbing her faster and faster, as Christian's fingers continued to thrust in and out of her pussy from behind. Olivia had never reached an orgasm so fast in her life, but

she felt it building quickly. Her moans grew louder and her fingers clawed against Dean's back. “I'm going to come, Dean,” her eyes meeting his then, the sensations of her orgasm enhanced tenfold by the fiery glint in his vivid, green eyes. Christian slipped out of her pussy as her spasms subsided, letting his slick fingers glide along the inside of her soft thighs, leaving them glistening with her wetness in his wake. Dean turned her around then, guiding her gently to the chair she'd occupied through the poker game and pressed her down by her shoulders. He knelt in front of her, spreading her legs wide. She felt completely exposed, seeing both Dean and Christian staring at her womanhood with a hungry look in their eyes; the erotic exhibition shot her arousal sky high. Dean found the dewy trail Christian had left and his lips kissed her thighs there, following the path upward. His tongue darted out, teasing her lips and she clenched against the tidal wave of pleasure that rushed low in her belly. She watched as Christian unzipped the fly of his jeans, pulling them off as his rock-hard cock sprang free. He was next to her a second later, his dick just an inch away from her mouth. She opened to take him in, and at the same time, Dean's tongue plunged inside her, thrusting deep before withdrawing and plunging in once again. Olivia moaned as Christian's cock slid into her mouth, the vibrations from her sounds

making him groan, gritting his teeth. His fingers laced in the hair at the back of her head, guiding her movements as he fucked her mouth slowly. His speed increased as the thrusting tempo of Dean's tongue inside her accelerated, but suddenly, Dean's tongue slid out of her. Olivia whimpered around Christian's cock at the loss. Dean's fingers filled her a moment later, assuaging the emptiness. But, this time something was different: his fingers were seeking out her G-spot, and when he found it, she almost jumped out of the chair at the intensity of the sensation. He rubbed her there, his speed increasing languidly as the exquisite pressure built within her. In his fervor, Christian thrust hard and the head of his cock reached the back of Olivia's throat. The tightness he found there sent him over the edge, withdrawing his member to watch as he shot his hot release all over her chest. Olivia's hands moved to her breasts, testing the feel of her slick flesh beneath her fingers as Dean increased his pace. Christian's hands were on top of hers almost instantly, guiding her movements once again. The slippery, sensual massage was enough to send her over the edge; she screamed as an orgasm unlike any she'd ever experienced before soaked her completely. Dean stood then, tasting her wetness on his fingers. Olivia was on her knees seconds later, her

hands coming out quickly to reach for the fly of his jeans, eye level from her position. Her mouth began to water. “I want to feel you in my mouth, Dean,” she breathed as she tugged his jeans down quickly. Her lips were there, her tongue darting out to tease the head of his massive cock. She lingered for a moment, enjoying the way his hips thrust forward as he groaned loudly. But she didn't torment him for long, sliding him into her mouth, struggling to take in every inch she could manage before sliding back until just the tip remained between her lips. She continued sliding his erection in and out of her mouth slowly, savoring the feeling of his hard length. Olivia could see movement from the corner of her eye, but she didn't realize what Christian was up to until she felt his hands on her hips from behind, urging her to lean forward as Dean moved to sit in the chair she'd occupied just a few minutes before. She moved with him, refusing to let his cock slip from between her lips, her mouth bobbing up and down on him as Christian's cock began to press against her wet folds. She moaned loudly as he entered her, sliding so slowly that her body was both enthralled and frustrated by his pace. She pushed back against him, forcing him deeper inside her. She moaned as his speed increased, thrusting backward to meet him.

“It’s my turn now, Liv,” Dean groaned huskily, reaching beneath her arms to guide her off of Christian. He pulled her on top of him in one swift movement, lowering her down onto his enormous cock slowly. Olivia experienced a brief moment of panic, worried that he was simply too big for her, but she was so wet that he slid inside her easily. He filled every inch of her; it was the most incredible sensation she'd ever experienced. He stilled, giving her a chance to adjust to his girth before thrusting in and out of her slowly. His eyes met hers as his tempo increased. “I've imagined you like this countless times...” his husky whisper sent tremors of pleasure coursing through her veins. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his, knowing they would part for her as her tongue darted out to find his. He groaned and thrust faster and already Olivia could feel yet another orgasm building within her. She wrapped her legs around him, giving her the leverage she needed to meet his thrusts. Her moans turned to muffled screams against Dean's lips as he fucked her fiercely. She felt fingers against her clit, and didn't know who they belonged to—and she didn't care, because just seconds later, her back arched and she started to come yet again, her orgasm resonating throughout every inch of her body. Before the ripples of her

climax had subsided, Dean thrusted into her pussy one last time, shooting his hot release deep inside her. Olivia collapsed against his broad, bare chest, breathing heavily as her body sought to recover from the most intense sex in her life. Dean didn't seem in any hurry to move either, his fingers moving lightly along her back. In the quiet aftermath, Olivia heard the muffled sounds of voices moving slowly toward the barn. She recognized the voices of the men from earlier, along with a few others. No doubt they were reassembling for another late night round of poker. She stood quickly, instantly feeling empty, but looking around for her clothing frantically, nonetheless. Dean moved to stand, but Christian waved him off, already sliding into his jeans and heading for the door with his T-shirt in hand. “Take it easy. I'll go,” he reassured them. “I'm sure the two of you have some catching up to do.” He grinned at Olivia. “I told you he wanted you, Liv.” “Don't call me that,” she said instinctively, as Dean pulled her back down on his lap. A light blush spread across her cheeks, remembering the last time she'd said that to Christian and he'd so easily figured out her secret—which was obviously no longer a secret. She turned her head, looking up to thank

Christian for handling the group outside, but her movement left her neck exposed to Dean. Her thanks came out as a breathless moan as he leaned forward to kiss along the length of her neck. Christian's eyes swept along her naked body one last time before he opened the barn door, closing it quickly behind him to block out the on-comers' view. Olivia heard his voice outside, making some excuse to deter the poker group, but she tuned out of the conversation quickly as Dean leaned her back on the table gently, continuing his trail of kisses down over her collarbone and across the upper swells of her breasts. By the time his tongue darted out to tease her nipple, she'd completely forgotten about the scene taking place outside. And when she felt his cock—hard again already— pressing against her, she forgot that anything else existed but the man she'd fantasized about for so many years. THE END

DESIRED BY THE RUGGED COWBOY Shy, beautiful, Leila Wright, knows many things. She knows falling in love is the stuff of fairy tales meant for everyone but herself; she knows her generous curves and broad hips are her least favorable assets and she knows she’s very unlucky in love. But everything she knows changes one stormy night when she makes love to a handsome cowboy, Jason Fielding. When Jason claims he can’t remember Leila or the night they spent in each other’s arms, her budding love for the dark, brooding cowboy instantly turns sour. Jason Fielding has his own personal demons but try as he might, he can’t stay away from the shy country singer who has captured his heart after just one night in his bed. Unfortunately for Jason, Leila has decided he’s the lowest form of humanity. Can this dark, brooding cowboy convince Miss Wright that she is right for him?

Jason Fielding broodingly contemplated the cold bottle of beer clutched in his hand as he slouched lower in his seat at the Bar H, the sleaziest bar he could find close to the rodeo. His cowboy hat rode low on his forehead, shielding his gaze from the other occupants of the room which suited him just fine; anonymity was just what the doctor ordered, as far as he was concerned. Several other men in here were also competing in the rodeo and given his stellar performance today, he was somewhat of a celebrity. He really wasn’t up for more crowing and back-slapping. He tossed back his head and held the bottle of beer to his lips, gulping without coming up for air until he had drained the entire bottle. The bar was teeth-jarringly noisy which was no real surprise since people were raising their voices to be heard above the din. Jason morosely scanned the occupants of the Bar H, his lips curling into a sneer of distaste as he watched one woman giggle and slap a man’s hand in pretend-protest while managing not to dislodge the ‘offending’ hand that was currently fondling her breast—openly. The place was a cesspool of rot, immorality, and decay, he decided, as he shoved to his feet and tossed some money onto the scarred table-top. He had nothing against stealing a kiss or two or enjoying

the occasional tumble in the hay with a willing lady; but he did have a problem with unapologetic exhibitionism. Plus, he was willing to bet his sizeable estate that half the people in here were married—to other people. It was enough to make a man jaded, he decided. He had drank six bottles of beer in a sitting, but to his annoyance, he had still not managed to attain the state of blissful inebriation he sought. He was one of those few people who could go through three dozen beers and simply have a full bladder. Jason tugged his hat lower on his forehead, completely covering his salt-and-pepper hair and shielding his bright blue eyes as he strode past the bar on his way to the door, his long legs easily eating up the distance. Looks like a storm’s coming tonight, he thought as lightening flashed. “Get your filthy appendages off me,” a distressed female voice ordered stridently in a cultured voice that made several other people turn around to stare in the direction of the voice. Jason shot a half-interested look over his shoulder not slowing his steps as he went. A voluptuous woman sat perched atop a bar stool, her purse clenched prudishly to her chest with both arms as she cast an alarmed look at the hulking giant pressing obviously unwanted attention on her. Jason recognized the giant on sight; no one knew

his real name, but everyone called him Slick. And everyone knew he was trouble. The woman was dressed wrong for such a dive in a tight sheath dress that accentuated the curves of her body and a wide brimmed hat that reminded him of Sunday school as a kid. She even had gloves on her hands; what was this, a tea party? She stood out so completely from the jeans and filth crowd that he just knew she had stepped in there seeking attention. One look at her fair, creamy, spotless satin skin and ample bosom and Jason could hazard a guess as to just what had attracted Slick. Heck, his own dick twitched warningly in his pants as he regarded the tantalizing curves of her ass and hips —but he ignored it. Well, she must have wanted some sort of male attention if she walked into a dive like this dressed like a traditional femme fatale. Jason shook his head unconcernedly at this further evidence of rot and decay and headed straight for the door. The sharp sound of a slap resonated through the air, making him draw up short, his disbelieving gaze flying back to the woman who was now no longer perched on the stool but standing toe to toe with the hulk and glaring at him. She had even pulled off one glove to give life to the slap. This woman obviously has a death wish, Jason thought, reluctant admiration surging through him; either that or she was just plain too stupid to live. No one,

not even burly cowboys with experience on the hard trail of rodeo, ever picked a quarrel with Slick. Without planning to, Jason let go of the doorknob and edged closer to the couple, his attention so focused on them that he trod on the toes of one patron. The man shoved him away roughly with a muttered, “Jerk.” Jason didn’t bother apologizing anymore since the man had already taken his recompense the oldfashioned way. Slick growled; a loud ugly sound that said he was angry and then he balled his hands into fists as though he were contemplating retaliating for the slap. Jason looked around; everyone else was watching the show with disturbingly morbid fascination. Obviously, none of these cowboys were going to intervene. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Slick shoved his way forward and planted himself in front of the woman; cursing his own innate sense of chivalry even as he did so. Slick paused, eyed him up and down and sneered, “Lemme guess, you’re her husband?” “No Slick. I’m just the guy who’s got a problem with you slapping women around,” Jason said in slow measured tones. “You wanna lay a finger on her, you’re gonna have to go through me.”

Jason’s stomach rumbled as he stared up at the other man and he tried not to let his nausea overtake him. The man was huge! Jason, at six-two, was nowhere near diminutive but considering the bad-tempered cowboy glowering at him was all of six-five and huge as three men put together, Jason could be forgiven for getting a little weak in the knees. Slick’s laughter rumbled out of his stomach and the woman behind Jason squeaked in alarm, one soft hand shooting out to clutch Jason’s arm from behind him. “No, I know exactly who you are; you’re the guy who’s got a death wish,” Slick said, laughing again. “Besides, I wasn’t going to hit the little lady. Thought about it for a minute, but me Mama didn’t raise no idiots.” Jason calmly took off his hat and laid it onto a bar stool, his meaning obvious; he was prepared for a brawl if that was what Slick wanted. Slick’s rheumy eyes sized him up dismissively. Obviously, next to his towering height of six-five, he thought Jason was puny and would be easily beaten. Jason was banking on that exactly. He turned and threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the woman; high cheekbones, pouty red lips and big forest-green eyes filled his vision. “Go!” he ordered quietly. He saw the other man’s hand clench into a fist

and he tensed, waiting. Slick swung, his hand flying in a wide arch as he aimed at Jason’s face. Jason dodged the fist, causing Slick to spin around carried by the force of his aim. Jason carelessly kicked the big man in the ass, making certain that the toe of his boots extended to the front of the other man’s crotch enough to crush some balls. The man’s howls as he staggered and crashed into a table were most gratifying. He went down and didn’t come up again. “Let’s get out of here,” he said urgently as he grabbed the hand of the damsel in distress and began to head for the door. “And who’s gonna pay for my broken table and glasses?” the bartender wanted to know as he stepped into their path with two men flanking him on either side. “Here you go, buddy,” Jason said immediately, correctly interpreting their stance to mean trouble. He shoved some money into their hands and made to pass by them with the woman. “Not yet. Who’s gonna see to Slick?” one of the guys wanted to know. “He’s gonna wake up mean as a bear with a sore paw and when he finds you gone, he’s going to want blood.” “Well, I don’t know what to tell you; I’ve never dealt with a vampire before,” Jason said coolly. He was fast losing patience with these eggheads. He knew they were just spoiling for a

fight because they were friends of Slick. Plus, the fact that they were going to stand by while the oaf disturbed the woman didn’t endear them to him. “Please take some more money and let us go,” the woman beside Jason chirped, fear straining her voice. “I could even perform for you for free tomorrow night.” Perform? I don’t like the sound of that, Jason thought. Jason saw her stretch out a hundred-dollar bill; saw the goons start to grin as they reached to take it, and with a silent shake of the head at his own stupidity, he swung his fist, grinning as it connected solidly with someone’s chin. Then all hell broke loose. Punches flew about so fast it was hard to know who hit whom. Jason took a solid one to the eye and growled as he responded with an almost deadly upper-cut that completely stunned the puncher. In less than five minutes, it was over; all four men were sprawled in various positions on the floor, nursing varying degrees of injury. The woman sighed exasperatedly as she leaned down to check on Jason. He popped open one swollen eye and grinned; or at least he tried to grin; it came off as a grimace. “Are you alright?” she asked worriedly biting her lips as she stared down at him in concern. Unbidden, Jason’s gaze fastened on her plump,

ruby lips as she worried at them with her teeth and he felt his dick twitch again in his pants with interest. The last thing he needed right now was to be attracted to a woman—any woman. Angrily, he pulled his arm from her grasp and sat up to glare at her. “I’ll live,” he said with unintended abruptness. “Just need a minute to move my ass,” he added crudely just because her Southern-lady appearance riled him. No tumble in the hay for this missus; plus, her touch seemed to affect him more than he liked to admit. The woman glared down at him, “That’s good to hear. Well if you can ‘move your ass’ before the cops get here, that will be great.” Jason bit the inside of his cheek to hold in his shout of laughter. He rose to his feet and staggered out of the dive, not waiting to see if she followed and not bothering to tell her that no cop touched this place with a ten-foot pole. Once outside, he turned around; the woman was right behind him, her green eyes glittering with an angry light as she miraculously produced his cowboy hat, then without so much as a goodbye, she swanned off, her nose in the air.

**** What the hell! Not even a thank you? “Hey,” Jason shouted, running after the woman. He caught up to her almost immediately, but he felt a little woozy by the time he grabbed the incredibly soft skin of her arm. “Won’t you at least tell me your name?” he panted. He worriedly listened to his own breathing; he never panted. “What difference does my name make?” Jason rolled his eyes; talk about ingratitude. The woman had it in spades! “No difference. Just humor me!” She let out a put-upon sigh that made Jason grind his teeth. Then she said, “Leila Wright.” “Not Queen Elizabeth? You sure?” he sneered. She glared at him then turned and stomped off once more in the direction of a nearby hotel. “Okay Leila, I shouldn’t have made that sarcastic remark—” “You shouldn’t have,” she cut in. “I probably came across as a jerk—” “You did!” she interrupted once more. They had reached the hotel, but she kept right on walking without even looking at him. “I just want to understand why you were in

that dive!” he persisted. “I mean, you’re all dolled up like a lady—” “None of your business!” she snapped, finally turning to glare at him fully as she collected her key from the receptionist and then she marched towards the elevator. Jason’s breath caught in his throat; the woman was a not just a looker, she was incredibly hot! He watched her leave, her hips swaying under the tight material of her sheath dress. His dick stirred again in his pants; Gawd help him. She wasn’t even his type. He liked tall skinny blondes; she was fleshy and voluptuous, with curves that could tempt a monk. Heck, he was as good as a monk these days, but her hips were driving him nuts. He followed to her to the elevator banks, his eyes boring into hers. She had the most amazing pair of green eyes. Leila hid her confusion beneath a frown. She had expected him to flee right after saving her; he hadn’t. Then she had thought when he got a gander of her under the bright lights of the hotel he would leave, but here he was. What did he want? She didn’t realize she had asked the question aloud until he said, “Well a thank you would be great. I mean, I did save your ass in there.” She gaped at him, just as the elevator arrived. Then she flounced in, her cheeks dark with anger.

He had followed her all this way for an appreciation? Well what had she expected? He was tall, sinewy, athletic, cultured and movie-star handsome with his sexily tousled salt-and-pepper hair and his bright blue eyes that made her think of the ocean. Of course, he wanted nothing from her but a thank you; only men like Slick seemed to find her attractive these days! “Thank you! There! You can toddle off now to join your friends in the bar,” she spat. He just threw her an amused look and joined her in the elevator. Then he invaded her personal space, walking closer and closer towards her until her back was pressed against the wall of the elevator and her breasts were thrust forward so high towards him they actually pressed against the hard wall of his chest. She glared at him, “Well? What are you doing?” She absolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that her voice had been little more than a squeak. “How about you thank me with a kiss, Sweetheart? I’m Jason by the way. Jason Fielding.” His blue eyes traced the soft curve of her lips which were presently gaping open like a little goldfish. Her soft cheeks were dark with embarrassed color and her cleavage continued to heave invitingly at him. His bulge pressed

insistently against her as he let her feel what she did to him. But he waited to see if she would give him the go-ahead; he had never pressed his attentions on an unwilling woman in all his thirty years of sojourn on earth and he certainly wasn’t about to start now, tempted as he was. “If you’ve followed me up here angling for sex, I must warn you, my husband is waiting in our suite,” Leila lied breathlessly, her green eyes wide in her suddenly pale face. Jason stared at her, wondering why she would lie. Was she afraid of him? He knew she was also attracted to him, he could see it in her eyes and he hadn’t wanted a single woman since Fiona; almost a year ago. Perhaps he had come on too strong. Slowly, he eased his body away from hers, watching intensely as the fear in her eyes receded. Then a little devil jumped onto his shoulder and he teasingly rubbed the flat pad of his thumb against her lower lip, his blood exalting in his veins at her indrawn gasp of air. Her lips were even softer than he had imagined and he almost lost his restraint. He rubbed some more and her tongue flicked out helplessly to lick his thumb, her eyes locked on his as she silently begged him to kiss her. With the last of his strength, he pulled away from her and leaned on the other side of the elevator, his gaze holding hers. The bell chimed just then and he exited before her, heading straight for

the room right next to hers. He staggered a little as he went and a frown of concern marred Leila’s brow as she watched him. Her concern immediately evaporated as he winked at her and said with a sexy grin, “Well, if you grow tired of your husband, you know where to find me, honey.” The inflection he put on ‘husband’ told her he knew she had been lying but had still respected her choice. Leila relaxed a little as she watched him open his door; he was a gentleman, she decided. He shoved the door, stepped inside and promptly collapsed, his long legs sprawling halfway out of the doorway. Leila stared, her mind working in circles. She could not scream; she had never been the screaming type. She rushed towards the big man who had helped her escape Slick and saw that he was out cold. It was only then she noticed the eggsize bump on his head. He probably had a concussion. She looked around wildly, she would never be able to lift him! As though on cue, the elevator bell dinged and two porters stepped off. Leila rushed towards them, “Please, please help. My...husband fainted in our doorway.” “We have a doctor in residence. We’ll get him,” one of them said immediately.

“We probably shouldn’t move him,” the other one echoed kneeling down to check for a pulse. An elderly man appeared almost immediately, right on the heels of the other porter. He checked Jason, did some poking and listening she didn’t understand. Then he looked up with a relieved sigh and said, “He took a nasty blow to the head. Nothing he can’t sleep off, ma’am. But you should probably have some aspirin on hand because he’s going to have a devil of a headache when he wakes.” Leila nodded, her eyes wide with relief. He was going to be okay. As annoying as he was, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to the handsome cowboy. She had seen him earlier at the rodeo and had been impressed at how he seemed to move as one with his horse. The man was a natural and a fine cowboy, in more ways than one. Her thoughts snapped back to the present as the three men hefted Jason to an upright position and proceeded to drag him towards the room. She ran inside ahead of them and pulled down the covers. Then they lowered him gently onto the bed and all three of them stepped back, panting heavily. Then the doctor motioned for her to undress Jason. With shaking hands, she did as she was told, trying not to gasp when she peeled off his shirt and revealed a hard, masculine chest. This man could

easily grace magazine covers or win Cosmo’s hottest bachelor of the year. She absolutely refused to touch his pants! “Thank you all so much. I don’t know what I would have done!” They all grinned at her. Then the doctor bent a stern eye on her and said, “I would advise you let him sleep before you return to your...normal activities.” His knowing look confused Leila until her eyes alighted on a pair of feathered handcuffs and a whip lying on the drawer beside the bed. Her cheeks heated even as the two porters wore identical smirks on their faces. Lordy! What they must think of her and Jason! She didn’t thank them again as she hustled them out the door and shut it in their faces.

**** Jason didn’t wake up until sometime around three a.m. and even then, he couldn’t tell what woke him up. He dimly remembered soft hands stroking his brow and forcing some pills down his throat with a cool glass of water; he looked around and saw her curled up on the far side of the bed. His vision blurred as he stared at her and he blinked. Fiona? He must have made some sort of sound because she startled and turned to look at him. He thought she murmured something, but he couldn’t tell what. Her soft palm felt his forehead for a fever and then she nodded approvingly, as she leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Her sweet, feminine scent of jasmine hit his nose and he moaned, low and long as he buried his nose in her hair. His hands clutched her hair and he pulled her closer as he sought her lips with his. The smooth silk of her nightgown brushed tantalizingly against his chest and he groaned. She gasped and pushed weakly against his chest even as her mouth opened under the gentle onslaught of his. Jason groaned in her ear; Leila frowned. She thought she had heard him say something like

‘Fiona’ but in the next breath, his lips trailed to her neck and she forgot her misgivings. Her hands wound about his neck as he tumbled her onto her back on the bed. She gasped and he immediately plunged his tongue into her mouth, assaulting her senses with his tender kisses. Leila’s hands wound about his neck as he deepened the kiss. His hand urgently trailed down the smooth material of her silk nightgown, driving her wild as he shaped her figure with his hands. Impatience quickened his fingers and Leila gasped. The small sound penetrated the haze of drug and alcohol and he lifted his head to stare blearily at her. “Relax,” he ordered hoarsely. “It will just be like before.” Before? Leila wondered dazedly. His hands squeezed the plump, ripe fullness of her breasts and he lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth through the material of her night gown. All rational thought fled. His other hand raised her nightgown, revealing her sweet pussy covered by a small thatch of hair. A groan of purely masculine triumph escaped his lips as he immediately rubbed the pad of his thumb against her sensitive nub. Leila moaned, unused to such sensations as she leaned harder against his fingers.

“Like it, huh?” Jason growled in her ear, enjoying her soft wetness even as his tongue and teeth continued to feast on her nipple. Leila was moaning disjointedly now, unable to make sense of the sensations he was awakening in her as she spread her legs wider for him. He tried to insert one finger into her entrance, but she was so tight, he couldn’t. He looked down in surprise; when had Fiona gotten so fucking tight? Lust roared in his veins as he rubbed repeatedly at her entrance and she whimpered and opened wider for him. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled his hard, thrusting dick out of his pants and positioned the wet, glistening, velvety tip at her entrance, rubbing and rubbing as he mingled his juices with hers. Slowly, he began to enter her, instinctively trapping her upper body under the strength of his to still her movement. He buried his face in her neck, groaning as her unconscious movements created delicious undulations that pushed him deeper and deeper until he was sheathed in her to the hilt. All thoughts fled as his hips began to rock back and forth in a mating dance as old as man himself. Leila clung to his hard, powerful shoulders, moaning his name repeatedly as he fucked her hard. He was huge, filling her so completely that she could feel him in every inch of her pussy, including

her G-spot. His masculine scent assailed her senses, driving her wild even as his arms wrapped possessively around her like steel bands. Leila moaned and gasped, her hands twining about his neck as she offered him her body. “Baby,” Jason moaned in her ear, “You’re so fucking tight, it’s incredible. I love your pussy!” His words shoved her even closer to the edge of fulfilment and before she knew it, she was gasping and clenching and unclenching around his thick, hard length. “Yes, yes, yes,” she moaned helplessly as he fucked her harder and drove her ruthlessly over the edge. When she had drifted slowly back to Earth, his white teeth gleamed in the dark as he said, “My turn.” Then he began to pick up speed, fucking her at an increased tempo that amazingly awakened the flush of desire in her again. He thrusted his member higher and deeper repeatedly until she was gasping and groaning against his throat. Jason could not believe the sensations and sheer pleasure coursing through him as he made love to the soft, welcoming woman in his arms. He lifted onto his arms, his hips driving harder and faster as he rode furiously towards orgasm. She clung to him, matching his rhythm instinctively, until, with a mighty groan, he threw

back his head and poured his hot seed straight into her pussy. The sensation of his hot release pouring into her was so erotic that she came apart in his arms again, her pussy spewing juices to mingle with his deep inside of her. Within seconds, Jason was asleep, his eyes shutting as he drifted off into dreamland. His left hand was flung possessively around her waist. Leila’s green eyes caressed his face as he slept and then her eyes widened with alarm as she realized one irrefutable truth; she loved him. She was so shocked by the realization that she sat up immediately. It could only be a temporary aberration. How could she love a man she had only met that night? But even as she tried to deny it, her entire being absorbed the knowledge that she had well and truly fallen for the silent, chivalrous cowboy; she wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise. He had never seemed put off by her weight; he made her feel sexy with the way his eyes roved lustily over her generous curves; and yet he was such a perfect gentleman that she could never pick offense at his obvious interest. She leaned down and kissed his brow, giggling at how boyish he looked in his sleep as she caressed his forehead lovingly. Her tender smile slowly faded away and then died completely as Jason shifted in his sleep and

murmured one name: “Fiona.”

**** Jason came awake slowly. He took stock as he did so, noting that his tongue felt cottony in his mouth and his head pounded. He looked around the room, his eyes alighting on a packet of aspirin and glass of water on the bedside table. He grimaced. No wonder he couldn’t remember half of what had happened last night; he had mixed aspirin with booze. He searched the recesses of his memory, trying to remember how he had gotten into bed; all he could recall was a bar-room brawl and a lady bending over him and later shoving his hat into his hands. He frowned as he tried to remember something else about how he had ended up in his own bed, but nothing came to mind. He sat up gingerly, his eyes squinting against the bright daylight sun streaming through the windows. He slowly rose to his feet, his body weaving in place as he dragged himself to the bathroom. The cold shower pelted down onto his head and shoulders and Jason arched beneath the fine spray, feeling his energy return. His stomach growled the minute he got out of the shower and he ruefully tugged on a fresh set of clothes. Thank heavens I don’t have any rodeo activities scheduled for today, he thought. His blue eyes

alighted on his rumpled bed; he had never been a quiet sleeper, he was always tossing and turning. With a shrug, he headed out of the room and strode downstairs to the restaurant for a meal. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that he was still within the breakfast hour. He quickly ordered a meal of toast, scrambled eggs and coffee and drummed his fingers impatiently as the waiter hurriedly put his order together. The meal arrived with gratifying speed and Jason dug in immediately. He sighed with satisfaction as he took his first sip of hot coffee, feeling the warmth spread through his body even as the perfect taste made his taste buds weep with joy. He slowed as he started on the last bit of toast, feeling eyes on him. He looked up in confusion and met a pair of green eyes glaring at him from across the room. A flash of recognition hit him in the belly and he grinned; she was the woman from the Bar H. Jason raised his coffee cup towards her in a mock toast and then gaped as he saw her face turn an interesting shade of red right before she literally swelled to the size of a beach ball from sheer indignation. “Jeez, someone needs to loosen up,” Jason muttered under his breath as he returned his gaze to his empty plate. He remembered now that she had had a hard

time thanking him for saving her derriere last night. What was her name? Leila, his subconscious supplied, even as he dimly recollected rolling her name around on his tongue. The woman rose to her feet and slowly crossed the room, her eyes trained on Jason’s face as though she were searching for something there. He hesitantly let go of his coffee cup, and rose to his feet politely. He was a lot of things, but his mother had raised him right. “J-Jason,” she said, her voice catching slightly on the word. He nodded in greeting, eager to get back to his coffee. She searched his eyes with hers as though looking for something. She didn’t find whatever it was if the sudden pinched set of her lips was any indication. “Why are you looking at me as though you don’t remember me?” she demanded. He shrugged. What was she going to tell him? Had Slick come after her? “D-Do you remember me?” she asked hesitantly, confusion and fear making her voice quaver as she stared up at the dark forbidding man. “I remember enough to regret last night,” he tossed out carelessly, her less than enthusiastic behavior after he had damn near gotten beaten to a

pulp, foremost in his mind. She gasped and paled, swaying on her feet so suddenly that he reached out immediately to grab her hand to steady her. How could she have been so wrong about this man? At twenty-eight years of age, one would think she would be a better judge of character, but no, one boyish grin and she had fallen for him like a ton of bricks! Then as if that wasn’t enough, he had moaned someone else’s name while she was still wet from their lovemaking! Leila’s small palms balled into fists as tears welled in her eyes and then, before she quite knew what she was going to do, she swung in a wide arc. Her fist connected with his cheek with a satisfying thump. “I hope you rot in hell for this Jason Fielding! I hope you suffer eternal damnation!” she yelled, startling the restaurant staff with the sheer volume of her shouts. Then she whirled around and ran sobbing from the room. Jason stared at her in confusion. What was she blathering on about now? Seemingly of their own accord, his legs started after her. But after one quick panicked look over her shoulder, she dashed into an elevator and the doors slid shut before he could reach the banks. Impatiently, he waited for the next one to

arrive, all the while thinking about what she had said. Eternal damnation? For what, saving her? It didn’t add up. Had he done or said something that made her feel he had wronged her? He searched his memory and came up blank. Unbidden, images of himself entwined in naked splendor with Leila flashed through his mind. It was a dream, he assured himself firmly. There was no way he would have forgotten making love with anyone! Besides, he hadn’t been drunk when he left the bar. But you did take a lot of booze plus a blow to the head and aspirin, a snide inner voice reminded him. “Shut up,” he snarled angrily earning a fearful glance from two elderly ladies also waiting for the elevator. The women moved back perceptibly, their eyes watching him carefully. Great! Now he was talking to himself! He rushed into the elevator as soon as it arrived and noted that the two ladies hung back, staring at him out of beady little eyes as though he were a crazy man. With a mental shrug, he pressed the buttons for his floor and then raced straight into his room as soon as it got to his floor. The room was empty. Well, what had he expected; that she would be in his room? He didn’t sleep with her; why would

she be in here? He turned to leave, but his toe kicked against something on the floor and he stopped cold. It was a woman’s hat! Instant recognition flooded him; that was the hat Leila had worn in that accursed bar last night! How had it gotten here? Unless... In a sudden flurry of movement, Jason leaped towards the large bed in the middle of the room, searching for something, anything. Just proof that he had actually lain with Leila. Perhaps a condom? He hoped he had enough sense to use one if he had actually slept with her. He was an extremely wealthy man by any standards and women had been forever trying to trick him into commitment. Besides, if she was the sort who ‘performed’ at night as she had promised to do for the bar guys last night, he sure hoped he had remembered to protect himself. He yanked the duvet away in one angry frustrated motion as he searched in vain for incontrovertible proof of their joining. Then his blood froze in his veins when he found a lacy bra tangled with the duvet. He had made love to her last night and forgotten; no wonder she had slugged him! He was a monster!

**** Jason rubbed against the stubble of his five o’clock shadow as he staggered off the field, nursing a few more bruises from his bull-riding show. He could feel the amazement of the crowd at his horrible performance. He would have been shocked, too, but he happened to know exactly what was eating him. He couldn’t sleep, eat or think since the last time he had seen Leila Wright three days ago. He kicked a clump of dirt as he walked, his body radiating angry energy that had nothing to do with the fact that he had just lost another level of the rodeo competition. It had everything to do with a pair of twinkling green eyes and soft red lips. He was suffering! He needed to see her and try to make amends. He had gone a little crazy after he found the bra. No matter how jaded he might personally be, he hated hurting a woman—any woman. He had raced down the stairs to the reception, so upset that he had not even remembered to use the elevator. When he had asked for her room number, they had politely but firmly refused to give it to him. He had staked out the hotel and even the Bar H as much as he could but he had seen no sign of her whatsoever.

From where she sat in the crowd, Leila watched the tall, powerful figure of the man she had come to detest and she shivered. She had changed hotels just to avoid running into him, but every time she shut her eyes these days, there he was! Something inside of her tightened as she watched Jason stride off the field with slow measured steps, his head turning this way and that as though searching for someone. With a sudden flash of certainty, she knew he was looking for her! Her stomach quivered as she slouched lower in her seat. The last thing she needed was for him to let her know some more just how distasteful he found her. She could only hope he was surly enough to avoid the fair coming up tonight, she thought angrily.

**** Later that night, Leila climbed onto the stage at the fair organized for cowboys in the rodeo and sang her heart out. She was wearing a sheath leopard skin gown that accentuated her curves and clung to her so tightly it seemed she had been poured into it. She also had a very large sunhat perched atop her head that added to her air of mystery and made her feel even sexier than ever. Her voice was a lilting soprano as she crooned, tantalizing everyone and drawing them in. She sang about unrequited love and loss of innocence and betrayal in such haunting tunes that by the time she was finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Her gaze met Jason’s once across the crowded room, but she simply looked through him as though he didn’t exist. She bowed low, accepting the praises and whistles from the gathered crowd, painfully aware that in a corner of the room, Jason sat, silently watching her. His eyes roved languorously over every inch of her body with such bold intensity it was almost as though he had touched her physically. Leila felt a flush work up her cheeks as she pretended not to notice that her breasts had beaded

into hard little points of desire beneath the thin lace of her bra. So that was what she meant when she said she was going to ‘perform’ to make up for broken furniture, Jason realized as he watched her drink in the adulation of the excited crowd. She was a country singer, and a damned good one! His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he watched her accepting praises from several patrons at the bar. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met; he decided to try to ignore a surprising stab of jealousy as he watched her grin at a gap-toothed octogenarian. Heck, the man was old enough to be her great-grandfather and here he was, wanting to knock the old man’s teeth out for smiling at Leila. He had fallen for her, he realized. It didn’t even make sense since he hadn’t gotten to know a lot about her, but he felt strongly attached to her. Before he was even aware of moving, he was standing in her path. He saw her green eyes narrow with a flash of intense hatred and he knew genuine sorrow. “You sing very well,” he said. “You have an amazing voice.” Leila didn’t say anything, just regarded him in wary silence. What more does this jackass want from me? she wondered. “I’m sorry,” he got out before she could

escape him. “I’m a monster. I feel sick about this situation, and I haven’t eaten in days. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Leila.” Cold anger darkened her eyes and he realized he was digging his hole deeper. “Leila—” he began. Without a word, she yanked her arm from his grasp and melted into the crowd. Jason bowed his head in defeat, but this time, he didn’t try to stop her. He let her go. The fair had opened up into a party of sorts with dancing and drinking going on. Rock and rolled strummed from the speakers as different cowboys shuffled with their partners on the dance floor. Jason sipped his beer, sitting in a corner of the room as his eyes scanned the crowd for signs of Leila’s leopard skin dress. He heard a throaty laughter and looked in that direction; Leila was being twirled about by one brawny cowboy with his hat pulled low over his forehead as he dimpled down at her. They look so perfect together, he thought feeling something suspiciously like jealousy eat away at his insides. He watched as Leila’s laughter turned into girly giggles as the wonder-cowboy bent her backwards over his strong arm. Impatience strummed along Jason’s veins and in a flash, he was beside the laughing couple. His heart constricted in

his chest as he watched Leila’s happy smile dry on her face as she caught sight of him. “Mind if I cut in?” he said gruffly, his eyes daring the other man to challenge him. “As a matter of fact, I do!” Leila spat. Jason grinned at her. “I was talking to the man darlin’. Jesse?” he asked. Jesse Catalona grinned and quickly released Leila into Jason’s arms. “That’s not even remotely funny,” she growled. “Tell me about it. How did you manage to keep your toes intact? Catalona is notorious for having two left feet!” “That’s not what I meant,” she said, her eyes flashing fire at him as she stiffened in his arms. “I like Jesse!” “As do half the gay men in Texas! He’s gay,” Jason lied baldly. He watched the confused expressions play across Leila’s features and he hid a grin. Jesse, who also happened to be a good friend of his, would skin him alive if this got back to him. Jesse was straight, and unless Jason missed his guess, was as interested in Leila as he was. “You have an amazing voice,” he told her softly. “Thanks,” she muttered, ducking her head as she hid a blush. Her eyes sparkled at him, lively and

vibrant. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. His head descended slowly and his mouth melded with hers. Passion sparked immediately and with a groan that was part-triumph, part-longing; Jason deepened the kiss. His tongue stroked hers, sending shivers of excitement down her spine, and without thinking, Leila arched into him, her breasts shoving against the hard wall of his chest. Jason’s hands tightened around Leila’s waist and the feel of his wide palm caressing her ass drew her back to Earth with a thud. She jerked out of his arms and glared at him as she furiously rubbed the back of her hand across her lips. “Stay the hell away from me,” she spat, her eyes glittering angrily at him. She spun around, and for the second time that night, melted into the crowd.

**** Leila whistled to herself as she strolled towards her new hotel after the rodeo activities two days later. Jason had performed so badly again that some people had actually accused him of deliberately throwing the match. She had learned so much about the cowboys just sitting in the stands and her ears were still ringing with tales of his sexual conquests, financial triumphs and saddle skills. Evidently, he had been a playboy extraordinaire for years and no one was surprised to see him with two women at a time. He was even more popular in cowboy circles because he was a bronc-riding champion ten years in a row. Well, what most of those people didn’t know was that he was a jerk and a heartless libertine. She had learned that lesson firsthand. He’d been sending a dozen roses to her place of work every day for the last two days. She had blushed mightily when the first set was delivered, drawing whistles and calls from everyone in the bar. But the second night, one look at the roses and she had stolen outside to weep silently, her anguish rocking her body. She loved him, she knew; but that also meant he had the power to hurt her. A prickling sensation at the back of her neck

made her pause in her strides but when she turned around, the hallway was empty. She needed to freshen up quickly and rush downstairs to perform. Being a country singer certainly had its perks—for instance, it put food on her table—but when she was depressed, singing was the last thing she wanted to do. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and sob her heart out. “Sobbing doesn’t pay the bills, honey,” she murmured to herself as she hurriedly shrugged out of her tattered jeans and tee-shirt and slipped into a slinky black dress that hugged her body like a second skin and heavily pronounced all her curves. Leila bit her lips as she turned this way and that in front of the mirror. It was a decent enough dress, but was it too revealing? A harsh knock sounded at the door and she rolled her eyes. The manager at this hotel was a royal pain in the ass, and he seemed to think that she was supposed to be the very first person to arrive for the performance. “Leila,” the unsmiling man on the other side breathed the moment she opened the door. “Jason! How the hell did you find me?” she grated, her heart clutching painfully in her chest as she glared at him. Was it her imagination, or was he somewhat thinner than she remembered? “I just wanted to explain what happened. It

was a misunderstanding, nothing more.” Leila glared back at him, “Good for you. Now get out!” “I didn’t forget that night. I knew something good and profound had happened I was just fuzzy on the details.” Just like that, her anger returned. Her eyes glittered at him as she pouted, “You couldn’t remember we slept together! It’s in the past. No need to rehash that now.” She turned her head away, waiting for him to walk out of the room and out of her life. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears glistening in her eyes. “What I mean is, I took a lot of booze and then you must have given me aspirin at some point —” “I gave you aspirin for the bump on your head,” she said defensively, leaning back to put some much-needed space between them. “Now you’re going to hold onto that?” His turquoise gaze slanted over her smooth features, her sad eyes, her pouty mouth and he felt his heart tighten in his chest. “Give me another chance Leila,” he said softly. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. That was the first night I slept peacefully without any nightmares.” Leila chewed at her lips. He looked honest

enough that she wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t let go of something that was eating away at her. “Who the hell is Fiona?” Unbearable sadness crossed his features, and then he said, “Why don’t we sit down and talk about this somewhere else? Like over lunch?” “No. Here!” she insisted with childish petulance. He grinned. She was as cute as a button. “Fiona was my wife who ran off with my best friend and got killed in a freak accident as they drove off.” He waited to feel the familiar pain in his chest, but all he felt was just a hollow sadness at two lives wasted and nothing more. No bitterness; nothing. He looked at her, “I was bitter for a long while. Hell, I was bitter until I met you. But somehow you healed me. You are good, pure, smart, funny and sexy as hell.” Leila blushed. “Oh stop. I’m fat.” “You’ve got a body that could tempt a eunuch and make a monk stare; and I love you just the way you are. You are the sexiest, most beautiful woman alive.” Leila stared into his eyes; sincerity blazed back at her. He loves me? How? Jason seemed to read her mind because he said softly, “You’re the best thing that has ever

happened to me. Is it any wonder that I love you?” Leila’s reservations melted away, as she leaned into him and lifted her face for his kiss. That was all the encouragement Jason needed. With a rough hungry sound, he tumbled her onto the bed and rolled her onto her back, easily fitting his slender hips between her legs. Leila inhaled sharply at the feel of his hard, masculine length against her. Their hands jointly made quick work of their clothes and they were naked in each other’s arms in record time. Then she instinctively pushed her breasts into his face, wanting to feel that exquisite sucking he did so well. Jason obliged immediately, his lips licking and flicking over her nipple. Frenzied need pulsed through Leila as Jason’s callused palms caressed every inch of her satiny skin in a mixture of wonder and desire. She writhed against him as craving roared through her before pooling in her moist center. Leila cradled his head, holding him tighter against her breasts as she pleaded, “Fuck me now, Jason!” That was all the encouragement Jason needed as he thrust into her in one sure masterful stroke that joined them perfectly and sheathed him to the hilt. “I love you,” he murmured, his blue eyes clashing with her green ones.

Leila grinned at him, her heart bursting with happiness as she said the words he longed to hear, “I love you too, Jason. Always and forever.” THE END

SEDUCED BY THE RODEO COWBOY Lucy Anthony takes pride in three things: her luscious curves, her fiery red hair, and her ability to sear a steak better than anyone around. Then the famous "Cowboy Knight,” Sir Hugh Riley, rolls into town; he's tall, brawny and brimming with irresistible charm. Lucy tries to pay the rodeo no mind, but Sir Hugh chooses to have dinner at her little hole-in-the-wall diner, and her world is forever changed. Luckily for her, Hugh's tastebuds are as honed as his roping skills, and he decides to repay Lucy for the best meal he's ever had with a free show. It seems like a harmless gesture, but her friends think otherwise, and Lucy can't deny the incredible tension between them. Will the gentleman cowboy succeed in wrangling her heart? And what will he do once he has her pinned?

"Two eggs, side of ham, grits with sugar!" Elizabeth's shrill soprano came calling back to Lucy from the doorway. The girl was handing off a stack of dirty dishes to Joe, whose knees buckled under the weight of the enormous pile. "Got it!" Lucy grabbed the eggs and cracked them into the oiled skillet, then dipped the ham in butter and set it to frying. The kitchen was already too humid for sleeves, so she'd taken off her cook's apron and had on a dishwasher's, preferring to risk a grease burn rather than faint from heat stroke. She could hear the customers chattering on steadily, like a hive of happy bees. Fridays were always busy, even when it was this hot and most people would really rather have something at home; people couldn't resist their urge to gather together when there was a big event in town. Cowboy competitions never failed to bring in scores of individuals, young and old, eager to see the spectacle and fanfare the rodeo had become. The host this time was none other than the famous Sir Hugh, the Cowboy Knight. The men in the diner grumbled about the gruff young performer, denying him the right to be classified along with the cowboys of their day, who took things like roping, riding, and long drives more

seriously, sometimes at the expense of the animals. Cowboys like Hugh Riley promoted entertainment value over any obsession with technical skill, and promised "A show for the whole family----but especially the princesses." It was a bold move to so openly embrace the angle of catering to women as a man, but it worked wonders for Sir Hugh: his shows were consistently sold out, he had scores of female and male admirers of all kinds, and he was always asked to return to a city for a show. Lucy heard this all secondhand from Elizabeth and Rosie, the new waitress from the East Coast. Rosie in particular seemed to be hoping for a chance to interact with Sir Hugh; Elizabeth made faces at Lucy behind Rosie as she fawned over the man. "He tosses a rose to the most beautiful woman in the stadium before he faces the bull," Rosie said breathlessly, her eyes lustrous as she described the scene. "A gorgeous, fragrant rose that you get to keep! And he's so strong." She clasped her hands together in front of her ample bosom, and Elizabeth stifled a laugh with great difficulty. "No tricks during that part! Just tackles it and shows him what's what." She smiled then, her expression far too bawdy for the likes of her young face. "I'd like him to show me what's what, if you know what I mean." She cackled and winked at Lucy, who allowed a weak chuckle before shooting an apologetic look at Elizabeth.

"I can't believe the mouth on her," Lizzie said later, shoving a stack of mugs into Joe's hands more roughly than necessary. After she stopped him from falling, she let out an irritated groan. "Sorry, Joe. I know she's only been here a week, and she's only been talking about that cowboy a day, but already I hate her enough to hate him by association." "I don't know," Lucy said as she stirred the grits briefly and ladled them into a bowl. She set everything on a tray and handed it and a folded cloth napkin to Lizzie, brushing a few stray strands of blonde hair from the younger woman's eyes. "He does sound interesting. The whole knight angle is pretty unique. And it certainly works." Lucy looked at the full diner, packed with lanky teenage girls, young men with thin mustaches, older ladies fanning themselves with menus during hot flashes, and disgruntled looking husbands trying to distance themselves from all the giggling women. They were all going to a preview show this evening before the real show tomorrow night; Sir Hugh would be giving a short demonstration with a baby calf. It was a popular set-up, and Lucy could only respect an artist who perfected and individualized a craft. When Lizzie came back with the tray, she looked more calm, and set down the wooden tray thoughtfully. "Are you going?" she asked in a low voice as

Rosie breezed into the kitchen. Lucy shrugged, looking at the new waitress. The girl's uniform was cinched around her slim waist with a braided belt she said she'd worn the last time she saw Sir Hugh, and he'd almost tossed her a rose. It was good luck, she insisted. "If he didn't toss you the rose, doesn't that kind of make it bad luck?" Lizzie had asked innocently. Rosie made a face and patted her brown hair, which was piled on top of her head elaborately. "I also have my good luck hair tie," she had explained. "I thought of that, too." Rosie marched out haughtily, and Lizzie imitated her. Lucy laughed, earnestly and loud, and it brought a real grin to Lizzie's face. "So, are you going?" she asked again, leaning against the counter to appreciate the temporary lull in service. "I can see him tossing that rose to you," Lizzie teased. "Wear that green dress you have! You'll definitely look queenly." She nudged Lucy conspiratorially. "Plus, it'd burn Rosie's ass real good." Lucy giggled. Lizzie could lapse into blue speech herself sometimes, but it was endearing rather than off-putting for the young woman. "I might. I need a night out. But that man's looking for a princess, not a queen." She smiled. "I think you're a queen by default once you get to forty."

"You're thirty!" Lucy giggled. "And no man ever turned down a beautiful queen. You should think about it." Lizzie caught sight of a couple looking at menus. She slapped Lucy's shoulder and darted out the swinging doors to the main part of the diner, smoothing her flyways down again. Lucy fingered her own red hair, now pulled back in a simple ponytail, her oval-shaped face framed by bangs her sister insisted she get the last time she was in town. Her hair was her favorite part of her body, and when it was down, it helped to accentuate her curvy frame, cascading gently to her waist like a crimson waterfall. Her shapely body had been a source of deeply conflicting emotion her whole life, even after she met Victor, the man she used to believe she would marry. Victor had practically worshipped her full figure, slowly teaching her to love her pillowy thighs, soft breasts and wide hips, and even the plumpness of her backside. She always knew she had a pretty face, but her weight was harder to deal with. Victor eventually erased all of her self-doubt, then brought it back in one crushing blow when he stole her life savings and skipped town with another woman. He'd apparently secretly impregnated her a year before, and had been planning to flee since then, throwing away the five years he'd spent with Lucy.

The only time Lucy ever missed work when she wasn't sick was the month following the breakup; Joe and Harold, the owner, almost discussed having her committed to a sanitorium. Cooking was the only interest she had left after that, and pouring her heart and soul into the restaurant was what ultimately saved her and allowed her to grow back the chunks of her Victor tore out when left. Lizzie had started working there soon after at age 18, and by three years later, the diner's staff had become Lucy's family. It turned out that Victor soaked up so much of her time, she'd hardly gotten to know anyone in the two years she worked there. Harold came in from the back office while she was cooking two chicken sandwiches and baking potatoes. "You seen these weirdos lining up for that idiot?" He scoffed. Lucy smiled at his square face, sun-baked and lined from years of squinting his eyes against glare and heat. He had worked as a farmer for twenty back-breaking years before saving enough to buy his own diner. Childless and widower, Harold's Place was the man's pride and joy. Despite appearing perpetually grumpy, Harold was a sweetheart, and the 50-year-old was particularly sweet on Lucy. She was grateful for his affection, but made it clear long ago that she saw him as an

older brother figure, or even a father. He tried not to show his heartbreak and avoided her for a while after, but he still showed strong signs of favoring Lucy. "Idiots," he grumbled again as he ambled closer to her. "Flocking to an even bigger idiot." Harold pocketed a hard-boiled egg from the counter while she watched. "I see them," Lucy said, spooning sauce over the chicken and topping the breasts with cheese and thick slices of toasted bread. She placed them next to the baked potatoes and handed the two warm plates to Lizzie through the kitchen window, then turned her full attention to Harold. "You really think he's an idiot?" she teased. "Or are you just mad that he's not one of those cowboys who still gore the bull before the end of the show?" "I never sanctioned no bull goring," Harold said, mock-offended. "Just a good knock on the head or two. You gotta show 'em who's boss, not just run around them and lead 'em into a cage." "Why don't you try?" Lucy poked his beefy chest playfully, and Harold flushed. "I'd like to see you grab a bull by its horns." "You know I got a bad back, Lucy," Harold groaned, clutching his spine dramatically. The

motion threw his round gut forward, and Lucy poked that too, giggling. "Doesn't stop you from trying to pick me up, you old geezer." Harold laughed uproariously and clutched his heart, swaying on the spot. "You wound me!" he said in a stage shout. Several heads turned toward the kitchen. "I die!" He staggered out of the room, startling Lizzie as she walked back in. "Giving you trouble again?" Lizzie asked, suppressing a grin. Harold's crush on Lucy was the source of much amusement for the diner, and the two had grown used to gentle ribbing. "The same," Lucy answered. She was still thinking about the rodeo; Victor had loved going, and particularly loved the antics of the rodeo clowns. Lucy herself hated clowns, as she'd carried over a phobia of them from her childhood years. Even from faraway they set her teeth on edge, and she preferred not to look at them at all. She felt silly for it but refused to change her mind, especially for Victor's rude teasing. "Say, Lizzie? Are there still clowns at cowboy shows? I haven't been in a few years." The young girls dipped two pots into a soapy bucket of water and whirled her hands around in the bath as she thought. "You know, the first few

I've been to had clowns, but Ma said they weren't like they used to be. Less makeup, more tricks. They don't interact with animals the same. Usually it's baby animals, if they're there at all. But the last handful I can think of had magicians, or dancers. Can't remember what Sir Hugh advertised," she finished apologetically. Her head cocked to the side. "Why do you ask?" "No reason," Lucy said quickly. "But you are thinking about going? I could get you a ticket. I was going to go with Ma but she's sick." Lizzie was speaking faster and faster as she grew more excited, her pale eyes opening wide as she spoke. "We can have a special dinner before! Or have drinks after," Lizzie said shyly. "What do you say?" Lucy studied her bright eyes and round face, pink with happiness. "Maybe," she said finally. "I really have to make sure I have something to wear, and see if Harold is all right with cooking tomorrow evening." She kicked the idea around in her head more, getting comfortable with it. She could afford one night off this week, definitely. She looked through the box window into the dining area at all the bodies wound with energy, voices animated as the talked about the coming attraction. She missed feeling excited, thrilled for something, moved and stirred from the core of her being. It hadn't

happened since...she realized with a shock that she didn't know the last time she felt so enthusiastic about anything, rather than merely content. It dampened her spirits, and she felt herself leaning away from the idea altogether. Just then, a squeal from behind her drew her attention. She and Lizzie both jumped and turn to see Rosie standing behind them, gazing at something through the window. "I can't believe it!" she said, her voice theatric. Her hand fluttered to her chest. "It's him!" Lizzie rolled her eyes at the girl's stage whisper, turning to look at who she was so enthralled with. Lucy watched in amusement as the girl's already white skin paled, and her mouth dropped open. All she could manage was a single emphatic "Oh!" She pressed her hand to her mouth, embarrassed at her outburst. Lucy turned to look at what had caused them to pose so comically, ready to mock them for it, and found herself imitating them instead. Her fingers touched her lips briefly as her eyes locked on the man, broad-shouldered and long-legged, while he strode to a small table almost exactly in front of the window. His square jaw was covered with dark stubble, and sharp green eyes peered out from under a wide-brimmed Stetson, black as coal. His shirt was a deep red, and it looked soft to the touch, right

down to the stripes of ebony outlining the seams. His dark gray pants clung to his muscular thighs and were tucked into worn leather boots, the jingling spurs shining merrily as he walked. He sank gracefully into the wooden chair, removing his hat swiftly as he sat. The three women watched him pick up the menu left on the table as study it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Lucy watched as a buzz spread through the dining room, and all heads turned toward the cowboy in a dramatic wave. She studied his square jaw, his clefted chin, his strong, calloused hands; a gentle warmth began to spread through her body, starting from her thighs and radiating outward. "Wow." She wasn't sure who said it, but it might as well have been all of them. Sir Hugh finished flipping through a menu just as a small boy who had been staring at him, slack-jawed, seemed to screw up all of his courage and strode right up to his table. Lucy heard the small boy speak in quavering voice. "S-Sir Hugh?" he asked. He was clutching a piece of paper with a drawing on it to his small chest. The cowboy turned in his seat and gave the boy a brilliant grin. "Yes, Sir?" he said heartily. His voice was low and urgent, and the little boy blushed

a vivid tomato red. "Would you sign this for me?" he squeaked. He handed Sir Hugh the flier, and Lucy saw now that is was an ad for the show. It showed a heroic caricature of him, lifting a bull over his head with both hands with a look of fierce triumph. A few cartoon women swooned on the sidelines, and one that looked oddly like Rosie clutched a huge flower to her comically oversized bosom, thought it was a carnation and not a rose. Her eyes were wet with tears. Bold print proclaimed SEE SIR HUGH CONQUER THE BIGGEST BEAST IN THE WEST---AND CAPTURE YOUR HEART. A huge balloon heart was doodled under the message. The cowboy pulled out a felt pen and scrawled his name over the heart, and the young boy looked ready to burst. "Thank you!" he screeched, and took off back to his parents' table. His mother snatched the drawing from him greedily and pored over it, sending the little boy's face crumbling into misery. Rosie cleared her throat, eyes fixed on the man. "Looks like Sir Hugh is ready to order." Lucy realized why the cartoon girl reminded her of Rosie---the woman had styled her hair, clothes, and make-up exactly like the caricature on the flyer. Her lips and eyes were darkened with lipstick and liner, her cheeks rouged, and with her waist

cinched, her bosom was as large as the woman's on the page. Lucy felt her spirits deflate slightly as Rosie sashayed over to Hugh, pad of paper in hand. "Welcome, Sir Hugh," she purred, and Elizabeth snapped out of her reveries and gave Lucy a look of total shock. Rosie had deepened her voice and was throwing out her chest as she stood. "What can I get for you today? Do you like...anything...that you see?" She stretched out the words, bending closer to him with the pad as she spoke. Rosie batted her heavy eyelashes at him sweetly, and Lucy felt a stir of revulsion before she could reign it in. She waited for the cowboy to turn on his apparently legendary charm. Instead, the man referred to the menu and looked up at the waitress only briefly. "I'll have the special," he said flatly. "And a glass of beer, if you please." He smiled, the exact same smile he'd given the little boy, and this time it looked cheap and vacant. His words held a certain edge, and Rosie stood up, chinks pinkening under the caked-on rouge. She took a step back, her smile faltering momentarily before she regained her composure. "Steak with a whiskey glaze, creamy mashed potatoes with garlic and chives, roasted broccoli and cheese toast." Rosie rattled off the special through a mouth frozen in a forced smile. The cowboy studied his hands as though they were

changing before his eyes, and the waitress bristled. Elizabeth covered her mouth as she dissolved into giggles, thoroughly tickled at seeing Rosie shut down so brutally. "Excellent choice, Sir," she tried, her voice full of fake cheer. "And that of course comes with---" "I know," The cowboy said politely, not looking up. "I can read, darlin'. Now scoot on, would you, please? I could eat a horse, but I wouldn't want to have to walk to the show." Rosie narrowed her eyes, and Lucy was afraid for a moment that the woman would melt down, not knowing what else to do after what was clearly her first rejection. Then she took a deep breath in, and she spoke again, voice void of all emotion. "Absolutely. Coming right up." She turned on the spot and pushed past the swinging doors in the kitchen, handing the pad to Lucy without looking at either of the women and disappearing into the back room. There was silence, and the two women shared a pregnant look before laughing madly, trying to suppress their giggles with their hands. "Oh my god," Lizzie said as she pulled a steak from the icebox and handed it to Lucy. "I thought I was going to die. I mean, I literally left my body and saw myself standing below me, that was so funny!" She slapped her thighs, tears welling in her eyes.

Lucy started to cook the special automatically, having developed the recipe years before and perfecting it over the years. It was the most popular diner dish, and was always warmly received. People from out of town would ask for the special, since anyone you questioned in town would recommend it to a hungry traveler. Harold's Place was clean, homey, and cheap, and if it weren't so on the outskirts, business would have been booming constantly. As Lucy let the sauce simmer with the steak, she was grateful for their relatively unknown status. Besides having a few busy hours each weekend day, it was an ideal place to perfect the art of cooking. Lizzie chattered with her happily as she finished cooking the dish. "I wonder if he heard about us somewhere," Lucy muttered to Lizzie as she assembled the food on the plate. She'd worked to make sure steak was perfect, rare and juicy, and the potatoes were creamy and flavorful. "I hope it's alright." She gave the plate one last anxious turn before she sent Lizzie out, eyeing the girl from the window as she dropped the plate gracefully on the table. Sir Hugh gave her a real smile, and she blushed as she walked away, nearly tripping over her own two feet. "I almost died again!" she said shrilly. "Did you see that?"

But Lucy was watching Hugh. His eyes had closed for a moment after he took his first bite, and his face changed---softened somehow. He ate speedily, joy breaking over his handsome face as he parsed the ingredients. He cleaned the plate faster than Lucy had ever seen anyone eat, and touched the beer only when he'd mopped up the last of the whiskey glaze with a piece of broccoli and popped it in his mouth. He let out a low, satisfied moan, and leaned back in his chair. Lizzie rushed out to pick up his plate, curtsying to him awkwardly before turning away. "Wait," he called as she headed for the door. Lizzie spun, her face frozen in shock. "Yes?" she squeaked. A girl near her laughed, high-pitched and mean. Lizzie flushed red with anger and straightened. "Could you please send out the cook?" Hugh asked gently. "That was the best meal I've ever eaten. I want to shake the hand of the noble man who made this for me." His eyes were gentle, and he gave her another encouraging smile. Lizzie gulped and nodded, and Lucy felt an unexpected surge of warmth for the man, followed by ice-cold fear when she realized he was asking to see her. She watched Lucy come toward her, panicking. "Wash your hands!" she was saying. "Give me that apron, oh goodness---wear your

dress apron!" She dove into a cupboard and pulled out the crisp white coat that Lucy wore when she cooked for friends for parties or birthdays. It looked more like a long-sleeved white dress when you got it on, and Lucy didn't know any other cooks who wore anything like it, but she loved the way it hugged her curves and made her feel taller. She let Lizzie tie it on her, then she quickly re-did her ponytail. "Okay!" Lizzie's eyes were frantic. "Okay, go on out! Go!" Lucy's heart was pounding as she pushed through the doors. A cool breeze hit her, and she was grateful for it. Sir Hugh's emerald eyes fell on her immediately, and she watched a slow smile creep across his face at her approach. He was standing by the time she arrived, and he looked her up and down quickly. He pressed his hat to his chest and held out his hand. "Ma'am," he intoned. "I do believe your meal has single-handedly made it possible for me to perform this evening. Hugh Riley." His voice was earnest and deep, and Lucy felt a jolt of energy pass between them as she clasped his hand. He brought it gently to his lips, and a rush of heart and desire weakened her legs momentarily. She giggled, and Hugh's face flushed with pleasure. They hadn't dropped each other's gazes since meeting eyes.

Lucy felt bewitched. "I'm flattered," she finally said. "I'm Lucy. Lucy Anthony." He released her hand, and Lucy felt a stab of regret at not finding an excuse to hold it longer. "You must have been trained by the best," Hugh said. He took a step closer to her. "I can't remember the last time I had a steak so juicy. And those potatoes!" he whooped, and Lucy laughed nervously. "Just what my mama taught me," Lucy said modestly. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so hard. "I'm so honored to hear that you liked it so well. I'd be happy to cook it for you again any time." "I might have to take you up on that offer," Hugh said. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, but his smile was harmless. "I might have to steal you away and take you on the road with me!" His eyes were darkening, and they showed her he was only half joking. Lucy felt her body respond to the heat in his words before she could stop herself. Lizzie flapped her arms at her from the kitchen window, mouthing a word as though her life depended on it. Lucy finally realized the word was Flirt! Flirt! "Well, I'd have to know what kind of show you put on," she tried, smiling coyly. Lucy couldn't quite remember how to play along, but luckily the

cowboy had enough charm for the two of them. "I guess you'll just have to come and find out," Hugh said, his voice thick with suggestion. A wave of desire struck Lucy again, and she gasped softly, passing it off as a laugh at the last minute. The smile on Hugh's face was less innocent now. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a square of paper. "Here." He pressed the square into her hand. "I think you should come. I can show exactly what it is I do." He grinned at her and cupped her chin briefly, then tossed a handful of coins on the table. Lucy was rooted on the spot, watching his backside sway as he left the diner. The room exploded with noise as he left, all the women clamoring excitedly and shooting Lucy jealous looks. She finally regained the feeling in her legs and spun around, walking with a silted gait to the back room, where Lizzie was gaping like a fish out of water. "Oh my gosh! What was that? What was that?" Her voice was the highest it had ever been, and she was bouncing from foot to foot. "He...invited me to the show," Lucy said, the reality finally dawning on her. Her face was burning, and her pulse was still racing. She touched her chin, where his rough fingers had gently held her face. He had definitely been flirting, but how much of it was for show? How much was reflex,

and how much was actual carnal appetite? She shivered, remembering the way his green eyes scanned her curves, and his look of approval. She looked at the ticket realizing it was very near the front. She wondered why he had it in his pocket, and what person was now without entry to the show. Lizzie's eyes bulged from her skull. "He liked the meal so much, he wants a little dessert. You're going to have to tell me how it pairs with Cowboy," she giggled, and Lucy pushed her shoulder playfully. "Well," said a snide voice from the corner. Rosie was still sulking, but she'd emerged from the back room to observe the scene. She apparently hadn't like what she'd seen; her nose was turned up, and her lip was curled as though she smelled something foul, but she was still trying to smile. "It seems like loverboy chose his...target." She spat the word out so violently that Lucy stepped back, confused. "What are you talking about, Rosie?" Lizzie said aggressively, stepping in front of Lucy and meeting the other woman's eyes. Rosie smiled with her whole mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Guys like him pick a gal before the show, pick 'em out of the crowd or in front of the stadium," she said slowly. "Then they play 'em like

a fiddle. Get 'em hooked, so they'll always come back to their show, and they'll always have a meal ticket. Don't feel bad," she said with mock concern, her eyes narrowed. She gazed held Lucy's gaze over Lizzie's shoulder. "Usually they try to make it a little worth your time. But don't get too attached. There's a million like you. There. Always. Are." She smiled as she spat out the last few words. "You'd know!" Lizzie shouted furiously, turning a few heads in the diner. Her fists were bunched at her sides, and she was angrier than Lucy had ever seen her, stepping right up to Rosie's smug face. "You'd know wouldn't you, you---you--trollop! You good-for-nothing, back-alley tart!" Rosie's eyes went wide with surprise, then a shadow of pain crossed over them, and they started to water. She let out a sharp sob, and Lizzie looked hesitant, realizing the effect her words seemed to have on the other woman, but then she doubled down, narrowing her eyes and taking a deep breath to speak again. "Rosie," Lucy said quietly, and both of the girls jumped and looked at her. Lizzie immediately recoiled in shame, but Rosie stood tall, crying silently. "I think it's time for you to leave. We'll see you tomorrow." Rosie tugged off her apron and threw it on the floor. She turned and sprinted out the door, and

several diners let out nervous titters. Harold started to distract him from his place at the register, rushing to refill glasses of water, shooting the women questioning looks. Lucy was trembling lightly, running her hands over her ponytail and feeling numb, like she'd been encased in a block of ice. She felt Lizzie's hands on her shoulders distantly, and it took a moment to register her hug. She felt herself crying, and Lizzie's face contorted in fury when she pulled back and saw the moisture on her cheeks. "I'm going to drown that evil witch," she said viciously, wiping at Lucy's face with a handkerchief. "I'm going to chop off her head---" "Lizzie, what if she's right?" Lucy raised her eyes to the younger woman's, showing her all the pain and uncertainty Rosie had unearthed. "I'm just some dumpy old maid, of course he just looked at me and saw a gullible money clip! What else would he see?" "You!" Lizzie said desperately. "Don't let that cow shake your confidence. Lucy, you're gorgeous. You know half the customers get crushes on you. Even if you weren't built like a real woman---" Lizzie blushed, but pressed on---" You shine so bright and honest, anybody can see you're an angel. You're worth twenty-five of Rosie. At least." She hugged her again, and this time Lucy returned the hug, feeling her spirits lift. Harold walked in just

then and smile. "It took her a week to throw a real tantrum, eh?" he said as they pulled apart. His smile was odd, fixed, like it was painted on. Then Lucy realized why, as soon as he spoke again. "And all over that cowboy." He shook his head and laughed, but it was too loud. "Yeah, and he invited us to come see him," Lizzie said, lying swiftly to spare Harold's feelings. "I'm pretty excited that Lucy finally agreed to tag along. You mind cooking for her tomorrow night, Harold?" her voice was relentlessly peppy, but Harold's smile still wasn't as warm as usual. "Sure! No problem!" He walked toward the back office, not looking at Lucy. "You have a great time, Lucy." "We will," Lizzie said nervously. The door shut before Harold could say anything else. "Damn," she said fervently. "I was hoping he didn't see that." Lucy tried not to let it get her down again. She recalled the intensity of Hugh's gaze, his skin against hers, the heat in her body sharp and crackling. She couldn't protect Harold forever, not if she wanted to have her own life. And as she busied herself changing back into her dishwasher's apron, her mind kept seeing Sir Hugh's tall, broad body pressed against hers in the shadows of the

stadium, kissing her deeply and chanting her name, she realized she wanted her own life very, very much.

**** The next day, Lucy was distracted for her entire shift, and when six o'clock rolled around, she took off her apron nervously and went with Lizzie to basement, where there was a small room they used for naps and bathing. They washed up from the tap that dispensed hot water, and Lucy put on the brilliant green dress that fell softly to the tops of her black boots. Lizzie wore a light blue dress and braided her hair with strands of gold, and she looked even lovelier than usual. She helped Lucy brush out her hair until it fell around her in frothy waves. Harold let out a low whistle when they emerged, his expression complicated with emotion. "My, you two are a couple of princesses, indeed." He smiled gently and offered an arm to each of them as he walked them out the door. "Have fun. Be safe." "Thank you," Lucy said gently. He retreated back into the diner, and the two women joined arms as they strolled toward the center of town. It was about a twenty-minute walk to the stadium, and the show didn't start for an hour and a half, but they were too excited to stay in the hot diner. The air was brisk and fresh, and it made them feel more

and more alive with each step. Lucy felt her heart grow with joy as she talked with Lizzie in a low voice, laughing about customers and the tricks they might see. "I've got a ticket near you, maybe I can sit by you and no one will notice!" Lizzie said hopefully as they approached the tall stadium. It was the prettiest building in town, besides the courthouse, a pristine white that was re-painted at least once a year. There was already a large crowd out front, and the hum of conversation intensified as the women drew nearer. Lizzie saw someone she knew and waved them over enthusiastically, but Lucy was lost in her thoughts. She smoothed her dress over her curves, wondering if she should have worn make-up, like more of the women in the crowd. She recognized a few from the diner, and she saw some fingers point her way, presumably talking about seeing her converse with Sir Hugh the day before. There was a larger version of the flyer on a huge sandwich board outside the stadium, and Lucy could see the floor of the arena from the outside, and the rows and rows of seats spiraling outwards around it, each row higher than the last. There was a gated area where the bull was already waiting, being brushed by a stable boy and chewing something slowly while his tail swished lazily from side to side. He looked incredibly bored. Some

people were filtering in, and the higher levels were already filled. Lucy wondered how long they'd been there. "Thirty minutes! Show starts in thirrrrty minutes!" A young man was weaving through a crowd and barking into a large cardboard megaphone, swinging a bell for good measure. He was wearing a red-and-white striped jumpsuit and a wide-brimmed hat. He winked at Lucy as he strolled by. "Thirty minutes!" His walk reminded her of Hugh's, rhythmic and smooth, all hips. A scene flashed before her eyes, unbidden: Hugh grinding his powerful hips against Lucy's body, moaning passionately as he sank inside her over and over. She felt a rush of juices between her legs, and she gasped softly. She tried taking a deep breath, pulling cool air into her body in an attempt to douse the flames of lust. "Want to go in?" Lizzie asked, snapping Lucy out of her fantasy. "Please," Lucy said quickly. She took Lizzie's arm again and walked with her to their seats, Lizzie looking around nervously to see if anyone would care that that she was a few rows off. People continued to filter in, and most of them didn't even bother to glance at their seat number before the ticket taker came around the pluck the squares of paper from their hands. As the stadium filled up,

Lucy gazed at the entrance to the floor where Hugh would undoubtedly arrive. The barker was walking on the floor, and a hush fell over the crowd. Apparently, they were starting early. "Ladies and gentlemen, I've just been told we do not have an opener this evening." Lucy could see that the young man was milky white under his freckles, but his voice betrayed no fear. "Originally, Patty the Clown was gonna shoot himself out of a cannon, but well...he's been fired." He made an apologetic face as the crowd burst into mild laughter. It seemed to encourage him, and his voice got a little stronger. "Our back up clown had to go the doctor, because he was feeling a little funny." More laughter, and some scattered applause. The barker grinned, ginger curls peeking out from under the brim of his straw hat, and he looked 13 if he was a day. "And of course, I tried to book you great people a magician, but he canceled on me, he told me he lost his hare!" Lucy chuckled along with the crowd, and the young man grinned triumphantly. "So, without further ado, without any more hemming and hawing, before I wear out my welcome----" "Get on with it!" a woman shouted, and the crowd screamed with laughter. The barker's words were swallowed up by applause, and he waved his arms with a flourish toward the entrance, where

there was a small explosion and a puff of smoke, and Sir Hugh burst through the entryway on his noble steed. He had his cowboy gear on but also held a great wooden shield with a heart carved into its face. Lucy felt hers beat double time, and did a neat turn of the stadium on his shining chestnut horse, pulling a huge rose from his belt loop on his second go around. "I search for the fairest lady in the lands." he called, his voice carrying across the crowd. "An immaculate flower to match the dazzling beauty of God's gift to mankind, the delicate rose, the sweetest bloom. Only then can I find the spirit to tame the beast---after a goddess has tamed my heart." He sighed wistfully. The women in the crowd swooned collectively and leaned forward, eyes locked on the rose. Hugh's eyes swept across the sea of rapt faces, slowing as he focused on one in particular. "Ah," he said, pulling his horse around to look at Lucy. "There she is." He tossed the rose to her, and her hand caught it, even though her brain barely had any time to register his words. The stadium exploded with noise, and Lucy's face broke into a breathtaking smile. Sir Hugh touched his lips and held his hand toward her, holding her gaze a little longer before galloping to the other side of the arena. Lucy clutched the rose to her heart, smelling the intoxicating scent as it

wafted from the petals. Lizzie was slapping her shoulders and laughing, her eyes bright with surprise and delight. Lucy barely heard or saw anything else until Hugh suddenly stepped down from his horse, and the barker led the horse away. Sir Hugh was slowly rolling up his sleeves, and his tanned biceps were bulging as he stretched his hands and faced the bull. It was over almost too soon. He danced gracefully around the bull, and the crowd screamed in terror as the beast lumbered forward, tossing its head and throwing the points of it horns toward the muscled man. Hugh watched him with his sharp green eyes and seemed to anticipate his every move, and Lucy realized there was still a lot of art in rodeo. Certainly, plenty of strength; it took Hugh a full minute to rope him even when he toppled him over, and the crowd gave an enormous cheer when he stood, breathing heavily, and raised his arms. The crowd called for an encore, but the barker came back out and said he had to give the junior cowboys a shot. Too soon, Hugh disappeared amidst a standing ovation, and Lucy's heart sank as he walked backstage. "Wow!" Lizzie said in her ear. "He picked you! I just knew he would, the way he was looking at you! What's wrong?" Lucy had been quiet since the end of the show, and she wasn't smiling.

Now she looked at the rose. "What if she was right? What if he's just....planting more roses?" She hung her head in shame. "I'll probably never see him again." She looked at Lizzie helplessly, wondering if it would be too much to ask to leave, but Lizzie was gazing over Lucy's shoulder in awe. "What?" she asked. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned and saw Sir Hugh, smiling at her with an unreadable look in his eye. Damn, she thought. Just her luck.

**** "I do resent that," Hugh said as he led her backstage and down a short hall toward his dressing room. "I don't 'plant seeds', or anything like that. That's just a rumor jealous girls started when I didn't pick them to throw a rose at." He led her into the room, simple and plain, with a straw bed and a large, cloudy mirror. His eyes bored into hers as he closed the door softly behind him. Lucy felt like she was being examined under a microscope. "Well, I'm sorry, I meant no offense." She looked up into his face as he walked slowly toward her. Her legs were shaking, and she searched for something to say, anything---and landed on thin air. She kept thinking about how full Hugh's lips were, and how he smelled of sweat and soap at the same time. "I really enjoyed the show," she babbled. "That barker was quite funny." "Did you hear me?" Hugh asked quietly. He was inches away from her, and now he put one hand on the curve of her waist. "Yes," Lucy said, and let out a nervous titter as his other hand moved her hair to one side, cupped her chin again, and led her gently forward into a kiss. She melted into it instantly, a fiery lust

shooting through her body as his lips met hers. Both of his arms slipped around her waist and pulled her against his body firmly, and she felt a hardness grind between her legs. She gasped into his kiss, and he pulled back, panicked. "I'm sorry!" his eyes were wide with fear. "God, I should have asked first! You don't even want me, you were just being nice." His face was stricken. "Damn. Lucy, please forgive me. I've wanted you since I first saw you, but I completely understand---" She didn't give him time to finish. She leapt forward and crushed his mouth with hers, plunging her tongue between his lips to tangle with his. Hugh grunted in delighted surprise, then shocked her by reaching around and cupping her plump ass, holding her body firmly against him as he ground his erect member against her. They fell on to the bed, and Hugh kept grinding his hips against Lucy, pulling gently on her hair as his cock thrusted against her swollen clit. "Clothes off," Lucy panted, skin burning from the kisses Hugh was planting on her face and neck. "Now." Hugh jerked Lucy into a standing position and reached behind her to untie the strings, then pulled her dress over her head swiftly. He started to remove his clothing as Lucy stripped off her

undergarments. As her huge breasts swung free of her brassiere, Hugh let out a throaty moan. He moved his palm over the rigid shaft of his cock, wrapping his fingers around it and stroking lightly. His thumb passed over his bulbous head, sending a shiver down his spine. He licked his lips, waiting for her to move. Lucy slowly returned to the bed, taking in Hugh's chiseled body with fervent eyes. She spread her thighs invitingly, running her hand over her mound and shivering as her palm caressed her swollen clit. A fire was eating away her selfcontrol, and she moaned as Hugh gripped her thighs to steady her, then sank swiftly into her pussy. He let out an impassioned cry, pulling slowly out of her wetness, then thrusting himself back in. The incredible sensation of his thick shaft penetrating her tight walls stole the breath from Lucy's lungs, and her hips rushed to meet the movement of his, her nerve endings singing with pleasure. His mouth found her nipple and his tongue flicked across it sharply, forcing an ardent cry of joy from Lucy's lips as he drove himself desperately between her thick thighs. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer so the round head of his rigid cock could reach the deepest, most sensitive spot inside her. Lucy couldn't believe she had this beautiful

man on top of her, filling and stretching her, and kissing her urgently. His eyes were gentle, affectionate, and burning with passion. He kneaded her soft breasts as he plunged into her, languidly dragging the length of himself back and rushing forward to hilt himself in her dripping wet pussy again. Hugh twisted her nipple with one hand, biting gently on her breast before sucking the areola into his mouth. Lucy whimpered, and her eyes rolled back in her head as he buried his cock in her again and again. She felt her inner walls clench around him as he moved inside her faster and faster, and he shuddered, picking up speed as desire rolled through his body. Lucy grabbed the firm cheeks of his ass, pressing him closer against her. The weight of his body ground against the sensitive nub of her clit, and she shouted her ecstasy to the ceiling. "You feel as amazing as you look," he moaned into her ear, and Lucy felt a wave of ecstasy suffuse her body. Hugh started to pump his hips wildly, sacrificing rhythm for power and moaning deliriously as Lucy's inner walls swallowed his girth and sent his body into paroxysms of delight. "I never want to stop making love to you. Never." He said viciously. His green eyes were wild with lust. "Don't," Lucy begged, and Hugh's hands grabbed her hips as he threw himself against her

harder. "Don't stop! Yes! God, yes, Hugh!" she cried, her eyes closed in rapture. He was filling her with euphoria, his forceful thrusts pounding her closer to the delicious edge of orgasm. His strong hands tightened on her soft waist as he watched himself slide in and out of her slick pussy. His breath grew ragged and short, and Lucy rolled her hips against his, her body thrumming with joy. Her pussy tightened around his shaft as she came, moaning her ecstasy into Hugh's mouth. She pulled his hair gently as he exploded inside her, and they thrusted together, bodies drained of adrenaline. He pulled back, looking at her in wonder. He didn't say a word, but kissed her, then slid himself off of her, gazing at her face from his side. There was a heavy silence between them, and Lucy listened to the pounding of her heart, waiting for her body to cool. She realized she could hear the roar of the crowd just outside the door, responding to something someone was doing with an appreciative cheer. Hugh was smiling at her shyly, waiting for her to speak. "So," she said carefully, trying for a joke. "You come here often?" Hugh gazed at her, startled, then laughed, holding his chest until the chuckles subsided. "I promise I don't," he finally said. "Those stories really aren't true. You are the first woman I've

taken back here. In any fashion." He smiled slowly at the look of disbelief on Lucy's face. "I'm serious." "Well, I hope you don't think I'm easy." Her voice was light, but she wasn't joking at all. Hugh seemed to pick up on it. He leaned in and kissed her softly, sending a jolt of happiness through her body. "Not at all," he said earnestly. "In fact, I'm expecting you to give me quite the problem." His hand found hers, and she squeezed it. "What do you mean?" Lucy asked, puzzled. “Well," Hugh said gently, his eyes shining with mirth. "I doubt very much you're going to let me take you on dates at your diner and at my place of work. So, we'll have to work around that, and meet up whenever I'm close. And I expect you'll want me close often." He slipped his arm around her waist, grinning happily. "Which I don't mind at all." Lucy shook her head, almost unable to believe what she was hearing. "Sorry...are you saying you want to keep seeing me? Like...on dates?" He looked at her as though she'd said the most ridiculous sentence in the human language. "Are you kidding me, Gorgeous? You think I'm going to let some other cowboy snap you up?" he laughed, and the sound made her heart soar in her chest. She

started laughing with him, and they laughed until their faces moved close enough to kiss again. They kissed until their bodies grew close enough to touch again. Then they touched until they warmed again enough to make love. After, Lucy watched her cowboy sleep, hoping the show went on a little longer out there. She pictured the look Rosie would get when she let this event slip, and especially when she informed her that it would be ongoing. And to think that all she had to thank was her special---a dish as hearty and complicated as her, but not half as irresistible. THE END

STEAMY PARANORMAL ROMANCES ROGUE WOLF: WILD FORBIDDEN MATES Two rival shifter clans. One relentless and forbidden love that breaks all of the rules. In the small town of Spring Lake, the long-standing rivalry between a pack of werewolves and a clan of were-panthers erupts into full-scale battle. Raul, an ex-Navy enforcer of the Wolf pack, is forced to take sides in the conflict when a group of panthers —who have been raiding werewolf businesses for weeks—is finally captured, and the order given by the Pack's Alpha male is to execute them without trial. He can only save one: Keira, a voluptuous panther female who only consents to let him rescue her after she nearly beats him in personal combat. But the war between the two groups is more complicated than either of them know. As they begin to unravel the two Alphas' motivations in attacking each other, Raul and Keira's rivalry develops into a hot, heavy, and forbidden romance,

sparking further reprisals and deeper battles between their people. With threats of death—or discovery—hanging over their heads, Raul and Keira must find a way to bring their communities together, or risk losing each other in the chaotic war.

“Raul, we’ve got another one,” the voice on the other end of the line began as soon as the call connected. Raul groaned, scrubbing at his face. It was still dark outside—but it was nearly four in the morning, and he had been looking forward to finally going to sleep. “Bastards keep slinking off before one of our guys can catch them in the act,” Raul said bitterly. He could feel the frustration of his pack-mate on the other end of the line, sense it as an extension of his own irritation. For weeks, he, Gary, Cameron, and Adeline had been tracking a group of vandals; their scent marks at the scenes of the crimes were easy enough to read, but all traces of the assholes responsible for the graffiti and broken windows—not to mention a few petty thefts—disappeared within a half mile of the site. It was just like a bunch of sneaky panthers, Raul thought bitterly. The town of Spring Lake had fewer than five thousand residents; and yet, Raul and the other enforcers for the Pack hadn’t been able to track down what they’d counted as five panthers. The other members of the Pack had started looking at him doubtfully, and the Alpha— Reginald—had put more and more pressure on Raul as the Pack’s number one enforcer to get the job done. “Someone was asleep at the wheel,” Cameron

said, his voice full of brittle irritation. Raul growled low in his throat; he had asked for the Pack’s participation in staking out the various businesses that might come under attack. He, Cam, Gary, and Adeline simply couldn’t watch over all of the businesses that the members of the Pack owned in the town. They needed people to be vigilant, and they had needed to have a way to track the shifty, good-for-nothing panthers to their den, wherever it was. There were just enough people in the town for it to be impossible for any of the members of even the large wolf pack to know everyone, to know all of the addresses. Spring Lake was home to a thriving supernatural community—and even Raul, in his position of relative authority within the Pack, didn’t know all of the shifters in the area. There were even some, he was fairly certain, who lived outside of the town proper—in the woods that surrounded the town, closing it off superficially at least from the rest of the country. He had done what he could, asked who he could, about the whereabouts of a group of panthers and had come up empty. “Which business was it?” Raul put his phone on speaker and set it down, standing up from his seated position on the couch to get ready to leave the house. If another one of the Pack-owned businesses had been vandalized, the Pack would

expect him to be there before daybreak, working the scene, trying to find a clue that might not have been at the other raids. Eventually those fucking panthers are going to get sloppy, he thought. And when they do, we’ll track them down and put the bastards on trial. Even with scent marks at the scene, there wasn’t a whole lot of information to be gleaned about the vandals. Raul knew that one of the panthers involved in the crimes was a fertile female —he could smell it in the rich honey-moss smell of her scent mark, buried in the deeper, sharper musk of big cat that the males left behind. He knew that there were five of them. He knew what they were. But until I know who they are, I am going to have this goddamned albatross around my neck, pulling me down. He had been a natural successor to the Pack’s previous lead enforcer; Reginald had groomed Raul for the position for years, even mentoring him through the Navy when Raul had enlisted. Reginald had told Raul more than once that the best thing he could cultivate beyond ruthlessness was the ability to lead, and Raul had taken that seriously. If Reginald retired—or if he fell in a challenge, or met with an accident that cut short his time as Alpha of the Pack—then Raul would be the first in contention for the Alpha position within the Pack. He would need to have the skills that it required,

whether or not he ever took on the job. “Alicia’s bakery,” Cameron confirmed on the other end of the line. “And get this: they’re escalating, the fucking cats.” Raul felt Cameron’s barely-controlled rage and reveled in it, breathing in and out slowly. The low-level telepathy that members of the same Pack shared was sometimes a joy—but more often a pain. He didn’t want to feel heartbroken just because one of the younger members of the Pack had been rebuffed in his romantic advances to some girl or guy. But when it came to hunting down prey—or even fellow predators—it came in handy. “Escalating how?” Raul pulled a shirt over his head and glanced at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair down against his skull. As soon as he had left the military, he’d let it grow out into a full, dark-brown mane, in defiance of the strict military grooming standards he’d subjected himself to for years. No one in the Pack thought that a man with long hair was anything to be laughed at, and members of the town who weren’t of the supernatural persuasion learned quickly that to laugh at his long hair was to court almost certain disaster. “There was a fire,” Cam said. “We managed to put it out with minimal damage, but someone still called 9-1-1, so there’s going to be an official investigation if we don’t sort this out quickly.”

Raul groaned, throwing his head back and cursing long and fluently. “The last fucking thing we need is the cops on this,” he said. He took a quick breath. “Who’s coming to the scene?” “We’re trying to get ahold of Tanya and Jeremy, see if we can’t get them to take the case, keep it quiet.” Tanya and Jeremy weren’t Pack, but they were shifters—were-foxes. They could be trusted to a certain extent to slow up the investigation if they could get themselves on it, give the Pack a chance to handle it. Everyone in Spring Lake knew and didn’t know that there were supernatural humans living in the area; there was plenty of local lore about not going into the woods and scrublands surrounding the town during the week of the full moon, with vague implications of what happened to people who did. But nobody directly said that there were shifters, even elementals living amongst perfectly normal humans. Whenever possible, the two-natured community tried to police themselves, along with the other supernatural elements of the town. The elementals intervened only when they had to; otherwise they kept to themselves, and Raul preferred it that way. “Text me the address, and I’ll be there in fifteen,” he told Cam after a moment’s thought. “Maybe they’re getting sloppy. Maybe we’ll luck out this time.” Raul checked his pockets

to make sure he had his wallet, and when Cam said goodbye, he slipped his phone into another pocket, checked for his keys. He could feel the animal nature—the part of his brain that was always the wolf—shifting, fidgeting inside of him. He wanted to be on the hunt. He wanted to track down the assholes who thought it was a good idea to harass the wolves. He growled low in his throat and headed for the door, picturing the panthers in their animal forms, slinking away from a burning building. Raul stepped out of his house and strode towards his car, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. I am going to catch them this time, even if it kills me.

