Pink Shades of Words_ Walk 2016 - Anthology

PINK SHADES OF WORDS A FIFTY SHADES OF PINK ANTHOLOGY

stories of love and passion by favorite bestselling authors

Ruth Clampett Cambria Hebert K.A.Hunter Jade C. Jamison Raine Miller Liv Morris

Emma Nichols Melanie Shawn

Table of Contents Title Page Dedication Pink Shades of Words Let’s Pretend by Ruth Clampett Mr. X – A Short Story by Cambria Hebert Indemnity by K.A. Hunter Escaping the Cocoon by Jade C. Jamison Filthy Rich – Blackstone Dynasty I by Raine Miller Hard Luck by Liv Morris The Decoy – An Undercover Prequel by Emma Nichols Book Boyfriend by Melanie Shawn Acknowledgments

Dedication This book is dedicated to all the women and men currently fighting breast cancer. Never give up! Glorya Hidalgo Fifty Shades of Pink team captain

www.fiftyshadesofpinktea

www.authorsintheoc.com

Fifty Shades of Pink team participates in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk in beautiful Santa Barbara, CA. You can donate to our team at www.avonwalk.org/goto/50shadesofpink Like us on Facebook www.facebook.com/50shadesofpinkteam Email: [email protected]

Pink Shades of Words A compilation of stories to raise awareness and money for Fifty Shades of Pink Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Santa Barbara, CA

Let’s Pretend by Ruth Clampett

Copyright © Ruth Clampett 2016 All Rights Reserved. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Content Editor: Angela Borda Copy Editing: Elli Reid

Sometimes good people do bad things. I’m fundamentally a good person, so my big, bad thing from my past chafes me like a wound that won’t heal. It’s truly the only regret of my life. It was a choice I made nineteen years ago. If I could, I’d go back and change it, knowing as I do now that it altered the entire course of my life. * * * On this sunny April afternoon, I’m sitting impatiently in my chiropractor’s beigeon-beige waiting room waiting to be called up to the desk for my appointment. Picking up a copy of LA Weekly off the coffee table, I mindlessly

thumb through the entertainment section when I see an advertisement of a concert for the reclusive musician, Alec Lowell. I push my reading glasses up my nose and read the ad again. I haven’t heard of Alec Lowell performing live in years. I scan the ad for information and then glance down at my phone’s calendar. The concert is two weeks from Saturday at the Ace Theater in downtown L.A and doesn’t appear to be sold out yet. I’ve always been a huge fan of his music. Should I go? Could I? I’m immediately overwhelmed and determined to buy a ticket. My heart starts pounding and my fingers tremble, tightening along the page’s edge as all

the memories of an earlier time in my life flood back to me. For a moment I wonder who I can drag along with me to the show, but then I acknowledge that there’s only one person I ever wanted to see Alec Lowell live with, and I broke his heart almost twenty years ago ... the very night we were going to see his show at a small venue near our college campus. * * * I met Matthew Richardson at the end of my freshman year when he was visiting a friend who lived across from me in the dorm. He was unlike any guy I’d ever known: brilliant, quirky, and more fun

than anyone I’ve met since. He had a crooked smile and twinkle of mischief in his eyes, but also had a serious side when it came to his ambitions. He was an engineering major, determined to be an inventor or developer and work for a progressive company with a focus on with cutting edge ideas. We became friends at first, having long debates about philosophy and politics, the kind of stuff college kids can talk hours about over cheap beer. I was intrigued by his sharp mind even when I didn’t agree with him. And honestly I had no idea he had any interest in me until the night he insisted on walking me to the library when our debate ran late and it was dark.

When we got to the library entrance, he turned to me with his hands jammed in his jean pockets, and his cheeks flushed and asked if I’d go on a date with him. My mouth fell open. After a long awkward pause where he shuffled his feet and waited for my response, I accepted. His resulting grin I can still picture in my mind. Our early dates are still vividly memorable. With almost no money between us he always figured out crazy things for us to do. He had good friends in the right places, and those friends would sneak us into movies at the theaters they worked at, gallery openings with open bars, and let Matt know about vacationing professor’s schedules. One

professor in particular traveled a lot, and when he did we’d recklessly sneak into his backyard and skinny dip in his swimming pool late at night. We were silly too, doing ridiculous things like playing miniature golf high and then stopping at the froyo place to partake in free samples until we were kicked out. I had never laughed so freely in my life and I adored everything about him, including his black-rimmed glasses and cowlick of hair he could never flatten. Matt always made me feel beautiful, telling me that my pale skin was perfectly peachy when it was pasty, and that my wild and wavy long dark hair made me look like the fierce heroine in

his favorite SciFi series. He loved my height and my curves, always running his hands over my body, making me feel sexy when I never had before. I don’t think I fully appreciated how special it was to be so revered. He would ditch classes when I had a free afternoon and roommate-free dorm room so we could partake in highly inspired sex, trying everything we could imagine, laughing when it was a failure, and seeing stars when it wasn’t. I couldn’t get enough of him, nor he of me. Sometimes I’d get so worked up just sitting next to him in the library that I’d woo him to his car for a quickie. I didn’t care about awkward car seats and center consoles ... I’d do anything for that

feeling of having him deep inside of me. Not that he minded that I was insatiable. He was too...or at least just for me, he insisted. By my junior year, and his senior one, we shared a small apartment in student housing. It was run down, but we lovingly filled it with wobbly Ikea handme-downs and mismatched dishes. In the tiny living room we hung a large world map and put pushpins in all the places we wanted to visit one day. We had big plans. We were dreamers, imaging our lives when our careers took shape, rewarding us with a life that was student-loan free and didn’t require Top Ramen for dinner when funds had dwindled to single digits.

Some of my favorite times were when we’d lie in bed late at night after making love. Matt would make up stories that he’d call “Let’s Pretend.” “Let’s pretend we get to stay in a fancy New York hotel every year, and do all the things while we’re there.” I clapped my hands together with glee. “Like see shows on Broadway and walk in Central Park! Oh and the museums Matt! Can we go to the Met first?” “Sure. And how about not just a walk, but a carriage ride in Central Park...nothing’s too good for my girl!” I’d swoon and curl up against him. Other times his ideas were more outlandish. “Let’s pretend we’re getting

married on a Ferris wheel at a carnival,” he said. “We could have the entire wedding party and guests in the various bucket seats as we went around.” “Ha! My mother would love that ... not! She has motion sickness. She probably wants us to do a hippy thing, barefoot, with flowers in my hair and in a field somewhere.” “How boring,” he groaned and I agreed. One night he said, “Let’s pretend we’re pregnant with twins!” My eyes grew wide but then the idea settled in and I liked it. “And we’re having a boy and a girl! They’ll be minime’s like you and I!”

“How about just mini-you’s. You’re gorgeous,” and then he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. He made love to me slowly and gently that night, every emotion so intense that I could feel our future in my heart and it was so good. It’s hard to imagine where we took a wrong turn. What is it about relationships and the slow sinking when love is taken for granted? Life and school trudged on, as did the mundane boredom of routine and school pressure. I remember that for my twenty-first birthday, Matt kept asking me what I wanted for my special day. I told him that I wanted to go see Alec Lowell who was coming into town even though I knew it was near impossible to

get tickets. Alec insisted on playing only in small clubs long past when his audience had outgrown such venues. The result was extreme measures to get tickets unless you could afford paying top dollar to scalpers. I look back now and realize that Matthew was desperate to give me something special because he must have sensed that I was starting to drift away from him. The distancing began in tiny ways, some of his jokes weren’t funny to me anymore, and it bugged me how he never washed the dishes or picked up his bath towel. When I’d nag him his eyes would grow wide like he couldn’t believe I cared about such things, and then I’d feel

horrible for not loving him the way I should. At the time I refused to be honest with myself about what was happening. The truth was another man was casting a shadow on our little world, and his name was Brett Carlton. I first became aware of Brett in my Sophomore American Lit. class. He was the kind of guy I’d always avoided and he was everything Matthew wasn’t: gorgeous, sophisticated, wealthy and mysteriously dreamy. He was romance novel swoony, a dark mix of Darcy, Heathcliff, Rochester and Mr. Wickham. He was a literature major like me, who quoted Wadsworth, Emerson and

Thoreau like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was tall and had a swimmer’s body, broad strong shoulders, narrow hips and the long, fit legs of a man on the go. His wavy thick hair fell around his neck so he was always pushing it off his face, away from his chiseled cheekbones and emerald eyes. I made a point to always sit as far away from him as possible. All the girls had a thing for him, and practically threw themselves at his feet, but for some reason in our Junior year he took an interest in me. Yes, shy, understated, and very much in a relationship, me.

Now I understand that his fascination was that I all but ignored him and thus seemed unattainable. I think he liked the challenge. His focus on me started so unexpectedly that I hardly knew what to do. He would come into class once everyone was seated, and then pick a seat near me and spend most of the lecture with his gaze, filtered through his thick fringe of eyelashes, fixed on me until I’d squirm. Then after class, he’d follow me out asking my thoughts on the lecture while coaxing me to join him for coffee. I was wary of him but then he’d surprise me with kind gestures. Like the time I showed up to class with a cold

and he slipped out before the lecture, and returned with a cup of hot tea and honey for me he’d snuck out of the teacher’s lounge. Another time he jumped to my defense when the pompous ass, Chet Randall, belittled my theory connecting Gothicism with Romanticism in the 18th Century. I guess chivalry wasn’t dead. Of course, then the more I resisted him, the more determined he became. I’ll never forget the day he cranked up his game, stopping me in the Classics building and then pressing a hand on either side of the hallway wall to trap me. He smelled like a combination of fancy cologne and freshly laundered sheets. The long waves of his hair

tumbled over his forehead and his eyes sparked electric green and dangerous. “Let’s do our homework together, Angelina.” He leaned close and brushed his lips against my ear. “... at my place.” I bit my lip, suppressing a groan, but there was an ache between my legs of longing for something I couldn’t have. “I’ve got a boyfriend,” I replied breathlessly. His eyes darkened. “He doesn’t need to know.” He reached over and took a strand of my hair and wound it around his fingers, tugging on it just enough to make my mind spin. “Come on ... you must know you’re making me crazy, girl.”

The more I resisted him the stronger he came on, sitting next to me in class and then barely skimming the end of his pen along my inner forearm, back and forth, until I shivered with goose bumps while the teacher lectured. He showed up to class one day with a wild rose from the garden next to the English building and placed it on my open journal with a hand-written note. “We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.” ~Hemingway “I want you, Angelina,” he whispered in my ear, and then he sat back and watched me squirm. It didn’t

take long until I was picturing him when Matthew was making love to me, pressing my mouth shut in between kisses so I wouldn’t chant the wrong man’s name. I was falling away from my first love in the thrill of seduction, and didn’t see that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. There was a close call early on when Matthew and I were at a coffeehouse on the edge of campus and Brett suddenly showed up, sitting down on the couch next to me, flashing that killer smile. “Hey, Angelina,” he said. “What’re you doing?” My mouth fell open and I looked up at Matt whose annoyance was palatable.

Matt leaned forward. “Who are you?” Brett elbows me. “You didn’t tell him about me?” “What are you talking about?” I asked defensively. He turned to Matt. “We sit next to each other in English Lit. Renaissance. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you about me.” The tips of Matt’s ears turned red. “Why would she?” Brett shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve heard I’m unforgettable.” “Matt this is Brett, and he’s annoying.” Brett placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Angelina.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What’s with this Angelina stuff? My girlfriend’s name is Angie.” “Good to know,” Brett said with a smirk. “Well, I’ve got to run. Nice to meet you, Matt and see you in class, Angelina.” Matt stared at me as Brett walked away with an expression I’ve never seen before. “What the hell was that about?” I shook my head, hoping my cheeks weren’t burning hot pink. “Who knows? That guy is crazy. Just ignore him, that’s what I do.” Matt stared at me a little longer as if he was doing a complicated equation. Meanwhile I busied myself by acting like the paper I was attempting to write

was the most fascinating thing in the world. As the weeks passed Brett got more daring and I slowly got tangled in his web of charm. One afternoon he asked me if I could phone him about the chapters we needed to read since he had to leave class before they were assigned. He wrote his number with a heart around it in my spiral notepad without it ever occurring to me that that simple act could be so dangerous. I left him a message with the chapters, and in turn he began stealing my notepad and scrawling lines of poetry on the pages ... some famous, some obscure. The poems he wrote were about unfulfilled longing, and a woman

he believed would make his dreams a reality. All the words began to weave together, begging me to calm the savage hunger he had for me. I was coming undone over this man and was selfishly thrilled about it, craving and then needing the obsessive attention like it was crack shot straight into my heart. Three nights before the Alec Lowell concert, Matt let me know that he’d be working really late in the lab on his final project. As always, Brett teased me, whispering in my ear about coming to his place but this time I shocked him by agreeing to come. His resulting satisfied smile was cocky, which annoyed me but didn’t outweigh the thrill I felt at the

idea of being alone with him. In my mind I was going to finally test myself to see if I could resist his charms. I was holding onto my last strands of honor, albeit with a weak grip. My love for Matt was strong which should supersede all, right? Yet deep down in my gut, I knew resisting Brett was a test I’d likely fail. His spell on me had become all consuming, taking hold of my heart and deepest desires. We rushed out of class and jumped into his BMW. The ride to his grand 1920’s apartment in West L.A. was a blur, as was the elevator ride to his floor. As soon as the door to his place

was closed, he had me up against it in the most passionate kiss of my life. “Lovely, Angelina,” he whispered as he ground his hips against me and scraped his stubble along my jaw before kissing me again. “You’re finally mine.” A wave of sickness flashed through me, the sheer wrongness of him claiming me when I still belonged to Matt. What kind of girl, or more accurately, what kind of cheap girl was I, to even let him kiss me? These thoughts tumbled through me as he took my hand and pulled me toward his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and fly before we’d even approached his huge bed. “I can’t wait to fuck you. You’re so damn sweet,” he whispered with a rough

voice. For all of my guilt, it was far outweighed by my desperate desire, a wildfire burning over me. I never had wanted Matt this much, my heart thundering, a desperate need clawing up my back as I imagined pulling my legs wider and wider apart...begging for him without words. With a parched throat and shaky fingers, I could barely hold my head up as he undressed me. Smoothly sliding his long fingers under the edge of my panties before slowly pulling them down. His fingers eased between my legs as the corners of his lips turn up. “You really want me, don’t you, baby?”

“God, yes,” I groaned. “Please. Please. Stop torturing me.” He got that cocky look again as I laid back across the sheets. When he pushed his jeans off it was as if he was waiting for me to appraise him. My gaze was fixed on where he was hard, and of course bigger than Matt. Everything about this man felt bigger than Matt and I was desperate to know how bigger would feel. I rocked my hips up, legs spread wide, and after he rolled on the condom he took me. It wasn’t tender like with Matt, nor as attentive. He groaned hard, mumbling something about how tight I was, and it made me feel dirty, like my dress was stained with cum. Yet he was

so stunning naked, a chiseled God filling me, and I wantonly begged for more. Being dirty was new in my world and disturbingly hot, but while he fucked me, an emptiness lingered from the pretense of sophistication that felt like it’d been bought from a Vegas vending machine. I pushed the thought away that this was about Brett, and for Brett, because if I accepted that, then I truly was a whore. He redeemed himself somewhat with his kisses so passionate and deep that I turned inside out. He fucked me hard at that point and I could tell he wouldn’t last much longer but there was something about how his pelvis rubbed against me with each thrust that made me crash into

a climax that was like a heart attack. I was shaking uncontrollably as I clenched hard around him and he joined me with a loud groan. After, we both laid stunned, catching our breaths until we were coherent enough to sit up. He got up to fetch a bottle of wine and glasses. I hurried to the bathroom to clean up, leaning close to the mirror as my fingers grazed my cheeks, trying desperately to recognize the girl who stared back at me. When he returned to bed, I noticed that his bronze skin was flushed, lips swollen and red. He was mesmerizing to watch as we sipped our wine...perhaps the most beautiful man I’d ever known and that beauty teased shallow me into

thinking we mattered. I trailed my finger around his nipple and across the ridges of his chest. He gave me a dark look as he slid his large hand up my inner thighs, spread me open and fucked me again. When he finished I laid next to him silently, recovering from the shock of all of it. I finally glanced over at the clock. Damn it. I should’ve been home already. After an awkward parting I headed out, and back in our apartment I took a long hot shower attempting to wash my shame away. I was disgusted with myself for my weakness and betraying Matt. How would I face him? I made sure that I was in bed pretending to be asleep when an exhausted Matt crawled into bed just past midnight.

When deep in sleep he reached out for me, I slid away like a traitor. My state of denial and betrayal continued. I was relieved yet hurt by the radio silence from Brett the next day, but the day after he started leaving me poetry again, but this time it was lines he seemed to have written. My heart soared and then crashed in guilt over and over with each gesture he made. I wondered how much longer I could do this before the shame crushed me completely. I knew I needed to somehow face the consequences of my choices and tell Matt what I’d done, but every time I tried to imagine the conversation I felt sick. I knew it would be the end of us. How could I break his heart? I knew not

telling him would only make the inevitable worse, but I was a coward. Besides what if I just had to get this out of my system and then Matt and I could go on? Lust had rendered me a fool. The night of the Alec Lowell concert I stayed too long after class with Brett kissing me against the back of the Classics building. “Come to my place. I want you so fucking bad.” “I can’t, I have a concert tonight. It’s important.” He pulled back with his lips in a straight angry line. “I’m not going to share you.” I slipped my hand down to grasp him over his jeans where he was rock hard, and huge in my grasp, and it made me

ache between my legs. “Tomorrow, I promise.” He narrowed his eyes but nodded as he stepped away. “I’ll be waiting.” I half ran, half walked back to the apartment, the guilt growing as I got closer. Tonight should’ve been special for Matt and I, and now I’m late getting home because I was kissing and wanting to fuck another man. My disgust with myself was becoming unbearable. I burst into the apartment and threw my shit on the couch and it scattered everywhere. As I began pulling off my T-shirt I notice Matt staring at me, his face flushed. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you. We’re going to be

late.” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just give me five minutes to shower and I’ll be ready in a flash.” I ran to the bathroom before he could respond, but I couldn’t help but notice the suspicious look in his eyes. I took the fastest shower of my life and ran a comb through my hair before pulling on my best jeans and boots. “Okay, ready to go!” I exclaimed as I rejoined Matt in the living room. But instead of being poised by the front door with his keys in his hands, he was sitting on the couch with his jacket carelessly dumped on the floor. I leaned down to pick up the jacket. “Your good jacket? Can you be more careful?” I asked.

He looked up at me and the only way I can describe his expression is that it was full of rage. I felt like all the blood and air had rushed out of my body and my knees went weak. It was that moment that I realized he was holding my notepad in his hands. “What are you doing with that?” He looked up at me with a steely gaze. “Getting to know the real you.” “Matt,” I whispered. “He’s quite a poet, this Brett fellow. He’s the one from the coffee house, isn’t he? You must be pretty pleased with yourself.” “No, please give me that back.” He held his hand up to silence me. “I can’t wait to have you back in my bed

tomorrow. I’m going to fuck you to the moon and back.” I grabbed the edge of the couch to keep from falling over. “Matt, I never met to hurt...” “Shut up,” he snapped. “I don’t want your fucking pity.” My mouth fell open. “When were you going to tell me about this? Were you going to shatter my heart after the concert...on this night that I though meant so much to us?” “It does mean a lot,” I said between tears, sounding false and pitiful. He stood up and reached into his pocket and pulled out the tickets. “This is what it means now.” And with barely contained rage he tore the tickets into

pieces and let them fall to the floor like dirty snow. “I’m sorry,” I chanted over and over between sobs. He walked over to the front door and opened it. “Go down to Mel’s for at least an hour so I can get my shit out of here. I’ll come for what I can’t carry tonight when you’re in class tomorrow. I don’t want to see your face again.” The reality of my world turning upside down finally hit me and I started to sob uncontrollably. How could I have hurt him like this? “Go!” he yelled. I cowered as I walked out the door, pausing in front of him. I saw that his eyes were glazed with tears.

“Matt...” “What an idiot I was. I thought I wanted to marry you ...” My head dropped, I had no words ... he wouldn’t listen to them even if I did. As soon as I took the first step into the hall, the door slammed shut behind me. It took many years and a lot of heartache for me to realize that Matt was one of a kind, a man who would have always loved me with his whole heart. I gave that up for something empty, yes exciting and sexy, but stunningly shortlived. If I’d known then what I know now I never would have let my first love go. It still hurts when I remember a mutual friend telling me that Matt was a wreck for at least a year after our

breakup, refusing to get out of bed some days, drinking too much and angry at the world. If I’d never betrayed him we would’ve seen Alec Lowell that fateful night, holding hands as we swayed to our favorite songs. We also would’ve gotten married and lived what I’m sure would’ve been a good life. I lift up the page for the LA Weekly once again before sliding open the screen on my phone to input the website address from the concert ad page. It only takes a minute to secure my ticket, but I have to wonder—how long will it take for me to get over my regret from that night long ago. Maybe I never will.

Two and half weeks later I wind my way through an up-and-coming area of downtown L.A. until I find a parking lot a block from the theater. I clutch my purse to my chest as I walk toward the gathering crowd. What was I thinking coming by myself to this area of the city that’s still very rough around the edges? You can almost smell the desperation in the air. Yet when I approach the venue, most of the people surrounding me are young and hip, many looking like they have a buzz on and are ready to have a good time. As I line up I turn to a woman, and a young man that looks like he could be her son, standing behind me.

“I’m so excited,” I can’t help but share. She smiles widely. “I know! Can you believe it? This is his first tour in forever. Last time I saw him Sam wasn’t even born yet.” “He hasn’t been to L.A. in over ten years,” her son reports like someone who’s spent a lot of time on Alec Lowell fan pages. I smile. “I feel so lucky I got a ticket.” As I scan the rest of the line I’m fascinated how this musician has attracted not just fans like me, but a new generation of followers. Maybe his quirky avant-garde approach is timeless.

My heart flutters as I pull my ticket out of my bag for the attendant letting us in. Once inside the theater I walk to the center of the lobby and look up at the stunning architectural details of this vintage theater. There’s intricately carved surfaces from floor to the high ceilings, all finished in a burnished gold. The Spanish Gothic design has arches, balconies, elaborate metal work, and ornate light fixtures. It’s a temple of the arts in the grand decadent Hollywood style. There’s something special to observe everywhere I look. I slowly ascend one of the grand staircases to the second floor and I stop at the bar to buy a glass of wine. I’ve arrived early so

there’s at least thirty minutes before the show starts. I take the merlot and stroll over to one of the arched shallow balconies to take in the view of the lower level. Below people are huddled in pairs and groups, buzzing with excitement. I love people watching, the young girls donning vintage 50’s dresses with cinched waists and full skirts paired with young men sporting full beards and elaborate tattoos. The trends these days are so different than when I was their age. I smile at the swirl of colorful characters. My gaze travels upwards and I notice a lone man, half-cast in shadow, standing in the Juliet balcony directly across from me. He also appears to be

fixated on the crowd on the first level. I’m drawn to him for some reason I can’t pinpoint, other than his smart dress and long lanky build. When he steps closer to the balcony rail and into the light I gasp, every muscle in my body frozen. I blink several times as I study him in the distance. I swear it’s either Matthew Richardson, or his doppelganger with the same auburn hair and dark eyes. If only he was a bit closer so I could tell for sure. The man’s gaze moves up and before I can step back and hide out of view, he sees me. My heart is pounding as my fingers tighten around my wine glass. Is it him? Judging from the hard, long stare he gives me I have to think it is. His

expression remains neutral, his only movement lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip, all the while his gaze never wavering. What is he doing here anyway? The last I’d heard from mutual friends he was living in Northern California with a big development job at NextWave. I was secretly proud of him that he had achieved his dream, but now, seeing him in the flesh makes me realize that he has aged even better than I’d imagined. His lanky frame has filled out, his looks enhanced by the sheer confidence in his stance. I’m just about to give him a feeble wave when his gaze drops back to the

crowd below. He must be waiting for someone. My mind is twirling in a complete conflict on what to do. I tell myself I have to go say hello to him. Once his guest arrives and the concert starts there may not be another chance. This is fate, not just that we’re both here, but that there’s this quiet moment with only a handful of people on this level of the theater with us. I slowly walk toward him, the entire time keeping my focus on his position through glances from each arch opening I pass. I can’t tell if he’s aware of me coming closer, but he doesn’t move. I’m about eight feet away from him before I stop.

“Matthew?” He turns toward me and I give him a soft smile. From this distance I can see the surprise in his eyes as if he can’t believe both that I’m here, and that I had the courage to approach him. “It’s been a long time,” I say. He lips are pressed in a straight line. “It has. What are you doing here?” “Oh, I’m still a fan. So how could I resist? And how about you? I heard you were living up North.” “I am, but I have business in L.A. fairly often.” I nod and then there’s an awkward pause.

“So you’re still a fan?” I ask him, desperately trying to make conversation when he isn’t making it easy. “I am,” he says as he glances on either side of me. “Who’d you come with?” Out of pride part of me wants to lie, but I can’t. “I came alone,” I say. He gives me a long look as if he’s trying to figure out an appropriate response when his phone rings. He reaches into his jacket and glances at his phone’s screen. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have to take this.” I’m swept up in disappointment to be dismissed, but I accept it because isn’t that what I deserve? I shattered his heart

as a young man, and the fact that decades have passed doesn’t mean he owes me anything. I gaze at him one last time. “Good to see you, Matt.” And I turn and walk away. With one hand on my wine glass and the other tightly gripping the railing, I make my way down the stairs and retreat to one of the reception rooms. I’m fighting back a feeling of panic making me want to rush out of the theater and head to my car. Somehow in my big idea to come to this concert and make peace with the past, I didn’t anticipate the past slapping me square in the face. “Are you okay?”

I look up and recognize the woman who I spoke with briefly in line. I give her a weak smile. “Not really. I just ran into an old boyfriend who things ended badly with. It was really awkward, and honestly I’m not sure I still want to stay.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “But you can’t leave! You were so excited to be here.” “I know. Maybe I just need to calm down.” She gives me an encouraging smile. “Besides, this show is sold out and this place is packed. The odds are in your favor that you won’t even run into him again.” I sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

Although they haven’t flashed the lights indicating that it’s time to take our seats I decide to go find my seat early. It seems like the perfect place to hide out until the concert starts. I’m disappointed to see that I’m in one of the last rows in the corner with some obstructed view, but knowing I was lucky to get a ticket at all, I decide to set aside my disappointment. I settle into my seat, sip my wine and scroll through Instagram and Pinterest to keep myself occupied. Anything to keep my mind off Matt and all the feelings seeing him again stirred up. A few minutes to eight, people start filing into the theater of their own accord knowing the posted start time is

approaching. I do my best to avoid looking for Matt and whomever he is meeting up with, but I fail when he steps into the aisle to the left of where I’m sitting and scans the theater with his gaze. I sink further down into my seat hoping to disappear right as he looks my way. When our eyes connect he quickly looks away like it didn’t happen, and continues down the aisle. This second slight doesn’t sting as much as the first. I suppose that’s progress. As Matt moves closer to the stage I can’t help wondering where his date is. They must really be running late. He pulls his tickets out of his pocket,

rechecks them and then finds his seat and sits down. I finish my wine as I watch him from afar. He periodically checks his phone, but continues to remain alone. The theater is almost full now and abuzz with anticipation when a man takes the stage and makes an adjustment to the microphone. “Excuse me folks, but I’ve got an announcement. There’s a delay with the show due to an accident in the car transporting Alec to the theater. Alec is fine and insists on carrying on with the show, but it may be another twenty or thirty minutes until he arrives. We apologize for this delay. Feel free to mill about and visit the bar until then.”

A minute later I see Matt working his way back up the aisle. He stops at the edge of my row and looks over at me with a neutral expression. “I’m going to get another beer. You want another glass of wine?” I try to keep my mouth from falling open. “Sure, that’d be great thanks. Merlot please.” He nods and moves on. I twist my hands together as I wait, trying to imagine what his gesture of offering to bring me a drink means. It’s doubtful that he’d offer that if he hated me. Back in the day one of his friend’s warned me never to contact him again or he’d unleash a firestorm of fury on me. I remember my heart shriveling at that

warning, but I followed the advice. My deeply rooted self-loathing for treating him with so little regard was already more than I could handle. Matt’s hate had the potential to break me. Several minutes later when I notice him stepping back into the aisle, I stand and move toward him. I smile warmly as I reach for the wine. “What do I owe you?” He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.” I know he’s referring to the cost of the wine but I can’t help but bristle. He’s wrong regarding the bigger picture. I owe him so much and I always will. In the rawness of my youth, Matt made me feel special, both beautiful and not just

smart, but clever. No one since has made me feel as extraordinary. “Thank you, Matt. I’m happy to get the next round if they make us wait longer than expected.” He doesn’t reply but takes a swig of his beer. He looks toward the front of the theater and I’m wondering if he’s still waiting for someone, but then I realize his gaze moves to his seats and then he looks over where my jacket is still draped over the back of mine. His expression is tense—conflicted, and I can’t imagine why. “That’s your seat?” He scrunches up his face. “Yeah, I know it sucks. But I bought the ticket late. It was just a twist of fate

that I even found out about it.” “How’s that?” “My damn chiropractor was late, so I was paging through LA Weekly, beating back the urge to snark at the receptionist.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “You always were impatient.” I give him a pretend smirk. “Hello? What about you Mr. Now or Never?” He shrugs with a crooked grin. “Yeah, I can’t deny it, but you used to get a lot louder than I ever would.” I roll my eyes and take a sip of wine. “Guilty as charged.” “So have you mellowed out?” he asks.

“About some things, and I’m worse about others. So I guess it’s a wash.” He nods as his gaze moves to the front of the theater again. “Hey, I’ve got an extra seat and it’s a hell of a lot better than your crappy seat. You’re welcome to it.” “Really?” I ask, overwhelmed by the gesture. He shrugs. “Sure.” I step back and grab my jacket. “Let’s go.” He gently takes my elbow as he steers me down the aisle and I swear I feel something akin to an electrical charge every moment he’s touching me. The feeling makes me wish I were younger, still holding on to the shine of

my youth. These days I’m referred to as an attractive woman. I’ve stayed in shape and although there are some fine lines around my eyes, they’re still bright and full of curiosity and a desire to have new experiences. But L.A. is full of men who want the single note of twenty-yearold super-models, not the complex orchestration of a woman who’s lived a rich life. I sit down in the seat next to Matt and smooth out the folds of my dress. It feels decadent to be in the second row, center, and with this polished man who projects something I never imagined Matt would. I struggle in my mind to define the feeling and then it hits me. He’s successful and he wears it well.