**** Keira’s heart pounded as she, Lachlan, William, Blake, and Floyd sped away from the scene of their most recent raid in the scent-blocked car that Noelle had contrived. She smiled to herself, worried and exhilarated, terrified and proud of what she and her clan-mates had done. “The fire was a stupid fucking idea,” Blake told Will as they put distance between themselves and the scene of their crime. “It wasn’t exactly an idea,” Will said defensively, shifting in his seat. “It just kind of happened.” “We can’t have things ‘just kind of happen,’” Lachlan told the others, glancing at them each in turn. His gaze lingered on Keira’s face and she looked back blandly, keeping her expression neutral until he looked away. There was an uneasy power dynamic going on between the members of their clan, and while Keira was not by any stretch interested in going for the Alpha, she wasn’t about to let Lachlan—or any of her clan-mates—push her to submit when she had no reason to. “We have to be more careful,” Lachlan added, turning his attention back onto the others. “How can something like that be an accident, anyway?” Keira looked at Will. “I mean, you don’t

accidentally light a match. You don’t accidentally drop it on the ground.” She crossed her arms over her chest as Floyd navigated the darkness. Keira could feel the tendrils of almost-thoughts from the rest of the members of her clan in the car with her; she could feel their excitement, the adrenaline pumping in their veins. “It wasn’t a match or anything,” Will said sullenly. “I tried to do something with the breakers and the fire started that way.” Keira watched her clan-mate intently for a few moments in silence, trying her best to take in as much information from him as she could from the slightly telepathic bond they shared. From what she could tell, Will was being honest; at the very least, he believed what he was saying. It had been an accident. “Then yeah, we need to be more careful,” Keira said, glancing at Lachlan. “It’s one thing to raid these assholes’ businesses, it’s another to get sloppy about it.” Keira hadn’t been entirely in favor of the raids herself—but once the clan had voted on it, she and the other four were the natural candidates for the job. All five of them were fast, difficult to trace—especially with the car that Noelle had worked over, masking the usual scent marks—and skilled. “The wolves will keep the police out of it if they can,” Lachlan said thoughtfully. “But we can’t have any more fuckups like this. The goal is for

them to know who’s raiding their businesses and that we’re serious about keeping them in check.” Keira pressed her lips together, looking around the car. She wasn’t actually sure what the true goal of the raids was; in the clan debate where it had been decided, it seemed to her that for the most part people just wanted to get back at the wolves, to get some kind of revenge. The wolf pack and the panthers had been rivals since long before Keira had been born; she had grown up knowing that the wolves were untrustworthy, and that they looked out for their own—proud, overambitious and exclusionary. She had known by the time she had made her first transformation that if she encountered a wolf in the woods, she was likely going to be in for a fight— and that she should never be alone in the woods during the full moon, lest she find herself surrounded by the vicious jackals. But why they had chosen to begin raiding the wolves’ businesses in the past few months, Keira had no idea; she had heard vague reports that one of the panthers’ homes had been raided by some of the wolves—but nobody in the clan seemed to know who it was who had been affected, or who hadn’t been affected. As soon as it starts to be about wolves, everyone has a grievance, Keira thought wryly as the car made its way back to the clan’s headquarters on the outskirts of town. She

had to wonder: did the wolves feel the same way about the panthers? Keira knew that the wolves thought that the panthers were little more than scavengers, that they were not good enough to ally with—unlike the foxes or the bears that lived in Spring Lake, the wolves didn’t think anyone was truly good to ally with. But did the wolves have the same tendency to jump at shadows when it came to the topic of the panthers? Or were they so confident that they couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to crowd them out? “What we need to do is something bigger,” Gary said, looking around the car. His hazel eyes almost glowed in the moonlight coming through the window. “These raids are for shit. All it’s doing is pissing the wolves off—we’re barely even hurting their profits. We need to really take one of them down.” “Harold hasn’t called for it,” Lachlan said firmly, staring Gary down until the other man shrugged, dismissing his own idea. “If Harold tells us to amp things up, we’ll do it. But the council hasn’t approved anything other than raids.” Lachlan smiled slightly. “Maybe we can convince them to let us snatch a young’un or the Alpha’s wife or something.” “What good would that do?” Keira rolled her eyes. “It’d just bring them after us harder. It’s enough right now that we’re hitting them back.”

But hitting them back for what? Keira knew that it wasn’t—technically—her business to know the specifics. But she had to admit, privately and to herself, that she wasn’t altogether enthused about attacking the wolves when she wasn’t sure what they were attacking them for.

**** Raul stood outside of Betsy Powers’ boutique on Main Street, a few buildings away, watching the back entrance of the shop intently. The air was clammy with the damp, slightly cool feeling that came before a bad day of storms; Raul could smell the ozone in the air. It had been three days since the last raid by the panthers, and the pressure was on. Raul had met with Reginald after finally managing to get Tanya and Jeremy on the investigation. The two shifters were going to do their best to get the police to forget about the arson and break-in; but there was an official record of the event. There was no way to avoid it at this point. Reginald, the Alpha, was incensed at the possibility that the event might cast a light on the shifter community in general—and the wolves in particular. “This is what those asshole panthers want,” Reginald had told Raul. “They want to expose us to the one-natured, let the humans hunt us down and drive us out so that they can take over.” Having seen the scene of the crime, Raul wasn’t quite so sure; it looked as though the fire that had started at the bakery was possibly an accident. Just as before, it was impossible to track the

panthers involved in the most recent raid for more than a few blocks away from the scene of the crime. Reginald, the pack’s Alpha, was fed up. As a result, Raul found himself participating in the stakeout himself. “If you don’t catch these assholes the next time they hit one of our own, then you can pick a direction and start walking,” Reginald had told him, the last time Raul had met with the man. Technically, Reginald had that power. As the pack’s Alpha, he could throw anyone out that he wanted—but he would have to face Raul in a challenge if he did. Don’t think that way, Raul reminded himself, even as his hackles rose at the thought of challenging Reginald. You’re not ready to challenge anyone—you’re definitely not ready to be Alpha of the pack. Better by far to hunt down the panthers, take them in, and let the Pack deal with them. Reginald had made it clear that the elementals wouldn’t be brought in—it would be a tribunal, the pack taking care of its own business, deterring the panthers from any further predation on Pack-owned businesses. It troubled Raul that he didn’t know why the panthers were doing it. We outnumber them two to one, he thought as he looked around the alley behind the boutique. Why would they pick a fight with us now? What’s changed? Raul knew that thinking like that was possibly dangerous; it was the kind of thinking that led a man to forget the chain

of command in the pack, the way things were. But he couldn’t help wondering what it was about the situation in Spring Lake, between the supernatural members of the community, that had led to the raids that had been going on for weeks. Whatever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it, Raul thought firmly. He scented the air, reading the smells painted through it; at least fifty people had moved through the alley in the last two days, most of them normal humans. As Raul breathed in more deeply, he caught the faintest traces of shifters: a couple of foxes—not Jeremy and Tanya—a few members of the Pack, and one owl. No scent of panther, which told Raul at least that the reprobates either cased their targets well in advance of their raids, or were going off of information they’d gotten otherwise. They had targeted too many werewolf-owned businesses for it to be simply random—and of course one or two of the attacks had included insulting, inflammatory graffiti: cartoon wolves being eaten by spray-painted panthers, slurs. One or two of the raided businesses had been decked out with wolf’s bane. Raul shifted in his spot, looking around the alley impatiently. Assuming that the panthers were going on some kind of schedule, they would strike —somewhere—that night. Raul had taken up a position to watch one of the only pack-owned businesses that hadn’t already been raided; Cam

was at another location, and other trusted lieutenants had taken up other positions. Raul didn’t trust any of the lower ranks for anything more than backup anymore. After Reginald’s ultimatum, Raul couldn’t see any other course of action but to stand vigil at the remaining businesses and hope to catch the panthers in the act. Raul’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he started, reaching down compulsively and taking the device out. Cam’s phone number flashed on the screen and Raul’s heart began beating faster in his chest, adrenaline flowing freely in his veins. “What have you got?” “Three of them,” Cam said, excitement rippling in his voice. “Two guys and the woman. She’s injured.” “The other two?” Raul began to smile to himself; even if they hadn’t caught all five of the members of the panther raiding party, three of five was definitely a vast improvement. We can put them before the tribunal. We can ransom them back to their clan and force talks. “Got away,” Cam said, briefly sounding disappointed. “We’re taking them to the den.” “I’ll meet you there,” Raul said, smiling more broadly to himself. “Good job, Cam. Good job.”

**** Keira scowled at the wolves hovering around her, Lachlan and Gary, fidgeting and squirming against the chains that bound her. The copper burned against her skin, making her ache all over— beyond anything she had felt ever since she’d been in high school and had spent the night at a friend’s house; the girl’s parents had used copper pots to cook dinner, and Keira hadn’t known until she’d eaten dinner. “It’s a good thing we had all this copper lying around,” one of the wolves said, snickering with the others. Keira wrinkled her nostrils at the stench of wolves filling her nose. She wanted, more than anything, to break the chains draped around her body, holding her down, sapping her strength. Motherfuckers with copper chains lying around, Keira thought bleakly. Should have fucking known. It was completely in line with what she’d always been taught about werewolves. She tugged against the chains wrapped around her, but every movement sent burning, searing agony through her body. Copper was poisonous to all fire-aligned creatures—the elementals, and the shape-shifters that belonged to that element: panthers, lions, and tigers alike. Silver worked as well, but Keira thought grimly that silver affected wolves too—it

indeed affected all supernatural beings except for water-aligned elementals and their few shapeshifting allies. “Raul will be here in a few,” someone said. “These assholes are secure.” There was a grumble, but the wolves began to wander out of the room, leaving Keira, Lachlan, and Gary by themselves. Keira groaned as she tried to fight against the influence of the copper tightly wrapped around her. “We need to find a way out of this bullshit situation,” Lachlan said, his voice tight and hoarse with pain. “Those bastards are going to kill us.” “Why would they do that? They’d do better to ransom us,” Keira pointed out. “Get the clan to stop the raids and pay reparations.” “I’m telling you, those assholes will kill us without even losing a minute of sleep,” Lachlan told Keira. “You’ll be lucky if they don’t rape you first.” Keira let out a long, low growl, glaring at Lachlan. She could believe the wolves capable of torturing them; she could even believe that the wolves might—possibly—execute them. But raping another shifter was beyond the pale, more uncivilized than the unaffiliated lions and bears that lived out in the wider world, separate from any clan or pack or pride. “How do we get out of this then, Lachlan? Have you discovered some brilliant way for us to be immune to copper?”

“We have to work together,” Lachlan said. “If we do that we might be able to get the chains off of each other, and get the hell out of here before they bring the executioner in.” Keira considered it; they were back to back, their hands pinned behind their backs, copper chains draped around shoulders down to their waists, and coiled around their legs. She knew that the chains weren’t even particularly tight—but the copper in them made it nearly impossible for her to get free, and the other two panthers in the shed with her would be in the same condition. “How much can you move?” Keira turned her head until she could see Gary in the corner of her vision. Gary shifted slightly, groaning as the copper burned him. “What we need to do is to find some way to get them to loosen the chains a little bit. Or get them loose ourselves.” “Move as much as you can,” Lachlan suggested. Keira struggled against the copper chains, twisting and shifting and squirming, hissing as the copper came into contact with her skin and burned her over and over. It was useless; she couldn’t feel any slack in the chains no matter how she tried to find a weakness in the bindings. “Fuck,” she muttered. Her preternaturally acute ears picked up the sound of people outside— the scent of wolves intensified. Someone—several people—were coming to the shed where she, Gary,

and Lachlan were trapped. “Shit, shit, shit.” Keira gritted her teeth, trying to think. The copper made it harder and harder to focus, the pain radiating through her body in waves. Let me take the lead on this, she thought to the other members of her clan. Let me see if I can get them to loosen our chains a bit. She heard Lachlan’s growl of doubt, Gary’s groan of pain, and reinforced the thought with the urgency of their situation. There was a very real chance that if they didn’t get free, they’d be tortured for information—at least, according to everything that Keira had ever known about wolves. She gathered what little strength she had, sniffing the air to try and detect how many wolves were joining them. A few moments later, the wolves filed into the shed; among them Keira saw their newcomer. He smelled like an Alpha, but she knew he wasn’t; there wasn’t the level of respect from the other wolves. Second-in-command, or some kind of enforcer type, she decided, taking him in as he approached. The man was tall and muscular, with dark hair in a mane around his strong-featured face, broad shoulders, and neat hips. He wore dark jeans and a black, fitted tee shirt. Couldn’t be more obviously a wolf if he tried, Keira thought wryly. The non-Alpha came towards them and the other wolves fell in behind him. “You three realize we’re going to get your

friends too, right?” Keira stared up at the man, refusing to look away. It wasn’t the time to cower or show fear—she was a panther and he was a wolf; she wasn’t about to show weakness to someone like him. “You’re all cowards,” Keira said, looking from the enforcer to the rest of the pack behind him. “If you really thought that you were stronger and better than us, you wouldn’t keep us in copper.” “You’re sneaky little thieves,” the man countered. “We can’t risk you getting away to attack us again.” “Are you going to talk us to death?” Keira clenched her teeth at the sound of Lachlan’s voice. Hadn’t she told him and Gary both to let her take the lead? “We’re going to put you to death,” one of the other wolves said. Keira felt Lachlan’s bitter sense of proud triumph; he’d been right about what the wolves would do to them. What surprised her was the fact that the plan—if it was serious—was evidently a surprise to the enforcer talking to them. “Shut up, Cam,” the man said quietly, a growl in his voice. He turned his attention back onto Keira. “What’s your name?” “Like I’d tell my name to some wolf enforcer,” Keira replied, scowling at him. “Bunch of filthy damned cowards.” “We’re cowards?” The man almost grinned,

exposing slightly sharper than normal teeth, flashing white in the gloomy light of the shed. “You’re the ones running away from a fair fight.” Keira laughed. “Like wolves fight fair,” she said, shaking her head. “If you wanted a fair fight, you’d take these chains off me and we could go at it right here and now.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge. Keira felt the tension rising in Gary and Lachlan, sensed their brains focusing in on the situation—hopeful that there would come an opportunity. “You really think you can take me?” The wolf almost smirked. “You’re too proud. I could put you down in three minutes.” Keira smiled slowly, exposing her teeth in an expression that was far from friendly. “Prove it,” she told him.

**** Raul glanced to the rest of the pack gathered behind him in the shed, watching him interact with the three panthers. He had been shocked—slightly —at the fact that the woman was actually fairly attractive. The chains wrapped around her body did nothing to cover the full, lush curves; thick, glorious dark hair tumbled down past her shoulders, framing a sharp-featured face with green eyes. Her breasts looked heavy and full, the copper chains only emphasizing their size and the fact that they strained at the fabric of her shirt. “Are you serious?” Raul shook his head, smirking at the thought of the panther actually daring to challenge him. “This isn’t a sparring match with one of your cubs, panther,” Raul added. “If you fight me I’m going to treat it like an actual challenge.” “I know how to handle a challenge,” the woman said, her upper lip curling slightly in the start of a snarl. “I just don’t think you can actually give me one.” A murmur rose up in the pack members behind him, and Raul felt his body heating up, his adrenaline beginning to flow. He could sense the way that the pack was reacting, feel the doubt in them. Raul felt the suggestion that he would lose status in the pack if he didn’t shut this

she-panther up, and fast. “Fine,” Raul said. He glanced at the other two panthers. “They stay chained; one on three isn’t fair.” “I thought you could take us all,” the woman said, smirking. “But fine. I can take you all by myself.” Raul carefully reached out and began to loosen the chains around the woman, glancing at the other two panthers from time to time, making sure that they weren’t using the situation to try and break free. It would be just like these assholes to stage a showdown just for the chance to sneak out. Raul tugged the last of the chains free of the woman and stepped back, watching her intently. “You going to get up and fight me?” the woman shrugged, rubbing her arms and legs, looking bitterly angry. “Ever been in silver chains, asshole?” she started to stagger up onto her feet. “It takes a minute.” Raul considered that and nodded, taking another step back and preparing to begin the transformation. He would show the stupid shepanther what she was made of, and then he’d get the chains back onto her before Reginald arrived to inspect the prisoners. Reggie wouldn’t mind if he roughed up the female panther a bit, especially since she had challenged him. Cam’s comment— about the panthers being executed—worried him, but Raul knew better than to believe anything that

Cam spouted off in the heat and excitement of the moment. Reginald knew better than to simply summarily execute three rival shifters. The only result that would bring would be war: out and out war between the panthers and the wolves, something that the elementals would intervene on, because it would risk discovery of the two-natured by the regular humans. After only a few moments, the woman began to strip her clothes off, and Raul commenced as well; having grown up as a shifter, with part of his consciousness consistently animal, Raul had no qualms about nudity, even among strangers. He felt the change crackling and tingling along his bones, his body gearing up for the transformation that came to him as second nature. He sank down onto all fours as the change intensified, and saw the surprisingly beautiful, full-figured woman doing the same, taking up her position to change into her animal form. The wolves behind him began to yip and howl, excitement overtaking everyone in the room—even the panthers still chained up helpless a few feet away. Raul focused all of his attention onto bringing the change over himself as quickly as possible, feeling his bones shift and transform inside of his body, feeling his face elongate, fur pushing through his skin. In a matter of moments, his vision had shifted and Raul let out a long, proud howl, throwing his

head back and giving voice to his challenge. He looked at the woman; in her place there was a long, lean, muscled panther with dark, mottled fur and bright feline eyes boring into him. The panther growled, ending on a coughing, hissing note, and began to move, slinking in a slow, appraising circle around him. The rest of the pack backed off, and Raul began to circle the she-panther, examining her movements, thinking in the strategic, animal part of his brain about how best to defeat her. There was no reason to hold back; this wasn’t a member of his pack, this wasn’t part of his family. He needed to put her down and then get the chains back on her, prove his point and be done with it. The female seemed to be slightly weak in the hindquarters, a slight limp interrupting her slinking steps. Raul growled, low in his throat, hunkering down into a crouch as he watched the panther move. She was beautiful: sleek, deadly in spite of her limp, staring at him with yellow-green eyes that Raul knew were taking in every possible weakness he possessed. As the moments of circling, waiting, evaluating reached a torturous peak, Raul launched himself at the she-panther, diving towards her injured hindquarters. She slipped underneath his dive, surprising him with her speed and nimbleness, and sidestepped his attack. Raul felt the rake of

claws along his back, the heat of his blood flowing, and roared out, turning quickly to throw himself at the sneaky panther again. Everything became a blur; Raul attacked, the woman evaded and countered. Raul hung back, waiting for her to make her strike, and barely shifted away from her attack in time. He managed to get in a few good hits, but in what seemed like mere moments, he was already beginning to tire. He could tell that the panther was beginning to tire as well—she was panting slightly, low growls leaving her throat. The other two panthers were still firmly chained—they couldn’t help their clan-mate—but the wolves were starting to get restive. The human part of Raul’s brain was too proud to give up the battle—he wasn’t going to let an upstart panther, little better than a glorified housecat, best him in a challenge. But when he saw his opening, Raul hesitated; he could smell that Reginald was coming. The unmistakable scent mark of the Alpha of the pack hit him like a brick—and with it, the impression of the Alpha’s brain, imposing its presence on the room. In the moment Raul was distracted, the panther struck, launching herself at him, raking her claws down the sides of his body and tumbling him onto the floor. Raul kicked and twisted, knocking her off him, but he hadn’t managed to completely subdue her.

Reginald’s ear-splitting howl filled the air and Raul fell back, staring at the injured—but still defiant—panther. The panther glanced around the shed, and then launched herself at her two clanmates in a flurry of movement, transforming into a dark, mottled blur in front of Raul’s eyes. He growled, throwing himself into the battle with her once more, suddenly realizing what she intended to do: break her friends free while everyone was distracted. Raul grabbed the back of the panther’s neck, locking down as tightly as he could without breaking bones. All around him, he heard the groans and growls and howls of the rest of the members of the pack in the shed with him transforming. In a matter of moments, Raul found himself—and the three panthers—surrounded by wolves, Reginald taking up his position as Alpha in his human form. “Change back into your human forms and chain these beasts down more securely,” Reginald said, his voice firm with the authority that came from being in command for years. “They will be put to death in the morning in sight of the whole Pack.” Raul let the panther’s neck fall out of his mouth and turned to look up at his Alpha in astonishment. The human part of his mind, asserting itself more fully now that the most animalistic urges had been fulfilled, was stunned— stunned and horrified—to learn that Cam’s

comment had apparently been correct: Reginald intended to make an example out of the three panthers by putting them to death. The other wolves in the shed leapt to action, securing the three prisoners anew, piling copper onto them to make it impossible for any of them to move. The panther herself was subdued with a dozen heavy chains, borne down onto the floor of the shed screaming in the agony of the metal against her bare skin and fur. Raul staggered back at the sight unfolding in front of him and started the change into his human form as he watched Reginald slink out of the room, leaving the enforcers and the lower pack members to take care of keeping the prisoners secure enough.

**** Raul looked around outside of the shed where the panthers were being held, scenting the air to make sure that none of the other members of the pack were close enough to see what he was going to do. The fact of Reginald’s judgment—the knowledge that the Alpha of the Pack fully intended to put three panthers to death without even a trial—had eaten at Raul long after he’d left the shed to shower and dress his wounds. The only other member of the pack present was Cam. Raul sighed; Cam would go along with him—as Raul’s second, he had no real choice—but he would rather have found the shed utterly deserted save for the three panthers. “Cam,” Raul said quietly, knowing that the other man’s preternaturally acute hearing would catch the whisper. “All quiet in there,” Cam said, moving out of the darkness and taking up a position in front of the door. “I can tell,” Raul reminded his second. “I need you to step aside.” Cam smirked. “Oh, you want another try with that female?” he looked Raul up and down in the darkness. “I think she got you pretty good the first time.” “I’m fine,” Raul said, letting a low growl come

into his voice. “Step aside, Cam—or challenge me, one or the other.” “What are you going to do in there?” Raul shook his head. “Better you don’t know, man,” Raul told Cam. “I don’t like this summary execution business.” “You’re not alone in that,” Cam murmured. “But for myself—they could have killed wolves with that fire. Or normal humans. They have to be stopped.” “We’re supposed to be better than the worst parts of our animal nature,” Raul said quietly. “All I need you to do is step aside. And forget that I was here.” “What if Reginald asks?” Raul considered; if Cam tried to cover for him by saying that he’d fallen asleep, or that he’d been away from his post, he’d be in trouble—punished by the pack in general and the Alpha in particular. “A bunch of panthers came in, sprayed you down with wolf’s bane, and got them out,” Raul suggested. That was something that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “They’ll test my clothes,” Cam countered. Raul’s lips twitched in a smile. “Guess you’re going to have to douse them in wolf’s bane then, aren’t you?” Raul growled low in his throat, a warning sound. “If you have a problem with it, you challenge me right here and now.” Even

injured, even tired as he was, Raul knew that Cam wasn’t a match for him; he’d sparred with the other wolf before. “If they find out and Reginald challenges you, I’m not going to be your second,” Cam said. Raul shrugged. “I won’t need a second for a battle like that,” he said simply. “Now step aside and look for some fucking wolf’s bane to roll around in.” Cam moved away from the door, and Raul brushed past him, striding into the shed. The smell of blood—the panther’s and his own, along with splashes of what he was certain belonged to other members of the pack—filled Raul’s nose. The gloomy light revealed the three panthers, bound in their copper chains, watching the door. The shepanther was coated in sweat, blood spattered across her face and body, but despite her position she stared at him defiantly as Raul closed the door behind him. “I’m going to get you three out of here,” Raul said quietly. “Right,” one of the two males said, snorting. “I’m going to trust a wolf.” “You might as well,” Raul said, shrugging. “This is the last chance you’re going to get.” “We make our own chances,” the other male said. “And if your asshole pack tries to take us out, we’ll take some of you out with us. And the rest of our clan will come after you.” Raul smiled slightly.

“We outnumber you,” Raul pointed out. “There are more of us, we have more allies. You don’t stand a chance if we come against you.” “So why help us then?” The she-panther finally stirred as she spoke. She was obviously in bad shape. “I’m not going to sit around and watch while the Alpha does something that’s against the Pack’s laws,” Raul said simply. “Either you accept my help, or you take your chances when it comes time to get the fuck out of here or die.” One of the two men looked closely at the she-panther. “Take her out,” the man said. “Lachlan and I can take our chances.” “Asshole! We could get her out of here,” the other male—presumably Lachlan—said. “Do you want to risk it? She’s mating age.” “Not like it matters to either of you anyway,” the woman said. “I wouldn’t mate with you even if I was in heat.” “Take her out,” the first man said again. “Get her out of here.” Raul nodded and moved forward. The she-panther growled as he approached, pulling back her lips to snarl at him. “Keira—let him help you. Let him get you out of here. So help me god…” Raul met the woman’s gaze for a long moment. “I’m not going to touch you in any way other than to get you out of the chains and into my car,”

he told her firmly. “You can let me help you, or you can wait here for the rest of the pack to come in and lead you out to your death.” She stared into his eyes for a moment longer and then sighed, slumping against her chains, giving him implicit consent. Raul looked around, met the prideful, bitter gazes of the other two panthers, and went to work on disentangling the woman—Keira—from her chains.

**** Keira thought she must have blacked out at some point; as she came to, aware that she was in a vehicle—with a wolf no less—and that the vehicle was moving, she felt a jolt of anger and shame: at her weakness, at the fact that she’d had to be “rescued” in the first place, that the source of her rescue was the wolf that she had been on the verge of winning her challenge against only a few hours before. She opened her eyes just a slit and saw gray, early-morning light coming in through a window. “Where the hell are you taking me?” she turned her head slightly; just the smallest movement sent a jolt of pain through Keira’s body. “To a hiding spot,” the werewolf said brusquely. “I’m taking you somewhere you can be safe from the pack.” “A wolf abandoning his pack?” Keira chuckled weakly. She knew that in a matter of hours, with the exposure to the copper gone, she would be halfway to healing; but that was small comfort as her body ached and throbbed and burned. “Not abandoning my pack,” the werewolf said. “I’m just against the decision.” “What about Gary and Lachlan?” Keira remembered the discussion between her clan-mates

and closed her eyes, thinking that the two of them were idiots. Of course, you don’t know that he’s not taking you somewhere to kill you himself for almost besting him in the challenge, she thought wryly. Privately, Keira had to admit to herself that the wolf had held his own pretty well—and he wasn’t actually as hideous as she would have thought. Keira cast a quick glance over the man in the driver’s seat of the car, taking in his muscled, lean body, the rangy look to his face that most wolves seemed to have. “They made their choice,” the wolf said. “I gave them the option and they wanted to take their chances.” Keira’s lips twisted into a grimace; she knew he was right, and there was nothing she nor the wolf could have really done—but that didn’t stop her from being saddened at the knowledge that her clan-mates would almost certainly die. “What’s your name?” she frowned at the werewolf, realizing that she’d been rescued by someone who she didn’t even know the first thing about—other than that he was a wolf. “Raul. You’re Keira, right?” She nodded slowly. “You weren’t half bad back there. If we’d had maybe ten more minutes though, I’d have turned it around.” Keira laughed and then cringed as the movement sent pain shooting through her body. “Please, Fido,” she countered, once the pain

began to ebb. “I would have had you on your back whining like a kicked dog.” Raul barked out a laugh. “Which one of us is driving? Which one of us had to rescue the other?” “I was wrapped in copper chains! Let me wrap you up in tin and injure you and see how much bounce you have in your step, asshole.” Keira sat up in her seat, looking around. She hated not knowing where she was going; she hated feeling vulnerable—especially in the presence of a wolf. “I’ll give you a rematch once we’re both recovered,” Raul suggested. “No holds barred.” “To the death?” Keira raised an eyebrow, feeling suspicious towards the wolf again. “To submission,” Raul countered. “Whoever makes the other submit first.” “Then to the death,” Keira said, shrugging. Raul glanced at her and smiled, shaking his head. For a long time, they continued on the road, both of them silent. Keira closed her eyes, trying to call up the mental impressions of her clan-mates; at such a distance, it was difficult even to feel the members of her clan—she couldn’t reach out to any of them. They had to be out in the boonies surrounding Spring Lake, not in the town proper anymore. Keira wondered if any of the members of the clan even knew what had happened to her, Lachlan, and Gary.

“Why were you raiding werewolf businesses in the first place?” Keira opened her eyes and glanced at Raul. She shrugged. “I’m not even sure I understand what the reasoning was,” she admitted. “But once the decision was made, we were the natural choice.” She grinned slowly. “Had to have pissed you all off not to be able to track us, huh?” Raul’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “If we hadn’t caught you last night, it was going to be my head,” Raul told her. “Reginald— our Alpha—got particularly pissed after the fire at the last raid you and your friends pulled off.” “That was an accident…I think.” Keira bit her bottom lip. “It wasn’t me that did that. Someone pulled a fuse or something, the sparks lit on fire.” She shrugged. “If you don’t even know why your people wanted to raid werewolf businesses, why did you go along with it?” Keira shrugged again. “You do stuff because your Alpha wants it, right?” Raul hesitated and then nodded slowly. “It’s not that different with panthers. The clan decides to do something, and the right people for it get it done.” “So, if your Alpha decided that you should grab some werewolves and put them to death…” Keira considered the question and shook her head. “I’d do the same as you,” she admitted. “We

wouldn’t do that though. We’ve got rules. We’ve got standards.” “So do we,” Raul said, glancing at her and scowling slightly. “What Reginald commanded is against our ways.” “I saw how happy people in that shed were to hear it,” Keira said. “It doesn’t seem that against your ways.” “They were pissed—you guys have been pissing us off for weeks. Someone could have died in that fire. We could be discovered. We had to get some other shifters on the police to get onto the investigation so that it wouldn’t lead to figuring out why certain businesses were targeted and others weren’t.” Keira frowned; she had known that the fire would intensify any investigations—would make it more official—but she hadn’t known that the wolves had done anything to slow it down. “So, what are you going to do with me?” Keira crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m taking you to a hiding place,” Raul said. “I’ll bring you food, keep you out of the line of fire, until things settle down. I’m going to try and get talks between your folks and my pack.” “Good luck with that,” Keira said, trying to imagine the reception that Raul would get with her clan. “You saw how much we trust wolves.” “I can hope that keeping you safe will win me some points,” Raul pointed out, smiling.

“I’m going to be so fucked when they find out I’m being protected by a wolf,” Keira told Raul, shaking her head and smiling to herself in spite of the knowledge of how grave her offense would be.

**** Raul looked around as he approached the flophouse he’d left Keira at the day before. Scenting the air, he filtered through the different smells: feral cats, a few squirrels, a rat or two. No sign of wolves—and no sign of panthers, either. He strode towards the front door of the tiny, ramshackle house tucked away in the woods and considered the course of action he’d taken. Keira’s clan-mates had, in fact, met their death the morning after he’d spirited Keira away. Raul had hated to see it—he had hated the fact that he’d had to bear witness to such a brutal, unjust execution. The mood in the pack had been divided ever since—some of the Alpha’s most fervent followers were more than a little pleased with the course of action Reginald had taken, but it was obvious that there were many, many more who were doubtful of the wisdom of the act. Cam himself was less than thrilled, and Raul knew that his second wouldn’t snitch on him. Keira’s escape at the hands of her clan-mates was an accepted cover in the pack. Certainly, Gary and Lachlan hadn’t disputed it; they had kept their mouths completely shut, not even saying anything in their own defense as Reginald read out the charges against them. Raul felt cold in the pit of his

stomach at the memory of the two men, led out in their copper chains. He knew he would have to tell Keira as soon as he went into the safe house to bring her food; and he knew—from his own bonds with the members of his pack—what kind of grief she would feel. He had, in fact, brought a bottle of whiskey with him, along with some food to last for a day, just for the purposes of drinking to her fallen family members. Raul took a deep breath, summoning the moral courage to face the pain he was about to give a total stranger, and turned the knob on the front door. Keira sat in the gloom, half-sprawled on the couch, watching him as he entered. “They died,” she said dully. Raul closed the door behind him and nodded. “I brought food and booze,” he said, crossing the room to the dilapidated old chair next to the couch. “I hope you like whiskey.” “I like anything that will get me good and drunk right now,” Keira replied. “There should be some glasses in the kitchen,” Raul said. “I’ll put the food in there, too.” He looked away from the were-panther, feeling uncomfortable. I should have known that she would have already felt the loss of her clan-mates, Raul thought, stepping into the tiny kitchen in the safe house and opening the fridge. He shoved the bag of

food into the fridge and turned to the cabinets, opening one and reaching for two glasses. He brought the bottle and glasses back into the living room and sat down in the chair once more. “I knew they were going to die,” Keira said quietly. “I mean—intellectually I knew it. But when I felt that wrench…” she sighed. “And when you walked in I could see it all over your face.” “If I could have stopped it, I would have,” Raul told her. He cracked the seal on the whiskey bottle and poured them each a healthy shot. “Even if you are a glorified housecat.” He extended one of the glasses towards Keira and she snatched it from him, barely waiting for Raul to settle the other glass in his hand before she knocked back the contents. Raul smiled with more than a little bit of respect for the neat way the woman drank down the burning alcohol. “So, what are we going to do now?” Keira put her glass down on the coffee table and Raul refilled it, doubling the shot. “Now we’re going to drink, and in a day or two, I’ll start putting out feelers for a contact in your clan.” Raul finished his shot and exhaled sharply. Keira waited for him to pour his second shot and then as one they knocked back their liquor. “I’m going to miss those assholes,” Keira said, setting her glass down and sighing. “I mean,

Lachlan was one of those guys, you know—totally had to be kept in his place, unpredictable, thought he was so much better than everyone else—but he was family.” “I know what you mean,” Raul said, smiling a little sadly. “This feud thing has to end.” Keira hesitated a moment and then nodded slowly. They drank a few more shots and then Raul went into the kitchen, retrieving some of the food he’d brought for Keira. She wasn’t drunk, but she was definitely more than a little tipsy. “God,” she said, tilting her head back against the arm of the couch. “I almost can’t believe that Lachlan is dead.” “You were close?” Keira snorted. “He wanted to mate me,” she said, shaking her head. “No chance of that.” “Do you want to mate at all?” Raul raised an eyebrow. “I won’t mate with anyone who can’t take me in a challenge,” Keira informed him. “And so far, no one in my clan can take me.” Raul chuckled. “I almost took you,” he pointed out. Keira looked at him sharply for a moment and then slowly smiled. “Almost,” she said.

**** Keira licked her lips, watching Raul intently. She wasn’t sure if it was the grief she felt at the loss of her clan-mates, the alcohol warming her body from the inside out, or some kind of fellow-feeling or gratitude that she felt towards Raul, but he had become more and more interesting, more and more intriguing and desirable, ever since he’d walked into the house he’d left her in a day before. All she knew was that in that moment, she wanted him. “Do you have a mate?” Keira felt her cheeks warming as she asked the question. “Not yet,” Raul said, shrugging. He looked at her for a long moment intently. “How drunk are you?” “Not drunk enough,” Keira replied. She smiled slowly. “If you’re single, and I’m single…” Raul’s eyes narrowed. “This is a really, really fucking stupid idea,” he told her. “What? The panther that nearly kicked your ass isn’t good enough for you?” Keira raised an eyebrow. “What do you look for in a mate?” “Someone who won’t kill me in my sleep,” Raul said, his voice wry. “So, don’t go to sleep next to me then,” Keira suggested. Raul pressed his lips together.

“Do you really want this, or are you just drunk and grieving?” “The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Keira pointed out. “But I really want it. I don’t know why, but I just…want to be out of my head for a while.” Raul hesitated a moment longer, and Keira gathered up the weak strength that she had after her injuries and the exposure to copper. She launched herself towards him, twisting in the air so that she could straddle his hips when she landed, pulling from supernatural reserves of power she barely knew she possessed. Keira kissed Raul tentatively at first; she had had sex before, but not very often, and never with a wolf. But as Raul began to respond, his arms coiling around her waist, pulling her body against his, Keira deepened the kiss, battling him for dominance. The chair overbalanced and they tumbled onto the floor together, any qualms about their separate clans evaporating in the heat that rose between Keira and Raul. Keira nipped sharply at Raul’s bottom lip, and dropped down to his neck, nibbling along the column of his throat as she pawed at his clothes, desperate to get them off. Raul tugged at her ripped, dirty clothing, somehow managing to work it off of her more quickly. Keira moaned out, the sound ending on a purr, as Raul buried his face against her breasts, nuzzling and kissing, licking and sucking, worshipping her

with his mouth. She felt herself getting hotter and hotter, wetter and wetter by the moment, more and more turned on the more contact she felt with Raul’s body. Heady, musk-laden pheromones filled her nose—the mingled scents of her own and Raul’s arousal forming a honey-sweet smell that Keira had never experienced with the few other men she’d allowed to have sex with her. She nearly ripped Raul’s shirt getting it off of him, and bit by bit, both of their clothes fell away, thrown across the room or left to fall to the floor. Raul reached down between her legs and Keira growled, nuzzling against his throat as his fingers rubbed between the slick folds of her labia, finding her clit by touch. Keira’s hands wandered all over Raul’s hard, muscled body, taking in the heat of him, the feeling of his crisp hair under her palm, his hot skin like velvet, his muscles rippling. Even a week before, Keira would never have thought that she could find herself getting naked with a wolf. Raul alternated between her breasts and her face, kissing and nibbling and nipping and licking, letting out growling moans from somewhere deep in his throat in answer to hers. Keira reminded herself not to let him mount her—she didn’t want to get attached; she wanted to relieve the tension that had wound up inside of her so tightly. Her hips moved instinctively, falling into the rhythm that Raul’s touches created, and Keira brought her lips down

onto his again and again as her desire became more and more intense. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around the thick, hard length of Raul’s cock, stroking him slowly in counterpoint to his touches. They teased each other relentlessly, each one trying for dominance, until they were both panting and gasping for breath. “You’re not going to let me take you like a wolf, are you?” Keira chuckled, low and throaty, and shook her head. “We could do it like normal humans,” she suggested playfully. Raul’s fingers slipped away from her soaking wet folds and he cupped her full, heavy breasts, teasing her nipples slowly. “I like you on top okay,” he said after a moment’s thought. “The view is great from here.” Keira laughed and straddled Raul’s hips, rocking against him. She moaned as she felt the heat and hardness of his cock rubbing against her, purring at the sweet sensation of the friction between them. Raul reached down and guided himself up against her, and Keira twisted her hips, sinking down onto him, taking him inch by inch, deeper and deeper inside of her. He was thicker, longer than any of the few men she had been with before. That fact alone was enough to amaze Keira; she had always harbored the suspicion that the werewolves’ toughness had something to do with their lack of sexual prowess. Raul’s hands closed

on her hips and he gripped her tightly as she began to move, rising and falling on top of him. They moved together slowly at first, feeling each other out, finding their rhythm, but Keira knew that she couldn’t possibly last long. Raul felt good—surprisingly good, too good—and she was already on the edge even before she had taken him inside of her. She explored his body with her lips and tongue and hands, touching and tasting him everywhere, lapping up the sweat that gathered along his sharply defined collarbones, just under his jaw. He even tasted good, and in the back of her mind, Keira was amazed at the fact that she was so close to climax so soon—and with a wolf. Raul began to thrust up into her faster and harder, and Keira cried out in pleasure, twisting her hips, writhing on top of him as she struggled to hold back and savor her illicit tryst. When Raul reached down between their bodies, his fingertips finding her clit and beginning to rub the bead of nerves, she bit at his shoulder, moaning against his skin. Keira tasted blood and forced herself to back off, trying to avoid swallowing it—she was already too connected to him, already too attracted. Blooding him, marking him, would only make things worse. But in a matter of moments, Keira began to move faster and faster, the last of her self-control evaporating as the tension mounted deep down between her hips. All at once the knot unraveled

and wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, obliterating all thoughts of her clan-mates, of the fact of Raul’s status as a werewolf, the rivalry between their different kinds. She moaned out, growling, and her pleasure intensified until she was almost overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her. Keira was barely aware of the sensation of Raul’s cock twitching inside of her, barely aware of the growling, almost howling moan of pleasure that erupted from him as he reached his own climax, buried deep inside of her. She collapsed against him as the spasms of pleasure began to abate, and Keira slipped into a satisfied, contented doze, her breaths leveling off as she felt the steady thrumming beat of Raul’s heart in his chest, pressed against hers. Later, she thought absently, would be the time to think about the enormity of what she had just done. Later would be more than enough time for that. For the moment, she was content to be content.

**** Keira stared up at the ceiling, letting her vision lose its focus, reaching out with her mind for the members of her clan. She knew so far that she was a bit out of range to be able to communicate with any of the group directly; she wouldn’t be able to send any kind of clear message. But she hoped at least that the members of her clan could feel her presence, that they knew she was still alive. It had been three days since Raul had spirited her away from the shed where the wolves had imprisoned her, Lachlan, and Gary. Raul had visited again the night before, but he hadn’t had any news for her. All he had said was that he was trying to figure out what was going on in his own Pack, and trying to figure out how to get in touch with the panthers at the same time without attracting any suspicions from his Alpha. He didn’t even have a clear idea of how long Keira would need to remain in hiding—though he had told her the night before that she would have to remain in hiding and incommunicado for at least another few days. “You’re healing up fine, but I don’t want you back with the panthers until I’m able to get in touch with somebody who can help me talk to your leadership.” “I could do that,” Keira had pointed out. Raul

had dismissed the idea. “If you go back to them, and they know that you were with Lachlan and Gary, but you got spared…they’d just take you into their protection and come after the Pack.” Raul had paused. “While I have issues with Reginald, I can’t let it come to war between our groups.” Keira could—almost unwillingly—understand what Raul meant. She wasn’t sure she entirely agreed with Harold’s course of action in attempting to bait the wolves; she had gone along with it, but if it had escalated, she would have been against it. The fact that she had had sex with a wolf— and enjoyed it—was another issue that weighed on Keira’s mind. She snorted, shaking her head as she stared off into space, remembering just how good the sex with Raul had been. If I told anyone in the clan about it, they’d disown me in a heartbeat. She knew that she smelled of Raul; that was even more reason for her not to go back to her own people just yet. Never should have blooded him. Keira gave herself a shake, abandoning even the possibility of trying to contact her clan; they would just have to hold onto the thread of her consciousness that they could sense, know that she was okay, and rely on that. She slid off of the couch and padded into the kitchen where the food that Raul had left for her was. For a captor—and a wolf at that—she had to admit that Raul was a fairly

decent person. He had focused on the kinds of foods that would best bolster her speedy recovery from injury and the copper chains that his pack mates had bound her in: lean meat, fish, and vegetables. He had also made sure that there was plenty to drink; not just water that she could get from the tap, but beer and one or two cans of soda. As a joke, the last time he had come to check on her, he had brought a bottle of cream with him, teasing her with it. Keira had just served herself a large plate of chicken and mixed vegetable salad when she heard a noise outside of the safe house. Her senses went into high alert; her ears perked, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, her vision became subtly sharper, and as she sniffed the air, she sorted through the scents she could identify inside of the house; her own pheromones, Raul’s heavier musk, the older smells of wolves who had been inside the building before. She breathed in deep, wishing that she’d had the presence of mind to crack one or two of the windows so that she could keep a constant check on scent-marks around the house. A metallic, clattering clink hit her ears and some of Keira’s tension began to ebb away. While that sound on its own didn’t mean that it was Raul, it was familiar—and she didn’t think that Raul would take her to a safe house that other wolves had keys to enter. Not to mention that if they were

coming here to get me, it’s not like they would use the keys to get in. A moment later, Keira’s preternaturally acute ears heard the sound of the tumblers in the lock turning over, the knob turning. Smiling to herself, she took a plate out of the cabinet and opened the fridge, finding the pile of bones she had salvaged from her lunch for the purpose of Raul’s next visit. She sniffed the air as she closed the fridge; she heard the door open and close, and the scent that greeted her was unquestionably Raul—Raul and no one else, Keira confirmed after a moment of suspicion. “Keira? Where are you?” “In the kitchen,” she called out, picking up the two plates. She stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room; the sight of Raul nearly made her drop both plates. The werewolf’s face, neck, and chest were dotted and splashed with blood, his hair matted with it. He smiled ruefully, setting down bags on the coffee table. “It looks pretty bad,” he said, reading her shock accurately. “You should see the other guy.” “What happened?” Keira quickly set the plates down on the table, moving closer to Raul with fast, silent steps, her animal instincts beginning to take over. Anger kindled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of anyone harming the man who had taken her out of her imprisonment, and Keira checked at the reaction. Slow down, girl. He

is not your mate. “Two things,” Raul said, grimacing as he sat down on the couch and began to peel his bloodstained shirt off. “First is that there is a shakeup in the Pack. The second is that your people have already commenced fighting back against Reginald’s execution of panthers.” Keira stared at Raul in shock, shaking her head slowly. Raul’s chest and arms were scored with gashes and slashes, and she could tell that he wasn’t the victim of some random wolf attack—at least not of that alone. There were unmistakable marks of panther on him as well. “You were attacked by one of my clan members,” Keira said, pointing to one of the marks on his arm. Raul shrugged. “They smelled you on me,” he said. “Your own Pack hasn’t yet?” Raul chuckled. “I’ve been keeping away from them, you big dummy. Everything so far has been by phone, with the excuse that I was recuperating from the fight with you and the wolf’s bane that your people threw at me to get you out of Reginald’s shed. Nobody wants to be around someone reeking of wolf’s bane.” “We don’t mind it,” Keira said with a shrug. “I don’t smell anyone else on you though.” “I showered before I came here,” Raul said simply. “But I’m not healing as fast as usual.” He

frowned down at his injured, scratched, bitten torso and shook his head. “Probably from that wolf’s bane I rolled around in before I went to meet with Reginald.” He looked around and his gaze fell on the plate of bones that Keira had brought out with her own food. “Bones?” “Fido,” Keira said, smiling wryly in spite of the fear, anger, and sadness she felt. “Not really that great of a joke at the moment, but it would have been hilarious if you’d come in uninjured.”

**** Raul winced as Keira scrubbed at one of the wounds across his chest with a washcloth, clenching his teeth to suppress the growl that rose in his throat in reaction. He knew—he understood, in the part of his mind that was human—that she had to get his wounds as clean as possible. He even understood that the saline she was using was the best possible cleanser, even if the salt stung and burned. He had to get the wolf’s bane out of his skin, out of his system, as quickly as possible. “You wolves act all tough,” Keira said, her voice light, “but you’re all a bunch of softies.” “Excuse me?” Raul raised an eyebrow, turning his head to look at her. Keira smiled, and he could smell the fear undercutting her normal pheromones. “I’ll have you know that I held up pretty damn well against the panthers your clan sent to ambush us.” “I wish I knew who you were up against,” Keira said, leaning in closer to sniff at his neck, his shoulder, and his chest. “They must not have been in close enough to get their scent on you very strongly if you were able to get rid of it with a shower.” “Or you’re just too attuned to my pheromones,” Raul countered. He turned to face her more fully, watching her intently. “You realize

that this is going to make everything a million times more complicated, don’t you?” Keira met his gaze for a long moment and then shrugged. “I’d say my clan attacking your pack probably complicated things on its own,” she said. She took a deep breath and sighed, and Raul saw the flicker of uncertainty, of worry, on her face. “This went down too fast.” Raul nodded his agreement. “I thought we’d have another day or two before we heard from your people,” he said. He shook his head, remembering the incredible chaos of the ambush. It was bad enough that the Pack was divided—that there had been a battle between its members—but the addition of the panthers in their midst, coming out of nowhere, on Pack lands at the outskirts of the town, was too much. Raul sighed and turned away from Keira again, giving her his back to treat. He needed to think. Reginald suspected something; of that Raul was certain. The Alpha had called Raul in for a meeting, saying that he didn’t care if the enforcer was injured or recovering from wolf’s bane poisoning; if he did not show up on Reginald’s doorstep in thirty minutes, he would be challenged the next time the Pack met. Raul closed his eyes as Keira went to work on the scratches, gashes, and bites on his back, remembering the whole incredible mess. Raul had taken a shower before he’d left his

house, doing everything he could to remove whatever scent marks Keira might have left on him; he was grateful for the fact that the panther had a naturally-evanescent pheromone, the trait that had made her and her friends difficult to track in the first place. It would be much more difficult for Keira to rid herself of Raul’s scent if and when she tried to return to the panthers than it was for Raul to scrub himself clean of her smell. When he had arrived at the meeting place that Reginald had chosen—Pack lands in the woods— Raul had already known that there was trouble afoot. Reginald had said nothing at all about a Pack meeting, and yet, Raul had been able to smell more than half of the members of the Pack, present, hidden, when he stepped out of his car. But there was no sense in forcing a confrontation; Raul decided that Reginald was a fool indeed if he thought his enforcer didn’t realize that more than half of the members of their group were present. “It’s good to see you, Raul,” Reginald had said, reaching out to clap Raul on the shoulder. “Glad I could make it out here,” Raul had replied. “What’s going on?” “We have some intelligence from the foxes that the panthers are planning to come after us for executing their kin,” Reginald had told him. “I want to hear what you think we should do about it.” “Why would you want just my opinion? Why

not call a Pack meeting and discuss it?” “I know you were against executing them,” Reginald had replied. “But it was the right thing to do.” “It went against Pack laws,” Raul had pointed out. He could smell the fear, the apprehension and brittle anger radiating off of Reginald. “But I’m your enforcer. I work under you. If you make an executive decision, that’s between the whole Pack and you.” “You’re not alone in your distaste for my decision,” Reginald had said. “I need to know that I’m not going to get a challenge at a time when we need to be more together than ever.” “Is that why you called me here? If I was going to challenge you, it would have been the night that it happened,” Raul had said. “You might wait until you had the supporters to take the Alpha and hold it,” Reginald had countered. “Or you might have just made the decision to be less than vigilant about your duties. The fact that you haven’t been around the past couple of days…” “You can still smell the wolf’s bane on me,” Raul had told the Alpha. “Do you think I’m enjoying this?” “I think one of the panthers got away and I didn’t smell as many on my property as it should have taken to bust her out,” Reginald had said

firmly. “And that makes me worried about the strength of our Pack.” “If our Pack is divided, the cause is more complicated than a hostage getting away.” “She wasn’t a hostage,” Reginald had said tightly. “She was a captive, a good-for-nothing cat on death row.” “The other two didn’t get away,” Raul had pointed out, shrugging. “You were able to show your strength by putting them to death just fine.” “Which makes me wonder how one escaped,” Reginald had insisted. Members of the Pack began to ooze out of the woods then, and Raul had felt his heart beating faster in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his system beginning to trigger the animal consciousness that always hovered in the back of his mind. The wolf in him rose to the fore, scenting to attempt to sort out which of the members of the Pack were with him—and which were against him. Cam wasn’t among the wolves that came out of the woods, and Raul wondered if that meant that his second was unaware, if Cam had decided to avoid the confrontation, or if he had decided to abandon Raul. “I thought this was supposed to be between you and me, Reginald,” Raul had said, gesturing to the members of the Pack. “I thought it would be a good idea to have a

few witnesses, just in case I have to bring you to tribunal,” Reginald had told him. “So, you tell me right now: do you know anything about the panther disappearing from our custody?” “I know she escaped,” Raul had said, meeting the Alpha’s gaze without flinching. “I know she was busted out, and that her own people were involved. That’s all I know. If you had given me time to recover before throwing these accusations in my face, maybe I’d have a chance to investigate it more thoroughly.” He had been able to feel the mood in the group that had assembled around himself and Reginald: doubt, distrust, anger, fear, and malice marked their scents and their body language. The part of the Pack that had come to witness the confrontation was like a perfectly dry powder keg on a hot day—anything would set them off. Trudy, one of the women and a member of the Pack whose business had been targeted in the panther raids, slipped forward. “I want to discuss the execution,” she said, looking from Reginald to Raul. “I don’t think it was right.” That had been all it took. Those few words had triggered the two factions of the Pack to spring into action. Raul had watched as the human bodies and faces had melted away, clothes tearing or flying through the air as people transformed into their animal shapes. Reginald had succumbed to the

atmosphere, the thick pheromones in the air that goaded the animal part of his brain. In moments, members of the Pack were attacking each other, growling and biting and leaping, and Raul lost Reginald in the melee, focused only on defending himself from the attacks that came from all sides. He felt the wrenching contact in his mind as members—family, friends— fought each other, injuring but not killing each other. Pain blossomed inside him as well as all over his pelt, and after a few moments that felt like hours, it was impossible to tell which was which. The fight might have come to nothing—or next to nothing—but as Raul had crouched, preparing to spring at a member of the Pack that had attacked one of those who was against the execution, he caught the scent: panthers. It had all devolved into pure, unbridled chaos and fury at that point; the members of the Pack, previously at each other’s throats, turned their anger towards the mutual enemy. Already tired from fighting his own people, Raul had barely managed to stay in the fight against the panthers long enough to help drive them away, watching to make sure that the cowardly ambushers had all slinked off before he changed back into his human form and climbed into his car. “We need to get the elementals involved in this,” Raul told Keira as he felt her hands come to a

stop against his body. “Those assholes? They’ll drag it out for ages,” Keira protested. “They’re the only ones who can assert a judgment over both groups,” Raul pointed out. “I need you to help me get in touch with your Alpha, and then we both need to go to the rulers of Fire and Earth and get them to wade into this pile of bullshit. Otherwise…” Raul turned and looked at Keira. “All either of our clans are going to do is pick each other off.”

**** Keira watched from the passenger seat as Raul pulled into the driveway of Harold’s house. The animal part of her consciousness, coiled through the human pathways of her brain, insisted that this was a bad idea; that it could cause nothing but trouble. But she agreed with Raul that there wasn’t a better option on the table. The situation between the Pack and the panther clan had already erupted into one battle—if they didn’t do something about it, if nobody called a truce, then the two groups would go on fighting each other until the elementals got involved. “You gave him notice we were coming, right?” Raul glanced at her as he shifted the car into park, and Keira nodded. As soon as they’d gotten into range, she had reached out mentally, telling Harold that she was safe, that she was coming to his house to brief him about the situation with the wolves— and that she was bringing a wolf with her. “You better get any Alpha thoughts about taking charge of this conversation out of your head right now, Fido,” Keira said, knowing that she sounded more nervous than tough, and that Raul would hear it. “If you try and pretend like you’re doing Harold a favor bringing me back, then he’s going to stonewall you. Let me take the lead on

this.” “I’ll let you pretend you knocked me out and drove yourself here if you want,” Raul suggested, the playful tone of his voice belying the gunpowder scent of his apprehension. “But I don’t think even Harold would believe it.” Keira smiled slightly, her heart already beating faster in her chest, the animal consciousness in her mind gearing up to handle the situation. Harold was the Alpha of her clan; he was the only person she could truly trust to talk to about the situation. But she knew that she could only trust Harold so far. He might spare her because she was a mating-age female, but if he thought that she had violated the rules of the clan—and realistically, she had—then he could repudiate her, capture Raul, and kill them both. “Let’s get this over with,” Keira said, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to push down the fear and apprehension she felt. She opened the passenger side door of the car and climbed out, immediately sniffing the air to catch any traces of scent-marks from members of the clan. She could smell familiar panther-marks, but none of them were fresh enough to suggest that they were still present, other than Harold’s own scent mark, leading from his truck in the driveway and towards the front door, a well-worn, often-refreshed marking. Keira glanced at Raul and saw that he was doing the same, sorting through the different,

evanescent scents. “Hard to catch our smells, isn’t it?” Raul gave her a wry grin. “Some of you are more obvious than others,” he said. “You must not be here all that often.” “What makes you say that?” Keira frowned, looking around the property. “If you were here often, even as faint as your trace is, I’d know it.” Keira felt her stomach lurch at the admission; if Raul knew her scent-mark that well, then he was starting to connect with her more seriously. Never should have given into the urge to blood him, she thought bitterly. At least Raul had had enough self-control to avoid blooding her; there would be hell to pay if she had the mark of a wolf’s love-bite on her neck, or if Harold could have scented her blood on Raul. Keira dismissed the thought and started towards the front door of the Alpha’s house, telling herself that Harold was not nearly as hotheaded as Reginald had proven himself to be. “Remember,” she said sharply to Raul as they both stepped up onto the front porch. “You’re in charge,” Raul said, assuming an appropriate subordinate position, just a step behind her. He smiled slightly and then wiped his face clean of the expression. Keira took another quick, deep breath and lifted her hand, willing the change to flow through her arm, transforming the fingers, the palm, into a paw. She scratched at the door, in

the pattern that had been drilled into her mind ever since she had first begun transforming with the clan; it was the identifying “knock” of one member of the clan to another, something they all knew and recognized. If she hadn’t trusted Raul with her life, Keira would have simply knocked; she felt briefly nervous at what she was implying to her clan leader with the secret gesture, but he would scent Raul on her skin the moment he answered the door. There could be no hiding the attachment between them, tenuous as it was. A moment later, Keira’s sharp ears picked up the sound of the lock’s tumblers turning over in the door, and then Harold appeared, looking from her to Raul distrustfully. “Come inside,” he said brusquely, his gaze settling once more on Raul, almost a scowl. “And you—wolf. Don’t think that just because I’m letting you into my home, you’re welcome to do as you please. I’ll enforce my right to rule my own property if I have to.” “I understand,” Raul said, inclining his head ever so slightly in Harold’s direction. “I’m here to discuss issues between our groups—and Keira told me that the person to come to was you. I am a guest in your home.” “You’re not a guest,” Harold said sharply. “You’re an associate.” Harold’s heavy gaze fell on Keira. “Why one of my own people would bring a damned wolf into my home is beyond me.”

“Let us in before someone sees,” Keira told the older man firmly. She kept her body language neutral, not quite submissive, and let her gaze fall away, telling him that she was not there to threaten. “We need to talk.”

**** The Alpha’s house reeked of panther as Raul stood in the living room, carefully maintaining his subordinate position. Even without Keira’s warning, Harold’s greeting would have given him enough notice to behave himself properly. Raul looked around, trying not to appear to be noticing details; the last thing he wanted was to come across as a spy. “Raul was the one who helped me escape,” Keira told the Alpha, sitting down on the leather couch that hugged the wall. Raul remained standing, a few feet away from her, hands in front of him, in a sort of modified “parade rest” position. The old man looks like ex-military, Raul thought, feeling an almost unwilling sympathy with Harold. He didn’t want to like the man; the Alpha panther was everything that Raul had ever been taught to distrust. But he had already begun to question the dogma that living as a werewolf had bequeathed to him; Keira was unlike anything he had been taught to expect of a panther female. “Lachlan and Gary are dead,” Harold said. “You got away. Explain that to me.” “They were given the opportunity to leave, too,” Keira said, glancing at Raul. “He offered them assistance, but they wouldn’t take it.”

“Why did you?” Harold’s voice was tight, almost brittle with suppressed anger. Raul looked at the man more intently, taking in the details of his face; there were similarities to Lachlan, but that could simply be close breeding. He had more than a few cousins in the Pack himself. “Lachlan and Gary insisted,” Keira said. “Because I am a female of mating age. They kept us in copper chains; I fought with this one to try and create enough of a diversion for all of us to get free, but the Alpha came in.” Harold looked at Raul sharply and Raul looked away, carefully keeping his gaze on the floor, expressing no dominance. “The wolf Alpha overstepped his boundaries,” Harold said, his voice cut through with a throaty growl. “He has to be made to pay. I can smell that one’s mark all over you—why shouldn’t I call in the clan, have you both whipped and then put to your own deaths? You for a traitor, him for being part of the illegal execution?” “If we don’t settle this,” Keira said firmly, “then our clan and their Pack are both just going to keep picking each other off bit by bit until either the elementals get involved or neither of us has enough members to survive.” “The wolves have to pay for what they did,” Harold insisted. “I can’t let what they did slide.” “What would you ask as a price?” Keira shot a scowl in his direction, but Raul disregarded it. “I

will tell you now—the Pack itself is divided about the executions. Some of the members are glad it happened; the raids on our businesses were getting out of control. Some of the members are against Reginald now, because what he did isn’t our way.” “It’s exactly your way, wolf,” Harold said, the growl in his voice intensifying. “It’s the coward’s way.” “And raiding businesses in the dead of night is brave?” Raul head Keira’s warning hiss, saw the tension increase in Harold’s demeanor. “We didn’t even know your grievance with us—how is raiding our businesses, vandalizing our properties, without telling us what you want from us, a way to solve the situation?” “You wolves know exactly what you’ve done,” Harold insisted. “I shouldn’t have to tell you.” “I want to know what you think we’ve done,” Raul said, bringing his gaze up—briefly—to meet Harold’s. “We can’t broker a truce between our groups if nobody is willing to discuss their grievances. I’ve told you ours; you tell me yours.” “Wolves have been poaching on our lands,” Harold said, scowling at him. “Some of your Pack have been stealing from our businesses in the middle of the day, pilfering things.” “Young, or full Pack members?” Raul made a mental note of that—it was something he hadn’t

known. Of course, if it were werewolf youths, their actions were likely to have been motivated by pure pettiness, or done as a way to “prove” their bravery to their friends. “Full Pack members,” Harold said, almost spitting the words out. “And one of your asshole Pack buddies killed a panther of mating age last month.” “What?” Keira was as shocked as Raul felt. “When did that happen?” “I brought in a possible mate for Lachlan,” Harold said quietly. “Since Keira won’t mate him, I thought a panther from another place might be a better fit. She was here three days, and then I found her dead on the clan’s running territory, marked by the wolves.” “I hadn’t heard about this,” Raul said. “Would you be able to identify who it was that killed the female, if they were brought before you?” “Of course,” Harold said bitterly. “The only scents I know better than that pissy wolf smell are the scents of my own kin. I’ve locked it in my memory.” “Why didn’t you go to Reginald for justice?” Raul could see on Keira’s face that she was appalled. “We started these petty raids on the wolves’ businesses because you wanted to stir up a war?” “I wanted to force them to confront us,”

Harold said. “All you wolves think you’re too good for the rest of the shifter community; the only way I’d get you to come talk to us was to get you good and mad.” “Instead, you made us goad them into capturing us, and killing Lachlan and Gary!” “That was Reginald’s decision,” Raul said firmly. “Our bylaws say that you three should have been put to trial, your Alpha contacted, some kind of agreement come to.” “Excuse me if I’m not surprised that a wolf doesn’t even obey his own Pack’s bylaws when it stops being convenient,” Harold said bitterly. “So how are we going to heal this breach?” Raul glanced at Keira. “You’ve lost kin, I’ve lost kin and friends, and Raul’s Pack is in chaos. Will you agree to meet with members of the Pack to bring the killers to justice?” “I need revenge for Lachlan as well as for the female,” Harold said firmly. “And I know exactly who killed my boy. I want to see Reginald dead.” Raul pressed his lips together; he could understand the older man’s desire for vengeance, but he couldn’t think of how he could protect his own kin —the Pack—and also bring the peace that he and Keira desperately needed. Reginald had set him up; he had called members of the Pack, some of whom had attacked him in the melee. “Let me see if I can help you track down the

female’s killers,” Raul suggested. “And then we can talk about Reginald. The Pack itself might not give you the opportunity to kill him.” Harold laughed, the sound cut through with a throaty, purring growl. “I’d accept whoever replaced him as Alpha,” Harold told him. “Provided he or she rose to the top spot by putting him to death.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” Raul said wryly. “Will you grant us safe passage to leave?” Keira’s voice was tight, but her pheromones were not as strongly marked with fear as they’d been when the two of them had arrived; Raul thought to himself that he might never plumb the depths of her personality—the way she interacted with her Alpha was different from the way she treated him, and he was sure that it was different from how she acted with outsiders. All of us here have different personalities, depending on who you talk to, Raul thought absently. “I’m going to have to put the matter of you taking up with a damn wolf to the clan,” Harold said. “You can leave my house, I won’t detain you —but you’d best not show your face in any of our running lands.” Keira looked briefly shocked— shocked and hurt—but then she inclined her head, accepting the verdict. “We’ll go,” she said, looking at him. She turned back to Harold. “If you send trackers after

us when we’re staying away, though, I won’t hold back—not in protecting myself, and not in protecting him.” “You’ve mated him?” Raul’s heart beat faster in his chest. “No,” she said. “But if he’s willing, I fully intend to.”

**** “You intend to mate me?” Keira glanced at Raul, pressing her lips together. “Shut up,” she said quietly. The words had come out of her almost without warning; she could sense Harold’s intentions to find a way to detain Raul, to keep him long enough for certain members of the panther clan to arrive at his home. “We’re not going to get much help from Harold,” Keira added. “He wants to spill wolf blood. Not that I can completely blame him.” “We’re going to need to figure out what the story is on that female he imported,” Raul told her. “If he’s right…” “Then we’ll have to figure out which wolves were behind it,” Keira said, nodding. “They’ll have to face justice.” She frowned. “I wasn’t aware of any panther female dying, though.” On the other hand, she hadn’t felt the telltale signs in the Alpha’s mind that he was lying. Of course, Harold had been so shielded mentally that it was difficult to get much more than the strongest impulses from his mind; certainly, she hadn’t been able to communicate with him the way she could have with another member of the clan. “He may have brought her in secretly, not introduced her to the rest of the clan yet,” Raul

pointed out. “He might have been waiting to see how she and Lachlan got along.” “He wanted me for Lachlan,” Keira said. She glanced at Raul in the driver’s seat of the car again. “He’s not going to be inclined to help you. We need to be careful with him.” Raul sighed. “Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Neither of our Alphas are strictly speaking trustworthy at this point.” He glanced at her, smiling wryly. “Everyone seems to have ulterior motives.” Keira chuckled at the understatement. “So, you want to mate me. That’s news.” “I told you, shut up about that,” Keira said, her cheeks burning as the blood rushed into her face. “I had to tell Harold that, because he would have grabbed you otherwise.” “The day I can’t handle a panther…” “You couldn’t handle me,” Keira countered. “The day I can’t handle an old panther with a young panther at my side is the day I give up on being a wolf.” Keira rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t have defended you without marking you as my mate, without coming out about it,” Keira said. “I’d be going against my own kind for a stranger.” “So, you want to be my mate,” Raul said, his lips twitching with amusement. “That’s not—ooh,” Keira took a slow breath, closing her eyes. “I don’t want you to end up being

killed—or hurt more than you already are— because Harold’s out for revenge,” Keira said. “That’s all.” “I didn’t know you cared,” Raul said, chuckling lowly. Keira heard the pleased, almost growling undertone in his voice. “I thought you wouldn’t ever mate someone who couldn’t best you in combat?” “And I won’t,” Keira said tartly. “That’s why it was just a maneuver. I can’t believe you’re taking it seriously.” “I could best you in combat,” Raul said. “Even now, as long as you fought fair, I could do it.” He pulled off of the surface street and onto the dirt road that led out to the safe house, and Keira opened the window a crack; she had the uncomfortable apprehension that Harold might have set someone to track them, that her Alpha might be more interested in getting what revenge he could for Lachlan than in waiting for full justice. “You couldn’t best me in combat on your best day,” Keira told Raul tartly. She sniffed at the air coming in from outside of the car, sorting through the scents even as she reached out with her mind. There was no sign of panther—and more importantly, in Keira’s thoughts, no sign of wolves either. “You want to test that theory?” Keira glanced at Raul. His hazel eyes glimmered with mischief.

“You’re injured,” she told him tartly. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” “You aren’t challenging me, though,” Raul countered. “I’m challenging you. If I think I’m up to it, who are you to argue with me?” Keira stared at Raul and smiled slowly, shaking her head. “You want me to mate you,” she said, amused. “I just want to prove you can’t take me in a fair fight,” Raul said, shrugging. “If you go through with the challenge I’m not going to hold back,” Keira told him, looking him up and down. Raul chuckled. “If you did, I’d be disappointed in you as a shifter and a panther both,” he told her. He shut the car off and opened the driver’s side door, and Keira, tingling all over, unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the passenger side seat as well. “Are you seriously challenging me?” Keira looked at Raul doubtfully, able to picture each of the wounds on his body that she had cleaned and dressed only hours before. Shifters healed quickly, but it was difficult for her to credit the possibility that Raul was actually recovered enough to fight her. “Because I mean, the last time we battled, you weren’t even injured and I almost had you.” Her heart beat faster in her chest, and the animal part of her consciousness began to rise to the fore. Keira could feel the magic of the transformation crackling along her bones, through her veins.

“I think you’re worried I’ll show you up,” Raul said. He reached down and tugged the hem of his tee shirt up, hauling the fabric along his torso and over his head. “Then you’ll have to mate me, by your own rules.” “I just don’t want to kill you,” Keira said. “So then don’t kill me,” Raul told her. He smirked. “Make me submit, if you can.” He began unbuttoning the fly of his jeans, and Keira went to work on her own clothes, quickly discarding them. She could feel her nerves tingling, her body preparing itself for the transformation. She could still see where some of the injuries on Raul’s body were healing; they had mostly closed up, but Keira knew that he was almost certainly in at least a little pain. “You’re an idiot,” she told him, sinking down into a crouch, ready to begin the transformation. “I’m going to pin you and then you’re going to make me feel bad about it because you’ll be all bloody and injured.” Raul snorted, sinking onto his knees. “Just take it seriously,” he told her, his hazel eyes dancing with pride and mischief. “I don’t want to think that I only beat you because you were less than your usual strength out of pity.” “Fine,” Keira said. She willed the change onto herself and shuddered as her bones began to shift and move inside of her body. She didn’t pay any

attention to Raul for the moment, absorbed in the transformation working its way through her body; she felt the fur sliding through her skin, the way her skull flattened, stretched, moved inside of her, her teeth elongating. She felt her fingertips changing, her hands turning into paws, claws sliding out of her skin. In moments, the transformation was complete, and Keira rolled on the ground, twisting and stretching. She looked around and saw the lupine shape of Raul a few feet away from her. In the part of her mind that was still human, Keira had to admit that Raul made an impressive—and impressively large—wolf, that by any standard he was formidable, even injured. Keira let out a long, low growl, slinking and sidling. She could remember fighting Raul before; but there was a different feeling behind their confrontation now. In part, it was due to the fact that Keira knew that she didn’t actually want to harm Raul; their sparring was a power play, not a true life-or-death fight. Raul replied to her growl with a full-throated howl, throwing his head back, and then they both began circling each other. In spite of her competitive, proud words only moments before, Keira felt doubt swimming to the surface of her mind; she didn’t want to hurt Raul. The animal part of her consciousness recognized what they were doing—the ritual behind their

circling, the sparring that they would engage in as soon as one of them was ready to make the first strike—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go through with it. Raul lunged first, turning sharply and launching himself at her, growling in a way that Keira immediately recognized as non-threatening. Keira feinted, slipping away from Raul’s range, twisting under his lunge. She pushed the human part of her mind back, and threw herself into the fight, acting and reacting, falling into Raul’s rhythm, following his movements. The battle between them ebbed and flowed; Keira threw herself at Raul, targeting the parts of his body that weren’t already injured. She tried to trip him up, tried to knock him over, tried to get underneath him and send him sprawling. In return, Raul lunged and turned and twisted, ramming her with his shoulder, colliding with her. They tumbled to the ground together, first one on top and then the other, growling and purring and barking playfully. Keira’s whole body was awake and alive with a mixture of competitive fury and almost unwilling desire as the battle between them intensified. Keira felt herself beginning to tire, and realized that Raul was starting to stumble and stagger. Panting, the human part of her mind smiled and she looked for her opening; when Raul staggered in the midst of a feint out of her range,

she twisted, lunging for his hindquarters. Keira felt her legs go out from under her and shrieked in surprise as momentum carried her to her side and then her back. In an instant, Raul was on top of her, growling in a low, steady, playful tone, his mouth on her throat—but not bearing down even slightly. Keira struggled, but she was incapable of knocking Raul off of her body, or budging his weight from her center of gravity; she was inextricably pinned. Keira struggled for a moment longer, but it was clear that Raul had tricked her, that he had managed to actually pin her. She growled and relaxed underneath him, signaling her submission.

**** Raul let Keira’s throat drop from his mouth and pulled back, willing the transformation to ripple through his body once more. He felt his bones shifting and changing inside of his skin, the muscles twisting and moving, colors coming up in his eyes that he hadn’t been able to see before. Underneath him, Keira trembled and shivered as her own change worked through her body, and fur disappeared, only to be replaced by beautiful, breathtaking naked skin. As his mouth assumed human shape once more, Raul licked his lips. “I pinned you,” he said, his voice still rippling with a wolfish growl. “I won the contest.” “You cheated,” Keira countered. “I did not cheat,” Raul insisted. He stared down into her eyes intently, torn between amusement and annoyance. “I used strategy.” Raul buried his face against her neck, growling lowly. “Just like you did when you went for me at my weakest-seeming point.” “You just…” Raul nipped sharply at Keira’s throat—a mixture of dominant threat and affection —and she moaned, her body heating up against his. “You just want to mate me.” “Maybe I do,” Raul murmured against her

skin. “Maybe I want to take you as my mate and mark you and tell everyone you’re all mine.” His cock was already rock-hard, his arousal white hot, flowing through his veins. From the moment that Keira had mentioned fighting for dominance, the challenge that she required from her mate, Raul’s lust for the shifter female had built up inside of him. “Why?” Keira looked up at him in confusion, and Raul smiled slowly, pulling back to hold her gaze. “You wanted to hold out for the male who could best you in combat,” Raul said. Keira nodded, shrugging slightly in admission. “I’ve been holding out for the female who is a match for me.” He brushed his lips against hers, nipping her bottom lip. “You can’t tell me that you don’t feel it, Keira.” Raul nuzzled Keira’s neck, breathing in the scent of her pheromones. The heady musk of her arousal filled his nose, vying with the stable scent that clung to her at all times, spurring a deeper arousal in Raul’s body. “I feel it,” Keira said, her voice low, almost purring. “But we—should we…” “Absolutely,” Raul told her. He touched her everywhere, forgetting the pain from his wounds, forgetting everything but the desire—the need—to take Keira. “We absolutely should. You need to make good on what you told your Alpha, don’t you?” He rocked his hips against hers; Raul

shuddered at the feeling of Keira’s soaking wet labia brushing against his erection. “Submit to me, Keira. Let me take you.” For a moment, Keira lie beneath him, tense and uncertain, even with the arousal pheromones radiating from her body filling his nose. Then she relaxed against him, her pupils dilating, her heart fluttering at the pulse point in her neck. “Neither of our clans is going to be happy with us.” Raul leaned in and claimed Keira’s lips with his own, kissing her hungrily. He nipped and nibbled at her bottom lip, growling lowly as his hands trailed all over her body. Keira’s arousal intensified moment by moment, and Raul felt his own desire rising to meet it. In moments, the air was thick with their pheromones, and Raul could barely hold himself back from thrusting into her just as she was, lying underneath him, her soaking wet folds tantalizingly close. “Say it,” Raul said, pulling back enough to look down into Keira’s eyes. “Say it, you know you want to.” Keira panted, her hips twisting and shifting underneath him, her body pressed against his, and Raul clenched his teeth to hold the animal part of his consciousness at bay. “Take me as your mate,” Keira said, her voice tight with desire. “I submit to you.” Raul lifted himself off of Keira’s body, his hands trembling slightly from pent-up desire. He

kissed her throat, her breasts, nuzzling against Keira and marking her all over with his scent. He kissed a path down from her full, lush breasts and along her abdomen, breathing in her heady aroma, growling low in his throat, the urge for possession coiling the muscles in his body, driving out some of his most human impulses. He spread her legs wide at the hip, and Raul nipped sharply at Keira’s inner thigh. You have to do this right, he told himself, taking a quick, deep breath. It wasn’t enough to mouth her, to deliver the marking bite; he had to bring Keira to a height of pleasure that she hadn’t experienced with any other partner. He had to make her truly and completely submit to him, give into him, bond with him. Raul buried his face against Keira’s soaking wet pussy, nuzzling his lips and cheeks against her, his tongue darting out to taste her fluids. He sucked and licked, devouring her, drinking down Keira’s arousal as if it were honey. Keira’s body came to life underneath him, electric; her hands closed on his head, on his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair, and Raul smiled to himself as he heard her moaning out, the sound cut through with her distinctive panther growling purr. Raul teased Keira relentlessly, worshipping her with his lips and tongue. Spurred by instinct, he brought her to the edge of orgasm again and again,

flicking his rough-edge tongue against her clitoris and then darting down to the well of her pussy, sucking and licking along her inner labia as Keira pitched and arched in reaction. Raul could feel, could sense Keira’s pleasure mounting, the tension building between her hips as he worshipped her. When he knew that Keira couldn’t take even a moment more of teasing, Raul pulled back, licking his lips clean of all traces of her fluids, and quickly reached underneath her to flip her onto her stomach. Keira growled and purred, lifting her hips, rising up onto her elbows and knees on the grass, presenting her body to him, submitting to his dominance. Animal instinct, coiled deep inside of Raul’s body and mind, sprung free, and he covered her body with his own, lining his hips up with the curve of Keira’s ass. She spread her legs wider, and Raul reached down between their bodies, guiding the tip of his cock up against her soaking wet folds. He thrust into her all at once, filling her up in a single movement, and Keira cried out in pleasure, pushing her hips back to take him deeper. Raul began moving immediately, thrusting deeper and deeper inside of Keira’s body. He held her hip with one hand and balanced himself on the other, pressing his face between her shoulders, growling and moaning as his own pleasure mounted. He held himself back, feeling Keira’s

body, reading her reactions as they moved together as one. He knew she was getting closer and closer to orgasm; he knew that if he was going to take her as his mate—really take her, truly mark her—he had to do the right thing at precisely the right moment. Raul kissed along Keira’s spine, lapping the sweat from her skin, feeling the ripple of her inner muscles tightening in convulsive spasms around his achingly hard cock. Raul knew the precise moment when Keira reached her orgasm; he groaned, bringing his mouth up to the nape of Keira’s neck, struggling to maintain his self-control as her body tightened around him. She gave into the orgasm, moaning and purring, and Raul continued to thrust hard and fast into her, riding the wave of her climax for several moments. Finally—when he felt the panther underneath him reach the peak of her orgasm— Raul opened his mouth, sinking his teeth in the nape of her neck carefully. Keira cried out, shuddering against him, and Raul tasted her blood on his tongue. It was too much for Raul to hold back any longer; he released Keira’s neck and threw his head back as wave after wave of pleasure washed through him in crackling jolts. He howled, proclaiming his ownership, his mastery of the woman he had taken, to the world at large, the call of a wolf claiming his mate. For several moments

that felt like an eternity, Raul howled again and again as his climax continued, his cock twitching as his come flooded out of his body and into hers. When the last of the spasms began to abate, he collapsed against her, panting and gasping for breath, pleasure still dancing along his nerves throughout his body. For better or worse, she is fully mine now, he thought idly, as the haze of his pleasure wiped out the last of his ability to think.

**** Keira came back to herself bit by bit, aware of the lingering ache in her neck, the full, tender feeling along her labia, the faint pain deep down between her hips. She smiled to herself, fidgeting slightly underneath Raul’s body, and felt him slide off of her with a groan, sinking onto the grass where their battle had brought them. You actually let a man take you. You let a wolf take you. It was beyond Keira’s ability to believe; she had known that she would eventually take a mate, but from her first awakenings to sexual desire, she had always thought that it would be a panther—one of her own kind, someone she could trust. “How’s your neck?” Keira shivered at the feeling of Raul’s fingertips tracing the place where he’d marked her with his teeth; she felt a thrill of pleasure, a deep, animal impulse that she couldn’t reason away or suppress. “It hurts like hell,” Keira replied. She turned her head to look at Raul with a smile. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.” “We reek of each other,” Raul informed her. “When we go to the elementals, they’re going to know right away that we’re mated.” “They’ll know, the panthers will know, the wolves will know,” Keira shrugged. “We’ll be lucky

if they aren’t all fighting over who gets to put us to death first.” “The elementals won’t want to,” Raul told her firmly. “They’ll want us to unite the two clans, make the peace.” “Convenient,” Keira said, smiling wryly. “Seeing as how that’s what we’re trying to do.” “I personally am not a fan of dying for that,” Raul told her. He reached out, and Keira didn’t even try to fight the feeling of comfort and contentment that rose inside of her that came along with his tight embrace, the sensation of his arms coiled around her waist, his body pressed to hers. “We need to take a shower and get dressed, and then we need to meet with the elementals.” “That would be the logical next step,” Keira agreed. “But for right now I’m kind of happy just lying here.” Raul chuckled, brushing a lock of hair out of her face and leaning in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “You wanted this, right?” Raul pulled back and met her gaze, looking down at her intently. “I could feel it in you, but I want to hear you say it.” “Against my better judgment, yes,” Keira said. She could feel her nerves still tingling, and a more concerning phenomena: she had a sense of Raul’s emotions, dancing just out of the reach of her mind, a shadow-suggestion that was both like and unlike the connection she felt with her clan-mates. “I

definitely wanted to screw your brains out—or have you screw mine out. And I wanted to be your mate.” “You really wanted it,” Raul said again, his voice uncertain. “You’re the only one I’ve met so far who’s been able to pin me,” Keira admitted. “Even if you were tricky about it.” “We were both tricky,” Raul countered. His lips slid against her cheek, along her throat, and Raul pulled her around. Keira let her body be manipulated, snuggling closer to the wolf, closing her eyes as the movement sent jolts of sensation from the bite at her neck, the deep ache in her hips, the parts of her body that had received the most attention from Raul. “Next time we spar I’ll let you win.” Keira growled, glaring at him. “Do not even say you would ever let me win,” she told him, springing free of his embrace and using her momentum to shove Raul onto his back. “If I best you it’s going to because I’m better,” Keira insisted. “If you best me,” Raul countered. His hands fell to her hips and he grinned up at her. “Give me a chance to recover and wait for the dust to clear on this mess we’re in, and we’ll have a rematch.” Keira looked down at him for a long moment, considering. She had let him take her as his mate; she had let him mark her. She was committed to

him. Their bond would only increase in time. The tendrils of feeling that she was receiving from Raul’s contented, satisfied mind would deepen, and she would be as aware of him as she was of any of the members of her clan. “Can you…feel me?” Keira felt the heat in her cheeks as she blushed. “Oh yeah,” Raul said, his voice rippling with amusement and desire. “I can feel every inch of you.” Keira rolled her eyes and swatted at him, half-wishing she had her paws instead of normal human hands. “You know what I mean,” she said sharply. “Can you…feel my mind?” “A little,” Raul said, nodding slowly. “It’s going to get more intense every time we have sex, and the longer we spend time together,” Keira said, thinking out loud. “That does sort of come with the territory of mating,” Raul pointed out. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” “I’m okay with it,” Keira said, nodding quickly. “It’s just weird is all.” Raul kissed her on the lips. “Let’s go inside, have something to eat, and get a shower,” Raul suggested. “You can contemplate all you want about how much of a comedown in prestige you’re suffering while we’re away from the mosquitoes.” Keira laughed and sat

up; the sun was beginning to sink in the sky, and Raul did have a point. If they remained outside, lounging in the grass, they’d be attacked by droves of mosquitoes. She stood and offered Raul her hand; Keira was both surprised and not surprised that he didn’t balk, but merely accepted her assistance, pulling himself up and then immediately wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close. “I can’t wait to take you again,” Raul murmured in her ear. “You have to earn it,” Keira told him tartly. “I want to be on top next time.” “I could go with that,” Raul said, grinning. They went into the safe house together, and Keira checked in the kitchen; there was plenty of food for both of them, even as ravenous as they both were in the aftermath of their mating. “We’ll go to the elementals first thing in the morning,” Raul suggested. “For now, I want to do everything I can to solidify our bond, to cement the fact that we’re mates.” Keira looked at him sharply. “You think they’re going to try and separate us,” she said; there was no need to specify whom ‘they’ were. “Pretty sure,” Raul said with a nod. “Either your Alpha or mine.” “You said Reginald tried to ambush you before —before my people came into the battle,” Keira said, remembering the details that Raul had recited

when she’d cleaned his wounds earlier in the day. “Where did he go?” Raul shrugged. “No idea,” Raul said. “By the time the skirmish ended, he’d disappeared. I suspected he went home injured, but there’s no way—right now —to know for sure.” “We need to watch out for him,” Keira said. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” Raul told her. “Tonight is just for us.” Keira looked at him intently for a moment and then nodded. She could feel the tendrils of Raul’s thoughts worming their way into her mind, working their way deeper. She had done something absolutely irrevocable in letting him take her, letting him mark her as his mate. Raul took her hand and led her towards the bathroom, and Keira let herself be led, trying to decide which of their clans was more likely to pose the most immediate threat. Keira knew instinctively that she and Raul would be making love throughout the night—but she wasn’t certain, given how much the situation surrounding them weighed on her, just how thoroughly she would be able to give herself to Raul. We need to find allies, she thought as she stepped into the shower, ducking into Raul’s ready embrace as the water sluiced down from the showerhead. We need to get some people on both sides who can keep Harold and Reginald both off of us. She told herself that she would broach the topic with Raul later; for the time being, she

wanted to just enjoy him.

**** Raul woke with a start, at first uncertain what had awakened him. His preternaturally acute vision made the darkness in the bedroom of the flophouse almost insignificant; as he looked around, he saw that there was no one else in the room—just him and Keira. She stirred next to him, and Raul felt the strange, tingling sensation of thoughts that didn’t belong to him—or to the pack—swirling to life in his mind. They were little more than fleeting, sleepy impressions, nothing substantial enough to truly “read,” but he knew them immediately for Keira’s waking thoughts. Something—not him—had pulled her out of sleep as well. At once, Raul was out of the bed, moving to the window. Keira was no more than a step behind him, and Raul forced himself to focus on the task at hand—finding out what had awakened them both —rather than the way the moonlight through the window silvered her skin, highlighting the curves of her voluptuous body. “Did you hear something?” He kept his voice to a whisper so low it was almost a breath. “I felt something,” Keira replied, sounding almost confused. “Like some kind of twitch.” Raul nodded. “Same for me,” he said. He looked out

through the window into the darkness; the moon had already set for the night, and there wasn’t much light from the stars, or from the house, to pick out details. “Let’s get this open,” he suggested. Next to him, Keira nodded. Raul opened the window just a crack and knelt down, sniffing to try and catch any trace of scent. Rabbit, deer, beaver, opossum… wolf. Wolf? Panther. His heart started beating faster in his chest. “We’ve been found,” he said to Keira, his mind shifting into a blur of animal reaction and military training. “No one’s attacked yet,” Keira said quietly. She shut the window quickly but quietly. As if on cue, a howl cut through the air; the next instant, Raul heard glass breaking. “Get back!” he whispered hoarsely to Keira. Raul’s years of training slipped into place, keeping a slight rein on animal instincts that welled up. You have to protect her. Raul stepped out in front of Keira as they both left the bedroom, headed into the living room where the window had been shattered. A wolf and a panther dove through the jagged opening, both narrowly missing injury, and Raul pushed Keira behind him, ignoring her angry growl. He glanced quickly around the room and found a silver-edged knife he’d brought with him as a precaution, laying on the table. Raul grabbed the hilt as more wolves and panthers darted through the broken window; one—he recognized Mike from the

Pack, injured but apparently healing quickly— transformed back into his human form and darted to the door, opening it. As soon as the door was open, chaos descended, and Raul fell into trained instincts, keeping one eye on Keira at all times as he tried to sort through the members of his Pack and the members of the panther clan that had come to attack the house. Raul kept the knife in his hand, slashing and stabbing with it, in the defensive crouch that his training made second nature. He couldn’t tell if the panthers and wolves were working together or fighting each other—and he wasn’t sure, in the few moments that he could spare from reacting to the conflict unfolding in the living room, whether the two groups knew for sure themselves. One moment, panthers and wolves attacked each other, growling and snarling; the next, both groups pushed forward, one of each kind attacking him, trying to get past him to Keira, who had changed into her own panther form at some point in the melee. Raul threw himself into the battle; for the moment, he ceased to see the people coming into the flophouse as friend or foe, or to even attempt to discover what the motivations of the combatants were. He tried to keep Keira in the corner of his vision as he attacked and defended at the same time, using the maneuvers drilled into him in Basic.