But there’s something else...I sneak sideways glances as he checks his phone. There’s a faint stubble along his jaw and his long fingers comb through his thick mane of hair, giving Matt an edge he didn’t have in his youth. Whatever he’s reading is making him tense as his strong jaw takes on a sharper edge. Holy hell. I get it like a jolt of lightning. Matt is sexy. His features have hardened, melting away his boyish charm. He’s always been brilliant, but now seeing this confident, commanding man he feels like another person entirely. It’s wrong for me to want him, yet for a moment I think I’d give anything to be in his bed one more time.

He slips his phone back in his jacket pocket. “Sorry about that. We’re in the middle of a tough negotiation. I shouldn’t even be here.” I arch my brow and tip my head. “Why are you then?” There’s a long pause as he looks deep in my eyes. “Bucket list,” he finally says. I gaze into his dark eyes. “Me too.” We’re halfway through our drinks when he turns to me. “So did you ever write like you’d hoped to?” “Yes, and I teach as well. I’m a professor at Occidental.” He nods, visibly impressed. “What do you write about?”

I pause, wondering how to frame it for him. I realize there’s only one way...with honesty. “I write about redemption.” “Hmmm.” He runs his fingers down his throat. “Does that mean you’re an expert on the subject?” “I aspire to be.” His eyes narrow and he turns to look at the empty stage. My curiosity of the seat I’ve occupied overtakes me as his silence lingers. “So this seat...who was it meant for?” He shrugs. “A woman I see when I visit L.A. but she had a last minute business trip come up.” “I’m sorry, but her loss is my gain. These seats are amazing. Do you have a

connection at this theater?” “Something like that.” “And you’re not married?” “Divorced. And you?” “Divorced, twice actually. Maybe one day I’ll get it right.” As we nurse our drinks and wait for the concert to start we fall into a surprisingly easy conversation. Matt tells me about his work at NextWave, and the trials of raising a fifteen year-old son. “He’s smarter than me, and always testing us,” he laments. “He sounds a bit more wild than you were at his age,” I suggest with a grin after hearing about his latest detention.

Matt rubs his fist against his chin. “I worry about how the divorce affected him. I spend as much time with him as I can—at least every other weekend, and I go to all his tennis matches and debates. He’s state ranked,” he says proudly. “You sound like a good dad,” I say with a smile. “I always thought you would be.” He lets out a sigh and looks back at the stage. “What about you?” His question reminds me how we used to lie in bed and imagine our future family like it was a sure thing. My gaze drops down as I blink back tears, and I take a big gulp of wine, finishing it off. “I guess it wasn’t in the cards for me.”

He looks over at me with a sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry.” “Me too,” I whisper. “Hey, you’re out of wine. Let me get you another.” I shake my head. “I’ll get tipsy. I’ve already had two.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Maybe you need to cut loose tonight?” I fold my arms over my chest. “Only if you have another beer.” “Deal.” He’s halfway up the aisle before I fully realize he was serious. Could Matthew Richardson be trying to get me drunk? And to what end? Another half glass of wine gone and I better watch myself. Every emotion is starting to feel more raw and vivid. I

keep fighting back the urge to push him to say how he really feels seeing me again. But can I bear to hear the answer? We can detect commotion behind the curtain and the theater lights dim and then brighten again. I’d been so focused on Matt that I’d almost forgotten why we’re here. As people return down the aisles to take their seat I bite my lip and lean over to Matt. “Do I look like you’d imagine I would?” My heart is fluttering as he looks over at me confused. The longer he pauses the more awkward I feel. Finally he speaks up. “Well ... I didn’t ...” I cut him off, the flush of embarrassment working its way up my

neck. “No of course you didn’t wonder about that ... about me.” I give him a forced smile. “I was just kidding.” And thankfully timing is on my side. The house lights dim and a haunting melody begins as the curtains slowly start to part. When Alec steps onto the stage and the entire audience rises and cheers, I’m overcome. It’s a thrill to realize that I’m here finally seeing this musician who’s given me more pleasure and inspiration through his music than can be quantified. I glance over at Matt and see that he’s grinning, his eyes wide with wonder. We eventually settle back down in our seats, not wanting each song to end, and when it does, sitting on the edges of

our seats to hear what’s next. I keep sipping wine, embracing the smooth sensation of how it’s slowly loosening me up. I have tears during some songs. I softly sway in others. But nothing prepares me to hear the song I’d erased from my memory ... Broken. The song always seemed to me to be a letter to his first love who left him for someone else, and broke his heart. He sings it with so much emotion, such vivid heartbreak that my regret moves through me like a buzzsaw shredding any feeling of reconnection that I’d made with Matt tonight. Next to me, but now far away, I sense Matt closing into himself as his

shoulders curl forward and his head tips down. I lean into him, pressing my lips to his ear. “Restroom,” I say, then quickly turn as he nods so he doesn’t see my tears. I rush up the aisle without looking back. Once in the elaborately tiled bathroom I splash water on my face over and over willing my tears to stop. I had a brief reprieve for the first part of this evening, but now my regret has its spindly fingers wrapped around my neck and it’s choking me. I finally calm down enough to pat my face dry and I step back out into the hall and settle on a bench that faces the balcony. After battling my inner turmoil,

I finally accept that it would be best for me to leave, but I can’t leave Matt hanging. I suddenly feel the cushion sink down to my left. I can sense it’s him without even looking over. I feel his fingers hook under my chin and turn me until I’m facing him. “You’ve been crying. Are you leaving or something?” I nod. “It was that song, wasn’t it?” “Yeah.” We sit silently for a minute and I gather my thoughts before I turn toward him. “Can I tell you something before I leave?”

“Sure.” His eyes look wary but I know he’s brave. “My bucket list isn’t the only reason I came tonight, Matt. I came to make peace with our past. Honestly, knowing that you were living up North, I never dreamed you’d be here but I’m so glad you came.” “I am too,” he replies with a solemn expression. “And considering everything you’ve been very kind to me tonight, showing more grace than I could’ve hoped for.” “A lot of years have passed, and with time comes perspective,” he says like he’s been tested by this idea by more than just me.

“True but regardless, what I did to you is the biggest regret of my life ... honestly, the only regret that I would go back and change if I could.” He takes a sharp breath, but remains silent, his gaze focused forward. “We had something so special. You were my one true love and I was too young and stupid to understand what that meant. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.” He looks over at me stunned, and I nod to reaffirm my words. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. Frankly I don’t deserve that, but I want you to know the depth of my regret and that I’ve always wished for you all the good things you deserve.” I let out a

deep breath of relief. My confession makes me feel like a heavy cloak has been pulled off my shoulders. I may be left naked in my honesty, but for the first time in years I feel clean. I take the tissue I’ve been dabbing my cheeks with and I tuck it and the cell phone back in my purse, then start to put my jacket on. “Angie?” he says quietly. “Please don’t go.” “But ...” He shakes his head firmly. “Look I came all this way because I had a strong feeling I would see you tonight. I came to make peace with our past too, but I’ll feel cheated if you leave now when

we’ve finally been honest with each other.” “You don’t still hate me?” “Look, I’m not going to lie. There was a hole blown through my heart that night, and no one else could ever fill it as much as I wanted them to. But believe me I’m not perfect and I know now if you don’t take care of relationships they’ll fall apart. I’m here to heal and I can’t do it if you walk out that door now.” I lean forward and press my hands against my face. “I’m overwhelmed ... I have so many feelings.” “You always did,” he teases. I lower my hands and blink at him. “So if I stay, what then? What do we

do?” He shrugs and then gives me a small smile. “We go back in and see if Alec sings our song.” “And I just act like everything is fine, like I wasn’t just sobbing in the bathroom?” “Remember that game we used to play? Let’s Pretend?” My eyes grow wide. “How could I forget that? So what, we’ll pretend we’re still friends?” He folds his arms over his chest and looks toward the elaborate light fixture. He’s bathed in a golden light and he slowly smiles as he turns back toward me. “Why don’t we pretend we’re still in love?”

I lean back in shock. “Are you serious? Wait, you’re joking right?” He sits up taller and squares his shoulders back. “I’m completely serious. This is one night, and we’re at this concert finally fulfilling a dream we had years ago. We may never see each other again, so let’s make this night count.” “One night...” I whisper. He reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. “One amazing night,” he says. I smile and nod. “Okay ... let’s pretend.” * * *

Matt doesn’t let go of my hand the whole way back into the theater. When we settle into our seats we naturally lean in toward each other like two magnets reaching for their connection. As I fall into the music, it occurs to me that Alec’s voice is rougher, perhaps worn from the hard years that have preceded his youth. But to me that roughness gives it depth, there’s an honest rawness to the songs now that moves me. We’re nearing the end of the scheduled time for the concert and I’m aware that both Matt and I are on edge, almost afraid that he won’t play our song. I try to convince myself that the song being omitted won’t be a bad omen for us, but the honest truth is that I’m

convinced it will be. Before each song starts I chant silently to myself, please, please, please and then my hopes crash when it’s another song. Finally, there’s a pause where Alec gets up to wipe his brow and down a bottle of water while we wait patiently. When he steps back up to the mike and nods to the band they only have to play three notes for Matt and I to recognize our song, One Love. My inner joy is overwhelming to contain. I have a huge grin on my face as my knees bounce excitedly and just when I think I can’t be happier Matt reaches over and takes hold of my hand and winds his fingers through mine. My heart skips and I squeeze his hand.

I lean close in and whisper in his ear, “our song!” He nods with a grin. I focus back on Alec, every molecule in my system focused on being totally present in the moment, taking in and feeling every note and lyric. My joy is pure, my spirit dancing across the stage. And in this moment it feels like for the first time in forever my young heart, encased in this older, sturdy shell of a body, is finally exactly where it should be. Near the end of the song Matt lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it, then keeps his warm lips pressed against my skin a few seconds more. I sigh, still feeling the trace of his warmth, after he

pulls away. This simple gesture stirs me to my core. I wouldn’t allow myself to dream that he’d touch me so tenderly ever again. The final song of the night the entire audience stands and sways to the music. Matt steps behind me and possessively rests his hands on my hips as I rock them side-to-side. I lean back against his chest, like this closeness is the most natural thing in the world. It’s startling how right it all feels. When Alec takes his final bow and the theater lights come on it’s our beautiful bubble bursting, our fantasy coming to an abrupt end. I glance up at Matt with what must be a look of panic. I can see the wheels winding in his

brilliant mind and I hope he has an idea how we can buy a bit more time of magic before our real lives crash over us. He grabs my hand. “Come on!” I keep up as he drags me forward, fishing something out of his jacket pocket. When we get to the far edge of the stage he asks the security guard something I can’t hear while showing him what’s in his hand. We’re directed to a side door where he shows the pass again. “Where are we going?” I ask. “We’re going to meet Alec.” I stop suddenly. “What? How?” He shrugs trying to hide a mischievous grin. “I know someone.”

I roll my eyes, fighting back a huge grin. “You always did.” We’re led down a dimly lit hall, and then another until the guard asks us to wait outside the door. A moment later he cracks open the door and waves us in. There’s an eclectic group of people in the room that I don’t recognize as the band. They’re gathered in an area with a few couches and random chairs, but we’re led to an alcove on the left where Alec is sitting in a chair in front of the mirror, apparently having some make-up removed. He tips his head toward us as the woman attending him steps away. “So Joey says you’re Nathan’s friend.”

I’m star struck and speechless. This can’t be happening. Matt steps forward and offers his hand, which Alec shakes. “Yeah, I’m Matt. Nathan and I go way back.” Alec grumbles. “Well, can you tell the asshole to call me?” Matt chuckles. “Sure. And Alec, this is Angie.” Alec sizes me up giving me an enigmatic smile. “Hello beautiful Angie. I hope you enjoyed the show.” I press my hand over my heart. “Oh, I did ... so very much.” Alec turns to Matt. “Is she your girl?” Matt pauses, his gaze locking with mine. “She is tonight.”

Alec’s eyebrows lift up as he studies us. “Well then.” Not caring if I embarrass myself, I’m so thrilled to be in his presence that I step forward and start spilling our story. “When we were young we fell in love while listening to your music. And tonight it’s so extraordinary to see you in concert since this is the first time in almost twenty years since we’ve seen each other.” Alec’s eyes widen and he reaches over, hands each of us a bottle of water, and then opens a bottle for himself and takes a drink. “Sorry it isn’t something stronger, but this is a better choice for me. The only reason I’m able to perform again.”

Matt nods at him with understanding. “My manager always spun it like I was some crazy recluse fucker, but the reason I’ve hardly performed over the years is I was just too damn drunk.” “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “Not half as much as I am. So has it really been twenty years for you two? I’d never guess watching you together that it’s been that long since you’ve seen each other. What happened?” I feel the heat run up my neck, certain that my cheeks are bright pink. He gives me a nod. “Come on now, darling ... I’m a curious, crazy artist. This sounds like a story worth telling.” I can’t believe that he’s even talking to us let alone having this conversation.

I’ve always heard Alec is eccentric, but his interest in us is surprising. What about the people waiting for him on the other side of the room? “Oh you know what it’s like when you’re young,” Matt offers graciously. “And fucking stupid ...” Alec adds. I straighten my spine and jut my chin up. “It was back when we were college. He was my everything and then ... I betrayed him. It’s my fault.” “I see,” Alec says. “The lady owns it. And have you apologized? Do you regret it?” “Yes I have, and I regret what I did with every fiber of my being,” I respond. Alec tips his bottle toward Matt. “So have you forgiven her?”

Matt just looks at him, his eyes suddenly dark and stormy. “Well, get on with it mate. You only have tonight to make this right. So hurry the hell up. This may be your only chance.” He looks in the mirror, his gaze heavy with regret, before shaking his head. “I’d give anything to have that chance with my one love, the one I let slip through my fingers.” Matt gives me a long look before looking back at Alec. “Okay, I’ll get on with it,” he says, jamming his hands inside his pockets. “Good. I sure as hell wouldn’t let this one go.” He turns and winks at me. “Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got people waiting.”

I smile at him. “Thank you Alec. You were so amazing tonight. Can I give you a hug?” “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he says with a charismatic grin. He tops off my hug with a soft kiss on my cheek. “Be good to him,” he whispers. “I will,” I whisper back. Matt shakes his hand. “Checked off the bucket list. Thanks man.” Alec shakes his head and grumbles. “Bucket list? My fans are getting too damn old.” He gives us a wink, and then heads over to the group. This time I take Matt’s hand and squeeze it as he leads us out into the hall.

“Wow,” I whisper as we walk through the dim, deserted hallway. We’re five or so paces from the closed door when he stops and turns toward me. “Did you like that?” “Like it? I’m just wondering how this evening became so magical. Nothing can ever top this.” “Nothing?” he asks as his gaze rests on my lips and then moves up to my eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, or maybe he just wants... His hand moves up until his fingers graze my cheek. I sigh and lean into his touch. He then slides his hand down my throat until he can loop his fingers along the nape of my neck.