Don’t treat the wolves any differently from the panthers. They’re both invading—they’re all enemies. The air was a dizzying combination of the sounds of growling, barking, shouts, shrieks, and groans, along with the smells of more than a dozen panthers and wolves, blood and—Raul caught the scent of smoke and decided to worry about that later. “Get him with the silver!” Raul heard someone—he wasn’t sure who—call the command, and then searing, sizzling pain wrapped around him, touching his bare skin everywhere. He howled, the silver net around him sapping his strength in instants. Raul felt his knees go weak, felt himself tumbling forward, gloved hands grabbing at him even as he snarled and twisted, trying to get free of the net. He tried to bite—but his teeth met the silver and electric agony shot through his skull. “Got her!” Raul flailed and fought, and barely caught sight of people swarming Keira—cornering her and throwing a net over her. He couldn’t recognize the people; Raul thought they must be panthers. He tried to squirm free of the net that seemed to tighten around him moment by moment, but no amount of kicking or thrashing broke him free of its bonds; the more he fought the more the silver seemed to affect him, weakening him, hurting more and more. He felt himself lifted off of the ground and then into the darkness he went,

howling, struggling as much as his feeble strength allowed. Raul barely saw the shape of a van—he thought it belonged to Reginald—before darkness of a different kind began to swirl in his vision, pulling him under in spite of the pounding of his heart in his chest and the ache in his throat from howling for Keira. The last thing he thought was that he would have to break free in order to have any hope of finding out where the panthers had taken Keira. Have to get to the Elementals…have to tell them…have to get to Keira. Raul groaned as his body hit the hard floor of the van, sending a shockwave of pain through him; then everything went dark.

**** “She’s coming around,” someone said. Keira kept her eyes closed, and tried to keep her breathing slow and even, but as she swam up out of unconsciousness, she knew from the mental impressions around her that she was among the members of her clan; they would feel the shift in her mental signature, they would know immediately that she was no longer completely out. Not like it matters anyway. Let them know that I’m awake. I don’t have to talk to them. Keira felt a hot lump of fury in the pit of her stomach at the memory of watching the attackers carry Raul off into the darkness, just as her own people surrounded her and looped silver chains around her. Had the wolves and panthers coordinated to catch up to the two of them? Had Harold revealed their secret—for them to both receive what was apparently going to be some form of punishment? Look at that: we brought them together for the purposes of punishing both of us. That’s an accomplishment, she thought wryly, in the most private part of her mind. She remembered Harold mentioning that he would have to put “the matter” of her “taking up with a damned wolf” to the clan; and apparently somehow the word had gotten out that Raul was with her.

“You can stop pretending, Keira,” she heard Harold’s growling voice a few feet away. Keira kept her eyes closed a moment longer. She ached all over; between the battle and the silver, she wasn’t sure if she could even fully stand, much less manage a transformation. She could smell five panthers in the room with her—wherever she was —including Harold. There was no sign of wolves present, but she could smell wolf blood, lingering on the people around her. They were fighting each other, too. So obviously if they were working together, it wasn’t all that willingly. Keira reached out mentally, trying to push past the chatter of clan minds, trying to find the elusive thread of Raul’s mental presence. They had mated; she should be able to feel him, and he her. But it was as if she had stubbed her toe, somewhere deep down in her mind. He’s just unconscious. He’s not dead. Please let him not be dead. Keira opened her eyes. Harold—scored with scratch marks, gouges from bites on his arms and shoulders—stood over her. Other members of the clan watched from a yard away, glaring and scowling, looking as though the slightest provocation might trigger them to shift into their animal forms. “I thought we had an agreement, Harold,” Keira said, keeping her voice level and unwavering with an effort. “We had an agreement that you could leave

my house, and that you would avoid the clan’s running lands,” Harold said firmly. “I also put it to the clan—the fact that you were taking up with a wolf—and let them decide what to do with you.” Keira glanced quickly at the few members of the clan in the room with her; based on the thick reek of anger and acrid undertone in their pheromones, she thought she knew pretty well what the clan had decided. “Were you working with the wolves then? Sure seems like you coordinated with them, since they grabbed Raul and you got me.” Keira bared her teeth, narrowing her eyes, unquestionably a challenge to the leader of the clan—but one that wasn’t enough to require him to directly correct her. The other panthers in the room snarled, beginning to lunge forward until Harold let out a low growl. “When you’re recovered from your punishment, I’ll have you in the challenge for that bit of insolence,” Harold told her, scowling. “So, tell me my damned punishment and get it over with then,” Keira said. In the back of her mind, she could sense the evanescent tendril of Raul’s mind—he was awakening, too. Something in Keira’s body relaxed at that realization. “For taking up with an enemy of the clan, you’re going to be flogged,” Harold told her. “And you’re going to bring your godforsaken mate to us.”

“Flog me if it makes you feel better,” Keira said, shrugging; the pain had begun to slowly ebb, and she realized that she was only bound at the wrists and ankles with silver—they’d done away with the rest of the netting. There was some hope to be found in that, Keira thought. “But I’m not going to let you murder my mate just to salve your pride that you weren’t able to protect Lachlan and Gary.” Keira considered bringing up the outside female that Harold had allegedly brought in—but stopped short, uncertain of if he had told anyone in the clan about her. “You’ve turned your back on our ways,” Harold told her, his voice taking on a low, warninggrowl note. “After you’ve been flogged, you’ll have a chance to think about who your allies are. You either renounce your mating with that wolf and consent to a mate of my choice in the clan, or you’ll be put to death.” Keira glanced at the others in the room; Tammy and Garrett looked uncertain, but Nathan and Brad were nodding along with Harold’s edict. “I’m bored,” Keira said, stretching in spite of the shiver of pain the movement sent through her spine. She had to appear as confident, as unconcerned as possible; she couldn’t let any of the people in the room with her know her fear. “Either go ahead and flog me now or leave me alone—I have a right to that as a member of this clan, under

punishment or not.” Harold growled again, but stepped back, and Keira held his gaze for a long moment before looking away. A few moments later, his point proven, Harold left the room, taking the others with him, and Keira waited until even her preternaturally acute hearing couldn’t detect their footfalls before slumping against the wall they’d propped her against. Keira knew what to expect from her clan; they viewed her as a betrayer. She would receive the bare minimum until her punishment was carried out, and they’d probably isolate her on top of that, even after she was flogged. She closed her eyes, tugging at the silver binding her wrists and ankles. Whoever had been responsible for it had bound her tightly enough that escape would be difficult, and Keira smirked to herself; whoever it was would have had to have handled the silver without gloves to get it that tight. Hope it burned the hell out of them, the asshole. She bit her bottom lip as she tested the chains again and again, trying to find the least give in them. She had to get away; she had to get to Raul, and they both had to go to the Elementals. There was no way around it; they needed outside intervention, and if they went to the elementals they’d at least have protection. Please let him be in better shape than me, she thought. Let him be able to get free and get to the Elementals. There was no longer even a question of finding

anyone in their respective groups to ally with—they were both on the outs. Keira paused in her struggles for the moment, taking slow, deep breaths. She would need to conserve her strength. She might get an opening when they unbound her to take her out onto the clan’s running lands for the flogging. There isn’t a panther in the entire clan who can take me if I do it right, she thought. Bide your time, Keira. Wait for your opportunity. Don’t be like one of those stupid wolves caught in a hunter’s trap and chew off your own leg to get free. Be smart. Keira tried to fall into a light doze, but the fear persisted: what if they waited until the silver completely sapped her strength? She couldn’t count on the clan —in its current fury—to stick with the legal ten lashes, or to not put her to death. Focus on getting out of here at the first opportunity. That’s the best thing you can do. Keira settled in to wait.

**** “First priority for a captured soldier is to return to his unit…” Raul heard the words in his mind as he swam up out of unconsciousness; the rules, the priorities, the training the military had given him flowed through his mind in lectures that made him feel the midday sun on his scalp in memory. I’ve been captured by my own people; there’s no unit to return to. That was something the military hadn’t really trained him in; if his own unit had captured him, then he was a deserter—or a traitor. Just as Raul was sure the Pack viewed him. Some of the Pack at least, he amended mentally. Through a combination of the mental bond he shared with the Pack and his senses of hearing and smell, Raul knew that he was in the same shed he had found Keira, Gary, and Lachlan in before, and that—for the moment, at least—he was alone. He could feel silver burning at his wrists and ankles, the stinging tingle of it around his shoulders and knees as well. They were taking no chances with the Pack’s disgraced enforcer; that much was clear. Please let him be in better shape than me…let him be able to get to the Elementals… The tendril of Keira’s thought in his mind told Raul that at least his mate was alive; alive, and not actively being tormented, though he could sense she was every bit

as restrained as he was, somewhere far away. The connection between them wavered and twisted; it was only the early days of their mating bond—they hadn’t solidified it yet, though they’d blooded each other. It would take weeks of contact between them to fully cement the bond they’d started. Assuming we get the chance, Raul thought bleakly. As the tentative, faltering connection waxed and waned, Raul turned his thoughts to his first priority: getting free. It was only too easy to imagine what the panthers had in store for Keira, and Raul knew that Reginald—now, seemingly, in control of the Pack once more—would be only too interested in getting rid of him for good. He had to go to the Elementals; it was the only way to ensure his and Keira’s safety. The bindings they’d put on him were too tight to get out of readily; and there would be no guarantee of someone on his side to help him. Cam, Raul thought. He could feel the mingled, mixed essences of his Pack-mates in his mind, and focused on his second-in-command. Cam hadn’t been at the ambush; Cam had also not been one of those members of the Pack involved in attacking the flophouse. While Raul knew that he couldn’t count on Cam to buck the chain of command— certainly his second wouldn’t go directly against Reginald—he thought he might be able to at least get Cam’s sympathy enough to convince the man to

loosen the bindings slightly. That was all he needed; Cam didn’t need to be more involved than that, and at that it would be an act of mercy, a sympathy for a fellow Pack member and superior. Though technically I’m probably not his superior anymore, at least not in pecking order. Raul heard footsteps approaching the shed and opened his eyes, wanting to appear alert—but weak. He sagged against the pillar he’d been chained to, letting his arms go slack. If he looked weakened by the silver, whoever was coming to see him might underestimate his strength. Sad day when a wolf has to turn against his own Pack. What a damned clusterfuck this all is. Raul scented the air as the steps came closer; it was Reginald, coming to inspect his prisoner. Hope dwindled in Raul’s mind; Reginald would have no reason to take mercy on him. He might even be coming to take me out right now. He would have to wait for an opening; he would have to somehow persuade Reginald to give him a fair shot at defending himself or at least the option of going before the Pack to be judged. “You mated that hellcat,” Reginald said as soon as he stepped into the shed. “Seemed like the thing to do,” Raul said. “She was willing, and even you have to admit she’s pretty damned hot for a cat.” Reginald closed the shed door behind him, and Raul heard—underneath

the surface noise—the sound of one of the members of the Pack moving into place to guard it. “She was marked for death,” Reginald said. The Alpha sat down a few yards away from him, shifting with a grunt; Raul could plainly see that the battles of the last few days had taken their toll on the man, in spite of the preternaturally fast healing that all shifters possessed. “You’re the one who busted her out; you can’t lie to me on that.” Raul considered and shrugged. “I wasn’t finished with her—the challenge was interrupted.” “You were a fucking dumbshit to go into that challenge in the first place,” Reginald said sharply. “And now you’ve mated her. Christ, Raul.” Reginald shook his head. “You’ve got women in the Pack throwing themselves at you, and even a bunch of mating-age females from other packs in the country, and you choose a fucking panther?” “Like I said,” Raul replied with a shrug, “she was willing, she’s hot, and it seemed like the thing to do.” “Her Alpha killed Mark last night,” Reginald said lowly. Mark was one of his nephews; Raul felt something in his stomach lurch at the thought. “You killed his son,” Raul pointed out, keeping his voice carefully level, his body language non-confrontational. “He wanted revenge. Pretty much his right.”

“He started this mess,” Reginald told him, scowling. “I can’t believe you’d defend a damned panther over your own Alpha.” “According to him, we started it,” Raul said, shrugging again. “I was on the way to figuring out if his accusation had any merits to it when you two decided to grab Keira and me.” “What does that asshole cat say?” “He says that someone in the Pack killed a female he intended as a mate for his son,” Raul told him. “I have no idea if that’s true or not.” “You spoke with him?” Raul nodded. “That’s within my purview as enforcer,” he pointed out. “Keira brought me to him, to talk about the situation. This can’t go on, Reginald; even if you put me to death, there’s just going to be more and more trouble between the Pack and the Clan until there aren’t enough of either of us to keep going.” “This wouldn’t be a problem if everyone was pulling in the same direction,” Reginald said, scowling at him. “If you hadn’t gone maverick and busted the girl out of keeping, we’d have leverage over the fucking panthers. Instead there’s battle— and we’re going to be discovered if this keeps up.” “There would have been battle anyway,” Raul countered. “You murdered two members of the clan—one of them the Alpha’s son. Did you think they’d come to you peacefully after that?”

“It was a show of our strength—a show you screwed up by getting one of them out.” “It was wrong,” Raul insisted. “It went against our by-laws, even if there were wolves that supported it. If you’d done things the right way, old man, the Pack and the Clan wouldn’t be in all-out war.” “They need to be taught a lesson,” Reginald said, his voice taking on a growling note, “and so do you.” “Oh, so I’m not going to be put to death then?” Reginald shook his head. “You’re going to wish you were dead though,” he told him. “You’re a traitor to the Pack, Raul. You’re not the enforcer anymore; you’re going to stay here for a full moon cycle, bound in silver, and you’re going to get rations.” Reginald smiled bleakly. “Short ones.” Raul nodded once, twice. It was both better and worse than he had expected; he would be miserable—he would be weak—but he wasn’t going to be put to death outright. “And three days after you complete your punishment, I am calling you out.” Reginald stood, shook his head, and turned away. Raul watched his Alpha leave, closing his eyes. Three days after being nearly starved and bound in silver would not be enough time for him to recover; Reginald meant to kill him —but he meant to do it in the most strictly legal way possible. He knows if he takes me out any

other way, he’ll have half the Pack challenging him, Raul thought. He shook his head to himself; he would have to find a way to get free before time ran out. He would have to get to a safe place, and contact the Elementals. It would be the only way to stop the war, and the only way to keep himself and Keira safe. First rule of combat… he sank into a half-doze, his body buzzing with the pain of the silver that bound him, trying to think of ways to break free. Raul hoped against hope that Keira’s punishment was lighter than his; they would both need to be able to function, if they were going to have any hope of staying together, of living to see the war between their groups end.

**** Keira’s body was on fire; she twisted and writhed, trying to find a position—any position— that offered even a little comfort from the blazing tingle of pain that lit up her nervous system. The flogging had been even more brutal than she’d expected. Harold had beaten her with willow—bad enough, with its water association, especially after three days of being bound in silver—and then someone in the clan had packed the wounds with violet oil, just to increase the pain. The oils had seeped into her skin, burning their way into her system, almost poisoning her. No one came to see her, locked away in Harold’s garage; she received meals from an impassive member of the Clan twice a day, but no one looked at her. She was being shunned, left to recover slowly, disconnected from the pulse of the clan’s thoughts in a misery of loneliness. It’ll be worse when they realize you’re pregnant, Keira thought absently, curling in on herself and hugging her knees. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since her flogging; she only knew that it had been more than a week since the clan had grabbed her from the flophouse. The pregnancy was early—her pheromones hadn’t yet shifted, Keira thought, or someone would have commented on it—but she

could sense it, somehow; there was a full feeling deep down between her hips, and her period hadn’t arrived on its usual day. You have to get out of here before they find out, Keira thought, as firmly as her wandering, wondering mind would allow. If they find out you’re pregnant with a wolf ’s child, you’ll be killed outright. For that matter, where was Raul? Keira groaned as she reached for his mind, trying to find the tenuous, flickering thread of his thoughts in the humming abyss. She couldn’t focus enough to connect with him, though she still had random glimmers; just enough to know he was still alive, that he was occasionally conscious and aware. She knew that he’d felt the pain of her beating—she had felt his trembling reaction in her own mind— but they hadn’t had enough opportunity to be able to reliably stay in contact. A fleeting, but all too vivid feeling of gnawing, stabbing hunger clenched Keira’s stomach; she gritted her teeth, breathing slowly. It was Raul—she knew it to be his mind, his sensations, his feeling of hunger, infecting her through their bond. Someone is starving him. Dull, throbbing anger began to simmer in Keira’s bones, and she heard herself growling in a low, continuous warning. Anyone who came near her in that moment courted a shredded hand, if not a destroyed arm. We have to make these bastards pay, Keira thought. No—we have to

take Harold and Reginald out. The rest… she shook her head, ignoring the pain that flared through her body as the movement upset the injuries she’d sustained. They hadn’t bothered to bind her tightly— there was only the minimum of hold on her. In her weakened state, Keira knew that even the light, loose binds on her body—chains made of iron, tied to earth rather than water—were too much for her to overcome. The earth energy of the chains slowed her healing just as much as the violet oil in her skin did. I need to convince someone to douse me with water. I need to convince them to unchain me somehow. I need to get the hell out of here as soon as I can. Keira felt the bond between herself and Raul waver, ebb, wax, and then—with a jolt—all input from it was gone. She gasped, groping mentally, trying to focus enough to get some kind of impulse from him, some indication that he was aware and awake and there, where she needed him, in her mind; nothing came to her, and Keira groaned, burying her face against her shackled arms, shuddering even as the pain rippled through her body in reaction to her movement. Raul wasn’t dead—that much she knew—but the contact between them was gone. Hot, stinging tears formed in her eyes, and Keira tried to stifle her sobs as they rose in her

throat. They won’t have to try and make me lure him in, she thought grimly. The contact is gone. He’s…he’s gone. She didn’t know where Raul was, but he wasn’t in her mind; he couldn’t feel her, and she couldn’t feel him. Keira shivered, hot and cold flashes lighting up her nervous system as she reacted to the sudden absence of Raul’s presence in her thoughts. She couldn’t think of what could sever even the tenuous link between their minds—it had to have been some kind of magic, something to cancel their bond. That must have been why they were starving Raul; to make him do something to break the bond between them, to bring him back into the fold. With her bond with Raul gone, there would be no reason for Harold to let her recover; there would be no reason to keep her alive in the hope of getting revenge on the wolves. With her dead, and Raul back in the Pack’s good graces once more, the wolves would decimate the panther clan; Raul would have no reason to hold back. Keira couldn’t even bring herself to regret it. Her own people had turned against her; she couldn’t make herself want to protect them if they wouldn’t side with her. Time passed without Keira knowing how long it was, lost in the miasma of her grief. She heard footsteps—fast, but unsteady—outside of the garage. It wasn’t a member of the clan, that much she knew; her senses were duller than normal, but

she sniffed at the air, trying to figure out who or what was approaching. The door to the garage opened and Keira turned her head, interested in an absent way. It’s one of the wolves, come to kill me. They’re doing Harold a favor. She caught the scent of an unfamiliar wolf—and then, like a white-hot jolt of electricity through her brain, she caught a scent she knew all too well: Raul. “W-what?” Keira rubbed at her eyes, clearing the lingering tears out of them; at that, she couldn’t quite believe what she saw. Raul limped quickly into the garage, another wolf at his side. “Good thing it’s iron,” the other wolf said. “Easy to take care of.” “Oh, god—Keira…” Raul dropped down next to her and kissed her hungrily on the lips. “We have to get out of here fast. Can you move?” Keira shivered. “For you, Fido? I can run,” she said, smiling weakly.

**** “I have to get back,” Cam said. Raul nodded, glancing at Keira nervously in the back seat of the car. “Reginald…” Cam shrugged. “Reginald is courting his own disgrace,” Raul said. Cam half-shrugged. “He’s still got powerful backing in the Pack,” Cam pointed out. “Powerful enough that no one is going to call him out.” “I will,” Raul said, meeting the other werewolf’s gaze. He sighed. “As soon as I’m well enough, that is.” He could feel hunger gnawing at his stomach still, in spite of the food that Cam had managed to get into him while they made their escape from Reginald’s shed. He’d been surprised to open his eyes—coming out of a hungry, weak doze—only to see his former second standing a few feet away from him. “You look like shit,” Cam had said lightly, the seriousness of his face betraying his playful tone. “I feel worse,” Raul had replied. “I’ve lost a good ten pounds already.” “Yeah, well—maybe next time when you go against Reginald, just call him out from the beginning. Save yourself some trouble.” Cam had begun unwinding the silver that bound him to the pillar carefully, making sure none of the metal

touched his actual skin. “Why are you helping me?” Cam had shrugged. “Old time’s sake, or something.” He had met Raul’s gaze for a moment before looking away once more. “Things are getting worse between the panthers and us. Reginald is just…” he had shrugged again. “He’s risking revealing us to everyone.” “The elementals haven’t shown up yet?” Cam had shaken his head. “No. That worries me. I think Reginald is holding them out of this—and I think that panther Alpha is too. It’s not right.” “So, your sense of justice is getting in the way of obeying commands?” “Something like that,” Cam had replied. Raul’s former second had helped him into a car, and Raul had devoured the meat and sweet potatoes that Cam had brought for him. Days of near-starvation had made his connection to Keira’s mind more and more tenuous, and just as he’d dropped off, Raul had felt it go away—not in the permanent, dead sense, but with the kind of numbness that he associated with cold weather training. Now that he was in Keira’s presence once more, Raul could feel the link between them starting to come back. “I’ve got a place to go to,”

Raul said. “Friend of mine—we were in the same unit. He’s got a cabin he bought, next town over. I’ll hole up there with Keira for a few days until we can get in touch with the elementals.” “Don’t tell me too much,” Cam said, shaking his head. “I need to be able to deny I know where you are.” “That’s why I didn’t say the name of the town,” Raul said, smiling wryly. “Or where the cabin is. I’m not getting out of the car until we get there.” That would leave less trace of his scent; it would make him and Keira both more difficult to track. They both needed a few days—maybe a week—to recover from the punishments their own people had doled out to them. And there was another thing; Raul sniffed reflexively. We’re going to need to have a talk in private, once she’s strong enough to talk. The sight of the wheals on Keira’s back sent new rage through Raul’s mind; he wanted to go back to the panther Alpha’s home, barge in through the front door, and rip the man’s throat out. They had done everything they could—the assholes —to make it harder for Keira to heal from the beating they’d given her. “Keep your head low, man,” Cam said, opening the driver’s side door and starting to climb out. “Wait until you’re sure you can get through a fight before you stir off the property you go to ground at.”

“You’re not going to be my second?” Cam chuckled wryly. “If Reginald is in your sights? Sorry, man. I’m not interested in the Alpha.” “Fair enough,” Raul said. He watched Cam climb out of the car and gathered up the meager remains of his strength, climbing over the center console slowly and twisting around until he was able to sit properly in the driver’s seat. Cam had already slunk off into the darkness, out of the range of Raul’s vision and hearing. He glanced at Keira, sprawled in the back seat, oblivious—or so he hoped—to what was happening. She needed rest, she needed a thorough bath, and she needed food; all of those things would be at the cabin. She’ll need even more food now, Raul thought, shifting the car out of park and turning it off of the shoulder of the rural highway. God. She’s pregnant. Pregnant with my baby. Raul didn’t doubt it at all; he could barely scent the shift in her pheromones, but he knew that if she was pregnant, it was his child inside of her. Raul sighed, calling on the selfdiscipline he’d learned the hard way—in Basic Training—and pointing the car towards the next town. Just being with Keira once more, even broken and battered as they both were, was enough to make him feel better. Raul glanced at Keira in the rearview mirror once more; he could barely believe that she was real, and really there. He told

himself that he would wait until both of them had a chance to recover before he broached the topic of her pregnancy; it changed everything between them —and in their situations with their respective groups. Harold and Reginald both have to be eliminated, Raul thought grimly. It’s either get rid of them, or they get rid of us.

**** Keira was more than halfway to wakefulness when she realized that she didn’t hurt. Her back tingled slightly, and she could feel the heat of supernatural healing, but the pain that had wracked her for what had seemed like months was gone. Images flickered through her mind—moments of brief and fleeting coherence in a long span of blackness: seeing Raul and another wolf she didn’t know walking into Harold’s garage, lying on her back and hearing Raul’s voice, the low conversation between him and someone else. Keira smiled slightly to herself, remembering, vaguely, the feeling of comforting, warm water sluicing down her flogged back, washing away the bitter pain of the oils her wounds had been treated with. “If you want to start acting like you’re awake, I have food,” Raul said. Keira opened her eyes and carefully turned over onto her back, yawning. For a moment, even remembering the way she did, Keira couldn’t quite believe that the man in front of her, smiling ever so slightly, was actually Raul. “How long have I been out? And how the hell did you get me?” Raul sat down carefully on the bed—at which moment Keira realized that was what she was lying on—and brushed a lock of hair off of her forehead.

“Breaking out was the hard part,” he said, smiling wryly. “But Cam—he used to be my second in command in the Pack—came over to my side.” Raul sighed. “He snuck into the shed Reginald was holding me in and…” Raul shrugged. “The rest of it isn’t all that important.” “They were starving you,” Keira said, frowning as she remembered the gnawing hunger she had felt through their connection. Raul nodded. “And your people flogged you. What did they use?” Keira grimaced, remembering the punishment. “Willow,” she said curtly. “And they dressed the wounds with violet oil.” “You’re lucky you didn’t have a miscarriage,” Raul said quietly. Keira’s eyes widened. “You know?” Raul nodded. “Your pheromones are different,” he said. Keira blushed, though she wasn’t sure what she had to be embarrassed about. “It’s really early days,” she pointed out. “I don’t think anyone in the clan smelled the difference on me.” “No one in the Clan is mated to you,” Raul pointed out. “I am.” His fingers brushed the spot where he’d blooded her. “I felt the connection—the bond—sort of…” Keira frowned, trying to think of how to describe the sensation she’d felt in her mind.

“It sort of broke, didn’t it?” Raul grimaced. “At least for a few moments there.” “I didn’t even feel you coming though,” Keira said. She closed her eyes, remembering the despair that had flowed through her. She pushed it away— it didn’t matter now. “So, you brought me to wherever it is we’ve ended up, and bathed my back I guess?” “And let you sleep—and slept myself,” Raul said, nodding. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, and Keira felt a deep-down jolt of heat that was as comforting as it was startling. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Raul’s shoulders, pulling his body down against hers. After days of separation—how many she couldn’t say— Keira craved the feeling of Raul’s skin against hers, the sensation of him inside of her, more than she had ever craved anything in her entire life. Raul broke away from the kiss after several moments, looking down into Keira’s eyes with more than a little concern. “God, woman, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, dragging his lips along the line of her jaw. “Do you think you’ll be able for…” “If you don’t have sex with me right now I’m going to kill you,” Keira told him, clutching his body more tightly against hers. Raul chuckled and his hands began to wander all over her, caressing and teasing. He cupped her breasts, giving them a

careful squeeze and rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger until Keira gasped and shuddered underneath him. She writhed and twisted, uncaring for the moment about the lingering tenderness in her back, the weakness of her body in the aftermath of her punishment from the panther clan; all she wanted, all she could think about, was Raul—and how much she craved him. Raul slipped one hand up between her thighs, tickling the sensitive skin there, and Keira growled as he teased her, barely brushing his fingertips against the already slick folds of her labia. “Why did I ever let you mate me? You’re—fuck—such a damned tease,” she told him, twisting her hips for better contact. Raul’s fingertips slid along her labia, gradually pressing deeper, barely missing her clit as Keira shivered and squirmed underneath him. “You agreed to submit to me,” Raul murmured, nipping playfully at the pulse point just below her ear with sharp teeth. “Should—should have done it…in reverse,” Keira said, growling lowly as Raul continued to tease her. Raul chuckled, his voice taking on a low, gravelly tone as he lapped at the sweat that had started to form along her throat. “When you’re better you can challenge me,” he told her. “And if you best me in challenge, I’ll submit to you.” Keira purred deep in her throat as Raul’s touch finally grazed her pleasure center.

“Fine,” she murmured, pushing her hips down to meet Raul’s fingers as he began to stroke and rub her clit. She fell into his rhythm, feeling the bond between their minds beginning to deepen as they both became more and more aroused, more connected to each other; it was difficult for her to tell where her arousal ended and Raul’s began. She could feel the feverish heat of his skin against hers, the hardness of his erection digging into her hip. “You aren’t mounting me this time, though,” she told him breathlessly. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Raul said, kissing her quickly on the lips before beginning to move down over her body slowly. He lingered at her breasts, worshipping them with lips and tongue and even— carefully—his teeth before moving down along her ribcage, tickling her with his hot breath, his fingers working all the while. By the time he reached the curve of her hip, Keira was moaning and purring helplessly, twisting and arching without any thought to her injuries, her animal consciousness taking over. Raul buried his face against her soaking wet folds, and Keira clawed at his back, throwing her head back against the pillows and moaning out as he sucked and licked. The roughness of his tongue against her labia, against her clitoris, sent crackling jolts of pleasure through Keira’s body, and the vibration of his moans against her sensitive flesh

made it harder and harder for her to hold back as every moment passed. Keira lost herself in the sensations coursing through her body, tension mounting with every beat of her heart, like a knot somewhere deep down between her hips that pulled tighter as Raul’s tongue and lips worshipped her. When Keira was so close to climax she could almost taste it, Raul broke away, licking his lips to catch every last bit of her fluids. Keira let out a warning growl and Raul shifted on top of her, covering her body with his own, pinning her against the sheets and blankets. “Patience,” Raul murmured against her lips. He rocked his hips against hers, and Keira bit back a moan at the feeling of his hot, hard cock rubbing against her labia. “Of course you want a bone, Fido,” Keira muttered. Raul laughed out loud, reaching one hand between their bodies to guide the tip of his cock against her. He stroked her clit with a lingering touch, and before Keira could complain any further, he thrust into her all at once, filling her up with his heat and hardness. Keira wrapped her legs around Raul’s waist, pushing her hips down as he began to move inside of her. She kissed him everywhere her lips could reach, nipping and licking the salt-sweet taste of his sweat-drenched skin as they fell into a rhythm together. Keira forgot the disappointment of her

delayed orgasm as Raul pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, the tip of his erection rubbing against her g-spot with every second or third thrust. Keira cried out, almost howling in feline pleasure as the tension deep down between her hips broke all at once. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, and she clung to Raul as if for life itself as he continued to move inside of her, riding through her orgasm until he couldn’t hold back any longer. Keira felt his cock twitching inside of her, and then heard the deep, throaty howl that erupted from his lips as he threw his head back, thrusting a few final hard, fast times into her as he reached his own climax. She pulled his face down and kissed him hungrily, taking everything Raul offered, slipping quickly from the bone-deep satisfaction of sex with her mate into a contented doze as they both slowed to a stop.

**** “You’re sure you want to do this?” Raul looked at Keira; he knew he was stalling, that he simply didn’t want to actually move forward with the next phase of their plan. “How else are we going to bring this to an end?” Keira shrugged, and Raul noticed that her right hand moved to the slight curve of her abdomen; she wasn’t showing yet—and certainly their future child was not by any stretch developed enough for her to feel—but she was aware of its presence nonetheless. “We could leave the town,” Raul pointed out. “Get the hell out of Dodge and let them kill each other off.” “I don’t want to do that if we don’t have to,” Keira said, sighing. “I know it’s stupid, and the town isn’t even something…” she bit her bottom lip, thinking. “It’s not something to be proud of, living in a small town like ours. But it’s my home. If we can keep from having to abandon it, I’d really rather stay.” Raul took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. At some point while he and Keira had both been in hiding—or maybe while they’d been captives of their own groups—both of their homes had been destroyed. Keira’s house, inherited from her

parents, had been torched in the night, the blame laid by the police—guided by members of the Pack and were-foxes acting on orders—on a group of delinquents from another town, visiting because of a game at the local high school. Raul’s own home had been vandalized, all of his possessions looted; at least, according to Cam. Cam hadn’t been able to tell him who it was that had done the deed—there were too many scent-marks, both panther and wolf, to be sure. “The elementals are the only people we can go to,” Keira said. “They’re supposed to be the arbiters of all things supernatural, right? So, if we want this to stop…” Raul nodded reluctantly. He’d gotten word out to Fintan and Tara two days before, asking for a meeting; the two elementals—fire-aligned and earth-aligned respectively—were quick to respond, saying that they knew about the skirmish going on between the panther and wolf shifters, but hadn’t been aware of details. Raul looked out through the windshield of the car, thinking to himself that if their survival depended on the flaky, ivory-tower elementals, they were in dire straits indeed. “Let’s go then,” he said finally, taking Keira’s hand in his and giving it a squeeze. They’d agreed to meet with Fintan and Tara on neutral territory: a clearing in the woods surrounding the town, where none of the groups of shifters had any claim. It

wasn’t specifically set aside for the elementals, but they had sufficient authority—and sufficient power —to enforce the area’s neutrality. Unless someone wants to be treated to a torrential downpour, or spontaneous combustion, or an earthquake…or whatever it is the air elementals do…they know better than to screw around with an ambush while the elementals are meeting with someone. Keira had all but recovered from her punishment; Raul knew that it would take him longer, but after days of doing little more than eat, rest, make love, and catch bits and pieces of news from the town, he was willing to risk short-term recovery for the long-term benefit of safety and stability. He held Keira’s hand as they slipped through the woods together, nearly silent, looking around; even if he knew that none of the wolves or the panthers were stupid enough to try and ambush them, the fear persisted, slick at the back of his throat. “Raul, Keira, you’re on time.” Tara’s voice— almost as familiar to Raul as that of any member of his Pack—cut through his abstracted, anxious thoughts. The two elementals had arrived only a few moments before; Raul could tell that they’d only just sat down at the stone table set up in the clearing. Tara was short, with black hair and green eyes, a dusky, olive complexion and a broad frame. Fintan, seated at her side, was tall and wiry, his

deep auburn hair brushed back from a high forehead, blue eyes flashing incongruously in his bronzed face. “Good to see you, Fintan,” Keira said, inclining her head slightly. Raul nodded to Tara. Fintan tapped his fingertips on the tabletop in a rapid staccato, glancing from Keira to Raul. “So, you two have fucked things up royally,” Fintan said without preamble. Tara shot the other elemental a dark—almost censorious—look. “You’re mated,” she said, making the phrase not quite a question. “Yes,” Keira said, taking a quick breath next to him. Raul glanced at the mark he’d left on her, the night he had taken her formally as his mate. “The battle between the wolves and the panthers isn’t over us,” Raul pointed out. “We came together because of it, not the other way around.” “Things are getting out of control,” Tara said firmly. “There have been at least three incidents in the past week that could have resulted in exposure.” “We need your support,” Keira said; Raul noticed that she carefully divided her attention between the two elementals, though Fintan was the natural focus for her as a fire-aligned shifter. “Even if we weren’t mates, what’s going on in my clan— in Raul’s Pack—it’s not right. They’re killing each

other off, and neither Alpha is going to back down.” “What started it?” Fintan gestured for the two of them to sit down, and Raul let Keira seat herself first. They took turns explaining the background as they understood it: the alleged murder of a potential outside mate for Lachlan, pilfering by wolves of panther property, leading the panthers to attack wolf-owned businesses. “So, you two met because she was raiding your people’s businesses and got caught?” The fact amused Fintan more than it did Tara. “And she challenged you?” “I almost had him on his back, too,” Keira said, giving Raul a quick glance. Fintan laughed; Tara raised one dark eyebrow, looking at Raul closely. “So, doing the right thing—refusing to allow the extra-judicial murders of Keira’s clan mates—is what sent this into chaos?” Raul nodded in response to Tara’s question. For a moment, the two elementals looked at each other silently, and Raul kept his gaze carefully in front of him, torn between fascination and discomfort at the fact that they were clearly communicating telepathically. “We can’t give you anything for your punishments at the hands of your groups,” Fintan said finally. “Those were done in accordance with your respective by-laws.” Raul clenched his teeth

for a moment, fighting back the urge to argue. “But the fact that the two Alphas are so bent on revenge and are acting outside of bylaws to get that…” Tara shrugged. She looked at Raul intently once more. “Are you in shape to challenge Reginald?” “Yes and no,” Raul said. He pressed his lips together. “I’m mostly recovered.” “But not fully,” Fintan said. Raul nodded. Fintan glanced at Keira. “Can you be his second?” Raul stared at the elemental in shock. “You’re damned right I’m his second,” Keira said sharply. Raul turned his stunned look onto the woman he had taken for his mate; of all the solutions that the elementals might propose, he would never have expected that Keira being his second in a battle for the leadership of the Pack would be an option. “Cam isn’t going to act as your second, Raul,” Tara said, shaking her head. “And to us the situation is clear. With the two of you mating…” she shrugged. “You’ll have to unite the two groups under a joint rule.” “That means that Keira will have to take Harold out, too,” Raul pointed out. “She’s pregnant.” “We know,” Fintan said, his voice brittle with annoyance. “It’s the only way to end the war between your groups and secure your safety. Take

it or leave it.” Tara looked at her counterpart sharply and then met Raul’s gaze. “Panthers fight pregnant all the time,” she said, her lips twitching in a wry smile. “Right, Keira?” “Right,” Keira said. She turned her head, looking at Raul. “We have to do this.” Raul closed his eyes for a moment, the lupine desire to protect his mate at war with the military strategy-trained human part of his brain. It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted; but it was obvious to him that the two elementals weren’t going to give them another option. It was battle or nothing. He opened his eyes and nodded. “We’ll call the meeting,” Fintan said. “Neither Harold nor Reginald would dare to buck us on this.” Fintan grinned. “Both groups will come here at moonrise, and we’ll hash this out.” Fintan looked at Tara, his blue eyes glittering with anticipation of violence. “It might even be interesting to watch.” “I just want it over,” Tara said with a sigh. “You two have five hours until the meeting. Make them count, however you want to take that advice.” The two elementals rose and Raul knew that he and Keira were dismissed; he stood, taking his mate’s hand in his, and they walked out of the clearing in silence once more.

**** Keira took slow, steady breaths, trying to slow down the rabbit-fast pounding of her heart. Knowing that in a matter of moments, she and Raul would stand against Harold and Reginald in a fight to the death, made her more anxious than she would have imagined even days before. If anyone tries to get between us… instinctive, animal anger boiled away inside of her as Keira took stock of all of the reasons for fighting: her mate, the destruction of her home, the child growing inside of her, the punishment that had been inflicted on both herself and Raul. More than enough reason to want them both dead. Keira’s preternaturally acute hearing picked up the muffled, muted sounds of movement in the woods surrounding the clearing, and Keira glanced at Raul, looking to see if the wolf was as prepared as he claimed to be. The air was full of the scent of anger and fear—her own, Raul’s, and as more sounds of movement came to her, Keira realized that much of it was coming from the arriving panthers and wolves. She could feel the transformation rippling along her bones, feel the animal nature rising, competing for dominance in her dual-natured brain. Keira stood absolutely still, with Raul beside her,

both of them in an unquestionably challenging stance to confront their arriving groups. The elementals each led their delegations: Fintan the panthers and Tara the wolves; Keira saw the uncertainty, smelled the fear and the brittle gunpowder scent of impending rage on her own people. Half of them looked at her with contempt. She glanced at the wolves and noticed that both groups—wolf and panther—bore signs of the weeks-long battle that had raged between them: injuries made different members of the clan and the Pack limp, made them move less than silently. Scratches and gouges marked faces, arms, and legs. The two Alphas separated themselves, following the elementals to the center of the clearing; Keira saw the loathing in both men’s faces, the determination and the bitterness. Maybe if the two of you hadn’t been such goddamn idiots, we wouldn’t all be here, Keira thought grimly. She knew—she couldn’t help but know—that she and Raul might both meet their death in a matter of mere moments. “The elementals have decided,” Tara said, as soon as the milling, murmuring shifters fell silent. “This war cannot go on,” Fintan added. “We are ending it tonight. Raul and Keira will face off against Harold and Reginald in challenge.” “The battle will be to the death,” Tara said, her voice slightly sad to Keira’s ears. “If Raul and

Keira win the challenge, they will assume leadership of the Clan and the Pack jointly.” “If they die,” Fintan told the assembled group firmly, “Reginald and Harold will be held to account for their behavior separately.” “Standard challenge rules apply, with one exception,” Tara said. “There will be no seconds— the Alphas will be each other’s seconds, just as Raul and Keira will be each other’s seconds.” The two elementals stepped back, and Keira felt a thrill of bitter amusement at the shock on the two Alphas’ faces; they hadn’t expected to have to work together, clearly. “Let the challenge begin,” both elementals said at the same time. Keira went to her hands and knees immediately, willing the change that she had barely managed to restrain while she waited to work its way through her body. She groaned as her bones transformed and shifted inside of her, as her teeth sharpened and lengthened, and her fingers shortened, forming into paws, claws pushing through her skin. Next to her, she heard Raul’s moan of discomfort transform into a low, throaty howl. In moments, they had both transformed; Raul’s wolfish form looked more gaunt, and hungrier, than his human shape, and Keira felt a surge of protectiveness for her mate. The two Alpha males announced the completion of their

transformation, howling and snarling. Keira pushed back her fear and the sense of self-preservation that came with her pregnancy, and sidled closer to Raul. For what seemed like an eternity, Keira and Raul circled Harold and Reginald, watching them. Keira could feel the pulse of her mate’s thoughts more strongly than she could the miasma of complicated emotions rippling through her clan, or the veiled, violent impulses in her Alpha’s mind. She felt the push of Raul’s mind, the subliminal hum breaking in a sudden jolt. Now. As one, she and Raul launched themselves at the two Alphas; Keira lunged at Harold, growling low in her throat as she pressed the attack. She was both aware of and oblivious to Raul’s attack on Reginald; the connection between her mind and her mate’s lingered, a peripheral noise, important but not enough to distract. Keira lost herself in the battle, biting and clawing, sidestepping and slinking, darting out of Harold’s range and pressing the attack again. She feinted, she parried, she lunged and clawed; a raking flash of pain lit along her side, but it was unimportant. More pressing was the sudden sharp prod at her hindquarters; Keira twisted and kicked out, breaking Harold’s cowardly hold on her. Keira had no idea how long the battle raged; at some point, she and Raul switched positions—with her attacking Reginald and him going for Harold—

and then they switched back. Searing, fiery pain cut through her animal thoughts, and in what felt at the same time like an instant and an hour, Keira knew she was becoming exhausted; the two Alphas had to be exhausted as well. Harold made one last, desperate lunge at her, coming in low. Keira ducked under his attack and upended him, knocking the older cat onto his back and pinning him by the throat, growling. In the same moment, Raul finally brought Reginald down, and Keira reached out with her mind. We have to end this. She felt Raul’s agreement, but nonetheless, something inhibited her from biting down, from taking the deathblow and ending Harold’s life. For several long moments, she and Raul kept the two Alphas pinned; they both knew that they needed to finish the challenge—but neither of them was quite willing to kill the two Alphas. Keira felt the impulse from Raul’s mind, and echoed it back to him. They each, at the same moment, disabled their opponents, and then pulled back. Exhausted, Keira let the change flow through her once more; claws retreated into her skin, fur disappeared, and her mouth took on human shape once more as she groaned. Unconscious, Reginald and Harold both slowly assumed their human forms, sprawled on the ground naked, and Keira and Raul slowly rose to their feet as the last parts of

their animal forms melted away. “There has been enough killing,” Raul said. “Raul and I have proven our point,” Keira added, looking at the man she had come to love. Both of them turned to the elementals governing the fight; Fintan looked almost equally disappointed and intrigued, while Tara looked faintly hopeful. “We’ve disabled both of them. We could have easily killed them,” Raul told the elementals, turning his gaze onto the Pack and the clan. “If that doesn’t prove our fitness to lead the groups, nothing will.” “It was a challenge,” Fintan said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have not finished the challenge.” Keira glanced at Raul and felt his support in her mind. “This whole mess between the clans erupted because of wolves and panthers killing each other,” Keira told the elemental. “We agree on this: it is not the time to kill more of either of our kind,” Raul added. “That’s all well and good,” Fintan said, his lips twitching with something that Keira thought might be amusement. “But our terms to you both were clear.” Keira looked at the two groups, holding each member’s gaze until they looked away. Next to her, she sensed Raul doing the same. “Do any of you, in either group, want to challenge us?” Keira asked.

“The point of the challenge is to determine who is strongest,” Raul said—though Keira wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to the Elementals or the clans. “If a single one of you doubts that Keira and I are stronger than any member of either group, speak now or hold your peace.” “Do any of you require the letter of the law to be followed?” Keira glanced at Fintan as he asked the question. No one in either her clan or Raul’s Pack spoke up. “Very well then. No challenge is forthcoming.” Fintan shrugged, looking disappointed. “How will you handle the two disgraced Alphas?” Keira looked at Tara. “They are exiled,” Keira said. She took Raul’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. “They will have exactly two days to leave town. A second past that deadline and they will be killed on sight without hesitation.” “How are we supposed to bring the groups together?” Keira noticed that the question had come from a member of Raul’s Pack; Raul’s mind, mingled with hers, identified the source as his second, Cam. “That is for Keira and Raul, the new leaders of the combined group, to decide,” the Elementals said, speaking as one. “We’ve had too much distrust between us for too long,” Raul told the group. “Too many secrets,

too much hatred. Keira and I are calling a new law right now: the next person to raid a panther or a wolf will be brought to justice.” “If anyone kills or injures any member of the other clan, they will be challenged,” Keira said. She flashed her teeth in an expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you’re going to come up against us, you’d better find a damn good second to do it with.” “Keira and Raul have proven that they are stronger than the strongest members of their respective clans,” Fintan told the two groups. “If anyone goes against their rule without following the proper channels, they will be punished,” Tara added. “We will hold the allegiance ceremony in three days’ time,” Raul told the two clans. “Keira and I both expect to see every one of you there. If you will not give us your allegiance, you will leave this town.” The two groups looked uncertain, and unsettled, but Keira knew that she and Raul had made the right choice; she looked out over the assembled group of shifters, and held each gaze in turn, asserting herself over every member of the community that had come to the challenge. She knew that there would be more battles to come— that there would be unrest from both groups as she and Raul brought them together—but Keira knew

that she and Raul could handle anything that either the clan or the pack could dish out. They had survived, and stayed bonded, in spite of such long odds that it seemed to Keira that nothing would ever separate them; in the back of her mind, she felt the pulse of Raul’s agreement. That was all she needed. THE END

MARKED BY WEREWOLVES: PACKS OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST SERIES I never imagined the drama that would ensue once Dwight stepped into my life. All I wanted to do was to make a name for myself-to claim my little piece of the pie--and buy the neighborhood bar I’ve been working at for the last few years. Little did I know that I’d be attracting the Wolf Brotherhood into my life. They want to stake their claim on my bar, but just because they're the most feared werewolf biker pack in Portland doesn’t mean that I’ll just roll over and let them have what they want. Not without a fight. Well, I went a little too far one night and really pissed them off, and now Dwight has this twisted plan to stage my death to get the ‘Brotherhood off my back. He’s my maker, and my lover, so I should be able to trust him, but Dwight also happens to be a member of the ‘Brotherhood. Now my sister Sera is getting roped in on the drama, and they'd better not lay a finger on her.

Rumor has it, she’s teamed up with a rival pack to get to the bottom of my “death.” They'll stop at nothing to take me out, but I'm tired of being their victim. The Wolf Brotherhood has no idea what's about to hit them. They've messed with the wrong bitch this time.

PART ONE CLAIMED BY THE WOLF BROTHERHOOD “Hey, Boss? There’s some guy outside who wants to talk to you.” Aiza Simpson sighed and pulled her attention away from her spreadsheets. It was difficult to shift her attention from the maddening minutia of numbers and formulas, but this was the third interruption in thirty minutes, and it was probably time to accept she would not be balancing the bar’s books that night. “What guy? And what does he want to talk about?” “A big guy.” Cyn demonstrated by holding a hand far above her head and then her palms wide apart, miming a very big guy indeed. “Biker.” “What does he want?” “He didn’t say. He just told me he wanted to talk to you. I told him you were busy and that he could talk to Chad instead, but he said he had to talk to you.” She had no desire to speak to a big biker, but this was the third night a man matching that description showed up after closing time, demanding to see Aiza. Clearly, this asshole was

not going to take a hint. Maybe if she got the meeting out of the way, the stranger would leave her alone and she would actually get some work done. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right out.” “Actually, I think right here is just fine.” A giant man clad in leather from head to toe pushed Cyn out of the way and filled the doorway. “Aiza Simpson, you’re not an easy woman to find.” “I didn’t know anyone was looking for me.” “Should I—” Cyn started. Aiza waved her away. “Go finish up for the night and get home.” “Sure thing.” She shot the stranger a suspicious look and then ducked past his shoulder and scurried from the office. “So, Mr.—” “Butch.” “Mr. Butch, what can I do for you? If you’re trying to book your band, you will need to speak with Chad. I don’t handle any of that.” “It’s just Butch, and no ma’am, I’m not trying to book a band.” “Well, have a seat.” Aiza lowered herself to her chair, reminding herself that she owned the place and that this man could not intimidate her, even if he chose to remain standing, looming over her desk. “I’m here to talk about your taxes.” His voice

was a low rumble that came from deep in his chest, and as he spoke, Aiza realized the left side of his mouth didn’t move. Puckered flesh marked a scar that stretched from his nose to his chin. “Taxes? You don’t look like someone who works for the Internal Revenue Service.” “I work for the Brotherhood.” Aiza’s mouth ran dry but she was careful to school her features, keeping her face completely calm. “Which brotherhood?” “The Wolf Brotherhood.” “I’ve already told your associates that I will not be part of that racket.” “If you don’t pay your taxes, how will we protect you and this lovely establishment?” “I don’t need protection. People come here because they’re looking for a good time. Your kind isn’t welcome here.” Butch came around to her side of the desk, the heels of his boots thumping against the wood floor. He stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see his face, but she refused to lean back or move away from his great bulk. “This town belongs to the Brotherhood. And so does everything in this town.” “This bar belongs to me. If that’s not clear to you, I’ll be happy to call the cops and press charges for trespassing.” “Trespassing? Who’s trespassing? I’m just here to have a little chat.” He glanced down at her

desk and his hand shot out without warning, knocking her computer to the ground. “But if you want to call the cops, you’re welcome to.” “Nobody wants the cops involved. Just go tell your boss or your alpha or whatever that I’m not paying.” “Is that your final answer?” “It’s the only answer you’re ever gonna get from me.” “That’s a shame.” He hooked his hand under her desk and flipped it like it was made of cardboard. The resulting crash was loud enough to make her jump, and all she could do was pray that the heavy wood hadn’t landed directly on her laptop. Most of her information was backed up, but not the most recent updates to her spreadsheets. He walked out of the room without another word and she followed quickly behind him, wincing as glasses, bottles, and plates fell to the ground in his wake. Two of her waitresses yelped and jumped at the unexpected crashes, and Chad watched the destruction with a gaping mouth, looking even more like an idiot than usual. “Cyn, get this glass cleaned up. Chad, come back here and help me out.” He didn’t need to be told twice, thankfully. He silently helped her right the desk and watched as she gingerly picked the laptop up from the ground. One of the hinges was broken, but the screen came

to life and nothing else appeared to be damaged. “How much did he want?” Chad asked. “I don’t know.” “What do you mean, you don’t know? Didn’t you ask?” “Why would I ask?” Aiza said, gathering up the receipts and invoices that had gone flying. “I’m not paying any amount.” “What do you mean, you’re not paying any amount?” Chad’s voice had an undeniable tremor. “Look, Aiza, I know you’re new to all this, but he’s going to come back. And when he does, he’s going to want more. And they’ll just keep coming back until they’ve taken everything.” “What are you saying? That I should just let them push me around and extort me? That I should write them a check? This isn’t Chicago in the 1920s, Chad, this is 2016. I don’t have to put up with that bullshit.” “It doesn’t matter if it’s 1916 or 2016. Men like that? They don’t take no for an answer.” “Go see if Cyn needs any help. Then you can both go home for the night.” Chad opened his mouth like he had another argument, but Aiza was done with the conversation. She turned her back on him and pretended to be absorbed by her paperwork, but she couldn’t see anything past the blurring of tears in her eyes. In the six months since she bought the controlling

interest in Paul’s Tavern, she’d been insulted, cheated, lied to, and harassed. She’d lost ten pounds and any memory she’d ever had of a good night’s sleep. She no longer had personal days off, no longer had peaceful moments or pleasant dreams. But all of it—the pain, inconvenience, sweat and tears—had been worth it. All she ever wanted was something she could call her own. Something she could build and nurture and hold up with pride. Every back-breaking minute of work proved her dreams were coming true—but now, every drop of blood and sacrifice she made could be wiped away by one piece of shit. No, not just one. A whole pack of them. A whole Brotherhood. “The shit Brotherhood,” she muttered under her breath. Well, if the shit brotherhood thought they could take everything away from her without a fight, they had another thing coming. She’d go down swinging. She’d scrap and spar and scuffle until she had no strength left, and then she would fight a little harder. First, she would need to prepare for their next meeting. She had no doubt Butch would return, as promised, and when he did, she would be ready for him. He might not take no for an answer, but a bullet would speak plenty loud, and it would get her message across, even to deaf ears.

When she emerged from the office, the bar was empty and the shards of broken glass had been cleared from the floor. She circled the small space, running her fingers over the smooth, well-worn tables and chairs, straightening the frames on the wall, dusting the tops of the light fixtures with the rags she always kept tucked in her belt. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Aiza vowed. “I don’t care what I have to do. Whatever it takes.” When she finalized the sale of the bar with Paul, he’d advised her to purchase a gun. Aiza had never been a fan of firearms, and she couldn’t imagine herself killing another human being—well, at least until that night. Now she took great pleasure in picturing Butch’s smirking face being torn apart by a well-timed bullet. She decided to look into getting a gun the next morning. After another walk-through to make sure that everything that should be off was off, everything that should be on was on, and everything else was clean and secure, Aiza left through the service door, careful to pull it shut behind her. It wasn’t raining, yet, but she could smell it in the air, and the sky was overcast, the heavy clouds colored orange by the city lights. Long after last call, the streets were deserted and the parking lot was empty— except for her little Honda. She’d crossed that parking lot by herself a

thousand times before in the ten years since she started there as a dishwasher. She’d moved from dishwasher to waitress to bartender to manager to owner in that time, and every day of that journey had been punctuated by that very walk, but now she couldn’t quite bring herself to take the first step. She scanned to the left and then to the right, looking for any movement in the shadows, but she saw nothing. She heard nothing. Her senses told her the way was clear, but her instincts kept her by the door, screaming at her to go back inside, push the deadbolt, and call the cops. Aiza was just about to silence those instincts when she heard it: nails scraping over concrete. A whisper of a sound that would have been lost during the day, drowned out by traffic and voices. But in the night, Aiza heard it as clear as a bell. She barely had time to register the sound before the shadows shifted and something lunged from the darkness. Her instincts kicked in before her training, and the world seemed to move around her as she shifted from two legs to four. As a wolf, she was stronger, faster, and far more deadly, but the other wolf had a running start and hit her with enough force to drive her to the ground. She yelped and whipped her head around, her sharp teeth slashing through the air and finding just enough flesh to draw blood. It was the attacker’s turn to yelp as she tightened her jaw,

biting down with all her strength, tearing fur and flesh from the lean wolf’s shoulder. They broke apart, snarling. As a human, Aiza might have noticed that her opponent was far too big for her to take down. As a human, she might have noted the copious scars, the wounds he wore as marks of pride, signaling every fight he’d won. But as a wolf, all Aiza knew was that she had to protect her territory. The wolf lunged forward and Aiza leapt in the air to meet him, not willing to give Butch so much as an inch. She went low, aiming for his underbelly, but his long claws snagged her face, tearing a deep hole through her cheek. That didn’t stop the trajectory of her attack, however, and her teeth sank into his stomach like hot knives through butter. Aiza growled, whipping her head from side to side, using the full force of her weight to tear through his guts. Butch’s howl was one of mingled pain and fury, but he somehow managed to wrap his jaws around her neck. At the first hint of pressure from those sharp points, Aiza released her hold and sprang back. Blood as black as oil poured from their open wounds, splattering across the parking lot like a gruesome Jackson Pollock painting. Aiza felt herself growing weaker, but she didn’t register any pain; didn’t register the implications of her slower reflexes. All she knew

was the taste of blood on her snout and the need to defend her territory at all costs. She might have paid the ultimate price, but the darkness around her shifted again as a gray wolf sprung through the air. The newcomer landed on the back of Butch’s neck, ripping him away from Aiza with a strong bite. The two wolves rolled across the ground, teeth flashing white, long legs flailing and tangling together. The newcomer found his feet first, and still unharmed, took advantage of Butch’s weakening legs, burying his snout in Butch’s throat and biting hard. The other wolf’s howl was cut off, turning into a thick gurgling sound as blood poured from his throat and his mouth. The newcomer held him in place until he stopped twitching and his body went limp. With the threat removed, Aiza shifted back to herself. She was exhausted, yet her nerves were screaming, sending her entire body on edge. She felt like she could run for miles; she wanted to scream and needed to work the excess energy out of her system. She stood on shaking legs, blood streaking down her naked skin. The gray wolf shifted as well, giving Aiza a perfect view of his finely muscled, familiar form. He turned to her, shoulders rolling back, long hair blowing in the wind. Aiza’s heart still raced, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He closed the length between them in two long strides, his strong

fingers closing around her shoulders. His grip was tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he lifted her feet off the ground, carrying her to the hood of her car. Her legs wrapped around his hips automatically, pulling him against her welcoming body, and their mouths clashed. She tasted blood on his lips and tongue, and she knew he must have tasted the same coppery combination from her own mouth. His erection slid against her bare, soft thigh, and she felt the pulse of his heart pounding through his rigid flesh. He reached between them and guided his length to her opening. He entered her in one long, hard stroke. They’d been silent except for their ragged breathing, but as soon as he filled her, they both cried out. She clenched around him, pulling him as close as possible, her head dropping back with pure relief. The entire car shook with the force of his thrusts, and her body absorbed the shock of his strength, sweat gathering on the back of her neck, rolling down her throat, smearing across his skin. A breeze picked up, rolling over her heated flesh, bringing her nipples into two tight peaks. His thumbs rolled over the nubs as he rocked into her, his mouth pulling into a smile as she moaned and bucked her hips. Her fingernails raked over his shoulders and down his back as the flames of pleasure fanned

through her. She gripped the back of his head and dragged his mouth back to hers, using the pressure of his lips to muffle her growing moans. His tongue moved against hers, and he snapped his hips in just the right tempo, pushing her closer and closer to the edge she was reaching for. His mouth moved from her lips to the side of her neck, the tips of his sharp teeth playing over her slick skin; the pressure was enough to make her shudder. Once she started shaking, she couldn’t stop, her body quaking with the power of her release. That was the moment his teeth sank down, and though the pressure was hard enough to leave a bruise, she didn’t feel a second of pain; only pure sensation as the pleasure caught into an inferno, fueled by adrenaline from the fight and the endorphins always released when she shifted into a wild creature—a creature powerful enough to kill. She howled as she soared over the edge, the sound carrying across the sleeping city. “God, Dwight,” she clutched his hair and pulled his head back, “why can’t you ever be on time?” “Get out of here before the cops come, Baby Doll.” “You get out of here. I’ll talk to the cops,” Aiza said, voice full of righteous fury. “That guy attacked me.” “No, Baby Doll, you’re not talking to

anybody.” He released her and straightened. A moment later, he was moving to his motorcycle for his clothes. She shivered and looked around, but her clothes were not only out of reach, they’d been completely shredded by her sudden transformation. “Bring me your jacket.” Dwight complied, fishing out a cigarette before handing it over. Her face twisted with disgust as he lit it and took a long drag. “It’s not your decision.” “It’s my decision to keep my head attached to my shoulders,” Dwight countered. “Butch was a pretty high-ranking member of the Wolf Brotherhood.” “All the more reason to talk to the cops,” Aiza argued, shrugging the heavy leather jacket on. She’d never admit it, but she loved the way Dwight’s jacket smelled—especially now that her senses were heightened by her lycanthropy. She could just imagine his smirk if he ever found out that piece of information. “Either the cops give the Brotherhood a hard time and they retaliate by coming after you, or the cops tip off the Brotherhood that you’re looking to give them a hard time and they come after you. They know he was here tonight.” Aiza’s eyes narrowed. “And you knew he’d be here, too.” “Paul’s Tavern is part of the regular route.”

“Well it’s not Paul’s anymore—it’s my goddamned tavern. That’s it, first thing Monday morning, I’m changing the sign. After I buy a gun.” Dwight eyed the dead wolf. “You don’t need a gun, Baby Doll.” “You’re the one who killed him. You’re just trying to save your own neck. You don’t want the cops to tip off the Brotherhood to what really happened.” “And what really happened, Aiza?” He took her by the shoulder, his eyes boring into hers. “Is it that I saved your life?” “Dwight—” “There is a world of hurt waiting for you once they know about Butch. I’d just as soon avoid that, but hey,” he raised his hands and smiled a smile that wasn’t very warm, “it’s up to you.” The thought of covering up a man’s death— even if she didn’t regret the death itself—made her sick to her stomach. She hadn’t done anything but defend herself, but that defense was weakened considerably by an obstruction of justice charge. She’d lose everything if she went to jail. Her bar, her house, everything. But none of that would count for much if she was dead. “I’ll go home.” “And you won’t mention this to anyone.” Aiza shook her head, the sick feeling in her

stomach growing worse by the second. “I won’t mention this to anyone.” “Good girl.” He hunted around the parking lot and found her purse. She accepted it with numb fingers and a nod of thanks. “I’ll be by later for my coat. Don’t let anyone else in the house.” At that moment, she had no intention of letting him into her house. All she could think about was a stiff drink and a hot shower, but ultimately, neither quieted her nerves nor calmed her upset stomach. Aiza’s home was her sanctuary. The one place the rest of the world couldn’t touch her and wasn’t welcome. She rarely invited friends, or boyfriends, to her home; her need for privacy was too great. Most of the time, her friends or boyfriends respected her boundaries and didn’t press for more, but Dwight was neither a friend nor a boyfriend, and he had no reason to respect her boundaries. She met Dwight at the bar while she was still waitressing. He was a regular and he tipped well, and though he wasn’t her type at all, she still found herself responding to his flirtations and smiles. She never intended to sleep with him, and after she slept with him the first time, she didn’t mean to sleep with him a second time—or a third time. It was a mistake. That’s what she told him each time, and yet it appeared he was her favorite mistake to make because, like a moth to a flame, she just

couldn’t keep away from him. Even after he turned her into a werewolf. Especially after he turned her into a werewolf. She inspected her home with the same care she used at the bar, checking the locks on her doors and windows and arming her security system. The security system was still new; she had it installed after her turning. Dwight had warned her that the Brotherhood forbade anyone in the pack from making new wolves, and though she didn’t quite understand why that was her problem, she still took as many safety precautions as she could. As soon as she secured the place, she stripped Dwight’s jacket from her shoulders and climbed into a hot shower. The water turned pink as it ran down the curves of her body and pooled at her feet, but most of the blood had dried and needed to be scraped off with her loofah. Her injuries were minor and already beginning to heal, but they still stung under the hot water. Her eyes burned and tingled, but she blinked back the tears; there was no reason to cry. She was fine. She would continue to be fine. Everything would be fine. No matter how many times she repeated that to herself, she couldn’t quite believe it. Once she was out of the shower, she wrapped herself in her fluffy fleece robe and put the kettle on to boil water for tea. Her stomach growled with

the same ferocity as a wolf and the accompanying pain drove her to the fridge. She was always horny and hungry after she shifted into her lupine form. Now that Dwight had satisfied one craving, she was left to prepare her own dinner. All she wanted was meat—lean, red, raw meat. She scanned the fridge and zeroed in on a pound of ground beef, deciding that a burger made very rare would fit the bill. While her tea steeped and the burger cooked, she downed a double shot of good ol’ Kentucky bourbon. It burned all the way down, but in a good way that left her skin flushed and tingling. Another double, and she started to feel somewhat normal. She fished her phone out of her purse to see if Dwight had called; he hadn’t, but her sister, Sera, had. She felt a familiar pang when she saw her sister’s name. It had been years since they last spoke—not because Aiza didn’t miss her or love her, but somehow, the longer she went without speaking to her family, the harder it was to call them. So many things had changed, in both good and bad ways. What would she say? I’m doing really well now. I have a house, a bar, and oh yeah, by the way, I’m a werewolf, and I just killed a man. “Tomorrow,” she promised herself. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”

**** Most nights, Aiza dreamed about the day she died. She didn’t remember being dead. She didn’t remember the crash itself. Later, she was told they skidded to avoid an oncoming car, a drunk driver in the wrong lane. The blow she took to the head would have killed her instantly, if it wasn’t for her helmet. It was still a big enough hit to knock her unconscious for three days and wipe several days from her memory. For a full month, she had no ability to make new memories. She had to be reminded of her own name, her own life, every day. Even now, she had no recollection of those thirty days. She couldn’t recall how frustrating and frightening it must have been. Aiza tried to imagine the woman who had lived through that waking nightmare; tried to imagine what it must have felt like to be in a state of perpetual confusion. She tried to imagine the woman who heard Dwight’s offer and had no choice but to accept it. She did remember the bite. In the video Aiza made of herself, she explained that the bite would be serious enough to scar. He’d chosen the inside of her left thigh, and Aiza had spent a long time contemplating the

placement of that bite. She hardly thought it would have been her first choice, so the placement must have been Dwight’s decision. She went on to explain that she would feel a strong connection to Dwight from then on, no matter what happened, no matter how much distance she tried to put between them. Aiza had been perplexed by that statement— what kind of connection? Would she suddenly find herself in love with the man? Would she be enthralled by him? The connection wasn’t anything so awful or so simple. “So, why am I doing this? Because it looks like it’s my only chance. My only choice. The transformation from human to werewolf might repair the damage done to my brain. Dwight brought in a specialist who explained that werewolves have the ability to heal faster, and that ability is currently being studied all over the world. Doctors can’t explain why, but there have been studies that demonstrate that humans who are infected with lycanthropy will show the alleviation and sometimes reversal of all kinds of things— including brain damage.” In fact, Dwight had been injured in the accident, too, but he had completely recovered in less than a week. He’d told her that he was walking again the day before she woke up.

The video also included footage of her discussion with the specialist, warning there were risks associated with the transformation, too. Aiza had studied the video countless times, watching the play of her face as the doctor explained the entire process, gave her the warnings, and told her how her life might change. Dwight told her she’d watched the video every day for two weeks, and each day of those two weeks, she shook her head. Then, on the fifteenth day, she’d signed the paperwork to give Dwight legal permission to turn her into a werewolf. What had changed on that day? Aiza would never know. She’d also never truly know for sure that she had changed her mind. There was no independent verification of the moment she said yes—just Dwight’s word. But she didn’t care too much, either. It had been the right thing to do, and her ability to make memories returned one week after the bite. Within a month of that, she was able to return to work at her newly-purchased bar. Fortunately, Paul had stayed on to run the place while she was recovering, and it was in perfect working order when she was ready to take the reins. Unfortunately, stepping back into her life wasn’t that easy, though. There were plenty of websites and even support groups to help her transition into her new life as a wolf, but many of

the people in the support groups were literally victims, brutally attacked and changed against their will. She didn’t feel comfortable revealing her own story and listening to everybody recounting how wolves ruined their lives frightened her. Would she always be able to control herself? Would she harm —even kill—someone someday? Ultimately, Dwight was the only one she could speak to about her fears. A part of her almost expected him to shrug it off, but that was when she learned the meaning of the word connection. Dwight had taken her concerns and fears seriously. He promised to teach how to change at will, how to control herself as a wolf, and how to handle her heightened senses. She didn’t find herself falling in love with him, but she did enjoy the time she spent with him, even when they weren’t having sex—and they had a lot of sex in between their lessons on meditation, concentration, and control. Most mornings, when she woke up, the scar on her thigh throbbed and her head pulsed with the memory of that moment, when teeth sank into flesh and her blood mingled with his saliva, carrying the virus through her system. Other than that, Aiza had reached the point where she rarely thought about being a werewolf. Her life was full, busy and healthy. But now a threat hung over her life, and when

she woke from the dream with a breathless gasp at half past three, she knew she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep that night. Something had woken her. She strained her ears to listen for approaching footsteps. “Dwight?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that you?” “It’s me, Baby Doll.” Light flooded the room and Aiza gasped as she saw that Dwight wasn’t alone. The man pointing a gun at Dwight offered Aiza a cruel smile, “Hi, Baby Doll. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” “Who…?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. “What’s happening?” “This is Franklin,” Dwight said, his voice surprisingly even. “He’s on the Brotherhood’s counsel.” “What do you want?” Now that she was over her initial shock, anger flooded her system. Why couldn’t these assholes leave her alone? She’d never done anything to them. Dwight had mentioned before that the Brotherhood strictly forbade creating new werewolves. She understood it was against their rules or whatever, but she was under no obligation to live under their rules. “I just wanna chat. I have a few questions, that’s all. And since Dwight refused to answer, I thought I’d get the news from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Aiza said as dismissively as she could. “I thought you might say that. But I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Aiza Simpson, and I know something you don’t know.” “Oh, really? What’s that?” “I know where your sister lives.” “So what?” Aiza asked, trying to keep her voice even, though he must have sensed the sudden increase in her heart rate. “So maybe I’ll make myself a mate like Dwight here did.” Aiza’s mind flashed to the support group survivors, the ones who’d been held down and turned against their wills; the ones who were forced to feel an emotional and physical connection to the wolves who ruined their lives. She could not fathom Sera becoming one of them, and somehow, Franklin knew that Dwight had turned her, too, which meant that he was going to be in for a world of hurt once the rest of the Brotherhood found out. “What do you want to know?” “Where’s Butch?” “I don’t know,” Aiza answered. “I don’t even know who Butch is.” “Don’t lie to me, Aiza. It doesn’t become you. Now I’m trying to have a decent conversation with you, but if you’re not capable of that, I can find other ways to get the information I need.”

“Why do you think I know anything about this Butch guy?” “Because he had a meeting with you today,” Franklin said. “Oh, I see. You sent him to shake me down and when he didn’t return, you assumed that I had something to do with that. Get out of my house, or I’m going to call the police.” The longer this ridiculous conversation went on, the more enraged she became. But her anger wasn’t a raging inferno—it was a slow moving glacier, turning her blood to ice and freezing her nerves until her fear shriveled up on itself. Franklin narrowed his eyes over the barrel of his gun. She could see another threat building behind his lips as his finger tightened on the trigger. Dwight chose that moment to strike, distracting Franklin with a blow to the back of the head. He swung around, prepared to shoot Dwight, but Aiza lost no time, transforming as she lunged from her bed to the interloper, hitting him with the full force of her weight. By the time they reached the ground, her fangs were bared and her claws were extended. Her bottom jaw crushed the man’s neck in such a way that his vertebrae shattered, sending razor-like splinters into his spinal cord, killing him instantly. Dwight sighed. “Fuck, Aiza, what have you done now?”

Aiza released the man and licked her chops before shifting back to her human form. “What have I done? Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Dwight! You brought this asshole to my house.” “Well, what are we going to do with him?” “Whatever you did with Butch, I guess.” “You have no idea what you’ve done,” Dwight said. Aiza was unperturbed. “I’d do it again.” “I don’t doubt it. You need to get out of town.” “No.” She folded her arms. “I’m not running.” “Do you think this is going to stop? Butch was just a foot soldier, but Franklin—” “Was an asshole,” Aiza supplied. “And I thought you said Butch was a high-ranking member?” “They’re both high-ranking enough to be missed.” “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. All of this bullshit today, it has nothing to do with me, does it?” Aiza asked. “It’s...complicated.” “Excuse me?” Aiza looked down at the growing blood stain on her carpet. It filled her senses, clogging her mouth and nose, painting her vision red. “What’s so goddamned complicated?” “Aiza, you’re one of the Owned.” “The Owned?” The vein in her temple began

to throb, sending a sharp pain through her skull to her eye. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “I made you. The Brotherhood found out, but I was able to pull a few strings and smooth things over. Keep in mind, though, that everything I have belongs to the pack, and so—” “And so what? I belong to the Brotherhood, too? Like a piece of property?” “As far as they are concerned, yes.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but only succeeded in filling her head with the smell of blood. “I’m going to kill you.” “Aiza, Baby Doll—” “Don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t...just...just get out!” “I can’t. They’re just going to keep coming. You are mine now, and they want what’s theirs.” “This wasn’t in the video. This wasn’t in the paperwork. That...that isn’t what I agreed to, Dwight. You fucking lied to me. What else did you lie to me about?” She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled backwards to the bed, trying to put as much distance between herself and Dwight as possible. Her stomach churned, generating bile that bubbled to the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it lingered there, burning her esophagus. “I didn’t—” “Don’t talk. Don’t tell me another lie.” She

shook her head. “You have to fix it.” “I don’t—” “Don’t tell me you can’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t tell me that I have to spend the rest of my life giving them everything. Being Owned. Is that— oh God, that’s why he knows about my sister. They know everything about my family, don’t they?” Dwight only nodded. “Get me out of this or I swear to God, I’ll—” “What?” “I’ll kill you,” Aiza stated simply. “You won’t kill me.” She pulled herself to her full height and narrowed her eyes, summoning all of the wild courage of the wolf inside of her. Her lip curled and she felt the growl rumbling through her throat. “This is not an idle threat, Dwight. Those fuckers think my life belongs to them? Fine. But before they bring me down, I swear I will rip your throat out.” Dwight’s attention shifted to the dead man at his feet and he didn’t need to consider her words for long. “Aiza, you need to die.” “Is that a threat?” Dwight shook his head. “It’s a plan. We’ll fake your death—” “We’ll what my what?” “They can’t come after you if they think you’re dead.”

Aiza blinked, unable to believe her own ears. “That solves nothing. If they think I’m dead, the whole world will think I’m dead. I’ll lose my house, my bar. Goddamn you, Dwight, goddamn you!” “We’ll get your will in order and you won’t lose anything. This is only going to be temporary.” “What are you talking about? Temporary? Do you think if I disappear for six months, they’ll just forget about me? Who will run the bar?” Aiza looked down at the body. It was getting more and more difficult to concentrate with the scent of blood permeating everything. “Why did you do this to me? Why did you make me a wolf if you knew...if you knew this…how could…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t even breathe. Her lungs were frozen; her throat clogged with ragged, sharp words. Dwight crossed the room and took her by the shoulders. “You want to know how I could do this to you? Because I’m a selfish asshole. You surprised I’d admit it?” “A little.” “Aiza, I visited you in the hospital every day. And every day, you looked at me with such...fear and confusion. You were afraid and you were hurting and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. Until the moment there was.” “But didn’t you even think about the consequences? Didn’t you even consider we could

be here...like this...one day?” “All I could think about was fixing you. Saving you. When I woke up in the hospital and I didn’t know where you were, if you even made it, I never felt more sick in my life. I made the nurses take me to you and I stood there, watching you in that coma, and I knew if you pulled through, I would do anything for you.” Aiza took a deep breath, caught up in his dark eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. But he was telling her the truth. She could see it, and more importantly, she could feel it. The connection between them felt stronger than ever, and she unconsciously shifted towards him, seeking out the heat and strength of his body, her nostrils finally detecting his familiar scent through the ocean of blood. “I know you think I fucked up,” he continued, “but I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I’d rather have you here yelling at me than not have you at all. Won’t you forgive me?” Aiza felt the sting of tears and tried to blink them away before they could fall. Her life was in shambles and she could trace all of it back to her decision to get involved with him—and yet she’d never felt closer to another human being. Worse still, she wanted to be close to him. She’d always wanted him. Now she had exactly what she wanted, she needed to handle the consequences.

“How...how are we going to do this? Stage my death?” “We’ll need a body and a story.” “A body?” “Yeah, Baby Doll. You can’t just disappear and expect that’ll do the trick. The Brotherhood must believe you’re dead and that your property reverted to me.” “Oh great. So they have to believe they won and I’ll still lose everything.” “Just because they think it’s mine doesn’t mean it will be mine,” Dwight clarified. “I’ll keep an eye on the bar and make sure you don’t lose the house.” “Where will I be?” Aiza asked. “Out of sight. I have friends in the county, they’ll help me get everything pushed through and keep it quiet.” “What about the funeral? What about the burial? What about my family?” Dwight’s hand moved up her neck, his long fingers pushing the hair from her face. “Do you trust me, Baby Doll?” That was a loaded question. Even before she became a wolf, she routinely put her life in his hands, especially when she climbed onto the back of his motorcycle. Now that she was a werewolf —his werewolf—trusting him felt like the only thing she could do. If she didn’t have her maker,

who did she have? None of her friends even knew she was a wolf and her family would only take the news as yet another sign that she was a fuck-up. She didn’t know how to answer with words, so she closed her eyes and nuzzled into his touch. His fingers widened, spreading across her scalp, and he cradled her head gently. His warmth seeped into her skin, and so did the undeniable sense that everything was going to be alright. She didn’t know where that feeling was coming from—if she truly felt it or if he was sending her that soothing sensation—but she didn’t care. When he tilted head to claim her mouth with a gentle kiss, she didn’t resist. They rarely kissed, and when they did, it was usually a hungry, desperate caress, as though they were trying to devour each other. There was hunger in this kiss, too, but it was tempered, as though he was waiting for a sign from here. With all the death and chaos, madness and confusion, kissing him—and inviting him to do more—seemed like it could wait. And yet, it couldn’t. She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, pulling his tongue in her mouth as she buried her fingers in his long hair. He hesitated for a moment—just long enough to make her worry that he might release her completely—and then she felt the full force of his passion and desire ricochet through her.

He lowered her to the bed, his hands working over her body, removing her stained clothes. Everywhere he touched her lit up, and goosebumps covered her from head to toe. She shivered again and again, not with the chill of the night air, but with the anticipation of more. More than just the sensation of his fingers flowing over her skin. She wanted him to grab her, to hold her; she wanted to feel him claim her again. Her hands were busy, too, moving to his fly and trying to pull the zipper free. Her fingers felt cold and clumsy, and his dick bulged against the tight denim, making it even more difficult to work the zipper down. Finally, his larger hand closed over hers, fingers grabbing the tab and guiding it, freeing his engorged flesh. She wrapped her hand around his length, fresh excitement pulsing through her veins as she stroked him. “God, look what you do to me,” Dwight moaned, his mouth near her ear, his voice as hot and exciting as his touch. She squirmed beneath him, arousal flooding her system, making her wet; making her ache. She guided him to the juncture of her thighs, letting his swollen head slide between her lips, wetting his skin. The tip brushed against her clit, sending a shockwave up her spine. “I need to feel you.” He wasn’t just saying that, either. She felt it; felt his desire flowing through him, fanning the

sparks into flames—the flames that always threatened to consume her. Somehow, knowing it would consume him, too, made it all the better; made it easier for her to surrender to that passion. She guided his dick to her entrance, shifting her hips to take him inside of her. It was like touching a live wire to a dry pile of tinder—the sparks immediately caught and his name tore from her throat like a howl. “Fuck me,” she bit out. “Fuck me hard. God...hard...harder….” He did as she asked, slamming his hips into her, his face set in lines of brutal concentration. She grasped at his arms, fingers digging deep into his flesh, silently begging him for more and more. She wanted to be free from her thoughts, free from the decisions and fears and from every conscious and self-conscious reaction. She didn’t want to think about the past or the future, didn’t want to consider what could happen—didn’t want to remember what she’d done. When she turned herself over to him, to the pleasure their bodies could generate when they came together, she felt free. But she wasn’t quite there. Not yet. Wrapping herself around him, holding him deep in her body, she gasped out, “Flip over.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, and she rose above him, her hands flat on his chest for balance. His t-shirt irritated her fingers and she

clawed at the material until it was gone, allowing her to feel the smooth expanse of his skin; the power of his muscles straining beneath her. His hands went to her full hips, pulling her down to meet every upward thrust. She rocked against him, grinding her clit into his pelvis, building on each aching second. Through it all, she still could smell and taste blood. Her mind was clouded, so whose blood it was and why she could sense it didn’t truly distract her from her goal. In fact, it only augmented her hunger, adding a sharp edge to every sensation until it sliced through her body. Each rock of her hips, each deep breath, every inch where skin moved against skin, where muscles flexed against muscles, each pull of her breath all coalesced into a sharp point of pleasure deep inside of her. That point pulsed brighter, hotter, and longer until it could no longer be contained. The explosion it ignited rocked through her body, shaking her from her head to her toes. She screamed Dwight’s name, grasping him tightly as she rode out each relentless crest of pleasure. Distantly, she heard his own ragged gasp, felt his dick jerk and twitch inside of her as he followed her over the edge and past the point of no return. The high she got from him was always so intense, but short-lived. Caught up in that wonderful twilight between pleasure and the real

world, she collapsed on top of him and tried to hold on for as long as she could, but gradually her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, and the world she wanted to ignore pushed down on her mind and her shoulders. Reality was an unwelcome visitor, intruding on her before she was ready to accept any guests. “Pack only what you need,” Dwight said, as though she needed his help to be pulled back to Earth. “We’re getting out of here now.” Aiza nodded. What else was there to say? But I’m not ready to go, her inner voice protested. I’m not ready to let everything go. I’m not ready to walk away from my life. Don’t do this. But what choice did she have? She inhabited a new world where she didn’t know any of the rules and she had only one friend. If she wanted to stay alive in that world, adjustments had to be made. Sacrifices had to be made. If she wanted to stay alive at all, she would have to sacrifice everything she worked for. As long as there’s life, there’s still hope, she promised herself. The world beat her down once before, but it couldn’t keep her down. She’d fought her way to the top of every mountain she met, and if she had to do it again, she would. She would always keep fighting, but from now on, she would use greater care in picking her battles. And her allies.

For the second time in a single night, Aiza fled the scene of a crime and left Dwight to handle the gristly details. She’d never been to his cabin, but he gave her directions and an explicit warning to go directly there, to speak to nobody else, and to keep her head down. She’d nodded, agreeing to follow his orders, quietly packing a small bag and resisting the urge to call Cyn. She couldn’t tell her head waitress why she was disappearing or where she was going, but she desperately wanted to leave her a brief message. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. Just keep the bar running and I’ll be back soon. But even a message as simple as that could blow their entire story and ruin the plan they carefully worked out, once her head was clear again. It wasn’t an easy plan, but it was simple. Straight-forward. All it required from her was her silent cooperation. All she had to do was drive away. Now that the fever in her blood had cooled and the wave of emotions coming from Dwight had dulled, many of her previous trepidations returned. She couldn’t shake the thought that she was handing it all over to Dwight; handing it all over to the Brotherhood. He swore he would keep it safeguarded and wouldn’t allow anyone else in the Brotherhood to come sniffing around, but she simply did not know if she could trust that—if she

could believe him—if she should believe him. She didn’t reach the cabin until dawn. By then, her eyes were sore and gritty, her mouth was dry, and her bladder was uncomfortably full. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a soft bed. The shower was exactly as she imagined it would be—better, even. She stood under the delicious spray for at least an hour, letting the water cleanse her of the blood and her exhaustion. She fell into the bed still wrapped in the towel, her heavy eyes falling the moment her head hit the pillow. When Aiza woke up, she was dead again. The car skidded out of control, according to the brief report on the local nightly news. Unable to correct the skid on the wet, rural road, the driver slammed into a utility pole and died instantly. They briefly flashed a picture of Aiza and then continued on to report that the number of traffic incidents on that particular stretch of highway was climbing steadily, and the local community was demanding for something to be done. Although the story was exactly as she and Dwight had worked out, the shock of seeing it made her hands go numb and her breath hitch in her throat. The echoes of her actual accident made the scar on the back of her head throb, and she tried to ignore the tremor in her fingers, but it

traveled up her arm and down to her legs. The only thing Aiza didn’t know—and didn’t want to know—was who was actually in the car when it crashed. Dwight had brushed off her questions during the planning stage, and she had allowed him to do that, with the feeling that the less she knew, the better. That way, she could tell herself that “the body” he needed to locate was truly just a body and not, as she feared, a woman who looked like her, talked like her, and had been alive, just like her, only the morning before. With the wheels of the plan set in motion, there was nothing for her to do but wait. Dwight attended her small funeral—only her closest family was in attendance. There was another memorial for her, though, at the bar, and Dwight attended that, too. Aiza hadn’t asked for any of the details. She felt too guilty, the weight of the lie only compounded by every friend, every family member, every associate and customer, and every stranger who heard of her accident and felt any sense of grief over her loss. What she did not count on during all their quick planning was the tenacity and loyalty of her sister, Sera, who insisted on staying after the funeral to see to the house and Aiza’s belongings; who went from bar to bar, apparently searching for Dwight or any possible lead or clue that would explain Aiza’s untimely death.

**** “If your sister doesn’t leave soon, we’re going to have problems,” Dwight warned, keeping his voice even. He was doing his best not to demonstrate his extreme irritation at this unexpected development. Aiza never talked about her family. She was like Dwight—alone, without a pack, without burden. That had made her ideal for his purposes. And now some stranger was mucking up all his plans, causing ripples and pissing people off. Even worse, she couldn’t take a hint. He’d tried twice to scare her out of town, and it seemed to have the opposite effect. She finally fled Portland, but Dwight had the feeling that the bitch wasn’t done sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. “Why? You made it look enough like an accident, and you said you had friends in the sheriff’s department and the coroner’s office,” Aiza pointed out. “I don’t think she’s going to uncover the plan or expose you. But…” “But what? What are you worried about?” “I want all of this to die down,” Dwight said reasonably. “We need the Brotherhood to forget about you, forget about Paul’s Tavern, and forget

about the whole situation. They can’t forget about it if she keeps telling people all over town that she thinks they murdered you.” Or, as it happened, if she continued to tell everybody around town that he was involved in her untimely death. He liked to keep a low profile anyway, but in this delicate situation, a low profile was absolutely paramount. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it,” Aiza said with a sigh. “I just want her to go home. I just want her to be safe.” “I’ll take care of it,” Dwight promised, with the same tone of reassurance and confidence he used since the whole nightmare started. Ultimately, he intended for Aiza to accept him completely and without reservations as her Alpha. When she did, her regular note of contrariness would dissipate and he’d be able to guide her without resorting to planting a suggestion. But she hadn’t accepted him yet, and so sometimes he had to take extra steps. “C’mere, Baby Doll.” Dwight loved the way Aiza felt when he held her in his arms. He loved the way her curvy body fit against his. He loved the shape of her mouth and her eyes and her unbelievable spirit. He loved her body, loved fucking her; loved having her to himself. And he loved the way she gave everything over. All he had to do was look her in the eyes.

In fact, when he looked her in the eyes, he could make her do or say or think nearly anything he wanted. There were many things she didn’t know about being a made wolf, though she thought she had an understanding of their new dynamics. He answered her questions and told her mostly the truth, but it was best if she didn’t know it all. Best for him, at any rate. With her gaze locked on his and his arms wrapped around her in a tight cage, he said, “Your sister is in the way.” She raised an eyebrow but then a blank look suddenly filled her eyes. “My… my sister is in the way,” she repeated in a monotone voice. “She needs to be removed.” “I don’t want her to be removed,” Aiza protested, her voice gaining strength. Despite himself, he felt a twinge in his chest. She had such a strong, beautiful will. She was one of the few people who challenged him and had no fear. Subduing her spirit and making her into his wolf had been all the sweeter for that. “I want to see her. I want to tell her the truth.” “You can’t see her,” Dwight said softly but firmly. “If you see her, you’ll know she needs to die. You’ll want to kill her.” He didn’t feel a twinge of guilt at planting the suggestion in Aiza’s mind. Sera Simpson was a complication Dwight hadn’t counted on when he

cooked up his plan to have both Aiza and Paul’s Tavern completely under his thumb. And now Sera had an unlikely ally in Seth Longtail, a tenacious Alpha from a rival pack. In his gut, Dwight knew that bringing Seth into the situation was a critical flaw in his master plan. The rival wolf Dwight chose to sacrifice to the Brotherhood—in exchange for his own punishment by death for turning Aiza—belonged to Longtail’s pack, which meant that Seth wasn’t going to stop sniffing around until he found the body or until Dwight took his life. One more death on his conscious would make no difference to him at this point, but as a matter of pure practicality, he didn’t want to add the death of a powerful Alpha to his plate. “I...I don’t…” “You want to kill her,” Dwight repeated firmly, looking deeply into Aiza’s eyes. “When you see her, you’ll know she is trying to take it all from you. When you see her, you will remove her.” “But she’s my sister.” “She wants to hurt you. She wants to hurt me. She wants to take me away from you. She doesn’t want you to be happy and so you will remove her.” “I—I will remove her,” Aiza repeated slowly. “And when she’s gone, we can be happy together,” Dwight added. “When she’s gone, you can go home again.”

“I can go home again,” she said faintly. “Now, Baby Doll, do you want to please me? Do you want to make me happy?” Aiza nodded, eyes blank, face open, her mind ready for more suggestions. Dwight hesitated, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the options. He made a wolf once before, and he used her until he literally broke her. He wanted things to be different with Aiza. He wanted to groom her and mold her into the perfect mate for him. He wanted to have her at his side, tucked away in his secret haven, for years to come. He hadn’t anticipated things turning into such a shit-show. He had no idea Franklin had his own designs on the goldmine that was Paul’s Tavern and never expected him to send his henchman, Butch, to muscle in on Dwight’s territory. His plan for Aiza was slow, designed for the long-game, meant to work past all of her defenses and shields until he was completely inside of her life, her head, and her heart. After that point, she would be easy to control. Easy to exploit. But of course, an idiot like Franklin wouldn’t appreciate a plan as subtle as Dwight’s; he wouldn’t be able to understand that it was better to have constant and open access rather than a tiny portion of the bar’s income. “She’s going to come here, Aiza. She’s going to try to take you away from me.” He touched the

side of her face. “Do you want to leave me, Baby Doll?” “I don’t want to leave.” “Good.” He kissed her, breaking eye contact. He couldn’t keep her under suggestion at all times— not yet, anyway. The more he reinforced the bond between them, the easier it would be to keep her enthralled, but if he pushed for too much, too fast, he might cause damage. And he had absolutely no intention of harming his beautiful Aiza. Not when she was worth so much to him intact. “Okay, Baby Doll, I’ve got to go. I have some business to take care of tonight. You stay here, and remember what I said.” She blinked at him with confusion and then nodded slowly. “I’ll remember.” “What will you do if you see your sister?” “I’ll kill her,” Aiza stated. Dwight gave her a brief hug and another kiss on the top of the head before leaving. Once she killed her sister, she would have no strong ties to anyone except him. He had to admit, that was quite the unexpected boon. He’d been irritated ever since Sera arrived in town, but he couldn’t complain about his opportunity to fully secure Aiza in his grasp—and due to Sera’s unexpected involvement, he’d be able to complete his plan far sooner than he ever expected.

Dwight stepped outside of his cabin and inhaled deeply, catching the scent of an unfamiliar wolf floating in the wind. The hair on the back of his neck rose and his fangs emerged. Longtail had been there, and was most certainly still in the area. Whistling to himself, he crossed the yard to the two-ton pickup truck he rarely drove. He preferred his bike to any other mode of transportation, or barring that, running freely as a wolf. But he needed something a little bit bigger than a motorcycle to get this job done. With a cigarette clamped between his teeth and music blasting from his speakers, he put the truck into gear and roared into the night. With the window down, his sensitive nose guided him through the forest. Even with the stench of the cigarette, he wouldn’t miss the smell of two wolves and one delicious human. He would know Sera was Aiza’s kin by her scent alone. He wondered if Sera would taste like her sister, too. If he played his cards right, he’d have the chance to find out. Maybe he’d even have the chance to make Sera and keep her as well. Two sisters to do his bidding and serve his every need? Dwight’s grin turned wicked, his thoughts turning feral as he descended upon his prey.

PART TWO WEREWOLF BABY DADDY Walking through Aiza’s home was like passing through a stranger’s house. Sera recognized nothing of her sister in the decor, the personal items, or even the photographs. Aiza had been a dark-haired child of just eighteen when she left their parents’ home, and the woman in the photographs was blonde, fifteen years older, and hiding a lifetime of pain in her eyes. Sera had come to Aiza’s little bungalow in Portland to find something, anything, that might shed some light on her sister’s life—and death—but so far, the only thing she’d learned was that she truly knew nothing about her eldest sibling. Sera composed the obituary on the plane. She emailed it to the Portland Press Herald and posted it on her sister’s social media accounts, but only her closest family attended the funeral: their parents, Sigfreid and Judy, and their younger brother, Steven. There might have been another among the bereaved: a stranger who stood at a distance in the cemetery. Nobody else noticed him, but Sera had caught him out of the corner of her eye. In the fading light, she saw a ragged scar carving his face into uneven halves. Thick, bushy eyebrows shaded his eyes and a long, silky mustache flowed past his

chin, almost to his neck. He’d been in full leather gear, and as he turned away, she caught a flash of a badge stitched onto his left sleeve: the profile of a wolf’s body against a full yellow moon. The sign of the Wolf Brotherhood, Sera came to learn. Most wolf packs were complex families with complicated lines linking them to their allied packs, but not the Wolf Brotherhood. They rode without allies, and any wolf banished from their own pack found a home among the Brotherhood. No crime barred them from membership; no wolf was too wild or too dangerous. As long as they swore their oath to the Alpha, they were welcome to ride with them. Sera had found a badge just like the stranger wore in Aiza’s belongings. To her, that pointed to a connection clearly worth pursuing, but the local sheriff’s department disagreed with her on that. “They were associates. That’s not evidence. Besides, there were no signs of foul play. There wasn’t even anything suspicious in the coroner’s report.” Sheriff Daniels offered a small, placating smile. “I know how upset you are. I know this is very painful and difficult to process, but it was an accident. Sometimes accidents happen when it’s wet and dark.” Accidents did happen. Bad things happened to good people all the time. Lives were cut short without warning for the stupidest reasons and there

wasn’t a damned thing anybody could do about it. Sera couldn’t deny any of that. But in her heart, she couldn’t accept it. Aiza deserved better. Sera parted ways with her family in the cemetery. Siggy and Judy had cut short a crosscountry trip, parking their RV in Chicago and flying back to Portland. They had a plane to catch and Steven’s wife was just about to have a baby. “I’m sorry. I’d stay and help you out with everything, but she’s going to pop at any moment,” Steven said. Sera gave her little brother a long, long hug. She hadn’t seen him in years—not since she left for college—and he was already grown up, with a job, and a wife, and a baby. She felt a familiar twinge in her heart at the mention of a baby, but it was flooded under the sadness and confusion she felt for her sister. “Go to your wife.” She squeezed him and stepped back, “I took the week off so I could take care of everything.” “I can come back. I’m only an hour away.” “I’ll call you if I need you,” Sera promised, knowing she wouldn’t end up making that call. Aiza had never been the easiest person to get along with, but Sera always had a special relationship with her sister. Even after she left home, the two had stayed in touch for years until

one day, Aiza simply stopped answering her phone. She didn’t return letters, didn’t respond to emails, or even send out a Christmas card. Sera had feared the worst long before the phone call actually came and confirmed it. Now all she could do was try to find some sort of closure. But as she picked her way through Aiza’s home and her closest belongings, she began to realize that there would be no closure. Not until she satisfied her curiosity once and for all. Her first step was to track down the scarred man. There’d been no time to snap his picture, but Sera found two photographs of him in Aiza’s nightstand, tucked away under her a stack of bills and old magazines. One picture was of the two of them with wide smiles, taken a few months before. Sera stared at that picture for a long, long time, trying to find a hint of the girl she used to know. The other picture was of the man by himself, sitting on a brand new motorcycle. He wasn’t smiling at the camera, but the light in his eyes couldn’t be missed. Neither picture had a name or any other identifying information, but it was a start. With nothing but the pictures in hand, Sera set out to scour Portland for a clue—any clue. Aiza had kept several social media accounts, but none of them offered any clues about the scarred stranger. The bars were probably her best bet. Sera learned

quickly that ordering a drink and greasing the bartender’s palm helped make the experience more pleasant, though the first two nights were entirely unsuccessful. The bartenders, waitresses and bouncers would talk to her, but they wouldn’t give her any helpful information. Sorry, honey, never saw him. Nope, don’t know him. He hasn’t been around here. By the third night, Sera’s optimism was fading, and so was her patience. She had the same feeling in her gut she had when she talked to the sheriff— the same feeling she always got when somebody looked her in the eye, smiled, and lied right to her face. It almost didn’t seem worth it to go out and try again, but when she glanced at the photo and saw her sister’s smiling face, Sera knew she didn’t have a choice. Somebody had to be Aiza’s champion. Somebody had to fight for justice. The day was sunny, but clouds started to gather by twilight. A full moon loomed that night, but there were too many clouds to see the silver disc. When Sera hit the first bar, it was raining, and by the time she stepped out of the fifth bar, her coat was soaked through, her hair was a mess, and she was buzzed. “No more beers,” she muttered to herself as she jammed the key into the ignition. “Stupid rain,” she added as she pulled out of the parking lot. Her

fingers felt like ice, and even with the heater on full blast, she couldn’t get warm. Rain splattered against the windshield, hitting it faster than the wipers could push it away, and the heat of her breath slowly fogged the glass, further obscuring her vision. She slowed to a crawl, leaning forward and squinting through the fat raindrops slamming against her windshield. The headlights did little to slice through the darkness, and as much as she didn’t want to give up for the night, she knew it would be best to find a safe place to park and sit this one out. With that decision made, she signaled and looked for any parking lot or turn off to get her off the road. Staring intently to her right, she didn’t notice the creature darting across the road from the left until it was too late to swerve out of the way. Her foot went to the brake, but the pedal barely depressed before she felt—and heard—her car collide with a body. Sera jammed the car into park and paused, trying to catch her breath, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst up through her throat. “Please don’t be a dog. Or a deer. Please, please, please...” She threw open the door and ducked her head against the rain, hurrying to the body lying under her bumper. Not a deer. Definitely not a dog. The

prone body under her car was a man. A very tall— very naked—very gorgeous man. She couldn’t see much in the furious storm, but she could see that much just fine. “Mister? Hey sir? Sir? Hello? Hello! Mister! Wake up! Come on, oh, please wake up!” She gently slapped his face, but he didn’t respond. “Oh God, please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” She pressed her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse and sobbed with relief when she felt it, strong and solid against her fingertips. His pulse was regular, as was his breathing, and she didn’t see any signs of blood in the flickering light. That didn’t rule out a serious head injury, but at least he was unlikely to die from the impact. Sera straightened and took stock of the situation. The storm gave no sign of fading. She definitely couldn’t leave the poor man on the side of the road and she had no idea where the nearest hospital was. She should call 911, but the police would certainly be dispatched, and Sera didn’t want to talk to them. She didn’t see the streak of lightning, but the thunder was so loud it made her teeth vibrate. Good God, girl, don’t you know enough to get out of the rain? She bent her knees, squatting beside her unfortunate victim and hooked her hands under his arms. Sera’s frame was short but powerful. She

visited the gym daily, a habit she began five years earlier as a freshman in college. She could deadlift her own body weight—two-hundred and eighty pounds—and she was able to half-lift, half-drag the stranger from beneath the car and to door. From there, she hefted him into the back seat, tucking and folding his long limbs under the spare blanket she kept in the backseat. Sera had no idea where she was, especially in relation to Aiza’s house. Taking a naked stranger back there seemed out of the question anyway. Her phone told her there was a motel only a mile further down the road; all she had to do was drive in a slow, straight line and not hit any more men, and she would be fine. Under normal circumstances, she would have been no more than five minutes away from her destination, but nearly thirty excruciating minutes passed before she saw the pink neon light through the rain. The vacancy sign flashed like a beacon, drawing her right up to the front door. She worried the man behind the front counter would try to speak with her, but the exchange was mostly silent as he swiped her credit card, produced her room key, and explained she would need to drive around the corner of the building and park in the back. Sera found a parking spot right next to her room door and sent a quick prayer of thanks to

whichever deity or saint was in charge of such things. She propped the room’s door open, turned the heater on full blast, and grabbed all the threadbare towels in the room before considering how to move him. She couldn’t drag his naked ass across the payment, so she pulled him into a seated position and then braced herself and lifted him into a fireman’s carry. She kept her footing and her balance under his extra weight, making it all the way to the bed, and managed to lower him to the mattress before collapsing in exhaustion. “Good job. Now what’s the plan?” Sera muttered. Getting dry. Getting warm. And getting this man to wake up. She promised herself if she couldn’t rouse him to consciousness by morning, she would call the paramedics. His pulse was still strong, his breathing steady, and under the bright, even light she didn’t even see a mark on him. She let her eyes linger over his body perhaps a fraction longer than necessary before covering him with a blanket, but even after he was covered, she couldn’t stop looking at his perfectly proportioned, flawless body. A small coffee maker sat by the sink and Sera brewed herself a pot, feeling a hundred times better once she downed a cup of the hot liquid. Suddenly, the man moved as if roused by the smell, and she

gently slapped first one cheek then the other, trying to pull him back into the waking world. “Mister? Mister, can you hear me? Hey, come on guy, wake up. Wake up!” His eyes flew open and his arm swung wide. She barely had enough time to duck the blow, scurrying to get out of his reach. His gaze darted around the room as he took in his surroundings and finally settled on her. “Who the hell are you?” She licked her lips. “My name is Sera.” “Where the hell am I?” “The Shangri La Motel.” He held the back of his head and squinted at her. “Shangri La?” “Yeah, pretty cheesy, but it was the closest motel.” “The closest motel to what?” “Um, well... How are you feeling?” “My head hurts, but I’m alright.” He explored the back of his head with his fingertips. “I’ve got a pretty nasty bump.” “I’m sorry about that. You ran in front of my car and I didn’t see you until it was too late. You might have hit your head on the road.” “You hit me with your car and brought me to a friggin motel? Why not the hospital?” “I—I don’t know where it is, and it’s raining pretty bad. Plus, I wasn’t sure if a man in

your…condition wanted the authorities to get involved. But we can call the paramedics now if you want; I was going to call them in the morning if you didn’t wake up.” The man started to shake his head and grimaced with pain. “No, it’s fine. Were there any other damages? You weren’t hurt, were you?” “No, no, I’m fine. The car is fine. I was going pretty slowly. I don’t even think I hit you that hard. Do you want some water?” “That coffee smells great.” Sera nodded and poured the remaining coffee in the second Styrofoam cup and started brewing another pot. “Thanks,” he said as she passed over the cup. “You wouldn’t happen to have any food, would you?” “No, but we could order a pizza.” He nodded. “I like the way you think. I’m Seth, by the way.” “Nice to meet you, Seth. What do you like on your pizza?” “Pepperoni.” “Pepperoni? Is that all?” “I’m a man of simple taste.” Sera shrugged. “Fine with me.” She was happy to order the pizza, as it gave her an opportunity to concentrate on something besides Seth. He seemed unconcerned by his naked

state—he didn’t even fix the blanket, and she could see every line of his chiseled stomach and hips. Looking away from the lower half of his body only brought her attention to his face. His eyes were a warm shade of gray, his lips were full and the most alluring pink, and his strong jaw was covered with black stubble. Long black curls framed his face, softening the edge of his jaw and aquiline nose, and she wanted to comb her fingers through each one. “Sera, how did you get me in here?” “I carried you.” “You carried me? All by yourself?” “Yeah. Does it surprise you that a girl can be strong?” “No,” he answered quickly. “No, not at all. It’s just, you’re so...short.” “I am short,” she agreed amicably, “but I can bench press two hundred pounds.” Seth whistled between his teeth. “Remind me not to piss you off.” “This is your reminder.” They exchanged a grin and Sera added, “Seriously, though, are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Would you like some ice for your head?” “I’m fine. I’m mostly just hungry. Starving, actually.” “Can I ask, what were you doing running around in a rainstorm naked? Is that how you get

your rocks off or something?” “Well, I wasn’t exactly running around naked; I do have a bit more sense than that. And I wasn’t just out there for the fun of it. When you hit me, did you happen to see if anyone was following me?” Sera shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone else, but the rain was coming down pretty hard.” “Hopefully I lost them and they didn’t follow me here.” “Lost who?” “No one.” “You just said they could have followed you here. If that’s the case, I think I have the right to know who might come knocking on my door.” Seth inclined his head. “Fair enough. The Wolf Brotherhood.” He smiled wryly at Sera’s sharp intake of breath. “I take it you’ve heard of them?” “Yeah. You could say that. I’m looking for one of the wolves, actually.” “Well, you should stop looking for him.” “I can’t do that.” “Trust me. A nice girl like you has no business tangling with people like that.” Sera shook her head. “I’m not tangling with anybody, I just need some information about my sister. Here, wait a second.” She dug through her purse, producing the photos. “This is who I’m looking for. Do you know him?”

Seth didn’t answer right away but she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he studied the picture. “Never seen him.” “Really?” He passed the photo over to her. “Really.” “Seth, I know we just met and we don’t really know each other, so I hope you don’t think I’m terribly rude when I call you a liar.” She sighed. “Let me level with you. I don’t know how, but I know this man was involved in my sister’s death. I just need to ask him some questions about the night she died.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” Seth said softly. “And I don’t think you’re terribly rude, though I’m not lying. I’ve never met the man, but I think I know his name: Dwight Lance.” “Thank you.” Sera placed the photo back into her purse. “And thanks for the name. That’s the most I’ve got in three days of looking.” “Looking? Are you showing that picture around town?” “Do you know a better way to find a man?” “I know that you don’t want the whole world knowing you’re looking for that particular man.” Sera frowned. “Why? Do you think he’s dangerous?” “I think Mr. Dwight Lance might come looking for you once he hears you’re beating the bushes for him.”

“Good. It’ll save me a trip.” “You want the werewolf who may have been involved in your sister’s death to hunt you down?” Sera lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of that bastard.” “I can see that. I’m just advising you to be careful.” “Sounds like you should have taken your own advice. What did you do to get the gang on your tail?” At his hesitation, Sera added, “Maybe if you talk about it, I can help.” “Two of my pack mates went missing. The last anybody heard from them, they were here in Portland. Their trail led me right to the Brotherhood’s front door, but the Brotherhood doesn’t take kindly to questions from strangers; that’s why I think you ought to tread carefully.” “Pack mates? You’re a wolf?” “Yes. And I’m not leaving Portland until I get to the bottom of what’s happened to them.” “Sounds like we’re chasing the same trail. Maybe we should team up.” Seth arched his eyebrow. “You’re pretty trusting.” “More like the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Besides, you haven’t given me a reason not to trust you.” A sharp knock on the door made them both jump.

“It’s just the pizza,” Sera said, grabbing her wallet. She didn’t look through the peephole, and Seth’s shouted warning came a second too late as she twisted the lock. Thee knob turned violently in her hand the door slammed open, knocking her back several feet. In the blink of an eye, the man on the other side shifted into a wolf and lunged for her throat. Sera automatically put her arms up to defend herself, but it was too little, too late. The wolf’s weight and momentum knocked her to the ground and the beast snapped furiously at her face, the long muzzle only narrowly missing her eye as she batted her fists at its nose. It lunged for her again, so close she could smell the rotting meat odor of its breath. The great wolf’s weight pinned her to the carpet, crushing the air from her lungs. And then it was gone. Seth pulled the wolf back by the scruff of its neck and threw it against the wall with enough force to knock the animal unconscious. As soon as it hit the floor, it transformed again, becoming a wiry man with sandy, scruffy hair and a distinctive tattoo on his chest. Sera pushed herself to her feet and took a deep, shaky breath. “Think he was here for you, or me?” Sera asked. “I don’t like either answer.” Seth went to the

open door, peering out into the darkness. He checked to the left and right before slamming it closed and engaging the locks. “We don’t open that door again.” “What about the pizza?” “Fine, you don’t open that door again.” Sera kicked at the unconscious man’s ankle. “What are we going to do with him? Call the cops?” “No,” Seth said quickly. “We don’t want to do that.” “Why not? We didn’t do anything wrong. This guy attacked us!” “Yes, he did, but the police and the Brotherhood have a...complicated relationship.” “The cops are crooked?” “Not all of them, but enough take bribes that they wouldn’t be above placing a call to the Alpha.” “And tell him exactly where we are,” Sera guessed. “Precisely.” “Well, I don’t want this asshole waking up in here. We’ve got to do something with him.” “I say we question him. We’ll just need to make sure he can’t go anywhere.” Seth stripped the bed as he spoke, yanking the blankets to the floor and pulling the sheets free from the mattress. He worked quickly, tearing the

sheet into strips and then braiding three of the long pieces together to form a thick, hardy rope. Once Sera saw what he was doing, she began making a rope as well, and soon they had enough to bind his ankles, wrists, and throat. Once they had him bound to the chair and positioned in the far corner, there was another knock on the door. “I’ll get this one,” Seth announced. “Wait.” In all the excitement, Sera totally forgot that he was naked. She handed him a towel to wrap around his waist, which he took with a wink, and to her horror, a flush crawled up her throat and covered her cheeks. “I, uh...here’s twenty bucks to give the guy.” Seth opened the door only wide enough to exchange the money for the pizza box, using his body to block the delivery boy’s view of the room. A half-naked man in a motel room wasn’t anything unusual, but a half-naked man with another man bound and gagged in his room might attract the wrong kind of questions. “Good God, I’m starving,” Seth announced, opening the box with a wild grin. It came with a little tub of parmesan cheese and chili flakes, and he covered the pizza with both before tearing into it. Sera merely watched as he downed the first three slices without pausing. “Shifting takes a lot of energy,” he explained around a mouthful of the

fourth slice. “It would appear so. Mind if I get in on one of those slices?” He passed the box to her with a sheepish grin. “It’s good pizza.” Sera returned his smile and bit into a greasy, cheesy slice. It was good pizza, but not quite as good as the view. Now that he was awake and moving, she had a completely different appreciation of his tall, lean body. He moved with an unconscious grace, each gesture fluid and easy. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him as a wolf, prowling through the shadows and the moonlight. Sera chewed her pizza thoughtfully, her attention shifting to the strange man on the floor. The tattoo on his chest confirmed who sent him, but there were no other clues to his identity, no distinctive scars or other points of interest. As she studied him, his eyes began to flutter and he began to twitch. “Shit! I think he’s waking up!” Seth crossed the room to their prisoner, grabbed him by a fistful of hair and slapped his face. Hard. Hard enough to pull him completely into the waking world. As soon as his eyes opened, he began to struggle, but the makeshift ropes held strong and he wasn’t able to escape. Seth slapped him again,

drawing his attention, and they stared at each other in a silent, but obvious, power struggle. The stranger was the first to look away, his shoulders slumping and his gaze shifting to the ground. “What’s your name?” Seth growled. “Braxton.” “Who sent you?” Braxton didn’t answer. Seth still had a handful of the man’s hair and he gave him a good shake, like a wolf might shake a pup. “Who sent you?” Braxton didn’t seem afraid of Seth, but he still cast down his eyes and muttered, “The Brotherhood.” “Why?” Seth asked. The question required another hard shake and a slap to the face before Braxton grudgingly said, “This bitch is making the Alpha nervous. She’s showing Dwight’s picture all over town, asking about some dead girl. He doesn’t like it.” “Why not? Does he have something to hide?” “Look, I don’t know, man. Don’t hit me again. I’m not even a full member of the pack, okay? He doesn’t tell me anything. I just get my orders and try not to get killed.” “What’s Dwight’s last name?” “I don’t know. Jones? I don’t even know the fucking guy. I saw him once.”

“He has a scar?” Sera asked. “Yeah, that’s the guy.” Seth looked at her with an arched brow and a silent question-do you believe him? Sera nodded as a few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She’d been right. This Dwight was the key to understanding what happened to her sister and she was the only one who could excavate this particular cover-up. Seth released his hair and crossed to Sera’s side. “What do you want to do with him?” “Can we just leave him here for the housekeepers to find in the morning?” “Where are we gonna go?” “I have a place. The rain is letting up; I think we can get there in one piece.” Seth nodded and returned to Braxton’s side. He got the man’s attention with another fistful of hair, leaning down to stand nose-to-nose with him. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he marked Braxton’s scent. “The bitch, as you so charmingly called her, is a lot nicer than I am and she wants to let you live. But I suggest you leave Portland—hell, you may even want to get out of Oregon. Find yourself a new pack and have a healthy, long life. Because if I catch wind of you around town, I will tear your head off and dump your body in the woods. Do you understand me?”

Braxton nodded frantically. “I’ll go, man, I’ll go. I don’t even like it here.” “Excellent.” He turned his attention to Sera. “Ready?” “Let’s roll.” “Wait. Are you just going to leave me here?” “They’ll find you in the morning,” Sera said, opening the door. The rain was still falling, but it was more of a sprinkle than a wall of water. “Besides, it’ll give you plenty of time to think about your options.” “Pleasant dreams,” Seth said as flicked off the light and closed the door behind him. “Um...do you want to go get your clothes?” “They’ve been lost. Torn to shreds when I shifted back in the woods.” “What about a wallet? Money? Anything?” “I’ll need you to spot me a few bucks, but I promise I’ll pay you back.” Sera nodded. It would be worth twenty bucks to get him covered up. At least then she would be able to think about something other than how great he looked—and how much better he would look towering over her, positioned between her legs. “Okay, we’ll get some clothes, we’ll get some sleep, and in the morning, we’ll get to the bottom of the Brotherhood,” Sera announced. It felt good to have a plan—or a jumping-off point, at least. Something more concrete than a picture of a

stranger and a gut feeling.

**** Seth studied the photo of Aiza for a long, silent moment. Sera studied his face while he did so, looking for any flicker of recognition, any mild change of expression that would betray him. But there wasn’t as much as a twitch of an eye. His face was as still as stone as he passed the picture back to her. “I’ve never seen her before. Sorry; I never spent much time in Portland.” Sera shrugged. “It was worth a shot. It’s just...what was she doing with those assholes? You know? What business did she have with them?” “Was she a wolf?” “No. I mean...I don’t know. I hadn’t seen her or heard from her in years. She could have been turned into one. But I thought that was generally frowned upon?” Seth nodded in confirmation. “It is. And it’s downright banned by the Brotherhood. They’ll allow turned wolves in the pack, but if anybody is caught turning a werewolf, they’re executed.” “Wow. Wait...they’re executed?” “Both the wolf and the one they’re turning.” “Do you think that’s what happened to Aiza?” “I don’t know.” “How can we find out?” Sera asked. “Is there

a way to tell if Aiza was a wolf when she died? Would it have been in the coroner’s report?” “Unlikely.” “What about her medical records?” “Only if she volunteered the information.” “There has to be a way. You’ve never needed to test to see if a body is also a werewolf?” “It comes up less than you think.” Seth folded his arms and ducked his chin, giving the impression of studying the ground; she could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “There’s a way. But we’d have to...do something you probably don’t want to do.” “What? Tell me.” “Exhume her body.” “We’d have to dig her up?” Sera couldn’t believe she was considering this, but knowing the answer could be the key to solving the mystery. “What then?” “We expose her skin to wolfsbane.” “Wolfsbane?” Seth smiled. “It’s a flower. That’ll be easy enough to get—it grows wild all over the place.” “Then I guess we’ll just need some shovels.” Seth’s smile transformed into a frown. “Are you sure about this? It’ll be mighty hard to explain why we’re digging up a body when the cops come.” “Then we better not get caught. We’ll go to the store in the morning and get shovels and head

torches and we’ll dig a big hole.” He looked skeptical at that. “In the middle of the day?” “No, tomorrow night. That’ll be soon enough. In the meantime, maybe you should help me go through her room.” “You want me to help you go through your dead sister’s personal belongings?” “If you wouldn’t mind.” Sera took a deep breath, understanding her request was a little strange. “I think a second pair of eyes will help. Besides, there might be some Brotherhood or wolfrelated information that I don’t recognize, but you might.” “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, but I can’t guarantee anything.” “It’s better than no help at all.” Sera had been through every drawer and nook and cranny, but she’d left everything where she found it. Now she was glad she didn’t quite have the heart to tuck her sister’s life away completely. If there were any clues to be found, Sera didn’t want to be guilty of disrupting the evidence. They began to rummage, and minutes later, Seth straightened from his perusal of Aiza’s bottom drawers. “Well, this might be something.” “What have you got?” “A collar.” “A collar? Like, a dog collar?”

“Yes. An electric dog collar. With your sister’s name on it.” “What? Let me see that. Why on earth...what would she have this for?” Sera physically recoiled at the thought of her sister wearing that thing, using it, being punished with it. “It’s probably not just a sex thing, is it?” “We won’t know until after we do the wolfsbane test. But if I were a betting man, I’d say it probably wasn’t a sex thing.” At her inquiring look, he added, “A human that’s turned into a werewolf lacks the instinct to shift from their wolf form to their human form, but a good shock to the system, like from this collar, will do the trick.” He paused, tilting his head. His nostrils flared. “Stephanie is here.” “What? How do—” The chime of the doorbell halted her question. “Who’s Stephanie?” “She’s the female alpha of my pack. I hope you don’t mind, I called and gave her the address when we got here.” Sera shook off the pang of disappointment. Of course he’d call for a ride at the first opportunity. “As long as she wasn’t followed, I don’t mind. Hey, did you tell her how we met?” “I told her you helped me get away from the Brotherhood. That’s all she needs to know.” The doorbell chimed again and Seth hurried to the front of the house. Sera’s attention shifted back

to the collar, her active imagination easily conjuring a thousand scenarios linking Aiza’s death to the darker implications of the electrified leather. She frowned, studying the leather closer. It was clearly hand stitched, made to order and personalized. Somebody poured effort and love into its creation. “Sera? Do you mind coming out here for a minute?” Sera stashed the collar in the drawer. “Coming.” Maybe he wanted to say goodbye. Or maybe this Stephanie wanted to get a good look at her. Sera knew nothing about the hierarchy of wolf packs, and she wasn’t sure if being the alpha female meant she was also involved in some way with Seth. The first thing that struck Sera was the other woman’s height—she was easily six feet tall, and she was not wearing heels. Her tall frame was wellmuscled and nicely curved, and her almond-shaped eyes and pointed nose gave her a distinctively pretty face. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun and she wore ratty gray sweatpants and an oversized sweater. A duffel bag sat on the floor at Seth’s feet, and she was looking him over with thin-lipped concern and more than a hint of exasperation. “Stephanie Tanner, this is Sera Simpson.” Stephanie’s grip was firm but her smile was

friendly as they shook hands, and it was clear her exasperation was reserved for Seth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “And thanks for helping this idiot avoid a broken neck.” “Um, well, it was the least I could do,” Sera said, finding herself warming to the other woman. “Yeah. Seth told me you’ve got your own unfinished business with the Brotherhood. Don’t worry, he didn’t go into any details, but you should avoid those guys if you can. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him: go home. Where it’s safe.” “Well, thanks for the warning, but I can’t go anywhere. Not until I find out what they did to my sister.” Stephanie studied her for a moment and then offered an understanding nod. “I get it.” She looked back to Seth. “I brought everything you asked for. Is there anything else I can do?” Seth took one of the pictures of Dwight from his shirt pocket. “See what you can find out about this man. His name is Dwight and he may have been the last one to see Aiza alive.” “Brotherhood scum?” “The sort you find at the bottom of a swamp, I’d imagine.” “On it. Any word on Tony or Chen?” Seth shook his head with a grim frown. “Not yet, but the trail isn’t cold.”

“I’ll call you when I know anything.” She turned to Sera, surprising her with a quick, tight hug. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” “Thank you.” “I’ll walk you out,” Seth said. He was outside with Stephanie for a long time—long enough that Sera had enough time to start cooking breakfast and drive herself crazy with all the images of what they might have been doing outside—but she played that off as he entered the kitchen. “I hope you like eggs.” “Even if I didn’t, I’m starving. Can I do anything to help?” “You can grate that cheese. I thought she was coming to pick you up.” “Did you want me to leave? I can call her.” “No,” Sera answered quickly. “No, I...I’d like you to stay. But I thought maybe you’d want to go.” “I want to help you.” “And Stephanie? She wants to help me, too?” “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s lost someone to the Brotherhood. Now, let’s figure out what we’re going to need tonight—besides no rain and a lot of luck.”

**** Sera helped Seth excavate the dirt, but when it came time to desecrate her sister’s grave, she had to excuse herself. Seth nodded and helped boost her to the surface. She shined the flashlight down into the hole, turning her head as Seth broke the coffin open. He coughed with surprise as the smell of death and rot exploded from the broken latch. Sera kept her eyes averted until he shouted her name. “What? What is it?” “Lower the rope.” She dropped the end of the thick rope down and helped pull him out of the hole. “Well? What happened? Is she…?” “Her skin definitely reacted. I think it’s safe to say she’d been turned into a werewolf.” “And the Brotherhood killed her because of it?” “Maybe. They’ve been known to kill for less. Look, why don’t you head on home and I’ll finish up here?” “No, I can’t leave you to deal with this by yourself.” “The sun will be up soon.” “All the more reason I should help.” “Really, I think it would be best if you went

home,” Seth said. “Well, I think it’ll be best for me to stay.” She passed him the shovel. She needed time to process her emotions and she needed time to think. Since she couldn’t go to her gym, she’d stay right there at the gravesite. “Let’s get to work before somebody calls the cops.” They worked in silence only punctuated by the dull thud of dirt being returned to the grave. How long had her sister been living her life as a wolf? Had she told anybody about her secret? Had she lived, would she have confided in anybody? Sera felt strangely hurt that even this sort of metamorphosis hadn’t prompted Aiza to pick up the phone. They finished just as the approaching sun colored the sky flannel gray and pink. She let Seth drive them home, half asleep for the ride. She didn’t remember getting home or how she made it from the car to the bedroom, but once she was under the covers, she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. Her body was eager to catch up on all the sleep she’d lost since that first call from her parents, and nothing disturbed her for a solid twelve hours. When she finally woke again, it was to the smell of bacon and pancakes and the sounds of Seth knocking around in the kitchen. He’s still here? How is he still here? Right on the heels of that surprise was another

stunning revelation: she was actually very glad he hadn’t left while she was zonked out. If they’d met under any other circumstances, she would have already made a move and asked him out on a date. Maybe under other circumstances, he would have accepted the invitation. He certainly seemed to like her. Or maybe he saw her the same way she claimed to view him—as a means to an end. Nothing more or less than that. Sera didn’t realize how stiff she was from their grave-digging adventure until she stood and tried to stretch. Her shoulders pulled tight and her arms ached so much she could barely lift them over her head. She hadn’t felt that exhausted and sore after a workout in years, and she had to admit, a part of her welcomed the pain. It meant she’d done hard work. It meant she was alive. But it also meant she would kill for a good massage. She shuffled into the kitchen, her pain forgotten when Seth smiled at her. “Good morning. Well, actually, good evening.” He gestured at the stove. “I hoped your nose would wake you.” “Where did you get all this food?” Bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, pancakes, toast, oatmeal, cinnamon rolls, coffee, and orange juice waited for her. “I had plenty of time to go shopping.”

“Why is there so much?” “After all that work and sleep, I thought you might be as hungry as I am,” Seth explained as he poured the coffee. “You thought right.” Her stomach felt hollow, though she didn’t really have an appetite. The food looked great but didn’t appeal to her at all. Still, she accepted the heaping plate and the coffee, determined to finish off both. She needed the calories and the nutrients if she was going to see this through to the end. Once she was done, Seth took the plate and refilled her mug of coffee. “Stephanie called me earlier. She doesn’t have any new information about our friend Dwight, but she found somebody who knew your sister.” Sera’s eyes widened. “Who? What did they say?” “Stephanie didn’t go into the details, but if we want to talk to her, she said she’s at the park every day, around noon.” “Weird. Why not just give you her number?” “Apparently, she’s willing to talk, but not over the phone, and she won’t give her name.” “How did Stephanie find her?” “Stephanie knows a lot of people and most of the wolves in the state.” Seth downed a glass of orange juice before adding, “I’m not surprised she was able to track down a lead.”

“She seems pretty cool. How long have you known her?” Sera asked, hoping she didn’t sound too interested in the answer. “She seems pretty cool because she is pretty cool. We’ve been pack mates all our lives. We worked our way up to alpha together and the pack has never been stronger.” “So, are there any little pups in the pack?” “Sure, but none of them are ours.” He met her eyes and added, “Stephanie and I are not together, if that’s what you’re asking.” “I...no...that’s not any of my business, is it?” “It could be your business.” Sera’s mouth felt dry. “How?” “You could make it your business to know. Like this. Do you have a boyfriend?” Sera shook her head. “A lover? A suitor? Anybody who would mind if I did this?” Seth took her hand and brought it up to his lips. She expected a courtly kiss, but instead he caressed her knuckles with his lips, his tongue darting out to trace her skin. It was brief but strangely obscene and undeniably sexy. Her throat tightened and all she could do was shake her head. “So?” Seth prompted. “Make it your business, if that’s what you want to do.” “Do you have a girlfriend? A lover?” She threaded her fingers through his and pulled his large

hand to within kissing distance. She mimicked him, thrilled by the clean, salty taste of his skin. “Anybody who will mind if I do this?” “No, not at all.” Sera didn’t release his hand. She couldn’t stop kissing the smooth skin. Nothing had ever felt so good against her lips, and she wanted more. She wanted to feel the velvety texture against her entire body, wanted to lose hours exploring the rich, silky planes of his body. He didn’t seem to have a problem with that, as he did nothing to break contact with her questing mouth. It’d only been a few months since Sera had sex, but it seemed like a lifetime since she’d been sensual with a man. Her desire was a slow burn, glowing a little hotter each time she got a taste of him. She pulled his index finger between her teeth, gently biting the pad as she swirled her tongue over the tip. He watched her with hooded eyes and she couldn’t resist smiling back. His fingers curled beneath her chin and he pulled her closer, tilting his head towards her. His finger slid from between her lips, freeing her mouth to be claimed by his. But the kiss didn’t come. Instead, his ringing phone split the silence and drove them apart. “Sorry.” He snatched the phone up from the counter. “I’ve got to take this. It’s Stephanie.”

Sera nodded and stifled the flare of disappointment. Of course he had to take it. His pack mates were missing. Her sister was dead. They didn’t have time to make out like teenagers in the kitchen. “I’ll be right there. Don’t move.” He put the phone in his pocket. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” “What’s wrong?” Sera asked. “It’s Chen. He was found wandering in the woods. The police have him now. I need to go and get him.” “I’ll come with you,” Sera said. “No,” Seth said sharply. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. “This is pack business.” Her first impulse was to argue her case, but she conceded with a small nod. He was right, of course. Just because she invited him into her personal matters didn’t mean she had a right to tag along to his. “You go take care of that. I’ve got some things to pack.” She fled the room, and a moment later, she heard the front door open and close behind him.

**** Sera’s car was back in the morning, but Seth was nowhere to be found. By noon, she felt a twinge of worry for him. What if the Brotherhood had tracked him down? It was hard to believe they’d attack him in broad daylight in the middle of Portland, but Sera had believed stranger things. But when the sun sank and he hadn’t returned, she was forced to admit that he probably wouldn’t be returning. He’d only been in Portland to track down his pack mates, and now that they’d been found, he likely took them home. Sera couldn’t deny her disappointment. She never got his number and he was unlikely to have hers. When she wasn’t thinking of Seth, her mind went to the man who’d tried to kill her only two nights before. She hadn’t been afraid as long as Seth was there, but she hated being alone. Especially in a strange house, with a strange kitchen and a strange bed. Not to mention the strange reminders of her sister’s secret life. She’d found a large, rawhide bone tucked under the bed, half of it gnawed away. This would be a perfectly normal thing to have in a home with a dog the size of a German Shepherd, but Aiza didn’t have a dog.

There was another, smaller shock collar in the guest bedroom—or what Sera had assumed was the guest bedroom. As she went through the drawers and closet, it became clear that a man had lived there—or at least slept there regularly—but none of the clothes bore the sign of the Brotherhood or any other clue. Looking for a distraction, she went to the kitchen and said a quick prayer of thanks for Seth’s earlier trip to the grocery store. Sera grabbed the eggs, cheese and bacon, her mouth watering for an omelet, and the lights flashed out. A split second later, thunder boomed, close enough to rattle the windows and send Sera’s heart to her throat, and the eggs fell forgotten from her fingers. “Woo, okay, calm down. It’s just thunder. No reason to be all jumpy.” She took a deep breath, grabbed her phone for its light and left the kitchen, seeking the comfort of Aiza’s plush couch and cozy afghan. She sank into the deep cushions and tried to tell herself that the rain was soothing and the lightning was just a free fireworks show, but her nerves were raw and a tension headache began to develop behind her eyes. Just then, a loud crash that had nothing to do with thunder jarred her to her feet. It came from the back of the house. It might have been the storm blowing over the garbage cans, but Sera wasn’t taking any chances. She detoured

to the kitchen for a knife and made her way to the back of the house. “Who’s out there?” she shouted over the fury of the storm. “I have a gun, asshole!” “Don’t shoot! It’s just me.” “Seth? What are you doing here? Why are you slinking around the back?” She flung the door open. “Get in here, get in here.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He slammed the door behind him and removed his hood; she was struck again by how gorgeous he was. Somehow, she’d forgotten just how unbelievable his cheekbones, strong nose, full lips and gray eyes were. “Do you really have a gun?” She shook her head, showing him the knife. “Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get you one.” “What? Why? What’s going on? Was there somebody out there?” “I didn’t see anybody, but I think I caught the scent of two different wolves. Don’t worry, if they come around again, they’ll have to deal with me.” “What are you doing here?” He frowned down at her. “Do you want me to go?” “No, of course not. I thought...I didn’t think you’d be coming back.” Seth tilted his head, still considering her. “I didn’t think I’d be coming back, either. But once I got Chen home, all I could think about was getting

back here to you.” “Do you...do you want to get out of those wet clothes?” “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She took him by the hand and led him down the hallway to the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him and Sera hesitated for a moment— until he took her other hand and guided it to his belt. She reacted automatically, pulling the leather strap free and popping the top button of his jeans. After that, everything seemed so easy. She unzipped his pants and pushed them down while he toed off his boots. His shirt followed, and though it was almost completely dark in the room, she knew his body well enough to see every inch of him clearly. Once his clothes were gone, he began undressing her. As soon as she felt the brush of his fingers against her skin, shivers went down her back and goosebumps erupted across her chest. The pads of his fingers were a little rough, but his blunt nails were as smooth as polished stone. Standing toe to toe, she realized just how tall he was, and she had to tilt her head back to angle her mouth for his kiss. At first, his mouth was tentative. Almost shy. She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, shuddering at the first brush of his tongue. She took a deep breath through her nose, inhaling the scent

of his soap. Somehow, that seemed more intimate than the pressure of his mouth against hers and it drove home the fact that she was truly standing there, locked in his arms, yielding to his hard body. And it felt right. More than right. It felt like coming home. The thought wasn’t exactly soothing. What if he left the next morning and didn’t come back again? What if this was just a fling for him? Some sort of fun diversion? But he touched her like he didn’t want to stop, and so she decided to put her doubts aside and turn herself over to the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and desire rolling through her. When he broke the kiss to catch his breath, she pulled him toward the bed. He followed her to the mattress, their mouths fusing together as they fell. He gripped her hips and rolled onto his back, settling her on top of him with a satisfied grunt. She swiveled her hips, grinding against his stiff member. Heat flooded her, and her slick juices coated his length, preparing him for her tight entrance. Their passionate kisses continued while they learned each other’s bodies with yearning hands. He cupped her breasts against his palms, squeezing them with just enough pressure to make her moan, while her fingers sought out the lines of his chiseled

muscles, looking for any tender point or spot of vulnerability. She only moved away from his mouth because she needed to taste his jaw and his throat; needed to lick the sweat from his Adam’s apple. “Are you ready?” he rasped. Sera moaned, feeling as though she’d been born ready for this moment. She reached between their bodies, taking his shaft in her fist. His flesh pulsed against her palm, and his head was slick with his pre-cum. She stroked him slowly, her pussy clenching with anticipation with each slide of her hand. He moaned, his hips rising, seeking out more of her heat. “God, Sera. I need to be inside of you.” She barely heard him beneath the buzzing in her eyes. Her mouth suddenly felt parched, and her fingers trembled where she touched him. With a deep breath, she shifted her hips and slid his head down to her entrance. She braced herself against his chest and pushed back. His head breached her entrance, enough to make both of them gasp, but he slipped out. She reached for him again, gripping him tightly as she took in the head of his cock. With him securely positioned, she moved back, inch by slow inch, until he was fully sheathed. In that moment, lightning flashed, illuminating them and burning that moment into Sera’s memory

forever. She didn’t realize how much she truly wanted —truly needed—to feel him until he was buried inside of her. She arched her back, mouth open in silent amazement as their bodies found a natural tempo. The steady, unrelenting rhythm brought out something primitive inside of her. She clawed at him, bouncing faster and harder, surrendering completely to the primal, basic rhythm. The storm picked up intensity, the wind howling like a mighty wolf, the rain beating relentlessly against the roof. The crashing thunder obscured her shouts of pleasure, each one tearing through her. She couldn’t hear him over the chaos outside, but she felt his groans and grunts vibrating through his solid chest. She leaned forward, pressing her chest to his, hungrily seeking out his mouth, burying her fingers in his hair, twining through the strands as their tongues dueled. Seth’s hands moved from her hips, sliding up her back and over her shoulders, then down her arms. His strong fingers locked around her wrists. Without breaking their tempo, he flipped them over, pinning her to the mattress. She arched beneath him, rising up to meet his downward stroke, keening with pleasure as he impaled her. Sera felt herself ascending to another level, where there were only bliss and desire and needs

answered. For a moment, she was beyond the pain and confusion of losing Aiza, the fear of being hunted by a wolf pack, and even the loneliness she thought she’d made peace with. Caught up in the torrent of their shared passion, Sera forgot everything but the raw, electric heat of their bodies joining. Her scream at the moment of climax was muffled by his mouth, and she unleashed the full force of her orgasm against his rock-hard body. He shuddered, pumping into her until they were both completely spent. It was a long time until either one of them could speak. “What happened?” Seth sighed, revealing the depth of his exhaustion. “Can we talk about it in the morning?” A part of Sera didn’t want to talk about it at all. She wished they could remain exactly like that, blissed out and peaceful. “If you’re going to be here in the morning.” “I’m going to be here in the morning,” Seth promised. Sera buried her face against his chest, nuzzling in as close as she could. “I feel...good. For the first time in a long time.” “Me, too.” The regular beat of his heart lulled her to sleep, despite the persistent flashes of lightning.

The storm faded from her awareness until she was lost in the darkness, warm and tired, past the point of dreaming. It felt like she’d only visited this twilight land for a few seconds before a crashing boom shattered her peace and pulled her into a seated position. A second and third crash followed in rapid succession, and Sera knew it wasn’t thunder. “Get down,” Seth whispered, pushing her back to the mattress. He shielded her body with his, his breath hot and rapid against her cheek. “Are those gunshots?” “Yes.” “Is somebody shooting at the house?” “It sounds that way,” Seth said grimly. Panic pierced her like a dagger of ice. Would they just keep firing at the house? Or would they break in and try to finish the job? “Where’s my phone? I’m calling the cops.” “The cops aren’t going to help,” Seth whispered in the silence between shots. “They’ll make sure they won’t get here in time.” “Nobody will stop those maniacs from murdering us?” “We’re going to get out of here.” “How?” Sera asked. “I’ll be the distraction. You just focus on getting to the car.” “And leaving you here to be shot?” Sera shook

her head. “No. No way. Nope.” “I’ll be right behind you.” “I’m not going to leave you to get shot.” “Okay, get under the bed. Don’t move until I come and get you.” “What the hell are you going to do?” Sera demanded. But he was already gone. She slid off the bed and under the mattress, praying that he didn’t get his fool head shot off. “Not now, Lord. Not when I’ve just barely found him.” She didn’t know him well enough to say she was in love with him, but the thought of never seeing his bright gray eyes again made her stomach roll and heave. An eternity passed while she waited. The gunshots grew sporadic and then stopped altogether. “Please be a good sign. Oh please.” The bedroom door slammed open and from her perspective, she could see Seth’s bare feet. She sighed with relief and began to shimmy from beneath the bed. Her relief was quickly replaced by terror as the lightning revealed his statuesque body covered in dark splashes of blood. “S—Seth?” “Run.” “What?” “Run!” he roared as his body morphed into a long, lean wolf. The shout turned into a howl, his

eyes twin discs of silver, his long, wicked teeth descending from his massive snout. Sera forced her numb legs to work, running past the wolf and into the night’s angry maelstrom.

**** Seth ran hot on Sera’s heels. She heard him growling and barking through the downpour, but she didn’t look down, didn’t let anything distract her from the goal of reaching the car. She’d grabbed her purse as she fled the house, and she had her keys in her hand before she reached the lock. As soon as she flung the door open, Seth jumped inside, soaking the seat with his giant muddy paws. Sera barely noticed. He was still growling at unseen assailants, and Sera couldn’t tell if they were still firing shots or if the constant, teeth-rattling explosions were just booms of thunder. She had no intention of sticking around long enough to find out. The engine roared to life and she threw the gearshift into drive and stomped on the accelerator. The tires spun for a moment, unable to get any traction against the slick pavement, and then they lurched forward. It wasn’t easy to stabilize the wheel as she careened into the street, but she got it under control by the end of the block. “Do you want me to drive?” Seth asked from the passenger’s seat. She was never going to get used to how quickly he could shift from man to wolf and back again. “No, I’ve got it. Are you hurt?”

“I’m alright. This isn’t my blood.” “How many of them were there?” “It was hard to tell. I took out two and I could hear at least two more. Maybe three.” “Do you think they’re following us?” Seth turned his head and peered through the darkness behind them. “I don’t see anything, but we’re getting the hell out of Portland.” “Where are we going?” “Yakima.” Sera frowned, rolling to stop at a red light. “Washington? What’s there?” “My pack. The Wolf Brotherhood is territorial. They’re unlikely to follow us once we’re out of their area.” He checked over his shoulder once more, but their tail was still clear. “I can’t go with you to Yakima. I have stuff to do here. You know, like selling Aiza’s house, solving her murder; important things.” “They are important things,” Seth agreed, “but you’re not going to be able to do anything if you’re dead. The attack tonight...it was just a warning. Next time, they’ll shoot to kill.” Sera swallowed hard. He did have a point. She wasn’t going to be any help to Aiza if she was shot and buried in a shallow grave. But running all the way to Yakima? That might put her out of the reach of the Brotherhood, but it also put her investigation at a distinct disadvantage.

“Pull over at this gas station,” Seth instructed. “No. You’re naked and covered in blood. If anybody sees you, they’ll call the cops. Do you feel like trying to evade the police tonight?” Sera asked. “Not particularly, no. But you don’t know where we’re going.” “Well, tell me.” “Get on I-5 North. We’ll stop after we clear the city.” Sera nodded her head in agreement. Her heart was only now returning to its normal rate, and her breathing had almost normalized as well. She’d never been shot at before, and now that she had time to really think about how close she’d been to death, her hands shook. She ignored the trembling for as long as she could, focusing on navigating her way through the rain and traffic, but the shaking didn’t stop. If anything, it grew more intense, sending mini-earthquakes through her limbs until her teeth were chattering. Seth leaned over and a placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. The heat and strength she felt in his grip did provide a modicum of comfort, but she’d never been so close to her own death. It was difficult enough to wrap her mind around her sister’s mortality—coming face to face with her own in such a sudden, violent way was almost too much to deal with. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this,”

Seth promised in a low, urgent voice. “I know.” “And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” “I appreciate that.” They drove in silence until Sera exited the freeway for a mostly empty truck stop. The gas station had some T-shirts and golf shorts, and she grabbed a change of clothes for each of them, as well as plenty of salty and sweet comfort food, water, and a case of beer she intended to crack into at the first opportunity. When Seth emerged from the bathroom in his tourist clothes, he should have looked silly, but instead he made Sera forget everything as her mouth watered for him. The T-shirt was at least a size too small and it hugged every chiseled line of his rock-hard abs. The shorts showed off most of his legs, and even though he went into that bathroom naked, it was as if she’d never seen him before. Is this how it’ll always be? Will I always be surprised by the sight of him? It seemed more than likely, as now she knew he felt and tasted as good as he looked. “I’ll drive.” Sera handed him the keys and crawled into the back seat. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but she appreciated the chance to lie down. “How far?”

“A little over two hundred miles. It’ll go by quickly, especially if you can take a nap,” Seth promised. He turned on the classic rock station, and Sera stretched out in the backseat, the songs carrying her mind to Aiza and the long summers they spent in the backseat of their father’s Chevy, sometimes reading or coloring in compatible silence. Sometimes that silence would erupt in outbursts of shouting or even violence—they’d both resorted to hair pulling if necessary—and then their father would threaten to pull over and give them both a spanking they’d never forget. Such a warning would be enough to calm Sera, but Aiza never knew fear. The road lulled her to sleep, but the memories didn’t stop. They just rolled into dreams. Dreams of a dark-haired girl who stared at the moon with a look of unbelievable longing. Wouldn’t it be great if we could run? If we could run with the moon? “Sera, sweetheart, wake up. We’re here.” Here was a squat cabin surrounded by trees near a river. She could hear the running water, but she couldn’t see it through the darkness. He took her by the arm, guiding her over the stone path and to the front door. They stepped into a cool room, the interior as modern as the exterior was rustic. “Lights. Low.” The room was flooded with a warm light as soon as he spoke, revealing a plush

leather couch and recliner, rich hardwood floors, a fireplace with a marble mantel and dark mahogany tables. The television was large, but not excessively so, and his movie collection lined one wall while his books dominated the other. It was cozy. Sera could see herself getting quite comfortable there. “Have a seat,” Seth said, gesturing at the couch. “I’ll make some coffee and then I’ll get you caught up.” Sera nodded, still groggy, and stiff from lying in the same position for too long. She curled up in the corner of the sofa, resting her head on the back and dozing off until a gentle hand nudged her awake. “Maybe we should talk tomorrow,” Seth said, passing her a steaming mug of perfectly prepared coffee, just the way she took it. “You still look as tired as I feel.” “What about your pack mates. Are they okay?” “Chen will be fine. Tony…” “What about Tony?” “We don’t know where he is,” Seth stated grimly. “Did Chen escape without him?” “Escape?” Seth shook his head. “He doesn’t remember being caught. He said he woke up in the woods and figured he must have been mugged. He claims he has no memory of what happened to

Tony or who attacked them. The police have no physical evidence that there was an attack.” “So...what happened?” “Nobody knows. I went to where they found Chen to try to pick up Tony’s trail, but he’d been wandering around for a couple of hours at least. Maybe even a couple of days. There wasn’t any trail to follow.” “Well, we have to go back to Portland.” “No.” “What do you mean, no? If Chen was there, Tony is probably still there. He could be hurt. We have to find him.” “Of course. I will go find him. You will stay here.” Sera blinked at him. “What does that mean? Are you kidnapping me?” “I’m protecting you. The Brotherhood won’t follow us this far into Washington. I’ll search for Tony and box up the rest of your sister’s house.” “I can’t just not go back to Portland.” Seth stared at her with a look of disbelief. “They shot at you. Repeatedly. Isn’t that enough of a hint for you?” “What am I supposed to do?” Sera demanded. “Let my sister’s murder go unsolved?” “Sera, I know this isn’t easy for you. I know you want there to be an answer, something that makes this tragedy make sense. But maybe it was

just an accident.” “Now you sound like them,” Sera said coldly. “What about everything we know? Hell, would the Brotherhood be trying to kill me if it truly was just an accident and they have nothing to hide?” “Okay, say you’re right and they’ve implicated themselves by targeting you. Are you willing to go to the cops with that information right now?” Seth asked. “Absolutely.” “Why do you want to paint a target on your back?” “Because they can’t just get away with this!” Sera exploded, finally fed up with the whole conversation. She’d buried her sister twice now. She wasn’t about to bury her a third time by dishonoring her memory. “They can’t murder a woman and just get away with it. How is that...how can you live in a world like that?” “I can live in a world where crimes go unsolved. It’s terrible. It’s brutal. But it’s the world we’ve always lived in.” Seth took her hand, his thumb moving over her knuckles. “What I can’t do is live in a world where you are dead. If keeping you alive means you hate me, I can live with that, too.” Sera sat, stunned into silence. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. She also didn’t want to argue with him anymore. But she felt broken, sick in her

heart. He took the seat beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against him. She melted into the embrace, thankful for his warmth and the solid reality of his body. “Besides, I’m not going to give up.” Seth promised. “I’ll keep looking for clues while I pack up the house. And I’ll follow up with that woman who agreed to speak with us. I’d just prefer if you stayed out of harm’s way.” “So, you’re asking me to stay here?” “Yes.” “Why not just send me on home?” “I’d like to get to know you better. If you don’t mind staying…” Sera couldn’t imagine herself leaving. In that moment, she tried to picture returning to her callcenter job, her single-serving life, her bleak apartment, and she just couldn’t do it. She didn’t even feel a twinge of desire to—how could she when his arms felt like home? “Where will I be sleeping?” “Allow me to show you.” Seth stood without warning, sweeping Sera up into his arms. She laughed with surprised delight, her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her through the living room and up a short flight of stairs. The cabin’s bedroom was a loft over the living space. A massive four-post oak bed

dominated the center of the room and it looked so soft and inviting, all she wanted to do was sink into it for the rest of her life. He lowered her to the plush mattress and smiled as she stretched and rolled over the soft faux-fur blanket, suddenly feeling too constricted by the gas-station wardrobe. “Help me get this off,” she said, tugging at her T-shirt. He gently slapped her hands away and yanked the material over her head, pulling it hard enough to rip. He tossed it aside without a second glance and pulled her shorts off. He moved like he couldn’t wait to get her naked again, and the heat from his gaze made her flush pink from head to toe. He made short work of his clothes and then he was there, between her legs once again, his heavy-lidded eyes turning her insides to goo. She opened up to him, hooking her feet over his hips and pulling him in close. He positioned himself at her opening and slid into her without another word, filling her with a slow thrust. She caught her breath, almost unable to process the sudden difference in her world. Her flesh burned and stretched around the intrusion, her nerve-endings already singing for more. Sera twitched and trembled, cupping the back of his head and dragging his mouth down to hers. Once their tongues touched, he started to move, rolling his hips against her. Her hands moved down his back, nails dragging against his skin as she

clutched at him, pulling him closer, holding him tighter. She kissed him until she had to break away for air, and the musty scent of their coupling filled her head, making her dizzy. His body was still so new to hers, and she was so sensitive to his touch, that it didn’t take long until she was shuddering with pleasure. That didn’t stop him, though. He shifted his angle, thrust into her with his determined strength, and a scream tore from her throat. Another followed, and another. He smashed his mouth to hers, muffling the sound as they flew over the final edge together.

**** Seth’s cabin was beautiful, and he told her to make herself at home, indicating that nothing was off-limits while he was away. She was welcome to explore the rooms, his book and DVD collection, cook anything she wanted in his well-stocked and fully modern kitchen, or even go for a walk as long as she remained on his property. It was all very generous, and of course she was happy to be with him and glad to be protected from the Brotherhood, but she still felt like a bird in a cage. Perhaps a gilded cage, but a cage all the same. She knew that she wasn’t his prisoner, and yet, she was his captive, willing though she may be. Sera had nothing to distract her from her thoughts of Aiza. At least when she had the task of packing and cleaning the house, she had something to focus on. Also, her time was running low. She had a life, a job, and a house to get back to. A friend of hers was watering the plants and feeding the fish, but she couldn’t remain on vacation indefinitely. Despite her restlessness and sadness, she found she wasn’t actually looking forward to going home. She placed her calls and delayed her return home for another week, giving herself two more weeks with Seth.

Her days might have been boring, but her nights were full of passion. It was like Seth couldn’t get enough of her, and she certainly hadn’t had her fill of him. Every touch ignited her senses, every kiss made her hungry for a thousand more. When she lost herself in his arms, it was hard to remember that the rest of the world existed. Hard to remember there was anything but the sense of satisfaction and safety and pleasure that he gave her. Stephanie arrived on the seventh day of her stay at the cabin, bringing a much-needed break to the monotony of her time there. She also brought two big sandwiches, beer, and an update on their hunt for Aiza’s killer. “You must be going crazy here all by yourself,” Stephanie said, cracking open a can. She held it out but snatched it back as Sera reached for it. “What?” Stephanie studied her with a frown. “Your scent is...off.” “Off?” Sera flushed to scarlet. “Um, what do you mean by that? I did shower this morning—” “No, nothing like that. It’s just...not the same.” Stephanie slowly handed the beer over, but Sera had lost her taste for it. She’d lost her appetite, too. “Not the same as what? The night we met?”

When Stephanie didn’t answer, Sera pressed. “What do you think it is?” “It’s probably too early to tell but…” “But what?” “I think you might be pregnant.” Sera blinked at her. Then blinked again. Pregnant? It was possible. She certainly hadn’t insisted on protection every time they had sex. But pregnant? Now was not a good time to have a child. Maybe in a year or two. If she and Seth were still together, she would love to have a baby with him. But now? She didn’t even know how she felt about him and she definitely didn’t know what he felt for her. What if he didn’t want to spend his life tied to her? “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to freak you out,” Stephanie said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I could be wrong.” “Do you...do you really think you could be wrong?” Stephanie shook her head, still wearing a solemn frown. “Here. Eat your sandwich.” “Thanks,” Sera muttered, though she still didn’t have an appetite. She didn’t taste it. Barely felt herself chewing it. Pregnant. She would take a test to confirm it, but deep down inside she knew the truth. She knew Stephanie was probably right. Sera took another bite of her sandwich because it was something to do, and Stephanie mirrored her.

They chewed in silence, both caught up in their own thoughts. “How am I going to tell Seth?” Sera finally asked. “If it makes you feel better, you don’t have to tell him.” “He’ll be able to smell it?” “He will,” Stephanie confirmed. “If he hasn’t already.” Sera shook her head. “I’ve only known him for two weeks.” “Maybe that’s all you need if it’s the right person.” “You think I’m the right person for Seth?” Sera would never admit it out loud, but she did want Stephanie’s approval, if only because she was so important in Seth’s life. Stephanie took her time to answer, chewing another bite of her sandwich and taking a deep drink before saying, “Yes.” “Care to expand on that? You don’t even know me. How could you know I’m the right person for him?” “You’re right, I don’t know you at all. But I know him. We grew up together. We’ve led the pack together for the past ten years. He’s never been like this with anybody.” “Like what?” Sera asked. “We lead the pack together because we took

over when we were very young. Only eighteen. Since then, his only concern has been the pack. Taking care of his wolves. He’s never dated anybody. He might have had some one-night stands, but nobody who stuck around long enough for breakfast. And you...he’s moved you into his house.” “Well, the Wolf Brotherhood did try to kill us.” “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you have your own home and he has his own problems. He could have sent you home and walked away from the whole situation. Instead, he’s brought your problems right into the middle of his life.” “Do you think it’s too early for a test?” Sera asked. “It might be, but I can pick one up at the drug store and you could take it anyway. I’ll look for one that can give the earliest results.” “Where is he? He was gone this morning when I woke up.” “He’s with Chen and a few other pack mates. Chen has been having a difficult time adjusting and there are some...concerns.” Sera had the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to pry into Chen’s issues or what those concerns might be. That was still pack business, and she wasn’t part of the pack. For the first time in her

life, it struck her that she wasn’t a part of any pack or community. Her family was distant—so distant that they only spent a single day together in the wake of a tragic death. And her work was just that —work. She didn’t socialize after hours and didn’t care to make any connections with her co-workers. Her favorite pastimes were all solitary activities— reading, crafting, or taking long, quiet walks through her city’s parks. She’d been alone for so long, it never occurred to her that there was any other way to be. Now she had the opportunity to be a part of something. Her child would be born into a family. She’d already had a small taste of what that life would be like. Stephanie didn’t even know her, and yet she’d been willing to search for leads and provide any other support she could. Seth had come back for her, and as Stephanie pointed out, made her problems his problems. Lightening her burden by sharing the load. A part of her was curious, excited by this sudden change of expectations. And another part of her wanted to get away as quickly as she could. Deep down inside, she knew the truth and feared that truth would become evident to everybody sooner or later. She had no business being in a pack. She didn’t know the proper behavior of a pack mate, didn’t know the dynamics of a healthy, functioning family. She wasn’t even a

wolf. Stephanie had been kind to her, but would the rest of his pack accept her? “Hey.” Stephanie put her hand on Sera’s arm, dragging her attention back to the present. “Are you okay?” “I...I don’t know. There’s so much to think about.” “I’ll go get the test.” Stephanie stood and gathered her purse. “Is there anything else you need?” “Thank you, no. I don’t think so. Nothing else I can think of right now, anyway.” Stephanie gave her arm a friendly squeeze and gathered up her purse. She promised to return soon, and then she was gone, leaving Sera alone with her own thoughts. For the first time in days, those thoughts weren’t full of Aiza. But her sister hovered right on the periphery, a ghostly reminder that Sera would never have the pleasure of introducing her baby to his or her aunt. My baby, Sera thought, her hand going to her soft stomach. Soon it would grow and swell, and she would feel the life they created. Would it be a wolf? Sera didn’t know how that worked, but Seth probably would. What if her baby was a wolf? How would she raise it? How would she know what to do? Her stomach growled then, so loud that it sounded like she might have a wolf in there after

all. She still didn’t have much of an appetite, but a different instinct guided her now. She didn’t just need the energy for herself any longer; she needed it for her baby, so she could nurture its body, its organs, its tiny hands and feet. She scarfed down the giant sandwich, feeling a little better, a little stronger, with each bite. Forty-five minutes after Stephanie left, she returned with the test in hand and an apology. “I’m sorry it took so long. Something came up. I got a phone call.” She handed the test over and added, “I’ve already called Seth.” “Called Seth? About what? The test?” The thought of him coming home now when she didn’t even know the answer yet, much less what the hell she was going to say, nearly tipped her right over into panic. “No. That phone call I got? That was from Amelia.” “Who?” “The chick who said she’d meet you in the park to talk, but you guys never actually made it.” Sera nodded. “Oh right. What’s going on? What did she say?” “It sounds like Dwight has gone to ground and she has the address for his safe house,” Stephanie said. “How did she get that? Is she a reliable source?”

“Let’s just say that he’s a man of particular tastes and she is a good source.” Stephanie guided Sera towards the bathroom. “Seth will be here soon.” Sera nodded. She definitely wanted to get this question answered. The sooner she could discuss it with Seth, the better. They needed to be on the same page as soon as possible. The stakes were too high to be left with any ambiguity. If he didn’t want this baby, if he didn’t want her, she would have to know so she could make her plans. She didn’t even know where to begin. Feeling herself begin to panic again, she took a deep breath and marched into the bathroom. One thing at a time. That was all she could do. Focus on one thing at a time and everything would be fine.

**** It was the strange, the difference between thinking you know something and actually knowing something. The heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach moved to her throat, tightening her vocal cords and holding her jaw closed. The more she wanted to say something, the more difficult it became to find the words. A part of her thought she could wait it out. Surely Seth would notice the difference in her scent, sooner or later. Surely, he would be forced to comment on that change. Eventually. She was distracted and quiet during their meal, and so was he. The reality of the pregnancy crashed through her head like a hurricane, and she didn’t quite register Seth’s withdrawal. They watched a movie together after dinner, a quiet, normal activity, with her tucked safely in his arms. For the first time since Stephanie’s visit, her raw nerves were soothed and she almost felt at peace. They didn’t make love, but he held her close in the dark. She listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, tracking time with every exhale. She couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or if he was still lost in his own thoughts, still consumed by his pack. She would ask him, but she still had the sense that his pack and his life were none of her business, though

her life and her family seemed to be very much their shared business. Her business was his business. He’s brought your problems right into the middle of his life. That’s what Stephanie had said. And this wasn’t her problem alone; the baby was his, too. For the first time, she felt her throat muscles relax and finally the words came. “I’m pregnant.” His hand moved immediately, as if by instinct, to her stomach and his arm tightened around her. “I know.” He held her so tightly she felt the press of his heartbeat against her back. Only then did she realize how tensely she was holding herself and she exhaled, forcing herself to unclench her muscles. In response, he held her closer, and she exhaled again, willing the stress to flow away. “That’s better,” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. The warmth of his breath made her shiver with pleasure, and more knots released from her stressed muscles. “Just keep breathing.” “I’m scared,” she whispered. “I know. But you don’t have to be. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” “We barely know each other.” She couldn’t speak above a whisper. She felt breathless. “I know you’re the one I want. I know I’ll do anything necessary to keep you safe. And I know you don’t have to make any decisions right now.

Right now, all you have to do is let me hold you and get some sleep.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she wasn’t sad. She was relieved. The pain that had at her tense and afraid finally snapped free, allowing her to take a deep, completely unhindered breath. “Stephanie said she had information about Dwight Lance...I haven’t been able to think straight all day.” “She told me what she knew.” “Is there any good news?” Sera asked. “I think we should talk after you rest.” “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know,” Sera countered, though her eyes stung and her head felt heavy. “We think we have a location. The safe house where he’s hiding low. I need to check it out.” “What if it’s a trap?” “That’s why I’m going to check it out before we do anything.” For the first time, Sera thought about the implications of that. She’d been interested in answers, an explanation, something that could give her a sense of closure, or at least of understanding. But now she realized she couldn’t just walk up to the man and demand an explanation. It was far more likely he’d rip her throat out before she could get a single word out. “Once you check it out, what are we going to

do?” Sera asked. “We’ll save that discussion for later. You said you wanted to know what I know, and I told you.” He kissed her temple. “Now go to sleep.” She closed her eyes and felt the last of her tension melt away as she drifted into sleep.

**** Sera had a very bad feeling. Like she left the oven on in her apartment. Like her parents were trying to reach her but couldn’t find her. Like there was an emergency and the phones were down, the roads were blocked, and a storm was closing in. She paced through Seth’s house, unconsciously holding her abdomen while she looked for something to distract her from her growing sense of unease. “You’re just nervous because Seth isn’t home. Calm down. He can’t be with you all the time,” Sera muttered, trying to talk some sense into herself before she had a nervous breakdown. But it didn’t feel like an unreasonable anxiety. It didn’t feel like she was just being crazy and lonely. She never claimed to be psychic or even have an uncanny sixth sense, but there was something wrong and she knew it. Seth had gone to scout Dwight’s safe house, promising he would keep in touch and he would not take any unreasonable risks, but after his initial text telling her he’d arrived, there’d been radio silence. After six hours of no news and no response to her texts, she couldn’t take it anymore. She called Stephanie, her fingers shaking, her voice trembling. “Have you heard from Seth?” she asked by

way of greeting. “No. Have you?” “No. I think there’s something wrong.” “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Stephanie promised. Sera paced through the cabin as she waited, her imagination unhelpfully supplying bloody scenario after scenario. In each one, Dwight was faster, stronger, meaner, deadlier, and Seth didn’t have a chance. Considering how close he’d come to killing Seth already, and considering that he’d likely murdered Aiza, Sera found very little to comfort herself with. What reassurances did she have that he would be okay? What wellspring of hope could she draw on to sustain herself and their child? “Do you know where he is?” Sera demanded as soon as Stephanie arrived. “He wouldn’t tell me the exact location, but I figure you must have it.” “I have it. But he made it very clear that we were not to follow him.” “He should be home by now. He hasn’t texted. He hasn’t called. It’s been six hours; we’re not waiting here any longer,” Sera announced. “He forbade it.” “Forbade? Are you kidding me? I know he’s the alpha but so are you! What if he needs us, Stephanie? What if he’s waiting for us right now?” What if he’s already dead? Sera forced that question out of her mind. She wasn’t going to think

like that. She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to keep her wits about her. “It’s dangerous. This Dwight guy is very dangerous.” “So are you. Hell, so am I. Let’s show that jerk what happens when he messes with a couple of dangerous bitches, yeah?” Stephanie hesitated and for a moment, Sera thought she would have to do this alone. But then her thoughtful frown disappeared and she nodded in agreement. “Let’s go get him. And then we’ll wring the bastard’s neck.” “You hold him down, I’ll do the neckwringing,” Sera said. “Deal.” There was an awkward silence as they both realized they had absolutely no idea how to stage a rescue mission. “So...what do we need?” Sera asked. “A way to get in.” Sera nodded. “Weapons for once we get in.” “Weapons?” “Well, you don’t need one, but I do. A gun or a knife or something.” “I don’t have a gun. Seth has some really sharp kitchen knives,” Stephanie said. “Okay, I’ll grab one of those. You go get the car.” Stephanie nodded and then they were both in

motion, and Sera realized they were actually going to do this insane, dangerous thing. She wasn’t ignorant of the danger. Aiza had already lost her life and Seth’s could very well hang in the balance. Could be hanging by a very thread. Her child would never know her aunt, but Sera would be damned if she allowed the same fate to befall Seth. “Have you tried calling Seth again?” Stephanie asked as Sera slid into the passenger seat. “Called and texted. No response.” “I tried, too.” Stephanie put the car into gear with a look of such grim determination, Sera almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because she felt the same way on the inside. “Tell me what you know about the place.” “It’s a lake house just on the other side of the border. Just on the edge of the Brotherhood territory. My source didn’t mention if there were guards, but Seth and I both think there’s likely a few patrolling the property. She said it’s not big. There’s only one floor with two exits.” “So there’s a back door and a front door. I guess we’ll go in through the back door.” “It might be better to use the front. The back door opens into the kitchen and that’s where my source always made her food deliveries. She said he was always waiting for her in there, watching TV and smoking.” “Then the front door. Or maybe a window?”

“Do you think Dwight would recognize you if he saw you?” Stephanie asked. “Probably? He might have taken a good luck at me at the funeral.” “The funeral?” “Aiza’s funeral.” Stephanie looked at her from the corner of her eye. “He was there?” “Yes.” “Why would he go to the funeral if he—if he had something to do with it?” “I don’t know. Maybe that’s how he gets off.” “Well, maybe if we get a hat and some glasses he won’t recognize you. You can knock on the kitchen door.” “And pretend to be his food delivery?” “Precisely.” A plan began to form and Sera quickly opened up her notepad to make a list of what they would need. Mainly because it gave her an excuse to stare at her phone as she prayed for Seth to text her and put an end to their wild scheme. But the miles fell away and the minutes wore on—and a text did not come. They made only one brief stop, to gather the supplies, and reached the cabin in just over an hour. Stephanie pulled off the road and parked in the woods about a half-mile from Dwight’s driveway and killed the engine. “I think you should stay here

while I do some recon. Maybe I can pick up Seth’s scent or find his car.” “Be careful.” Stephanie nodded and began to undress. Sera averted her eyes while Stephanie disrobed and shifted, turning into a sleek, golden wolf. Sera reached over without thinking, her fingers seeking the thick, soft fur. Stephanie whined and pawed at the door, prompting Sera to lean over and push it open. The wolf disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the shadows. Sera didn’t waste a second. She put together the decoy box and slipped on an apron she lifted from the grocery store. She wasn’t sure if that’s what a delivery girl normally wore, but she thought it lent the entire enterprise an air of authenticity. And certainly, every little bit of authenticity could only help. Her attention returned to the phone again and again, afraid she would miss a call from Seth or a text from Stephanie. Each second felt like a minute and every minute like an hour while she waited for Stephanie’s return, her nerves multiplying on themselves until she thought she would scream, and still, there was no sign of either wolf. A sudden knock on the window made her nearly jump from her skin, and it was so dark outside she couldn’t tell right away that it wasn’t Stephanie trying to get her attention. The second

she unlocked the door, it was ripped open and a strong hand grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her from the seat. “What are you doing here?” Seth demanded in a furious whisper. “I...I’m looking for you. Where have you been?” “I’ve been in the top of a tree, scoping out the asshole. What are you doing?” “I...you never replied or sent me a text or anything.” He looked over her shoulder. “This is Stephanie’s car. Where is she?” Sera nodded towards the shadows. “She went that way. She said she’d be right back.” Seth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He caught the scent he was looking for and his whole body turned in that direction. “Stay here. I’m going to get her and we’re going to get the hell out of here.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” “Just stay here. Get in the car. Don’t unlock the door for anyone but me.” She nodded numbly and slipped into the car, locking the door as instructed. She was relieved to see him yet felt sick with guilt and worry. She’d panicked and potentially put them all at risk. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but maybe that was why the road to hell was paved with good

intentions. She unconsciously held her stomach, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth until she tasted a hint of copper. It felt like an eternity passed before Seth and Stephanie returned, both of them running on two legs. Sera unlocked the doors just as they reached for the handles, and Seth dove behind the wheel, keys already in hand. He peeled out without a word, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrow as he navigated his way along the dark, winding road. “I don’t think anyone saw us,” he checked the rearview mirror as he spoke, “but we may have tripped a motion sensor.” “Motion sensor?” “Yeah, he’s got motion sensors, silent alarms, cameras, floodlights. And guards. Lots of guards. All of them wolves. About what I expected.” But nothing like Sera expected. She’d actually thought they would be able to drive right up to the cabin and walk right up to the front door. She opened her mouth, but was unable to find her voice. She wanted to apologize, to explain, to try to make him understand that she was only doing what she thought was right. Only doing what she had to do to keep him safe. Stephanie remained silent in the backseat. Perhaps she was feeling the same shame over taking a foolhardy risk. “There was something I wasn’t expecting,

though.” Seth looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I saw Dwight. He wasn’t alone in there.” “Who was he with?” “Aiza.” “What? What? What are you talking about? Did you just say you saw him with my sister?” “I saw Aiza with him,” Seth confirmed. “You saw somebody who looked like Aiza. We...we dug up her body, Seth. How could she be in that cabin?” “We dug up a body,” Seth corrected grimly. “It wasn’t her.” “You saw somebody that looks like her,” Sera said again, feeling faint. How could that possibly true? How could her sister have faked her own death? Why would she go to such great lengths? And even if she had the perfect reason, how could this possibly be true? Confusion and anger hit her in matching waves and then fell away as she realized she could see her sister again. She could touch her and embrace her and tell her that she loved her still, had never stopped loving her. “We have to go back.” Seth shook his head. “No, we don’t want to do that.” “We have to! If she’s there, like you said, we have to go back. I have to see her.” “Sera, you don’t understand. She doesn’t

want to be found out.” “He doesn’t want to be found out. She’s probably his prisoner. She’s probably waiting for somebody to figure it out and come for her. We can’t just leave her there.” “Sera, listen—” The sudden flood of bright headlights filled the car and cut off whatever Seth wanted to say. He pressed on the accelerator, but the truck behind them sped up as well. “What the—” Stephanie screamed and a second later, the truck slammed into the rear of the car. Seth fought to keep control, but the truck hit them a second time and sent them flying off the side of the road. Everything went bright—brighter than the sun— and then everything was black.

**** Sera came to slowly, her head spinning as she tried to focus. Gradually, the blobs started to take shape, and she blinked the moisture from her eyes until she finally recognized the form standing in front of her. “Aiza?” “Oh, little sis, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” “You’re alive?” “Yes, but you’re going to get us both killed if you keep this up.” Sera wanted to reach out to her, but her hands were stuck at her sides, held in place by the rope tying her to the chair. She pulled against the rope, straining to break free, but the knots wouldn’t budge. She collapsed back against the chair, the throbbing in her head making it difficult to concentrate. She recognized her sister’s face, her sister’s voice, but there was something off about her. Something wrong that Sera couldn’t quite grasp. “Why am I tied up?” “So you can’t run away, silly.” “I’m not going to run away. I came here to find you.” Which wasn’t quite right, but it was true. “Aiza, please tell me what’s going on.”

“The perfect crime. Well, it was, until you started sniffing around. Why did you have to care so much? You didn’t care for years and years, and now suddenly, I’m the most important person in your life?” Sera blinked. “You were always important. I always cared. You’re the one who stopped calling me. You’re the one who started a new life and cut everybody out.” “So why didn’t you take the hint? Why didn’t you just go home, like everybody else?” Aiza asked harshly. “I couldn’t do that. Not when I thought you needed me.” “Well, I didn’t need you. I don’t need you. You’re just getting in the way of everything.” “Okay, well, let me go home and I won’t get in your way anymore. I’ll just...I’ll just act like everything’s the same.” Aiza laughed—a cold sound—and shook her head. “What do you think? It’s up to me? I couldn’t let you go, even if I wanted to.” “Even if you wanted to? Aiza, look at me. Why can’t you let me go?” “Because we have to tie up all the loose ends. And you’re a loose end.” “I’m not a loose end, I’m your sister! And I don’t even know anything. All I know is that you’re not in the ground and that’s enough for me. Please,

just let me go home.” Aiza’s face softened, and for the first time, Sera didn’t feel like she was staring into the eyes of a stranger. She held Aiza’s gaze, hoping she would see what Sera meant every single word. It truly was enough for her to know that Aiza was not in that cold grave. She wouldn’t press for more details or bring this meeting up to anybody. “Sera,” Aiza sighed. “I wish you had just gone home.” A crash outside the door stopped Sera’s response. Another crash was followed by a howl of pain, quickly cut off with a wet, crunchy sound. Sera began struggling against the ropes again as Aiza went to the door, her hand going to the holster under her arm. Sera didn’t know enough about guns to recognize the caliber, but the caliber didn’t matter. She was armed and clearly prepared to use the weapon against whoever was on the other side of the door. Who could it be but Seth? The thought of Aiza putting a bullet in Seth’s unsuspecting head drove Sera to her feet, despite the chair attached to her. She launched herself at her older sister, slamming her into the wall with enough force to put a dent in the plaster. At that moment, the door burst open, and both Sera and Aiza froze, their own skirmish forgotten. Seth was still on two legs, but he was

completely naked, covered in scratches, bites, bruises, and blood. Sera tried to say his name, but two wolves jumped on him in that moment, claws extended and teeth bared. Seth turned at the same moment they jumped and knocked one against the head with a closed fist. It hit the ground with a low whimper, but the other wolf was undeterred; it managed to seek its teeth into Seth’s arm, ripping a chunk of flesh from his bicep. “Seth!” The sound of her voice may have broken Aiza from her trance. She sprung forward, the gun dropped and forgotten, her body morphing into that of a sleek, gray wolf, her mouth gaping open. Seth shifted just as she reached him, dropping low to the ground and allowing her to sail overhead. She couldn’t stop her momentum before slamming into the wall, but that barely stunned her. She shook her head and jumped back to her feet, wheeling to face Seth again. Sera had seen dog fights before, but she’d never seen anything like the brawl before her. The wolf that had attacked Seth first quickly fell away, a vicious bite to the ribs taking most of the fight out of him. But Aiza was brutal and she was fast. She moved like a gray blur, her lips curled all the way up to show her long, gleaming teeth. Seth was bigger, though, and he managed to stay out of her reach.

“Stop!” Sera shouted. “Stop, stop, stop. Please.” They may have heard her, but they were the past the point of understanding her. Blood had been drawn, and they were both wild with it, vicious and hungry for more. Still bound and tied, Sera began slamming the chair against the wall, doing her best to break it apart. She felt each blow all the way to her bones, but that didn’t stop her from slamming her full weight into the chair again and again. Before long it cracked, and then it splintered, and the ropes holding her to the back began to loosen. “Come on, come on,” Sera muttered, slamming the chair into the wall again. Only feet away, her sister and her lover were tearing each other apart. Neither of them gave any sign of backing down, but both of them were dripping blood all over the floor. Their growls were loud enough to split her skull, and each chomp of their jaws sent a shiver down her spine. Finally, the chair cracked and fell apart and she allowed the rope and wood to fall to her feet. Once she was free, she dove for the forgotten gun and fired it directly into the ceiling, hoping the unexpected explosion would shock the two wolves apart. The shot drew Aiza’s attention long enough to give Seth the opening he needed, and he snapped forward as quickly as a snake, closing around her

throat. Sera fired again. “Stop! Let her go! Seth, let her go.” Sera had no idea how much Seth understood her when he was a wolf, or if he’d choose to listen to her even if he did understand. But she still had to try. “Seth, please, she’s my sister.” Seth relaxed his jaw and allowed Aiza’s body to drop to the ground at his feet. Sera bent at the knees, reaching forward to touch the blood-matted fur. She felt her sister’s pulse and she could only hope that she stopped Seth in time. She didn’t care what her sister got herself into, or even that Aiza might have intended to kill her. “Sera!” Stephanie’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Sera, come on. We have to keep moving.” “Seth…” “I got him. Come on. The front door is just through there.” The gun felt hot and heavy against her palm, but she clutched it like a lifeline. She could see the front door, maybe thirty or forty feet ahead of her. It felt like thirty or forty miles. There were bodies on the floor. Some of them were clearly only injured, but a few were not moving at all, and Sera had a flash of understanding—Seth had done that. To get to her. He’d torn through all of them like

they were made of nothing more than tissue. Gotta get to the door, gotta get to the door, gotta get to the door. She was so focused on the end goal, she didn’t see the fist flying at her from the left. Stephanie’s shout didn’t give her enough warning to avoid the blow altogether, but she did duck enough that it caught her temple rather than smash her jaw. She dropped to one knee to avoid the next blow and slammed her elbow up, catching her assailant in the groin. The man groaned and dropped down, level with her. She drove the heel of her palm into the man’s nose before he could get his bearings, and blood erupted from his nostrils. Once Sera was on her feet, she saw the attacker was the infamous Dwight. “Sera, let’s go,” Stephanie bit out. “Wait.” She leveled the gun at the man still lying at her feet. “I want an explanation.” “We don’t have time for explanations,” Stephanie protested. But Sera wasn’t listening. She didn’t want to hear that. All she wanted to hear was why. Somebody was going to tell her the why of it before she stepped out the door. She grabbed the man by his collar and hauled him to his feet, giving him a good shake, the gun still pointed at his head. “Dwight, I presume?” “Bite me, bitch.”