Let’s pretend ... I inhale a deep breath as I take in both his warm smile and gaze that’s melting me, one sheer layer of restraint at a time. I step back against the wall and his body mirrors mine as he leans in close enough so I’m aware of his breath heating my skin. I’d forgotten how perfect his lips were until they skim mine. “Angie,” he whispers. I close my eyes. “Yes.” Please, please, please, my heart echoes with every beat. He kisses me. Oh yes, he does. And it’s one of those kisses that momentarily renders everything outside his embrace meaningless. I sway into him, kissing

him back, not so carefully, but with a hope and a prayer guiding me. He accepts the invitation and his next kiss is leading man material, perfectly perfect in every way. When we part he leans his forehead against mine. “Come up to my room. I’ve got a suite next door. Just for a drink, I swear. But I need more time with you.” I give him a long look, my head tipped as I try to read him. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay?” he echoes like my response hadn’t convinced him. “Yes, I’ll come up to your suite but honestly I want more kisses, not just a drink. I may covet redemption, but I desire being with you, even more. I may

never have this chance again.” I reach up and loop my arms around his neck. The way he looks at me, his hungry gaze dropping down to my cleavage and lingering before trailing back up my neck, across my cheeks, and meeting my gaze, reveals his desire in a pure, visceral way. It also makes me want his hands on me. I want too much, I know it. But I can’t help it. As Alec said, how much time do we really have? I feel his fingers wind through my hair. “What if I told you that I forgive you?” he asks. I let out a long sigh, curving my body toward his. “You’d set me free.”

His eyebrows knit together. “But being free ...” I shake my head sternly, casting away his doubt. “... being free would bring me back to you.” “Jesus, Angie,” he says with a strangled voice before he kisses me again even more passionately, and then when we part he pulls me forward, until we’re quickly walking down the hall toward the glowing green exit sign.

The elevator at the Ace Hotel is imposing. Maybe it’s just my breathless anticipation but I focus on restraint when all I want to do is melt against this

handsome, spontaneous man as we ride up to the penthouse. He leans against the opposite wall, his laser focus on the floor numbers climbing as we ride ... 4, 5, 6, ... “Are you okay?” I ask, worried about the tension etched across his face. “Let me ask you, could this damn elevator be any slower?” I smile inwardly and join his gaze on the light above the elevator doors that indicates that we’ve got several floors still to go. “If you weren’t staying in the fancy penthouse we’d be there already,” I tease. He arcs a brow at me. “Hmmm.” When the door finally slowly opens I step out. He leads me to the double door

of his suite, and pulls out his key card. “Here we are.” My heart flutters as he opens the door. The penthouse is all low light, modern sleek furniture, and huge windows framing spectacular city lights. It’s downright sexy. “Wow,” I whisper. “You got this just for you?” He shrugs. “I travel on business a lot. I like to be comfortable.” “Really? It’s just about being comfortable?” “You thought I got this suite on the chance that I’d see you again, and somehow you’d join me up here?” “Maybe,” I tease.

“What if you’re right? Sometimes you have to create the dream, Angie, so it has a chance to come true.” My breath hitches, and I focus on steading myself from the avalanche of emotion that just hit me. Was Matt always this amazing? I look at him as he busies himself, pulling his phone and wallet out of his jacket and setting them on the side table. I clear my throat searching for my voice. “So where’s that drink you lured me up here with?” He walks over to the bar. “What’s your pleasure, wine or vodka? I have cranberry juice.” I smile, impressed that he remembers my drink of choice all those years ago. “Red wine if you have it.”

While he uncorks the bottle I open the door to the wide terrace and step outside. He joins me, and hands me my glass of wine, then takes a sip of the amber drink in his short glass. “You drink whiskey now?” He nods. “And wine too ... and beer, but this occasion calls for really good whiskey.” I hold my glass up toward his, and gently clink them together. “A toast ...” “To what?” he asks, his glass suspended in the air. “To old friends?” He purses his lips. “Oh hell, you can do better than that.” I chew on my bottom lip as I think. “To you? To us? The past, the future? To

pretending? Take your pick.” He tsks out loud. “And to think you’re the writer. How about to tonight?” “Yes,” I agree with a smile. “Magical, exciting, promising ... tonight.”’ We turn to face as the sweeping view as we sip our drinks. “So where are you living now?” he asks. “I have a small Spanish bungalow up in Beachwood Canyon. It’s got a crazy amount of character and a little garden and patio carved into the hillside. That’s where I do a lot of my writing. I love it up there.” “Sounds nice.”

“How about you? Are you in the city? I remember us once playing let’s pretend we’re in San Francisco.” He grins. “Yeah, I have a condo in Nob Hill. I travel too much to maintain a house.” “I love San Francisco. I have some good friends there, so I go pretty often. If you’re nice, I’ll give you a call next time I’m in town,” I tease. He takes my arm and pulls me to him. “Is that so? I think you should come just to visit me.” “Greedy,” I whisper. He narrows his eyes. “Is one of your ‘friends’ a man?” I nod. “Yes.” He bristles. “Are you involved?”

“Not like that. He’s gay.” I run my fingertip down his lapel. “What about your lady friend in L.A.? The one whose seat I took?” “Kathleen? She’s good company, but no, nothing serious.” He’s gazing at me so intently that I look away flustered. He cups my chin in his hand and turns my head slowly so that our gazes lock again. “Hey, what are you thinking?” he whispers. I wonder if he can sense how hard my heart is beating just being close to him. I run my hand up my fevered neck. “This is just a lot ... I’m feeling so much right now.” He sets his drink on the wide ledge and takes my glass out of my hand and

does the same, then places his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “It’s okay, it’s just me.” “There’s nothing ‘just’ about you, Matt. You’re pretty incredible.” He shrugs. “Well good then, that’s what I’ve aspired to be.” I step toward him. “Can I?” He nods, his gaze intent. I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. I gently run my fingertips across his cheeks and up into his hair, pulling my fingers across his scalp to draw him near. I take my time inching us closer, feeling his heat, his want. When our lips touch I pour every bit of my pent up emotion into my kiss.

He welcomes my passion and amps it up by pulling me tightly into his arms. My breasts are pressed against his firm chest, his large hand moves down my back until he pauses just above my ass, and pulls me firmly against him. All of him. I sigh with pleasure. With each kiss, each caress I realize how much I’ve missed his touch and the way he made me feel. But his embrace also feels so new. How can you miss the parts of him you haven’t yet experienced? ...because somehow I do. “This is crazy,” I say with wide eyes when we finally pull apart to catch a breath. “So what,” he replies lightly scraping his teeth up my neck. “It’s crazy

good.” This time when he kisses me he reaches between us and firmly cups my breast. When I let out a low moan, he silences me with a deeper kiss. “That kiss didn’t feel like it was pretend,” I say as I run my hands across his broad shoulders and muscular arms. “It wasn’t,” he agrees. “I want you Angie ... I need this.” He presses his hips against me as if there was any question how turned on he is. “I do too,” I whisper. My hand slips down low where he’s straining against his slacks. I tighten my fingers over him, slowly grasping my way up his length. I’m half blind with lust but I still can’t shake my worry. “You won’t regret this?”

His fingers are pinching my nipple just so and I almost cry from the pleasure and subtle shadow of pain. “No. I knew it would be this intense. It’s what I’ve wanted all along.” “To fuck me?” I whisper in a hungry voice as my fingers tighten over him. His eyes widen as he rocks his hip against me. “To be with you and yes, to fuck you, to love you ... all of it. Let’s go to bed so I can show you how I truly feel.” I nod and take his hand, following his lead back inside. As we approach the bed I think of the things I know for sure. I love him.

I need him inside of me to know this is real. I trust him, and because I do, tonight I belong to him. He steps up behind me and gently pushes my hair to one side leaving my neck bare for his embrace. His lips first press just behind my ear and then he kisses me slowly down my neck. I’m trembling, overcome by his touch. His fingers trace my shoulder and then push the strap down to my arm so that his lips can continue their passionate trail across my bare skin. My breath is ragged by the time he turns me to face him. Our gazes lock with equal intensity. “Okay?” he asks.

I nod, reaching up and resting my hands on his chest, the fine fabric of his dress shirt like silk under my fingers. “I won’t be pretending, Angie,” he warns me as I start to undo his buttons. When I get to the bottom I pull his shirttails free. “I won’t be pretending either.” I reach back and unzip my dress, ease it down and let it fall to the floor. I’m bare now except for my fine lingerie that I’m grateful to have worn. His gaze moves over me. “Still so beautiful,” he murmurs. He lets me open his shirt and slide it off as I kiss him in the crook of his neck and across his collarbone. His skin flushes every place I touch him and it

makes me smile with satisfaction. I reach down and undo his belt and his slacks as he watches me intently. This is so different than our first time years ago when we fumbled and squirmed. We’re both experienced lovers now, confident and sure of what we like. What I like is his groan when I reach inside his boxers and stroke him. “Mmm, yes,” I moan as he pushes what’s left of his clothing off and pulls me onto the bed. Finally stretched across the sheets, we take our time kissing and touching each other, his hands removing my lingerie and exploring me like a map he’s traveled before and has finally returned home to.

“Matt,” I whisper when he takes my nipple into the warmth of his mouth. As he sucks and teases, I push my fingers into his thick hair and pull him closer. No man has ever touched me the way he does, with reverence like I’m precious, even still, after all these years. But knowing this may be our only night together, I focus back on him, determined to make sure this is a night he’ll never forget. I settle between his legs, licking my way up his thighs and along his cock as he moans. He tenderly runs his fingers through my hair as I roll my tongue over him, moaning around his hardness. Inspired, I suck him deeper and he shudders, his fingers digging into my shoulders while I test his restraint.

As I pleasure him I recall how easy it was to make him happy, not just in bed, but in life. He was my bright light and I was his. Tonight the rightness of us holding each other once more, makes us shine. He stops me before he loses control completely, and I pout as he pulls me into his arms. “But I wanted...” I start. “Hush,” he says. “I’m coming inside you.” He then takes his time kissing me hard and soft, kissing me senseless, while sliding his fingers between my legs and teasing my breasts as I beg for more. He rises up on his knees, gazing at me, burning hot as he parts my legs wide

and rolls on a condom. “I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispers against my cheek. “Oh God, me too,” I whisper back, arching my back and hips to say “Yes, yes.” He pushes into me slowly, the delicious tension pulling me right to my edge. Once he’s fully inside of me I groan, reveling in how perfect he feels, yet aching for how much I’ve missed this. How he is the only one that ever made me feel this full, this completely loved. This is our beginning, and I whisper, “I love you, I love you,” against his skin, each time I say the words he thrusts harder and I arc with pleasure. I savor the delicious pressing down of his weight on me, his lips on me, then the

feeling of his love lifting me up as I tremble for him. Matt remembers my body and where I’m heading so he cups my face in his hands then gazes at me, eye-to-eye, soul to soul. “I love you,” he whispers, before his head rolls back in climax. With his final thrusts I’m undone, so shattered in his arms that he holds me tightly against him so none of my pieces can fall away. As I gasp for breath and slowly calm, I know this is exactly where I’m meant to be. * * * The sun is shining on my face as I squint, and for a moment I try to sort out where I

am. Matt is naked and asleep next to me, his arm draped just under my breasts. The bed cover is half on the floor, and the sheets pulled from their tucked-in places, like white sails collapsed after a storm. It looks like a battle was fought on this bed but according to the contented look on Matt’s sleeping face, we must’ve won the war. A few minutes later his eyes blink open and his gaze moves across the bed, taking in all of the linen mayhem and my startled look. “Morning,” he whispers. “Oh my God, what did we do all night?” I ask with wide eyes. He looks at me intently, like he’s trying to figure out my state-of-mind.

“Um, everything?” My stomach flip-flops hoping last night was as amazing for him as it was for me. What if...? “How are you feeling?” he asks as he stretches his free arm over his head. “I feel incredible. Last night was amazing. You don’t regret it, do you?” I ask tentatively, just to make sure we’re okay. He shakes his head. “I could never regret last night.” “Are you sure?” I ask. “Absolutely sure. You’re here with me, Angie. I couldn’t have dreamed...” “I know,” I whisper. “Me neither.” He clears his throat and pushes his untamed hair off his forehead. “I’ll tell

you what I regret? That I ordered us room service when I got up a bit ago, when all I want right now is to stay right here and keep holding you in my arms.” I curl in closer to him, resting my hand on his ribcage, and skimming my fingertips through the hair on his chest. “Me too. “I also moved my flight. Was it presumptuous to assume I could stay at your place tonight?” My heart flutters at the idea of him staying with me. “You’ll be most welcome. I just wish you didn’t have to leave again so soon. We live so far apart.” He pulls me tighter to his chest. “You never know though. It’s just a short flight

and besides, jobs change, people move...” I shake my head. “It all feels insurmountable...long distance relationships are always doomed.” I sigh. “The idea of our time together ending is making me blue. Now that we’ve found each other again I don’t want to say goodbye not knowing when I’ll see you again. If only...” He kisses the top of my head. “Remember how we used to daydream in bed imagining all the if only’s?” I smile. “Yes...let’s pretend! Can we play it again? That would cheer me up.” “Hmmm. I know ... let’s pretend that you adjusted your teaching schedule and I my work schedule so we could have

three-day weekends together. I’d fly here every other week on Thursday evening, and alternate weekends I’d fly you to San Francisco.” My heart soars realizing that this isn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. “And which ever city we were in, we would have adventures, trying new restaurants and seeing shows.” He nods. “Yes, long walks through Golden Gate Park. And occasional side trips to Napa.” I grin. “And when in L.A., long walks on the beach. Do you like Santa Barbara? We could do that when you’re out my way.”

“I love Santa Barbara. We could get a suite at El Encanto up on the hill. It has the best views...” “And can we always have breakfast in bed.” He laughs softly. “Sure.” I trace circles on his upper chest, right over his heart. “You know this upcoming school year I’m on sabbatical. And I can write anywhere. I’m good like that.” A wide smile works its way across his face. “Even San Francisco?” “Especially San Francisco if you’re there.” He cups my cheek and tilts my face up so our gazes meet. “You’d do that for me?”

“Matt, if I’ve learned anything in the years that have passed, it’s that what’s between us is rare and precious and absolutely worth fighting for. This time, I’m putting us first.” He gives me a kiss that makes my toes curl and when we part he whispers, “God, I love you.” We lie together several minutes, quiet in our thoughts but I imagine that I can hear the wheels in his head turning. “You know Henry’s getting really independent and he’s going to be off to college in a couple of years. At that point I’d be willing to leave San Francisco.” “Really? And move back to L.A.?” “I would for you.”

I feel like my whole body is vibrating with excitement that can’t be contained. “Matt, this doesn’t feel like pretend anymore. It feels real, like this is the life we can create together.” “And we will. You know how determined I can be. And a year from now let’s track down Alec, wherever he’s playing and go see him live.” I clap my hands together and imagine how different Alec’s concert will be for me without all of the uncertainty and awkwardness I struggled with last night. “Let’s go backstage again and let him see that we made it, that you forgave me and now our one love is true.” “Yes, and you know how last night you said that you write stories about

redemption. Maybe you’ll write about us one day. If you do, make me rugged and handsome, okay?” He gives me a wide grin. I wink at him. “You’re my kind of handsome, and if I write it our story will have to be non-fiction because there’s nothing pretend about us.” He nods, his expression relaxed and content. “You’re right ... this love is as real as it gets.” Since the night of our breakup all those years ago, I’ve lived in the shadow of guilt and regret and never let go of the idea that I was a bad person. As much as I focused on making the right choices, and treating people well, I couldn’t shake my regret for what I did to Matt.