Sera reached without thinking, as though somebody else had taken over her body—a very, very angry somebody. She slammed the gun against Dwight’s jaw and pulled the barrel back, leveling at the spot between his eyes. “Why attack me? Why fake Aiza’s death?” “I was trying to save your sister’s life,” Dwight said, his words slurring around broken teeth. “The Brotherhood had to believe she was dead. You got in the way.” “How did I get in the way?” “Sera, come on,” Stephanie said. She heard the panic in Stephanie’s voice and she understood they needed to hurry, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the question. Her life had been flipped upside down and turned inside out. Everything had gone topsy-turvy since the news of Aiza’s death, and now she stood there with a goose-egg developing on her head and a queasy feeling in her stomach and a gun in her hand, and dammit, she wanted to know why. “You attract the wrong kind of attention,” Dwight said. Sera wanted to scream. That was no answer. But she didn’t have the chance to force an actual answer. Stephanie shouted and then Seth made a high-pitched sound that might have been a cry of pain. Sera turned to look just in time to see Aiza throw herself at Seth’s bleeding body. Dwight took

advantage of Sera’s distraction and tackled her, driving her to the ground. Sera grunted, the air driven out of her lungs, and the world dimming around the edges. For a moment, she thought she would black out, but another howl from Seth pulled her back to reality. She felt Dwight’s weight shift and realized he was becoming a wolf—a wolf that could rip her throat out. Rip her stomach open. Rip her entire world apart. The gun was still in her hand, and she knew what she had to do. She never once thought of herself as a killer. She’d never imagined herself in this moment or even believed she would ever face the choice between her life and another’s. But this wasn’t about her life. This was about the life of her child. About the life of her lover. This was about the life of her pack. Once the decision was made, there was no thinking left to do. Only action. She shot her elbow backwards, trying to connect with Dwight’s ribs. The dull thud reverberated through her funny bone, but she didn’t let that slow her down. She did it again, forcing the wolf back only a few inches, but it was enough. She rolled onto her back, lifted the gun, and fired at point blank range. Sera had never fired a gun at a target. She’d never fired at a living being. She didn’t even know how to aim, but at that distance, she could have fired with her eyes closed and hit the wolf in the

face. He made a final yelping sound and then collapsed on her with his dead weight. Sera pushed the corpse away and jumped to her feet, the gun hotter than ever against her palm. She leveled the sites, but she couldn’t get a clear shot at Aiza as she and Seth continued their earlier battle. Sera was almost ready to shoot anyway when Seth finally struck the final blow, sending Aiza to the ground in a lifeless lump. The second her sister fell, Stephanie scooped Seth up in her arms, unmindful of his size and the blood and raced to the door, pausing for a moment to look back to Aiza’s still form. “Sera, come on. We have to go now.” Even now, she wanted to voice a protest, wanted to gather her sister up in her arms and carry her to the nearest hospital. “Sera!” Seth called her name, and it was only the sound of his voice that pulled her from her fantasy of finally saving Aiza. She let the sound of his voice lure her away from the cabin and she stumbled down the walk after him, groping for him in the darkness. When he caught her, his hands were slick with blood, but his grip was strong and she knew he wouldn’t let her go. “There’s a truck over there,” Stephanie said. “Hurry.” Everything became a blur as Sera raced at Seth’s side, hurrying towards their salvation. Seth

pushed her into the front seat and Stephanie took the wheel, crowing triumphantly when she located the keys in the visor. Sera allowed herself one last look at the cabin as they sped away. She saw a shadow moving near the doorway, and she found herself hoping it was Aiza’s. She stared until she couldn’t see it anymore, until the cabin fell away from sight, swallowed by the moonless night.

**** Sera called her boss and told her that she would not be returning to work. Her boss begged her to reconsider, asked her if a raise would make her change her mind at all, and finally said with a sigh, “If you ever want to come back, you know where to find us.” She called her landlord next and advised him she would not be renewing her monthly lease, and to keep the security deposit to cover any funds he was entitled to. She called her parents and didn’t tell them anything important— she didn’t mention Aiza, or the Wolf Brotherhood, or even Seth and the baby. She merely stated that she liked it in the northwest, and she would give them a call once she was settled. After that, she spent a lot of time simply sitting quietly and thinking. Her guilt over her sister’s demise was unquantifiable, even though she knew logically that it was none of her fault. Aiza had been an adult who made her own choices, and yet Sera couldn’t help but think that her sister would still be alive if only she had gone home. If only she had listened to the sheriff when he warned her to let it go. If only she had listened to Seth when he warned her there were not people she wanted to be involved with.

The events in the cabin didn’t make the news. No police came knocking on their door to demand an explanation for all the bodies, and though Seth upped security and warned his entire pack to be on the lookout for Brotherhood members, there was no sign of the biker gang. “Won’t they want revenge or something?” Sera asked. “They likely want all of this to go away,” Seth said. “We’ll continue to be cautious, but I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” But Sera disagreed. They had a lot to worry about. She was growing bigger by the day, and it was only the reality of her child that kept her grounded to earth, kept her eating, kept her sleeping, kept her sane. “What do you think happened?” she asked Seth one night. “I think Aiza stole money or drugs or guns from the Brotherhood. Or maybe Dwight did and she was his accomplice. Maybe she even took the fall for it and that’s why they went through all the effort to fake her death.” “Did you kill her?” “I don’t know.” Though the words were inconclusive, she knew they were honest. “I hope she’s still out there. I hope…” “I know. Thank you, by the way.” “For what?”

“For putting your life at risk to save mine.” Sera snorted. “I nearly killed us all with that stunt. I should have stayed home and sat tight, like you said.” “Maybe. But you know what? Nobody’s ever loved me enough to risk their life for me. You thought I was mad at you, but I wasn’t.” “You weren’t mad?” Sera asked. “Of course not.” He kissed the back of her neck and she felt herself relax against the heat of his mouth. “I mean, I wasn’t happy that you would blindly stumble into a dangerous situation, but...I felt better when you were there. I feel good knowing you have my back.” “I’ll always have your back,” Sera said. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” His hand went to her stomach. “And I love this little pup. When will you let me make it official?” “Official? Are you asking me to marry you?” “I am. I can’t imagine my life without you, Sera.” He paused for a moment, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Well, what do you think?” “I think…” Sera took a deep breath. “I think I’d love to be your wife.” “So that’s a yes?” “It’s a definite yes.” “Perfect. Just tell me what you want and it’s yours,” Seth said. “Your dream wedding.”

“My dream wedding?” She could never have her dream wedding, because her dream wedding would include her entire family, but with this man, she’d have the wedding that she never dreamed was possible. And with him at her side, she would have the foundation for a new family. A close family full of love and support and kindness. A family like she never knew before. A pack. “Just as long as I have you, all my dreams will come true.” As she said the words, she realized how true they were. For as much as she lost, she’d gained the world.

PART THREE THE WOLF PACK’S REVENGE Everything was dark and everything hurt. When she pried her eyes open, there was light, and even the light hurt. Aiza couldn’t locate the center of the pain, nor could she name it, describe it, or understand it. But it was her constant companion as she woke into a bloody, broken world. She reached for something to hold on to. At first, she found only glass shards, and then finally, the shape of a familiar hand. “Dwight?” She licked her lips and tried again, with a little more volume. “Dwight? Dwight, is that you?” No response. Thinking she might have blacked out and missed a word or a twitch of his fingers, she tried again. “Dwight? Dwight? What happened?” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to sit up. It was a slow process, but it still made her head spin. When the room finally righted itself, she saw that it was Dwight on the floor beside her. Dwight was dead. She touched his neck, searching for his pulse. She couldn’t remember exactly where to find the pulse, but he wasn’t

breathing and was covered in his own blood. Her gasp boiled over into a quick sob, but she stifled it, swallowing down the tears. She had no tears to shed for him. She cried for the memory of her sister’s face—hurt, bruised, and scared, streaked with tears and blood. Blood. She’d made her baby sister bleed. No, she’d done worse than that. She tried to kill her. “Oh my God.” Pain forgotten, she scrambled away from Dwight’s corpse and tried to find her feet. Nothing was broken, but she bled from multiple wounds, and red and purple bruises bloomed across her ribs like roses. Her clothes were shredded and her feet had been sliced open on the wreckage of fatal violence. “Oh my God.” She had to get out of there. With two bodies already behind her, she didn’t dare get caught with a third—especially since she had no memory of what happened to him. Hell, she had no idea what happened to herself, or what she might have done. If she could attack Sera, she was clearly capable of anything. There was another sign of a struggle in her bedroom. The sight of the broken chair, the blood on the floor, the dent in the wall—it was all too much. She couldn’t even step past the door. She

considered forgoing clothes and shifting into her wolf form, but the thought sent a shudder through her stomach. A now musty load of clothes forgotten in the washer was her only salvation—a damp pair of jeans and one of Dwight’s flannel shirts hid most of her hastily bandaged wounds. No amount of makeup could cover the black eye or swollen lip, but she still tried. Dwight’s truck was parked haphazardly in the driveway, keys still in the ignition. Sera’s scent had been strong in the cabin, and she still caught traces in the yard, but after a certain point, it was gone. Clearly, they’d left in another vehicle, and in the distance, she saw lights that may have been them, but she had no hope of catching up. Even if she did catch up, what would she say? How could she possibly explain? She knew Dwight’s influence had something to do with it, but she couldn’t quite remember what he said—and she certainly didn’t know why. She couldn’t explain herself. She couldn’t explain anything. She just wanted to go home, shower, sleep and face this nightmare by the light of day. The old truck was a bitch to drive and she was weak from exhaustion. Her adrenaline was enough to get her on the road, but not enough to sustain her, and more than once, the wheel jerked from her hands. She tried to correct it, but in her

panic, she over-corrected and felt the tires skid from the smooth pavement to the rough gravel. Another rough yank to the wheel almost had her back on the road, but a post stood between her and the pavement. The truck slammed to a hard stop, yanking her forward. The next thing she heard was a tap on the window. Blinking up against the light, she tried to make out the face on the other side of the glass, but she couldn’t see anything behind the glare. “Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you okay?” “I...I don’t know. I think so.” He pulled the truck door open and she fell out rather than stepped out. Directly into his arms. Her fingers closed around his leather jacket, and gradually, her breathing returned to normal. But her heart still thudded in her ears, and her tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Normally, she would not allow herself to sob pathetically in a strange man’s arms, but being completely overwhelmed physically, mentally, and emotionally, she didn’t have the wherewithal to break free and stand on her own two feet. Gradually, the tears slowed, then stopped, and finally she could breathe normally again. Only then did he gently hold her away from him. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, trying to wipe her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. You can...I’ll just call…”

He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. She offered a watery smile of gratitude before wiping her eyes and nose. “What’s your name?” The man asked. “Aiza Simpson.” “Simpson?” Aiza nodded. He gently touched the side of her cheek. “You’re hurt. I can take you to the hospital…” “No,” she said quickly. “No hospitals. I’m fine. I promise.” “This shiner didn’t happen just now, did it? Did somebody attack you?” His face was creased with concern, his voice full of worry, and his eyes so sincere that she wanted nothing more than to trust him. But she was only in this situation because she had trusted the wrong man in the first place, and her heart was already starting to harden against the stranger’s charms. “I...my boyfriend....attacked me. He just went crazy and I thought he was going to kill me.” She buried her face against the man’s chest, cooling her flushed cheeks on his rain-dampened jacket. “So I...he’s...I fought back and he fell and I...I took his truck…” The lie came easily, fueled as it was by necessity. “Please, he might be coming after me. I need to get out of here. I need—” “Ms. Simpson, you need to get to a hospital. I’ll drive you to the emergency room. Come on.”

He guided her to the passenger door of his car and assisted her inside. “No! I mean...I’m scared that’s where he’ll look for me. If you could just give me a ride to a hotel or something—” “I can take you somewhere safe. Not fancy, but safe.” Aiza looked behind her shoulder to the old truck. The pole dented the bumper, but she was sure she could still drive it. The question was, did she even want to drive it? She’d lost control of it once; who could say she wouldn’t lose control again? And if she did, she might do a lot worse than hitting a random pole at low speed. She might hit a tree the next time. Or a person. And she sure didn’t need another life on her conscience. He took her silence as accession and led her by the arm to his car. The motor was still running and the interior was warm and comfortable. She sighed and leaned back in the seat, letting the warm air dry her tear-stained cheeks and rain-soaked hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Aiza said once he slid behind the wheel. “Noah Longtail.” “Nice to meet you, Noah.” She looked over her shoulder. “What about the truck?” “I can call for a tow truck.” “I...” She hated that ugly thing. What did she

need it for? She doubted anybody would bother to steal it—and if they did, good riddance. If not, it could rot there just like Dwight. “I’ll have a friend take care of it in the morning.” “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? We’re not far.” “I’m sure. I promise if I start to feel lightheaded or anything I’ll tell you and you can take me right to the emergency room.” He nodded. “Fair enough.” He gestured at the radio. “You can put on something, if you’d like.” She accepted the kind gesture and searched through the stations for something, but none of the music was soothing and all the commercials were loud and jarring. She flicked the dial off and stared out the window. She was sure he would have more questions for her once they stopped. Questions she wouldn’t want to answer. Questions she didn’t even know how to answer. Would he be so nice to her when they discovered Dwight’s dead body? Or Butch’s? Or Franklin’s? She knew she didn’t kill Dwight, but the circumstances didn’t look good. They didn’t look good at all. Oh, I’m fucked. Fear stabbed through her, sharp enough to make her cry out. She tried to swallow down her sob before he heard—but he definitely heard it. “Ma’am? I want you to know, you’re safe

now.” Sure, sure thing. Absolutely. I’m safe now. A hollow lie, no matter who said it. She couldn’t nod, she couldn’t agree with him…she couldn’t even acknowledge she heard him. Safe. What did that word even mean? After everything she’d been through, she didn’t think she’d feel safe ever again. “I think he’s dead,” she said numbly. “I...I didn’t kill him, though.” “Who killed him?” “I don’t know. I didn’t catch his name. At least...I don’t think I did.” “Was there an intruder?” “No...well, yes, but...no.” Aiza held her head, her temples throbbing. She had a sudden spin of vertigo, and for a moment, she thought she might throw up. “God, my head is killing me.” “Do you need me to pull over?” She tried to shake her head, but the smallest motion sent another shard of pain through her temple. “I don’t know.” “If you need to puke, let me know,” he said with a small smile. “Look, maybe we should go to the police.” Her immediate reaction was to say no, but she bit that back. “In the morning. Please. I just need to rest.” Noah nodded and she rested her head against

the cool window. Her stomach was still roiling, her head hurt and her sides ached. He didn’t speak again and she was grateful for the silence.

**** Nearly thirty minutes after he picked her up, Noah came to a stop in front of what appeared to be a truly massive house. “Is this yours?” “No, I rent a room here. Sit tight, I’ll help you out.” He came around to the passenger side and wrapped one arm around her shoulder, gently lifting her from the seat. She leaned heavily on him, and he practically carried her around the corner to the side entrance. The door opened to a narrow hallway, and he guided her to the final door, keeping his hold on her as he unlocked the door. The room was small but meticulously kept. The only furniture included a bed—carefully made —an old recliner, and a television. He brought her to the bed and left her seated on the mattress. “Were you in the military?” “Marine. How did you know?” “Just a hunch.” “We should get you out of those clothes.” “What?” Noah grimaced. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Your clothes are wet. I have a nice dry robe. Why don’t you go change and I’ll make you something to drink.”

“Do you have whiskey?” “Yup.” “Perfect.” Aiza pushed herself to her feet, refusing his offer of help. “I’ll take a big glass of whiskey. Point me in the right direction.” He pointed her in the direction of a washroom the size of a very small closet. The sink, toilet, and shower were the sort you might find in a small RV. She couldn’t imagine a man the size of Noah trying to wedge himself into the tiny shower every morning. The robe he offered her was several sizes too large, but she was happy to wrap herself in its soft folds, cinching the belt in a tight knot to keep it secure. A brief glance in the mirror was all she needed to see that the accident in the truck added another bruise to her face. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and splashed her face with water, but she still looked like an utter mess. Somehow, as bad as she looked, she felt even worse. “I hope you have that whiskey ready for me,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom. “Of course,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder to guide her to the La-Z-Boy. Beside it was a tray holding a glass of whiskey, a mug with a tea bag, and a bowl of soup. “I didn’t know if you were hungry, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” “Thank you. You didn’t have to go to all this

trouble.” “It’s not any trouble. I’m just being a good host.” “No.” Aiza shook her head. “You’re being an angel.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to blink them away, but her emotions couldn’t be stifled. “You’re being so nice and I don’t deserve it.” He crouched beside the chair, directly in her field of vision. She had no choice but to look directly in his eyes—they were green, she noticed for the first time. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t know what you’ve been through or what that boyfriend of yours has done to you, but you do deserve basic kindness and a hell of a lot more than that.” “You don’t understand. I’ve done...I’ve done some really bad things.” Noah covered her hand with his much larger one. The back of his hand was covered in a deep tan and several much lighter scars. His fingers were warm, his skin smooth, and though she felt undeniable strength in his hand, his hold was unbelievably gentle. Her nostrils flared and she caught a scent that was both familiar and strange. She tensed and he immediately moved his hand away. “Wait.” She caught his hand and briefly squeezed his fingers. “Are you—?” “What?”

“Are you a werewolf?” He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “I am. I reckon you’re one, too.” She nodded. “You haven’t been one for long, though?” Noah guessed. “No. Just this year.” “Was your boyfriend a wolf?” Aiza nodded. “Did he make you?” Aiza nodded again. Noah mimicked the motion, like he got the answer he expected. “Will you do me a favor?” “What?” “Will you eat your soup?” “I will,” she said, but she reached for the whiskey. She gulped down half the glass before picking up the bowl. The broth had cooled enough to eat, and once she started, she realized how hungry she was. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything, and her stomach growled loud enough to make Noah smile. “Just let me know if you want another bowl. There’s plenty more where that came from.” “Did you make this?” Aiza asked. “No, a friend of mine did. She brought me a whole gallon.” “What do you need with so much soup?”

“She’s worried I’ll starve otherwise.” He shrugged. “There’s a McDonald’s down the block, but I guess that’s not good enough.” “This is definitely better than McDonald’s,” she murmured before taking another bite. She nearly inhaled the soup and gulped down the rest of the whiskey before speaking again. “Thank you. I feel much better now.” He took the bowl and glass from her and she pushed herself to her feet, excusing herself to the bathroom. She was still struggling to tie up the oversized robe when she emerged, and by his sudden intake of breath, she knew he caught sight of the abrasions on her ribs. Some of them were bleeding again, and she’d tried to clean them up as much as possible, but she needed bandages. “Good God, Aiza. Let me look at those.” “No, it’s okay,” she said, holding the robe closed with a tight fist. “I’m okay.” “Aiza, you’re bleeding and you need to be bandaged. I have a first aid kit. Please let me help you.” She swallowed, realizing it was rather silly to let her wounds seep blood all night, and nodded. She sat on the bed and shrugged her right arm out of the robe, allowing the terry to fall open and expose the worst of the claw marks. “That looks like a pretty bad fight,” he said. “It wasn’t a good one.”

“This is going to sting a little.” It stung a lot, actually, but Aiza didn’t visibly react. She overlooked the sting to focus on the gentle pressure of Noah’s fingers as he efficiently cleaned the claw wounds. The sudden coolness of the antibiotic balm brought a gasp to her lips and he gave her a sharp look. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m good.” She offered a reassuring smile. “I’m actually feeling better already.” He searched her face for a moment and then returned to his task. When he finished with the right side, she moved so he could focus on her back. “He bit you.” “I...I didn’t realize.” “This might need stitches, Aiza. You should really go to the ER.” “I’ll go to the clinic tomorrow,” she promised. “I need sleep more than anything. This will heal itself in no time.” He didn’t offer another argument, and soon he had her completely bandaged, her ribs wrapped in tape. “I’ll reheat your tea.” He pulled a T-shirt from the top drawer of his dresser. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.” When he returned, she was curled up on his surprisingly comfortable mattress, nestled under the soft blanket. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’m not.” He offered her the mug. “I was on my way to a meeting when I saw you go off the road and they’re still waiting for me.” “So, you’re leaving?” “For a few hours. But I’ll lock the door behind me, and I promise you, no one will bother you here.” Aiza nodded, too tired to argue. Her head was already on the pillow and her eyes were already falling closed. The last thing she was aware of was the lock of the door clicking shut.

**** By the time Aiza woke, her bruises were beginning to fade and the worst of the open wounds were starting to close, no stitches necessary. The room seemed homier in the warm afternoon sunlight. She stayed in the comfortable bed for a long time after she woke up, a part of her wishing she could just remain there forever. She felt safe and comfortable, warm and secure. Hunger and a full bladder eventually drove her from the warm bed. Noah was nowhere to be seen, but she found more soup and cold beer in the fridge, and she helped herself to both. There was still pain in her ribs and neck, but she could move freely and she knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until she felt like herself again. But what would happen after that? She wanted to step back into her life, but could that even be possible now that her life was legally over? Aiza wasn’t sure about the legal implications of faking her own death, but she had the feeling it would just be one more thing for the district attorney to bring up in court. With no phone, no money, and no idea where she even was, Aiza felt a little like a prisoner. She paced around the small apartment and even ventured into the narrow hallway, but the sudden scent of a dozen wolves drove her back, the door

closing quickly behind her. She had no way of knowing if the other wolves were friend or foe, and she wasn’t in a hurry to find out. With no other options, Aiza crawled back into bed and almost immediately returned to sleep. When she woke up again, she wasn’t alone. “How are you feeling?” Noah asked. “Better.” She gently ran her fingers over her ribs. “Much better.” “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Are you hungry?” “Yeah. I helped myself to some soup earlier.” He smiled. “That’s fine, that’s what it’s there for. I ordered some Chinese and it should be here soon. Let me have a look at those bandages.” She patiently allowed his inspection, performing one of her own while he was distracted with his task. His face was even more handsome than she remembered, his brow creased with concentration, his full mouth set in a thin line. In the light, she could see his hair was closer to blonde than brown, and pale whiskers sprouted across his chin and cheeks. He wore a dark T-shirt pulled tightly over his broad shoulders and solid chest, and the memory of what that chest felt like made her shiver. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Oh, yeah, just a little chilly.” He helped her replace her clothes and stood up with a small nod. “You’re going to be fine. Is

there anybody you’d like to call? Or maybe I can give you a ride somewhere?” “I’d appreciate a ride home.” She frowned. “Where are we?” “Yakima.” “Oh. Do you mind taking me all the way back to Portland?” He shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. “Thanks. I appreciate that and, well, everything. More than you can know.” A knock on the door pulled his attention from her, and as soon as she caught a whiff of the Chinese food, her stomach cramped with hunger. She felt like she hadn’t taken a bite in weeks and began to devour an order of boneless spare ribs. Noah didn’t seem to mind, though he did eat his skewer of teriyaki beef a considerably slower pace. A few times, she caught him watching her with a strange smile on his face, as though she were a particularly amusing sort of puzzle. “Before we head to Portland, I was hoping you’d come to my office,” he said as he reached for a second skewer. Aiza paused between swallows. “Your office? Why would I want to go to your office?” “To make a statement.” “A statement?” Her eyes widened. “You’re a cop.” “Well, no, I’m not a cop. But I am a federal

officer.” Aiza’s involuntary gasp drew a piece of pork down her throat and quickly turned into a ragged cough. He jumped to his feet to her assist her, slapping her between the shoulders to dislodge the food. “What...you’re a...a federal officer?” “I work for H.O.W.L. Have you heard of it?” “Homeland Department of Wolfs and Lycanthropes,” Aiza stated numbly. “Yes. We’ve been investigating the Wolf Brotherhood and your old friend Dwight for a very long time.” “So...you didn’t just happen to find me, did you?” Noah shook his head. “You were following me.” “We’ve been staking out his cabin for some time,” Noah said. “So...you knew about the attack, too?” “Yes. I know a great many things, Aiza, and you don’t have to be afraid of me. I want to help you.” “How can you help me?” Aiza demanded. “I’m...I’m guilty, too.” “Guilty of what? Being Dwight’s accomplice?” “Yes, for starters.” “Aiza, you and I both know that Dwight

forced you to do things.” “Forced? He never...he never forced me. I...I made my own decisions.” “Including the decision to attack your sister?” Noah asked softly. “How did you know about that?” “I told you, I know a great many things. He told you to attack her, didn’t he?” Aiza nodded slowly. “He planted that suggestion as your maker. God knows what else he planted in your head. Now that he’s dead, his control over you will fade. Make a statement. Explain what happened. Then instead of being a suspect, you’ll be a witness.” “Against who? Dwight is dead.” “Against the Brotherhood.” “Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I’m tired of them tangling in my business and I don’t want to have anything to do with them. If I testify against them, they’ll catch wind that I’m actually still alive and they’ll come after me.” “We’ll keep you safe,” Noah promised. “I’ll keep you safe.” Aiza shook her head. “Excuse me if I’m not impressed with the promise. I mean, they attacked me in my own home. How will you stop them?” “Well, for starters, I’ll make sure they can’t find you.” “So...if I help you, I can’t go home.”

“Not right away,” Noah conceded. “But when it’s all over, you can go back to your home. Your bar. Your life.” “My bar,” she murmured. “You already know everything, don’t you? What will happen to me if I don’t cooperate? Will I be placed under arrest?” “Not by me, certainly. But the local authorities might have different ideas. Especially if they’re on the take.” “So, if I tell you everything I know about Dwight and the Brotherhood and...everything, I won’t be sent to jail?” “No, you will be given full immunity and protection.” Noah leaned forward, his eyes serious, and she had no choice but to meet his gaze. She felt like he was looking right through her, and it was impossible not to squirm under the weight of his stare—until she realized that he wasn’t trying to pick her apart; he was giving her the chance to read his face, and even his soul, before she made her decision. “Okay.” Aiza took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.” His face broke into a wide smile. It was the nicest smile she had ever seen, and under any other circumstances, it would have been impossible not to return the gesture. “You made the right choice. I promise you.” “Are we going to do this now?” “If you’re ready. Or you can rest here for

another night and we’ll head over first thing in the morning.” Aiza opted for the morning, thinking that would give her time to gather her thoughts and prepare herself, but she passed the whole night in nervous agony. Noah disappeared again just after ten—no doubt on official business—giving her plenty of space and time to sleep, but instead she tossed and turned on the narrow bed, seeing Dwight’s face every time she closed her eyes. She tried to reason with herself; she tried to accept that she would be truly free of him, but an unidentifiable dread settled in her stomach and make itself at home there. Noah returned the next morning just after dawn with coffee and bagels. Aiza was already awake and dressed when he opened the door, and he didn’t comment on the bags under her eyes or the carefully made bed. She ate in grateful silence, her appetite still making itself known despite the nerves twisting her stomach into knots. Once she was done, she signaled her readiness and he led her to the car. He walked with long, deliberate strides, his posture perfect, his carriage one of supreme confidence. The sun caught the blonde highlights in his hair and the golden hue of his skin, and she had the feeling he spent far more time outside than he did sitting behind a desk. It was easy to imagine him fishing

beside a mountain stream or rock climbing or sailing. “Who else will be there?” Aiza asked, wondering if he could hear the tremor in her voice. “My partner, Dana.” “Should I have a lawyer?” “You’re not being charged with anything, but you’re welcome to have an attorney present.” “I have one...I mean, I know one. He’s not a criminal attorney, though. He worked with me when I purchased the bar.” “I can help you find one.” “But I’m not being charged, you said.” “Not a public defender. There are plenty of wolves who provide their services pro bono. I know a few; I can call them when we get there.” He offered her a reassuring smile. “I want you to be comfortable, Aiza. You’re going to be a very big help to us.” “Thank you.” It did seem like a good idea to at least consult with a lawyer before she spilled her guts and incriminated herself. Why would they offer her full immunity when Dwight was already dead? She didn’t know anything else about the rest of the Brotherhood—the only members she ever met, she killed. It was in self-defense, true, but what proof did she have of that? Only the truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth.

With bathroom breaks, water breaks, and crying breaks, it took a little over four hours to get through the entire story. Noah remained standing for most of it, his face set in a pensive mask as his partner, Dana O’Driscoll, asked questions to guide Aiza’s long narrative. She started at the beginning, the night she met Dwight, and continued through the details of her accident, her damaged memory, and her decision to be made into a werewolf. That was the easy part. After she started talking about the night Butch came to her bar and demanded money, and then attacked her, she couldn’t look at Noah any longer. She couldn’t meet Dana’s eyes, either. She just stared at her hands and recited as much as she could remember. By the time she detailed the attack that killed Franklin, she felt winded and sick to her stomach with shame and fear. It seemed to her that she gave them no choice. They would have to arrest her when she confessed that Dwight convinced her not to call the police, to just let him hide the bodies, like it was no big deal. She half-expected her new attorney to stop her story, but he allowed her to continue speaking without interruption. He’d introduced himself as Sam Longtail, and Aiza’s eyes had darted to Noah’s face, searching for a family resemblance. Maybe it was only a coincidence, but Yakima wasn’t that big

and the name wasn’t that common. But if they were related, her guess would be distant cousins. Finally, she ran out of things to say and Dana ran out of questions to ask her. She stood and offered her hand with a small smile that reached her eyes. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Ms. Simpson, but I’m very grateful you chose to come in and speak with us today.” “Oh, um, you’re welcome. I hope I can actually help with your investigation. I never meant...I’m not a murderer.” Dana’s warm grip tightened and her smile turned reassuring. “It will help and we know you’re not a murderer. Now if you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to talk to my partner.” They stepped into the hall and Aiza turned to Sam, looking for any sign of what to expect next. “It sounds like you’ve had a hell of a year,” he said. “It’s been rough. I just hope the next year isn’t spent in jail.” “Don’t worry about it,” Sam said confidently. “You did the world a favor when you removed those mutts from it. And those two have bigger fish to try. Noah said he’s going to keep you safe, and he will.” As if summoned by his words, Noah reappeared. “Are you ready to move?” “Where are we going?”

“A safe house we’ve got ready for you.” He looked to Sam. “I’ll be in touch.” She followed Noah out of the room, her heart still hammering in her ears. She didn’t feel better until they were in the car and the building was several miles behind them. “Where’s the house?” “It’s best if you don’t know.” “What do you think I’m going to do? Call the Brotherhood and tell them where to find me?” “No, but a secret safe house is a secret safe house. Until everybody knows the secret.” “Why not just blindfold me then?” “I will if I think it’s necessary,” he said lightly. She smiled despite herself and let it drop. It didn’t really matter to her where the safe house was or why he wanted to keep the location a secret, as long as she was safe and had a place to heal and figure out her life. He took her north, further from Portland and the Brotherhood’s territory. She never spent much time in Washington, so she could gauge the direction but not the location. He slowed down to thirty miles per hour as they entered a tiny town and began pointing out different places of interest —the general store, the bank, the post office, and the local watering hole. Finally, he pulled to a stop in front of a bungalow at the outskirts of town. “Home sweet home.” It looked nice enough on the outside. The

house had been recently painted white with green trim, the yard was well cared for and bursting with flowers, and a tall oak tree cast a long shadow over the front porch. He opened the car door for her and moved to the trunk where he pulled out several bags of groceries, loading his arms before moving to the front door. “The key is in my pocket,” he said, nodding towards his right leg. “Oh...um.” She delicately reached past the tight lip of his pocket, sliding her fingers down his hard thigh in search of the key. She snatched it and quickly pulled her hand back, her cheeks suddenly suffused with heat. Ducking her head so he wouldn’t notice her strangely flustered reaction, she unlocked the house and pushed the door open. He stepped in first, turning off the security system and flipping on the lights before gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll teach you how to use all of this. But I promise, you’ll never wake up with a stranger in your room again.” “The alarm is that good, huh?” “Nobody will even get this far. There are sensors all along the perimeter of the property. They are rigged to set off silent alarms that’ll bring down a team of armed men like the wrath of an angry god.” Her eyes darted out the open door. “There’s a

team watching the house?” “Yes.” “Where are they?” Noah smiled and gently closed the door. “There will also be a two-man detail assigned to you at all times.” “I’m going to be followed twenty-four hours a day?” “For your own safety.” “But only for, like, a couple of months, right?” His eyes darted away and she felt her heart sink. “You don’t think this is only going to be for a few months, do you?” “There’s no way of knowing,” Noah said. “If it were up to me, I’d have every mongrel and cur locked up by tonight. But it’s not up to me. Come on, let me show you around.” There wasn’t much to show. It was a single level home with one bedroom, one bath, and a kitchen split from the living room by a wet bar. The carpet was a neutral beige, the walls all a bland white, and the furniture was far from plush. “I know it’s not much, but it’s got a satellite dish and Wi-Fi.” “Wonderful.” “The fridge is fully stocked,” he said, opening the door to show a fridge that was, indeed, full of food. None of it looked like anything she wanted to deal with, though. What was she going to do with a

whole chicken, raw spinach, and a giant pork roast? She usually survived on cereal, burgers, and whiskey. “The store is only a mile down the road,” he said, as if sensing her thoughts. “And you’ll be provided with an expense card. You can decorate the place. Hang a few things up on the walls. Make it more like a home.” “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” She didn’t have any desire to make the place homier. She had a home. “What about you? Will you be staying here with me? “I’ll be checking in on you often. And I have a phone for you with my number programmed in. If you need anything, call me anytime.” “So, you’re just going to leave me alone up here? Can I let anybody know I’m here?” Noah shook his head. “Everybody thinks you’re dead, Aiza, and until we wrap up our investigation, it’s safer for you if they keep thinking it.” She saw there was no point in arguing so she inclined her head. “I guess that’ll give me plenty of time to...reflect on what I’ve done.” “Hey.” He reached out, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. She automatically leaned into the friendly touch, drawn to both the warmth of his skin and the strength she could sense in his long fingers. “I know it seems bad now.”

“Not as bad as jail,” Aiza said. “So it could be worse.” “It could be worse,” Noah agreed. “But I promise, I’ll make it better.” “Why do you keep saying things like that?” “Like what?” “Promising to help me, keep me safe, and make things better. Are you just, like, the world’s nicest guy or something?” He was still holding her shoulder, and for the first time, she realized how close they were standing. She wanted to move in even closer; wanted him to wrap both of his arms around her and hold her because she had the feeling he actually was the world’s nicest guy. “No, I’m just a decent man who believes in helping those who need help.” “In my experience, there’s not many decent men around. Not when you need them.” “Then I’m grateful our paths crossed.” “Grateful?” “So I can be the one who gives you a new experience.” He squeezed her shoulder gently and then stepped back. “I’m sorry I have to go, but I’ll be back in the morning.” He did return the next morning, bringing bagels, juice, and a half dozen thick books. “These are my favorites” he told her. “They got me through some rough times. Maybe they can help you, too.”

Every time he returned after that, he brought her something new to help her pass the time. She welcomed the books, the DVDs and the distractions, but she found—more than anything— it was his company, his smile, and his warmth that made each day better and better.

**** On the morning of their wedding day, Seth woke Sera with soft, sweet kisses against her neck. She smiled sleepily and tilted her head back, allowing him to nuzzle his lips over her pulse and under her ear. His hand rested on her hip, pulling her back against his body, his long leg draped over hers. He slid his palm up her ribs, coming to rest on her larger-than-normal breast. He sighed as he cupped its weight, her nipple hard against the palm of his hand. She shifted, her ass coming to rest more firmly against his growing erection. He couldn’t help but move his own hips, grinding against her, seeking more heat, more pressure. Despite his growing hunger, his lips were still slow, gliding over her neck and shoulder as he took deep breaths, savoring her scent, both familiar and new. This was how they woke most mornings, wrapped in each other’s arms, mouths seeking contact, bodies still supple with sleep. It was strange to see the same person every day, to go to sleep content because that person was there, and to wake smiling and aching for more contact. He’d never met anybody he craved like he craved Sera. He even dreamed about her.

He wanted Sera near him at all times—a sharp deviation from how he used to run his life, but one his pack members had become accustomed to. Stephanie had helped considerably with that, as she had realized right away that Sera was different —not only from his previous one-night stands and flings, but also from the pack. He loved his pack; he cared for every one of his wolves and devoted his life to them, but that was instinctual due to the wolf inside of him. It was the man who found Sera; who yearned for her and loved her. “Oh,” she gasped, and he knew that it wasn’t a sound of pleasure. “He’s got a lot of energy this morning.” Seth moved his hand to her stomach. He didn’t have to wait long to feel the powerful kick of his son. “He’s really got a strong pair of legs on him.” “Yes, he does.” “Maybe he’ll be a soccer player like his old man.” She looked over her shoulder. “You played soccer?” “In high school.” “Were you any good?” Sera asked with a smile. “I was the team captain.” She laughed. “Of course you were.” “Why is that funny?”

“Did you ever participate in anything without being the captain, or president, or Alpha?” Seth considered the question for a moment before answering with an honest, “No.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought. What time is it?” He pulled her closer. “Why?” “Because I have to get up.” “No you don’t.” “Yes I do.” She covered his fingers with hers but didn’t try to move his hand away. “I have one more dress fitting this morning, and then there are a million things to do before the ceremony tonight.” He lifted his head, frowning. “A million things to do?” “To supervise,” she quickly amended. “You know Stephanie and everybody else has been such a big help with getting everything taken care of.” “I still think we should have waited,” Seth said. Not because he had any desire to delay being married, but because the doctor had already warned Sera she needed to take it easy, stay off her feet, and rest as much as possible. She set the date, insisting it needed to be before the baby was born, despite the inherent stress of planning a wedding. She’d also rejected his suggestion that they have a quick, private ceremony at the courthouse, stating that since she was only going to do this once, she was going to do it right. What choice did he have

but to agree? “I don’t think I can even stand to wait another day to be your wife,” she said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Just think. At this time tomorrow, I’ll be Mrs. Seth Longtail.” “Just think?” Seth grinned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His grin turned lascivious and he attacked her neck with playful bites. “Or the honeymoon.” She laughed. “Stop! Stop!” “Really?” “No. But, yes.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Stephanie is going to be here in less than thirty minutes.” “You know, that’s plenty of time,” Seth said. “Not if I want to shower, do my morning yoga, and eat a healthy breakfast,” Sera reminded him. He relented, relaxing his arms and allowing her to scoot to the edge of the bed and swing her feet over the side. He had his own busy day ahead of him, with plenty of things to do before the bonding ceremony that night, but he still lingered in bed, watching silently as she performed her morning regimen. He couldn’t explain why—she had asked several times—but he loved to simply watch her complete the most mundane tasks. He noted every moment of her brushing her teeth, taming her hair into a ponytail, bending her way

through fifteen minutes of yoga, and stripping to take a quick shower. Once she was under the spray, he made his way to the kitchen. He was in the habit of cooking for her at least once a day, though he preferred to see to all of her meals. Today he made an egg and bacon frittata, served with a fruit smoothie and a Greek yogurt with a touch of raw honey. By the time she emerged, the freshly plated food was waiting for her on the table. “Thank you. This looks so good.” She tilted her chin up for a quick kiss, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, prolonging the contact for as long as he could. “Eat up. You’ll need the protein.” “Yes sir.” He checked the clock and swore softly. He was already running behind, which was his own damned fault. But he wouldn’t have changed a thing—well, that’s not true. He would have stayed in bed even longer if she’d been willing. “I have to go to my office this morning to see to a few more things before we go out of town. But I’ll be back here by one. Two at the latest,” Seth said. “Okay.” “Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll pick it up on the way home.” “Will do.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water, take breaks, don’t do anything too strenuous.” “Honey?” “Yes.” Sera smiled. “Please relax. I’m fine. The baby is fine. Everything is fine, and tonight, everything is going to be perfect. Okay?” Seth bent to kiss her smile. “Okay. I love you.” “Knock knock,” Stephanie said as she stepped through the back door. “I hope somebody is ready for her fitting.” “I am. Is Peggy here?” Peggy was the seamstress making the dress. Sera had never had an article of clothing to order before, and she’d been thrilled to collaborate on designing a beautiful dress appropriate for the bonding ceremony. Sera had balked a little at the additional expense of having a hand-sewn dress, but Peggy was a member of the pack, and Jackie had insisted. Jackie was the wedding planner that Seth had insisted on. “She is. She’s on the phone.” Stephanie wrapped her arm around Seth in a friendly hug. “I see you are literally hovering over her now.” “Just to say goodbye.” He returned the hug and then grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter. “Make sure she drinks enough water and stays off her feet.”

“And doesn’t stress out, or pick anything up, or move. I know the drill.” Seth gave his co-Alpha and pack sister an affectionate smile before pulling himself away and hurrying out the door. They weren’t siblings, but they were born within a week of each other, raised together from birth, and best friends from the beginning. He knew most of his pack expected the two of them to marry one day. It made sense when he looked at it from their point of view—they were already co-Alphas and nearly inseparable—but for the two of them, it had never been an option. She was his sister in all ways but blood. There was nobody else on Earth that he would trust with his mate and his unborn child. His phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts. “Hey, Noah. What’s the word?” “Nothing good, I’m afraid.” “What happened?” “I’d rather not tell you over the phone.” Seth swore under his breath. “When can I expect you?” Noah asked. “I’m on my way right now.”

**** Sera’s smile faded from her face as soon as Seth left and that did not escape Stephanie’s sharp eye. “What’s wrong?” Stephanie asked without preamble. “Nothing. Everything is great.” “You certainly don’t look like everything is great, and you sure don’t look like somebody who’s about to get married.” Stephanie took the seat opposite of her. “So tell me the truth. What’s on your mind?” Sera sighed. She knew it wouldn’t do any good to lie to her friend. Stephanie had an unerring ability to detect bullshit and call people on it. “Aiza. She’s alive out there, somewhere. Maybe.” She swallowed hard. Her emotions were always closer to the surface these days, and tears were already stinging the corners of her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” Sera continued. “We just left her there. Alone. Anything could have happened to her. How could I just leave her?” “Sera, we—” “We left her. We should have brought her with us. We should have helped her or gone back

for her. And here I am getting married and planning the rest of my life like I didn’t betray her.” “You didn’t betray her,” Stephanie said. “She tried to kill you. She tried to kill all of us. After she lied to you about being dead.” She shook her head. “I know you love her. She’s your sister. But you’re not to blame for this.” “But that’s just it. Something was clearly wrong with her. If she can’t count on me to defend her and protect her and figure out what’s wrong, then who can she count on?” “Sera, from what you’ve told me, she hasn’t counted on you in a very long time.” Stephanie leaned forward, wrapping her arm around Sera’s shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “She’s an adult who made her own choices. You don’t have to bear the burden of those choices.” Sera returned the hug with a grateful sigh, though she still felt like her heart was breaking. The past five months had been the best and worst of her life. She’d never been happier. She didn’t even know it was possible to be so happy. Waking up in Seth’s arms every day, carrying his child and building a new life beyond her sweetest fantasies were blessings she couldn’t even account for. But every happy moment was tainted, tinged by the greatest mystery of all. What had happened to Aiza? “You can’t dwell on this forever,” Stephanie

said, perhaps sensing Sera’s thoughts were still square on her sister. “You have a new family and we need you here with us.” “We?” “Of course we. You’re my sister now. Which reminds me, I brought something for you.” Sera had to blink rapidly to alleviate the new sting of tears. To gain a man like Seth as a lover, a protector, and a husband was a literal dream come true. Gaining a sister like Stephanie was like a balm on her heart. Stephanie presented a small square box. Sera opened it slowly, gasping softly at the sight of the delicate gold and diamonds, shaped into the silhouette of a wolf. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Is it an antique?” “Yes, it’s been passed down in our pack for generations.” “Oh, I can’t accept this,” Sera said, quickly replacing the broach in the box. She’d met several members of Seth’s pack, and they’d all been kind to her, but she didn’t consider herself to be worthy of receiving such an important gift. “You should keep it. It probably looks beautiful on you.” “It does, but I want you to have it and I’m sure Marian would have wanted that, too.” “Marian?” “Yes. She was our Alpha. She mentored me. She is who prepared me to be an Alpha.”

“All the more reason for you to keep it. To remember her by.” Stephanie pressed the box into Sera’s palm. “I don’t need this to remember her. If you don’t want to keep it, please at least wear it tonight.” “I will wear it tonight with pride. Thank you.” She accepted the box. “I can’t believe it’s happening tonight.” Stephanie smiled. “I’m so excited. Everyone is going to be there.” Sera almost corrected her. Not everyone, certainly. Obviously, she would feel Aiza’s absence, but her parents had declined her invitation, and her brother said he wanted to be there, but with a toddler and another baby on the way, he was stretched thin these days. “Is everything ready? Does Jackie need help with anything?” “Jackie has everything under control,” Stephanie assured her. “I don’t want to jinx anything but—” Sera held up her hand. “Then don’t.” “Okay, I won’t jinx it. I was just going to say that it’ll be—” “Don’t jinx it!” Sera laughed. “So...the whole pack is going to be there?” “Nearly.” “How many is that?” “Around one hundred.”

Sera whistled between her teeth. “That’s a lot of people. How will I remember their names?” “It’s okay, you don’t have to remember everyone’s name tonight.” “What if they don’t—” “Don’t what?” “Like me,” Sera said. “Well, they don’t know you. Once they do get to know you, they will like you. In the meantime, they all really love Seth. You make him happy, so they will adore you. He’s been alone for a long time.” “How long?” “Since...well, since he was eighteen.” “When you two became Alphas?” “Yes.” “Why were you so young?” Sera inquired, giving in to her curiosity for the first time. “Didn’t anyone challenge you?” “There was nobody left to challenge us. Our pack was nearly destroyed. Once the fighting stopped, all that remained were the kids and seniors. We’d both been trained to lead the pack since birth; we just didn’t count on starting so soon.” Sera’s mouth dropped open. “All of the adults were killed?” “Yes.” “By who?”

“The Wolf Brotherhood. It was a territory dispute. They wanted Portland and they got it.” “Sorry I’m late,” Peggy said, bursting through the back door. “I’m dealing with a real bear of a client. Talk talk talk, blah blah blah…I’m parched. Mind if I get myself a drink? No, no honey, stay off your feet. I can pour my own water. Oh, I can’t wait to see you in your dress. God, you’re going to look gorgeous.”

**** “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Noah said, gesturing to his Alpha to have a seat. Dana had offered to call Seth and tell him the news, but Noah had declined. Seth deserved to hear it from him, not from a stranger. “I hate to hear it. But you’d better lay it on me anyway,” Seth said, remaining on his feet. “We just got a positive ID back on a John Doe. We had to use dental records and DNA and there’s really no margin of error on this one.” Noah took a deep breath. “It’s Tony.” Seth rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, his face creased in a deep frown. Noah held his tongue, waiting for Seth to process the information. Only Noah knew how many times Seth had traveled to Portland in search of their lost pack mate. Noah’s most fervent hope was that his own investigation wouldn’t intersect with Seth’s search, and yet, he’d prayed every day for a chance to give Seth and the rest of the pack a sense of closure. “The Brotherhood?” Seth finally asked. “We think so. I didn’t want to give you this news today, of all days, but I thought you would like to know.” “They took his life and for what? Because he showed his face in Portland?”

“That’s part of what I’m working on finding out,” Noah said. “There were other remains we’re working on ID-ing. If things go our way for once, we might have enough info to make some arrests. “What do you mean?” “I can’t divulge much,” Noah said, “but we have an eyewitness we’re working with. If we can link any of the remains to her statement, we’ll have enough to get a warrant.” “A warrant? Is that going to be enough to take out that viper’s nest?” “It’ll be a start.” Noah could see that wasn’t enough for Seth, and frankly, it wasn’t enough for him, either. The only reason he joined H.O.W.L. was to take down the Wolf Brotherhood once and for all. Every inroad he made met a dead-end and every lead he found met the same fate. He hoped finding Aiza Simpson and taking her into protective custody would change his luck, but so far, there was little to be optimistic about. “I will find the sonsabitches responsible for this,” Noah said, when he couldn’t bear another second of Seth’s frown or silence. “I won’t give up until I do.” “I know you won’t give up, Noah. But how many of us can they slaughter before somebody finally stops them? I mean, are you the only one here who cares?” Seth demanded.

“I’m definitely not the only one here who cares. There are a lot of good agents working on this case with me.” As soon as Noah finished speaking, his phone erupted with Dana’s personalized ringtone. “I’ve got to take this.” “I’ll leave you to it.” Seth stood and held out his hand. “I’ll see you tonight?” Noah shook his hand. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m really excited to meet the woman who finally trapped the wolf.” As soon as Seth stepped out of his office, Noah brought the phone to his ear. “Talk to me.” “It’s Aiza.” “What about her? Is she hurt?” “I don’t think so. I don’t know because she’s not here, Noah.” Dana’s voice was calm, but he still caught the edge under her words. “What do you mean? Did she go for a walk? Maybe she’s at the grocery store.” “She’s not here. She’s not in town. She left a note saying she was going back to Portland.” “What?” “I contacted her detail. They said she went to Paul’s Tavern and now she’s at The Eight Ball, across the street. There’s been no suspicious activity but Pete said she’s been in that bar for a long time.” “I’m heading there now.” “Keep in touch,” Dana said before the call

ended. Noah would like to say that he was surprised by this development, but he was not in the least. Aiza had shown remarkable patience, given the situation, but even a blind man could see her advanced case of cabin fever. He did what he could to alleviate it, but he was really her only source of social contact; her only real link to the outside world. And he couldn’t even visit her every day. Even though he wanted to. That had been a great surprise, the day he realized he was truly looking forward to the threehour drive that would take him to Aiza. After that, there were dozens of smaller realizations, all of them genuinely unexpected. He liked the way she laughed, the way she smirked when she told a dirty joke, the way she got angry over books and weepy over stupid movies. He liked the way she downed whiskey, poured beer, and made cereal for dinner. He didn’t even care if she talked to him, and sometimes she didn’t have a single word to say to him past greetings and the formalities—he just liked spending time with her. So far, he kept their interactions completely professional and appropriate, as though Dana was standing over his shoulder, monitoring every word. In a way, she was, since Aiza’s entire safe house was wired with mics and cameras. Their hope had been that Aiza was much deeper in the pack than

she initially let on, but her story never changed, and nobody in the gang sought her out. He was beginning to believe that her only connection to the Brotherhood was Dwight, and since he was dead, Noah wasn’t certain what value Aiza would bring to their investigation. But he still didn’t want her wandering around Portland. The thought of anything happening to her made his blood boil and the vein in his temple throb. He told himself his concern was entirely professional, stemming from the fact that she was still a witness, after all, and she’d already been through so much. Deep down inside, he knew the truth. He didn’t want anything to happen to her because he would miss her. Because he cared about her. He didn’t keep to the speed limit on the drive to Portland, though it probably made no difference at all. She could be on her way back to the safe house—if she intended to return; if somebody didn’t find her before he did. It occurred to him that if he did find her, she might refuse to leave with him. She wasn’t under any legal obligation and there hadn’t been any threats against her in the last five months; she might insist she was perfectly capable of living her own life. When he finally reached Portland, he went directly to The Eight Ball. A text from Dana confirmed the men still had eyes on her there. The

bar was dark and he had to wait a minute to let his eyes adjust before he finally located her, hunched in the back corner booth, hands wrapped loosely around a giant, nearly empty stein. “Can I buy you a drink?” Noah asked. She didn’t look up. “They took it.” “They took what?” “Everything. It’s all theirs now. Like nothing I did in my life mattered at all.” “The bar?” Noah slid into the booth beside her. He wanted to take her hand, but kept a respectful distance between them. “I missed it. I wanted to see it. I know I shouldn’t have left but I couldn’t stand seeing those fucking beige carpets for another second. I just wanted to see my bar, you know?” “I understand. I wish you would have told me, though. We could have arranged something.” “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. You can tell those nice men to stop following me.” “What do you mean?” “It doesn’t matter. They’re not coming after me again. They already have exactly what they wanted. Exactly what I handed over to them...like a fucking idiot.” “Hey.” Now he did take her hand. “You are not a fucking idiot. You were manipulated and controlled and you know what happened to you? Theft by deception. And you know what we’re

going to do?” “What?” He squeezed her fingers. “We’re going to get it all back.” “How?” “Well, first thing’s first. You’ve got to tell me everything that happened today.” “I’m going to need that drink you mentioned.” “Coming right up,” Noah promised as he eased out of the booth. When he returned with a pitcher of beer and two fresh steins, she was listlessly picking at the bowl of peanuts, popping them into her mouth one at a time, her eyes staring, unseeing, into the middle distance. “I used to suck at this,” Noah said conversationally as he began to pour. “I bet you’re really good at it.” “I guess so.” He slid the stein over and filled his before prompting her with a gentle, “So what happened?” “I just wanted to walk by and see if it was still open. I didn’t plan to go inside or even stop, but then I noticed Chad and Cyn outside on a smoke break and I...I had to talk to them.” She looked up. “I know, we agreed they should continue to think I’m dead, but...well…” “What did they say?” Noah prompted. “At first they couldn’t believe it was me. I

told them that I had to pretend to be dead for my own protection. They told me that the bar never even closed for a day. They came to work and the new owner told them that I was dead and he was taking over. Everything was as fine and legal as you please. Their checks never stopped, so they thought everything was kosher. Until—” She paused there and took a long drink. Noah waited. “Until the new owner, Adam, announced a new policy. He would collect and pool all the tips and pay them out at the end of the night. Only, he doesn’t always remember to pay them. He’s working them into the ground. Hell, it sounds like he’s running the whole fucking place into the ground.” She shook her head. “All of this bullshit to get the bar and they’re going to destroy it.” “Did anybody see you speaking to them?” “No...no, I don’t think so.” “Did they give you the new owner’s full name?” “Adam Pettyjohn.” “And he’s a member of the Wolf Brotherhood?” “They said he wears the patch. And it would make sense, right? Dwight got everything when I ‘died’ and he implied that what’s his is theirs.” “It does make sense,” Noah agreed. “Given what we know about how the pack is structured.” “I don’t know. Maybe I should just go.”

“Go where?” Aiza gestured vaguely. “Anywhere. Away from here. Maybe I should move to the desert.” “What about the bar?” She shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s already gone. I don’t even know who I am anymore. And on top of that, I’ve lost my sister. So why stay? Maybe it’s time to start my life over.” “All alone?” “What other choice do I have?” “You could stay here,” Noah suggested. “You can help me bring down the gang and get your bar back. And…” He took a deep breath. “You could see your sister again.” “My sister?” She looked up sharply. “What do you know about her?” “I know where she is. I know she’s doing well. She’s happy.” “I want to see her,” Aiza said immediately. “I need to see her. I need to tell her what happened.” She took his hand, squeezing it fervently. “Please.” “Yes, of course. I can arrange that. Maybe in a few weeks or a month.” “Weeks? Months?” Aiza shook her head. “No. I need to see her now. Today.” “Today?” “Yes. If I can see her today, I’ll go back to the safe house with those damned beige carpets and I won’t complain and I’ll stay as long as you need me

to.” Noah had the sense to know that the timing of the request was absolutely awful, but no matter how he sought for the strength to deny her, he couldn’t find it within himself to tell her no. “She’s a few hours from here with my cousin,” Noah said. “We’d better hit the road. “Oh my God, thank you!” She flung her arms around him in an exuberant hug, a smile lighting her face for the first time in ages. “I just need a chance to make this right.” Noah returned the hug, taking a deep breath and absorbing her scent, enjoying the warmth passing between them. Contact between them was always casual, brief and incidental, after their first night, when she hugged him without shame, seeking comfort. He’d relived that embrace in his dreams over and over, never expecting more than that. “Let’s go,” she said, pulling away to wiggle from the booth. The life had returned to her eyes and there was even an extra bounce in her step. If he had any second thoughts, they were banished by the sight of her excitement.

**** As soon as the Fed and the bitch drove out of sight, Braxton hurried down the street to Paul’s Tavern, slipping through the service door and directly to the back office. He didn’t bother knocking on the door, as he was on orders to return as quickly as possible with any pertinent updates. Adam was sitting at the desk, staring at his computer screen with a small frown. One of the most senior members of the Wolf Brotherhood, he looked almost out of place behind the massive monitor. “Sir?” “What is it?” Adam’s voice was rough, his throat all sand and gravel. “I thought I told you to stick with that bitch!” “She left. With the Fed.” “What? Where did they go?” “I don’t know.” Adam looked up, his frown deepening as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you don’t know? Why didn’t you follow them?” “I…” “I told you to stick with her,” Adam growled. Braxton shrank back, a shiver of fear rolling down his spine. “I don’t have a car.” “Well that’s just great. Now we know fuck-all

about where she’s been hiding, what she knows, or what she’s already told the feds.” He shook his head. “This is why I don’t like loose ends. Did you at least overhear anything?” “Yes. They’re going to see her sister.” “Her sister? I meant anything helpful, you idiot.” “Her sister is with Seth Longtail.” Adam’s face changed slightly. He didn’t exactly smile but his frown wasn’t quite so severe. “Longtail, you say. They’re going now?” “Yes.” “The Longtails are still up in Washington,” Adam said to himself, then lapsed into a long silence. Braxton waited patiently, remaining perfectly still and silent while his boss worked through his thoughts. “The Fed is a Longtail, too, isn’t he?” “Yes, sir.” “I don’t think any of this is a coincidence. We should have killed that girl when we had the chance.” He tapped his fingers against the desk and then nodded. “I want you to take Chuck and head on up to Yakima. Don’t stop searching until you find both of those Simpson bitches and bring them back here.” “The Longtails might not let them go without a fight,” Braxton said, a little uneasily. He’d already crossed paths with Seth Longtail and lived to tell

about it. He didn’t want to press his luck with a second meeting. “Then give them a fight. We should have wiped them all out when we had the chance, anyway.” “Then maybe we should bring Don and Dave with us for reinforcements?” Adam waved his hand dismissively. “Take whoever you want. Just get your asses moving.” “Yes, sir.” “Now, pup!” Adam roared. Braxton jumped and hurried out the door, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He found Chuck, Don, and Dave sitting at the bar, taking turns making lewd comments at Cynthia and downing beers on the house. None of them wanted to leave their comfortable spots, but when Braxton told them it was on Adam’s orders, they all jumped to their feet with shifty looks, as though they expected their boss heard their bitching and grumbling. “Where are we going?” Chuck asked. “Yakima.” “What the fuck is in Yakima?” Don wanted to know. “Loose ends. Let’s get moving.”

**** The butterflies in Sera’s stomach doubled with every passing minute, until it felt like she was going to choke on her own excitement. It was so hard to believe that all of this was really happening. Every time she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back—and that was doubly true today. The woman in the mirror looked so happy, so beautiful, skin and eyes glowing. She turned to the side, smoothing her hand over her stomach. For the moment, the baby was sleeping, and the dress laid flat against her skin. She’d gained weight with the pregnancy, but she didn’t feel self-conscious or uneasy about that. The dress itself was very flattering for her full figure, emphasizing her bust with a sweetheart neckline and hiding the bulge of her stomach behind an empire waist and full skirt. A sudden, sharp pain low in her belly distracted her from the dress. She nearly doubled over, her breath quickening as she tried to ride out the pain. Probably just a cramp, she thought. Strange pains and moments of discomfort were just a common part of her life now, and she did her best to ignore them and push through without complaint. Still, she couldn’t completely shake her uneasiness. That was the fifth pain like that since that morning,

and it was only getting sharper. She moved away from the mirror to sit on the edge of the bed and took a long drink of water from her chilled bottle. Stephanie was downstairs, directing the last-minute moves and changes. From outside, she could hear the shouts and laughter of children playing while their parents finished setting everything up. A breeze wafted through the open window, bringing with it the smell of roast pork. They’d buried a whole pig in the ground with hot coals twenty-four hours earlier, and now it was done and ready to be feasted on. Of course, there wasn’t just pork. Sera’s eyes had widened and nearly popped out of her head when Stephanie had detailed everything that would be prepared for the bonding ceremony. Chicken and duck, beef heart and liver, pounds of seafood brought in fresh from the coast, a half dozen different types of salads, fresh vegetables, potatoes prepared three ways, and God knows what else. When Sera had ventured to ask what all of this cost, Seth waved away her question with a smile. “You don’t need to worry about that. You don’t need to worry about anything.” Feeling a little better after her break, Sera crossed the room to the window and watched a half-dozen pack members run around, setting up chairs, hanging decorations, putting together the final touches. There were two huge wooden

structures on either end of the yard. They looked like teepees without the tent. Once the sun went down, both would be lit into massive bonfires. Decorative citronella candles were being lit one by one to keep all the mosquitoes under control during the sunset ceremony, and the round tables were being set and prepared for the feast. And all of it, every bit of it, was for her. It was so hard to believe that this was her actual, real life and not a dream she was having between one lonely day and the next. And yet, she couldn’t quite be happy. She couldn’t quite summon a real smile to her lips. Talking over everything with Stephanie had done nothing to dull the pain and regret she felt over Aiza. Another sharp pain drove her to the nearest chair. She winced and sat down, absently rubbing the spot that kept causing her so much trouble. “What’s going on in there, baby? Are you excited about the big night, too?” Excited or not, the pain was not abating this time. She tried to reach for her bottle of water, but another sudden, sharp cramp overtook her, and her fingers stiffened, knocking the bottle to the floor. She reached for it without thinking, and another cramp nearly made her double over. She gasped for breath, trying to remember the Lamaze exercises from her the class, but the pain

overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t catch her breath, and couldn’t even shout for help as the waves rolled through her, growing more intense by the second. It felt like an eternity passed before the pain faded enough for her to think. She abandoned the bottle of water on the floor and began searching for her phone. She finally caught sight of it on the other side of the room, sitting on the corner of the nightstand. With a low groan, she forced herself to her feet—a necessary motion, but it proved to be a very bad idea as another tsunami of pain ripped through her. With a groan, she forced herself to take a step and then another. It felt like she was walking through thick quicksand, like the floor itself was grasping at her ankles and holding her in place. It was then she felt something thick and warm flowing down her thighs. Fear stabbed through her and she closed her eyes, trying to focus, trying not to lose herself completely to pain and panic. When she opened her eyes again, there was a drop of blood on the floor between her feet. That drop was quickly joined by another and then another. She shuffled the remaining distance, reaching blindly for the phone. Seth’s number was at the top of her contact list. She automatically called him first, but the phone rang with no answer until the voicemail picked up.

“It’s me. There’s something wrong. I need help.” She hung up the call and blindly stabbed at the next number on the list. The phone rang twice before Stephanie answered. “Hey, what do you need?” “Help,” Sera croaked out. The blood no longer came in drops. “I’m bleeding.” “What? I’ll be right there! Jackie! Call an ambulance!” “Where’s...Seth?” Sera gasped out. “I’ll get him. Don’t worry about that. Don’t move. There’s an ambulance on its way.” “Hurry,” Sera mumbled before the phone fell from her fingers. She didn’t try to pick it up. Her knees buckled and she leaned heavily to the side, bracing herself against the mattress. Unable to stay on her feet for another second, she sank to her knees. At that point, she must have blacked out, because the next thing she was aware of was Stephanie’s voice. “Go find Seth. He’s not answering his phone. Where’s that ambulance?” “I can hear the sirens!” someone called out. “Go down and meet them. Sera? Sera can you hear me?” “It hurts,” Sera moaned. “Where’s Seth?” “He’s coming,” Stephanie promised. “He’ll be here any second.” “There’s...there’s something wrong…” Sera

sobbed from another sharp pain. “I need Seth.” “He’ll be here. He’ll be—” “Okay, everybody, clear out.” Sera barely noticed the arrival of the EMTs. She sensed the flurry of activity around her; she felt them take her pulse and heard one of them say her name, but it was all happening very far away from her, and she couldn’t even register it. They lifted her onto a stretcher, holding her to it as a cramp wracked her body with agony. When she came back to herself, they were already outside of the cabin, hurrying towards the ambulance. “Where am I going?” she gasped out. “Where are you taking me? Seth? Stephanie?” “Can I ride with her?” The EMTs lifted Sera into the ambulance and Stephanie climbed in after her, taking Sera’s hand in hers. “Where’s Seth?” Sera mumbled. “He’ll meet us there.” That was the last thing Sera heard before she slipped away from the pain and into the welcoming darkness.

**** Aiza and Noah pulled into the packed driveway just as the ambulance pulled away. Aiza was reaching for the door before the car had even stopped moving, but Noah put a hand on her arm, holding her in place. “Sit tight while I find out what’s going on.” “But—” “Please, Aiza.” She nodded, sinking back into the seat. He gave her a small smile and then jumped out of the car, hurrying across the yard to the nearest person, a woman who looked about the same age as Noah and had the same coloring in her hair and eyes. They only spoke for a few moments. Aiza noticed the woman pointing at the ambulance down the road, and then Noah hurried back to the car. “It’s Sera. They’re taking her to the hospital. It might be the baby.” Aiza’s eyes widened. “Baby? Sera’s pregnant?” “Yes.” Noah put the car in reverse and flew down the driveway back to the narrow road. Aiza braced herself as he stepped on the accelerator, racing to catch up with the ambulance. “What happened? Did she fall? Did somebody hurt her?”

Noah shook his head. “Nobody knows what happened. She was bleeding and cramping. That’s all Jess knew.” “Oh my God. Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening!” “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.” “No you’re not,” Aiza shot back. “You can’t possibly know that everything’s going to be fine. She could be...what if something happens to her...I never even had the chance to apologize.” Noah’s only answer was to push harder on the gas pedal, closing the distance between them and the ambulance. The nearest hospital was almost thirty miles away, and Aiza passed every mile in greater agony, her heart sick and strained with fear for her baby sister. Pregnant. How could she be pregnant? The wolf she’d been with must have been the father. Most of the events of that terrible night were gone from her memory, but she did recall fighting that man and trying to kill him. He had fought hard, and though Aiza was strong, the man had been stronger—and yet, he hadn’t killed her. Of course, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t kill her if he saw her again. Hopefully, Noah wouldn’t let that happen. The sudden ringing from his phone pulled Aiza from her thoughts, her heart inexplicably jumping to her throat. He punched the Bluetooth

button on his dash. “Seth, where are you?” Seth’s voice filled the cabin, flowing from the stereo speakers. “I have a flat tire, about ten miles from the cabin.” “Have you talked to anybody?” “No, I’m in a dead spot. This is the first call I could get through.” “Where are you? I’ll be right there.” Seth named the location and Noah promised to be there within five minutes. Aiza silently watched him drive, noting the thin compression of his lips and the white-knuckled grip on the wheel. The ambulance was out of sight, and she couldn’t hear the sirens either. Go to the hospital. Send somebody else to get him. Who cares about this guy? My sister is in danger. Noah pushed the accelerator, eyes narrowed against the sun. He took a sharp right turn and then another left, and nerves crawled through Aiza’s stomach and up her throat. Each second was an eternity, increasing the certainty that she would never see her sister; that she was too late, and this stupid detour would only prolong the inevitable. Her nerves turned to sharp, undeniable fear when the car and man finally came into sight. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “What?” “That’s him.” “Who?”

“The one with Sera. The one I nearly....I tried to...I attacked him.” “That’s...don’t worry about that.” He pulled to a stop behind Seth’s car and hopped out of the vehicle. She heard Seth say something about the proper tools, but Noah shook his head and took Seth by the elbow, leading him to the car. The good-natured smile disappeared from Seth’s face, and a storm gathered between the creases of his brow. “How long ago?” Aiza heard his question distinctly. “Just a few minutes before you called me. Come on.” He opened the back door and helped Seth inside. Aiza sank lower in her seat, trying to obscure her features. Not that he was paying any attention to her. His anxiety was palpable, and as soon as Noah slid behind the wheel, he had a thousand questions. But Noah had no answers. Except for the last one. “Who’s this?” Seth finally asked. “This is Aiza Simpson,” Noah said. “What?” “Now don’t get angry, Seth.” “Don’t get angry? I have every right to get angry. She tried to kill us. She tried to kill Sera. And you bring her here? What the fuck were you thinking?” Seth’s voice got louder with each syllable, the final question coming out as a roar.

Aiza automatically flinched away, trying to make herself smaller against the door, eyes darting back and forth from Noah to Seth. “She’s under my protection, Seth, and she’s cooperating in the investigation against the Wolf Brotherhood. She’s not any danger to you or to Sera.” “How do you know that?” “Because I know her, Seth. Far better than you do.” “She faked her own death and tried to murder her own sister,” Seth said harshly. “I know enough. You can’t trust her.” Aiza winced and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Of course he would see her this way. He didn’t know any better and had no reason to believe that she was truly a different person. His reaction was perfectly normal and perfectly expected, and it was probably exactly what she should expect from Sera, too. Oh God, Sera. “I trust her,” Noah said, his voice as even and calm as before, a sharp contrast to Seth’s anger. “She was under the power of her maker wolf, and she wasn’t acting on her own wishes. She was violated, Seth, and now she’s helping me stop the wolves who hurt her.” He glanced up, meeting Seth’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “The wolves who hurt us.”

“Why did you bring her here?” Seth’s voice was calmer but he was far from placated. “I made her a deal. She wanted to see her sister.” “But today, Noah? Of all days? Did Sera see her? Is that why—” “No. The ambulance was already leaving as we arrived.” “What’s today?” Aiza asked softly. “Our wedding day.” “Oh.” Aiza’s head was spinning with the news. Sera was pregnant. Sera was getting married. Sera was starting a new life with a man who clearly loved her. Why had Noah agreed to bring Aiza on that day of all days? And why did she think she had any right to disrupt her sister’s life after everything she put Sera through? Nobody spoke again until they reached the hospital. Seth jumped out of the car almost before it stopped moving, racing through the double doors of the emergency room. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Aiza muttered. “I think Sera needs her family.” “She has her family. Her new family. And she’s probably much better off with them.” “Yeah, but they’re not blood. You know, Seth told me nobody came for her. Not her parents or her brother. Not even any friends.”

Aiza’s heart twisted, but her stomach was still in knots of fear, tightened by self-doubt. “Come on. You don’t want to miss out on this chance. Trust me.” “What if he doesn’t let me see her?” Aiza asked. “He’ll let you see her. Seth is a good man, Aiza. He’s a good wolf and a good Alpha. And he loves your sister so goddamned much he’ll do anything to make her happy.” He said the words with such open and simple sincerity that she couldn’t doubt him. “Do you trust me?” “You’re the only one in this world I do trust,” Aiza admitted. “Come on then.” Other members of the Longtail pack had followed the ambulance, and since they weren’t slowed down by an unexpected detour, they were already in the ER waiting room, staring anxiously at Seth, who was caught in a low conversation with a doctor. Noah led Aiza to the nearest chair, seating himself between her and the rest of the family, a protective hand on her arm. She felt the curious eyes fall on her, and she wondered how much they all knew about her and her last, unfortunate encounter with Seth and Sera. “She’s in emergency surgery,” Seth said to no one in particular and everyone at once after the

doctor walked away. “She’s lost a lot of blood. She may...they don’t know...about the baby.” Seth’s pack immediately surrounded him, offering hugs and encouraging words and comfort. Aiza remained rooted to her chair, Noah at her side. The weight of his hand on her arm was the only sense of comfort she had, and it was fleeting. She wanted more. She wanted to curl herself against his chest and let his strong arms hold her there until this nightmare was finally over. She wanted him to stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right, and then take her home and continue to hold her until she fell asleep. She wanted a hug. But she didn’t deserve any of it, and so she remained as still and cold as a marble statue, the tears frozen behind her eyes. It was impossible to say how much time passed before the same doctor emerged from behind the closed doors and gestured for Seth. He only said a few words before Seth broke away and ran past the orderlies, disappearing behind the swinging doors. “Sir! You can’t go back there! Security!” The waiting room suddenly erupted with noise and confusion. It quickly became clear to Aiza that the pack, far from helping the security guards and orderlies, was trying to stop them and create extra chaos to buy their Alpha some time. Nobody noticed Aiza in the general melee, and she took the

opportunity to slip away from Noah and rush after Seth, using her nose to track his path. He led her right to Sera’s bed. She looked so pale and helpless against the hospital sheets, with all kinds of wires and tubes protruding from her limp body. Aiza’s eyes flew to the monitors, which still showed a heartbeat and oxygen levels, but all the numbers seemed much too low. “Let go of me,” Seth shouted, wrenching his arm away from a nurse that was trying to hold him back from the bed. “She’s dying!” “Sir, sir, you have to calm down. We can help her, but—” “You can’t help her. She’s dying right now. And I’m not going to let that happen.” Aiza understood, better than anybody, what Seth intended to do, but everything was moving in slow motion. She tried to reach for him, but she was too far away and grabbed nothing but air. She opened her mouth, trying to beg him not to do it, not to curse Sera the way she was cursed, but all that escaped was a whimper. His face shifted, his mouth elongating into a snout, his teeth descending into sharp, brutal points. One of the nurses screamed, and Aiza hoped that would be enough to distract him. But he didn’t even seem to notice it. “Don’t,” she choked out. Seth looked up, his eyes twin discs of silver. “I can’t let her die.”

Aiza had nothing to say to that. She could do nothing, think of nothing except the reality of never seeing her sister again. Seth opened his mouth, his teeth flashing under the fluorescent lights, and then sank his fangs into the fleshy skin above Sera’s elbow. Sera’s eyes flew open as soon as his jaw closed, and she looked directly at Aiza. First there was fear, then confusion—and then a flash of pain that Aiza felt in the center of her own heart. “I’m sorry,” Aiza whispered, as the wolf’s virus entered her sister’s bloodstream. The change was immediate. Her heart rate increased, as did her blood pressure. Color returned to her cheeks and Sera had enough strength to scream. “He’s coming! Oh God, oh God, the baby. He’s coming!” One doctor went to the foot of her bed while another nurse finally pulled Seth away from her. Seth didn’t resist the nurse, but stood watching with a bloody mouth and wild eyes as his son kicked, screamed, and clawed his way into the world.

**** Noah managed to drag Aiza out of the emergency department and back to his car before they put the entire hospital on lockdown, which was the standard protocol when dealing with werewolf attacks. Hospital security had swarmed around Seth, dragging him to the ground and forcing his hands behind his back, though he did nothing to resist them, his attention locked on Sera’s still face. The nurses moved with the precision of an ant colony, working around the chaos to see to the baby and new mother. A voice overhead warned the staff that they were in the middle of a code 9653, and all patients were to remain in their rooms until further notice. Aiza barely even noticed the pressure of Noah’s hand on her arm or the way he shoved her into the front seat. She was too dazed, too absorbed by Sera. She wanted to go back to her sister— wanted to protect her from further attack and to hold her hand—but she knew that wasn’t an option. Not with the security staff in the hospital on full alert and the cops on their way. “What’s going to happen?” Aiza asked as Noah put the car into gear. “Why aren’t we staying?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to get caught up in this shitshow.” “But what about Sera? Is she going to be okay? Is Seth going to be arrested?” “She’ll probably be okay and he probably won’t be arrested.” “What if he is arrested? Can’t you help him?” Noah shook his head. “Not my jurisdiction. The cops might arrest him tonight, but unless Sera wants to make a statement and press charges, he won’t be going to jail.” “Well, if everything’s going to be okay, why are we running?” “I never said everything’s going to be okay,” Noah pointed out. “At any rate, the Brotherhood has eyes and ears everywhere. Literally, everywhere. All it takes is one asshole and your cover is blown.” “My sister just had a baby and was turned into a werewolf and you’re telling me I can’t be with her?” “For now. Look, Aiza, I’m sorry. Believe me, this was not my first choice. But your safety is my number one priority, and I couldn’t risk you being exposed.” “Where are we going?” Noah frowned. “It’s too far to make it to the safe house tonight. I need to go back to Seth’s and

give everybody an update, then we’ll find a hotel.” As Aiza did not want to return to the safe house at all, she signaled her agreement with a nod and turned her attention to the perfect darkness outside the window. The moon wasn’t visible through the blanket of clouds, and once they left the town limits behind, there were no streetlights or even oncoming headlights to break through the void. “Is she going to be okay?” Aiza asked, without turning to face him. “Is it...is the bite going to fix her like it fixed me?” “I reckon it should.” “And is she...Seth wouldn’t hurt her, would he?” “Aiza, I trust Seth with my life. I trust him with the lives of my family. If you’re worried he’ll try to control her, don’t be. As an alpha, he has that power over every wolf in his pack, and he’s never used it.” “Well, not to your knowledge. I just don’t want her to go through what I’ve been through.” “Aiza, do you trust me?” She opened her mouth to give an automatic of course I trust you, but the words were stuck on the back of her tongue. She did trust him. She truly believed he meant to help her, that he had no intention of causing her arm, and that he was a good man. In fact, she would go as far as to say he

was the best man she’d ever met. Honest, kind, patient, intelligent, and dedicated. “I’m...I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry,” Noah said softly. “But I am sorry. You’ve never given me a single reason not to trust you but I just...I can’t…” “You can’t trust anybody, or anything, right now. I know. You can’t trust yourself. You can’t trust the law. You can’t trust the wolf who took your sister. You can’t trust your only friend. And I’m not going to ask you to because you have a very good reason to be on your guard. But I am asking you to recognize that your experiences have shaped the lens you use to view the world.” “Are you telling me that everywhere I look, I see Dwight?” “Can you tell me that’s not the case?” “No,” Aiza admitted softly. “He’s...he’s everywhere. Sometimes I’m so scared he’s still in my brain and wonder if I’m making choices of my own free will, or if I’m still responding to his programming on some level. I think I still dream about him.” “He’s not in control of you anymore.” “How do you know?” Aiza demanded. “Have you harmed anybody? Have you killed anybody? Have you wronged anybody?” “No, but maybe it’s because I haven’t had the chance.”

“You just watched Seth bite your sister,” Noah pointed out, his voice low and even. “You didn’t attack him. You could have turned and lunged for his throat in a blink of an eye. Nobody would have been able to stop you. But you didn’t do it. It didn’t even occur to you, did it?” It hadn’t occurred to her, but Aiza didn’t know if that necessarily meant anything. She hadn’t shifted once since the night she nearly killed Sera, and she had no intention of ever shifting again. She wished she could have the wolf removed completely. And now her system was burdened with the same beast. Was it so hard to imagine that one day she would be burdened by the same fears? The same guilt and recrimination? “I want to see her in the morning. I’ll need to see her.” “I’ll do my best to make that happen.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she would accept it because she did trust him that far. He would do his best. He slowed, turning onto the narrow, unpaved road that led to Seth’s home. Something in the air changed and her nose trembled as the sleeping wolf inside of her began to stir. “What’s that?” “It’s blood,” Noah said grimly, pressing on the accelerator, though he couldn’t gain much speed on the loose gravel.

Her first thought was that maybe the scent of Sera’s blood had lingered in the air, but it was too strong. Too fresh. Her heart jumped to her throat while her stomach dropped to her knees, and in the sudden yawning gulf between them, she felt nothing but dread, dark and sludgy. She tried to brace herself, but she still didn’t know how to prepare herself for the worst. The yard surrounding Seth’s cabin was full of vehicles and all windows glowed with light—and yet, there was no noise. Noah killed the engine and they sat for a beat in the heavy silence before throwing open the car doors and racing towards the house, the smell of blood growing stronger and stronger with each step. “Stick with me,” Noah instructed as he pushed the cabin’s door open. They were met by more of that eerie silence. Aiza stayed close to Noah’s heels, scanning the empty rooms for clues. Somebody had been there, and recently, too, judging by the state of the kitchen: the stove was still on, and half-prepared food waited for the return of the missing chef. A TV was on in the den, though the sound was off, and muddy boot prints led into the house from the back door, but not out again. They paused at the back door, the stench of blood so overpowering that Aiza nearly gagged. She no longer felt dread, just a terrible certainty—one

she didn’t want to see confirmed. She reached out for Noah, putting a hand on his arm. He wrapped his fingers around hers and gave them a brief squeeze. “Stay here. There might be...just...stay here.” He braced his foot against the wall and pulled his pant leg up, revealing a holster strapped to his shin. He pulled the pistol free and turned off the safety, sparing her another quick look before opening the door. She did as he instructed and stayed within the cabin as he took his first steps out, his gun at the ready. “Aiza, there’s a switch on the wall. Turn it on, please.” She did as he instructed, and light flooded the empty backyard. Aiza took her first easy breath since they reached the cabin. Still, the smell of blood was strong. “Hello? Is there anybody here?” Noah’s voice echoed through the dark trees. A wolf melted from the shadows, shifting into a tall blond woman as she crossed the yard. Aiza found her familiar, though she couldn’t recall her name or where they met. “Noah?” “Stephanie? What happened here? Where is everybody?” “We were attacked.” “By who?” “The Brotherhood, I think. There were only

four of them. I’ve got everybody in the panic room.” “Was anybody hurt?” “A few bites and scratches, but nothing fatal.” “What about the attackers?” Stephanie pointed to her nose and then gestured at the deep forest. “You should get to the panic room, too,” Noah said. “You don’t give the orders here, Noah.” Noah immediately looked chagrined. “I’m sorry but, I just meant it’ll be safer there until the police arrive.” “They’ll be long gone by then. I’m getting them, with or without your help.” “I’ll help,” Aiza said, before she realized she meant to speak at all. Their heads whipped around and it was easy to see the family resemblance in their coloring and the way their eyes narrowed. “What are you—” She looked back to Noah. “What the hell is she doing here?” “I brought her—” “You brought her? What the hell were you thinking?” Her words were low, her fury undeniable. And that was when Aiza realized why the woman seemed so familiar. “That wasn’t me,” Aiza said quickly. “I

mean, it was. It was me. But it wasn’t—I didn’t mean to do those things.” “She was under her maker’s control,” Noah said. “Dwight?” Noah nodded. “That asshole was a real piece of work.” Stephanie looked her up and down and then nodded. “Just try to keep up.” “Wait—” Noah started, but the withering look Stephanie gave him was enough to close his mouth. “As I said, I’m going with or without you. It’s entirely up to you if you want to come along.” “I’ll go with you,” Noah said. “Stick with me. I don’t want either one of you wandering off on your own.” Aiza undressed while Stephanie spoke and didn’t think twice before shifting into her wolf form, despite her previous misgivings. She owed it to Stephanie to help her. She owed it to the Brotherhood to fight them. She owed it to herself to do the right thing. Noah shifted beside her, and his scent changed as the wolf emerged. Aiza took a deep breath of it and barely contained her urge to bay at the moon. The fur on the back of her neck and tail stood on end, and she felt as though the air itself was electric. Her muscles tensed, and though her

attention was on Stephanie, her senses were completely keyed into Noah’s—she wanted to run with him; to hunt with him. Stephanie darted forward and Aiza was right on her heels, her body low to the ground, her ears laid back against her head. Noah was right behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her tail. Aiza had spent time with Dwight as a wolf, but only him. She had no idea what it felt like to hunt in a pack, no idea what was expected of her, and no idea of what she might be capable of if she had allies at her back. But it still felt natural to move with them, to follow Stephanie’s lead as she took deep breaths, searching for that tendril of a scent. There. She stopped, her tail and ears going up as her nostrils flared. Stephanie must have caught the same scent, because she changed direction without stopping, her steps so quick and light she made no sound at all, gliding through the underbrush like a ghost. They came to a clearing, slinking on their stomachs to the edge of the shadow. Enough moonlight broke through the clouds to illuminate three men standing over a wolf. Its ragged breathing indicated that while it was still alive, it wouldn’t be for long. Stephanie’s ears went back, her lip curled in a silent snarl, and Aiza’s response was bone deep, her body coiling, ready to spring forward in an instant.

She thought Noah was at her side, but she didn’t look to find out—not wanting to take her full attention from her alpha’s target. A cloud drifted over the moon, cloaking the figures in darkness, and that’s when Stephanie made her move. She moved so swiftly that she had the target on the ground before anybody, including Aiza, knew she had moved at all. The two remaining men instantly transformed into the stronger, faster versions of themselves, giving Aiza the precious seconds she needed to put herself between them and Stephanie’s vicious attacks. Aiza remained in a defensive posture, primarily concerned with protecting Stephanie from attack. She snapped and snarled, aiming for the sensitive nose with each gnash of her teeth. Behind her, Stephanie’s growls were now echoed as the target shifted as well. The subsequent fight was short and brutal, leaving the Brotherhood wolf maimed and whimpering on the ground. As soon as that wolf was disposed of, Stephanie spun around and attacked the two wolves Aiza barely held at bay. The two wolves were young and fast, uninjured and furious at the attack. Their fighting style was fierce and vicious, and Aiza already felt herself tiring. But she didn’t cede a single inch of ground, wheeling around and biting, lunging for flesh at every new aggression against Stephanie.

There was no way of knowing how long the fight lasted before a sudden gunshot drove the wolves apart. Aiza spun around, ready to attack the new threat, but she recognized Noah’s scent through the blood and sulphur. The familiar scent stopped Stephanie as well, and the Brotherhood wolves took advantage of their distraction, but another loud blast from the gun put a stop to the attack. The wolf fell just short of Aiza, his intended target, and the remaining wolf turned to bolt for the underbrush. Stephanie sprang through the air and landed on its back, her teeth sinking into his neck. “Stephanie, stop!” Noah’s voice echoed off the trees. At first, it seemed like Stephanie didn’t hear him—or didn’t care—but then her grip loosened. The wolf below her didn’t move as she released him, but Aiza could still hear the sound of his breathing. “We have to bring these men in.” Stephanie shifted immediately, her face twisted with fury and Aiza whined and sank to the ground. “That’s not your decision to make.” “It is my decision to make, Stephanie. You’re my alpha, but this is my job. All of them are still alive and they’re all going into custody tonight.” “So they can be released in the morning?” Stephanie scoffed. “All they have to do is make

bail.” “Not this time,” Noah said grimly. “This time, they made a very serious mistake. Help me get them to the car.” The entire time they spoke, Aiza remained on her stomach. The words meant very little to her, but the anger she sensed from the one she recognized as alpha made her stomach tight. “What’s wrong with her?” Stephanie asked. “Why hasn’t she shifted back?” Noah immediately dropped to one knee, running his fingers over her ribs and legs, searching for any damage. She turned her head and licked his hand with appreciation, and he cupped the side of her face. “Well, she’s not hurt, but I’m guessing she wants to remain in wolf form for a while.” “She’s pretty new then, huh?” “Less than a year. You remember what it was like to be a young pup; let her enjoy herself.” “Alright, well, we need to get moving, so I’ll go get the car. There’s a road just a few hundred feet to the east,” Stephanie said. “Aiza can stay here with you and help keep an eye on the prisoners.” “Yes, ma’am.” Stephanie shifted and trotted towards the trees. Aiza made a move to follow, but Noah put a restraining hand on her neck, and she settled back at his feet.

“Well, let’s get them all restrained before they wake up,” Noah said, moving to the first prone figure. Aiza stayed at his side, moving in time with him like a shadow. Without any handcuffs, he had to improvise, using their discarded clothes to fashion ropes for their hands and feet, and to make bandages as needed. When they stirred, Aiza growled and snapped until they were still again. Stephanie returned with someone’s SUV and they moved the men one at a time, loading them into the vehicle. Throughout the process and the drive back to town, Aiza was relieved to let her human form slip away for a while. To forget herself in the wolf.

**** By the time Noah made it back to his apartment, with Aiza the wolf in tow, he was utterly exhausted. He would have fallen directly in bed and gone right to sleep if it wasn’t for the hollow ache in his stomach. Even if he could ignore the pain, the rumbling growls from his midsection would have kept him awake. So he bypassed the bed in favor of the fridge, finding a pound of hamburger and a few strips of bacon. He shredded a strip of bacon and mixed it with half of the hamburger and an egg in a bowl, then placed it before Aiza. She quickly gobbled it up, and he took advantage of her distraction to do a more thorough check for injuries. He was concerned he missed something in the dark, though she hadn’t shown any signs of being injured or lost any blood. She was definitely unhurt and in good shape, and his unmitigated relief almost knocked the strength from his legs. As soon as the fight started, Noah shifted and pulled another hidden gun from a holster higher up, on his thigh. Once he joined H.O.W.L., he became very adept at strapping weapons to strategic places so he could shift without losing his gun in the process. He’d paused a moment before firing the

first shot, entranced by the sight of his alpha and his—well, what was she to him? A witness. That’s all she can be. That’s what Dana would say if he asked her. And she would be right, of course. The lines between them were already blurring enough without him adding any further complications, and yet, that didn’t seem like the entire truth. Yes, she was an important witness, a key part to the case he was building, but he couldn’t escape the fact that he was fond of her. He couldn’t deny how happy it made him when she fell into step with his alpha, as though she were a part of his pack. As though she were his. Of course, she wanted to kill his other alpha, the man who had been at times a brother, a father, an alpha, and a friend. But there were obviously a lot of very intense feelings involved in that situation, and Noah was confident that once everyone had a chance to talk and reconcile, she would be as accepting of him as she was of Stephanie. Which only mattered if Aiza would join the pack. These thoughts ran around his head while he fried the hamburger and a few eggs. He ate quickly, chewing mechanically until his stomach was finally soothed. He brushed his teeth, stripped to his boxers and a T-shirt, and crawled into bed. Aiza

watched with alert eyes, and jumped up to join him on the mattress, curling against his side. He sighed and stroked the soft fur between her eyes. She would change back to her human form sooner or later. He knew exactly what it was like to give in to the wolf; to remain yourself and yet other. To know what it was to be yourself without the burden of guilt or the knowledge of fear. In her lycanthrope state, she was pure, her only concerns only of the most basic variety: food, shelter, and pack. At the moment, all of her needs were met and she could be perfectly satisfied. Perfectly at peace. She seemed content to sleep at his side, and he was more than happy to let her. Even the call of much needed slumber couldn’t pull him away from her; Noah watched her sleep with heavy-lidded, gritty eyes. He had a big day ahead of him. All four of the attackers would live, and all were under heavy guard as they recovered in the hospital. Tomorrow he and Dana would work on breaking them down until they had enough for a warrant. And after that, he would finally have the Wolf Brotherhood right where he wanted them. Right in the center of his sights. All of that could wait for the light of morning, though. It was so nice to run his fingers through her fur and over her ears, along the side of her snout and over her long leg. He felt his own relief at being able to offer her a moment of

comfort, and he wanted to extend that moment for as long as possible. It was the first time he’d seen her at peace since he met her—and the first time he could take a breath and acknowledge his changing reality. She nuzzled closer to his leg in her sleep, her body radiating heat. Normally, that would drive him crazy; now he just found it comforting. He called forth the wolf, not enough to shift his form, but enough to amplify his senses. His sharp ears told him they were safe, and his nose imprinted the scent of his sleeping mate on his memory and his heart. Her coat was like a sunburst, the color ranging from pale golden to a dark, rich brown. She was a large, powerful animal, and it was very, very easy to understand how she might have killed two men in that state. Especially after seeing her fight. She might not have experience or skill on her side, but she did have raw power, and what’s more, a willingness to use it. Joined with swift reflexes and a wolf’s instinct, she made a formidable opponent. But without any experience, skill, or training, she couldn’t have a real sense of her own power. She couldn’t trust herself. He hoped after this, she would be comfortable enough in her new skin to request his aid. His eyes fell shut, but his fingers continued to caress her coat. Finally, his hand stilled, resting on

her gently, unmoving for the rest of the night.

**** The last thing Sera expected when she opened her eyes was to be alone in a dark room. She fumbled around, trying to get her bearings and find a light, and triggered some sort of alarm. A loud bell chimed again and again. Before she could find a way to silence the alarm, the door opened and a small woman in pink and yellow nursing scrubs bustled in and flipped on the lights. “Oh, it’s good to see you’re awake,” the woman greeted her. “How are you feeling?” “Where am I?” Sera rasped. “St. Catherine’s. I’m Rita, your nurse this afternoon.” “The hospital?” She gasped, her hands immediately going to her stomach. “My baby. What happened to the baby?” “The baby is fine,” Rita assured her. “He’s sleeping in the nursery right now and he can’t wait to meet his mama.” “He’s really okay?” “Yes. He’s a little small but he’s a fighter. He didn’t even need to be put in the incubator.” “Where’s my fiancée?” A frown marred Rita’s sunny countenance for the first time. “I am sorry to tell you this. He is

in the county holding facility.” “Jail?” Sera moved too quickly in her haste to jump from the bed and fly immediately to the sheriff’s department to post his bail, or break him out, or cry and plead until they finally were moved to free the father of her new baby. She wasn’t sure what the plan was, but the sudden pain in her lower abdomen and back halted her progress. Rita was at her side immediately, easing her back against the bed with a gentle hand and a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you here.” “Hurt me?” Sera was too perplexed by the statement to even be angry on behalf of Seth. “He would never hurt me. What are you talking about? What happened?” “He went wild during the delivery. He tried to attack the nurses and the doctor. And then he attacked you. That’s why I always say you can’t trust wolves. Why we allow them to live in our communities, I’ll never know.” Her eyes widened and she quickly added, “No offense meant, of course.” “Offense? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want Seth and my baby.” Tears of confusion and frustration sprang to her eyes. “Please.” “Shhh, shhh, shhh. Don’t cry.” Rita checked the monitors and made a few rapid notes on the

computer stationed by the bed. “Look, it’s time for your pain management.” “I don’t want to manage my pain,” Sera protested. “I need to see my son. I need to find Seth.” Rita ignored her protests, plugging something into the IV attached to Sera’s arm. Within seconds, warmth flooded her veins, sinking through her, enveloping her until she couldn’t do anything but give into it. When she woke again hours later, she wasn’t alone. Stephanie sat next to the bed, her back straight, her eyes closed, a cell phone resting between her limp fingers. Sera turned her head to the left and saw that the shades had been pulled open, allowing her a view of the city lights and dark gray sky. Just after dusk or just before dawn, she thought. Judging by Stephanie’s slumber, she’d put her money on dawn. This time, Sera was careful not to move, afraid of sounding the alarm that would summon Rita to her room again. She was vaguely aware of the pain in her midsection, but it was a distant hum —something she would have ignored completely if Seth were there, holding her hand, waiting for her to wake up. “Steph,” she croaked out. Stephanie jumped, reaching for her hand automatically. “Oh, honey, how are you feeling?”

“Where’s Seth? Where’s my baby?” Stephanie took a deep breath. “Seth is currently being detained until Monday morning, when he has his court date. The baby is in the nursery. He’s doing really great,” Stephanie said with an encouraging smile. It seemed genuine despite her watery eyes. “But he has to stay there for a little while longer.” “I want to see him.” “Of course, honey.” She squeezed Sera’s hand. “We’ll go see him.” “Now.” The word was curt but her voice was pleading. She needed to see him; she needed to see with her own eyes that he was there, that he was real, and that he was safe. “I’ll call the nurse.” “Not Rita.” “No, Joe is on shift. Rita? Did you wake up earlier?” Sera nodded. “She was in the room and she didn’t give me a chance to see him before she dosed me up again.” “I’m sorry you woke up before I got here, honey. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.” As always, Stephanie’s direct kindness both startled and touched her. It was a trait she shared with Seth, and one that always brought Sera up short. She had finally learned what it would take to attract her parents’ attention when they turned up

for Aiza’s funeral, but not for her wedding. And here was a woman who’d known her for less than a year, genuinely sorry she couldn’t be there at the exact moment Sera opened her eyes. “It’s okay, I was just—” “Scared? Confused?” Stephanie offered a wry smile. “The night didn’t exactly go as planned, did it?” “No, but as long as Seth and the baby are safe, I won’t complain. But this isn’t how I wanted to spend our first night as a family. Will I be able to talk to Seth?” “He called while you were asleep. He’s fine. He’s safe. He’ll call again as soon as he can. I promised him that I would be at your side when he did.” “Thank you.” Sera brought their clasped hands up, placing a kiss on the back of Stephanie’s hand. She felt a twinge in her arm at the gesture and she noticed the tight bandage for the first time. “What is that?” “That is where Seth bit you. That’s why he’s sitting in a holding cell instead of here with you.” Sera blinked. “I don’t understand. I don’t...is it the painkillers? Is that why I don’t understand?” “Honey, you were dying. He panicked, I guess. He fought his way in here and he bit you.” “Bit me? Why?” “Our saliva contains the virus that causes

lycanthropy. Its effect is almost immediate and it replicates quickly. One of the side effects is rapid division of cells. Your body is literally remaking itself, cell by cell, repairing damage in the process.” She nodded at the bandage. “Go ahead and remove it.” Sera frowned. “Shouldn’t the doctor do that?” “Take it off. You’ll see.” Sera obeyed, peeling the adhesive off and lifting the gauze to reveal perfectly skilled skin, without a visible scar. “If I’m perfectly healed, what did she...what did she give me?” “Who?” “The nurse. Rita.” Joe knocked and opened the door, halting Stephanie’s reply, and Sera immediately gestured at the computer. “What did she give me? I want to know what was in that IV? She said it was for pain.” Joe frowned and checked his iPad. “You don’t have anything ordered for pain. Why? Do you need something?” “That nurse. Rita. She gave me something. It’s got to be in there. I saw her at the computer.” Joe consulted his iPad again and shook his head. “We don’t have a Rita working on this floor and there hasn’t been an order placed for any narcotics. It’s typically not needed in cases like

yours.” “Then who…?” Sera’s eyes widened. “Stephanie? Have you seen the baby?” “I came here first. I just got here a few minutes before you woke up.” “Go. Please. Stephanie, you need to make sure he’s safe. I know I sound crazy—” “You don’t sound crazy,” Stephanie said, leaving the room at a sprint. Sera’s stomach dropped and she knew the truth before she heard the security code over the PA system. The baby was gone.

**** Aiza opened her eyes to the bright morning light feeling more rested and secure than she’d felt in years. She yawned and kicked the blanket away, the sunshine warming her naked skin and fueling the sense of energy and optimism already flooding her veins. She absently took note of her surroundings, not particularly alarmed to find herself in Noah’s apartment, though she had no memory of why she was there. She was, however, surprised to discover that the man himself was asleep beside her in the bed. Not just next to her, but curled around her, his arm over her stomach, his head resting on her shoulder. She yelped and reached for the sheet, pulling it back over her chest. His slumber wasn’t disturbed by her sudden noise, and she had a moment to take stock of the situation. Had they done more than just sleep in that bed? She doubted it. Despite her nudity, he was fully dressed. Closing her eyes, she worked her way back to the first thing she could remember, which was volunteering to help Stephanie track down the Brotherhood wolves. She assumed everything went as planned, and that Noah then brought her here and fell asleep.

Aiza relaxed against the pillow and looked down at Noah’s softened features. Strange, now that she was over her confusion, it felt perfectly natural to see him sleeping next to her. She reached out, tentatively brushing his hair away from his temple, letting her fingers move through the strands. Most of the time, she didn’t even remember the age difference between them, but seeing him sleeping so tenderly reminded her that there must have been at least a decade separating them. The second she pulled away, his eyes opened and his face creased into a completely unfettered smile. It was so sincere and spontaneous that Aiza caught her breath, overwhelmed to be on the receiving end of what appeared to be pure joy. Even his eyes wrinkled, and if she had any notion of leaving that bed, it completely fled her mind. “Good morning.” “Um.” Her tongue was frozen and it took a few beats before she could say, “Good morning.” “How did you sleep? Do you feel okay?” His voice was still gruff with sleep, and the smile hadn’t left his eyes. “Great and great.” Now would be the perfect time to pull her arm away and try to stand up, she thought, but if she moved, she would lose the wonderful heat of his body. “I don’t remember anything that happened last night, though.”

“You helped Stephanie take down some bad wolves, and then I took them into custody. I brought you back here to rest.” He pushed himself up, propping his head on his hand and studying her. “Seemed like you wanted to be a wolf for a while.” “I...yeah, I guess so. I hope I didn’t go too far.” “No, not at all. You were perfect.” She felt herself blushing at the direct praise, so simply stated, but like his smile, too sincere to discount. Their faces were so close, and it made her blush harder to think that he was noticing her pleasure at his words. He leaned forward slightly, and she felt his breath fan over her skin. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she unconsciously parted her lips, but she didn’t put any space between them. In fact, instead of leaning away, she felt herself drawn closer, as though the inches separating them were too many instead of too few. A voice inside warned her to stay out of his reach and begged her to pull away, but it was Dwight’s voice. A voice she was learning to ignore. The first touch of his lips to hers were as shocking as a bucket of ice water on a hot, summer day. She froze, and he pulled back immediately, his brow furrowed into a question. “I’m sorry. I thought…” He shook his head and pushed the sheet away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge with his back

to her. “That was not appropriate. I apologize.” “Wait.” She placed her hand on his arm, a thrill running through her at the way his hard muscles felt beneath his smooth skin. “I didn’t mean...you didn’t do anything wrong.” “Actually, I did.” “Is there a rule against kissing your star witness?” He threw a wry smile over his shoulder. “Yes, there is.” “Oh. Is it a very big rule?” “There are no such things as little rules when it comes to working for the government.” “I see. So, is another kiss too big of a risk?” “Well, that depends.” “On what?” He looked over his shoulder again. “On who kisses who. I mean, I probably shouldn’t kiss you. But if you kiss me, technically you didn’t break any rules.” “I do love a good technicality,” she murmured as she rose to her knees, holding the sheet to her chest. She leaned against his back, tilting her head so that her long hair flowed around them, creating a curtain as she sought his mouth with hers. Now that she had a chance to process how good his lips felt, how good his skin smelled, and how much she wanted to touch him, she could kiss

him with a bit more aplomb. It began as a closed-lip inquiry; she was the first one to change, parting her lips in a subtle invitation. An invitation he seemed all too happy to accept. His tongue slid over her bottom lip before probing further, brushing into her mouth. She leaned back against the pillow, opening further to his kiss, pulling him with her. At that point in Aiza’s life, long, slow kisses were nothing but distant memories. She kept expecting him to grow bored and press for more, but one hand lingered on her shoulder, the other cupping the side of her face. She wasn’t in any rush to change. His mouth felt amazing against hers, and it was clear that not only did the man enjoy kissing, he was very good at it. Dominant without being demanding, sensual, passionate and yet calmly deliberate. Heat flooded her, tightening her inner muscles, making her flesh throb. A surprising ache flared deep inside her core, and that only fanned the flames. She slid her fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, sighing in frustration at the feel of cotton instead of skin. She felt his lips curl upward slightly, and then he pulled back and yanked the T-shirt over his head, allowing her access to the texture and warmth of his skin. The first thing she found was a scar. Then there was another. And another. It didn’t take long to realize that his body was a topographical map of

bad memories. Throughout her explorations, their kisses remained slow and steady, but her hips were starting to move, her body seeking more. He gripped her hips, pulling her against him, and she gasped as his erection pushed against her thigh, straining against the material of his boxers. She reached for his length without hesitation, earning a sigh from him as she pulled him free of the shorts. Once she had him in hand, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. She didn’t want the kisses to end, but her flesh was throbbing in time with his, and he was already so close. All she would have to do is guide him to the juncture of her thighs, let the tip drag over her swollen clit and then deep inside. The thought was enough to make her hips shift, her breath coming quicker and quicker. He broke away from her mouth, his lips swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. She stared back, her tongue suddenly feeling too big for her mouth, blocking whatever words she might think to utter. “I have a condom,” he said thickly. Now was the time to pull herself together, to gather her wits and tell him they should stop. But it was so hard to think of a single reason not to take everything he had to offer. She nodded, her pulse hammering at the base of her throat. He rolled away from her and losing the heat of his body was almost the cold slap to the face she needed to wake up from her hormone-drenched daze. She shivered,

her nipples becoming taut as the chill chased through her. Absently, she ran her fingertips over her nipples and shivered again, this time with anticipation. He must have caught her movement from the corner of his eye, because he was back on her in a flash, his fingers closing around her wrists, his lips covering her nipple. Aiza gasped and arched her back, eyes rolling backwards as his teeth teased the sensitive flesh. Her nipples were already hard as rocks, but somehow her skin grew tighter, the sensation almost unbearable, and yet so sweet that she couldn’t even try to pull away from him. He shifted his attention to her other nipple, his hands disappearing while his tongue swirled around the pebbled flesh in slow circles. Her hips began to move in time with his languid caresses, her clit throbbing with each sweep of his tongue. Her hands moved over his shoulders and down his back, finding new scars, sliding over bunched muscles and smooth skin. She felt magnetized everywhere their bodies touched, completely unable to pull away from him or allow even a centimeter of space between them. Her mouth watered for him, her lips tingling for more kisses, her tongue yearning for the taste of salt on his skin. His hands returned to her body, palms gliding over her hips and up her ribs to cup her breasts. He

left a hot trail of kisses over her chest and up her neck, pausing to suck on the sensitive skin below her jaw until she yelped and bucked her hips, bringing her back into direct contact with his erection. It felt like being touched with a live-wire, and the fine hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Her thighs were slick with excitement, and she realized it’d had been a very long time since she felt so ready for a man. “Noah...Noah...God honey, I’m ready.” He moaned and reached between them, gripping his length and sliding the tip over her lips. She caught her breath, her flesh already so sensitive that just a whisper of contact was almost too much to stand. She lifted her hips, hooking her legs around his hips, and guided him forward as the tip of his engorged dick easily entered her. He met no resistance as he sheathed himself, and Aiza had to press her lips together to keep from shouting. He fit perfectly inside of her and her mouth instantly ran dry, her body clenching down around his shaft. He moaned, his forehead touching hers, his mouth just an inch away from hers. The sound came from deep in his throat and it almost sounded like a growl. Like a wolf calling for his mate. Aiza already felt like she was on the edge of some madness, but that low sound woke something primal inside of her. She clawed at his back, not

realizing her nails had started to grow, and suddenly, she was reminded of her enhanced sense of smell. The scent of his body fed her hunger, and the scent of their coupling was like a fog settling over her mind. He rotated his hips in a slow, maddening, perfect circle after each snapping thrust. She moaned, nipping at his lips, biting at his throat and neck, shaking every time he made a sound of pleasure; of encouragement. He made her heady, like she was drunk on a fine wine, her senses both sharpened and dulled, her body uncoordinated, powerless, and yet, she moved with him in perfect tandem. Maybe she was following, maybe she was leading, but she couldn’t be sure where her body ended and the lines of his began. He stopped without warning and she barely had the chance to see the look of concentration on his face before he flipped her over onto her knees. She barely had a chance to brace herself before he was plunging inside of her again. This time she couldn’t stop her shout of pleasure, the sound tearing from her throat and echoing in her ears. The friction was too much against her aching flesh, and the new angle brought the head of his cock directly against her G-spot with each sharp thrust. She dropped her head, her long hair shielding her face but doing nothing to muffle her cries of ecstasy. She was too far gone to care if the whole world heard

her, though. She could feel her orgasm building and sense the imminence of her breaking point. She used to go sledding every winter, and she felt that same sense of recklessness, of careening out of control and abandoning herself to the forces hurling through her body through space. Noah buried his hand in her hair, holding her close to the scalp, pulling her back against his chest and seeking out her mouth. His lips had been so sweet before, but now they were hard and demanding, as though he meant to mark her with the heat of his mouth. The demanding pressure of his lips and the flick of his tongue against hers completely undid her. He flexed his fingers, sending a cascade of chills from her scalp down her spine and thrust forward with each force to make her see stars. The world spun out around her, her entire body throbbing, the pulse of her heart matching the relentless rhythm of his body. Her pussy locked down around him, twitching and flexing until she felt him falter and thrust forward with a final moan of completion. They collapsed to the mattress together, and it was so easy to fold against his body, to rest in his arms and try to catch her breath. “Aiza, I—” She never learned what he wanted to say. The sudden ringing of his phone pulled his attention

from her and the moment between them was completely shattered. “I have to answer that.” She took advantage of distraction to flee the bed for the bathroom, suddenly in need of space and a splash of cold water to the face. Aiza didn’t quite recognize the woman in the mirror with tousled hair and the look of glutted satisfaction in her eyes. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment. She wanted to sleep with him again. She wanted to be with him again. More than she’d wanted anything else in a long, long time. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what to do with this knowledge. He clearly wanted her, too, but that didn’t mean they should make this a regular thing—especially given the extenuating circumstances. Now was hardly the time to start a relationship, and she had little interest in a onenight stand. A soft knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. “Aiza?” She opened the door. “Is everything okay?” He shook his head, his mouth set in a frown. She didn’t know what she expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. “The baby has been...kidnapped.” “Kidnapped? From the hospital? Somebody took the baby from the hospital?” “Yes.”

“It was the Brotherhood, wasn’t it?” “There are no leads yet.” “No leads?” Aiza stared at him, waiting for him to answer, to say anything that made sense. “What are you talking about?” “Aiza, there’s no evidence.” “We know exactly who did it!” “I know that. You know that. But as of yet, there’s no evidence. As soon as I have a piece of evidence, we can take it before a judge and—” “Isn’t Seth sitting in a jail cell right now because there’s no judge around to set bail? How long are you going to have to wait—how long is my nephew going to have to wait before you do something?” “I’ve got to go.” “I’m coming with you.” “No you’re not.” “Yes, I am.” “Aiza, please, I don’t need this right now.” “You don’t need what right now?” She folded her arms. “Am I under arrest?” “Is that what it will take to keep you here?” “Yes.” “Then yes. I’m placing you under arrest, Aiza Simpson.” “What’s the charge?” “Seriously, Aiza? I just…” He took a deep breath. “Aiza, my alpha is under arrest and in

extreme distress and I can’t do anything about it. His son is missing and until I can find one single scrap of evidence, my hands are tied. I don’t know what I would do if you were hurt, too. I need you to be safe.” “Because I’m a witness?” “No. Because—” Noah’s phone erupted again and he growled with frustration, bringing it to his ear. “Yes? I’ll be there in—I’ll be there.” She knew from the tone of his voice that he was speaking with Stephanie. “I’ve got to go. Please, stay here. I’ll call you.” She didn’t want to delay him for another moment, so she only nodded.

**** “I’m not staying here,” Sera stated flatly. The hospital room was driving her insane by inches, and she itched to flee the restrictive walls, but Stephanie deemed the cabin too unsafe after the earlier ambush. “I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while those motherfuckers have my baby.” Stephanie’s eyebrow went up, but she didn’t offer an argument. “I can’t make you stay here.” “I’m going to get him back.” She lifted her chin, still expecting a challenge, not knowing what she would do if Stephanie pushed back. Did Stephanie have any actual authority over her now? Would Stephanie resort to violence to stop her? Sera didn’t feel weak, but she had no idea of her true strength, nor did she know anything about fighting. Or being a wolf. “And I need your help, Stephanie. Please.” “Of course,” she said, without a moment of hesitation. Sera’s eyes widened. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that. “Really?” “Those motherfuckers took my whole family. I’m not going to let them do it again. If Seth were here, he’d say the same thing.” “Well...I don’t know what to do.”

Stephanie’s smile was grim and more than a little scary. “I’ve spent the past ten years building a spy network throughout the Pacific Northwest. I’ll get a location.” “That’s how you were able to find Aiza?” Stephanie nodded. “They don’t do much without me knowing about it.” She frowned and shook her head. “But I still didn’t see this coming.” “Well, how could you have? How could they have, for that matter?” “There was an ambush on the compound. The two events might have been related, or maybe whoever took the baby heard about Seth’s arrest. They do monitor the police scanner.” “So they heard Seth was arrested and somehow hatched a kidnapping plan on the fly? Why? There has to be a reason, Stephanie.” “They’re assholes.” Sera’s head snapped up at the strange yet beautifully familiar voice. “Aiza.” Stephanie moved immediately, placing herself between Sera and her sister, shoulders square. Hurt flashed over Aiza’s face at the aggressive gesture, and Sera’s heart jumped to her throat. “Look, I’m not here to start a fight.” Aiza held up both hands and looked from Stephanie to Sera, her eyes pleading. “I’m here to help.” “How did you know?” Sera asked.

They called Noah. He wanted me to stay put and maybe I shouldn’t be here, but I knew you weren’t going to wait around for some judge to issue a warrant.” She tilted her head. “I was right, wasn’t I?” “You’re right.” She blinked rapidly, trying to bring her rapidly rising emotions under control. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but all of that had to wait. “And thank you. Your help is very much appreciated. I just don’t exactly know what we’ll need your help with quite yet.” Stephanie’s phone started to ring, and she paused to check the screen before answering. When she saw the number, she quickly brought the phone to her ear. “Seth? Are you alright? Yes, of course. She’s right here.” Sera accepted the phone with trembling fingers and her tears threatened to spill again as she heard Seth’s voice. “Sera, honey?” “They took him.” “I know. Noah’s here. He told me. They’re working on finding him right now. They’ve got local and federal officials combing the area. There’s an Amber Alert out. They’re going to find him.” “You don’t know that.” “Sera—” “You don’t know that,” Sera said with a brittle edge. “I’m going to find him.”

“Sera, honey, no.” “No? Just because you can’t do anything doesn’t mean I’m going to just sit here and twiddle my thumbs.” The silence felt heavy between them. Finally, Seth said, “They’re dangerous. What if they find our son just in time for him to lose his mother?” “Who are they, Seth? Who are they to do this to us? To you? To Aiza?” “They’re a gang of low-lives, thieves and leeches. They don’t make anything, they only subsist on what they can take. They’re not smart, but they’re strong and they’re mean, and there’s enough of them to get what they want, most of the time.” “What do they want from you?” Sera just wanted to understand. “Is it land? Money? Do they just like to see you hurt?” “I’d wager it’s all three. They’d get our territory and everything we leave behind.” “Somebody has to stop them.” “That’s what Noah and a lot of other good men and women are working on right now. You don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way.” “I love you.” “Sera—” “I’ll see you soon.” “Sera, listen—” Even though it sent a shard of pain through her chest, she ended the call and

handed the phone back to Stephanie. “Is there some place safe we can go and make a plan?” “I’ve got a place.” Her attention jumped over to Aiza. “Somewhere Noah won’t come looking.” “Let’s go.” Sera had never felt so resolute, so confident, in her life. But she’d never felt this sort of power thrumming through her veins. And she’d never had a better reason to fight.

**** Adam blinked into the darkness, trying to make out any shadow or clue of where he was and how he ended up there. The last thing he remembered was stepping outside of the bar. It had been a little after midnight, and the lot was still full, the sound of music and drinking drifting from the door behind him. He hadn’t heard anything else. He didn’t have any memory of seeing anybody or even of the blow that knocked him out. The lump to the side of his temple was as big as a goose egg and throbbing like hell. The floor beneath him was carpeted, and there might have been a window to his right, but it looked like it was covered in blackout paper. There was no light from the outside and no way to tell what time it was. He closed his eyes and extended his senses, bringing the wolf to the surface. He caught the scent of another wolf, and his lip automatically curled, exposing his sharp canines. He recognized her scent easily. It still lingered in the bar, and most annoyingly, in his office. When he’d learned that Aiza was still alive, he’d been annoyed at Dwight’s incompetence, but he thought the situation had been handled. Isn’t that exactly what he sent Braxton to do? He

resolved to kill that pup at the first opportunity— that level of incompetence couldn’t be allowed to exist within the Brotherhood. Adam summoned the rest of his power, prepared to shift into his wolf form and find the woman responsible for his inconvenience, but he found he was unable to change. When he tried again, the shackle on his wrist began to burn. “Silver chains. That goddamned bitch.” So shifting was out of the question. With nothing else to occupy him, he leaned back against the wall and imagined what he would do to Aiza once he was done skinning Braxton’s pelt. It was a shame things worked out the way they did because he always thought she looked pretty good for someone her age. Dwight had been an incompetent idiot most of his life, but he did know how to pick them. Most wolves fought for their territory and wealth, but that had never been Dwight’s style. Unfortunately, Dwight’s style tended to leave messes behind and Adam always found himself embroiled with the cleanup. “Ai-za! I know you’re here, honey.” He paused, waiting for any response. “Is this about your shitty bar? I did you a favor by taking over that rat hole. It’s hemorrhaging money!” No response. He wasn’t especially surprised. She clearly had a plan if she had the foresight to obtain and use silver chains. He gave the chains a

good rattle before shouting Aiza’s name again. “Look, I’m awake! Let’s talk.” “What do you want to talk about?” The hair on the back of Adam’s neck stood on end. That was not Aiza’s voice. His nostrils flared and he realized that he’d missed something before. Or maybe he hadn’t missed it. Maybe they’d masked her scent somehow. But there was no mistaking the fact that he was speaking to a Longtail. “Where am I?” “Someplace safe.” “What do you want?” “Just want some information, Adam. I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you need help remembering the details. Or if I don’t like what I hear.” “Information about what?” Adam asked, his tone neutral. Braxton had got a message out from the detention center—at least the pup was smart enough not to call him directly—indicating there had been a bloody skirmish with the Longtail pack. Did they know it was on his orders? They must have. Why else would he be there? But which one of those idiots had talked? And what had they said? “Where’s the baby?” “The what?” Pain erupted in his head as the words left his

mouth, and he realized somebody was standing behind him. Somebody who had absolutely no qualms about knocking his head in. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus in the dark. “Try again.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Another blow, this one hard enough to make his teeth sink into his tongue. He spat the blood out and tried to peer around to his left, but the room was too dark and he couldn’t make out anything more than a vague shape. “Give me his phone.” A moment later, the screen illuminated enough of his captor’s face for him to recognize the resemblance. Definitely a Longtail. “See, I don’t believe you because you got this message. ‘Package picked up. Delivered to safe local. Will wait.’ So, where’s the package?” “That’s just booze.” “So the package is at the bar?” It might have been the rapid blows to the head—another one followed close behind the question—that led him to give an honest answer. Or maybe he was just confused by his own lie. But he blurted out, “Yes, yes it’s there. Please, stop.” But his captor didn’t stop and his jaw cracked from the force of her fist smashing into the side of his face. The world turned into a murky ocean, swimming around him in thick waves. He made out one voice saying, “I think we should go

to the bar.” “I don’t like the thought of leaving him alone here.” “He won’t be alone for long. The cleaning crew will be here to take care of him.” Another hard blow and the world turned red and then black.

**** Cyn didn’t know anything about taking care of babies. She was definitely the least qualified person she knew to be responsible for any child, but especially one as small and delicate as the boy in her arms. Apparently, she was supposed to know what to do just because she was a female, like it was just built-in knowledge. Like she could just pick up a newborn baby and know why it was crying, what it needed, and how to provide it. “Shut that goddamned kid up!” One of the bikers bellowed. She couldn’t keep track of their names and had long ago given up on ever remembering who was who. It didn’t really matter anyway. All they ever did was yell, throw things at her and yell at her some more. She really didn’t need to know their names. Now they were yelling at her because the goddamned newborn baby wouldn’t stop crying. “Please stop crying, baby. Please stop. Come on.” She held him and rocked him, but that did nothing to stop the noise. He probably needed food, but she sure wasn’t going to produce anything for him. Could babies drink cow milk? It was milk, after all. Did it need to be warmed up? It seemed like she shouldn’t be feeding the baby cold cow

milk, but wasn’t something better than nothing? Especially if it would buy a few minutes of peace and quiet? There was no milk in the bar. All they had was heavy cream. That seemed like an even worse idea than regular milk, but she had to do something. “If that little bastard doesn’t shut up, I’m gonna—” “You shut up, Merv. You’re worse than the baby.” “Go fuck yourself.” “Both of you shut the fuck up. Where’s Adam? He should be back by now.” “How the fuck should I know? It’s not like he checks in with me.” It occurred to Cyn that she should simply slip out the back and flee with the baby, but these were wolves. Ruthless wolves who cared nothing about Cyn’s life and even less about the baby. They would use their powerful sense of smell to track her down and kill them both. Cyn was not ready to die. She was ready to get the fuck out of that bar and never serve drinks or see a baby again, but she was not ready to die. She took the baby to the back of the bar, in the little nook that served as their kitchen when they used to serve food. When they used to have customers. Now there wasn’t a single paying regular—just all these Brotherhood goons with their

bad manners and ill-tempered profanities. Since they didn’t pay, they didn’t tip, but that didn’t stop them from ordering her around all night. Soon after Aiza disappeared, she tried to leave. She tried to leave again when Aiza reappeared. Both times, Adam had shown up at her house and insisted for her to return to work. He had a most persuasive argument: a Saturday night special with the tip sawed off. So Cyn had returned to work, and every few weeks, he’d hand her a few bills in a wrinkled envelope and she accepted it with a smile that said well, at least I’m not dead yet. The sudden appearance of a random baby put a small crinkle in her plan of not dying. Not only did the baby distract her from fetching their beer, peanuts and pretzels, but she couldn’t get it to stop its endless crying. What if they did decide to hurt the kid? Cyn shuddered, horrified by the line of thought she was actually following. The one they’d forced her to embark on. She mixed the cream she found with water and warmed it over the stove top, while she cradled the baby in one arm and made cooing sounds. Her cooing didn’t help, and probably only exacerbated the situation. She wished she could cry right along with the kid, but she didn’t dare make a noise they might overhear.

She hadn’t asked where the kid came from and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know. It was clear, though, that however they’d obtained the child, it wasn’t via a careful plan with that outcome as the articulated goal. Even Adam seemed nonplussed. Cyn wished she could grab him and shake him and shout, what the fuck are you doing? This kid has parents! There will be cops! But she didn’t dare even say peep in his direction. All she could do was keep her head down and hope she didn’t get caught in the inevitable crossfire. When the top of the watery cream broke with a bubble, she removed it from the heat and stared at it doubtfully. She didn’t have a bottle— unless she could use a beer bottle or a tequila bottle once she drained it of its contents, but she didn’t think either would work. The baby needed a nipple and there definitely wasn’t a working one of those in the bar. “Fuck, kid. What am I supposed to do?” The baby squalled in response, its tiny hands squeezed into useless fists. He would probably be cute, if he ever stopped screaming like a scalded cat. Her eyes darted around the room until she saw the pile of clean rags on the counter. Once upon a time, they would have been folded and put away, but now there was no time for such niceties. It was a miracle she’d had time to wash the rags at all. She grabbed one and dipped a corner in the cooling

liquid, then held the rag over the baby’s lips. Drops of the cream fell on the baby’s lips and far from soothing him, it only made him howl with new ferocity. “Goddamnit! What the hell are you doing back there? I said to shut the kid up!” “I’m trying the best I can,” Cyn shouted back, unmindful of the potential consequences for taking that particular tone. “What did you just say to me?” The words grew louder with each syllable, and though she couldn’t see his approach, she knew he was getting closer. She shrank back, clutching the baby close to her chest, her heart in her throat. The one she thought of as Bruiser appeared. He was easily six and a half feet tall and it seemed like he was at least that wide and half that thick. His head was mostly bald except for the ring of bright red curls circling his dome just above the ears and the ZZ-Top-length red beard. That beard was the most disgusting thing Cyn had ever seen. It was always wet from beer and full of crumbs and ashes and God knew what else. Now it was only inches from her face as he loomed over her, his face set in a stony glare. “I’m doing the best I can,” Cyn repeated, much lower, unable to make eye contact. That didn’t stop him from taking another half step closer. He stood so close she couldn’t take a breath

without getting a mouthful of his foul odor, so rank it made her eyes water. “Well, Adam left me in charge. Give me that baby.” She reflexively clutched the child closer. “I’m...I’m trying to...trying to feed him. If you’ll just give me some room.” Each word was a struggle, since her entire body was paralyzed with fear and her mouth didn’t want to cooperate and her lips were numb. “I said hand it over.” He reached for the baby with one hand and used the other to grab her face. She tried to twist away from his grip, but his massive fingers held her in place, distracting her while he easily plucked the child from her arms. He shoved her to the ground and stepped back, his yellow teeth gleaming in his rotten smile. “Now we’ll get some peace and quiet around here.” Cyn didn’t see where the wolf came from. It was nothing but a blur of white fur and a growl so low Cyn felt it rather than heard it. Bruiser roared and then went silent as he hit the ground, blood coming from the back of his broken neck. Cyn opened her mouth, but the scream was muffled by a sudden hand over her mouth. She stiffened, her heart jumping to her throat with a new rush of fear. “Shh. It’s okay.” Aiza. The tension drained from her. For the first time in months, the ache in her stomach eased

and the tears gathering in her eyes were from relief. Another woman arrived and scooped the baby out of the dead man’s arms, cradling it to her chest with such tenderness that Cyn knew she must be the mother. “How many are in the front?” Aiza asked. “Five, I think. They were playing cards.” “There are only five people out there?” “The bar is closed. Now it’s just Adam’s clubhouse.” Aiza’s mouth set in a firm line and the look in her eye told Cyn it was time to clean house. “Get out of here. Go home, lock the door, and get some sleep. Take a couple days off.” “They’re dangerous. You should call the cops.” “The cops are on their way. Everything’s going to be fine as soon as I take care of these assholes.” “We should get out of here, too,” the woman with the baby said. “Go on ahead. Stephanie can take you back to the hospital. I’m getting these assholes out of my place.” The wolf who took out Bruiser had turned into a statuesque, leggy blonde. A naked, leggy blonde. The sort of leggy blonde that Cyn very much liked to see naked, and she felt her face turn a vibrant shade of red as her gaze lingered on the

woman. “You can’t take on all of them by yourself,” Stephanie said. “I’m not leaving my bar.” “Then I’ll stay and help.” “You should take Sera and the baby back to the hospital. I’ve got this under control.” Cyn could see that her boss had no intention of leaving until all the bikers were dead or gone. “I can drive them to the hospital.” Some silent communication passed before the three of them before Aiza nodded. “Thank you, Cyn.” Cyn stole one more glance of Stephanie before nodding and hurried with Sera out the back exit to her car. Once they were on the road with the bar in the rearview mirror, Cyn ventured with a tentative, “So, it’s good to see you again.” The woman had come to the bar more than once after Aiza’s supposed death, searching for more information. “That’s your baby?” “It is.” “I, uh, did my best to help him. But I think he’s hungry.” “Thank you. It’s good to see you, too.” “So... Aiza’s not dead.” “It’s a long story,” Sera said as she placed the baby at her breast. “And I don’t even know most of it. But…” She gazed down at her son, and even in

the dark, Cyn could see her soft smile. “But it feels like a miracle.” Cyn, who had experienced her own miracle that night, could only nod.

**** There were seven wolves in the front of the bar, not five, but they were all pretty hammered on the free beer and spirits Adam allowed them. Caught up in their poker game and not registering anything except relief from the sudden silence, they didn’t notice Aiza slinking from the back of the bar or Stephanie coming around from the other side. The two struck in unison, instantly taking out two of the gang members with bites behind their necks. Of the five remaining, three immediately transformed into wolves and two jumped away from the table, eyes wide. Aiza and Stephanie attacked as one, already moving together as though they’d been watching each other’s backs for a lifetime. Stephanie had the skill that Aiza lacked, but her pure vicious strength made up for her lack of practiced reflexes. And she was more than vicious—she was furious. She was beyond furious. And she wasn’t just fighting for her life; she was fighting for her territory and she was either going to win or she was going to die trying. There were no other options, and Aiza understood that to the very core of her being. And it was that knowledge that fueled each snap of her jaws, each growl and bodily attack.

Still, no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t bring them down. Soon, she was on the defensive, trying to protect herself from a series of swift attacks. There were three, maybe four on her, and she had no sense of where Stephanie was, if she was hurt or if she fought on. There was a pain in her hind quarter and in her side and the scent of blood was stronger than ever, filling her nostrils and driving her into a frenzy. Aiza howled as her back leg went out from under her. That was the opening the wolves were looking for, and once Aiza lost ground, she couldn’t regain it. She tried to get away from them, but they had her backed against the bar. She howled again, calling for Stephanie, but there was no response. There was too much blood, too much chaos, to sense her, and the edges around Aiza’s vision started to turn black. Some part of her knew the fight was over, but she wasn’t going to stop until she literally couldn’t move. A sudden gunshot startled all the wolves, stopping the vicious fight for the space of a heartbeat. Aiza took advantage of the opening to put some space between her and her foes, and when the fighting resumed, the number of participants had doubled. The new arrivals drove the Brotherhood wolves back, away from Aiza’s wounded frame and Stephanie’s bleeding body.

Aiza sank to the floor, whimpering and dazed, the ground tilting and rocking beneath her. “Aiza! Stephanie!” Noah’s voice pulled her attention up, but she still couldn’t move so she barked to get his attention. He raced to her side and ran his hands along her sides and back, searching for injuries. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you to a doctor. Wait for me here.” She put her muzzle down in her paws and released her breath with a long sigh. Federal agents and emergency response personnel swarmed the bar, capturing the Brotherhood wolves and dragging them away. Aiza remained still amongst the chaos, growling at anyone who ventured too close, until Noah returned and carried her away from the chaos.

**** Three months later. “Knock knock.” Aiza stuck her head past the office door. “Mind if I come in?” “Come in, come in,” Stephanie said, ushering her inside the appropriated office while Sera placed a sleeping baby in the pack-and-play. “How’s it looking out there?” “Everything’s perfect,” Aiza assured them. The bar had been transformed for Sera and Seth’s ceremony, and it was full of members of the pack, friends, and even their brother Steve and his family. Aiza had taken charge of many of the details due to Stephanie’s injuries and recovery time, throwing herself into the planning of the ceremony, juggling it with the responsibilities of reopening the bar. For the past three months, she woke up early, went to bed late, and made it a point to have no spare time for anything. Stephanie glanced between the sisters and then nodded. “I’m going to go make sure Seth has his cufflinks.” “You look beautiful,” Aiza said, full of sudden emotion at the sight of her younger sister, radiant and beaming with excitement. Sera looked down at her new dress—lacy

and off-white—with a shy smile. “Thank you. And thank you for everything you’ve done.” “It was truly my pleasure. I’m just glad that I’m here to see it.” “Me, too.” Sera looked up with eyes brimming full of emotion and in that moment, she wasn’t the grown woman, a wife and mother, but the little girl who used to follow Aiza around and make up silly stories. Her constant companion, whether she necessarily wanted her baby sister to shadow her or not. All the years that separated them were gone and Aiza felt a sudden surge of tears. She could hold them back, barely, but she couldn’t stop herself from pulling Sera into an emotional embrace. “I’m so sorry,” Aiza said. “I’m sorry I left you and I’m sorry I disappeared. I should have stayed in touch. I should have told you…” Sera returned her hug with an extra-long squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Honey, thank you, but I don’t care about any of that. I’m so happy you’re here now. I’m so happy I have my sister back.” “Not only that, but a gorgeous husband and a perfect baby.” “It’s honestly more than I ever expected.” “But the very least of what you deserve.” Sera gave her another hug and then stepped back. “This place is pretty great, too.”

“Thanks.” Aiza looked around with a familiar swell of pride. She’d completely redone the interior of the bar, reclaiming it as something more in line with her vision for the grand reopening of Aiza’s Tavern. It would still be three months before she’d be ready to reopen for business, but she was right on time and on track. Soon, she was sure, everything would be back to normal and she’d feel like herself again. “Are there a lot of people out there?” “We’re nearly at capacity.” “Did Noah make it?” “Oh, I didn’t notice,” Aiza said with feigned indifference. He was there. And she did notice his presence the second he walked through the door. His scent hit her first, and then all of her senses screamed that he was there. After Adam’s arrest and the subsequent rounding up of his cronies, the Wolf Brotherhood started to weaken. Noah had been as busy with the continuing investigation as Aiza had been with the bar and their paths rarely crossed. Aiza told herself that was for the best, but it was hard to remember that when she actually saw him. “It’s time. Are you ready?” Sera nodded and checked on baby Charlie once more, then turned up the baby monitor. “I am.” Aiza texted the DJ, and a moment later, she

heard the music change, signaling everyone to take their seats. She offered Sera her arm, another wave of pride washing through her as she prepared to walk her sister down the aisle. They stepped out of the office and all of the guests rose from their seats. Aiza recognized some of them, but the only person she cared about, the only one she could see, was Noah, halfway down and sitting right on the edge of the aisle. She made it a point not to look at him at all. Instead, she focused on Seth, who was undeniably handsome. In her effort to reconnect with her sister, she’d gotten to know him better, and they’d reached a new understanding. She didn’t know if Seth would have fully forgiven her for what she’d done, but he didn’t seem to hate her anymore. Stephanie had also been crucial in the forging of a relationship with him; it seemed he couldn’t resist the combined efforts of his beloved and his co-alpha. Now he stood at the end of the aisle, gaze locked on Sera, his smile full of pride, his eyes full of admiration. When it came down to it, Aiza really didn’t care what Seth thought of her. She only cared about the way he looked at her sister—never with anything less than his complete and utter devotion. Sera, for her part, always had a bit of wonder in her smile, as though she couldn’t quite believe that this was her life. That she wasn’t

dreaming. Aiza risked a look at Noah as they passed by, her heart twisting in her chest while her stomach fluttered. He looked tired, undeniably, but he cleaned up very, very well. She couldn’t tell if the woman sitting next to him was a date or one of his extended family members—they didn’t share a resemblance, and their legs were touching. Why were their legs touching? Because you had to cram in extra chairs. And it’s none of your concern anyway. Their bodies could touch all night, for all you care. Once they reached the waiting groom, Aiza gave Sera a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then passed her arm to Seth’s and took her place to the side. Stephanie stood with Seth, leaning on the crutch she held in her right hand. Their eyes met and she offered a small smile before the officiant asked everyone to take their seats. The words of the ceremony flowed over Aiza —she was sure it was all very beautiful, but she was too distracted by Noah’s presence. She’d managed not to think about him for the past three months, but only by working herself down to the bone. Was he looking at her? It was impossible to tell, since the entire room was looking at the happy couple and she was standing right next to them. She knew she would have to speak to him, sooner or later. She certainly wouldn’t be able to

avoid him all night. And she couldn’t even say for sure why she wanted to avoid him, except for the fact that, paradoxically, she wanted nothing more than to see him, to talk to him, to touch him… To hold him. The ceremony was surprisingly short and ended with a kiss so passionate that Aiza was sure it made most of the guests uncomfortable. When Seth lifted his head, they were both beaming and somebody whooped, prompting the whole crowd to laugh and for Seth to shout, “Let’s party!” The DJ immediately blasted music and people started folding the chairs and moving them aside, opening up the area for dancing. The baby monitor crackled with static and then Charlie started to cry, startled awake by the sudden noise. Sera’s head immediately swung around, but Aiza gestured for her to stay and enjoy herself; she would take care of the baby. She was all too glad to make an escape from the party and the people she didn’t know—and the one man she knew all too well. “Come here, little guy. What’s wrong,” she said, as she lifted the baby from his bed. “Hmm? What’s wrong? Don’t like all that noise? It’s just your mommy and daddy having a big ol’ party. It’s alright.” She never thought of herself as a “baby person,” but she did like little Charlie. He had big,

deep blue eyes, an amazing thatch of black hair, and he rarely cried. He was already quieting down, comforted by his aunt’s low voice and soft chest. “You’re a natural with him.” Aiza spun around. “Oh. Noah. Hi.” “Hi. That was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” “Oh. Gorgeous.” “What was your favorite part?” “Um, well, the vows were really touching. Especially when Seth said he would, you know, always cherish her.” “Yeah. But I don’t think he said that.” “Oh.” She offered a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t listening to closely.” “Yeah. Me neither.” “Then how do you know he didn’t say that?” It was his turn to smile. “I don’t. I was a little distracted.” “Distracted?” “Yeah. I was. Um, the bar’s really come along. You’ve done a lot of work. It’s looking great.” “Thank you.” “When’s the grand opening?” “In a few months. I don’t have a date yet.” “Well, let me know. I don’t want to miss it.” “I’ll do that.” “I...uh...Aiza. I actually wanted to talk to you

—” “Oh, there you are!” The woman he’d been sitting next to burst through the door and startled Charlie awake. He immediately started crying and she took Noah’s arm. “Come on. I want to dance.” “I was just helping Aiza with the baby.” “You should go dance. I’ve got this under control,” Aiza said quickly with a smile that probably looked as forced as it felt. “We’ll, uh, catch up later.” “Okay, yeah. We’ll talk later.” He followed his date out the door and Aiza sank into her chair, clutching the baby even closer. They were definitely not going to talk later. She was going to sit in that office with Charlie for the rest of the night, until it was time to send everybody home and clean the place up. It was a bit antisocial on her part, but she didn’t think anyone would notice or care. Besides, Charlie needed her more than anyone out there did, anyhow. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep again, and an exhausted Aiza found herself staring at the top of the baby’s head, watching the light reflect off of his fine hair. She had no idea how long she sat there like that before a soft knock on the door alerted her to the fact that she had another visitor. “Hey. You’re missing the party,” Stephanie said. “Is everyone having a good time?”

“They’re having a great time. You want to join them? I can watch him.” Aiza shook her head. “Not really.” “Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Just...tired. Like I’ve run out of gas.” “Well, that makes sense. You’ve been working hard to pull all of this together. Everything’s perfect, by the way.” “Thank you.” Stephanie nodded. “Well, if you just need to rest, I’ll leave you alone. I thought maybe you were back here hiding from Noah.” Aiza blanched. “I don’t know why you would think that.” She shrugged. “Just a hunch. Look, there’s a real cute girl out there and she’s been making eyes at me all night, so I’m going to ask her to dance. Maybe you should consider it, too.” “Consider dancing with Cyn?” “No, consider dancing with the very cute guy who has been waiting on you all night.” “Isn’t Noah your cousin? Are you allowed to think he’s cute?” “I am when it’s an objective fact. He’s miserable out there right now and it’s bringing down the whole party.” Aiza frowned. “Why is he miserable?” “Because he thinks you hate him. Or you’re

mad at him. Or he’s fucked everything up with you. Has he?” “He hasn’t...look, he hasn’t fucked anything up because there’s nothing to fuck up. He was just doing his job and now that job is over.” “Really?” She sat on the corner of the desk. “You think you were just a job to him?” “Yeah. Of course.” “And he was just your bodyguard? He meant nothing more to you?” Aiza sighed. “It doesn’t matter, okay? This past year has been so fucked up and I just don’t think...how can I...he deserves better than to be caught up in the mess of my life.” “If you’re not ready to be in a relationship right now, that’s one thing, and no one but you can decide that. But if you’re hiding in here because you’re afraid, well, I never took you to be a coward.” Aiza blinked, stung. “I’m not a coward.” “I know. So don’t act like one.” “Well, why do you think he’s waiting for me?” “He’s obviously smitten with you. He asks me about you all the time. I finally told him it doesn’t really matter what I think; all that matters is what he thinks. And what you think.” “I miss him,” Aiza said. “After everything I lost, some of which I’ll never get back, he’s the

only thing I miss. I thought I lost this place forever. But here I am, in my office, holding my nephew, and I’m missing him.” Stephanie carefully scooped the baby from Aiza’s arms. “Then don’t be afraid. You can’t hide behind the pup forever.” “Right. Okay. God, why don’t I keep a bottle of whiskey back here? Well, wish me luck.” “Yeah, break a leg,” Stephanie said with a wry smile. Aiza found Noah quickly; he was talking to Seth and Sera, his date at his side. The woman said something and she felt a flash of recognition: it was Dana. Her hair had grown longer and was now a darker shade; she was in a well-cut dress instead of a business suit, but it was definitely her, and the earlier jealousy was definitely out of line. Aiza rolled her eyes and wondered when she’d regressed to being a thirteen-year-old. She squared her shoulders and moved in their direction, pausing long enough to whisper to Cyn that Stephanie was watching the baby in the office and maybe she would enjoy a bit of company. Cyn turned an interesting shade of pink but she didn’t lose any time scurrying behind the bar. The closer she got to Noah, the more her stomach dipped and fluttered. She knew it was ridiculous to be nervous, but she couldn’t seem to get the butterflies under control. It was almost

enough to make her want to turn around, but Dana saw her before she had the chance to change her mind and waved her over. “Aiza! I didn’t get a chance to say hi earlier. How are you? How have you been?” “I’m great. It’s wonderful to see you again.” “Well, I hope y’all don’t think of me as a party crasher, but when Noah told me the women who brought down the Wolf Brotherhood would both be here, I insisted he bring me.” “That’s flattering but…” “There you are!” Aiza turned around and walked into her brother’s very enthusiastic embrace. “Oh my God, Aiza, it’s so good to see you.” “Oh, Steve. I’m sorry, I should have called.” It never occurred to her to call her brother. She’d never been particularly close to the golden child, and now she was surrounded by him. “Oh, hey, I understand. Things must have been very hectic for you. Here, this is my wife Jessica, our sons Rob and Chris, and our new daughter, Cecelia.” He wasn’t even finished speaking before they swarmed around her with eager, friendly hugs. The kids seemed cute enough, but her attention was drawn to Noah, and their eyes met over the kids’ heads. He must have been able to read her mind, because he stepped forward with a friendly smile.

“Hi, I’m Noah Longtail. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shook each hand in turn, made some courtesy small talk with Jessica, and then took Aiza by the elbow. “I hope you all don’t mind if I steal her for a minute? I need her help to make a special cocktail.” “Special cocktail?” Aiza asked under her breath as he led her away. “Is that a come on?” “If you want it to be.” “Oh look, we’re out of champagne. Let’s go find some.” Aiza shifted, guiding him to the dark, quiet keg room. As soon as the door closed behind them, he drew her against him and claimed her mouth with a kiss that had her toes curling and her mouth opening in shock. He took advantage of the way her lips parted, and she thought maybe she should protest, but as the kiss deepened, she forgot all about that. After all, this had been what she wanted, what she’d been thinking about and too afraid to acknowledge. “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just—” “Oh, Noah. Shut up.” She drew her mouth back to his, sighing with pleasure at the taste and smell of him. The party outside was as loud as ever, but that had dulled to a vague din beneath the sound of her beating heart. She slid her fingers through his hair and down his

neck, over the breadth of his shoulders, itching to feel more of him; to feel his skin and muscles and the soft hair that covered his chest and abs. “God, Aiza.” He hiked the skirt of her cotton sundress up to her waist, exposing her thighs and hips. Her hands moved down his body and found the outline of his thick cock. It strained against his trousers and she was all too happy to pull the zipper down and free him from the restrictive material. He gasped as she folded her fingers around his shaft, and she felt a little dizzy, a little delirious from the sudden wave of pleasure moving down her spine. “I need you,” he moaned against her mouth and she couldn’t do anything but nod as he lifted her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his hips and he nudged past her panties, seeking the heat of her body. The sensation of his satin-smooth skin sliding over her slick flesh made her whimper and she felt him smile. “Not yet, baby. Not yet.” He guided himself to her opening and pushed himself into her tight channel. Her whimper instantly transformed into a shout for more, barely muffled against his lips. She’d always enjoyed sex, but she never felt anything quite like this—her body so attuned to another person, so sensitive and needful. Aiza clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her back scraping against the wall with every hard thrust. It

wasn’t long until her eyes were completely back in her head and she was unmindful, entirely unaware of her moans, shouts, and pleas. But the keg room was far from soundproof, and the music was loud, but not so loud that Sera didn’t pick up on the strange noises with her newlyenhanced ears. Seth heard it, too, and was unable to hide his smirk. “Hopefully, Noah will lighten up now.” Sera laughed. “Has he been that bad?” “He’s been insufferable. Either talking about her or brooding over her and driving us crazy. What about Aiza?” “She never said a word.” Seth snorted. “Your sister doesn’t share much, does she?” “No, no she does not.” Sera folded her fingers around her husband’s and smiled. “Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?” “Yes. Did I mention how beautiful you are?” “A few times.” “Or how happy you make me?” Seth asked, bringing her mouth to his lips and tenderly kissing each knuckle. “Once or twice.” He gave her a slow smile that sent a chill down her spine. “Or how much I want to get you alone?” “We’ve still got the cake...and the first

dance…” “Stephanie has the baby for the night. Everybody else is already drunk. They won’t notice if we slip out for a minute.” “Well, they’ll notice,” Sera said dryly, “but I have a feeling you don’t care.” “Not at all. Do you?” “Not even a little bit. Let’s go.” Sera led Seth along the perimeter of the tavern, scooting behind the bar and pausing at the closed office door. “Maybe we should tell Stephanie—” “Wait.” “What?” He cocked his head. “Listen. I don’t think she’s alone in there.” Sera frowned and listened until she heard the unmistakable sound of soft whimpers and rhythmic moans. “Oh my God. Everybody’s getting lucky except us!” “We can change that. Come on.” “Can you hear Charlie?” He paused for a moment to listen, sharpening his keen auditory senses and nodded, “Yes, he’s sleeping.” He kissed the back of her hand again. “Let’s go.” Laughing, she followed her husband into the shadows and melted into the heat of his embrace.

THE END

MY ENCOUNTER WITH A SWEET ALIEN "A glow from the forest caught her eye and she turned to investigate; Amy could see a strange light pulsing deep within the darkness of sleeping trees. What—or who—could possibly be in the woods? Her heart raced in fear, but she knew she had to find out." In her wildest dreams, Amy could never have imagined what she would encounter that night in the forest. Luke, a devastatingly gorgeous being from another world, is in dire need of help after his spacecraft crash lands in the woods behind her farm. Unbeknownst to her, he will stir an overwhelming desire deep within her, capturing her heart and changing her life forever.

Outside her open bedroom window, the cows in her pasture stood sleeping as a gentle breeze wafted across the hardwood floors and onto her skin. Amy shuddered slightly and rolled over. Though the clear sky above dotted the earth with twinkling lights of a thousand stars, and the world around her peaceful farm lay still in the night air, a feeling of dissonance washed over her. Her loyal husky, Shiloh, stirred at the foot of the bed anxiously, causing the old springs of her four-post bed to groan under the weight. “What is it, Shiloh?” she moaned, the sleep still fresh in her eyes. “Why are you so anxious tonight?” Shiloh lifted her head, her blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight. She yelped in Amy’s direction. “If only you could actually speak, Shiloh.” Amy gave a long stretch and surveyed her bedroom carefully through the darkness. Twilight spread across the hardwood floors, giving an eerie glow to the objects it touched, but nothing appeared to be disturbed. Shiloh leapt from her place on the bed, slapping her large paws against the wood beams and sending an echo through the silent house. She huffed again and let out a yelp that signaled

distress. Outside, the herd rustled now, shifting nervously as if something else had joined them in the field, disturbing their peaceful slumber. Amy felt a chill sweep up her spine. “I feel it too, Girl,” she said, stroking the pacing husky’s fur. “I’m gonna go check it out.” Amy knew something was out there. She headed for the door, placing a pair of muddy work boots on her naked toes and lifted her shotgun from its usual seat above the door. Shiloh followed loyally across the room. Amy turned and gave her a warm smile; “No, Girl--go lay down,” she cooed, “I don’t want you getting hurt.” Shiloh whined, then obediently returned to her bed next to the stone fireplace as Amy opened the front door to a rush of cool night air. Outside, the brightness of a full moon gave the appearance of mid-day to the barn and driveway, sparkling across freshly cut grass and rocks. She stepped off the porch and turned towards the field behind her home, but nothing appeared out of sorts. A glow from the forest caught her eye and she turned to investigate; Amy could see a strange light pulsing deep within the darkness of sleeping trees. What—or who—could possibly be in the woods? Her heart raced in fear, but she knew she had to

find out. Her boots crunched the small, fallen twigs below her feet as she crept towards the glow. Into the thickness of the forest, the moonlight was trapped by the lush canopy, filling the area with a deep blackness almost too difficult to see within. Amy followed the pulsing light, stumbling upon exposed roots from the tall oaks as she trudged forward. But something drew her to the pulsing light; like a moth to a flame, she felt compelled to press on. A few hundred yards into the forest, she froze, eyes widening at the sight before her. Nestled among a small clearing laid a ship; it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was long and smooth, as if it had been crafted from a single hunk of metal. Its tip came to a sharp point, which was buried part-way under the earth; Amy wondered if its driver had some difficulty while landing. The light that had drawn her was coming from what appeared to be runner lights, dotting the edges on either side of the ship. They flashed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the area with a green glow. Amy inched closer, grasping the barrel of her shotgun nervously, prepared to fire at the first sign of trouble. The door hung open; the ship appeared to be abandoned. She leaned in, squinting her eyes in the

hopes of catching a glimpse of the ship’s owner. Only the sounds of a cool breeze wafting through the treetops could be recognized, and the hum of the ship’s quiet engines below her. Suddenly, Amy felt a large hand rest on her shoulder. She shrieked and leapt forward in a stumble, pushing the hand away and whirling around to aim her gun. Before her stood a man swaying slightly, as if ready to collapse at any moment. He was tall, at least six and a half feet in height, with dark brown hair and shimmering deep emerald eyes. His breath was labored, heaving beneath the chilled muscles of his chest as he struggled to remain upright. He was simply gorgeous. Just then, the stranger collapsed into a heap on the ground, his large hands catching the earth to stop his fall. He gazed up at her frantically, those emerald eyes catching the glow of the engines and melting her heart. Amy helped him to his feet and without a word led him back to the farmhouse. I must be crazy, she thought. His head hung low, allowing the longer strands of his hair to dip and cover his mud-splattered face. She struggled to place him in a seat at the kitchen table where he finally slumped with a labored grunt. She gazed down at the weakened stranger in her kitchen, his head still hanging low as if at any

moment, he would fall from the chair to her floor. “Are you hurt?” She spoke hesitantly, and the stranger looked up. He shook his head to signal ‘no.’ “Hungry,” he groaned; his voice was deep and sexy. Amy nodded and searched the kitchen for something quick. She returned moments later, carrying a loaf of bread and some soup from the previous night’s meal. She placed the meal on the table beside him. Amy sat down and watched, puzzled, as the stranger examined the food. He picked up the spoon and hesitantly dipped it into the soup, bringing it to his soft, full lips for a taste. His face lit up with a grin and within minutes, the bowl’s entire contents were gone, followed quickly by the bread. “Wow, you were hungry,” she chuckled. “Thank you,” he beamed. “My rations ran out a week ago. Any longer and I wouldn’t have made it.” “So… who are you, and how did you end up in my woods? Are you in the military?” Amy was curious about the strange man she’d allowed in her home. As handsome as he might be, he could still be dangerous. “I mean you no harm,” he said with a

reassuring smile, “I’m not from this planet, nor am I military. My name is Lukavyt-r, and I’m an explorer.” Amy blinked in surprise at his response. This beautiful creature was nothing like the movies had portrayed. She marveled at his long, muscular arms resting calmly on the table and the warm smile spreading across his stubble-lined face. With careful observation, the subtle differences became clear: his ears were longer than that of a typical human’s, coming to a smooth point at the tips; his shimmering white teeth held the slight hints of fangs. Amy’s heart raced, she suddenly felt overwhelmed with desire to reach out and run her hands along his deeply muscled body, as if some unseen force was drawing her in. He gave a seductive grin, watching her longing grow. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?” he raised an eyebrow. “You seem… occupied.” Amy quickly returned her gaze to his eyes, blushing a slight shade of crimson. He had sensed her desire, somehow, as if he carried a sixth sense. She felt exposed, as if she may as well be standing before him naked. Yes, he was attractive but this was something more—something deeper than the mere sight of a sumptuous man in her kitchen.

“No… I’m not nervous,” she cleared her throat and sat upright, “just curious, I suppose. For starters, why were you looming around in the woods, Lukav-…Luk… sorry, can I just call you Luke?” He gave a long, deep laugh, “Luke it is. I wasn’t looming; I was lost. I landed here accidentally when my fuel gauge malfunctioned. I left the ship to find help and ended up wandering astray through the trees.” The two talked well into the early hours of morning. Luke described his home planet, which he had left years prior in search of unexplored worlds outside their galaxy. He spoke of the desert lands his home plant had become, barren of trees save a few select areas where the remainder of his people had migrated for life-sustaining needs. “The air is heavy now from the loss of oxygen.” His eyes grew dim and sadness swept across his face, reflecting on the dire situation of his people. “We’ve been forced to live underground where the air is pumped in through machines, and the planet is heating up at a rapid rate. My people decided to deploy scouts to evaluate surrounding areas to see if they’d be suitable for us to inhabit.” “Are there others here…” Amy hesitated, “like you?”

“No,” Luke shook his head sadly, “I lost communication with the other ships nearly a year ago. I am several light years from home, and I can only hope they found a new planet somewhere closer.” Outside her window, the birds began to chirp loudly, signaling that morning had come. Shiloh inched closer, nudging Amy with her muzzle to signal that she needed to go outside. Amy gave Luke a polite smile and took Shiloh to the door, letting her out to roam free. When she returned, he had placed his head down on the table, clearly exhausted. Amy couldn’t help but feel safe near him, even though he was from another world. She placed her petite hand on his brooding shoulder gently. “Hey,” she cooed, “why don’t you stay here and rest awhile...at least until you get your strength back. I have a spare room you can use to get some sleep.” He nodded, “Thank you, most graciously.” Luke followed her upstairs, his heavy boots clumping on the wood. Amy could feel that he was sizing her up from behind as she walked, forcing a grin on her face. She led her exhausted new guest to an open door adjacent her own and motioned for him to

enter. “You can stay in here. I live alone—well, except for my animals—so no one will bother you. I’ll be around if you need anything.” She left Luke to rest, closing the door to his room softly. Once free of his stare, she leaned her head against the door and gave a sigh. There was something about him that sent her body spiraling out of control; some deep attraction unlike anything that Amy had ever felt before.

**** The warm water of her shower felt good after a day outside. Standing in front of her mirror, she wiped away the veil of steam and gazed at her reflection. Amy was tall, with long flowing chestnut hair that trailed down to her tight ass when allowed to roam loose. She was a natural beauty—her sunkissed skin held a deep golden tan year-round; her deep brown doe eyes made men swoon with a single glance. Dropping the towel to the floor, she prepared to dress, taking a moment to survey her curves with a smile. The daily work on her farm gave her a shapely figure with the perfect combination of muscles and silky softness. Her breasts, full and supple, hung loose while she dried the beads of water from her long legs. Her thoughts wandered once more to the sleeping stranger nearby and she felt a wave of desire flow through her. Luke hadn’t left his room all afternoon—she came indoors to check up on him several times throughout the day —yet she could feel his presence nearby. Amy gave a shout as the bathroom door busted open, forcing a rush of cold air into the

room. Luke stood in the doorway, gaping in her direction. He stared, wide-eyed at Amy’s naked figure before him, as if he had never laid eyes on a woman before. His firm jaw hung open and his emerald eyes remained fixed on the site. Amy reached for the towel with a shriek and covered her breasts modestly. “Hey!” she growled, “You need to learn how to knock.” Once she was covered, it was if he was broken from a frozen trance. He shook off the shock and gave her a wicked grin. “Well you need to learn how to lock the door.” Amy gave him a playful scowl and tossed the towel in his direction, watching the look of surprise fill him once more. She walked slowly to the doorway where he stood, savoring his panicked stare as she swayed her hips seductively. Grasping the door slowly, she slid her hands onto the door knob suggestively. Before closing it, she gave once last teasing smile, leaving Luke looming in the hallway. Amy giggled, thinking of the effect her body had on him. Teasing was completely out of character for her, but this man brought out something inside her that she’d never felt before. Dressing quickly in her favorite worn jeans and a low-cut V neck tank top, she joined him downstairs.

Luke was seated at the kitchen table once more, gulping glasses of water one by one from the large pitcher. He grinned as she entered, looking almost thankful that she hadn’t walked into the room naked—though the idea was tempting. “You have no idea how fortunate you are, Amy.” He gulped down another glass, “Water is priceless on my planet, yet here it flows in rivers and oceans.” She gave a half-smile, amused by his fascination, yet saddened at thought of his people struggling. She entered the kitchen to make dinner, deciding to dish out her best steak and eggs for her sultry guest. After some preparation, she set out a lavish plate filled with fresh greens from her garden, a large T-bone steak and scrambled eggs. Luke eyed the plate with mouth-watering hunger, giving Amy a grateful smile before digging in like a hungry animal. He sighed after nearly licking the plate clean, “That was the best food I have ever tasted.” Amy described life on her farm, and explained how she had chosen to return to the simple life rather than to allow the bank to take her childhood home. Luke asked for a tour, so she led him outside to the world she so loved. She showed him the garden, brimming with fresh vegetables. Luke knelt down beside a set of ripe tomatoes and ran his hand

across the smooth, red skin. His face held a look of sheer fascination; one that reflected her own as a child watching her mother cultivate the earth. Though for different reasons, Luke shared her never-ending love for the earth and all its bountiful gifts. Amy watched Luke marvel at the farm while they walked late into evening, her heart desiring this strange man near her even more than the night before.

**** Back indoors, Amy set a fire in the stone fireplace, lighting the room with flickers of red and golden light. Luke sat across from her on the tattered loveseat she kept for sentimental reasons and followed her every move with his inquisitive emerald eyes. Once the fire roared, Amy kicked off her shoes, sinking into an overstuffed armchair. The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before Luke leaned towards her. His face held a mixture of curiosity and fear as he cleared his throat. “May I ask you something, Amy?” His voice was quieter than usual. “Upstairs earlier, when I accidently walked into the washroom. Your body is…” He trailed off, as if hesitant to finish his question. Amy leaned forward, her heart beating nervously in anticipation of what he needed to say. Curiosity filled her. “It’s… different.” He gave a sheepish grin. “It’s not the like the females of my planet. I’m sorry for staring at you like that, but I was curious and a little…excited when I saw you standing there.”

Amy gave a smile, feeling the heat between her legs rising. “I know. I could see it in your eyes, though I wasn’t sure why.” Luke gave a nervous laugh, rubbing his neck. As if pulled by the same unforeseen force, she rose from her chair and joined him on the loveseat. He watched hungrily as she came near, licking his lips with desire. Amy guided his hands upward and placed them softly on her breasts, watching as his eyes filled with excitement and nerves. He rubbed gently, soothing Amy’s skin and filling her with a need to break free of her clothes. She wanted to feel his skin on hers, the warmth of their bodies together. She watched with need as his eyes seemed to savor every inch of her, gazing intently as he rubbed and pinched her erect nipples below her tshirt. Without a second thought, she stood, taking Luke’s soft hand into hers and led him upstairs to the bedroom. The full moon lit her bedroom just enough to illuminate the curves of her body. Amy sat him on the edge of her bed and took a step back, allowing him a better view. She slid her t-shirt over her head, allowing it to pool on the floor beside her. She watched hungrily as he squirmed, nervously eyeing her exposed breasts, and slowly slid her worn jeans down her legs. She turned, allowing him a full view of her firm shapely ass, and dropped her silk

panties to the floor. A slight gasp escaped from his lips as she leaned down for a gentle kiss, feeling the softness of his skin against hers for the first time. Pleasure surged through every inch of her. Joining him on the soft bed, she gazed up into his fearful eyes. “You said you were curious, Luke,” she murmured softly with a seductive smile spreading across her lips. “I want you to explore my body. Take in the feeling and tastes as you wish.” His eyebrows raised in a look of surprise, yet didn’t protest. Luke kissed her cheek, trailing wet desire from her neck down to her breasts. His tongue ran along the dip in her shoulder blades, nibbling softly at the skin. She closed her eyes, taking in each touch of his lips as if she was experiencing lust for the first time. Amy felt like a teen again, the excitement building. Luke’s hands soon found their way to her waiting breasts once more, rubbing the curves of each one gently. His gaze was fixed upon her, like a young boy in his first experience with love. Nothing else existed in that moment, the room a blur of passion, as his full concentration lay in exploration. He brought his lips to an erect nipple, running his tongue across the tip and sending electric waves of heat through her. With his other hand, he fondled her breast, pinching her nipple just enough to release a moan of pleasure

from her lips. He paused, looking up into Amy’s deep brown eyes, “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” He progressed down to the curves of her stomach, trailing his thick fingers down her torso, stopping to pay attention to her navel along the way. Planting a gentle kiss upon it, he continued. Every touch sent shock waves of desire through every inch of her skin, filling her to the brim with pleasure. He paused, lingering just about her crevice; though Amy’s eyes were still closed, she could sense he was taking in the site. He kissed and licked her hips, rubbing along her thighs with his hands. She moaned once more. “I want to taste you, Amy.” “As you wish,” she softly moaned. Luke nibbled and sucked at her mound, leaving Amy shaking with anticipation. She could feel the pleasure building towards a heated climax. He spread her legs wide so that he could take in her body fully through the dim light. For a moment, Amy felt slightly exposed, but the lust overtook any fear, allowing her legs to relax once more under his watchful gaze. He gave a gasp of pleasure and dove in to taste her desire. His tongue twirled excitedly, the need to release growing increasingly difficult to

hold back. Luke’s hand joined in, instinctively using his fingers to rub her clit, arching her back high into the air and causing her nails to dig deep into the linen below. Amy let out a cry of pleasure as waves of building intensity crashed through her body; her head cocked back as her inner walls began to spasm. Amy lay breathless, panting from the excitement. She opened her eyes to the darkness of her room and watched Luke crawl up beside her. His face held a satisfied grin as he rested his head on the pillow, gazing into her eyes. “May I lay with you tonight?” He reached up and caressed her sweating cheek with his strong hands. “Of course,” Amy snuggled into the warmth of his chest, satisfaction coursing through her body.

**** Amy awoke the following day to the sound of rainfall. As thankful as she always was for the rain, it meant working drenched to the bone for the main portion of her day. She let out a yawn, stretching her arms, and rolled onto her side. The bed where Luke had fallen asleep in her arms was now empty. Her heart sank—had he left in the middle of the night, or was it all just a wonderful dream? She threw on her robe and headed downstairs. On the table was a plate filled with steaming eggs and bacon, and a cup of coffee. At least he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. Where had he gone? She quickly got dressed and headed out to the rain-drenched fields where, once again, she found the pulsing light illuminating the trees nearby. She hurried along the trail to find that Luke’s ship had been pried from the ground where it had been lodged and was floating just above the ground. Was he leaving? “Hello?” she called out. The engine’s hum fell silent and the door slowly lowered with a long hiss.

“Good morning,” Luke smiled brightly. “Sorry to run out before you woke, but I have a lot of repairs to do. Hope I didn’t startle you.” Luke’s mere presence lit up her body with intense yearning, despite the cold rain pummeling her skin. She felt her face flush with desire as he neared, the shirt he wore clinging to his wet body, displaying every rippling muscle below. “I heard the engine and thought you were leaving,” Amy pouted. Luke chuckled, “So soon? I just arrived. Besides, this ship isn’t going anywhere until I fix the damage and find some fuel.” Amy’s heart leapt. After the heated night of passion and exploration, she wanted to know more about him, to feel his body close to hers and do some exploring of her own.

**** The morning went by at a crawl as Amy tended to her animals and daily chores around the farm. A broken hose on her tractor meant a trip to McCullers in town tomorrow; Amy gave a drawn out sigh. The townies just loved to gossip; there was no sense of the word ‘privacy.’ Finally, lunch came. She carried a tray of sandwiches down the path once more towards Luke’s ship, now sitting quiet amongst the trees. As they sat together, he told her more of his home planet and the conditions in which he was forced to endure as a child. His mother had been a teacher, before the conditions worsened, and chose to educate him at home. “That’s how I got the job as an explorer when I turned 18,” he sighed. “I was one of only a handful of people that was educated enough to fly this thing.” With each glance from him emerald eyes, the temperature of her body jolted. How could he do that with just a look? It was as if raw desire exuded from his pores. She explained the mechanical troubles of her own, and how it would require a trip

to town for supplies early in the morning. “I would love to join you,” he said, wiping his hands clean on a napkin. “I can look around for some parts and see if I can locate the fuel I need.” Amy nodded and swallowed her last bite hard, fearful of how the locals would react. She grinned and headed back to the house for the rest of her workday, eagerly anticipating what her night with Luke might bring.

**** The rain let up and the sun poked out from behind grey clouds just long enough to see a warm sunset over head. She closed up the barn and headed indoors, where Luke was already inside. He sat on the loveseat, watching the firelight twitch, flames twisting upwards toward the chimney. His large hands stretched outwards towards it, warming himself from the cold rain. As she entered, he gave a tired smile. “Your planet can get very cold,” he shivered. “Well, the best way to warm up after a day in the chilly rain is to take a long, hot shower,” she grinned. “Well,” he stood and swayed towards her in a mocking fashion, “perhaps you should join me then.” Her heart jumped, lust flooding in and eliminating her chill. Luke took her hand and guided the blushing woman upstairs. He peeled the wet clothes from his body as Amy watched every movement of his perfectly chiseled muscles, longing to reach out and feel

them. As he dropped his pants to the floor, she gasped. “Wow! You’re…uh… extremely large.” She couldn’t take her eyes from the bulging piece of manhood before her. Luke gave a chuckle and stepped into shower, letting the warm water roll down shoulders and chest. Amy licked her lips stripped down, keeping her eyes fixed on delicious site before her.

the his and the

“Aren’t Earth men?” he laughed, helping her inside. “Not any snickered.

that

I’ve

encountered!”

she

Silently, Luke turned her towards the back of the shower. Taking a loofa from her rack, he lathered it with the sweet smell of lilac and vanilla and began to gently scrub her back and buttocks. The feel of his touch and the smell of her favorite scents made her body leap into a sensual trance. His hands slid around to her waist, leaving suds on her naval and hips, as he pulled her closer to his skin. Amy’s legs began to tremble, his breath warm in her ear. “Does this please you?” he whispered. “God, yes.” Amy’s breath was labored under

the sheer pressure of lust. She turned to face him, pressing her breasts against his chest and watching hungrily as his bulging manhood began to grow. With a wicked grin, she took the loofa and returned his kindness, washing every ripple of muscle in his arms, then chest and sneaking down his happy trail towards his throbbing cock. Luke closed his eyes, tilting his hair into the warm water flowing from the faucet above. He gave a groan of pleasure and Amy felt the warmth of her excitement beginning to grow. He leaned down, pressing his soft lips onto hers and gave a deep, passionate kiss. They stood, pressed together tightly, kissing and breathing in one another until Amy thought her body would explode with need. She wanted him, inside her and near her, a deeper longing than her body seemed able to control. “Amy,” he whispered between kisses, “I want to be with you. To take you as I would a mate in my world. Would you have me?” The sweetness of his voice, the gentle ways he held her despite his strength—Amy could easily remain there forever. Reaching for a towel, Luke stepped out onto the cold floor below. He dried himself, pressing the cloth along his muscular thighs and soft golden skin; Amy followed his movements with her

longing eyes. “Yes,” she gave him a warm smile once he finished. “I want you, even more than can I understand. Don’t bother with your clothes; let’s head to bed.” They walked together to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them. Locked together in a tight embrace, he guided her towards the bed and sat her on the edge. She eyed his large piece, wondering how the hell that was ever going to fit, and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his thigh. She looked up, her deep brown eyes glimmering in the light, noticing Luke’s face was not only brimming with passion, but worry. He’s nervous. With a flick of her tongue, she tasted him, taking as much as possible into the warmth of her mouth, listening to his groans of pleasure. His hand found its way to her hair where he gripped desperately, feeling her taking him in and releasing him with a rhythm that was pure torture. She could feel his otherwise sturdy legs shaking, threatening to cave below him where he stood. “Come,” Amy took his hand. “Lay down on the bed before you fall.” He gave an awkward grin but obeyed, lying beside her on the soft comforter. Amy continued her slow torture, tasting his length with her tongue

and massaging his manhood with her fingers. He let out a shout—then suddenly, a release. She sat up in surprise, not expecting him to cum so soon. He looked at her, utterly mortified, and her heart melted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” he sat up on the bed, “…it’s just that I’ve never felt the touch of a woman before.” It made sense. His home planet was one of survival, not of pleasure, and he had spent several years cooped up in a ship searching for signs of life far from home. Amy thought back to the look he had given her when she stood naked in the bathroom and grinned. Here, lying next to her in her bed, was a drop-dead gorgeous alien that had never even experienced sexual connection with his own kind—nevermind a human. She lifted his strong hand from his chest and planted a soft kiss on his palm, then leaned in to feel the press of his lips once more. She savored every moment of his touch, his presence near her illuminating the world, and her body. “It’s okay, Luke,” she snuggled in tightly to his warm chest, listening to the sounds of his rapid breathing, “We can try again whenever you’re ready.” His strong arms wrapped tightly around her, squeezing her breasts into his body as he let out a

long sigh. “You’re so kind, Amy,” he yawned in exhaustion, “…and so gorgeous. How did I get so lucky to crash land into your life?” They fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, naked and enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies in the quiet of night. I’m the lucky one, Amy thought as the world drifted away into dream.

**** Amy’s pickup pulled onto Main Street just after 9, and the streets were already teeming with local life. Several elderly gentleman sat on the bench outside Jensen’s Corner Store, canes in hand, people watching as they often did on a lazy summer day. Luke gazed, wide eyed in fascination, as the shoppers bustled in and out of the small stores lining Main Street, and the joggers running in place at the town’s only stop light. “We have nothing like this like back home,” he grinned in her direction, watching as she pulled into an empty space in front of the hardware store. Mr. Kelley was just opening up for the morning and gave a polite wave in Amy’s direction. She returned the wave and Luke’s smile grew even wider, “I think my people will be very happy here.” Inside, she headed straight for the hoses while Luke wandered the other aisles in search of parts he needed to repair the ship. She located her hose almost immediately and anxiously joined him, concerned he might reveal too much to a seemingly-friendly customer. The store was empty, to Amy’s relief, except for a younger cashier

looking completely unamused behind the counter. Luke grabbed some wires and other gadgets, and Amy paid for their things before they headed back out into the sunlight. She was eager to head home; the town made her uncomfortable on a regular basis, let alone with an alien by her side. Luke stopped just short of the truck and gave her the biggest, puppy dog eyes he could muster. “Could we see a few more…” “Shops?” Amy finished his sentence. “Yes,” he chuckled. “Shops. Please? This is the closest I have dared to venture into a populated area. You give me courage.” Amy sighed and rolled her eyes, giving the sexy yet sensitive Luke a warm smile. How could she refuse that plea? As they walked, passersby gawked and marveled; it was unusual to see her with someone, and a stranger at that. The younger girls swooned when they passed; Luke seemed unaffected by the attention. Amy smiled wider—he only had eyes for her. He sampled an ice cream she bought him on the way back to the truck. “So, you have always lived here? In the same place? We were always migrating; we went wherever we could find water.” Her heart saddened thinking of a young Luke packing up his things and traveling where ever the

family needed to go. He must’ve been so lonely, not living anywhere long enough to make any real friends. She gave his hand a loving squeeze and he smiled a child-like grin. Each stop on their adventure held a fascination in his eyes that forced even Amy to look at her own town through new eyes. Explaining the world to someone that had never experienced it made everything seem so new, so different, even if you had seen it a thousand times before then. He marveled at the countless numbers of trees and bright green grasses. “You have so much beauty here,” he sighed, laying his soft brown hair onto the back of the truck seat. “You must be such a happy race.” Amy snickered at the thought. Unfortunately, she knew that most people went about their lives, never once stopping to appreciate what they had, taking it all for granted. She wanted to ask him why his home planet was dying, but paused, thinking it might be rude to inquire. “Do you mind if I ask… what happened to your home?” She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead to avoid contact with Luke’s. “Do you know why it’s… dying?” He gave a long sigh. “The history books have pretty much been destroyed by the intense weather

and dust storms, but from what has been passed down by word of mouth, it was my ancestors that started the decay, experimenting with weapons and other tools of wasteful destruction. My mother once told me it was because they didn’t take care of what they had while they had it.” Amy’s stomach churned as she gripped the wheel; the story sounded all too familiar. That could be us someday.

**** Back on the farm, Luke headed down the path toward his ship, eager to work on some more repairs before dark. Amy wandered out to the pasture with Shiloh, checking on her cattle. The day had slipped away from her, lost in a sea of fascination with Luke, so she hurried through her chores in an attempt to catch up. Soon, the sun began its decent once more behind the treetops; Amy headed indoors to retire. She showered alone as Luke continued to work until darkness had already crept over the land; her mind wandered under the warmth of the water on her back. Her heart pulled at her, feeling such shame for the way her race squandered its wealth, and for Luke and the childhood he had to endure. She heard a soft knock on the bathroom door and called out, “It’s open.” Luke entered, smiling a playful grin as he walked toward her. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and planted a long kiss on her wet cheek. “See?” he teased and tugged at the bottom of her towel, “I can knock.” She pushed him lightly back with a laugh and

he lunged again, this time getting a better grip on the edge and the towel fell free, exposing her naked body. He grinned and gave Amy a hungry growl, grasping her soft hips and drawing her nearer to his body. With a long, loving kiss, the two stood entranced in one another’s arms. She inhaled the scent of his skin, allowing the smell to fill her thoughts with images of the night to come. She dressed and headed downstairs to make dinner, hunger temporarily disrupting her thoughts. She had a delicious meal waiting on the table for them by the time Luke had showered and returned to her side. They sat across from one another, savoring each other’s company and chatted about the day. Luke was filled with questions, more about life in a small town and about Amy’s childhood. She told stories of her first time on a horse and milking a cow, how she cried when her favorite dog Sammy died and how her father had buried him beneath the large oak now stretching up past her bedroom window. He listened intently, gobbling down his meal voraciously. Rising from the table, Luke gave her a knowing smile—the two both had more than food on their minds. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply on the lips, reaching up with large hand to caress her soft skin. She wanted him by her side forever; to gaze into those emerald eyes for the rest of her life.

**** After dinner, Amy led Luke up the wooden staircase to the bedroom once again, only this time she knew to be a little more reserved than she had been their first time in bed. His innocence only increased the attraction already building deep within her, making it even more difficult to contain the raw desire looming just below the surface. He cupped her face in his hands, drawing deep kisses from her supple lips as they moved closer to the bed. He seemed more confident than the night before, more dominating than when he first explored her body. With a swoop, she was in his arms, his hands coddling her ass, as he carried her to the bed and lay her head gently upon the pillow. Amy watched hungrily while he stripped off his new clothes and tossed them aside, revealing his body to her longing eyes once more. She could feel herself getting wet from the anticipation, longing to feel him fill her for the first time. He unbuckled her jeans and slid them to the end of bed, rubbing her thighs and legs as he went. Amy assisted by lifting her shirt high above her head, its collar catching on her ears in the heat of

desire. He stopped her, eyes still covered by the material and kissed her lips. The sensation rippled through her, leaving her body quivering for more. Once naked, he mounted her, kissing at her neck with gentle, playful nips. “I want to feel you inside me, Luke,” she whispered breathlessly. “I need you.” Amy pushed Luke aside so that he lay with his throbbing manhood exposed to her, and lifted herself up onto his chest. He gazed up, wide-eyed, unsure of himself or what to do next. Slowly, Amy inched his massive cock deep inside her, the waves of lust pounding like ocean waves on a shore. As he filled her completely, stretching her inner walls to their fullest extent, she smiled and leaned down to kiss him once more. Luke’s large hands gripped her sides nervously as she began to rock slowly back and forth atop her gorgeous lover. A moan escaped her lips, the feeling of all of him inside her, pushing her to the brink of ecstasy. She longed to go faster, deeper, and harder but held back. He watched, licking his lips, as her hips swayed to and from, pushing his cock deep inside, then pulling back to tease him. Soon the fearfulness has faded, leaving behind only sheer desire. He growled upward at her grinning face and tossed her onto the bed roughly, causing Amy to let out a moan of pleasure and surprise.

“You feel incredible,” he gritted his teeth, the passion consuming him,” I want more of you Amy; all of you. Now.” She conceded, allowing Luke to take over and mount her quivering body. With a little guidance, he was deep inside her once more. Amy gasped. His thrusts were deep, filled with need, and hard as he grunted hungrily. Amy grasped the pillow above her head; the sensation was like nothing she had ever felt, not in her wildest of fantasies. He progressively thrusted deeper and harder, the springs of her old bed clinching under the weight of their lust. “Oh, Amy—tell me,” he panted, “Tell me you’re mine; tell me to make you cum.” “Make me cum, Luke!” she cried out loudly, the pressure almost too much to bear. She needed to release; to cum on his hard, pulsing shaft. “Yes!” he cried out and pumped even deeper, rubbing the thick pad of his thumb against her clit, sending shock waves of utter bliss through her body. Their bodies exploded with pleasure together, the world spinning in a moment of euphoric bliss. Luke collapsed onto her heaving chest and lay still, shaking from the heated moment. Amy reached up and ran her fingers through his soft hair, calming his

breathing, and gave a long sigh of relief. Finally, the torture of the past few days, feeling the drive to be near him flooding in like waves, was followed by pure, heavenly peace. As the night went onward, they lay, wrapped in deep embrace, caressing and soothing the years of toil from one another’s bodies. She gazed into his deep green eyes with a look of compassion, thinking of his life and how she longed to make sure the rest of his years were spent in happiness with her on the farm. But laying below the surface of joy, Amy’s heart was slowly sinking, knowing that Luke would soon fix his ship and return home with news to his surviving people of the new land. How long would he be away from her? Would he ever return? She looked down at the bed, her thoughts trailing off to an image of her waiting her entire life with no sign of his ship on the horizon. He lifted her chin, so that her gaze met his once more. “I know what you’re thinking Amy,” he sighed. “You’re afraid I’m not coming back to you.” She nodded silently, tears welling up in her eyes as she finally heard the words in her head spoken aloud. Until this moment of post bliss connection, she hadn’t thought of his departure much. It was inevitable; he would have to leave. He kissed her lips, long and loving, and gave a

saddened smile. “I promise you,” he whispered, “I will return to you soon. I have to tell my people that there’s another planet that can sustain us. It’s my duty— it’s bigger than me. You understand, right?” “Yes, I do,” she sobbed through the kisses. “I’m just afraid of losing you. I’ve gone my whole life waiting for you, Luke, and now I have to say goodbye.” He pulled her close to his chest, squeezing her naked body tightly in his arms and caressed her long hair. Amy thought she heard a sniffle escape him as he too shed a tear. She closed her eyes tightly and savored his embrace. “This is not goodbye,” he chuckled despite his sadness, “it’s more like ‘See ya’ll later.’ ” “You’re getting better at our slang now,” Amy joked, trying to lighten the damp mood. “Why yes, I reckon I am,” he teased, and they shared a long laugh in each other’s arms.