But now as I look over at him, and he winds his fingers through mine, I feel complete joy and love for this man who has graced me with forgiveness. He’s willing to trust me with his love and I will honor that trust every day of our lives. Sometimes good people get second chances, and this is mine.

Also By Ruth Clampett

Work of Art ~ The Collection WET Animate Me Mr. 365

About Ruth Clampett

Ruth Clampett, daughter of legendary animation director, Bob Clampett, has spent a lifetime surrounded by art and animation. A graduate of Art Center College of Design, her careers have included graphic design, photography, VP of Design for WB Stores and teaching photography at UCLA. She now runs her own studio as the fine art publisher for Warner Bros. where she's had the opportunity to know and work with many of the greatest artists in the world of animation and comics.

Wet is Ruth's sixth book, following Animate Me, Mr. 365 and the Work of Art Trilogy. She lives in Los Angeles and is heavily supervised by her teenage daughter, lovingly referred to as Snarky, who loves traveling with her mom with a sketchbook in hand. Connect with Ruth Clampett RuthClampettWrites.com https://twitter.com/RuthyWrites https://www.facebook.com/RuthClampettW https://www.facebook.com/RuthClampett http://instagram.com/Ruth_Clampett

Mr. X – A Short Story by Cambria Hebert

His voice brushed over me like a blanket of silk, slipping over my skin, the cool softness leaving chills in its wake. I might not have noticed him in this crowded bar, but his actions made it so he was the only one I saw. I don’t know where he was sitting before, but he seemed to materialize right out of the crush of nearby people. He stepped around my friends and their dates, bypassing the looks of genuine interest cast his way. My gaze wanted to stay with him, to study him, but I forced it away, not willing to allow myself to get tangled up in the net he was casting. My feigned disinterest did not deter him.

His jean-clad thighs came up against the faux wood table right beside the glass that held my drink. He towered over me. I could feel his gaze, steady and calm yet penetrating and hot. I didn’t look up. His looming presence made it hard to swallow. I wondered how long he would stand there, waiting for me to give in, waiting for me to accept my lower position. Not long. But he didn’t walk away. He crouched down. He completely lowered his body so we were practically on the same level, with me only slightly higher than him. Even before my brain could react, my body shifted toward him, turning in

my seat until the side of my knee bumped against his. He wrapped his hand, large and slightly calloused, around my calf. The gesture was so intimate I should have been offended. This was a man I did not know. This was a man who was a complete and utter stranger. Yet his intimacy was not off-putting. It was almost like slipping into a pair of really ratty, worn sweats after an extremely long day. There was comfort in his presence; there was a hint of familiarity I didn’t try to analyze. There was also attraction. Instant, undeniable attraction. It wasn’t a sweeping heat. It didn’t take over my body in a single flame. It was a slow burn, beginning as a tingle in

the balls of my feet and whispering up my legs, causing my entire body to hum. It was the kind of desire you anticipated, the kind that slowly spread and you urged it on, wanting it to fill your entire body until everything inside you trembled with yearning. My stomach fluttered as if someone caged a million little fireflies that desperately wanted free. “What are you doing sitting over here alone?” he asked, his voice low and deep. All the little hairs on my head prickled. “I’m not alone,” I replied, wanting to gesture toward the crowd of people who

sat at the table, but my hands didn’t move. “Not anymore,” he said, his thumb stroking over my leg. Just then, a new song began to play. It was louder and more annoying than the one that played before it. The crowd of people cheered, and he gave me a half smile. “Wanna go somewhere and talk?” he said, leaning closer to be heard over the noise. I nodded. He removed his hand from my leg and reached around the back of my chair to pull my leather jacket and bag off the top. He slid the items into my lap and

stood, stepping back just enough so I could stand. “Hey,” Kat said from beside me, reaching out and grabbing my arm. I twisted around and leaned toward her. “I’ll call ya tomorrow.” Kat’s mouth dropped open, but she recovered quickly and gave me a sly smile. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked. I nodded. I knew exactly what I was doing. After I stood, his hand settled over the small of my back, once again inciting that tingly feeling across my body. It was a simple touch, a touch that many gentleman used on their dates. But this felt different.

It felt like he was staking his claim. It felt like, in that single, harmless touch, he was owning me. Even though the place was packed with people, he guided me to the door like there was no one in our way. Outside, the air was brisk and cold. The wind pulled at the dark strands of my hair, tangling them together against my shoulders. It was sort of like someone threw ice-cold water in my face. From my position on the sidewalk, I looked over my shoulder through the dim street lighting at the man who stood behind me. He stepped around me, standing so close his heat and frame blocked some of the bitter wind. Gently, he pulled the

jacket out of my grip and shook it out, swinging it up and around my shoulders, tucking it close to my body. “Did you change your mind?” he murmured, holding the front of the jacket closed just below my chin. He was tall and lanky, but he wasn’t too thin. He had a fairly broad frame and large hands. His hair was a sandy color, too light to be brown, but not quite bright enough to be blond. It was cut around his ears, but the top was shaggy and the wind pulled at the messily arranged style. His jaw was stubbled and gruff, his eyes gray, and his cheekbones high. He smelled like the woods: earthy, deep, and strong.

I tipped my chin back just a little, angling my face so I could look directly into his eyes. I felt his grip on my jacket tighten as he anticipated my response. I shook my head slowly. “I don’t want to talk,” he murmured. “I don’t either,” I replied. I should have been shocked by my behavior. Literally meeting a guy—a stranger—and agreeing to go home with him minutes after our introduction. Technically, we hadn’t even been introduced. I could ask him his name. But I didn’t really care what it was. His name couldn’t tell me what my body already knew.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re judging me even as you read this. You’re thinking, This girl is insane! What if he’s a murderer? What if he’s some kind of psycho who’s going to lock her in his basement? But even though you’re thinking that, you still want me to go with him. You’re turned on by the possibilities of a mysterious stranger who has the power to make me tingle in three seconds flat. Admit this: if you were me right now in this moment, if you knew this guy would do nothing more to you than deliver the most insane pleasure of your entire twenty-four years, you would go with him.

He released my jacket and draped an arm across my shoulders, tucking me into his side. I walked along the sidewalk with him until he stopped beside a black roadster, some fancy twoseater sports car. A set of keys appeared in his hands, and the lights blinked once when he unlocked the doors. When he pulled open the door and looked at me, I climbed in without a second thought. Several moments later, the car purred to life and slid away from the curb. I watched the city slip by as we drove quietly to wherever we were going. No, I didn’t know him. But I did know this: he couldn’t do anything worse to me than what had

already been done. He navigated through the cold city streets like he’d been driving here his entire life. He behaved as if he owned the road, and I found it sexy. It had been a while since I had sex. Actually, more than a while. It wasn’t that I didn’t like sex. I just didn’t like many men or people in general. It was hard to have sex with someone when you couldn’t tolerate their presence. I didn’t like this guy, but I didn’t not like him either. Maybe the fact I didn’t know him was a turn-on. It didn’t matter who he was or what he was like. Not tonight. Tonight was just for pleasure.

It wasn’t long before the roadster slid into some sleek-looking parking garage. The headlights illuminated the pavement as he drove up to the next level and slid into a conveniently empty spot. I reached for the door handle, and his palm settled over my thigh. I was wearing a skirt, so we were skin to skin. My pulse sped and heat pooled in my panties. The way he looked at me, like he was hungry and I was the personification of the perfect bite, made me slightly lightheaded. “Stay,” he ordered and exited the car. Normally, I wouldn’t have obeyed, but something about this man begged

obedience. It was exciting to not know what he might tell me to do next. The passenger door opened, and his hand appeared. I draped mine in his palm and allowed him to help me out. The door shut quietly behind me, and he guided us through the garage like he had back at the bar. In the elevator, we were alone. The floor was red and the walls were inky black. The doors shone gold, glossy enough to make out our reflection. I stood in the center, waiting patiently— but feeling anything but—for us to arrive at whatever floor we were going to. A few moments into the ride, his hand shot out and pressed the emergency stop button.

The car jerked to a stop, and I glanced at him, wondering why he would do such a thing. “I’m tired of waiting,” he growled and closed the distance between us. Our bodies collided, and he bulldozed me backward until my back came up against the wall. One of his hands slipped between my jacket and my top to palm the side of my waist. I lifted my chin to look up, allowing the dark strands of hair to fall away from my face. I could hear the sound of my heart beating when he crushed his lips to mine, and then all sound faded away into blissful nothing. His tongue tasted like liquor, something deep and rich. I found

myself rubbing my tongue against his vehemently for just another sip of the flavor. His kiss could only be described as precise, as if he knew exactly where to go to make me slip deeper and deeper into his web. The assault on my mouth was nothing short of overwhelming, and I moaned into his mouth as our tongues twisted together. I reached up to take thick handfuls of his jacket and hold him closer. He deepened the kiss, kissing me so thoroughly I was starting to wonder if I was his prey. Just as soon as he shoved me against the wall, he was gone, and the elevator

was moving. He didn’t look at me again, though I stared at him. My breasts were already aching and the apex of my legs was throbbing in a way I hadn’t felt in so long it gave me pause. This man could be dangerous for me. He could be lethal. The elevator slid to a stop, and the shiny doors opened. We stepped into his apartment, not a hallway. Everything here was contemporary and clean in a muted color palette of earth tones. It was a large apartment, but I didn’t pay much attention to the way it was decorated or even laid out. My eyes went right to the wall of open windows that overlooked the lit-up city. The view was incredible.

It made me feel like I was standing against a black backdrop full of glistening diamonds. He left all the lights off but one small lamp far on the other side of the room. In the reflection of the windows, I saw his figure moving toward me. I liked how me moved. Slow, unhurried, but with purpose. It was almost like he knew he didn’t have to rush because I was already ensnared. I was already a sure thing. I turned from the glass, giving him my undivided attention. The attraction between us was undeniable, as if we were two sparks that together would create a wild flame.

“Take your shirt off,” he said, not really a demand, but not really a question. I peeled of my jacket and dropped it on the floor. Next, I slid my shirt over my head to reveal a white lace bra. Turning so my back was to him, I slowly reached around to unhook the clasp. It fell down my arms, and I tossed it away. I glanced over my shoulder, peeking around the curtain of hair. He held up one finger and motioned for me to turn. I pivoted slowly until I was facing him. My nipples were already rock hard, so tight they actually hurt. The way he stared made me want to touch myself and pinch my nipples for added pleasure.

Just like in the elevator, he moved fast, appearing in front of me and grabbing my breasts. They filled his hands when he kneaded them. My head fell back, and I arched into him, enjoyed the way he plucked at the hard buds, causing electric ripples all the way down into my core. Between us, I ripped open the white button-up he was wearing. Buttons scattered everywhere as I shoved my hands beneath and scraped my nails down his defined chest. “I liked that shirt,” he intoned, giving my breast a squeeze. “I like it better on the floor.” The corner of his mouth turned up, and then we were ripping at each other’s

clothes. The urge to be completely naked with him was unreal. I’d never felt anything so feral before. I just wanted him inside me. The second we were both completely unclothed, my eyes latched onto a tattoo over his left pec, just above his heart. A black X. “X marks the spot,” I murmured, tracing the lines with a finger. He snatched my hand and pulled it away. “Something like that.” Ominous. Maybe if I were interested in getting to know him, I’d ask about his reply. But it didn’t matter. His heart was off-limits to me anyway. It was his body that was mine. At least for tonight.

My eyes dropped to the impressive hard-on he was sporting. I wrapped a hand around it and gave it a tight squeeze. He was thick and smooth, taut and proud. He definitely wasn’t lacking in width or length, and it made me shiver thinking of all of it pushing inside me and filling me up. “I’m not into gentle.” His voice was gruff. “Good.” Gray eyes flared and his breathing increased. Once again, he was pushing me against the wall, this time the wall of windows. The glass was sleek and cold against my naked body. “I’m gonna take

you right here for the entire world to see.” His mouth crashed down and slanted over mine again and again. For once in my entire life, kissing was a full-contact sport. I felt his rigid cock pressing against my belly as our bodies rubbed together. My back and ass were plastered against the window, and it made me even hornier. Someone could be watching... Someone could be staring at the way we went at each other. I reached around and grabbed his ass, digging my nails into his flesh and arching my back so my body pressed into him farther. Mr. X, as I was beginning to think of him, grabbed me by

the waist and lifted. My legs wrapped around his hips, and my slick core rubbed against his skin. I wiggled around, coating his abs with my desire. He made a growling sound and pinned me between the window and his chest. His dick teased my entrance but never slipped in. One of his hands wrapped around my neck and held me, and his lips latched onto my breast. When his teeth dragged over the center, I cried out and filled my hands with his hair and held him closer. He sucked deep and hard. It bordered on painful, but my God, it felt so good. My hips began to rock against his middle. My clit was so engorged

already; every time it brushed against him, I would shudder. Abruptly, he pulled back and stood me on my feet. His lips were swollen from our kisses. I grabbed his dick and started jerking it up and down. His large palm wrapped around my shoulder and pushed me down. “On your knees,” he ordered. I dropped down, hitting my knees, and bent so my butt cheeks were still pressed against the glass. I licked up the length of his cock and then latched on, taking him deep and sucking hard. His fingers tangled in my hair as I worked his shaft. I never tried so hard to please a man, but his pleasure was mine

as well. And his cock was irresistible. The second my lips would leave, I would dive back in for more. I loved the way he glided over my tongue, and the salty flavor of his precum was like a drug. I wrapped my fingers around the base and pulled back to stare down at the tip. His hips thrust toward me, but I held back, looking up his body with a naughty expression in my eyes. We stared at each other for long minutes and then, still staring into his eyes, I licked across the slit. His eyes went closed, and I did it again before sucking the entire head into my mouth and pulling on it with the force of my lips.

When I released him, my mouth made a popping sound, and I dove low to his balls. I sucked one perfect globe into my mouth and gently rolled it between my lips before moving to the other. His inner thighs called to me, and I latched on, kissing and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. He shuddered and leaned forward, one palm flattening on the window so he could lean on it for support. I grabbed his dick again and pulled it down so it pointed straight out and took it deep. When it was good and slick from my saliva, I moved up just slightly and tucked it in the valley between my breasts. He rocked his hips and fucked my chest. I knew he liked it because,

once again, his tip was leaking with desire. I pulled my breasts away and licked the bead of white before kissing up his body and ending at his lips. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so he could scrape his teeth over my neck and then suck deep... so deep I cried out, but he kept sucking, so hard I knew it would leave a mark. My chest was heaving when he spun me around to face the window and pressed my breasts against the glass. They flattened from the pressure, but it felt good, like a massage to tight muscles. Grabbing my hips, he pulled my ass out and then ran a finger down my crack and into my wet folds. His

finger slid inside me, and my knees threatened to buckle. I pressed my face against the window and stared out at the lights of the city. They blurred together when another finger joined the one already inside and his other hand reached around to pluck at my swollen clit. I moaned and wiggled my ass. He pulled his hands back and gripped my hips. He took me hard. Fast. Deep. I cried out the second his outrageously hard dick penetrated me from behind. The way he hammered into my body made me weak, and I could do nothing more than make small sounds of

pleasure, because honestly, this had never felt so good. My palms flattened on the glass to brace myself for more of his assault. I had no idea how he kept up his pace, but it was almost more than I could bear. His hand came around again, delving past the short, groomed curls and into the wet folds. He rolled my clit between his fingers, and I splintered apart in his arms. I moaned and gasped with the orgasm, and he kept pumping, spearing me over and over again. When the climax finally released me, I slumped against the window, spent yet somehow still wanting more.

He pulled out swiftly, and I glanced over my shoulder with a glare. He gave me a knowing smile, then swept me up in his arms and strode across the floor. Instead of going to the bedroom, we went to the kitchen, where there was an island the size of my entire apartment. The granite was cold and bare, and he laid me across it as if I were his new display. His cock was hard and glistening when he moved to the giant stainless fridge and reached inside. He came back with a tall can of something and used his teeth to pull off the lid. Coming back around, I thought perhaps he’d swirl the whipped cream

on my breasts, but instead, he grabbed my legs and slid me so my ass almost hung off the edge. He propped my calves up on his shoulders. He was broad enough that it spread my thighs just enough. Using one hand, he peeled open my folds, and the next thing I knew, the cold shock of whipped cream was filling my folds. “Oh,” I exclaimed, lifting up to my elbows so I could watch what he was doing. He sprayed a generous amount of the white cream all over my middle, then set aside the can. Both his palms slid beneath my ass and lifted, bringing my hips up to give him better access. Then he dove in.

The contrast of the cold whipped cream against the warmth of his tongue as he literally ate his dessert from the place his dick had just been was delicious. “Mmm,” he groaned and spread my folds wide open so he could lick up every last trace of the cream. When he was done, his tongue speared my center and slipped inside my body. My legs were quivering, and I was positive I wouldn’t be able to stand. At last, he lifted his head and wiped the bottom of his lip with the pad of his thumb. I’d already had one orgasm, but I felt another one just begging to be set loose. He smiled like he knew and wrapped my

legs around his waist so he could dip just the head of his cock in my body. My head rolled from side to side as I lay there on full display in his kitchen. He rocked gently as he caressed my body, spearing me only slightly and driving me mad. Finally, when I could take no more, I pushed up to my elbows once more. “Enough,” I demanded. “Either coat your dick in whipped cream for me to eat or shove it deep.” He smiled slyly and grabbed my hips, forcing them down over his cock. I cried out, and he picked me up, walking toward his bedroom with his cock still inside me.

His room was dark, the curtains drawn. My back hit the bed, and he came over me, looming in the darkness, but I wasn’t afraid. I spread my legs wide, and he slid in. We went at each other, rocking and slamming our bodies together almost like we were fighting. Another orgasm hit me fast and hard. I fell back on the bed as it washed over me like a tidal wave. I was still in its throes when I heard him shout and bury himself so deep I felt his balls against my ass. He convulsed inside me as hot seed filled my body and my inner walls clenched around him. Mr. X fell on the bed beside me, my body sticky and slick

with sweat. Between my thighs, I felt his release, and I couldn’t even conjure up any regret we hadn’t used protection. We lay there a long time in the dark, silent. My body felt like it had just run a marathon, but my God, I was satisfied. A little while later, he got up and left the room. Somewhere nearby, I heard a shower running, and I figured that was probably my cue to leave. I pushed up off the bed and stood on still unsteady legs. He appeared and swept me up again. I fit against his chest like I belonged there, so I couldn’t help but drop my cheek against his shoulder. We went into the bathroom, just off his master. Everything in there was

white marble with veins of gray. The shower was made of glass and had two showerheads, which were both turned on. A rainfall showerhead dropped down from the ceiling, raining drops of water, while the one coming out of the wall looked like the kind that would massage your body. He stepped inside with me and stood me under the rainfall. I closed my eyes because the way the drops caressed and rolled across my skin was beautiful. The water in here was hot, and the air around us was steamy. Mr. X picked up a large poufy white sponge and covered it in soap. I surrendered to his ministrations as he washed my entire body, paying close

attention to the places he filled with whipped cream. When he was done and my hair was slicked back, I took the sponge and returned the favor. When he was good and clean, I spent some extra time massaging his balls and playing with his cock. I liked touching him. His body was like my personal playground, and it seemed nothing I did was off-limits. Even though we stayed in there what seemed like forever, the water never cooled. By the wall was a marble bench, so I went to it and sat, crooking a finger at him. He came and stood before me. I sucked his softened cock between my lips and laved up all the water. I

didn’t really suck to make him hard, though he didn’t say ultra soft for long. I sucked and played, and he didn’t say a word, just let his hips jut out toward my face. At one point, I cupped his balls, and he widened his stance, so I slipped my hand between his legs and caressed his taint. He made a sound, so I did it again, this time slipping back a little farther. In my mouth, his cock jerked. Taking a chance, I ran my finger around his rim, and his hips thrust forward, his cock slipping deeper into my mouth. I played lightly with his ass, keeping it cautious and not too invasive. I was surprised when his cock grew

rigid again, so fast after our sex-fest in the bedroom. I was even more surprised when my center began to throb. A few minutes later, he jerked back and picked me up. I was laid out beneath the rainfall, across the floor of the shower. I stared up at him as he stood over me and stroked his cock. We fucked again, right there on the shower floor beneath the warm rain. It was wild and slick. He came hard and fast. I was close, but he beat me to the finish line, so once his body was done, he pulled out, grabbed his cock, and worked it over my clit, back and forth, back and forth. The extra wetness from his release swirled around my

swollen clit, and in no time, I was shuddering and coming all over the shower floor. When the shower was over, he wrapped me in a towel and put me in his bed. A few moments later, he slid between the sheets beside me. I fell asleep with the feel of his body along mine and woke much later to his cock entering me from behind. We went at each other almost the entire night. I have no idea how he kept getting hard or how I kept getting wet. When at last I was sure my body was spent, I dozed off, only to wake up again when the sun was starting to rise. Unable to resist, I slid out of the bed and padded back out to the wall of

windows in the living room. I watched the sun rise over the city. It was almost as incredible as the sex we’d had last night. Before I turned away, I noted my handprint marring the otherwise pristine glass, and I smiled. I walked around the room, gathering up my clothes and slipping them on. I was sore in places I’d never been before, and I was pretty sure if I never had sex again, after last night, I would be sustained forever. But I would still crave him. Like chocolate on a late night. Like coffee in the early morning. I’d have to learn to live with that craving because our night together was

over. In the kitchen, I found a small pad of white paper and a pen. The red cap from the whipped cream was still lying on the floor, long forgotten. I smiled and picked it up, setting it beside my note: Thanks for the night to remember, Mr. X. XOXO ~ Mrs. X No, we weren’t married, and I didn’t wish we were. But last night, he was my Mr. and I was his Mrs. I took the elevator down to the main floor of the building and pulled on my coat. Outside on the sidewalk, I signaled for a cab.

Before I got in, I glanced back up at the giant windows I knew were his. He was standing there watching me. I didn’t wave. I didn’t have to. Even from the distance, I felt our eyes connect. A flush of heat, the kiss of last night’s memory, brushed over my skin. My hair floated out around me when I turned and slid into the cab. I leaned my head back against the seat as the driver pulled away from the curb. Good-bye, Mr. X. Maybe someday we’ll meet again.

The End

About Cambria Hebert

Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair. Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill

(she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house). Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo. Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.

Connect with Cambria Hebert

Website: http://www.cambriahebert.com. Email: [email protected] Facebook: http://smarturl.co/CambriaHebertFanpage Twitter: https://twitter.com/cambriahebert Pinterest: https://pinterest.com/cambriahebert/pins/

Indemnity by K.A. Hunter

Copyright © 2016 Kimi Flores

Alexa is a fighter. A survivor. But it hadn’t always been that way. At eighteen, tragedy struck, hurling her into a dark underworld. Freedom became a thing of the past as her new reality unraveled. Rescued a year later, she vowed to one day get the justice she deserved. However, her road to recovery was long and difficult. Driven by revenge, she fought like hell to prepare herself. When the opportunity she’s been waiting for arises, she’s quick to seize it. Her tormentor only knew her as the shattered girl she once was. He has no idea what she’s capable of now. But he’s

about to find out how far she’s willing to go. No matter what it takes, she will get her indemnity.

**TRIGGER WARNING...this novel contains non-explicit abuse scenes and there is harsh language throughout. Indemnity is intended for mature readers**

ALEXA

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as an eerie silence permeated the van. Thick air invaded the cramped, dark space, making it difficult to breath. As the street lights intermittently flashed through the front windshield, I caught a glimpse here and there of the grave expressions on the girls sitting around me. They made no attempt to cover their defeat while hidden in the quiet shadows of the passenger van. Irritated, I coughed a few times and looked out the darkened window. I may not know the reason these girls chose to

be here, but it still bugged the shit out of me. I had to keep my mind on the purpose of the night, though. It had taken a long time for me to get this opportunity, and I wasn’t about to blow it by focusing on the catering staff I’d been able to infiltrate. Underground parties like the one we were on our way to were top secret and, unless you knew someone on the inside, they were impossible to get into. Thankfully, for a hefty price, someone had dropped a dime on the type of events this catering company’s VIP clientele threw. The same type of event I’d been rescued from shortly after my nineteenth

birthday. There was normally at least one snitch in these groups who was willing to fork out information as long as they made a quick buck on the side. We still didn’t know who was behind this particular trafficking ring, but we knew exactly who was throwing tonight’s party. I picked nervously at my manicure. It’d been six years since I’d been freed. Despite all of the therapy, training, and education I’d gained since then, I was still filled with anxiety, knowing I was about to come face to face with the man who’d abused me over and over again. He may not have abducted me, but he

sure as hell took advantage of my captivity. Just thinking about him made my blood boil. I hated that motherfucker and couldn’t wait to see him exposed for the slimy son-of-a-bitch he was. All the vile things he’d done to me raced through my mind. Even though I knew it wouldn’t do any good, I was working myself up just thinking about him. I needed an outlet whenever I got like this. Normally, I’d go out for a run or attack a punching bag at the gym, but right now I was stuck in this hot van, fidgeting in my seat. The driver’s cigarette smoke was starting to get to me.

The bitter side of me wanted to turn my anger on the women crammed in this tight space with me. Why would anyone willingly agree to work these events and pass out hors d’oeuvres, as if nothing fucked up was happening around them? Granted, the shadier stuff took place behind closed doors. But between the degrading comments from the partygoers and the mostly naked, strung out, bruised girls, there was no way to mask what was going on. Before my rescue, I’d been on the other side, watching the blank stares of the wait staff and begging with my eyes for just one of them to help me. But no one ever had.

How in the hell could a person with a conscience simply walk away at the end of their shift after witnessing another human being humiliated then dragged away to be tortured? I wanted to lash out at these girls for being so damn selfish, but then I heard the girl next to me swallowing hard like she was trying to keep the bile from rising in her throat. I’d been doing the same thing since we’d gotten in the van. I clenched my fists in my lap and puffed out a calming breath. What right did I have to judge any of them? My goal for the night was to get my own selfish justice when I should’ve been focused on saving the enslaved girls that would

inevitably be there. Just like I’d once been. The van skidded to a stop, forcing a few of us forward and out of our seats. “You stupid fuck.” Our driver’s arms flew up as he puffed out a ball of smoke and yelled curses in a heavy accent out of his driver’s side window. “Learn how to fucking drive, asshole.” We scrambled back to our seats when he glared in the mirror and yelled something back to us in what sounded like Russian. My knees throbbed from hitting the floor, and I began to let doubt seep in. Staring blankly ahead, I forced my thoughts to drift back to the day I’d always live to regret. The day that sent

me spiraling further than I ever thought possible. I lift my shaky hand to knock on the door, feeling the beginnings of my withdrawals. Sweat drips down my forehead as chills overtake my body. If I don’t get something soon, I’m gonna end up in the fetal position, puking my guts out on this front porch. The door rips open and a tall guy, wearing nothing but torn jeans, glares at me. “Yeah?” Everything in me is screaming to run away, but my need for a fix and achy muscles keep me rooted in my spot. “I’m a friend of Dave’s.” The words pass through my dry, cracked

lips, but my pissed-off thoughts are on Dave. He’s the asshole who introduced me to this shit in the first place and has kept a steady supply coming my way. Until today, that is. Thanks to him, a month after starting this crap, I can’t go a fucking day without it. I hate him for turning me into a junky. And I hate myself even more for letting him. The guy at the door steadies his eyes on me as his lips purse in a menacing way like he’s sizing me up. Finally, he pushes the screen open and cranes his neck to look around me. “Come in.” The familiar vinegar, band-aid smell hits my nose the second I step

inside, and I know I’ve come to the right place to take the edge off. I jump when the door slams shut, and he stalks by, plopping down on the dingy couch. “Alexa, right?” Nodding quickly, I pull my jacket tighter around my body, glancing around the room at the peeling paint, shitty broken furniture, and stained carpet. How can I have sunk so low in a matter of weeks? I was a straight A student, who just graduated from high school. I should be packing for college, not standing in a drug dealer’s living room, begging for my next hit. The scratchy sound of his palm running up and down his bare chest grates on my hyper aware nerves.

“Heard it was your drunk ass mom who wrapped her car around that light pole on Oak Street last month. Killed herself and your sister, so you’re on your own now, huh?” This asshole is getting under my skin, and I feel like slamming my fist into his smug ass face. “What does that have to do with anything?” He had no fucking right talking about them. I was supposed to be home watching my little sister that day, not at the fucking movies with my friends. Loss was a bitch to swallow. Guilt was a whole other motherfucker all on its own. The night they died was the first time I tried smack, hoping it would dull the pain.

He shrugs. “Just trying to make conversation.” Even through my blurry vision, I see something sinister passing through his eyes, making me wonder if there was more meaning behind his question. Wringing my fingers, I try my damndest not to let his comment overrule me. I’m only here for one reason, and I’m not leaving without it. “Just get on with it.” A wicked grin covers his lips. “You know the deal, right? A favor for a favor.” He got up and starts toward the hallway. My hands are shaking even more now that I’m clenching onto the ends of my sleeves. “Yeah, I know the deal.”

He disappears through a doorway and returns with a girl who looks worse than I feel. “Take off your jacket and have a seat.” His commanding tone scares me for a second, until I see what he has in his hand. I sit down, close my eyes, and rest my pounding head on the back of the couch. The filthy cushions smell like piss, and I fight the need to gag. My arm is lifted and placed on the armrest before I feel the band tightening around it, foreshadowing the blessed ecstasy soon to follow. I’m being treated like a ragdoll, but I’m seconds away from euphoria and I don’t give a fuck about anything else.