**** Soon after that night, Luke had discovered that his ship could be fueled by organic matter, specifically the byproducts of fruits and vegetables grown on Amy’s farm, which meant he could now return home to save his people. After several days had come and gone, Luke’s ship was finally ready for departure, and the feeling of dread began to overtake her. Amy barely touched her meal that night, picking at the plate full of juicy ham and sweet potatoes. She gazed into her lover’s deep emerald eyes, knowing that he would soon be gone, trying her best to hold onto the hope that he would someday return to her arms once again. Amy shoved her plate aside, tears welling up in her eyes. Pushing his chair back, Luke reached out for her, coddling her in his giant arms. She sobbed in his t-shirt, wanting nothing more than to have him forever by her side. Luke held her so tightly, she thought she would lose her breath—and he, too, shed a tear. He nudged her back, planting a deep, wet kiss on her lips, locked in a lover’s embrace that could

only be experienced with true love. He gave her an eager smile and released his arms once more. Luke cracked a sheepish smile, “I forgot… I have something for you. Why don’t you come out to the field and see me off?” He took Amy’s hand and led her outside to the ship, past the cattle languidly grazing in field. She knew it was selfish, but she longed to convince him to stay; to find another way to signal his people that didn’t involve that tedious journey. What if he was hurt—or worse, killed—upon his return trip? Despite her true feelings, she knew in her heart that she had to let him go. An entire race of people sat anxiously awaiting his return, their very lives hanging in the balance. Once they reached the ship, he squeezed her hand, “I’ll be back in just a moment.” He pressed a shimmering green button, opening the door with a long hiss. He returned a minute later, holding something tightly in his hand. Facing her, Luke opened his hand; Amy glanced down to look, tears quietly streaming down her cheeks. In his palm was ring, his large hands dwarfing its size. She leaned in closer and gasped in amazement to find the most beautiful gem set inside. It was light blue with little white tufts moving through it, almost like a summer sky adorned by wispy white clouds. Amy had never seen anything like it and marveled at its beauty.

“It was my mother’s,” he spoke softly, lifting her ring finger with his free hand. “On my planet, it’s a tradition for the male to go out in search of almerade, which means ‘sky rock’ in your language, to give to his one true love when he finds her. It’s a promise of forever, as long as the skies above still stand.” She gazed at the ring, then back to Luke’s loving smile. Was he proposing? Slowly, Luke slid the ring onto her finger and Amy felt as if the ground beneath her had caved in, her heart ready to explode. The world spun in a mixture of happiness and impending sadness, knowing that she must part ways with her love, if only for a short time. He leaned in for a final kiss, the emotions stirring in both of them, then backed away towards the door of the ship. “I must go now, my love.” His emerald eyes remained locked with hers as he stepped aboard, the humming of his engine filling the space around her. At the door, he paused for one last loving gaze. “See ya later.” He smiled the warmest smile he could muster. “See ya later,” she replied; the look of sadness was clear on both of their faces. Amy watched until the ship was clear out of sight, gazing longingly at the now empty space between two stars. Half-heartedly, she trudged back

to the house. Shiloh lifted her head from her place near the fireplace as Amy entered and slumped down into the chair. She felt so empty; the eerie sound of a silence house bothering her like it never had before. With a sigh, she headed towards the staircase, glancing longingly at the ring upon her finger. Just as she reached the first step, the sound of static filtered through the air around her, like a CB radio had switched on somewhere near the mantle. “Come in, Cowgirl,” the voice was familiar, “This is Space Man… can you hear me?” She walked cautiously back into the living room and glanced around; nothing seemed to be disturbed. Shiloh lifted her head once more as the voice echoed again. “Amy, can you hear me?” It was Luke, but coming from where, she didn’t know. “Shiloh, Girl, go show Amy your collar!” There upon Shiloh’s collar dangled a shiny bauble; to the untrained eye, it would appear to be nothing more than a fancy silver trinket. She unhitched it from the collar, examining it in greater detail. A tiny, emerald green button popped up on the back that Amy hesitantly pressed. “Luke, is that you?” She lifted her finger to listen.

“Yes, it is,” he laughed, “Surprise! Now you can communicate with me until I reach the outer limits of my home galaxy. I thought this might help us both, you know, in case you might miss me or something.” Amy rolled her eyes and pressed the button once more, “Miss you? Now why in the world would I do that?” Luke’s laughter filled the room. Perhaps she would be able to bear their time apart after all. Regardless of what came their way, Amy knew deep in her soul that Luke was forever hers, and she would wait as long as it took for him to return to her arms once again. She walked up the stairs towards her bed to rest, clutching the silver ball tightly in her hand. “Oh, Amy?” his voice echoed from her hand just as she reached the bedroom. “I forgot to tell you something… I love you.” Amy flopped down onto the squeaking mattress with a bright smile on her face. Shiloh clambered up the stairs and joined her in her usual place at the foot of the bed. Amy pressed the green button once more and sighed, “Luke, I love you more than you’ll ever know. Please come home soon.” She smiled, placing the trinket radio on the pillow beside her

and gazed into the magnificent ring. Her eyes closing, she daydreamed about what life would be like, just the two of them alone on their farm. Maybe they’d raise a family of their own someday. The smile faded as she drifted into a deep sleep. Someday, soon enough, Luke’s loving gaze would be upon her again, his embrace filling her with love and desire. The whole experience had been so mind blowing, a whirr of emotions and the most amazing love story her mind could have ever conceived. She was in love with an alien, and she wouldn’t want it any other way. THE END

STRYKER’S DESIRE The sight of her curves makes my mouth water. The fire deep inside me threatens to rage out of control. But every time I try to claim what's mine, she slips away. As one of the wealthiest casino owners in Vegas, there's no doubt I could have any woman wrapped around my finger in a heartbeat. Until I met Ava Winter. There's something haunting behind those enchanting eyes that I just can't read—and this mysterious beauty won't let me. As much as she pushes me away, I can't resist her. But I know I shouldn't allow myself to give in to the fiery temptation. Not if I want to keep her safe from the other dragons in Sin City. Or myself...

CHAPTER 1 Cade stood at the back of the theater with a single-malt scotch in his hand. A few empty seats peppered the room, so he could have sat down, but he had no intention of staying for long. He wouldn’t have bothered making an appearance at all, but it was the illusionist’s first show in his casino, and he wanted to make sure the act went off without a hitch. Better than waiting for the reviews, he wanted to get a feel for the reception of the new act before he committed to further appearances. Right on cue, the stage’s strobe lights brightened as a figure descended from the ceiling— suspended from near-invisible wires, of course— and pyrotechnics lit up the circumference of the stage. The trick seemed to enthrall the crowd. The music grew louder, a cacophonic techno mix designed to increase heart rate and bring the audience to the edge of their seats. The man certainly knew how to make an entrance. All of a sudden, blazing streams of fiery ribbon whirled chaotically just to the left of center stage and it drew the audience’s attention there. The illusionist touched down and the strands of fire vanished, leaving in their wake the man’s shimmering-haired assistant. She contrasted the

illusionist in every way, creating a vivid display in the middle of the stage. He was clothed entirely in black and his dark hair was slicked back. She looked like she was almost aglow. To the audience, she appeared to be shimmering, but Cade could see each of the tiny lights that covered her body, an impressive fiber optic display. Her costume—some sort of silvery corset—left little to the imagination, evident by the way every head in the room turned to her. He couldn’t blame them. She was beautiful, so much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But it wasn’t her soft curves or slender legs that held him captive. He’d had so many women with curves in all the right places that it wasn’t much more than a chore these days to select a bedmate from all the blonde beauties and gorgeous brunettes who fell all over him. It was something else about her that captivated him in a way he’d never experienced. Maybe it was the way she stood, her spine just a little straighter than other women he’d seen on that stage. And though she wore a serene smile, the expression on her face simultaneously dared anyone to question whether she belonged there. He got the immediate impression that the vivacious beauty on the stage didn’t fall all over just any man. Was it possible she might not even fall so easily for the infamous Cade Stryker? Perhaps it was that

challenge that had made her instantly irresistible in his mind. He watched as she bound the illusionist in a straightjacket and firmly secured his ankles to a wire. What exactly the trick entailed, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. His eyes never left her for a moment, even as the man was hoisted out of sight. Her gaze perused the audience while the man was suspended somewhere above the ground, and for the briefest moment, as her eyes found him there in the crowd, she paused. Could she see that he was staring right back at her? It seemed unlikely. He searched her gaze quickly, looking for something to break his fascination, but damn it, he couldn’t find it. He couldn’t find anything. He’d learned a long time ago that human eyes were indeed the windows to their souls, but the dark, opaque contact lenses she wore kept her soul safely hidden from him. Was she really the dazzling siren she appeared to be at first glance, or was it all just part of the act? The uncertainty should have served to frustrate him and extinguish his curiosity, but it only served to fan the flames of his desire. From out of nowhere, this stunning woman had become an enigma that he absolutely needed to solve. A round of applause erupted, signaling the conclusion of the opening trick as the illusionist reappeared on the stage next to the silver-haired mystery to give the crowd more of what they came

there for. And then trick after trick, he watched her, trying to find what it was about her that had drawn every bit of his attention. Stunned and bewildered an hour later, he left the theater as the final round of applause began to fill the room. He glanced back briefly as the door closed behind him just in time to witness the entire room burst into a standing ovation in response to the night’s riveting performance. It appeared that his decision to give the illusionist a chance had been a worthwhile one. Based on the ecstatic reaction of the crowd this evening, the theater was guaranteed to be packed every night for a good number of future performances. At the moment, however, that wasn’t his primary concern. He wanted to see the illusionist’s assistant up close. He wanted to see what was really there when the curtain closed and she shed the glitzy, provocative costume and fiber optic lights for street clothes. He needed to know who the real woman was behind the silver wig and the dark contact lenses. As soon as he could, his mind would be freed. She would be a woman, just like any other woman—a well-formed one, for sure—but no different than any other human. The sooner the enchantress lost her hold on him and his mind could return to other matters, the better.

He reached the rear stage entrance, and the man there opened the door wide for him without hesitation. There wasn’t a person in the entire hotel and casino who didn’t cater to his every whim. It was the same in all the properties he owned. Through the door, he located the illusionist right away, standing amid his group of technicians and other experts in the field of magic, but the assistant was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t a room in the entire building that was off-limits to him, but the very moment he began to move to go search for her, the illusionist spotted him, gave a nod and started in his direction. A moment later, the man stood before Cade grinning widely as his hand shot forward in earnest. “Mr. Stryker, I do hope you enjoyed the show.” Cade grasped the illusionist’s hand reluctantly. “Indeed, I did, Adam. And more importantly, it seemed the audience was very impressed. Why don’t you touch base with my assistant in the morning, so we can set up a deal for future bookings?” “Thanks very much; I’ll give a call first thing.” Just then, a woman appeared from a side door, and though she wasn’t wearing the silver wig she’d worn on stage, he recognized her instantly. She was dressed in a pair of distressed jeans that hugged her curves perfectly and a black tank top that crisscrossed its way up her back and made Cade

long to slide his fingers between the strands of fabric and then tear it off altogether. She rummaged for something in a simple handbag she wore slung over her shoulder as she walked toward them, completely oblivious to his presence. “Adam, you wanted to meet on Tuesday afternoon to go over the—” She looked up then and her words seemed to get stuck in her throat. “Ava, this is Mr. Cade Stryker, owner of the hotel and casino,” Adam cut in with a knowing smile. “Mr. Stryker, may I introduce my assistant, Ava Winter.” There was no possessiveness in the man’s eyes, which meant the illusionist and his assistant weren’t intimately involved, nor did it seem the man had any interest in a romantic relationship with the beautiful Ava Winter. Strange. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to have her? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stryker,” she said, staring directly into his eyes. That was impressive. There weren’t many people who didn’t shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze. She stood there with her spine just as straight as it had been on stage and her eyes locked on his as he clasped her hand within his. Still, as much as she might not have been intimidated by his presence, she wasn’t entirely unaffected by it either. He could feel her response to him, the tiniest of tremors the moment he

touched her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to have her falling all over him after all. The thought sent a jolt of desire through his body, and he needed to have her, but he didn’t just want her naked and writhing beneath him. He wanted her completely open, unguarded; unequivocally his. It was a possessiveness he’d never experienced before, and certainly one he never expected to feel for a woman he’d only just met. “Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss Winter?” He heard the question loud and clear, but had it really come from his own mouth? What the hell was he doing? He hadn’t had any intention of pursuing her. He’d only wanted to see the silvery beauty up close and without all the glitz and glam of the show. At most, he’d intended to invite her up to his suite, indulging in her soft curves for a couple of hours. By then, whatever it was that had had him so captivated would certainly be long gone. This inexplicable need to have her all to himself should have been a warning sign. It should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Cade Stryker didn’t need any human; he never had, and he never would. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Stryker, but no thank you. And if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I have to be getting home.” She nodded once more and then walked past

him without another word. Had she really just shot him down? He wondered briefly what was wrong with him for asking her out for a drink, but now there was a much more pressing question in his mind—what was wrong with her? Did she not understand who he was? Even without being able to see behind those damn contact lenses, he’d been able to sense her attraction to him. Hell, the sexual energy in the air had been almost palpable from the moment she slipped her hand into his grip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stryker. I could have warned you if I knew you’d been intending to ask her on a date.” Great, he was getting the sympathy speech from a man who pretended to walk on air for a living? The illusionist’s gravelly voice had suddenly begun to grate on his nerves. “Warned me?” “Yes, Ava’s not the…easiest person to get close to. She keeps everyone at arm’s length.” “And why’s that?” He really didn’t want to be having this conversation with the magic man, but since he’d apparently already ventured down this road, he might as well garner as much information as he could. Maybe he’d learn all he needed to know about her to walk away right then. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is I’ve known her for two years, and that handshake between the two of you is the closest I’ve seen her get to

another human being in all that time.” “She seems more than comfortable with you on stage,” Cade noted, making certain that there was no hint of jealousy imbued in his tone. “That’s different.” Cade nodded. Obviously, there wasn’t any more he could glean from the man’s limited answers. If he was going to spend any more time amid the company of humans, it was going to be in bed with a hot, uncomplicated woman. Or maybe several. Whatever it took to banish Ava Winter from his mind.

CHAPTER 2 Hope unlocked her apartment door and slipped inside. The living room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight that filtered in through the window’s parted curtains and lightly touched the figure sleeping on her sofa. The girl had a bedroom of her own, but no one would know it by the number of times she’d used it in the past eleven months. Jeez, had it really been almost a year? She was going to have to think of something special to commemorate the anniversary. But that would have to wait until morning because she had just enough energy left in her to make it to her bedroom before she collapsed. Still, she stopped as she crossed the living room to drape a blanket over the sleeping form and tuck an errant lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. It was the only time the teenager looked light and peaceful, so much in contrast to the heavy burden she carried around on her shoulders when she was awake. At least it seemed some of the burden had been eased in the past year. Not so long ago, she’d been quite the spitfire with a chip on her shoulder to match, but Hope had seen right through the act.

Of course, she had—it was the same act she had put on for the world herself for too many years to think about. “Good night, Lexi,” she whispered before she continued across the room and down the short hall to her room. Once there, she collapsed on her bed, too exhausted to even turn down the covers. Her eyes were closed by the time her head hit the pillow, but as she surrendered to her fatigue, a face flashed behind her eyes; it belonged to the man she’d met after the show. She knew who he was. Hell, everyone who’d been in Las Vegas for more than five minutes knew who Cade Stryker was. He was the owner of the city’s most prestigious hotel and casino, but while plenty of people knew of him, not many people knew much about him. He was a billionaire mogul with a sketchy past, at best. How one managed to get to his position without someone having turned over every stone of his life, she had no idea, nor had the question really concerned her much before tonight. Suddenly, though, who Cade Stryker was and why no one seemed to know anything about him had risen to the top of her list of concerns. Why, she didn’t know. The man was sexy as hell, but she’d known that already. She’d seen pictures of him in the past, and there was no point in denying he was probably

the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. That wasn’t what had caught her attention and thrown her off guard, though. It was something else; something deeper. There were secrets in the man’s eyes, and for some strange reason, the moment they’d touched, every fiber of her body had wanted to know each one of those secrets. And that was quite the feat for a woman who didn’t have a curious bone in her body. She’d learned long ago that it was best to keep her head down and steer clear of everyone else’s business. It was the best shot she’d had at making sure everyone steered clear of hers. Maybe it had just been seeing the man in the flesh. His broad, rock-hard frame was enough to make any woman weak in the knees. That was probably it. Hell, she hadn’t had anything that resembled a relationship in well over a year— maybe two. To be honest, she’d been so focused on work and Lexi that her lack of male companionship hadn’t really crossed her mind until she’d seen Cade Stryker standing there backstage. And then he’d asked her out for drinks? What the hell was that? Even if he’d been in the mood for a quick lay, certainly, he had all kinds of women at his beck and call. So why go to the effort of asking a complete stranger? Maybe he thought she was just as much an easy lay as his other women. That had to be the reason.

While she’d been on the verge of sleep just seconds ago, the indignation that suddenly coursed through her veins forced her wide awake. The man thought he could snap his fingers and have her falling into bed with him? Well, he was crazy if he thought she was some floozy salivating over the opportunity to get him naked. Despite the way desire tremored through her body at the thought, there was no way in hell that was going to happen. She just wasn’t the kind of woman who was going to drop her panties because some rich, handsome guy snapped his fingers. But damn it, as an image of what might lay beneath the man’s designer suit flashed through her mind, part of her wished she was that kind of woman. She banished the image from her mind quickly and forced herself to inhale and exhale slowly, taking deep breaths until her pulse returned to something that resembled normal. Whether it was indignation or arousal that had her heartbeat racing out of control, she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Cade Stryker was history as far as she was concerned. She’d met him, turned down his poorlyconcealed offer to hop into his bed, and now it was time to forget him. She breathed in, and then out, and her prior tiredness wound its way through her body, relaxing her muscles and pulling her under.

**** A loud knock brought her out of sleep, and she forced her eyes open long enough to peer outside the window. The view of the street and buildings below was still shrouded in a heavy cloak of gray— it was barely dawn. Then what was that sound? There was no way Lexi was already up and banging around in the kitchen. Neither of the ladies of the house believed in starting the day before the sun. It sounded again, even louder this time. Someone was knocking at the front door, but who on Earth would be showing up at her apartment before six in the morning? She bounded out of bed and through the apartment as a sliver of apprehension prickled her skin. It had been almost a year and there had been no sign of anyone looking around for her, but all the while, she’d known there’d been no guarantee it would stay that way. “Lexi,” she whispered vehemently a second before she stopped to shake the girl’s shoulder. “What’s up, Hope?” she replied sleepily. “Lexi, hide.” Lexi bolted upright as her head whipped back and forth, obviously looking for the threat. As another knock sounded at the door, she nodded in understanding and she bolted to Hope’s bedroom.

Hope waited another moment, listening to make sure Lexi had locked the bedroom door, and then she approached the front door slowly, smoothing her clothes and the wayward strands of silver in her wig. It was time to play it calm and cool. She peeked out the peephole into the building’s hallway, but the sight that greeted her wasn’t what she’d expected. A tall, middle-aged man stood on the other side of the door, and although his features were kind, he wore an aggravated expression on his face. He was welldressed, so perhaps he was a lawyer, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious his clothing was a uniform, not an upscale suit. A private detective? No, they didn’t wear uniforms. An undercover police officer? It was technically possible, but she didn’t get the impression the man was involved in law enforcement or detective work. He seemed somehow familiar though. She could keep silent and pretend no one was home, but then she’d never know who the man was or why he was there. The very thought of retreating irritated her; she wasn’t a coward. “Who is it?” she asked before she could change her mind. “My name is Steven James, Ma’am. I’m looking for Miss Ava Winter,” he whispered loudly. Obviously, the man was aware that others would be

sleeping at this hour—just like she’d been only a moment before. “Why are you looking for Ava Winter at—” she glanced quickly at the clock on the wall, “— five-thirty in the morning?” “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Cade Stryker.” Cade Stryker? Why was he sending a man to her door practically in the middle of the night? If he thought she was going to be flattered over a latenight booty call, the man was clearly insane. With her ire rising quickly, she unlocked the door and flung it open. “I’m Ava Winter. Can you please tell me why Mr. Stryker has someone pounding down my door this early in the morning, or…this late at night?” “He just sent me to call on you, Ma’am. He was hoping you would join him for breakfast.” The pained look on his face told her he wasn’t any fonder of banging on a woman’s door before sunrise than she was. “I’m sorry Mr. Stryker sent you here unnecessarily, but if you’d tell him Ava Winter isn’t interested in drinks or breakfast with him, I’d appreciate it.” The man looked at her with a perplexed expression on his face. Apparently, he wasn’t any more accustomed to women turning down the ostentatious billionaire than the billionaire was himself. “Um, if you’d just come with me, Ma’am,

I’m sure the two of you can sort this out.” He’d begun to look at her—really look at her —like he was trying to see behind the mask she wore to the woman underneath it. Strange. “I can’t do that, Mr. James. I understand you’re just doing your job, but I’m going back to bed now.” She smiled kindly at the man, feeling a little bit sorry for him despite his unwelcome intrusion and strange gaze. She had a feeling Cade Stryker didn’t take rejection well—mainly because he’d never been on the receiving end of it. “Hopefully, once you’ve told Mr. Stryker I’m not interested in joining him for breakfast, he’ll let you do the same. Good night.” The man met her eyes for a moment more, but then he nodded once cordially, and turned to leave. “Fat chance,” she heard him whisper under his breath as he started back down the hallway. She closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief—or maybe it was a sigh of frustration. She was relieved the man hadn’t been there for the reason she’d been dreading, but at the same time, the nerve of Cade Stryker to be sending a man to her home to fetch her left her so irritated, there was no way she was going back to sleep. She stomped across the living room and knocked on her bedroom door. “It’s okay, Lexi. You can come out now.” The door creaked open seconds later. “What

was that about?” There were remnants of trepidation in her tone, but she wasn’t in a panic like she’d been moments ago. “Just some rich prick who thinks a little too highly of himself, that’s all. Why don’t you go back to bed for a while. It’s still early.” “I guess so. Are you alright?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Good night, Kiddo.” Lexi padded down the hall to her room then and Hope heard the squeak of the mattress springs as the girl flopped back on the twin-size bed. She smiled. When Lexi had first moved in, she’d slept with her door closed and locked every night. She couldn’t even remember precisely when that had changed, but she didn’t know the last time Lexi had bothered locking her door, or even closing it for that matter. The irritation she’d felt gave way to something much more pleasant: the peace that came from knowing she’d provided Lexi a haven where she could heal and become whole again, something that no one had ever done for Hope. She kept that feeling at the forefront of her mind as she dragged herself to the small kitchen and set a pot of coffee to brew. If she was going to be awake at such an ungodly hour, she might as well have a good amount of caffeine coursing through her veins so she could at least be productive.

CHAPTER 3 Hope counted back from thirty, and the moment she hit zero, the music sounded. Adam began his descent onto the stage from the rafters. She couldn’t see him, but they’d rehearsed the entrance often enough that she could envision him clearly. She counted back again from thirty, and right on cue, her hydraulic platform started upward from beneath the stage. Strands of flash paper on invisible wire lit up around her, creating a mass of swirling fire. Once upon a time, all this magic had fascinated her. A levitating man, a woman cut in half and then miraculously put back together; it left her awestruck when she was a child. Since working as Adam’s assistant though, all of it had lost its glamour. Or maybe she’d lost her enthusiasm for magic long before then. Life had a way of slowly replacing everything that was mystical and beautiful with stark reality and cold, hard truths. Now, all the things she once found magical were nothing more than trickery and sleight of hand. Adam touched down just as the last of the fiery streamers disappeared and she forced a bright smile on her face for the audience. The show was officially underway, and she began to prep him for his mystical, mid-air escape from a straightjacket. It

wasn’t so mystical though, given that he’d dislocated his shoulder multiple times as a child and he could now simply slip it in and out of its socket at will. With the task complete, she looked out over the audience, discerning the skeptics from the spellbound as Adam was hoisted up to the ceiling. If she put extra emphasis on keeping the skeptics distracted with her long legs and cleavage throughout the show, they were less likely to be focused on debunking the illusions. In fact, in her experience, they wound up just as satisfied with the show. But as she glanced around the room, reading postures, expressions and unconscious movements, she saw him. He was standing there at the back of the large theater, just like he had been the night prior. He was watching her, she was sure of it, even at this distance. Though she couldn’t make out his details clearly, she could feel his eyes on her. She would have dismissed it like she did every other gaze in the room that was eyeing the bare skin her skimpy costume exposed, but she couldn’t. Or worse, she didn’t want to dismiss it, so much so, that she almost missed her cue as Adam freed himself and the straightjacket fell to the ground amid a cacophony of applause. Damn it. The man was arrogant and insufferable, and he was driving her to distraction.

She forced her gaze away and shoved every thought of him from her mind. She pulled the thick, heavy chain from the box at the back of the stage and walked back to where Adam stood. “For this next act, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience,” he announced. “Is there anyone who would come up here with my beautiful assistant and I, and verify for me—and for everyone else—that the chain I’m about to wrap around the lovely Ava’s neck is, indeed, precisely what it looks like?” Nearly every hand in the room shot into the air, but it was only one hand that caught her attention. He was already starting forward, striding confidently down the center aisle. A hush fell over the crowd as row after row saw him making his way to the stage. To the best of her knowledge, he’d never participated in any act or show that had taken place at his hotel, so why now? Did he know the real reason she’d turned him down the other night, that it was her body’s own response to him that had sent her running in the opposite direction? Or did he have such a flawless track record with women that he wouldn’t tolerate a single blemish? He ascended the stairs before she could think about it any further and he strode toward her with the same confident gait. “Mr. Cade Stryker, ladies and gentlemen. We are lucky enough to have our gracious host help us with our performance this evening,” Adam

announced, encouraging a round of applause. The man seemed unperturbed by Adam’s introduction and the audience’s brief ovation. He didn’t turn around to face the audience once he’d reached the stage; instead, he stood no more than a foot’s distance from her, locking her eyes in his gaze. A split second later, Adam tapped her shoulder imperceptibly. He was worried about her reaction to the hotel owner and wanted to keep her on track. Had anything ever made her slip up on stage before? Never! There was no way in hell she’d let the giant ego standing next to her change that now. She held the chain in her hands out to him as Adam began his speech. “Now, if you’ll take the chain from my assistant, please verify that it is, in fact, as real as it looks.” Mr. Stryker lifted the chain, grazing his fingers along the palms of her hands as he did. She fought her body’s urge to shiver in response to the tiny ripples of pleasure that coursed through her body. “It appears real to me,” he announced, his eyes never leaving hers. “Excellent,” Adam told him as he took the chain. “Now, if you’ll be patient with me for just a moment, Mr. Stryker, I’m going to have you help me pull this chain right through Miss Winter’s neck.” Everyone in the audience gasped in shock at

Adam’s announcement, and they sat just a little nearer to the edge of their seats. She tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes, and plastered a shocked, slightly fearful expression on her face instead, just like what was expected of her. Adam approached her then, wrapping the chain around her neck slowly, drawing out the crowd’s anticipation. Finally, he made a knot in the chain in front of her neck, just to keep it nice and secure. “Mr. Stryker, if you don’t mind,” he motioned for the man to stand behind her and he obliged easily. “Now, if you’ll grab onto the ends of the chain, and when I say, ‘pull’ I want you to yank as hard as you can. We want the chain to pass right through Miss Winter’s neck in one, swift motion, and fortunately, I believe you have the muscle necessary to pull this off. Don’t you agree?” he turned to the audience who cheered together in response. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the heat that radiated from his body and she could easily envision the hard, muscular arms the audience was applauding. She felt his hands on the ends of the chains a second later. Usually, she could feel the tremor of the volunteer’s hands lightly vibrating the chain, but she felt nothing now. Was the man not the least bit concerned he might strangle her, or worse? It was possible Adam had clued the man in ahead of time, but that wasn’t

Adam’s M.O. He preferred to keep everyone in the dark to make each illusion as authentic-looking as possible. Apparently, Mr. Stryker just wasn’t the least bit concerned about her or her neck. “One…” Adam began the countdown. “Two…” A hush fell over the audience. “Three… Pull!” Cade pulled hard and just like Adam had said, it appeared that the chain passed right through her neck, and the crowd applauded enthusiastically. She couldn’t help but notice that while it had looked like one, swift motion, she’d felt a change in pressure as the chain began to tug on her. Had he finally felt a split second of hesitation? Did he really think he could have pulled back then even if the trick had gone horribly wrong? That would have required quicker reflexes than she’d ever seen. “Ava, please show the audience that Mr. Stryker has left your beautiful neck unscathed and very much still attached to the rest of your lovely body.” She looked up at the ceiling and then turned her head from left to right, and the audience seemed satisfied. “Would you care to inspect your handiwork, Mr. Stryker,” Adam asked, motioning to her neck. Wait a minute. This wasn’t part of the act. She turned to glare discreetly at Adam. She’d be shooting daggers from her eyes if she could call up

a little of her own magic at that moment. He just smiled serenely as Cade stepped closer, still standing behind her. She swallowed her agitation, though she’d definitely be having words with Adam after the show about this little stunt. Nevertheless, she remained still as she felt Cade’s left hand against her bare hip, lightly holding her there. His right hand touched her then, his warm fingers trailing from the back of her neck to the front. Once there, he continued further, his fingers reaching up behind her ear while his palm pressed against the flesh of her neck. It was the most delicate, most erotic chokehold she could ever have imagined. It was over only a second after it had begun as his fingers started back the way they’d come. She couldn’t hide the shiver of arousal that raced through her body though, as it sparked a fire deep inside her. “She’s flawless,” he told Adam and the audience in a husky tone that fanned the flames inside her, and then he dropped his hands. She resisted her body’s desperate urge to follow, to seek out his fingers. She breathed deeply instead, hoping neither Cade Stryker nor the audience had noticed the way her body had responded to him. She didn’t hear what Adam said next; she was too busy focusing on breathing deep and maintaining her outward calm. Seconds later, though, Cade descended from the stage, returning to his place at

the back of the room amid a flurry of applause. Good. With some distance between them, she could focus her attention on the rest of the show, and that was precisely what she did. She’d never admit that her eyes grazed across the back of the room repeatedly, looking for where he stood, wondering if he was staring back at her. She didn’t see him though; not once for the remainder of the performance. It was better that way, even if she couldn’t help but to wonder why he’d left.

**** “Great show, Gorgeous.” Adam congratulated her after the longest standing ovation they’d ever had. “Yeah, it was great,” she eyed him angrily, still irritated with him over his unexpected antics on stage. “What do you say next time we let Cade Stryker put his paws all over you?” “I’m afraid he doesn’t swing that way, Hon, or else you wouldn’t have been the one with the rope around your neck tonight.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, as if she hadn’t grasped his meaning already. “Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy having a handsome billionaire’s hands on you. It wasn’t like I gave him a free pass or anything, and besides, the audience loved it.” “I guess.” She’d argue, but he was right—at least the part about the audience loving the extra little show. “And you know, there’s no reason you can’t have a little fun of your own now that the show’s over. A private after-party, if you know what I mean?” “Why Adam, have you decided to give women a try? I’m flattered, but you’re not really my type.” “Very funny. I know I’m not your type, but I

bet tall and muscular with eyes a person could get lost in is right up your alley. Filthy rich doesn’t hurt, either.” “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” she replied dryly. “Come on, you could use a little fun, Hope. I don’t think I’ve known anyone who could use letting loose and having a good time more. You don’t have to marry the guy. Have a couple glasses of champagne, jump his bones and you can go back to warding off the world with your ten-foot pole in the morning.” “Thanks for the suggestion, but I think I’d rather spend the night cuddling up with a porcupine than with that spoiled, arrogant bastard.” “Is that so?” a deep, husky voice spoke from no more than a yard behind her. She knew who it was without turning around. Did the man sneak around like a cat? She hadn’t even heard the door open, which of course led her to wonder exactly how long he’d been standing there. Adam hadn’t said a word! She turned around slowly, reluctantly, but there was no point in pretending the man wasn’t there. “Good evening, Mr. Stryker.” “Please, call me Cade. I don’t think anyone who’s let me touch them like you have should have to be so formal, do you?” “Mr. Stryker, you don’t think that was

anything more than part of the show, do you?” “I happen to know that little scene had never been a part of the show before, and trust me, I’m flattered.” “Well, don’t be. It was Adam’s idea.” What else could she say? She had tried to brush it off and he’d caught her. “You don’t honestly think I’m a spoiled, arrogant bastard, do you? It usually takes someone at least three or four hours with me to come to that conclusion. You, Miss Winter, have not even given me an hour of your time, so I think your judgment is rather unfair, don’t you?” She always had a quick retort at the ready, so why the hell couldn’t she come up with one now? “Have coffee with me, Miss Winter. Just one coffee—that’s fairly harmless, isn’t it? And then I won’t even ask that you wait the customary three to four hours to place judgment. If you still feel I am a spoiled, arrogant bastard, then I’ll graciously accept your conclusion.” It did seem fair—wait, was she insane? Since when did he get to decide how long she had to wait before summing a person up? He took a step toward her then, and she really wished he hadn’t. His nearness was overwhelming, but not in a way that made her feel suffocated. It served to make every fiber of her body keenly aware of him; of the breadth of his chest and the

taut muscles of his arms; of his brilliant, green eyes and the way they were trying to peer into her soul; of the way his hands had felt against her on stage. “Alright. One coffee, Mr. Stryker,” she heard herself reply. She really had taken leave of her senses. “Excellent, then, shall we?” He motioned to the exit from the backstage area to the main hotel. She sighed heavily, hearing Adam snicker quietly behind her, and she accompanied the man to the elevator, which she presumed they were taking down to the parking garage below. It seemed odd that the owner of the hotel would park his vehicle down there with every other hotel patron’s. She assumed he would have had a personal attendant to do things like fetch his car. Once inside the elevator though, he didn’t press the button for the parking level; he pushed the button for the penthouse. He was taking her back to his suite? Coffee to her had meant a café somewhere, not in the comfort of his hotel suite with a bed no more than a few feet away. “I think I should be calling it a night,” she protested quickly, but not quickly enough. The elevator doors had already closed, locking her inside with the deceitful man. He smiled. “Just trust me, Miss Winter. I assure you, I’m not taking you to my room to have my way with you.”

Great, it was like he could read her mind, though it probably wasn’t a huge leap to figure out what she’d been thinking. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, trying to assess whether he was telling the truth. But the elevator door opened a moment later and he stepped out. She could just press the button and go back downstairs to where her car sat waiting for her two streets over. Even while she was in the midst of contemplating what to do, her feet carried her forward and out of the elevator. She didn’t fully realize what she’d done until the door closed quietly behind her. “Trust me,” he whispered once more when she didn’t move from where she stood. She had no idea why, but she nodded then and followed him down the hall. Instead of turning into the only door to a suite on the entire floor, he continued down to the end of the hall, inserted a key card in the lock at a heavy exit door and opened it wide. They were going up to the roof. Coffee on the hotel rooftop? She supposed it wasn’t the worst idea. As she followed him out further though, something else caught her attention, namely a giant death trap located squarely on the center of the roof. He was walking straight for it and it didn’t take her long to surmise what he had in mind. “Oh, I don’t think so. You said coffee, not

coffee in a flying tin can.” “Seriously? You’re afraid to fly?” His smile was something between cocky and surprised. “I didn’t say that. I just think if humans were meant to fly we’d have sprouted wings a long time ago. I prefer my feet firmly planted on the ground, thank you.” His smile grew brighter then, and this time she had no idea what was hidden behind it. He seemed genuinely pleased by what she’d said. Strange. “Would it help if I told you I’ve been flying a whole lot longer than you’d imagine?” he cajoled her, almost sweetly. “You’re going to fly that thing? Oh no, you’ve got to be kidding.” “Would you feel better if someone else was flying my helicopter,” he asked in a husky tone, closing the distance between them. He was so close, not much more than an inch separated his body from hers. Her skin hummed in anticipation, waiting for him to bridge the small gap, but he didn’t. He didn’t move, and he didn’t speak. He just stood there overwhelming every one of her senses. “No,” she replied, meaning she wouldn’t feel any better if someone else was flying the thing. “Good.” He smiled, stepped back and motioned for her to climb on board. “I was worried you were going to turn out to be a chicken.”

It seemed he’d taken her ‘no’ in some way other than she had meant it. But a chicken? He was calling her a chicken because she wasn’t comfortable soaring thousands of feet above the ground in a machine that could fall right out of the sky at any moment. Shouldn’t that make the person willing to indulge in such a risk the one worthy of insult? Still, regardless of how rational the argument, her feet compelled her forward, just as they had when she’d stepped off the elevator. Apparently, her body was more concerned with being viewed as a coward than it was with selfpreservation. “Why do we need to take a helicopter to a coffee shop?” she asked in afterthought once she’d climbed up into the contraption. “It’s just easier to get to the shop this way. It’s a little outside the city.” It seemed like a plausible enough explanation —if there could be a plausible explanation for why she was sitting in a death trap with a man she’d sworn she never wanted to see again. He hopped into the pilot’s seat and took off quickly, before she had a chance to come to her senses and change her mind. She gripped the edges of her seat as the ground grew further and further away. Not that holding onto her seat for dear life was going to do a lick of good if the thing malfunctioned and they plummeted to their deaths.

“Just breathe,” he told her softly without looking at her. That was easy for him to say. She’d bet he didn’t feel like his heart was pounding a thousand beats per minute, and given that he was flying the helicopter, she seriously hoped the world wasn’t beginning to spin out of control for him like it was for her. If she made it back from this stupid coffee run alive, she was going to have her head examined. A problem with her brain was the only explanation for her sudden descent into insanity.

CHAPTER 4 Cade watched her out of the corner of his eye as he flew over the bright lights of Las Vegas. She was terrified and yet she’d climbed aboard anyway. The woman definitely had nerve—even if it was borne of aggravation over his taunting. “You’re even braver than I thought,” he told her, and he meant it, even if he wished he didn’t. It was almost enough to make him turn around. Almost. Her courage gave birth to a newfound respect for her, and that bothered him. He wanted to convince her to open up to him, to let him find what it was about her that had him captivated. And then he wanted to get as far away from the beautiful temptress as his wings would carry him. “Thanks, but anytime you want to put us back down on the ground, I’m good with that.” He should have done exactly that, but instead, he continued on the flight path to his destination. The silver-haired beauty was silent beside him. He considered making small talk to pass the time for her to take her mind off the flight, but there were so many things he wanted to ask her, he didn’t know where to start. Her childhood? Is that where her secret was hidden? Did she have some mystical past he could sense unknowingly?

“So, what is it you do when you’re not on stage captivating the audience, Ava? What’s your story?” “There isn’t much of a story to tell. I ended up in Vegas a few years ago and then landed a job with Adam. I’m sure it’s nothing in comparison to the flashy life of a billionaire like yourself. I have a feeling I spend a whole lot more time on the ground than you do.” Not the most prolific answer, but it was a start. At least she wasn’t focused on proving he was an arrogant prick at the moment. And more than that, her answer seemed ironic, given his penchant for taking flight whenever he could. “You’re probably right. I do like to fly.” She had no idea how right she was. “But you must do something when you’re not on stage?” “Not much, really.” That seemed about all he was going to get out of her at the moment, so he turned his thoughts inward, running possibility after possibility through his mind, though not one of them explained why he was so captivated by this human. “Where are we?” she asked as he started to land the helicopter. “We can’t possibly be anywhere close to Las Vegas. Is that Carson City?” The tone of her voice said she was less than pleased. “Actually, we’re in Santa Monica.” If she

wasn’t pleased thinking they were in Carson City, then finding out she was in Santa Monica wasn’t going to thrill her either. “You mean, Santa Monica, California? You said coffee, not California!” “Yes, but I never said where we’d be having coffee.” “Maybe you can up and go wherever you want, but I can’t just fly off to a different state on a whim.” “Actually, you just did.” “No, you did, without even checking with me first. I need to get back. I can’t be this far away from home.” “Unfortunately, the helicopter’s not going to fly much further without refueling; certainly, not all the way back to Las Vegas. I suppose you’re stuck here with me for a while, so you might as well make the most of it.” “You’ve got to be kidding!” The pallid color that her skin had taken by mid-flight suddenly gave way to a healthier—albeit angrier—hue. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put in a call for refueling while you join me for coffee on the beach. And the moment the helicopter’s ready, I’ll take you home. Deal?” “Everything is about deals with you, isn’t it? Wait…did you say ‘beach’?” He couldn’t tell by the tone of her voice if she

was pleased or irritated. It seemed there was more shock in her tone than anything else, and that was precisely the vibe he was getting from her body, too. “Yes. Why? Do you have something against the beach?” Without answering, she stepped out of the helicopter and surveyed her surroundings. It was like he’d told her they had just landed on Mars, not some quiet strip of beach on the Pacific coast. He followed her out, utterly perplexed by her sudden change in behavior—and not too many things left him perplexed. The woman was bad news; she was just too fascinating. This couldn’t possibly be a good idea. “That’s the Pacific Ocean,” she told him when he stood next to her. “I’ve never seen the ocean before,” she said simply, looking out at the moonlit water. He’d only intended to try to throw her off guard a little, get her out of her comfort zone to the quiet beach with nothing but the sound of waves lapping at the sandy shore. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind, and yet suddenly, he wouldn’t go back and change it if he could. Wonder was radiating from her pores as she looked out over the water. He wanted to absorb every drop, but at the same time, a slash of jealousy ripped through him at her sheer amazement. The

world had become so dark, so bleak to him, and yet she could find so much beauty in something as mundane as a body of water. He tried to remember back to the first time he’d seen the ocean. What was it—seven, maybe eight-hundred years ago? Had his response come anywhere close to the fascination he saw in her now? No. He’d long since hardened himself by then, to the world and everything in it. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him. “Like what?” “Like I’m an alien from another world and you’re trying to figure out whether I’m friendly or hostile.” “Maybe because I’m waiting to see if you’ll chew me out for flying you out of state, or if you’ll let me off the hook. What do you say we walk off some of your frustration before you decide?” She mulled over his suggestion and then nodded her head in agreement. Her fascination with the ocean seemed to have tempered her ire with him. He typed a request for refueling in his phone quickly and then they started down the beach in silence, meandering close to the water’s edge. “Ow!” she gasped all of a sudden, not thirty yards from where they’d started. Her hands flew to her eyes and she turned away. A gust of wind had picked up the loose sand on the beach and blown it

into her eyes. “It seems the beach has a way of defending itself against intruders,” she joked. But instead of turning back to him, she looked out at the dimly lit ocean and was silent. She seemed completely engrossed in the view. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered after a moment, and there was none of the aggravation in her tone he’d heard there earlier. “My mother always talked about taking me to the ocean; a big family vacation with just her, me and my dad.” The shocked expression she wore told him she hadn’t thought about what she was saying. It just slipped out. “But you never went. Why?” “She died,” she replied simply. Even if he couldn’t delve intuitively into her tone and her body language, he would have known there was more to the story than that. Not that he could blame her. She barely knew him, and if he was smart, he’d keep it that way. But then she turned to him, and his breath caught in his throat. Nothing had ever caught him more off-guard than the woman before him. Her eyes, they were no longer murky brown. The sand must have irritated them and forced her to remove her contacts. The icy blue gaze that stared back at him should have seemed cold, but it didn’t. It was anything but cold. The fascination and wonder, and the sadness in those eyes left him

speechless. And there was something else there that was unmistakable—desire. It was unbelievable. Why the hell had she ever covered up something so beautiful with those brown contacts? And what was even more unbelievable than that was the realization her guard was coming down. And while it wasn’t like he could look into someone’s eyes and know everything about them, it was a glimpse. Over the years, he’d learned to recognize shrewd eyes and hard ones, conniving eyes and even on rare occasions, kind ones. This was his chance; this is what he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her on stage. Perhaps not the only thing he wanted from her, his own desire reminded him loudly, but he’d wanted to see what laid beneath the contact lenses. What she was like when she wasn’t in the midst of a performance or closed off in anger. But Ava’s eyes were unlike any others. What he saw in hers left him even more puzzled because there wasn’t just one thing there. He saw everything. She was hard and soft at the same time; kind but bitter; skeptical, but God how she wished she didn’t have to be. On top of all that, right then she was fighting with everything she had to deny the fire that had begun its hot burn through her veins. Why deny it so vehemently? She was a grown

woman, and she had to know he wanted her, too. Looking down at her, violent shocks of desire jolted through his body. There was no one around. He could lay her down in the sand right there on the beach and bury himself deep inside the most enigmatic woman he’d ever met. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman more. And yet, right from the beginning, she’d fought against it, as if she seriously worried that sex with him would leave her scorched. He took a step forward, bridging the distance between them, and he settled his hands on her hips. She didn’t pull back; she just continued to stare up at him with eyes like icy fire. He never would have guessed that a stroll along the beach would get him so thoroughly behind her defenses, but it had. He could feel the fire deep inside and he fought to hold it back—not the desire he felt for her, but something else: the beast inside him that threatened to take control. He prided himself on the mastery he’d developed over that side of him, but with Ava, it was overwhelming. It was as if it wasn’t just the man who wanted her, but the dragon, too; something he’d never experienced with a woman before—not like this. He knew she wasn’t going to resist. She wanted this—at least, most of her wanted this. He could see that some small part of her whispered in opposition, but desire was drowning out the sound.

He could see it and hear it, and as much as he wanted to ignore it, as much as the beast inside him raged against it, he couldn’t. He wanted her—God, how he wanted her—all of her. When the hell it had begun to matter to him, he didn’t know. Since when did he care if a woman had doubts lingering in the back of her mind? Never, damn it, but he did now. Cade stepped back, trying to take control, silently cursing himself for his foolishness. Her body swayed toward him in response, confirming he’d been right. He could have had her; he could have had every naked inch of her. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned away. He had to, even though he knew it was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed to put distance between them; to get as far away from her as he could before he lost the tentative grip he had. He started slowly along the path they’d been walking a moment before. It took her a split second to recover, but she fell in step next to him and he could already feel her distancing herself once again. Good, he thought. He needed her to keep her distance. But Cade couldn’t leave it alone; not entirely. “So, there really isn’t anything to your story outside of work?” he asked before she could withdraw completely. He needed some part of her; her mind, her body or her soul…something.

She shook her head. “What about yours?” Exactly the question he’d been expecting. “What are you going to do with your life now that you have…well…everything?” Okay, that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting at all. “I suppose I don’t know.” It wasn’t the truest answer, but it wasn’t altogether a lie. She wanted to know what he was going to do with the next fifty or sixty years of his life, and he knew the answer to that. He was going to continue doing what he’d been doing, making more and more money until he had so much, no one could ever stand in his way. Of course, he’d eventually have to become more low-key than he’d been in Vegas, withdrawing from society entirely to keep his secret. It had never been a problem before the age of television, news and social media, but it was becoming impossible to stay out of the public eye these days. In the long run, though, as for his grand scheme? He had no idea. There was only one goal he’d had in mind: the same goal that had been at the forefront of his mind for centuries. He’d been tracking her all this time, but to no avail. Nevertheless, one day, he would find her, the woman who’d done this to him, and he’d make her pay. It wasn’t the duality of what he was that made him so angry. Hell, Cade had been this way for so long, barely more than a child when it happened,

that he couldn’t remember which form was truly his. It was the endlessness of what she’d done. He’d prayed for death so many times, watching everyone around him come to their natural end, but not him. He continued on endlessly, always alone, knowing he always would be. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ava’s whisper broke into his thoughts. There was empathy in her tone. She understood his plight—at least, she thought she did. She knew what it felt like to be directionless, and he wondered how she knew. There was no point in pursuing the answer, though. She wasn’t going to give him that. So, he abandoned the subject, focusing on random conversation that wouldn’t put her on edge. Before long, he could sense her wall coming down as they continued to stroll further down the beach. She talked about her early childhood, her work now and the waitressing jobs she’d had before landing the gig with Adam Natas. She even shared the secrets behind a couple of tricks she had learned early on—not that he wouldn’t have been able to figure them out on his own. Cade told her about the places he’d been, leaving out the fact that the last time he’d visited some of those places had been more than a century ago. He couldn’t believe how easy she was to talk to, and how it seemed she’d begun to feel that same

ease in return. There were things she wasn’t saying, like what filled the missing void between her early childhood and her first job as a waitress in Las Vegas. He couldn’t blame her, though. It wasn’t like he was being upfront about the details of his own life. He thought that he should turn around and take her back. Though he wasn’t keeping track of time, at least an hour must have passed since they’d started down the beach. But he didn’t want to turn around. Right then, he would have been happy if the beach stretched on forever. He would have been content to continue walking side by side with her until she’d shared everything; not just because she was a mystery to him, but because the more she talked, the more he genuinely wanted to know her. He froze, mid-step, as that last thought ran through his mind. Since when had he wanted to know about her for any reason other than satisfying his curiosity? He didn’t want to get to know the woman; he simply wanted to solve the mystery, didn’t he? No human had ever been more than a passing amusement, so what the hell was it about this woman that made her so different from the rest? What made even the beast in him threaten to take over just to have her? “I need to go home, Cade.” She stopped suddenly, too, and looked up at him with beautiful blue eyes full of panic. It was for the best, even if

too much of him didn’t want it to be true. “Alright.” He turned and started back the way they’d come, though his mind warred with itself every step of the way. He didn’t want the evening to end, but at the same time, he needed it to. By now, he should have known everything he wanted to know about her, and he should have had her naked and writhing beneath him, satisfying the last of his curiosities. Instead, he’d resisted the urge to have her, and every question she’d answered had only fueled the need to know more. So, now what? Should he take her back home, drop her off and never think about her again? And why was she in such a rush to get home anyway? He didn’t get the feeling she just wanted to get away from him. It was something more, but what was it? “Why are you in such a hurry?” he asked when they were about thirty yards from the helicopter. “I just…don’t like to be out too late, that’s all. I guess I’m not much of a night owl.” Her steps slowed as they neared the helicopter. “Why the hell couldn’t you be like normal men? You know… walking…driving? I have to find the one guy in the whole state of Nevada who prefers to fly around in a tin can,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed into the helicopter. He chuckled as she dropped herself

unceremoniously into the passenger’s seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. The movement drew his attention and he couldn’t help but watch the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath came quicker. For an instant, an image of her naked, grinding on top of him flashed through his mind, but the image that appeared next wasn’t what he expected. He saw her on his back as he flew through the sky, stretching his iridescent wings. She held on tight, but they both knew she didn’t have to; he would never let her fall. He shook his head, trying to banish the unrealistic image from his mind. It wasn’t possible; humans were terrified and judgmental of everything they couldn’t understand. There may be something unique about her, something he’d never sensed in anyone before, but ultimately, she was human and she would be no different. And why the hell was he even entertaining such ridiculous thoughts? Did he really want her to know what he was, even if she wouldn’t go running in horror? The answer that came to mind surprised him. He barely knew her, but he wished he did, and he wished she wanted to know him in the same way. He settled into the pilot’s seat and tried to push every thought from his mind. He took the helicopter off the ground and tried to focus all his attention on the view in front of them as they flew higher and higher. Still, he couldn’t stop more

questions from flooding his mind. “Why do you find the ocean so fascinating?” he heard himself ask the quiet woman next to him a few minutes into the flight. She turned to him, seemingly surprised by his question. “You don’t see it? The ocean is so beautiful, yet its beauty is deceptive. It could destroy everything, but it has the power to lull everyone who sees it into thinking it’s something it isn’t; something serene. That contradiction makes it captivating—a beautiful, terrifying force of nature.” She was really that enthralled with the ocean? He’d thought that kind of wonder had dwindled long ago with the beginning of the information era, the age where nothing was magical or inexplicable anymore. Of course, he’d done a great deal to bring about the end of magic and mysticism. He couldn’t even count the number of witches he’d hunted and eliminated; all those wretched men and women who used their mystical knowledge to kill and destroy.

**** The remainder of their flight passed in silence, both of them turning inward, though he had no idea what thoughts were running through her mind. “I’ll drive you home,” he told her as they stepped out of the helicopter. “That’s okay. My car’s just a few streets over.” “Then I’ll walk you to your car.” “You? Walk? I can’t imagine you’d be content with something so mundane,” she teased. “I think I can manage for a block or two. After that, I might have to take flight to avoid utter boredom.” “Suit yourself.” She motioned for him to lead the way, and he did, back inside the hotel and down to the building’s front lobby. Even at the later hour, there were still plenty of people moving around— not surprising in Sin City. With every set of eyes on them, they left the building. She looked up at him when they stepped outside and her lips parted like she was going to speak, but she turned away seconds later and started down the street. “I’m hosting a dinner tomorrow night,” he told her when they reached her car. “Join me?” “I don’t know. I appreciate the offer, but—” “I promise, no helicopters,” he teased.

“I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” She was on the fence. So much of her wanted to say yes, he could see it in her eyes, but just like before, something made her hesitate. And while he couldn’t bring himself to take her like this, he could use the desire radiating from her to sway her decision. In one, swift movement, he leaned in, pressing her back up against the door of her car, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. It took her by surprise, and her lips parted in response. A growl threatened to escape his throat as he swooped in, covering her mouth with his and feeling her soft lips beneath his. Fuck, he wanted her; every fiber of both his beings wanted her. He wanted to tear her clothes off and make every inch of her body his. He’d never felt so starved for sustenance, as if her body was what he needed to survive and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. His hands shook with his restraint, desperate to ignore the tiny sigh against his lips as she moved her hands to the back of his neck, twining in the short hair there. He couldn’t help but to glide his tongue along the parted seam of her lips, but she opened for him further. Was she insane? She was terrified of flying but not of the beast who held her in his grasp? She pressed her body closer against his, molding her soft curves to his hard frame, making

his cock throb painfully. Damn it, he didn’t care that they were on the side of a busy Vegas street. He wanted her naked. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his. He needed to taste her, to sample every inch of her with his hands, his tongue…his teeth. The thought made him pull back fast, gritting his teeth against the arousal that pounded through his veins. He needed to run, to fly, to do whatever he had to do to get out of there, but instead, “Have dinner with me,” slipped from his lips. He wanted to tell her to strip her clothes for him, to spread her legs wide so he could feel her velvet heat sheathing him. He knew she was on fire. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils and drove him mad. “Okay,” she whispered back as she lunged upward for his lips, and she sighed quietly as their tongues met. He felt it like never before. Not once in as long as he could remember had he fought so hard to keep it locked inside. Her quiet sigh, the feel of her lips against his, her intoxicating scent; it was all too much. He needed to get out of there or else he was going to regret what happened next. He wasn’t going to be able to leave until he’d touched and tasted every inch of her; until he’d found his release deep inside her, right there in the public’s eye. And he knew he didn’t have enough control to

be gentle. She’d hate him by the time he was finished, and the only thing worse than trying to keep the beast locked inside was imagining the look of loathing on her face afterwards. He pulled away and she whimpered quietly at the loss, looking up at him with blue wildfire in her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ava,” he whispered and then he left. He didn’t have a choice. A few more seconds and he wouldn’t have been able to walk away. “My name’s Hope,” she whispered when he was several yards away, probably so quietly that he wasn’t meant to hear it. He did, though, and as he tested the name on his tongue, and he liked the feel of it. It suited her. He breathed in and out deeply as he strode back toward the hotel, but he didn’t stop when he reached the front lobby. Instead, he continued right past, walking along the busy street with just one destination in mind. He needed to get away from her. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her, he was already certain she was unlike anyone he’d ever met—and he absolutely should have ignored her that first night on stage. He should have chalked her up as nothing more than an attractive magician’s assistant and gone looking for a boring, everyday beauty to warm his bed. Cade needed to stretch his wings and soar far

away from everything; needed to fly high above the clouds and miles away from anything that resembled humanity. He continued to walk along the city’s streets, feeling cramped in his own skin. Ten minutes passed, and he started to run. Twenty minutes passed, and then thirty. His legs had the ability to move so much faster, but he couldn’t give them freedom to run full-stride. Finally, he saw his destination up ahead—Red Rock Canyon National Park. There would be no one around this late at night and no streetlights lit the area, leaving it black enough so no one who happened to be nearby would be able to see him. He could see, though. Even his human eyes could see clearly in the dark. He stepped into the blackness and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he could feel it happening. It had taken years for him to perfect making it come at will, but it was second nature now. And this time, with that part of him already so desperate to come out, there was no effort. By sheer will, he felt his human form give way to something so much more; to power unlike any human body could contain; to scales like armor, so much stronger than thin human flesh. And to wings that could carry him faster than any human legs could. Heat filled his massive body and he could no longer be still. He took to the skies, waiting for the familiar relief to wash over him. But though his

body no longer felt constrained, his mind was no more free than it had been a moment before. As he soared above the clouds, her image was there in his mind. Even like this he couldn’t escape the woman he barely knew.

CHAPTER 5 Hope stretched languidly beneath the soft cotton of her bed sheet and then proceeded to spend the next several hours tossing and turning. Cade’s image plagued her no matter how much she moved restlessly about her bed. She had been hell bent on staying away from him in the beginning, and as she’d lay there wide awake in the middle of the night, she seriously wished she’d listened to herself. There was something different about Cade Stryker. He was unlike all the other men she’d met. Sure, she hadn’t met too many billionaires over the years, but even so, it wasn’t just his money or his frivolous lifestyle that set him apart. He had the opportunity to take what he wanted—twice—and he resisted each time. To her chagrin, she’d wished he hadn’t. She concluded he wasn’t interested in her in that way, but every fiber of her body told her otherwise. She could see it in his clear green eyes and feel it in his touch. And there was something else; she could sense it radiating from him. Passion rippled through her body as she remembered his hot skin against hers. Even through their clothes, his heat had touched her, so hot it

baffled her. So why had he held back? If he wasn’t interested in a lowly magician’s assistant in the first place, then why had he asked her to dinner? The questions had rolled around in her mind all night, in between fiery images of what could have happened; of what part of her desperately wished had happened. The moment she opened her eyes, the same questions bombarded her once again, but she tried to push them from her mind—at least long enough to make her morning cup of coffee. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Lexi greeted her from the kitchen table. She glanced at the clock and then did a double take. Was it really almost noon? Apparently, her body had made up for the hours of sleeplessness. “Morning, kiddo.” “Hot date last night?” “What makes you think that?” “The fact that you didn’t come home until after three in the morning was my first clue.” “Yeah, sorry.” She felt like she was apologizing to an overprotective parent. It was almost comical. “I’ll forgive you this time, but next time, call if you’re going to be home late.” “I’ll do that.” She smiled dryly as she poured a cup of coffee. Lexi must have brewed a pot for her when she got up. And as she took the first sip, that

confirmed it. The coffee was lukewarm at best and tasted like it had been sitting there for hours. “Sorry, I thought you’d be up a whole lot earlier,” she offered with chagrin. “So…where were you?” “Um, I was on a date, I suppose.” “I knew it! So, who’s the guy?” She was silent for a moment. If Lexi was this excited she’d had a date, she was going to go through the roof when she discovered who she’d been with. “This must be good. Spill it, Hope.” “Have I ever told you how pushy you’ve gotten?” she teased. “Alright, the guy happened to be…Cade Stryker.” “Holy crap!” “Yeah.” “So, when are you seeing him again?” she asked without missing a beat. “I don’t know, Lexi. He asked me to some dinner tonight…” It was a charity dinner. Cade wanted her to join him as his date for a public function. Didn’t he realize the media would be there? Maybe that was the point. Maybe his interest in her had stemmed from a need to further his public image, making him more likeable by bringing some poor, young woman to his expensive gala. “Don’t even think it. That’s just ridiculous, Hope.”

“What’s ridiculous?” “I don’t believe for a second this guy’s inviting you to dinner as some show of charity.” It was a little odd. If he’d wanted that, he could have chosen from a slew of women who would have been salivating over the opportunity to spend time with the infamous Cade Stryker. There would’ve been no reason for him to bother with the one woman who’d shot him down the first time they met. Even so, did she really want to spend the evening in front of every journalist in the city? By tomorrow, news of her “relationship” with Cade would be plastered all over the newspaper. “Who cares what anyone else thinks,” Lexi interrupted her thoughts like she’d been able to read exactly what was going through her mind. It was amazing how well they’d come to know each other in such a short amount of time. “Maybe I don’t want to be known as the next floozy drooling all over one of Vegas’ most wellknown billionaires. I’ll look like nothing but another gold digger.” “Just keep your mouth closed and no one will know you’re drooling,” she teased. “Hope, you’re always telling me I have to do what’s right for me. It’s time you took some of your own advice. Besides, if you happen to get a bit of publicity, you can use it to advertise the show and Adam will owe you big time. Is that such a bad thing?”

“I suppose not.” Though, she wished at the moment, the thirteen-year-old standing next to her would act more like a teenager and less like a wise, old woman. “So…do you need some help getting ready?” Lexi smiled brightly. The girl was going to be a makeup artist one day, or a stylist to the stars. “You want me to start getting ready at noon for a dinner seven hours from now that I’m not even sure I’m going to attend?” “Of course not. I want you to go shower so I can start getting you ready for a dinner you are going to attend seven hours from now.” It was funny how eleven months ago, Lexi had been too nervous to say more than two words at a time, and yet here she was, spouting opinions and issuing orders without a moment’s hesitation. Still, there was no sense in arguing at this point. She’d figure out how to let Lexi down later with the news she wasn’t going to the charity dinner. So, without another word she stood up and grudgingly walked down the hall to the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later, she sat down at the kitchen table since it was the only room in the apartment with good lighting, and Lexi pulled up a chair in front of her. She was armed with an entire tool belt of makeup, nail implements and hair tools, and she looked like she was itching to get started. Hope reached for the container with her contact

lenses, but Lexi swiped it out of her hands. “Seriously? You’re going to wear those ugly things? I’m sorry, Hope, but I’m going to have to veto this one.” She tossed the container onto the kitchen counter and sat back down opposite her and got to work. Jeez, the kid could really be pushy when she wanted to be. Only a few moments had passed when Lexi held out a small hand mirror to her. “What do you think?” Hope peered into the mirror and was immediately caught off guard by the blue eyes staring back at her. She knew they were beautiful. As far back as she could remember, people always commented on how lovely her eyes were, and how they were an exact copy of her mother’s. Her father had told her often enough after her mother died. He’d told her she had the same eyes that would bring nothing but pain and anguish to everyone in her life. As soon as she could, she’d covered them up with the chocolate brown contacts and had worn them ever since. No one but Lexi had seen her eyes in a very long time—well, no one but Cade. The damn sand in her eyes had forced her to take out her contacts, and if she hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the stupid ocean and annoyinglygorgeous man, she never would have let him see her like that. “So, are you going to tell me what you think,

or should I take your stunned silence as a bad sign?” “You did a wonderful job. I just don’t think—” “Too bad. You’re not going to ruin my makeup job with those ugly things, so just suck it up. Your father isn’t here, Hope, and he was just plain wrong. After all the times you told me to ignore everything my stepdad said, it’s time you took some of your own advice, and you know it.” How was she supposed to argue with that and not sound like she’d been feeding Lexi lines for the past year? She could clearly remember how broken Lexi had been when she first found her curled up behind her building. She’d felt an affinity for her immediately because she could relate to the young girl’s plight like no one else could. She remembered leaving home, hitchhiking from South Dakota to Nevada, just trying to get as far away from home as she could. The hunger and the cold, the vile people; she could remember it like it was yesterday. Lexi had a similar rough time as a child, yet she’d made so much progress in the past year. Hope couldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. “Alright, fine.” “Good, then let’s get to your hair. I saw the most beautiful hairstyle in a magazine a few weeks ago. I thought it would be perfect on you—elegant, but not overdone.” God, not that, too. The shimmering, silver wig

she wore day in and day out was just as much an escape from her past as the contacts were. Like armor or a cloak, it allowed her be strong and confident. It let her be someone so different from the girl she’d been when she left home. How was she supposed to stand there with Cade Stryker as just Hope? “You can do it. You believed in me, so it’s my turn now.” “You’re too wise for your age, kiddo.” “I had a good teacher.” She smiled and hugged her gently. “Thanks, hon.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” How she was actually going to force herself to go through with this, she didn’t know, but there was no way in hell she would let Lexi see her as a coward. That wasn’t the kind of role model the girl needed. So, she sat there while Lexi brushed through her long, auburn hair, and she pushed the evening that lay ahead from her mind as she twisted and pinned her locks into something wonderful. The roles had been reversed so many times since Lexi first arrived. She’d stand behind her, combing through her blonde hair while they swapped stories or said nothing at all. Lexi’s hair had been short and scraggly eleven months ago because she’d cut it in some back alley to change her appearance, but it had grown since, just like the

girl. She’d been too thin, barely more than skin and bones when Hope had taken her in, but she’d blossomed into a beautiful, young woman in such a short amount of time. It couldn’t stay this way forever, though. She knew that, but she also had no idea where to go from here. Lexi needed to go to school, to meet new friends, to fall in and out of love like every teenager was meant to do. She’d been putting off the inevitable for quite some time, but soon she would have to make a decision; not whether to send Lexi home, but where to take her. If they could move far enough away, then under the guise of new names and identities, Lexi could be a teenager again. “Okay! Are you ready to see what Hope Davenport looks like all done up? I bet it’s been so long since you’ve seen her that you won’t even recognize her,” Lexi teased her, swinging the handle of the mirror back and forth in front of her. “Alright, kiddo. Let me see it.” Lexi handed her the mirror and she took a deep breath as she glanced at her reflection. She gasped, her lips parting in shock. Tiny, silver pins held sections of her hair intricately atop her head, while long, gentle waves trailed down her back. Lexi had done an amazing job. Hope looked…just like her mother. Her father had been right: she was the spitting image of the woman; absolutely

beautiful. God, how she wished she wasn’t. Her life would have been so different if she’d been ugly, or even plain, because he wouldn’t have hated her as much as he did. He’d said her fiery red hair and crystal blue eyes had reminded him too much of the woman. “Well?” “You’re an artist, Lexi. You really are.” “Thank you very much.” “So, now that my hair and makeup is done, what do you suppose I should do all afternoon?” “Well, we still have to do your nails, and then, I don’t know…see what it’s like to live life as a pampered princess with nothing to do but sit back and relax?” “Does that sound like me?” “I suppose not. I guess I can let you quiz me on my last science lesson, but only because I’m a really nice person.” “Sounds good.” While she couldn’t enroll Lexi in school, she’d wanted to make sure she kept up enough that she’d be right on par with the other kids when the time came. And while she wasn’t the best teacher in the world, Lexi was an eager student, and that helped to make up for Hope’s shortcomings. And so, studying science was precisely how they spent the rest of the afternoon, in between a manicure and pedicure, of course.

Before she knew it, there was only an hour to go. In sixty minutes, she was supposed to leave her apartment to spend the evening with a billionaire, the most sought-after bachelor in the state, and probably beyond. It had been one thing when it was just the two of them alone on a beach. She’d been dressed in her normal clothes with her cloak in place, at least for most of the time, and he’d been an ordinary man—aside from the helicopter. Tonight though, it wasn’t going to be just the two of them. There would be other people there; ridiculously wealthy people who would no doubt look down on her, and even worse, there would be a swarm of journalists there as well. As much as part of her wanted him, she didn’t want this. If she backed out now, though, Lexi would see her as a coward. So, she lifted the one formal piece she owned carefully out of her closet, slipped out of her comfortable jeans and t-shirt and carefully shimmied into the cream-colored, satin dress. A gift from Adam after his show became a success, it really was beautiful. The floor-length, almost strapless, gown outlined her curves without clinging to them. A soft braid the same color as the gown wound around her ribs, just beneath her breasts, and then continued upward along her back, over her shoulder and back down between her breasts.

When everything was in place, she took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the mirror. And though the dress revealed far less than what she usually wore in front of a large crowd of people, she felt naked, the features she’d kept hidden for so long right there on display. “Are you going to let me see, Hope, or are you going to hide out in there all night?” Hiding out sounded pretty good at the moment, but she opened the bedroom door reluctantly, and it was Lexi’s turn to gasp in surprise. “Oh my God, I am so jealous,” she cried excitedly. The pizza guy knocked on the door right then. She’d called for delivery a short while ago to make sure Lexi had plenty to eat, and he was right on time. “If you answer the door in that, you’re going to have to give the guy an awfully big tip, you know?” A few extra bucks on pizza was the least of her worries at the moment. She grabbed the money from her wallet and opened the door, but it wasn’t the pizza guy standing in the hallway. “Hope…” He seemed stunned to see her like this, and she couldn’t blame him. The last time she was dressed in a full-length gown was…never. The way he looked at her was as if he wanted to devour her. Heat shot through her body, setting

her core on fire. She would have thought she’d hate for him to see her like this, completely without the cloak she’d donned for years, but she liked having him look at her. Her body couldn’t help but respond to the eagerness in his eyes, even if a small voice in the back of her head was screaming at her to run the other way. “You’re early,” she stated the obvious, trying to ignore the breathlessness in her own voice. “I thought I’d prove flying isn’t the only way I get around,” he told her as he smiled devilishly. “Do you want to go for a drive?” Before she could answer, another man stepped off the elevator and strode down the hall with a pizza box in his hands. “Keeping your options open just in case?” Cade teased as the other man came to a stop in front of her door. She went to tell him the pizza was for Lexi, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t tell anyone about Lexi, nor had she ever encountered such a near-slip before. “I have no idea what kind of food they serve at these things, so I thought it would be best to make sure I had a backup option available for later.” It was plausible, even if the look on his face said Cade wasn’t buying the excuse. She paid the pizza guy—including a hefty tip—and left Cade standing at the door while she darted across the

apartment to put the pizza down on the kitchen table. He was looking at her strangely when she came back to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to put that in the fridge? We’ll be out for quite a while.” “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Are you ready to go?” He nodded and stepped back as she entered the hall and turned around to lock the door behind her. When she turned back though, he was right there, his body no more than an inch or two from hers. His lips covered hers in a flash while his arms pulled her across the gap and up against his immaculately-dressed body. “You look incredible,” he whispered as he pulled back just slightly. “Your hair…I had no idea what you had hidden under that wig.” “Yeah…surprise,” she replied, starting to feel uncomfortable without the cloak. He kissed her again, this time more greedily than the last, and all thought of cloaks and dinners and journalists fled her mind. When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t just pull away this time. He took an enormous step back, but the insatiable hunger she sensed in him sent a chill down her spine at the same time. But then, why had he stopped? He started down the hall, not toward the

elevator, but to the staircase. They were eleven stories up, and he wanted her to walk down the stairs in a dress and heels? “Don’t you think the elevator might be faster?” she asked after him. “If I get you alone in an elevator, Hope, we’ll never make it to dinner,” he told her, the husky timbre of his voice and the heat in his gaze confirming it. She fell into step beside him as he opened the door to the stairwell and descended the entire eleven flights of stairs without a word. He seemed to relax a little once they were outside, and her mouth fell open as he stopped in front of the most beautiful car she’d ever seen. “Oh my God! That’s your car? A Lamborghini Veneno Roadster? It’s a four and a half milliondollar car. Do you know there were only nine of them ever made?” “I have heard that, but you can’t imagine how much it impresses me that you know that. I had no idea you were into fast cars, especially not after seeing your reaction to helicopters.” “There’s a big difference between fast cars and helicopters—one of them is designed to stay on the ground,” she joked, walking around the vehicle. “So, is there something particular that made you an avid car enthusiast?” “Um, my dad,” she told him distractedly. She probably wouldn’t have brought it up if she’d been

paying more attention. “You don’t like to talk about him very much,” he observed rightly. She nodded. “Then what would you say to forgetting all about him and hopping in so we can go for a ride?” “I’d say that’s the best idea anyone’s had all day.” She smiled, pushing away her past as he opened the winged-like passenger door to the Lamborghini and she slid into the bucket seat. He sat next to her a moment later, revved the engine and took off down the street, turning at intersections and avoiding stops as much as possible. The ride was smooth and comfortable. It really was an incredible vehicle. “I love the car, but don’t you find it’s a little bit wasted in the city?” “You mean, how often could I possibly get a chance to give her a good run at two hundred and twenty miles per hour?” “Exactly.” He smiled the most devilish smile she’d ever seen and made a hard left. She had no idea what he had in mind, but she could sense whatever it was pleased him immensely. Five minutes went by and he hadn’t said a word. He stared intently out the windshield as he swerved onto the highway, taking the 95 South out of Las Vegas. The engine roared louder as the car sped forward and the scenery outside whipped by faster

and faster. Within seconds, he was driving at least two hundred miles an hour down the highway, and he didn’t even flinch. Strangely, though, neither did she. There wasn’t a single warning alarm sounding in her head. She knew he wouldn’t let the car crash. His reflexes would keep them from running headon into another car or swerving into a ditch. How on Earth did she know that? Still, her heart pounded harder, not in fear, but with exhilaration. He slowed after a few moments and turned around. “I’m afraid we’ll have to pick this up later.” He nodded at the clock in front of her. It was time for the dinner she’d been dreading, particularly now that she had him all to herself, she didn’t want to spend the evening with a throng of people. What was it about Cade? She barely knew him, and twenty-four hours ago, she had no intention of ever getting to know him. Now, with him so close, she felt drawn to him. It was crazy, but it was also the best way to describe it. Before she knew it, they were pulling up in front of the hotel. She took a deep breath as Cade hopped out and came around to open her door. When she’d first seen him up close, she never would have pegged him for a gentleman, nor did she have any interest in a chivalrous man who opened doors for her, but she did now. Inside the hotel, he led them straight to the banquet hall, decorated for the event, but still

empty aside from a few people straightening tablecloths and fidgeting with place settings. “It’s beautiful, Cade.” He nodded, but it seemed his thoughts were elsewhere. “Why do you go by a different name? If it was just a stage name for the act, you wouldn’t use it outside of work, but you do. Why is that?” “I sort of started using the name when I moved to Las Vegas. A new persona, I guess you could say.” “Like the wig? The contacts?” “Yes,” she answered without thinking, and then waited for the wave of regret to wash over her. No one but Lexi knew the things about her that she was telling him. So, why did it seem so natural to be opening up to him? “You don’t take them off often, do you? Like the name, you’ve worn them for a very long time?” “How’d you guess?” she tried to laugh off the question. “But you did for me.” He stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall. There’d been no inflection in his tone. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. He knew that if it had been any other event, with anyone else, she’d be wearing her wig and contact lenses. He looked down at her and her breath caught in her throat. The fire in his green eyes was unmistakable, so hot she was surprised it didn’t scorch the clothes right

off her as his gaze swept over her body. “Hello, Cade,” a man spoke from behind her. His voice was deep and pleasant to the ear, but not in the same way Cade’s voice riled something deep inside her. Right away, she sensed something sinister in his tone. “Victor,” Cade nodded to the man behind her, and she realized there was already tension radiating from his body; so much that it was almost palpable. The fire that had brightened his eyes ebbed, and they were instantly hard. “It’s been a long time.” “Yes, it has,” Cade replied, pulling her closer with one arm while extending his hand to the man as he came into Hope’s view. “I heard about this extravagant event you were hosting, and I just had to stop by and see what you’ve made for yourself here.” The man spoke to Cade, but his eyes were on her. “Is that so?” He didn’t wait for the man to reply, “Now that you’ve stopped by, is there anything else I can do for you?” “You can introduce me to the lovely woman with you.” “Forgive me, of course. Ava, allow me to introduce Victor Weathersby. Victor, this is Ava Winter.” Why did he introduce her as Ava if he knew her real name was Hope? The man extended his

hand to her and she grasped it lightly in greeting. Maybe it was only because of Cade’s obvious discomfort over the man’s presence, but she didn’t like the feel of his palm against her skin. His hand was hot—too hot—and not in the same way Cade’s skin always seemed overly warm to her touch. She immediately wanted to withdraw from Victor, but he held her hand a moment longer. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ava.” She nodded demurely, but couldn’t bring herself to respond in kind. “Have you known my friend Cade for long?” he probed. “We’ve only met recently, Victor, not that it’s any of your concern,” Cade spoke up quickly. “I was only making small talk, my friend. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you.” “No offense taken,” Cade replied goodnaturedly, as if whatever tension had been there had dissipated. But she could still feel it radiating from his body. He was just as uncomfortable, but he’d forced an outwardly calm appearance. “I’m sorry, Victor, I would love to stay and catch up, but the event is about to begin, and I’m afraid we’re needed elsewhere. Please stop by the next time you’re in town.” “I’ll do that.” He turned and left without another word as a

chill raced down her spine. But the first guests had begun to arrive, so she didn’t have long to contemplate her response to the man. Half an hour later, she sat next to Cade, her plate of food barely touched in front of her. With him so close, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the meal, despite the delectable aroma that wafted throughout the room. She inhaled deeply, and all she could smell was Cade’s intoxicating scent. She shifted in her seat, but couldn’t escape the heat that radiated from his body. “Meet me up there,” he whispered against her ear, nodding at the top of the grand staircase at the far right of the room. A lustful jolt shot through her, recognizing in his tone what he had in mind. She nodded as he stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” he spoke to the table as he pushed in his chair. He glanced down at her once more, and the desire in his eyes made her clench her thighs against a wave of arousal. Then he was gone. He strolled casually across the hall, and she watched as he ascended the stairs. She knew there was a sitting room up there, as well as bathrooms and an open lounge area back from the balcony that overlooked the hall. How was she supposed to know where to go? And when did he expect her to follow? She counted the seconds in her head, nodding

and smiling in response to one of the guest’s anecdotes. Two minutes passed, and then three. How much longer should she wait? Her body thrummed in anticipation. She stood abruptly as an image of Cade’s hands on her body shocked her into action. She couldn’t wait any longer.

CHAPTER 6 Cade paced back and forth across the lounge that overlooked the reception hall, and with every pass, the war in his mind waged louder. He had sat next to her for a good half hour, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, feeling the brush of her leg against him, breathing in her scent which grew stronger by the moment, and he knew why. She was responding to him the same way he was responding to her. But there was no beast in her head threatening to take control; threatening to forget everything but the feel, the scent and the taste of her body. He should have left the building and gotten as far away as he could like he had the night before. It hadn’t mattered, though. He’d flown halfway around the country and it hadn’t been enough. It made no sense to him. She was beautiful and kind, and there was so much more to her than met the eye; of that he was certain. But to have him so completely mesmerized, and not only him, but the beast inside him as well? He’d always been keenly aware that no woman had ever appealed to the dragon, only to the man, and yet every atom of him wanted Hope. How was that even possible? And more importantly, how would he rein it in? He heard her footsteps at the bottom of the

stairs. He knew it was her; he could smell her, he could sense her, and he knew her footsteps from every other set in the building. It was his last chance to escape; to protect her from himself. The moment he saw her, he knew it would be over. He would lose whatever tentative grasp he had over his being and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from taking everything she was offering and more. But he didn’t move. He stood there as her footsteps came closer, and he waited. Digging his fingers into the palms of his hands, his knuckles turned white as he fought to keep himself in place, at least long enough for her to descend from the stairs. Hope stepped onto the carpeted floor of the lounge and looked up. She froze, her eyes meeting his, and the icy blue fire overwhelmed him. He strode toward her, covering the distance in three steps. “Hope, I can’t wait…” he told her, his voice a tortured whisper as he lunged for her, wrapping his hands around her arms, pulling her close. If he could at least get her away from the balcony’s edge, he could save her from being taken right there in front of everyone. His mouth covered hers as he moved, not gently, but demanding entrance. He reached the side of the lounge, putting them at least a few feet away from the balcony’s edge. He didn’t know if it would block the view

entirely, but it would have to be enough. He pulled away from her mouth, moving lower, tasting her neck and the upper swells of her breasts, then grabbed the braid holding her dress in place with one hand, tearing it loose. Hope gasped, but she didn’t pull away. He grabbed the neckline and yanked it downward, exposing her ample breasts; the sight of her made his mouth water while the fire threatened to rage out of control deep inside him. He leaned in, cupping her breasts while he coaxed one of their firm peaks into his mouth with his full lips and tongue. He sucked gently at first, but Cade needed more. He sucked harder and she whimpered; it wasn’t a sound of pain, but rather pleasure, and her head rolled back as a quiet moan escaped her lips. “I want more, Hope. I want all of you,” he whispered against her breast. She nodded quickly, but she didn’t have to. He could hear the accelerated beat of her heart and her quickened breath. It was a symphonic melody to his ears, even if it meant she was crazy. She should be running as far and as fast as she could. Instead, she reached for him, her hands grasping his shoulders while her hips thrust toward him. Her hands started to roam, gliding down the onyx buttons of his tuxedo shirt. No. God, no, he wasn’t ready for that. He grabbed her wrists quickly, halting her movement.

“Stop, Hope. Not yet.” He barely had any control as it was. But she didn’t want to be stopped. Her fingers continued to rub against him and the fire inside him spread outward, threatening to consume him. Fuck, she had no idea what she was doing, but he was playing with fire, and damn it, she was the one who was going to get burned. In one, swift movement, he captured both her wrists in one hand and lifted them above her head, pinning her arms against the wall behind her. “Cade, please…” she whispered, struggling against his hold. “It’s too dangerous, Hope. Let me do this my way.” She looked at him perplexed, “I want you, Cade. I want…” She didn’t finish the sentence but she did stop resisting. With her hands subdued, he hooked his fingers in the top of her gown with his free hand and pulled downward hard. The dress slipped over her hips, to her thighs, and then fell to the floor. She hadn’t been wearing anything under the dress. She was nude except for her heels, and he could already see her arousal glistening on her thighs. The beast inside threatened to overwhelm him; it wanted to possess her as much as he did. If he tried to draw this out, he would terrify her along with the rest of the hotel, but he needed one more thing—and just a few seconds.

He dropped to his knees and spread her legs roughly. He wanted to taste the wetness on her thighs, but there wasn’t time. He lunged for her instead, gliding his tongue along her slit just once before he thrust his tongue into her, tasting her at her source. With her hands unfettered, she reached for him again, tugging at the fabric of his shirt as her moans grew louder. No more. He couldn’t deny both sides of him; what he wanted and keep the dragon in check at the same time. He stood, yanking off his shirt while its buttons flew in every direction. She reached out, grazing her fingers along the planes of his chest, but he had her hands quickly, yanking them above her head like he had before. Cade unzipped his pants with his other hand and his cock stood at attention. He throbbed painfully for her, but not for long. He lifted her off the ground with his free arm and settled her over top of him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he lowered her down onto his dick, plunging in to the hilt in one, swift thrust. She moaned loudly and sent the beast into a frenzy. She was so damn tight, but he couldn’t wait for her to adjust to his size. He withdrew and drove in again, pulling her down hard on him. Nothing had ever felt so incredible. He wedged her up against the wall, pressing her breasts hard against his chest. Tightening his grip on her wrists, he thrust deep into her, over and

over again. Her moans grew louder. Soon, the whole banquet hall would know what they were up to, but he didn’t care. “Cade, please, I need to…” she whispered, and he noticed she was pulling against the hand that held her wrists. There was no point in denying her now. He’d tried to hold back, to take it slow for her, but he’d failed. The only small comfort he could take was in knowing he’d at least kept the dragon in check, despite the way he’d wanted to shift and have her in a way that wasn’t humanly possible. He released her hands, and she moved frantically across his body, grazing down his back, up his arms. Everywhere she touched, her fingers fueled the fire. He increased his pace, fucking her harder…faster… Every time he drove into her, he felt joined to her, connected in a way he’d never felt with anyone. It was the closest to heaven he would ever get. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, hard enough that he was quite certain she drew blood. The tiny, sharp sensations fanned the flames. Holding onto her tightly with one arm, he reached between them and quickly found her engorged clit. She lunged for his shoulder, pressing her mouth hard against him, digging in with her teeth to stifle her screams. She was so close he could feel it. With her legs

around his waist, she moved with him, but not for long. He felt her whole body contract, her hips bucking hard against him as she toppled over the edge, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, and it was more than he could take. She spasmed hard around him, sending him over the edge. He fought the roar that rose up in his chest as he found his release deep inside her. As he came back down to Earth, he slipped out and lowered her to the ground gently. Already he felt the loss, as if being sheathed in her was precisely where he was meant to be. Then he looked at her, and though the aftermath of her climax still shone in her eyes, he saw beyond it. Pale purple and blue bruises marred the skin of her upper arms; that’s where he’d grabbed her the moment she’d come up the stairs. The same type of bruises wrapped around her wrists where he’d held her restrained. His mouth had covered hers with so much fervor, her lips were swollen and red, and everywhere he’d touched, he’d left the imprints of his fingers on her skin. “Hope, I’m so sorry. I should never have let this happen.” “You’re sorry?” She looked perplexed. “I didn’t mean to…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, and right then, suddenly it didn’t matter. Victor’s footsteps approached from across the hall at the same time

Cade sensed his presence. “You never meant for this to happen,” she whispered dejectedly. She’d misinterpreted what he’d said, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He’d been so caught up in her he hadn’t even noticed that Victor had returned to the building. He’d come through the hotel’s front doors at least a few minutes prior which meant he’d heard everything. Even if he hadn’t heard her smothered screams of passion, Victor could smell her, the seductive scent that was already threatening to drive him to distraction. “Hope, Victor’s coming. Please, get dressed quickly.” She turned her head and her brow furrowed as she listened intently for what he heard, not knowing her senses couldn’t possibly be as fine-tuned as his own. But it didn’t matter. What was important was getting her dressed and getting her out of there. If it looked like nothing more had taken place than a hasty coupling with his latest plaything, there was some chance it wouldn’t raise Victor’s suspicions. “Hope, get dressed,” he told her, more forcefully than he’d intended as he straightened his pants and zipped his fly. She remained a tableau of hurt and humiliation for a brief moment, but then she sprung to action, slipping into the dress at her feet. It wasn’t until the gown covered her body that he remembered tearing

its woven strap right off the dress. Her firm breasts seemed to hold the fabric in place though, and it would have to be enough because Victor had begun his ascent up the stairs. “Why don’t you go get me a drink, Darling, and I’ll be right down.” He spoke casually, despite the way his words seemed to strike her no different than a physical blow. He just hoped his words didn’t serve to bring out the fiery tempest in her. Then again, if she stormed away from him, it could serve to allay Victor’s suspicion, even if it meant she’d likely never speak to him again. If it kept her safe, then what did it matter what he lost. It wasn’t that he gave a damn what the man thought, but he knew Victor’s hatred for humankind all too well. Cade should have done away with him centuries ago, but he knew the reason Victor hated them. One of them—one woman—had wounded him irreparably. Ever since, Victor had taken it upon himself to rid the world of every human threat, every witch, man and woman he felt had the capacity to wield power over a dragon. She looked up at him once more, but it wasn’t the fiery tempest he saw in her eyes; it was a wounded girl. He’d seen the girl just briefly back on the beach when she’d spoken of her mother. And now, he’d hurt her; far more than his overzealous grip on her flesh had. She turned away without another word and strode past him.