The smell of melted plastic hits me before I feel the sting of the needle kissing my skin. Warmth rushes through my veins, straight to my chest, then radiates through my entire body. Somewhere in the foggy background, I hear a voice. “You bitches are all the same. Shoulda asked what I wanted in return before you let me shoot you up.” The sinister laugh echoes through my subconscious, but I couldn’t care less what he wants from me. We both know I’ll give it. Gulping hard, my whole body wilted as I came out of the memory. I usually tried not to think about that day unless I had to. Or about waking up hours later in a room packed with other strung out girls

who’d also been captured. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I’d exchanged my freedom for a hit of smack. It would’ve been safer to sell myself on the street and pay for my drugs than make that deal with a human trafficker. Thankfully, the fucker who’d shot me up and abducted all of us was now rotting in prison on too many charges to count. He was someone else’s bitch now. Most of the cocksuckers who paid him to violate us were either dead or had fled the country. But there was one man who was still around, living his life as though he’d never beat me before defiling me, repeatedly. He continued to schmooze with other government

officials like he hadn’t kept me tied to his bed for entire weekends with no food or water. A part of me had hoped, now that he was a senator, he would’ve changed his ways. That was until Marcus told me his name was on the catering company’s clientele list. Nowadays, the senator wasn’t just attending those parties, enjoying the entertainment. He was throwing them himself. I blinked quickly when the whooshing sound of the van’s door slid open, sucking me back into consciousness. So caught up in my own head, I didn’t realize we’d arrived at our destination.

This was it. I’d been preparing for this night for months, and there was no backing out now. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gathered all my nerve and scooted in line to exit, along with the group. The pep talks I’d given myself all month had worked to keep my eye on the prize. But now that I was here, it was easy to second guess my decision. I took a deep breath and reeled in my scattered thoughts as the girl ahead of me stepped out. The bottom of her ass cheeks were hanging below her black stretch shorts. Since I was wearing the same tight, skimpy outfit, I imagined the view from behind me was the same.

When I’d first arrived at the catering company tonight, I’d been given five minutes to strip out of my regular clothes and into this skanky uniform right before we were ushered into the passenger van. Just as I found my footing on the asphalt, Genevieve, the owner of the catering company, gripped her thick fingers around my bicep and squeezed, cutting off my circulation. My heart raced, filling with panic, but I was careful not to move out of her grip as I stared with compliant eyes at her wrinkled face. The last thing I wanted was to cause suspicion. “Listen to me.” She dug her fingers into my flesh to make her point as she spoke in a gruff tone. “Remember you

signed a nondisclosure agreement. Whatever you see in there,” she pointed her plump, short index finger toward the large mansion, “is none of your fucking concern. You’re here to do a job and, if you do it well, you’ll be compensated. But if you fuck up, you won't get jack shit. You feel me?” If only she knew that nondisclosure agreement wouldn’t stand up in court since I’d signed it with a fake name from my phony ID. I nodded anyway, feigning understanding before she let go and allowed the blood to flow through my veins once more. She tightened her beady eyes. “I don’t know you, which means I definitely don’t trust you. I may not have

anything to hold over your head yet, but if you screw me over, I’ll be more than happy to take it out on your ass. And I know just the guys who would love to help make you disappear.” She scanned my body head to toe, paying special attention to my chest. The material of my revealing outfit did little to cover me. When her lips curved up, I could see yellow teeth peeking through like a hungry animal finding its next meal. “As a matter of fact, you might be more valuable than I realized.” A shudder of disgust raced down my spine, and a familiar rage stirred in the pit of my stomach as I turned to face her smug expression. I moved my balled up fists behind me, feeling the painful bite

of my fingernails digging into my palms. Genevieve may not have been directly responsible for my kidnapping and imprisonment, but I didn’t doubt she had connections to make it happen if she wanted. Plus, assholes like her just stood by, profiting while repulsive motherfuckers lined up to take turns forcing themselves on me at parties just like this one. I had to remain focused, though, and make sure I didn’t let my emotions overrule my goal. I’d promised Marcus I could handle this. Technically, this was his mission and the ultimate responsibility fell in his lap. Not only would it break my heart to disappoint him, but I had to do this for me.

Genevieve cackled, making my skin crawl. “Lucky for you Claudine got food poisoning last minute and vouched for you.” This woman was so fucking blind. She had no idea that had been the plan all along. This last month, Marcus and I had been shacking up at a rundown apartment, where, coincidentally, Genevieve's niece, Claudine, happened to also live. After an ‘accidental’ run-in with Claudine by the pool, I’d blurted out that I was in desperate need of a job and just like I’d hoped, she introduced me to her aunt. For the first couple of weeks, I’d only been working as a server at

weddings for Genevieve's catering service. Then, I hinted to Claudine that I wanted to work jobs that didn’t involve the same lame best man and maid of honor speeches while the ‘Macarena’ or ‘YMCA’ played in the background. It didn’t take much to convince her to fake her own sickness, go to bat for me, and give me her shift. In return, I’d promised to give her most of what I’d earn for the night. Too bad the only thing she was getting afterward was one pissed off aunt. Genevieve narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me do one final check to make sure you aren’t concealing anything.” I turned my head to the side, refusing to watch her grope me. Her hands

stopped at my breast where she felt around a little too long. If she only knew her fingers had already grazed the micro camera I’d crazy glued to the front clasp of my top. Even though Marcus hadn’t said anything through the tiny wireless earpiece secured in my ear, I knew he was watching and listening to the feed, cringing for me. “Now don’t embarrass me and get your ass to work.” She pointed her stubby index finger at my face. “I work too hard to let some piss-poor excuse for a waitress ruin that for me.” I breathed out as much of a sigh of relief as the constricting corset would allow and made my way across the

driveway, keeping a watchful eye on Genevieve. She was barking orders to the kitchen staff who were removing trays of food from the refrigerated van. My high heels clicked on the cement stairs as I made my way up toward the back door where the other girls had entered. “Here were go.” I whisperbreathed loud enough for the camera’s microphone to pick up before I stepped inside. “Gotcha, baby girl. Your GPS is tracking perfectly.” Marcus’ smooth, deep voice sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t wait for this to be over so I could collapse in his arms where I was safe.

I stepped into the kitchen where aluminum pans lined the island and more continued to come in from behind me. All the other female servers were standing in line on the other side of the room, waiting to be given their appetizers or drinks. My stomach growled as the smell of tonight's fare hit my nose, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I wouldn’t dare try to eat, though, or my nerves would send everything right back up. I went to the end of the line and watched as girls took their trays and stepped through the swiveling door out to where I imagined the party was in full swing. The party that I was about to witness from the ‘help’s’ point of view.

Oh God, what was I about to come face to face with? Even though Marcus had reminded me to prepare myself, I had only concentrated on nailing the motherfucker who still hadn’t paid his dues for what he’d done to me and other girls. My thoughts and heart began to race. “I can hear your breathing picking up. Are you okay?” Marcus spoke softly, trying not to add to my anxiety. “Clear your throat if it’s a yes.” Without hesitation, I did as he asked to assure him that I was fine. He didn’t need to know I was moments away from a full on freak-out. It was too early for that.

“You can do this, Alexa,” he reassured me. “I believe in you, but if shit goes down, I’m breaking in and getting you out of there.” He’d said the same thing when I’d finally convinced him to let me be a part of this sting operation. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” I cleared my throat again to let him know I acknowledged what he’d said. After all I’d been through, I didn’t take his promise lightly. I felt overwhelmed, knowing he would do everything in his power to keep me safe. “Besides,” he spoke in that heady tone of his that I could never get enough of. “There’s only one reason I ever want to hear you breathing hard, so if you

don’t calm down, I’m gonna bust down that damn door, drag you back to the hotel room, and give you a much better incentive to have to catch your breath.” I inhaled sharply and began to pant. Feeling weak in the knees, I turned around and leaned my palm against the wall. Marcus knew that, besides rocky road ice cream, he was my one weakness, and he had no problem using that fact to distract me. “I’m serious, Alexa. Stop.” He groaned like he was having some selfcontrol issues of his own. “You’re killing me right now. We have plenty of time for that later, and believe me, it will happen tonight, but right now we've got to complete this mission.”

Goosebumps broke out all over my skin as I imagined what he was going to do to me. But he was right. I needed to get my shit together. Spinning around, I puffed out a long breath when I realized I was next in line. The platter I picked up had tiny shrimp puffs, so I figured it would be cleared off in no time and I’d be able to escape back to the kitchen fairly soon. “I got this,” I whispered to myself as the door swung open and I caught my first glimpse of the function. It wasn’t at all what I had expected. It was just a bunch of pompous assholes sitting around sipping alcohol from their tumblers and smoking cigars. To the left, a few girls danced around stripper poles

on what looked like a portable stage, but nobody seemed to even be paying attention to them. Strolling into the room, I confidently made my way toward the guests, offering appetizers to the men. Their obnoxious eyes roamed up and down my body, making me feel just as dirty as I had in the past. I tried to tune out Marcus’ irritated grunts. Through the hidden camera feed, he no doubt was picking up how they were gawking at me. It was to be expected, I guess. This outfit left little to the imagination. The other waitresses were scattered throughout the area. Each with the same practiced, blank look on their faces. I’m

sure their skin was crawling as much as mine was. Scanning the room a few times, I saw the stairs that led to the second floor. A man adjusting his jacket strolled down while two others seemed ecstatic as they prowled up. Senator Kendall was nowhere to be seen. For a split second, I wondered if we were at the wrong party. That was, until I approached what looked like the dining room. I heard what was happening before I saw anything. Someone had left one of the sliding doors open, wide enough for me to see the four girls splayed out across the long mahogany dining table, bound and

gagged, completely exposed. It was the same table I imagined Senator Kendall’s family ate their meals at. A shiver of disgust ran down my spine. Naked men surrounded the table, stroking their erections, and their greedy stares made my stomach twist. I heard Marcus growl, a noise that started in his chest as it rolled up and ended in his throat. “Make sure you capture every one of those motherfucker’s faces. We’ll blur out the girls before we broadcast it.” Just hearing him on the other end calmed my nerves. He may not have been with me physically, but just like so

many other times, he was here to back me up emotionally. A man stepped between one of the girl’s spread legs, and my heart stopped. I was frozen in my spot when she turned away and peered directly at me. I shook my head, placing a trembling hand to my mouth. No, no, no, please don’t let this happen. Tears rolled down the sides of her face as she attempted to control her cry while she stared at me with pleading eyes. I knew from experience, the more tears you shed the harder they were on you. Sweat broke out all over my body. I had to do something, but what?

Panicked, I could practically feel my heartbeat in my throat when a bulky, fully clothed man narrowed his eyes at me. Pushing away from the wall, he lumbered in my direction. “Get away from there, Alexa,” Marcus said in the authoritative tone he usually reserved for emergencies. “Now.” The clothed man suddenly towered above me, blocking my view from what was going on. But it didn’t matter. I knew what was happening. I could hear the primal male grunting and stifled female cries. The Hulk-sized man gave me a menacing look. “Unless you want to join in, you best be moving the fuck on.”

I gulped. Of course I wanted to leave. I wanted to be anywhere but here, but how could I just walk away after seeing that? Those weren’t their fucking fantasies. They were being raped. Dammit! “We’ll get those bastards, baby. I promise. We’ll save the girls, just get the fuck away from there. Please.” Marcus sounded desperate, worried, and it reminded me that I could blow this whole thing and those girls wouldn’t be any closer to freedom. I ducked my head, letting my hair cover my face as I turned to walk away. I swallowed hard, fighting the sobs burning in my chest.

Oh my god. I was just as guilty as every single person who’d done nothing while I was led off to private a room. My heart clenched tight as I peeked over my shoulder and saw that the door to that room was now shut. Suddenly, a man’s strong fingers wrapped around my hips as he pulled me toward his body. He said something in a language I didn’t understand, but I sure as fuck caught the universal crude gestures he made with his mouth and tongue. I pulled away from his grip while shaking my head no and raced toward the kitchen, clinging onto my platter. I left the empty tray on the kitchen island, propping my hands against the

counter as I struggled to keep my gag reflex in check. Holding up a finger, I told one of a kitchen staff member, “I’ll be back for that. I just need some fresh air.” His eyebrows furrowed perceptively. He knew what went on here. Of course he did. Everyone did. I couldn’t let that sink in, though. I had to get out. Turning on my heel, I darted out of the room and headed for the servants’ entry where I’d come in. “Can you talk to me?” Marcus asked with a strained voice. As soon as the cold night air hit my overheated skin, I leaned against the handrail, trying to catch my breath. “Give me...a minute,” I rasped before I

bent over and puked out the little bit in my stomach. My grip tightened on the edge of the jagged concrete banister, and I welcomed the sharp bite to my palms. The sting gave me something else to concentrate on while I slowed my breaths now visible in the chilly air. Tears ran down my cheeks as a sob finally escaped my throat. The background noise on Marcus’ side suddenly became louder, reminding me that he wasn’t alone. He had a whole gang of vigilantes just waiting for me to give the go ahead. “If I didn’t know how badly you wanted this guy, I’d pull you out of there right now,” he said.

I kept my voice down so I wouldn’t be noticed. “No. You promised. I need to save them. I can’t unsee that and it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” Even after everything I’d gone through, this was a first for me. Whether I was the senator’s plaything for the weekend, or a fun time for a group of diplomats at a function, my abuse had always taken place in private rooms, away from the other girls. And I’d never witnessed firsthand what had happened to them, either. Marcus’ serious tone forced me to pay attention. “I know, but you are my priority. We can still go in, get those assholes, and save the girls, but you will not get your justice and we won’t have

anything on the senator. He will continue to do this.” “But those men probably have political immunity,” I pointed out sadly. “The law can’t touch them.” As much as I’d love to see guys like that rot in prison, vengeance toward anyone involved in human trafficking had festered in my gut for too long to just walk away. I wanted all of them to suffer, but I especially needed him to pay. “Sweetheart, you and I both know that’s not an issue. Most of what we do doesn’t involve the law.” I heard the pride in his voice. My shoulders relaxed at his reaffirming words.

He puffed out a frustrated breath. “Tell me what your gut is saying right now.” I knew his irritation wasn’t directed at me, and I didn’t hesitate with my answer. “I want him to know what it feels like to be completely humiliated. To have absolutely no control and be in utter fear of what’s going to happen to him.” Just verbalizing my feelings gave me the drive to keep going. “Then take a few more minutes to refocus, get back inside, and nail that asshole.” His tone suddenly changed. I could practically hear the smile in his voice. “And remind me to never piss you off, spitfire.”

Hearing his nickname for me made my insides melt, but I plucked anxiously on my bottom lip. “Is this your ‘put my big girl panties on’ speech?” His genuine chuckle was just what I needed to hear. “Hell, no. Put those little frilly panties on that I love so much,” he teased, helping me shake off my uneasiness. Standing straighter, I regained my confidence and walked back inside. I wasn’t shocked to find Genevieve waiting for me with her arms across her chest. I just hoped she hadn’t heard me talking outside. Her glare burned a hole clear through to my soul as she barked through

gritted teeth, “Did I say you could have a fucking break?” After Marcus’s pep talk, I didn’t let her get to me this time. But I had to act the part. “I’m sorry. I must’ve eaten the same thing Claudine did.” I wiped my forehead with my arm and blew my vomit-laced breath into her face. She grimaced, and I had to stifle a vindicated smile. “But none of the guests saw me. I’m okay to keep working. If I feel sick again, I’ll make sure to duck into the bathroom.” Her nostrils flared as she angrily exhaled. “Eat a fucking mint or something before you go back out there.” Then she turned, still scowling, and stepped out of the room.

My eyes popped up to find the same guy who’d given me my first tray of hors d’oeuvres. He passed me a couple fresh mint leaves. “Here, chew on these. They’ll help with your stomach and your, um...breath.” “Thanks.” I popped the leaves in my mouth. At least someone here was willing to help. With my appetizers balanced on one hand, I rejoined the party. I was determined to let tonight’s host know exactly what I thought about his party. Senator Kendall had no idea what I was capable of now, but he sure as hell was about to find out.