“Miss Winter, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Victor announced as he rounded the top of the stairs. “You, as well, Mr. Weathersby. If you’ll excuse me.” She pushed past him, starting down the steps and out of sight. “What the hell were you doing with that girl?” Victor whispered vehemently just seconds later. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Victor.” Cade shoved all thoughts of her as far away as he could and conjured an inner calm, knowing the exterior façade wouldn’t fool him. “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re going to risk yourself for some pathetic, working class floozy? You’d be jeopardizing everything, and you know it.” “I’m not risking anything.” “You can’t be with her, Cade. She’s beneath you; she’ll never be worthy of you.” “I know that, Victor. Despite what you think you saw, do you really believe someone like her could be anything more than a passing amusement? She’s a refreshing change from the usual bimbos who warm my bed, and nothing more.” He cringed inwardly at the wretched lie. Hope hadn’t left the reception hall. She hadn’t even left the staircase. She heard every word he said, and no doubt, she believed every word of it. He could hear her footsteps just then, finishing their descent down

the stairs and hurrying across the reception hall. “Bimbos are good, Cade. They’re safe and they know their place. The woman you were just fucking is nothing but trouble. I could smell it a mile away. I understand your appetite for her, I really do. Her scent is intoxicating.” Victor breathed in deep, inhaling Hope’s scent still lingering in the air. It took Cade every bit of restraint he could muster to bite back the roar that rose in his throat. White hot rage pulsated through his veins and he saw red as he fought the urge to rip the man limb from limb. Even without his heightened senses, he would have been able to see the way Victor was responding to Hope’s scent. He’d never experienced this kind of possessiveness before, but it was coursing through his veins at full throttle. “Leave, Victor. Get the hell out of my hotel and don’t come back until you’ve come to your senses.” The man stared at him for a moment, but said nothing else. He left without another word, strolling casually across the lounge and down the stairs. He should have gone after him, but he was fighting with every fiber of his body to stop the shift the dragon so desperately wanted. So, he stood there, breathing in and breathing out. Minutes passed, but it wasn’t enough. Victor had incited a fury he’d never felt before; so intense, that he

wondered if any amount of time would ever be enough to calm the enraged dragon that threatened to take over.

CHAPTER 7 The room around her spun wildly. “…nothing more than a passing amusement…” “…she’ll never be worthy of you…” The words echoed in her head. Cade hadn’t objected to a single word Victor had said. He’d agreed with him, and she now felt like an absolute fool. She’d tiptoed down the remainder of the steps, and hurried through the banquet hall and out the hotel’s front doors as fast as she could. No doubt, people stared after her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t possibly feel any more humiliated. She never should have gone to that stupid dinner. What had she been thinking? The infamous Cade Stryker, the man who had a different high-profile beauty on his arm every week had suddenly found something profound with a lowly magician’s assistant? No, she’d been nothing more than an amusement to him —he’d said the words himself. The worst part was she had believed him; she’d sensed that he had felt the same inexplicable need for her. But that was ludicrous. It had been nothing more than a ploy her mind had played on her to bend her to its will.

She strode along the busy Vegas streets, alight with neon signs and flashing lights now that the sun had set. She walked blindly, paying no attention to the turns her feet made or the direction she was heading. She just walked, and she continued until she didn’t recognize the scenery that surrounded her. If it weren’t for Lexi, she wouldn’t stop. She’d continue walking until she’d left the city—and Cade Stryker—far behind her. “Ava,” a man’s voice called out from a sleek, red car that pulled up next to her. It wasn’t Cade’s voice; he hadn’t come after her. Of course he hadn’t. He had no more use for her. She recognized the voice though and it sent a shiver down her spine. Why the mere sound of the man bothered her so thoroughly, she didn’t know. “Ava, please,” he called louder as he stopped the car and hopped out of the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin One-77. “Please go away, Mr. Weathersby.” She wasn’t in the mood to chat, especially not with yet another man who felt she was little more than pond scum. “I fear you overheard my conversation with Cade, and I do apologize. I feel the need to offer you an explanation. If you’ll just listen to me…” He fell in line next to her, keeping up with her pace. “I believe you’ve said more than enough.” No doubt, he intended to regale her with his heartfelt concern for his friend; for Cade’s reputation and

whatever else being seen with her could destroy. He’d tell her that it was unfair of society to be so judgmental, but it was the way of the world, nevertheless. “It’s true that I encouraged him to stay away from you, playing into his ego and status, but it wasn’t for him that I felt concerned.” “Is that so?” The man was a terrible liar. She could see right through his lie. In fact, she could not only see it, but sense it. Some part of her could feel the falseness in his words. It was strange though, because it was the same part of her that had been so drawn to Cade. Why she trusted that part of her after being proven so wrong was irrational, but she did—despite the way she’d dismissed that ‘sense’ as nothing more than a mind-trick a moment before. “I’m warning you, Ava. Cade is not all he appears to be. There is another side to him, of which I’m sure you have already been given a glimpse,” he nodded to the bruises on her arms. “You would be wise to keep your distance.” She looked down at her arms and her hands moved automatically to cover the bruises she saw there. She hadn’t even noticed they were there, but memories of what put them there flooded her veins. “And why do you say that, Victor? To protect me from him, or to protect him from a poor, pathetic magician’s assistant?”

He looked at her, but didn’t say a word. He was breathing deeply and the glint in his golden eyes set her even more on edge. She picked up her pace, wanting to get away from him even more than she had a moment before. “What you are doesn’t concern me, Ava. What difference would it make to me if my friend gets himself involved with a rich woman or a poor woman? I only worry about what will remain of you when he can no longer keep his darker side in check in your presence.” Lies—every word he spoke was a lie. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been looking out for myself for a very long time.” “Suit yourself.” And just like that, he stopped. Good. She kept up her pace, trying to put as much distance between her and Victor as she could. Looking around though, she realized she’d certainly covered quite the distance; she didn’t even recognize her surroundings. Suddenly, she fell to the ground, pushed so hard from behind, she had no hope of keeping her balance. Her cheek hit the hard pavement at the same time as her knees and the palms of her hands. She’d heard about plenty of instances of late-night muggings—and worse—in Sin City, but in all her years there, she hadn’t fallen victim once. She tensed her muscles, prepared to fight as she flipped over to see who had pushed her.

Oh God. It wasn’t a man, or even a group of men. A blood-red beast towered above her. It was enormous, larger than any creature she’d ever seen. Its head was as big as a car, its teeth, like daggers, and she had no doubt its powerful jaw could bite through steel with little effort. Its scaly arm stretched out toward her with talons that looked sharp enough to lacerate flesh and bone to ribbons in a single swipe. She scurried backward, but she knew it was useless. Its arm stretched further until it caught up with her. Her heart pounded violently and her breath got stuck in her throat as it touched her, sliding a talon up the length of her thigh. It was toying with her, like a cat plays with a mouse before it devours its prey. She could sense it. Sweat beaded on her brow and trickled down her spine as its talon continued up her ribs, making a long slice in the fabric of her dress and cutting into the flesh beneath it. “No!” She couldn’t stop the cry that fell from her lips, although she cursed herself for it. She could tell by the evil, satisfied gleam in its eyes that was what the beast wanted. Her pain pleased it immensely. The look in its eyes changed abruptly, as if it somehow knew its time to play had run out. She was about to die.

It withdrew its talon, and its pentagonal scales stood on end. A deep roar assaulted her ears. It was unlike any animal she’d ever heard. Smoke billowed from its nostrils, irritating her eyes while the scent of sulfur overwhelmed her. Its mouth opened wide. What stood before her couldn’t possibly be real, and yet it was about to devour her. She was about to become a meal to a fictional beast. To a dragon. A deafening roar rent the air, so loud, it drowned out even the sound of her own heart beating wildly in her ears. But it wasn’t the dragon, at least not the dragon in front of her. Something black descended from the sky, its iridescent wings spread wide; a fiery inferno shooting from its mouth. Another dragon? It wasn’t possible. With a tremendous thud, it landed behind the other dragon, its massive size dwarfing the crimsoncolored beast. In the blink of an eye, it had hooked its talons into the scaly, red back and tossed it at least one hundred feet behind itself into the park. The red beast crashed down, making the ground beneath her shake with its impact. The black dragon was right there, swiping at the other with its talons and making it roar in what she could only imagine was sheer agony. It took flight, its ruby form streaking across the sky as it fled from

the black dragon and faded quickly into the distance. The black beast turned toward her then and she scurried to her feet, intending to flee—even if it was a futile attempt at escape. She looked up at the black dragon, its iridescent scales gleaming even in the darkness, countless spikes jutting backward from its brow, and its brilliant green eyes staring back at her intently. It was terrifying and beautiful. It could destroy anything that crossed its path, but it wasn’t going to—she could sense it. She took a step forward on shaking legs, and it looked at her strangely, as if it was trying to figure out what she was or what she was doing. Its eyes swept over her, lingering on the place across her ribs where the other beast had sliced her. A low rumble rose up from its throat. She should have turned and run away, but she didn’t. She did the most insane thing she could imagine: she took another step forward. The dragon lowered its head slowly and tucked its wings against its massive body. What was it doing? Its green eyes narrowed then as it gazed at her. It was as if the beast was trying to see into her soul, just like… “Cade,” she whispered aloud, though it was absurd. And then it was gone. The dragon took flight just as quickly as the red beast had and flew off into the night’s sky.

Then, just like nothing had ever taken place, she was alone. If it weren’t for the bloody gash across her ribs, she’d wonder if she had imagined it all, the vile monster and the terrifying, yet majestic black dragon. With the moment of terror and wonder past, the wound on her torso flared to life. The slice left by the creature stung, and blood saturated the bodice of her gown. While it hurt, it wasn’t life threatening. It hadn’t dug deep enough to find any vital organs, and her blood had slowed to a trickle from the gash. It had been toying with her; the wound hadn’t been meant to kill her. She turned and started back the way she’d come, though she had no idea how far she’d traveled to know how long it would take to find her way home. She didn’t care. Her head was preoccupied as back and forth, Cade’s eyes and then the dragon’s flashed through her mind. For sure, the dragon’s eyes were much larger, but somehow, they were the same. Sure, they were the same brilliant green, but it was more than that. The wisdom in their eyes, the way they tried to peer into her soul…it couldn’t be coincidence, could it? If not coincidence, what was the alternative? Not only had she happened to run into two mythical creatures on the same night, but one of those creatures happened to be the man she’d had sex with an hour prior?

She couldn’t explain the first impossibility, never mind the second. But without an answer or any way to make sense of what had happened, the terrifying encounter continued to swirl around in her head, so much that she grew lightheaded. “Hope,” a man’s voice called to her just as she sensed a presence behind her. She stopped walking, though why she did was a mystery to her, but she didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see him. Even if she hadn’t just had the most terrifying, confusing experience of her life, he’d humiliated her, using her for sex and throwing her out like garbage. “I’ve been trying to find you. Why did you run off?” he asked, but his words sounded hollow. He knew why she’d left. “We don’t need to have this conversation.” “Yes, we do.” She exhaled heavily. If she was smart, she’d keep on walking, but her feet wouldn’t allow it. Without thinking, she spun around to face him. His eyes grazed over her disheveled and bloodied appearance, but there was no surprise in his countenance, nor did she see it in his eyes. Even someone who didn’t care about her—which described him perfectly—would still be surprised to see the injury she’d sustained. His eyes met hers, and the dragon’s stare flashed through her mind. “Let me take you home, Hope,” he whispered.

“I’ve always managed to make it on my own, Cade. I don’t need your help.” He scoffed at her assertion, as if she’d spoken a blatant lie. The dragon’s eyes appeared in her head again, and it was only then that she realized the reason the black creature had swooped in was to save her; to drive off the vermilion monster. Was that why Cade scoffed at her? She never would have escaped on her own, not without his help. No, that was ridiculous. It wasn’t Cade who had rescued her; it was the dragon. But then, why wasn’t Cade at all surprised to see what had happened to her? “How did you know where to find me?” The question slipped from her lips unbidden. “I’ve been out looking for you since I realized you’d left, and I saw you walking along the street just now.” Maybe she was too overwhelmed by the night, or too tired, or just completely and utterly insane, but she sensed he knew more than he was letting on, and so she persisted, “No, I mean how did you find me before, when I…needed your help?” He stepped toward her and his hands reached out, stopping a hair’s breadth from the gash across her ribs. Without touching her, he outlined the wound with his fingers. The pained expression he wore would make a person think he was the one who had just been sliced by the razor-sharp talon.

“Hope…I…let me take you home.” A car pulled up beside them right then, and Steven James stepped out, coming around to where they stood. “Miss Winter, it’s good to see…” he began, but fell silent the moment his eyes caught sight of her bloodied bodice. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding! We need to get you to the hospital,” the man spoke in a panic, his head darting back and forth between her and Cade, obviously confused why the two of them were just standing there. “It’s okay, Mr. James,” she reassured him. “It’s not as bad as it appears. I’m tougher than I look. A couple of bandages, and I’ll be as good as new.” It was nice that he was worried about her, though she had a feeling some of that stemmed from having a weak constitution, squeamish when it came to the sight of blood—if the greenish hue his skin had taken could be used as an indicator. Still, there was something else about him, just like before when he’d come banging on her door before sunrise. Cade leaned in close, his lips brushing lightly against her ear. “Let me take you…” he whispered, bringing to the forefront of her mind what they’d just done in the hotel’s upper lounge. Her body sprung to life, despite the ordeal she’d just been through and regardless of the humiliation she’d suffered earlier. She couldn’t help it. Worse, she let

him guide her to the car and slipped into the back seat when he opened the door. He slid in next to her and the car began to move a moment later. The scenery grew familiar quickly, and she stared out the window at the bright lights of Vegas as they drove, though she saw little more than a colorful blur. She needed to focus her attention elsewhere, not on the man sitting next to her. What was she supposed to say to him? Did she really believe he was a mythical creature? Mythical was the key word—a creature who only existed in folktales, not one that drove around the streets of Las Vegas. If he wasn’t, and she told him what had happened and what she believed he was, he was going to have her committed. The car slowed a few moments later, coming to a stop at a rear entrance of the hotel, the same hotel she’d fled from just hours before. “This isn’t my apartment, Cade.” “I realize that,” he told her, already sliding out of the car. He reached his hand out to her like he’d done when they last arrived together at the hotel. It was such a short time ago, and yet since then, she’d had the most incredible sex ever and had been humiliated like never before. She’d been terrified and assaulted by one dragon and rescued by another. A giggle rose up in her throat and she couldn’t contain it. She covered her mouth as it spilled from her lips. It was just all too ridiculous.

He peeked his head back in. “Hope?” He looked genuinely concerned, and she couldn’t blame him. A hysterical woman in the back of his car—that would give any man cause for concern. But he took her hand gently and she slid out of the car. He kept her hand in his as he led her toward the door. Once inside, it was only a few steps to the service elevator, a brief trip up to the top floor of the hotel and a few steps to the door of his suite. Outwardly, he appeared calm, but she could sense that it was only skin-deep. Inside, a plethora of emotions roiled within him—anger…pain…guilt. One would never know it by the expression on his face, which left her wondering how on Earth she knew without a doubt what he was feeling underneath it all. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded quietly as he closed the door behind them. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll talk.” He released her hand then and crossed the massive suite to a room somewhere outside her view. He was back a moment later with a bathrobe and a first aid kit in hand. He placed them on a table near the door and then turned to her. His hands reached out slowly, grasping the neckline of her dress gently. “Hope, I have to take this off…” She’d been humiliated enough for one night, hadn’t she? And yet she nodded, watching his

expression as his fingers lowered the gown. Fire flared in his eyes, but it faded quickly, replaced by something else entirely as he continued lower, exposing the long gash across her ribs. He knelt in front of her, and she wouldn’t have imagined hands as large as his could work so gently, but he moved carefully as he tended to her wound. And watching his hands move against her skin sent a multitude of other sensations coursing through her, drowning out the sting of the gash. “Tell me,” she whispered when he stood back up. “Tell you what?” He met her eyes, and she knew what he was doing. He was trying to read her, to delve deeper. She couldn’t read his thoughts to know that’s what he was doing, but she could feel it; she could sense what he was after. She’d never been able to read people like this before, but so quickly, she’d come to feel and sense almost everything about Cade. “I need you to tell me what happened tonight.” “It isn’t safe. I’ve already put you in too much danger. You won’t be able to go home…” “What?” Why couldn’t she go home? If it wasn’t safe there, that meant Lexi wasn’t safe. “What you saw tonight…” “What do you mean I can’t go home, Cade?” Panic rose in her throat.

“Damn it, Hope. I should never have let this happen.” “It already happened. What do you mean ‘it’s not safe’? Tell me!” She didn’t have time for this. She grabbed the robe from the table, threw it on and reached for the handle, but he was already there. He covered her hand with his own. “I can’t let you leave, Hope. Not until I figure this out.” “Get the hell out of my way, Cade. I have to get back, I have to go home.” “You’d rather stay there and wait for death than stay here with me?” He wouldn’t budge. His hand on hers made it impossible for her to turn the damn handle. There was only one solution. “Cade, I have to go home because there is a thirteen-year-old girl alone in my apartment.” Understanding donned in his eyes. Well, he understood why she was so persistent about going home. Certainly, he had no idea what a teenage girl was doing in her apartment. “I’ll send Steven to get her.” He reached for the cell phone in his pocket and had Steven on the line within seconds. “I need your phone,” she told him when he hung up. “Lexi won’t answer the door unless I tell her it’s alright to, and she definitely won’t go for a

ride with your driver without my okay.” Lexi picked up on the fourth ring, and she told her Steven would be collecting her within minutes. She paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, and fortunately, just fifteen minutes later, Steven arrived with Lexi—and two rolling luggage cases in tow. They each kept one just in case an emergency arose and they had to leave quickly. She offered a lame excuse, telling Lexi she’d had an altercation on the street and the man had run off with her wallet—with her driver’s license inside. She didn’t want to take any chances with the man now having her address, so the two of them would spend the night at Cade’s. Lexi had remained suspicious, but she’d accepted Hope’s explanation—at least for now— and flopped on the bed when Cade had shown her to the guestroom. “What’s going on, Cade,” Hope persisted when they were alone in his bedroom. “I need answers.” She paced back and forth at the foot of his bed. “The only other explanation is that I’ve gone completely insane, but I know I haven’t.” He sighed heavily. “What you saw was real… you know that, but you shouldn’t. No one has ever lived to tell about it, and if I know Victor—which I do—he’s going to try to make sure that doesn’t change now.” “Victor? The red dragon—that was him?” She

hadn’t even considered the possibility, but it made sense. Victor had been with her just a moment before it appeared. And if she believed Cade was a dragon, then was it such a leap to think there could be more than one? “Yes.” “Which means you…” she couldn’t believe she was about to say it, “You were the black dragon.” He didn’t respond right away, but after a moment, he nodded reluctantly. “You saved me.” His head shot up and surprise radiated from him. “How did you…what makes you think…” “Why wasn’t I just as scared of you as I was of the other dragon? I was—until you looked at me. I knew I should have run, but I couldn’t. You were terrifying…but beautiful.” She stopped pacing and looked up at him. Her feet compelled her across the room and wouldn’t stop until she stood right in front of him. His eyes— the dragon’s eyes—stared intently at her. She reached for him, gliding her hand down the side of his face, grazing down his strong arms, across the hard planes of his chest and the rippling muscles of his abdomen. All the while, the dragon’s image remained at the forefront of her mind. She remembered his massive size and black, iridescent scales; his teeth and talons more deadly than any

weapon she’d ever seen; his outstretched wings, more majestic than she could have imagined. “Hope…” he whispered hoarsely. She could feel the desire that had begun to flow through his veins, but there was something else there, too. Guilt—she’d sensed it the last time arousal had overwhelmed the both of them, but not like this. Now the sensation was clear and crisp. He touched her and a tidal wave of arousal crashed over her, but a battle waged within him. She could feel something even stronger than him struggling to take control. It wasn’t violent, but powerful. With shaking hands, he reached for her the shirt she’d donned only moments before, but he was too impatient to lift it over her head, tearing it apart with no effort at all. He stopped suddenly. At first, she thought he was admiring the view, but that wasn’t it. He was angry and full of guilt, and the two threatened to overwhelm him. The bruises and the slash across her ribs: those were what he saw when he looked at her. “Cade, it’s okay…” she tried to soothe him as she reached for his hand and moved it toward her, but before she felt him against her skin, he ripped his hand away. “I can’t…” “You won’t.” He was trying to tell her he was

afraid he’d hurt her. She reached for him again, but this time, his hand wouldn’t budge. He took a step back, and then another, and then without another word, he left the bedroom. She heard the front door close seconds later, and he was gone.

CHAPTER 8 Cade didn’t head down to the hotel’s main floor; instead, he took the path to the roof. The heavy metal door offered no resistance as he pulled hard and the lock gave way. Already, the dragon had begun to take over. Outside, he let it happen, not that he would have been able to hold it off much longer anyway. He stretched his wings and took off, straight up in the sky, hoping to avoid attention from bystanders on the street below. He was above the clouds in seconds, and he allowed the wind to guide him for a brief moment. He couldn’t go far. It wasn’t safe to leave her alone, not until Victor was no longer a threat, but he’d needed to escape. The melding of beast and man was too strong and too unfamiliar to him. Always before, he’d been one or the other, and usually by his own will. Never had his body had the overwhelming desire to shift right there. He’d struggled to control it when he’d taken her against the wall above the reception hall, but it had only grown worse this time. He couldn’t gauge how hard he gripped her when it happened or how deep or violently he thrust inside her. And if he lost control entirely, God only knew what would happen if he shifted right there, sheathed within her walls.

The thought sickened him. He glided around, swerving back the way he’d come. Only seconds had passed since he’d taken flight, but already, he felt too much distance between them, particularly when he didn’t know just how long it would take Victor to find her. Victor had found her scent nearly as intoxicating as he had, which meant it wouldn’t be difficult for him to track her down. He was going to have to find a solution, though in his heart he knew there was only one. Victor had been with him for a very long time, and he wished it wasn’t so, but he knew what it would come to in the end. He would have to choose: Victor’s life or Hope’s. If he left Victor alive, the man wouldn’t stop until she was dead. His bitter hatred wouldn’t allow it. But could he kill Victor? The answer came to him much quicker than he would have expected. Yes, he could. He should have ended Victor’s life centuries ago when his hatred for humankind had turned into a bloodlust, thirsting for any human who might hold any sway over a dragon. The woman had certainly cut Victor deep, handing him over to her village after he’d given her his heart. But if several hundred years hadn’t been enough to satiate his thirst, nothing would ever be enough. Victor was smart though, more cunning than

any other of the dragons he’d met. He’d have to lure him into a carefully constructed trap. Unfortunately, there was only one enticement that would ensure he got caught in it—Hope. Not that he had a choice. Victor would pursue her regardless, no matter how cleverly he tried to hide her from him. He’d have to take her far away from there, to a place he knew better than any other, to a place he could shift at will as soon as the need arose, the moment Victor flew into his trap. That also meant he’d be with her all the time, day and night. How the hell was he supposed to keep a handle on himself, and keep an eye out for Victor? And when had he become so vested in Hope that, without hesitation, he’d set a trap for his old friend and kill him just to protect her? He had no answer because what came to mind made no sense—the moment he saw her, the first time he touched her, and ultimately, from the moment he first drew breath. His wings had carried him back to the building below, and he shifted back to his human form the moment he touched down on the roof. He passed quickly through the metal door he’d broken and was at the entrance to his suite a moment later. How he was going to convince her to fly away with him, he didn’t know, but he knew she felt it, too; this inexplicable pull to one another. It’s why she hadn’t resisted when he’d come up behind her on

the street, and why she’d relented quickly when he’d insisted on tending to her wound. It’s the reason her eyes had been full of desire just moments ago, even though she’d felt completely rejected by him not long before. He slipped in silently, not wanting to wake the child who slept in the other room. Hope wasn’t in the suite’s common area, so he crept through it, down the hall to the bedroom he’d left only moments before. The door was open just like he’d left it and there she was, still in the room, sitting at the edge of the bed with her breasts still bare. “Why is it so difficult—being with me?” she asked without looking up. She couldn’t see him yet, but she’d known he was there. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, stepping into the room and doing his damnedest to keep his eyes off her gorgeous figure. “How did you know I was here?” he asked, trying to keep his mind on anything but her soft and sensual body. “I don’t know. I just knew, and that’s not all. There’s something else. Like right now, you’ve begun to feel a sigh of relief for some reason, but not fully. And you’re scared, but not for yourself.” She was right. The moment he’d decided on a plan to deal with Victor, some of the tension he’d felt had been alleviated, but not fully—just like she’d had sensed. “Tell me more about yourself,” she asked, still

not covering up. He crossed the room to where she sat. “What do you want to know?” She stood. “Is it…is it painful, you know, when it happens?” “Well, no. Not really. It’s more like tension and heat in every fiber of my body, and then in a split second, it’s over.” “That’s good.” Her brow furrowed as he ran his fingers lightly along her arms. “How long have you been this way? I mean, were you born like this?” “I honestly don’t remember how long ago it happened. I was very young,” he told her as he leaned in to trail along her neck with his lips. “I remember feeling confused and frightened by it, and I remember her face and a voice, but nothing more.” “Whose face?” Her fingers had begun to move idly across his body, grazing along his arms, swirling in small circles across his shoulders, tracing along his skin just beneath his shirt’s collar, but it was quickly driving him to distraction. “The witch,” he said finally. “I don’t remember anything about her but her face and the sound of her voice when she cursed me.” “That’s terrible. It must be awful to remember so little. But…were you a dragon or a human first?

Which one was the curse?” She surprised him more than anything ever had in his long life. Any human he’d ever known would have assumed the curse had been to be the dragon, not the other way around. In truth, even he had adopted the assumption over the centuries. He traced the outline of her face in awe. “I honestly don’t know.” “Have you tried to find her? Maybe I could help…or…would you even want that?” He wouldn’t have guessed she could surprise him more, but she just did. “At first, I wanted her to undo what she’d done. I’ve spent centuries looking for her, but now, I just don’t know.” “Centuries?” Her fingers stopped their idle movements, though he was beginning to suspect they hadn’t been so idle. The way she’d been moving, it was as if she was mapping out his body, becoming familiar with his planes and ridges, but his answer had stunned her. “How many centuries?” “At least nine.” “Oh my God. That means you’re almost a thousand years old!” “Yes,” he chuckled. “You have to admit I look pretty good for my age.” A slight noise outside the window caught his attention. It was just the wind and he dismissed it quickly; nevertheless, it had brought him crashing

back down to reality. As much as he wanted this moment to continue on endlessly, it couldn’t. He needed to get her out of there and to a place he could protect her. “Hope, I need you to come away with me.” “I can’t…Lexi…” “Who is Lexi? Why was she staying in your apartment?” Of course, the question had crossed his mind earlier, but he’d been more concerned with getting her somewhere he could protect her better. When she seemed hesitant, every possibility he could imagine flashed through his mind. Hope was obviously too young for the girl to be her daughter, and the two of them looked nothing alike, so it was unlikely that she was her sister. “She’s a runaway,” Hope blurted out, and then covered her mouth like she hadn’t meant to tell him. “You’re harboring an underage runaway? You didn’t strike me as the law-breaking type.” “It’s complicated, Cade. Please, you can’t tell anyone.” “Okay.” “Okay? Just like that?” “Crazy, isn’t it? I don’t understand it either, but I know you. I don’t know all the little details of your life, but somehow I know the kind of woman you are, and if you’re hiding that girl in your

apartment, I’m sure you have good reason.” “I can’t leave her here.” He hadn’t anticipated another guest where they were going, and he didn’t want anyone else he’d have to keep safe. He wanted all of his attention focused on keeping her from harm. She’d have to keep low-key, but Victor had no idea about Lexi so he wouldn’t be looking for her. “Then I will make sure she’s safe, too. I’ll have Steven bring her to a place where no one will ever find her.” “But she won’t be with me?” “You have to trust me, Hope. Victor won’t be looking for her, so the best way to keep her out of harm’s way is to keep her away from us. We have to leave soon. I deterred Victor for the evening, but he’ll be back.” “But you’re bigger than he is. A lot bigger. You just threw him through the air like he didn’t weigh any more than I do.” “Size has never meant much to Victor. He feels righteous in his cause and he’s very smart. He’s been around for a long time, almost as long as I have. And he believes you are a threat because of my feelings for you. Nothing is going to stop him from trying.” “…from trying to kill me?” “Yes. But I won’t let him succeed, Hope.” “But where are we going to go? I imagine anywhere you could…fly, he could, too.”

“Yes, and he will. It’s the only option I have.” “You mean you know he’s going to find us there and…” Understanding dawned in her blue eyes, “Oh.” “We need to leave, Hope,” he whispered, though he couldn’t help but to run his fingers over the upper swells of her breasts once more, and he moved lower for just a moment, cupping the weight of them in his hands. Damn it, if he didn’t stop, he was going to find himself battling a war inside himself once again, and they didn’t have time for that. “Please, get dressed,” he whispered. She nodded, recognizing the plea in his tone, and darted toward her suitcase on the bed, pulling the first T-shirt she could find over her head. It did little more than create a semi-opaque layer over the top of her, which only served to make him want to rip the shirt right off, but it would have to do. “Let’s go,” she told him, wheeling the luggage to the bedroom door. She left the suitcase in the hallway and knocked on the next door over. “Lexi, it’s time,” she called quietly. He heard movement in the room within seconds and the girl opened her door a moment later, her own rolling suitcase in hand. He already had his cell phone out and Steven on the other end of the line, or else he’d be tempted to ask why the ladies kept themselves ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Instead, he relayed his instructions to

Steven while Lexi eyed him warily. “It’s okay, Lexi. I promise,” Hope told the girl and her expression relaxed. He hung up the phone and motioned that it was time to go. Once they got downstairs, Steven would be waiting in front of the building. To be safe, he stepped outside first. It would be better if he could shift; his senses were so much keener in dragon form, but this would have to do. There was no sign of Victor, so the three of them hurried to the car. He dropped their luggage in the trunk alongside his own while they slipped into the back seat. He jumped into the front passenger seat a split second before Steven began to drive away. “I need you to bring the girl to the place we spoke about and stay with her until you hear from me,” he told Steven. “Yes, Sir.” Not another word was spoken the entire trip to the airport, but as he stepped out of the car, grabbed their luggage and opened the door for Hope, he began to worry. If she didn’t like helicopters, chances were she wasn’t much fonder of airplanes. But she hugged Lexi tightly and then climbed out without hesitation. Throwing him even more for a loop, she started toward the plane with a determined step. She climbed aboard just as easily and her complexion didn’t grow pallid the entire flight. He would have asked her about it, but he

wasn’t going to risk reigniting her fear mid-flight. They touched down on the landing strip of the private island he’d purchased a few decades back. It was only a short walk to the villa and the first phase of his plan was complete. It was dark, still hours before the sun would rise, but Hope seemed restless, too full of nervous energy to sit or lie still inside the villa. Not a moment after they’d walked out the villa’s front door, she turned to him, “Cade, I was wondering something,” she began hesitantly. “Would you change for me? I want to see you.” “Are you sure?” He didn’t mind the idea of shifting to dragon form. He trusted his senses far more that way, confident he’d sense Victor coming from miles away. “Yes, I’m sure.” It was strange. He’d never shifted in front of a human being before, and yet he nodded his head and the change came as easily as breathing. The familiar tension and heat rippled through his body, preparing itself for the inevitable shift from human to beast. Then it happened, but he fought the everpresent urge to stretch out his wings and fly. He didn’t want to scare her, and so he kept himself as small as he could, keeping his head bowed low and his wings drawn tightly against his massive body. He looked at her, expecting to see terror, or at least fear in her eyes, but there was none of it. Her

eyes looked the same as the night she’d stared out at the ocean, maybe even more replete with wonder now than they’d been then. Without hesitating, she moved toward him, reaching her hand up as she came close. She touched his snout, gliding along the marble-smooth scales. Her hand tremored against him, but she showed no signs of fear. “You’re so warm. Your body is like armor; I would have guessed it would be cool to the touch,” she observed idly as she continued to run her hand higher. He lowered his head more, giving her access to the granite-like spikes atop his skull. Her hands roamed everywhere she could reach, and in dragon form, her touch was even more potent than it had been when she’d touched his human skin. But he couldn’t touch her like this. The risk of hurting her was too great. “You’re beautiful,” she told him as he watched desire flood her eyes and her hands began to move differently against him. She was no longer exploring, she was caressing. She was no longer intrigued. She was on fire. Damn it, he couldn’t let her continue. “Stop,” he told her as he shifted back to human form. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?” “I need to keep my mind focused, Hope, and your hand was driving me wild.” “It’s the same? I mean, to be touched is still

arousing when you’re like that?” “Even more,” he shuddered through a heavy sigh, trying to keep his wits about him. “Why don’t we get you some sleep. You must be beat.” Maybe there’d be some chance he could keep his hands to himself and his mind on the task at hand if she were fast asleep. She started to object, but stopped herself quickly and nodded. She really must have been exhausted, because not a full minute after they’d laid down, she fell fast asleep. It was fortunate for him, because if he had to lay there for a moment longer with her wrapped in his arms, her soft curves fitted against his hard body, he would have lost the battle. Even after he slipped out of bed though, he stood there watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful despite the tumultuous past several hours. He didn’t share in her serene disposition at the moment. He was on edge, knowing every minute that passed brought him closer to the moment Victor would finally appear there on the island. He would use his cunning wit to try to get close to Hope, and Cade would be forced to kill a dragon that he’d known for centuries. He felt restless; he should be out there looking for him, cutting him down before he got anywhere close to Hope. But if he left her, there was no way to guarantee he’d find Victor before Victor found Hope. In truth, he’d expected to get not much more

than a few miles ahead of Victor before he was forced to face him in a final fight. Closing his eyes, he searched for him, seeking out the familiar sound of the man’s heartbeat or the scent of sulfur that would signal he was near. He’d trust his senses so much more in dragon form. Glancing down at Hope one last time, he crept out of the room, through the rest of the villa to the front door. Just one swoop around the island, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He’d still be within close enough proximity that he’d know if Victor came anywhere near. He shifted once he stepped outside and took to the skies, soaring high above the treetops, circling the perimeter of the island. He saw nothing, and his senses told him that Victor wasn’t there—at least, not yet. Still, a prickle of apprehension raced down his spine. It was probably just heightened nerves, waiting for the inevitable confrontation to come. He returned to the ground quickly and shifted back before he walked back into the villa. As he stepped through the door, the same apprehension pricked him. “I wasn’t certain you were going to come back,” a man’s voice spoke from next to the bed as he walked into the bedroom. “I thought maybe you’d finally come to your senses.” How had he missed him? Victor must have been there already, waiting for him to slip out. And

now he stood not more than two feet from the woman who had become his life. “Get away from her, Victor.” “I bet you’re feeling pretty confused at the moment, wondering how I was able to slip in beneath your radar?” Cade was silent, though that was precisely the question that was pounding in his head. “It’s funny, really. All this time, you killed all those evil witches, but you never took anything from them. But I did. Spells, potions, curses—all the things you hated so much. You have no idea how much power they can bring. I can make it so neither you, nor any other dragon, can ever find me. I can creep up on you at any time because you’ll never sense me coming. You could have had it, too, Cade, but you’ve been so caught up, living among the humans. You even missed your big prize, the one you’ve been seeking out for so long.” “Get out, Victor. Just leave. If you hurt her, you know I’ll have to kill you.” “I knew you’d gone soft, but when I saw you with this woman, a spitting image of the one I’d killed not so many years ago, I knew it was far worse than that. The witch was right there under your nose and you were completely oblivious. So, you must understand why I have to save you, Cade. I need to make you strong again. I once looked up to you.”

“I won’t let you hurt her, Victor.” “It’s too late, Cade. You don’t think she’s been sleeping through our little meeting, do you? Don’t feel too bad about it. You really did go to great lengths to try to keep her safe.” “What did you do, Victor?” His heart lurched in his chest as he looked down at the peaceful form sleeping in his bed. She hadn’t moved once since he’d walked in, but she wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes were wide open. No, he couldn’t be too late. Her breathing…it was shallow, but he could still see the slow rise and fall of her chest. Oh God, what had Victor done? He’d failed. He’d soared over the island for no more than a minute, and in that brief time, he’d lost everything. “Oh, I suppose she’s not dead yet, but it’ll happen soon enough. You see, with the invention of modern medicine came these tiny little syringes,” he held one up in his hand. “It’s so much easier to inject someone with one than it ever was to force them to drink the damn potions. One tiny pinprick and all the work is done.” “You bastard,” Cade roared. “She has better senses than you, Cade; so much, that she was able to sense my presence despite the potion. And I bet you don’t even know why,” he scoffed. “The moment I slipped in through the window, she was wide awake, not that it did her any good. She may have keen senses, but

her muscle is no better than a mere human’s. But don’t worry, I made sure I didn’t make that same mistake twice. The poison winding through her veins is enough to take down a small army.” The roar that rose up from Cade’s chest began as a man’s, but in a flash, he became the black beast, his massive size tearing off the roof of the villa, violently collapsing the walls around him. His roar shook the ground as Victor shifted before his eyes, the red dragon taking his place. He lunged at the son of a bitch, teeth bared and talons extended. He delivered the first blow, a mighty slash across the scarlet beast’s belly. Victor stumbled back several yards, but Cade’s attempt failed to send him careening to the ground. Instead, the dragon he’d known for hundreds of years began to spin, flinging his tail like a heavy, spike-encrusted whip. One spike made contact, tearing through the unguarded flesh of his ribcage. It was fitting. He now wore a near-identical wound to the one that still marred the soft flesh covering Hope’s torso. An image of her near-lifeless form and terrorfilled eyes flashed through his mind, and another roar ripped clear out of his chest. She’d been awake; she’d heard everything he and Victor had said, but she was powerless, her body overwhelmed by whatever potion worked its lethal magic in her veins. The fire in his belly rose up and spewed forth,

incinerating the shrubs that had outlined the path to the once-beautiful villa. It was no longer a haven. It was hell. It was the place he’d lost Hope. The first flicker of doubt flashed through Victor’s golden eyes, as if he were only now contemplating the possibility that he might not win this fight. He took flight and Cade followed, meeting him in the sky. He knew precisely where to aim; not at the unarmored underbelly of the dragon, but in between the scales on his rough back. He hit his mark with deft precision. His talons dug into the flesh beneath the scales and tore clear into the muscle that controlled his wings. The red beast roared in agony, and his flightless body crashed to the ground. He swooped down, landing directly in front of the fallen dragon, but neither the wounds nor the crash had killed him. Victor must have found a bit of magic that strengthened his body, but it didn’t matter. No spell, potion or curse would thwart Cade’s vengeance. He spun, flinging his own lethal whip, making contact with Victor’s snout as the beast tried to right himself and stand up. The blow had been enough to faze him, and Cade moved in one last time, slashing with lightning speed into the creature’s chest. Victor stumbled back as his eyes met Cade’s. The crimson dragon had seriously believed he would win this fight, but he knew now

that he’d lost. Warm blood flowed down the beast’s body as he stumbled back one more step, falling to the ground. Victor was dead, but it did nothing to save Hope. He walked back toward the broken villa, shifting to his human form as he reached the debris that surrounded her. She was still breathing, but the movement of her chest had grown even shallower and a single tear slid down her cheek. No. This couldn’t be it, damn it! There had to be something he could do. The witch was right there under your nose. Victor’s words came back to him. The witch had shown up when he’d been distracted with Hope? He must have meant at the charity dinner. Image after image flashed through his mind, remembering every person he’d seen there. A woman in the corner—her name—someone had said her name. Genevieve. He’d seen the name on the list—the list of guests from the dinner that were staying at the hotel—and he hadn’t recognized her name, though he knew every other guest there. It had to be her. “Hold on, Hope. Please, just hold on,” he whispered to her, and then he flew like never before back to Vegas. He was there in no time and landed on the hotel’s roof, shifting as he hurried down to her suite, breaking down her door. She was

there, sitting in a chair in the suite’s living room, next to the window. It was definitely her, the same face he remembered from centuries ago. And he hadn’t even noticed she’d been right there in the same banquet hall, staying in his hotel. She smiled. “I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again.” He didn’t have time to cajole her, and there was no guarantee a threat would work. It was risky, but he could do it. Her eyes widened as Cade dashed through the room without a word and grabbed the screaming woman up in his arms. He jumped through the window and the moment the glass shattered around him, he made it happen, shifting right there. He had to go straight up, without a second to spare, or else there was an even greater risk of being seen. He kept the witch wrapped in his arms as he flew back to the island, all the while wondering if he was too late. Had he wasted his last precious moments with Hope in vain? “You heal her, and I let you live,” he growled at her once he’d touched down and shifted back. “Do you understand me?” “Heal her? And just how do you expect me to do that?” “I know exactly who and what you are. If you can’t undo whatever the potion has done, then my body’s stronger than hers. If she were like me, she

could heal, she’d survive.” “Oh? So, being like you isn’t as bad as you thought all this time?” “Enough!” “I can’t make her like you, Cade. She isn’t like you. She’s like me.” What? “What do you mean, she’s like you?” The witch was trying to deceive him. Hope didn’t have time for this. “You knew it. You already knew there was something different about her. Those eyes, they never lie, and if you’d tasted her blood, you would have known it wasn’t human blood. I bet since being around you, she’s been noticing things about herself, things that never broke through the surface before.” “She can’t be like you. She isn’t a god damned witch,” he bellowed. “If she were like you, she would have known it, which means I would have known it, too.” “It isn’t like being a shifter—something that’s a little hard to go unnoticed. Being a witch, as you call us, it’s something deep within. If you don’t know the power you possess, you never think to use it.” “And once she knows…she’ll become like you? Like all the evil, vile creatures I’ve destroyed over the centuries?”

The witch seemed to ignore his question, and turned her attention to Hope, though she continued to speak to him. “This was no doubt Victor’s work. I knew he was up to no good at that banquet of yours, but Victor miscalculated despite knowing what she was. You see, spells and potions aren’t as effective on us, especially one like her, but they’re not completely without effect. Otherwise, she would have sensed Victor’s anger a mile away.” “What do you mean ‘one like her’?” “She is far stronger than I am, Cade, and I have only ever met one other that was stronger than myself. Hope’s mother.” “You knew her mother?” He brushed back the wisps of hair from Hope’s forehead, remembering the sadness in her eyes when she’d spoken of her mother. The witch ignored him. “I can feel the potion coursing through her veins, and it is strong. Not many of us could survive it. Victor knew what he was doing. I believe it’s strong enough that it would have even bested me. But while most bloodlines weaken over time, hers has only strengthened. I can only imagine how magnificent your offspring will be; the two mightiest creatures I have ever known.” “She’s going to survive?” The tiniest bit of relief tingled through his veins, but perhaps she was lying, just trying to buy herself time to figure a way out.

“Come on Hope. I know you can hear us. Sense it there in your body and fight it. Banish it from your veins. Don’t keep us waiting.” Her breathing returned to normal after a moment and color returned to her cheeks, but she still didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even blink. “Don’t worry, sometimes it takes a few minutes. She’s new at all of this.” He waited with baited breath, stroking her hand, caressing her cheek, staring into her eyes. There was a determination in them that hadn’t been there moments ago. And his heart, which had been growing cold with despair, began to fill with warmth once again. “Cade,” Hope’s soft voice whispered after another moment had passed. “Oh God, Hope, you’re…okay,” he forced the words past the lump in his throat. “Yes, but I don’t understand. I could feel it. It was death. It felt like fire spreading throughout my whole body, first where he pricked me, and then all over.” She ran her hand over her arm where Victor had stabbed her with the syringe, but there was no mark, not even a tiny pinprick. “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re alive. I’m so sorry I let him in. I couldn’t sense him, Hope.” “It’s alright, Cade. You couldn’t have known. I heard you. I could hear everything, and I know it

wasn’t your fault.” Her eyes grazed over him as if she were looking to confirm he was really there, but she must have caught sight of the gash across his ribs. Victor had cut deep, and perhaps a human might have succumbed to the injury, but not him. “He hurt you,” she whispered as her hand grazed over the wound gently, but as she moved, the torn flesh mended beneath her fingers, disappearing completely as if it had never been there. He looked up at her awestruck, but it seemed to have surprised her just as much. “I told you she was strong,” the witch spoke from the edge of the bed. Hope turned toward the witch, “You’re Genevieve. You were a friend of my mother’s, but after she died, I never saw you again.” “I’m afraid that’s true, my dear. I had to leave. I had to draw him away from you.” “Victor killed my mother? My father told me she’d died in a car accident.” “He had to tell you that. Your mother should have lived a very long time, Hope. She was three hundred years old when I first met her, and she was born more than a century before that. Your father had only recently found out what your mother was, and though he didn’t understand it enough to do anything more than despise it, he knew he had to keep it from you.”

Her easy camaraderie with the witch made him worry. Hope hadn’t known what she was, but she did now. “She’s going to become like you?” He couldn’t reconcile the thought. He couldn’t fathom Hope being anything like the cold, vile things he had rid from the world. “Not all witches are evil, my boy.” “Oh, please. They’re all misunderstood saints?” “Oh no, I didn’t say that. Just like with you dragons, there are those who use what they possess for good, and others who use it for their own selfish desires,” she motioned to the massive bloodied corpse. “Then why did you curse me?” How could what she did possibly be counted as good? “Curse? It wasn’t meant as a curse, but a saving grace. They were scouring the villages, searching out the fire-breathing monsters that terrified them. But you were young, the youngest dragon I had ever seen. In truth, I hadn’t considered where your kind came from back then, whether you were born or spawned, or brought forth from the depths of heaven or hell. But I simply couldn’t just hand you over. There was something gentle in your green eyes. So, I made you what you are, part human to hide you from the dragon-seekers. Unfortunately, I was captured not long after for my evil deeds. By the time I was able

to return to you, you were long gone.” “Then I was the dragon first, not the human?” He couldn’t believe it. He’d insist she was lying, but he could see the truth in her eyes. “Since I changed you, I have learned you are an ancient species, perhaps one of the first. When the giant rock hit Earth and blackened the skies, you were the only species wise enough to protect yourselves, burrowing havens deep underground. All of those giant reptiles perished, but not the dragons.” “You aren’t lying,” he told her, perhaps to try to make sense of it himself. “I have been watching you for a very long time, Cade. Perhaps now, I won’t have to watch you from afar.” Cade nodded. It was still so strange. All the animosity he’d carried for centuries had been misplaced. The witch had done what she did out of kindness, and if she hadn’t, he would never have known Hope. “For now, though, I think I’ll leave the two of you alone to get acquainted. You have a lot to learn, about yourselves and about each other. I think it will be a wonderful journey for you both.” “I’ll take you back,” he offered. It was the least he could do, though he was loath to leave Hope there alone. He’d have to bring them both back with him, he supposed.

“There’s no need,” she smiled mischievously, though he had absolutely no idea how she intended to get herself back. She came around the bed then and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve grown to be a fine, strong dragon, Cade.” She leaned down then and brushed a kiss across Hope’s forehead. “And your mother would be so proud of you, Hope.” She left then without a backward glance, though he stared after her for a moment, wondering how the woman planned to leave with no boat and no wings. But it didn’t seem to concern her. “By the way,” she called back to them, “I’ll have Steven bring Lexi out to you here. I’m sure my son is anxious to see for himself that you are both alright.” He and Hope just looked at each other. His personal valet, and really, the man he counted on in any tough situation, was Genevieve’s son? And he hadn’t sensed anything from the man this whole time? It must have been the same potion or spell Victor had talked about, keeping him from sensing Steven’s true self. The day had certainly been full of surprises.

CHAPTER 9 He’d wrapped her in his great, obsidian arms and flown her to the other end of the island. There were no villas or modern day comforts there, but what was there was even better. The ancient trees created a tall canopy overhead, blocking out the hottest rays of the sun, but letting through enough light to illuminate the waterfall that fed into a crystal-clear river. So many questions whirled through her mind, but there was only one thing she wanted to focus on right then: Cade. She reached for him as he shifted back to human form, and the fire deep inside her sprung to life. She let her hands wander, grazing over chiseled muscle and firm flesh. He closed his eyes, and she felt the struggle in his mind, but she swooped in quickly to wrap her hand around his long length. “Hope,” he whispered hoarsely, but before he could capture her wrists to still her movements, she stepped back wearing a devilish smile of her own. She stripped off her clothes, yanking the Tshirt over her head and shimmying out of her pants as quickly as she could. The wound Victor had left and the bruises that had marred her arms and wrists were gone. They’d healed miraculously as she’d

thrust the poison from her body. His gaze swept over her body and relief washed over him seeing her healed flesh. Perhaps just to be certain, he ran his hands across her, trailing down her arms and up her ribs. His fingers grazed over her breasts, and her nipples hardened instantly in response to his touch. He cupped her in his hands, and she could tell by his firm grip he’d already begun to lose the tentative control over himself. He closed the distance between them and kissed her, crushing her lips beneath his as his shaft pressed hard against her abdomen. The ebony dragon flashed through her mind and a jolt of desire shot through her like lightning. “Shift for me, Cade. Please.” She didn’t know exactly how to articulate what it was she wanted. There was suddenly a burning need deep inside her to experience his real being. She wanted to see him, to touch him, even to feel him against her. “Hope, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Please,” she whispered again. “Alright, but you have to keep your distance. It isn’t safe…” Reluctantly, he took a step back, and then another. She watched as his muscular frame gave way to magnificent scales, and the tan coloring of his skin turned to an iridescent shade of black. His eyes though, they were the same; the same brilliant

green eyes filled with desire stared down at her. He was watching her, trying to read her response while he fought to maintain control. She closed the distance between them and reached up to graze her hand along his solid chest. A roar rumbled in his throat and he took a step back. He was afraid he’d hurt her. “It’s okay, Cade. Please.” She could feel the way he held himself in check, not moving, barely breathing. She reached for him again, but as she did, he withdrew from her and in a flash, he was human again. She could see the same heat in his eyes that had radiated from the dragon’s emerald orbs. “Hope, I can’t believe…” but he couldn’t finish his sentence. He lunged for her instead, pulling her hard against him and covering her lips with his. She pulled away first. She wanted to taste him, to feel his hard length between her lips. She dropped to her knees before he could catch her. She ran her tongue down the length of him and glided back to the tip, circling the ultrasensitive ridge. “Oh God, Hope,” he groaned as his hips rocked forward. She opened her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, and drew him in, savoring the steely hardness covered by smooth flesh. His hands were at the

back of her head a moment later and she felt him tremor as he struggled to keep control. She worked him in deeper, taking him into the back of her throat. “God damn it, Hope, I need to fuck you —now,” he growled as he grabbed her beneath her arms and lifted her up, clear off the ground like she weighed almost nothing. He captured her lips as he guided her down to the ground, and she felt him against her. Just like before, he drove in to the hilt in one, hard thrust and she wrapped her legs around him. She loved the way he couldn’t contain himself with her. She’d never felt more desirable than when he couldn’t wait a moment longer to have her. She wondered if it would always be this way between them, and somehow, she knew it would be. The same sense she’d so quickly come to trust told her so. Her fingers roamed over his back as she tilted her hips to meet his every thrust, his pace growing more frantic with every moment that passed. He broke their kiss and gazed at her. Brilliant green and crystal blue locked on one another as he leaned up on one powerful arm and slipped his free hand between them. The second he found her clit, her hips rocked wildly and she cried out as the pressure mounted within her. “I want to watch you, Hope. I want to see you come for me,” he whispered as he rubbed the

sensitive bundle of nerves in tight circles. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her moans turned to cries, and her cries turned to screams of pleasure as her back arched clear off the soft carpet of grass beneath her and her body splintered into a thousand pieces, floating high in the clouds despite never leaving the ground. “You’re incredible, Hope. I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he groaned as he reached his summit and toppled over the edge. She knew exactly what he meant, though it made no sense. “I’ve always loved you, too,” she whispered as her body started back down from the heavens.

**** “We should head back,” she murmured after a long while had passed. She’d laid there wrapped in his arms for an hour or more, and she would have been happy to stay there for all of eternity just feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. But Lexi would be there soon, if Steven hadn’t arrived with her already. She’d sensed something familiar about Steven. He’d come to the house with Genevieve once, a friend from the local community center, her mother had said. She’d told her mother something was different about Genevieve and Steven after they’d gone, and she had told her to hold onto that feeling, that it would serve to be incredible useful to her one day. Her mother had been right. The same sense that had told her about Genevieve and Steven had also spoken to her about Cade. If she’d refused to listen to it, she never would have wound up with her perfect match. Whether it was destiny or fate that had brought them together, or a special kind of magic that worked its mysticism throughout the universe, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She’d found her mate, and her life had been changed forever. He nodded reluctantly and they both stood,

gathering their clothes up off the ground. She slipped into her T-shirt and jeans, though she didn’t want to get dressed. She wanted to stay there with him, touching him, tasting him and feeling him drive deep inside her again. He wanted it, too, but they would both have to do their best to keep themselves under control, at least for a short while. He went to gather her up in his arms, but a strange sensation washed over her. She’d been looking for it, searching her mind and her body for whatever secrets they held. How could she have been what Genevieve had said and not known it? All her life, she’d had the power to do so many amazing things. Hell, she’d worked in a magic show and never knew she possessed the ability to create magic on her own? It was almost too crazy to believe. Well, it was too crazy to believe, but it was hard to deny when a dragon was the man she knew in her heart she was destined to be with. The strange sensation stayed with her, and she let it guide her. She took a step back and closed her eyes. Her body felt as light as air and she let the gentle breeze take her. The wind gusted, but she pushed back, keeping her body precisely where she wanted it, hovering close to Cade—and a few feet off the ground. She could fly! She’d given up on every bit of magic in the world, and now she could fly. Could the world possibly hold any more surprises?

A tiny thump, low in her abdomen. It wasn’t possible—it was far too soon. But she could sense it. Not ‘it’, but her. THE END

A SNEAK PEEK OF FRENCH KISS: A BAD BOY ROMANCE What would you do if you found out your boyfriend had not only been fucking around with a bunch of other girls, but had posted his disgusting exploits online for all of the world to see? I lost it and bought a one-way ticket to France, planning to focus on my art while vowing to swear off of dating men for at least six months. But all of that went out the window when I met Jacques, my unbelievably-hot, tatted-up new neighbor who lives in the apartment across the narrow alleyway from mine. Our language barrier melts when we're alone together. Jacques worships my body in ways that no man has even come close to, and his touch unlocks a passion inside of me that I never knew existed. But can I trust him? He may play guitar for The Four Pistols, but I swear, I’ll never be played again.

CHAPTER ONE NORA I’m in my dorm, studying for the High Renaissance through Modern Art final, when my phone buzzes. I try to ignore it, but after looking at slides of Brunelleschi and Caravaggio back and forth to try and make sure I could determine the differences between them at a glance for the last twenty minutes, I’m more than ready for a distraction. The text is from my friend, Claire. Nora. Nora. Need to talk to you. Right. Now. I roll my eyes at the message; it always seems to be an emergency with Claire. I text her back. I’m studying for the Ren and Mod Art final, can’t this wait? I try to turn my attention back to the notes from class, but almost as soon as I put my phone

down, it’s buzzing again with another text from Claire. Seriously, girl. I’m coming up right now. I shake my head and prepare myself for the ordeal of listening to another story about an ugly penis from some Tinder hookup she’s landed, or a crisis about finding one of our professors on Bumble; something like that. Claire has never experienced a true emergency in her life, and normally I’m pretty down for tales of her misadventures, but right now —with my last tests and my final project on the line before I finally get my degree—I just don’t feel up to giving her the reaction she wants. But Claire has also been my best friend since the first week of freshman year, when we met at orientation, so I feel like I have to humor her. Besides, I tell myself that everyone says the occasional break is good during long study sessions. I might as well go along with it, since Claire obviously won’t leave me alone until I do. So, I put my laptop aside and set my notes down on the coffee table, and by the time I’m ready for her, there’s a knock at my door. “Okay, so I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but this is kind of big,” Claire says as I unlock the door to let her in. She’s got her phone in her hand, and I’m convinced she’s about to tell me some long story about some guy from one of the

dating apps turning out to be a catfish or something, so I get myself ready to laugh. “Just tell me what’s going on so I can get back to studying, okay?” I throw myself down onto the couch. “You may not have any finals to worry about until next week, but Drexler is going hard for Ren to Mod, so I definitely need to bring my Agame to the final.” “This is kind of more important than finals,” Claire says, and I see she’s actually starting to look nervous; maybe even doubtful. “Stop dragging this out, Claire,” I tell her. “Whatever dude sent you a picture of his herpinfected dick probably doesn’t deserve this much drama.” “That’s not what I’m here about,” Claire says. She sits down in what my roommate and I call the “guest chair” since, by default, we both claim the couch, and presses her lips together. “So, what is it?” I just stare at her, hoping she’ll get to the point already. “Spit it out.” “Well, it does have to do with Tinder, so you were partly right,” Claire says, biting her bottom lip. “But the thing is...okay, just…just look, Nora.” She hands me her phone and I raise an eyebrow. Her screen is locked, but I’ve had her passcode memorized for a year now, so it takes me all of two seconds to get it open. I’m expecting a dick pic, or some weird

picture with some bizarre fetish with one of her exes, or something like that; maybe at worst some text message from a friend talking about catching an STD from someone we both know. Instead, I find myself staring at a profile from Tinder. Ethan, 22. My heart starts beating faster as I read the little bio section; the top picture isn’t of a person, but instead, a car. But the bio section makes me start to realize what Claire’s trying to tell me. Fashion Design at UKA, so I know how to do a body good. Snap: KingSateen, Insta: LeatherandLace. For the real X-rated stuff, check out MasterDisaster. “Someone’s catfishing,” I say, shaking my head. I flip through the Tinder pictures, and there he is: my boyfriend, at his parent’s beach house. It can’t be him, though; we’ve been dating since fall semester of freshman year, almost as long as I’ve even known Claire. He’s been dropping hints all semester that he might propose at graduation. We’ve been planning on moving in together at the end of summer. It just can’t be him; it doesn’t make any sense. “Nora, what if it’s really him?” I shake my head again. “No—no, someone’s just...they’re trying to pretend to be him, that’s all it is.” I hand Claire her phone back and I feel like my

whole body’s gone cold. “Nora, it’s not like some of those pictures exist in that many places,” Claire points out. “And why would someone want to pretend to be Ethan?” “Because they don’t want to get caught cheating on their girlfriend or something. Or they’re —they’re not as cute as Ethan, and want…” I shake my head again, and I can feel the blood roaring in my ears. It doesn’t make any sense. Ethan and I are happy together, we love each other. Sure, things have been tough from time to time; the guy I started going out with freshman year was a sweet, skinny kid who always took shit for being into costuming, but he’d found his stride with the fashion majors at UKA. Even if his ego had gotten a bit inflated, I figured it was a small price to pay after all his hard work to get the Marchand Prize. We’d had our fights, but he had told me he wanted to design my wedding dress, to make it my perfect day. I shake off my confusion and look at Claire. “Well, it should be easy to tell if it’s not really him, right?” “What do you mean?” she shrugs. “I mean, we can check him out online; do a little snooping. If this is someone else, it’s gotta be obvious, right?” I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and think about that. Sure, even if someone had linked to Ethan’s Instagram and his

Snapchat, then there had to be some kind of proof otherwise. Anyone who’d done a quick search for his stuff online would have turned up those things. “When I tell Ethan someone’s using his name and stuff to impersonate him, he’s going to be pissed,” I say, picking up my laptop. I open a new tab and type in the one screen name I don’t recognize from the profile, rolling my eyes at how cheesy it is. Ethan would never pick a handle that ridiculous, I tell myself. Whoever is pretending to be him isn’t doing a very good job of it, obviously. “See? It can’t be him. Ethan would never have a profile on a site like this,” I say, as the results start coming up: Fetlife, UPorn, all kinds of sites that I would never in a million years expect Ethan to even really know about, much less have any kind of profile on. “Well, let’s just make sure, because I mean, if you don’t at least look, then you’re going to keep wondering, right? But as soon as you look at a picture, or a video, or whatever, and it’s not Ethan, then you’ll know,” Claire suggests. I can’t really argue with that logic; I have to admit that after almost four years, I should be able to recognize my boyfriend—and figure out that someone isn’t my boyfriend—in a picture or video, even if the face isn’t there. I click on the UPorn link and there are at least two dozen videos on the profile. The titles of some

of them are enough to make my stomach twist. Some of them are things that Ethan and I talked about maybe trying, but always chickened out of; BDSM stuff, mostly. But there aren’t any good preview pictures that would relieve my mind. I take a deep breath and click on one at random, telling myself that there’s no way it’s actually Ethan; it has to be some other guy. The video is shaky but the picture is high-res, and at first, all I see is a girl—someone I’ve seen around campus, but never really talked to or learned the name of—tied up on all fours, dressed in an outfit that looks like something Ethan would design: it’s a black leather maid’s outfit with fine white lace and white satin touches, and part of me has to admit that it looks well-made. The girl is looking directly at the camera, her makeup already all smeared, with drool on her chin. “Do you want Daddy’s cock in your mouth again, you filthy little slut?” I don’t even have to wait until I see an image. That’s Ethan’s voice, I know it. But instead of closing out the video or pausing it, it’s like I’m transfixed. I’m just staring as the camera pans down, and I see what is unmistakably my boyfriend’s erection—with its little slant to the right, his quarter-inch trimmed pubes, and the tattoo on his upper thigh of his family crest that he got back when we were sophomores. I can’t help

but watch as the video continues with this girl using her mouth to go to town on my boyfriend’s dick, and then he starts taking her from behind with the skirt of her fake maid’s uniform pushed up over her hips. Claire eventually grabs the laptop from me and closes out the tab, and I’m just sitting there with my hands on my lap, staring at nothing at all. “Okay,” she says, and I don’t even look at her. “Okay, so this is fucking awful, and—” “And I’m going to kill him,” I say quietly. But I don’t actually believe it; they’re just words that are leaving me. Because I don’t even really know how I feel other than sick. “You’re going to break up with him, right?” I’m not even crying, but it feels like a huge lump is growing in my throat, like my eyes are starting to sting and burn. I want to scream. I want to break something. I want to tear the hair out of my own head—or maybe tear it out of Ethan’s head. “I have to,” I say. Even with the undoubtable evidence right in front of me, there’s a part of me what wants to believe it’s not true, that it’s all a lie, or some kind of terrible prank. But there’s no way. “Oh, God…Claire—” “I think this calls for butterscotch pudding from the dining hall, a gallon of cookie dough ice

cream, and approximately all the fries in existence,” Claire says. I can’t really disagree with her on that. My stomach feels sick, but just the mention of junk food is enough to make me want to devour mountains of it. I can’t even think of studying anymore. Claire leaves and I sit there in a daze, trying to make sense of what I’d just uncovered about my boyfriend of nearly four years. Trying to understand how he could be the same person who held me close in his dorm room and told me that if I ever left him, he would die, but also the person who not only openly sought out hookups with strangers, but posted videos of the results online for anyone to see. If Claire hadn’t decided to start using Tinder to find dates after things ended with Charlie, I might still be in the dark about what Ethan’s been doing. And what would have happened? Would we still be getting engaged after graduation? Would we still be moving to the city for me to start my MFA while he worked as an intern for some fashion designer? I know I have to call him, I have to confront him with what I’ve found out, but I still feel frozen from head to toe, like everything around me is going too fast and I can’t move. I don’t even feel like I can breathe. It takes me only a few minutes

after Claire has left to start crying.

CHAPTER TWO NORA I take a deep breath as I walk towards Ethan’s dorm, knowing that it’s going to be a huge mess, knowing that the next ten minutes, or fifteen, or thirty—maybe even the next hour—are just going to flat-out suck. It’s been a few days since I found out about what he’s been doing, and it’s like poking a bruise. I just keep looking him up online, finding more shit that he’s done and more bitches he’s fucked around with. A few of them have even been girls from classes I’ve had over the past few years, and I never heard a damn thing about it. I swipe my card to unlock the building’s door and decide that in spite of how agitated I feel, I’m going to take the elevator instead of the stairs. I’m glad to see that there’s no one getting on the

elevator with me; that would just make psyching myself up for everything I have to do that much harder. I get off the elevator when it reaches Ethan’s floor and remind myself, yet again, that I’m doing the right thing; that there is no way in the entire world that I can just let this slide, and that no matter how he tries to deny it, I know the truth. At least there’s only so long that this can go on, I remind myself. Ethan has a class in about an hour and a half, and it’s their last session before finals, so no matter what, our conversation isn’t going to last much longer than an hour. I get to his dorm room and for just a second, any semblance of courage completely deserts me. More than anything in the world, I want to turn around, walk back down the hallway, and go to my own room, where I at least can be alone with the horror and humiliation of what I now know about my so-called relationship. There’s a tiny part of me that believes if I don’t have the confrontation with Ethan, I can almost pretend like I never found out in the first place. But I know it’s a lie. I might be one of the last people on campus to know—at least, amongst the people who would care—but I know what I know, and I can’t just pretend like I didn’t find out about Ethan. So, I take a deep breath, and knock on his door.

“Coming!” When the door opens to reveal the man I’ve spent the last three and a half years madly in love with, it’s almost too much for me to take—yet again. Ethan looks like he always does: lean and lanky, in black jeans and a black tee shirt. It’s practically his uniform, and I’ve only seen him in another color maybe a dozen times in the years we’ve dated—and those were all only because he was specifically forbidden from wearing all black. He’s got stubble along his jaw, and his big, dark brown eyes look like they’re about to bore into me until he realizes that it’s me, and then he’s all smiles. “Hey, babe! Sorry, I’ve been working on my final project,” Ethan says. “What’s up?” “We need to talk,” I say, ignoring the charm in his voice. How can he even pretend like there’s nothing wrong? Just the night before, he’d uploaded a new video to UPorn, and according to the description, it had been taken during a time when he’d told me that he had a group project to work on for one of his classes. “What’s wrong, babe?” I push down the instinct to just start screaming at him, but it’s hard. “We need to talk,” I say again. “Are your roommates here?” “No. Nate’s down at the dining hall and

Chester is looking something up in the library,” Ethan replies. He gives me a little smirking grin. “Need a little pre-finals stress relief?” Bile quickly rises in my throat. It takes everything I have to keep myself from vomiting right there. “Just let me into the room,” I say, already exhausted. After finding out what Ethan had been doing behind my back—apparently, for more than a year, according to the date stamps on his videos—I can’t even remember all of our dates, our nights together, all of the special memories we’d shared, without feeling like they’d all been tainted. He could have given me an STD; in some of the videos, he wasn’t even wearing a fucking condom! He could have knocked someone up. Apparently, none of that was all that important to him, though, and now everything about the man I loved had been totally ruined. I couldn’t even deal with his attempts at being charming; it just felt revolting. “Is something wrong, babe?” Ethan lets me into his dorm but it’s starting to occur to him to wonder why I’ve even dropped by, and why I’m not responding to his leering and smirking in my usual way. How is it possible that, in less than a week, he can go from being this charming, sort-of-sweet-

underneath-it-all asshole, to just a regular old asshole? I ask myself. I let the door close and lock behind me, taking my phone out of my pocket. Before I even went to class that morning, I made sure I had everything saved on my phone; everything I needed as evidence. I open the screenshots and give myself a second to decide if I really want to do this. “Tell me about this,” I say, holding up the first one: Ethan’s Tinder profile. “And this,” I add, flipping to the next picture: a screengrab of one of his amateur porn videos, showing his face. I keep flipping through them and Ethan goes from looking like a cocky, horny lover to a sulking, spoiled child. “This is your fault, you know,” he says once I’ve shown him all of the pictures. “What?” I thought nothing that Ethan could say could possibly surprise me, but I can’t believe he’s going for this tactic. “You wouldn’t do any of these things with me, so I had to find someone else who would.” “Without telling me? Without even seeing if I might be okay with it? Without using a condom half the time? You could have given me some kind of fucking crotch rot, Ethan!” I stuff my phone back into my purse before the anger can get a hold of me strongly enough to make me throw it. “Don’t be such a prude,” Ethan says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Nora. We both know we love

each other. This isn’t even the kind of thing that should worry you.” “It worries the hell out of me that you’ve kept it from me for...I don’t know—like a year or better?” “How did you even find out about it?” he hissed. I shake my head. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you’ve been cheating on me all this time, and you’re too much of a goddamn coward to even admit what a piece of shit you are,” I say. I hear my voice rising. I know I’m almost screaming, but I can’t stop myself. “What are you going to do, Nora? You gonna dump me?” Ethan rolls his eyes again. “Come on. If you weren’t such a prude, this wouldn’t have ever happened. But it’s out of my system now. If you’re jealous, maybe I can show you what I’ve learned, and then we can put this all behind us.” My jaw drops. I can’t even believe Ethan is uttering the fucking words that are spilling from his mouth right now. “It is not prudish for me to expect you to be honest with me, for me to expect you to break up with me if you apparently need a bunch of strange women slobbering on your cock to be happy and satisfied. It’s not prudish for me to expect you to have the common decency to not cheat.”

“We have our whole lives ahead of us,” Ethan says. “Give it time, and you’ll forgive me for this.” “I never will,” I tell him. “I didn’t come here for you to explain this. There’s no explanation that could ever be good enough. I came here to tell you that I know what you’ve been doing, and we’re over.” “We can’t be over,” Ethan says. “We’re going to New York together. We’re going to be engaged in like, a few weeks—as soon as the ring I designed for you is done.” “No,” I say through gritted teeth. “Not happening. Hope you can get your deposit back, because I will never wear that fucking ring in my life. I am never going to touch you again. I’m never even going to speak your fucking name again.” For the first time, Ethan looks truly panicked. He stares at me, and I watch his mouth open and close, open again, and then he’s just staring at me like that. I turn to leave his room. I’ve had all I can stomach of this conversation—Ethan blaming me for his cheating, insisting that I’ll forgive him, that everything will be fine between us, when there’s not even an ‘us’ anymore. If I stay much longer, I’ll just start screaming, making a huge scene out of it, and I don’t want to have a dozen people watching me leave the dorm building in tears. “Wait! Nora, come on!” Ethan grabs my arm

and I turn on my heel. Now, I’m not even sad anymore, just flat-out angry, and I reach for his wrist and dig my fingernails into his skin until he lets out a stupid, shrieking yelp, and starts to loosen his grasp. I bend his hand backwards as far as I can, and shove him away from me, and then I’m out the door, hurrying down the hall. I hear a few people’s doors opening and closing; obviously some folks overheard some part of what happened between me and Ethan, and they’re curious. But my blood is roaring in my ears, and all I can think of is getting back to the privacy of my room before anyone can really notice me. I hate the idea of anyone seeing me crying over Ethan, or figuring out that’s why I’m crying. I manage to keep the tears in my eyes as I ride the elevator to the ground floor, and I make myself slow down a bit on the way to my own dorm building. One of the sophomore BFA students, Jamie, says hi to me as I’m walking past her, and I give her the best smile I can manage, say something about the finals for Drexel being brutal, and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. In three weeks, you’ll have graduated, you’ll be off campus, and you can forget you ever even met Ethan. The first two would just be a matter of fact; I know better than to believe the third thing will really happen, though. But I have to at least

pretend to believe there will be a day when I barely even remember my now ex-boyfriend’s face, when I’m not walking around like I have a jagged, cold diamond in my chest instead of a heart. I have to believe that I can recover. It’s just really hard to imagine right now.

CHAPTER THREE JACQUES “Hey, have you heard old Claude finally found a tenant for his place?” I spray down my tattoo station with antiseptic and shrug. “Good for him,” I say. Claude owns the apartment directly across the alley from mine; it should probably concern me more than it does that he’s found someone to rent it, seeing as how it’s so fucking close to my place, but after the day I’ve had, I don’t have it in me to give a shit. “Apparently, it’s some American girl,” Christophe continues. “Some artist.” “Good for her, then,” I say, wiping down the table and spraying it again for good measure, thinking back to that last client of mine who looked entirely too sketchy. At least he was in and out of

here in no time, just getting a small, dumb-ass tattoo of a cartoon character right above his ankle. We’re about to close for the evening, and Christophe never seems to be able to focus on cleaning up his station at the end of the night, which makes it take twice as long. Usually, all I want to do is get to the bar, have some beers and see what fine piece of ass I can take home with me, but tonight, I’m headed straight home; I’m beat after finishing the 6-hour back piece I worked on earlier today. “You’re not even a little bit curious?” I shrug off Christophe’s question. “Fuck that,” I tell him. “After all the shit that went down with Amandine, I promised myself that I wouldn’t tie myself down to anyone for a while. I’m just looking to have fun and get as much ass as possible, man.” I start to check my inventory of inks, gauze, nitrile gloves, antibiotic ointment—the whole mess. “American girls are pretty easy from what I hear, dude,” Christophe points out as he finally starts to disinfect his station for real. “And you can talk them into doing some really freaky things.” “Pfft,” I say. I notice I need more yellow, and I’m almost out of gloves. “I have more than enough options right here in Rouen already.” “Hey, look at it this way,” Christophe counters. “You can get in there and tap that ass, and by the time you’re tired of her, she’ll be on her

way back to the US.” I roll my eyes. “If it’s so important to you, why don’t you take a shot at getting in her pants, man,” I say. “I just want to keep working on coming up with some new designs, practice with the Four Pistols and let the pussy come to me.” I grab some inventory from the supply closet and check over my station one more time before heading out of the shop for the night. By the time I get home, I’m bone-tired. I start to pull my shirt off before the door is even shut behind me and let it fall to the floor on my way to the bathroom. I strip off my jeans and kick them into the corner. My boxers come next, then I’m standing on the bath rug in nothing more than my socks. I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up as I pull off my socks. I step under the shower head, turning around so the jets pulsate over my back and neck, relieving the tension that’s built up after leaning over clients all day. For a second, my mind wanders to what Christophe brought up this afternoon: an American girl’s moving into old Claude’s place, right across the alley. I wonder if it might be worth picking her brain about life in America, if the opportunity came up. I start scrubbing myself down, trying to imagine what would bring a young American to

Rouen for any length of time. It’s not a big city like Paris, but it’s not a tiny village, either. There’s the university—maybe she’s a student?—but it’s still hard to imagine why she’d pick this town to come to. Whatever, I decide. Unless she wants a tattoo or is interested in checking out the music scene, there’s no real point in talking to her. I finish my shower and dry off, wrapping a towel around my waist before heading into the kitchen to grab some Thai leftovers and a beer from the fridge. I head into the living room, snatching the remote off the coffee table as I flick on the TV and triumphantly collapse onto the couch. Flipping through Netflix, I’m drawn to a new American series they’ve just released and start watching the pilot. Tomorrow, I’m meeting with Pascal, Yann, and Sam for practice, if Pascal can get his ass out of bed before five. My phone rings and I head into the bathroom to grab it; sure enough, It’s Yann. “Yo, Jacques,” Yann says as soon as I pick up. “Pascal’s working late so we’re going to meet at three, is that okay with you?” “Yeah, works for me. I can get my groceries before then and be ready to load up the car.” Pascal lives outside of town, on a farm he inherited from his parents; it’s where we practice, since there aren’t any neighbors to piss off out there.

“Christophe told me there’s some new chick moving in across the alley from you. You seen her?” Yann is weird when it comes to girls. He loves them, he’s protective of them, but he’ll go after every last one who’ll give him the time of day. He’s one of the favorites with our fans for that very reason. “Nah, dude,” I say. “If Claude’s just talking about it now, she probably doesn’t even have her papers to be in the country yet, you know? She probably won’t be moving in for a while.” “Well, let me know when you see her,” Yann says. “I’ve never been with an American chick.” I laugh at his stupidity. “Yeah, whatever, man. She’s going to have half the guys in Rouen after her because everyone around here thinks American girls are easy,” I point out. “Well, if American girls are easy, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Yann points out. “Maybe she’ll need someone to protect her.” I laugh again and use this as an opportunity to change the subject. “So, you’re bringing the beer to practice tomorrow, right?” “Right,” Yann says. “Remember: three o’clock!” “Got it. See you then.” Throwing my phone onto the cushion next to me, I get back to eating my dinner and drinking my beer, grabbing the remote to unpause the episode I’d started to check

out. An hour later, just as I’m about to turn in for the night, I notice a light from my living room window and decide to peer across the alley to see what’s going on. Claude is there, apparently cleaning the place up, getting it ready for his new tenant. I crank open my window and lean out; Claude has the windows open, probably to keep the fumes down. “Hey! I heard you’re getting a new tenant!” I call across. Claude looks up, startled, and then walks over to the window to say hello. “Yeah, I posted it on one of those websites, and she called and said it would be just the thing,” he tells me. “Seems like a nice girl. Just finished her degree in art.” “Pretentious, right?” Claude shrugs. “She seems nice,” he says. “She paid me the deposit with no problem and even helped me set up something called PayPal to do it. She should be here tomorrow afternoon.” I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, tomorrow? That was fast.” “Her flight comes in sometime in the morning, but she won’t get here until later that evening,” Claude says. “Something about wanting to take a quick detour on her way from Paris.” “She’ll have plenty of time to check out

Paris,” I point out, and Claude nods. “She must be traveling light if she’s going to be here after tromping around Paris all day.” “She’s having some of her stuff shipped, and she’s only coming with what she needs for the next week or so. She’s probably using the short-term storage lockers at the train station or something,” Claude points out, and I nod. “Christophe and Yann are both pretty excited,” I tell him. “Can you pass along anything about her that I can share with them?” “Not much. She’s twenty-one, here for a year, then going into a graduate program for art. Seems nice, but who knows?” Claude shrugs. “She’s cute, though.” “How do you know?” Claude gives me a little grin. “I had her send me a picture, so I’d know it’s her when she picks up the keys tomorrow,” he says. I laugh at that. Christophe and Yann, at least, will be pleased to hear it. “Does she speak French?” “Eh, not very well, but she’s able to get her point across,” he says. “Good thing, too. I haven’t spoken English to anyone since I was working fulltime.” I haven’t spoken English to anyone since I was in school, so he’s at least got one up on me. I wrap up the conversation and close the window,

wondering if it might be worth it just to see if all the hype about this American girl amounts to anything. She’s probably just like every other girl, I remind myself as I turn down the blankets and get into bed. I have to wonder though: why would someone choose to come to Rouen? Why would she come all on her own, at that? Nothing Claude told me makes me think she’s got a boyfriend moving in with her, but of course, she might not have mentioned that to Claude. I fall asleep, wondering just how easy American girls actually are. I’m willing to bet that Christophe and Yann will both be disappointed.

CHAPTER FOUR NORA By the time I get my keys and finally walk through the door of my new apartment, my head is aching from spending the day in constant movement through Paris and then via train to Rouen, surrounded by the French language. I probably should have waited until after I’d had some time to settle in Rouen to go back into the city, but since I’d had to land in Paris anyway, I figured I would take some time to at least check out a few things before I went to my new home. I put the keys down on a little ridge along the wall next to the door and lock the door behind me, shoving my rolling suitcase across the kitchen floor. The rest of the stuff I’d scavenged from my life back in the States—the stuff I couldn’t bear to part

with, or let my parents hold onto for me—would come in a couple of days, but for the time being, I have clothes and a couple of pairs of shoes, my laptop and toiletries. I keep kicking the suitcase in front of me, through the kitchen and down the short hallway alongside the tiny living room, into the open door of my bedroom. The real selling point of this place when I’d seen it online was that it was partially furnished. There was a bed, which my new landlord had been nice enough to make up for me, an armoire, a kitchen table and a battered old couch in the living room. I have water and electricity, but no internet access until I can get a France-based bank account set up first. I won’t have to buy too many things, and for that, I can be grateful. While I’d been sitting in a cafe in Paris earlier in the day, freshly through Customs and Border Control, I’d put in my order for dishes and some cooking supplies from a company called Hema that a friend of mine recommended. I take a moment to look around a little bit, to make sure everything is as it should be. “Actually, this place looks pretty great,” I muse out loud, taking a few minutes out of being bone-tired to appreciate my new home. I’d been hoping to take a short trip to France before everything fell apart with Ethan.

Discovering how deep his cheating went and breaking up with him had made it impossible for me to even think about starting my master’s degree in the fall. Instead, I’d talked to my parents about my trip, and they’d agreed that they’d give me cash instead of my graduation present so I could take a longer break away from the States. After four years of studying classic, modern, and postmodern art—and making some pieces of my own—I wanted to delve into the culture that so many of my favorite artists came out of. I had spent the week between final exams and graduation getting my paperwork together for a one-year visitor visa, and applying for freelance work that I could do anywhere in the world so that I wouldn’t be completely dependent on my parents’ money. I’d sent the Pratt Institute Graduate program admissions office a letter telling them that I was deferring my start for one year due to “personal issues” and had been advised in response that all I would have to do is submit a new application for the following year by the deadline, and I would be able to start on schedule. But now that I’m in France, I’m considering that maybe—possibly—I can at least look at applying to graduate programs here; after all, the worst they can do is tell me no. I stand around in my kitchen, at a loss for exactly what to do with myself. I’m exhausted, but restless at the same time, and I just can’t seem to

make myself do the responsible thing and go to bed. I’ve gotten into town too late to go to the store and pick up any groceries—I’ll be starving in the morning—but after a day of stuffing my face with the best fast food Paris has to offer, I’m not hungry. I still have about half of a 1.5-liter bottle of water, so if I get thirsty before I can fall asleep, at least there’s that. As I’m pondering what to do in the middle of the night in my new apartment, I suddenly notice a light come on in a window across the alley. I probably shouldn’t stare, but I’m tired and curious, and I can’t quite help myself. I watch as a guy appears, walking into the living room of the apartment, carrying what looks like some kind of long, tough-sided case with stickers all over it. The guy is tall, broad across the shoulders and super muscular, wearing tattered jeans, a tight tee shirt and a leather jacket. He’s got dark hair with closely-shaved sides, and when he takes off his jacket and tosses it onto his living room couch, I notice that his heavy, muscled arms are covered in tattoos. He looks like someone out of a 1950’s motorcycle gang, some amped-up James Dean type who I have to imagine spends at least an hour at the gym every day—totally unlike my scrawny douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. He throws himself down onto the couch and

then, out of the blue, I feel a tickle in my nose and let out a huge sneeze, catching his attention. His head whips around and, in a split second, we lock eyes. I see his eyebrows go up, and it’s like the spell has lifted. I feel the blood rushing to my face as I realize I’ve been caught staring, and start to head into the living room, though there’s not really anything for me to do there without internet or cable. Oh, God. I’m such a freaking idiot, I tell myself. I try to talk myself out of the deep embarrassment I feel, and start pacing the living room, my heart pounding in my chest, more restless than ever. Just then, I catch a fleeting glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn my head to see my neighbor from across the narrow alleyway standing at another window in his living room, right across from the one I’m closest to. His window is open and he’s waving his thickly muscled arms, presumably to get my attention. Oh, God, how can this get any worse? I think about just closing the curtains over my own window and making a dash to my bedroom, but he’s already seen me. He knows I’ve seen him. He waves his massive arms again, one eyebrow raised, and my curiosity wins out over my

embarrassment. There’s a little hand-lever on one side of my window, and after fumbling with it a few times, I realize which way to turn it to be able to pull it open, almost like a door. “Oooh-ooh,” the man calls out. “Vous avez passé un bon voyage?” It takes my tired, scrambled brain a minute to process the question. “Vous êtes le nouveau locataire, non?” That gives me a little more trouble, but I finally translate it all in my mind. Did you have a good trip? You’re the new tenant, right? “Oui—oui, je...j’ai passé un bon voyage,” I call back, confirming that yes, I had a good trip. “Tu—no, vous. Connaissez-vous Claude?” My tongue tries to rebel and mess up my pronunciation, but I manage to get the words out, mostly, as I ask him if he knows my landlord, Claude. “Ah, ouais, je le connais bien,” the man says. Oh, yeah, I know him well, I translate mentally. “Il est génial.” He’s great. “Ouais, n'est-ce pas?” I reply in agreement. What else do we have to talk about? I feel weird, especially since the guy’s deep voice is surprisingly smooth, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be fluent enough to talk to him in an actual conversation instead of this awkwardlystrained small talk we’re exchanging. “Comment vous appelez vous?” What’s your name? It’s a stupid question, but at least it’s a normal stupid

question. “Je suis Jacques,” he says. “Et toi?” Apparently, there’s no real rule for when someone shifts between tu and vous, I think to myself. “Je m’appelle Nora,” I answer. Now I’m really out of things to say. “Je dois…” I try to think of what the right verb is and realize that I’m using the wrong conjugation anyway. “Je devrais aller me coucher,” I say, trying to sound apologetic as I tell him I should go to bed. “Ah, bon—tu as eu une longue journée,” Jacques says. Oh, right. You’ve had a long day. How does he know? I want to shake my head at myself as I realize that if he knows my landlord, Claude has probably mentioned me to this guy, and that it would be obvious it was a long day for me, just getting there at night. “Ah…” I lick my lips and try to think of what it is you say to end a conversation politely. “Bonne soirée.” I wish him good night, giving Jacques a quick smile. God, I’m such a tool. “A toi aussi,” You too. Jacques takes my way of saying good night as just the normal thing, and as embarrassing and awkward as the whole situation is, I pat myself on the back, realizing that I’ve somehow successfully made my way through all of the conversations I’ve had in French today. No wonder my brain feels like someone’s been poking it with a hot stick. I manage to get the window

closed, draw the curtain and wander into my bedroom. “Okay, it’s been a ridiculous day, and you need to just get out of your travel clothes, clean up a bit, and go to bed,” I tell myself, scrubbing at my face with my hands. I want to believe that I’ve been feeling better ever since I moved off campus and put hundreds—then thousands—of miles between me and Ethan, but I’m still trying to make sense of what happened. I start to strip off my clothes and toss them on the floor. In the back of my mind, ever since I found out about Ethan cheating on me, a little voice has been saying that it was because I wasn’t good enough; I wasn’t hot enough, or kinky enough, or something enough for him to be faithful to me. No matter how many times I keep telling myself that it has nothing to do with me—that Ethan is just a disgusting, sorry excuse for a human being—I can’t quite shake the feeling. All that time we’d been together, he’d at least made some kind of show of being in love with me, of being committed to me. Shouldn’t I have figured it out on my own? Shouldn’t I have known something was wrong? I shake off the idea yet again and open my suitcase to get to my bath towel and toiletries. I drape the towel around me and walk from my bedroom to the bathroom. When I lose my grasp on one end of the towel for a brief moment, I quickly

grab it and wrap it around myself tightly, glancing at the window that still has the curtains open in the living room. My new neighbor across the alley seems to have left, though the light is still on in his living room. I dart into the bathroom and spend more time than I would want to admit figuring out the shower. There’s a kitchen sink-type faucet hanging over the tub, and a handheld sprayer and shower head that has a mounting up above my head but sits on the bar with the hot and cold water knobs. Finally, I figure out the right temperature and set my towel on the sink for when I’m done. You have to admit, though, he’s pretty hot—at least from a distance, anyway. An image of the brawny, tattooed man across the alley reconstructs itself in my mind. It’s been a little over a month since I broke up with Ethan, and I don’t think I’m ready to get involved with anyone, but what harm is there in a little fantasy? I lather up my coconut-scented shower gel and spread the bubbles over my arms and shoulders, down over my breasts, and wonder what a guy like Jacques would be like in bed. He’s so hot that I have to think his hands would be all over someone in an instant—in this case, in my little fantasy, me —pulling and kneading and rubbing with the insistence of a hungry animal, almost greedy for more. I imagine he’d nibble and nip at my sensitive

skin and reach down between my legs, stroking me, and as I’m imagining it, I find myself mimicking what his powerful hands would be doing. But then, even as I’m getting more and more turned on by my own imagination, I stop. Am I really standing here in the shower touching myself to the thought of some guy I only just met, who I know nothing at all about? I shake my head and rinse myself off, keeping it quick so I’m not tempted to lapse into more self-fondling. I turn off the water and dry myself off, but by the time I’m padding back into my room, I can’t be bothered to put on pajamas. I just climb between the brand-new sheets on my bed, curl up under the fluffy cotton duvet, and in a matter of minutes, I’m fast asleep.

I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek! If you’d like to follow Nora and Jacques’ story, you can find French Kiss HERE. Available with Kindle Unlimited!

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I was a rock star in one of the most successful bands in the Miami area.

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Am I just attracted to a woman I can’t have? Or is Olivia the one who has the power to bring me to my knees once and for all?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jade Allen writes hot contemporary romance featuring irresistibly sexy rock stars and filthymouthed bad boys that will set your Kindle ablaze. When she's not writing, you can find her eating Vietnamese food (the spicier, the better!) and drinking copious amounts of cappuccino. Jade lives in Manhattan with her cat, Sydney, and her longtime beau. To keep up to date with her latest releases, you may sign up for Red Lily Publishing’s newsletter by clicking HERE.