MARCUS

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I moved the headset off one ear and muted my microphone. “Did you clean up that video yet?” “Still working on it, boss.” Chad stared at his monitor, maneuvering his computer mouse. Chad was a quick, precise motherfucker, and I sure as hell was glad he was on my team. I knew he could handle this job better than anyone else. “Okay, make sure none of the girls can be recognized, but clear up anything that looks grainy on the guys.” I put the headphone back in place, closely

scanning everything on the monitor. Taking in the hungry faces on the assholes around Alexa as they devoured her with their eyes. She was a tough girl and could handle a lot of shit, but damn, I hoped this didn’t set her back. From what she’d told me, it had taken years of therapy for her to stomach being in the same room with a group of men. The majority of my team was already in place, acting as valets while they kept a close eye on things from inside the mansion gates. The rest of us were packed in the back of a large, mock utility company van, where we’d set up our surveillance just outside those same gates.

Most days, I loved my fucking job. Today, however, having Alexa in the middle of this shit-storm had me on edge. I’d been doing mercenary work like this since I left the military a few years ago, but had only been working with my buddy, Dante, and his family’s organization these last six months, after we’d nailed a mutual enemy together. He and his family had their own reasons for taking scumbags like these down. And their organization specialized in doing so, completely off the grid, all while keeping their records clean. While their reasons were personal, mine had always been professional, until today.

Alexa and I had already met up with Dante this morning, and he’d given his usual ‘whatever it takes’ stamp of approval. My palms were sweating now. I couldn’t stand her being away from me like this. All I wanted to do was get her out of there. Instead, I let the battle continue to rage inside of me while I watched men reach out to touch her. God, I still remembered the first time I saw that woman. She was kicking one of the gym trainer’s asses, who was supposed to be giving instructions on how to bring an attacker down. The poor bastard had no idea how advanced she was until her tiny taped up fist landed on

his jaw. Damn, was that hot. I couldn’t rip my eyes away. I never saw the frail, broken girl she’d been after her rescue. Since there was no family to return to, Dante’s family’s organization took her in. They rehabilitated and developed her into the strong woman I quickly fell in love with. And for that, I’m forever grateful. Just knowing that this group was responsible for turning my girl’s life around convinced me to quit my security consulting jobs and join the team fulltime. Even though I’d seen Alexa kick some serious ass, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle putting her safety in jeopardy again. As far as I was

concerned, this was her first and last mission. I’d only agreed to let her in on this one because it was personal. I had a feeling, however, I wasn’t going to get my way on this one. She didn’t mind me going all alpha on her every so often, but once she got a taste of bringing these sons of bitches down, she was going to want in on every operation I was involved in. She didn’t take no for an answer, even from me, so I’d have to figure out a compromise to keep the peace. I’d worry about that another day. I kept the microphone muted so she could concentrate on the job at hand— plus the guys had already given me enough shit about flirting with her. Fuck

them. I knew what she needed and didn’t care who was around to hear, as long as it helped her. “When should we surround the house, boss?” Tim, one of my guys leading the combat team, asked over the walkie-talkie. I pressed talk on my handheld. “Get ready. The second she sees him, I want you guys waiting to close in. Every exit needs to be covered.” My oldest friend, Abel, raised his eyebrow. “Not our first rodeo,” he said sarcastically. In the forces, he and I undertook many covert operations together. For three solid years, we’d taken two tours to Afghanistan and one to Iraq. During

that time, we’d seen lots of wild shit, met some incredible people, as well as plenty of crazy motherfuckers. We’d become as close as brothers. He’d stayed with me when I opened my private security business, then stuck around when I joined forces with Dante. Grunting, I zoomed in on a guy’s hand as he reached out to touch Alexa. “I know.” I pointed to the monitor, making quick eye contact with Abel. “But that’s my girl in there. The stakes are a lot higher this time.” He clapped me on the back. “We’ve got this. Don’t worry.” I relaxed my shoulders for a moment. Most of the guys on the team had grown close to Alexa during her training,

before Abel and I had ever come on board. I knew they’d never let anything happen to her. At least, anything they could control. My eyes widened and my fists tightened as another asshole pressed himself against her, saying vile things in another language. I’m sure she didn’t understand what he’d said, but I sure as fuck did. I swear to all things holy, I was going to rip these fuckers to shreds the first chance I had. “He’s here.” Alexa’s jittery, muttered words shot a new surge of adrenaline through my veins. That was all I needed to hear to get my men ready to leap into action. I didn’t care what it took, but we were

going to get my girl the retribution she fucking deserved.

ALEXA

When I heard his boisterous laugh from across the room, I bit my trembling lips so hard I nearly drew blood. Memories came flooding back to me, challenging my mind to stay in the here and now. I could practically feel his hot breath on my neck, hear him hissing in my ear while relentlessly pounding into me. That laugh was the sound I always heard when he was done, once he had seen my tears.

My back was to him, and I just couldn’t get myself to turn around. I blinked hard but didn’t move another muscle. Unfortunately, my position, plus the fact that I hadn’t walked away yet, gave the jackass in front of me the wrong message. He reached out to touch me and with a knee jerk reaction, I jumped back, smacking into someone. I spun around to offer my apology, but when I looked up, all the blood drained from my face. It was him. And he was staring right at me with his paralyzing glare. I brought my shaky hand up to my chest. “Excuse me,” I managed to mumble.

“I knew that was you.” His voice was rough and throaty, like he was so fucking excited he could hardly contain himself. He reached around and smoothed the palm of his hand back and forth under my exposed asscheek before gripping a handful. “I’d recognize that beautiful ass anywhere.” Ready to bolt, I had to remind myself that I was safe. As out of control as my emotions were, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he couldn’t do any more damage than he already had. And my backup was just outside the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get another tray of food.” My timid voice sounded so strange to me. I hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a very long time. More

than anything, it pissed me off. I tightened my fists, willing myself to stay strong. “Who are you here with?” he asked suspiciously. Raising my chin, I answered, “I work for Genevieve.” Excitement practically reverberated off his body. “So you couldn’t cut it on your own out in the big bad world? Good, because I haven’t found anyone like you in a long time. And I’m not letting you go anywhere.” My stomach clenched up as I searched the room, freaked, but all I saw were other trapped girls and the sick fucks that were groping them.

I jumped when I heard Marcus’ voice abruptly coming through my earpiece. “That cocksucker isn’t laying another fucking finger on you. We’re on our way in.” I wanted to reply, but knew I couldn’t. As it was, I hoped Senator Kendall hadn’t heard anything. He was standing only inches from me. My leg muscles tightened, rooting me in my spot when the senator grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. We didn’t have anything on him yet. The footage hadn’t tied him to anything that was going on here. I began to panic, picturing Marcus and the guys busting in the door too soon.

Backing away, I begged Marcus while looking at the Senator, hoping he thought I was talking to him. “No. No. Not yet. Please,” I only hoped neither of them heard the terror in my voice. Marcus’s tone turned solemn. “Baby, I can’t leave you in there like this.” “Please.” I searched the senator's eyes as I continued to back away and he prowled toward me. I prayed I was getting through to Marcus. The senator shook his head. “I don’t think so, Alexa. And don’t even try to get away from me. You know the consequences.” Stopping my retreat, I had to remind myself to breath. Yes, I did know the consequences.

Senator Kendall snapped his fingers in the air, calling Genevieve’s attention from several feet away, then he pointed to me. The gleam in her face as she nodded lit another fuse inside of me. After everything I’d been through, I shouldn’t have been surprised how sick these people were. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, “You’re all mine again, sweetheart.” He spun me around, passing my tray to a guy next to him, then he snaked his long arm around, gripping my shoulder as he led us away. I forced myself to appear submissive on the outside, but the deafening screams in my head from the abused girl I once

was made me feel like I was going to throw up again. “We have a lot of time to make up.” The sinister chuckle in his chest scared the shit out of me, but even on shaky legs, I managed to keep myself together as he led us toward the staircase. There was nothing he loved more than frightened prey. I tossed my shoulders back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower ever again. Marcus hadn’t said anything in a bit, but I didn’t have the heart to listen to his protests while I did whatever I needed to in order to get a confession. Even if that meant going into a locked room with this sick fuck.

Discreetly, I stuck my pinky in my ear, pretending to have an itch. I caught the earpiece under my nail and plucked it out. The skin it had been adhered to burned once it was ripped off, but I didn’t have time to concentrate on a minor discomfort like that. I dropped my hand near a large house plant and flicked the mini device into the soil. Clearing my dry throat, I asked, “Where are you taking me?” He’d lived in a different home when he used to take me for the weekends. The sicko would only bring me there when his family was out of town. I’d seen the blueprints to this house while we mapped out our plan, but I had no idea which room we were headed to.

Thankfully, I was being tracked through the tiny GPS superglued to the inside seam of my corset. “So inquisitive.” Narrowing his eyes, he got closer to my face, taking me by surprise when his mouth forcefully collided with mine. I cried out and pulled away when he sucked and bit my bottom lip, hard. “I’d prefer surprising you. Build up your anticipation.” He was so close to me, I was sure he heard my heart trying to beat out of my chest. His intimidating gaze went from my bloody lip back to my eyes. He’d always gotten off by hurting me. Drawing blood was just a bonus. “No more questions, angel. Get the fuck upstairs, now!”

His threatening tone and his nickname for me made me almost double over with nausea. He’d liked using pet names for me, as if we were lovers. I’d assumed it was his way of mentally accepting what he’d done to me. Once at the top of the steps, we made our way down the long hallway, passing what I assumed were bedrooms. A symphony of grunts, moans, and cries came from behind each door. My stomach bottomed out when I saw Tommy on a hand drawn sign outside one room. I’d followed the senator’s social media enough to know his son’s name. I had no doubt this man was a monster, but I couldn’t believe he’d allow someone

to defile his own child’s room. Clearly, his sickness knew no bounds. I felt a stronger sense of determination about what we were doing. His family would be better off without him in their lives. But first they had to see what he was. I placed my hand on the door, praying for the women on the other side, and made sure to get the plaque in the frame. “Sounds like there are people inside. Aren’t we alone up here?” I hoped he would take the bait. The crude jackass laughed. “A few of my friends are using the rooms while my family’s gone.” He had the audacity to look proud of this. As if housing his disgusting friends was a badge of honor.

Perfect time to link him to those other guys. “Oh—” I lifted an eyebrow. “—the same friends I saw in the dining room with those tied up girls?” His lips pulled into a board grin as his eyebrows slanted down. “I see that freedom has given you a smart mouth.” He reached up and squeezed the back of my neck. “I’ll have to fix that.” Fuck, I hated when he touched me like that. I’d probably have finger marks later. As enraged as I was getting, it was time to play the roll I’d practiced. Sticking out a pouty lip, I poured it on thick. “I’m sorry, Senator. I didn’t mean to be rude, your authority just impresses me. I’ve kept up on your career, and not

many people can get away with parties like this, and—” I peeked down while running my fingers over my cleavage. His eyes followed my every move. “— to be honest, I hoped I’d run into you again. Your power is so fucking hot, it turns me on.” The corner of his mouth tipped up maliciously. “So my mouse has become a seductive vixen. Maybe our time away from each other has been a good thing after all.” With a growl, he dug his fingers into my arm and pulled me to the end of the corridor. A large man with big broad shoulders was standing guard in front of the master bedroom.

I stopped in my tracks, once again doubting this whole thing. Could I really be rescued again before he had a chance to attack me? For a moment, I’d forgotten about all the training I’d learned. And the fact that I knew exactly where to hit to not only hurt him, but knock him out. He put his palm on the small of my back, pushing me forward as he took something from the guy at the door. “Come on.” He spoke gruffly. “Maybe this time around you won’t fight it as much.” Running his fingers through my hair, he grabbed a handful and yanked my head back. “Then again, I liked when you fought me.”

Oh fuck, no. We were going to finish this right now. My scalp stung when he finally let go, and I stumbled forward, landing on my knees next to the bed. Afraid he would immediately take advantage, I jumped up as he slammed the door behind him and removed his tie. “On the bed. Now.” His voice told me he was no longer playing around. “Or I’ll remind you how much I love punishing you for your disobedience.” He placed something on the dresser before stepping forward and blocking my view of it. I maneuvered myself up the side of the bed and scooted to the middle. At this point, it didn’t matter where I

positioned my body. Marcus’s men would have overridden the system and turned the bedroom’s security camera on. If all went well, my face should be blurred. With quick steps, he was suddenly on me, hovering above with pure malice in his eyes. “This reminds me of the time we spent the entire weekend at my lake house. Oh, you were so fucking beautiful tied to my bed. I might have to do that for old time’s sake.” His hands began to roam my body as his lips came down to my neck and his erection pushed against me. The trail of saliva he left as he licked my throat felt like acid burning my skin.

Before I threw up for the second time tonight, I had to come up with a different plan. The seduction route hadn’t given me the confession I wanted, but this man had the biggest ego I’d ever seen, and I knew just how to rile those big ass feathers of his. Turning on him, I spat out, “You mean right before you raped and beat me the first time?” His head jerked up and he looked...offended? “Now why would you use a word like that, princess? You’ve been my favorite lover by far.” He kissed then sucked the swell of my breast that had popped out above my corset. Looking down, he admired the

hickey he’d just left. “And you looked so fucking beautiful wearing my marks.” I refused to let his words get to me and wrestled my way out from underneath him. My feet hit the floor when I jumped off the other side of the bed. I was about to unleash the monster and needed to have some place to run. “You bought me from a fucking human trafficker, and I definitely did not consent to that. To any of it.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, and a smirk on his lips. “Oh, you wanted it alright, and your resistance fueled me, making the victory that much sweeter.” He licked his lips as he got off the bed, completely unfazed by my outburst.

Hot tears of rage ran down my cheeks now that I was finally saying everything I’d stored up for years. “I cried the whole fucking time, you sick asshole.” That did it. I saw the spark of pure rage in his eyes, and I poised to run, but I didn’t move quickly enough. He leaped toward me and backhanded me across the face. The sting was all too familiar, creating that feeling of hopelessness inside of me I’d once become accustomed to. He gripped my chin so hard, I felt a bruise forming. “Don’t ever speak back to me like that again, you fucking whore.” Hot spit flew out of his mouth.

I clenched my jaw, showing him I wasn’t giving up. Never again. His words would’ve once made me weak, but now they were giving me the strength to fight. “Don’t you have a fucking conscious, mister ‘family values’ Senator?” I managed to say, despite his grip on my face. He picked me up and tossed me on the bed, whacking my shoulder into the headboard. “Nobody gives a rat’s ass about throwaways like you, or any of those other whores downstairs.” He reached over and picked up a syringe from the top of his dresser. My head snapped back, filled with memories of him shooting me up after he’d violated and battered me.

Memories of me wishing that he’d given me enough to overdose. I used to pray for death. No..no..no...I couldn’t let him near me. I won’t ever go back to the thing that once destroyed my life. “You know who people do care about?” He flicked the barrel with his middle finger and pushed the plunger up enough to get rid of the air bubble. “Men who run countries. Powerful men who get whatever they desire. If we want some slut everyone else tossed aside, then we have every right to fucking take her. In the end, all you bitches end up loving us for saving your asses and taking care of your habit.” A drip of liquid beaded at the top of the

needle, and I fought the urge to lick my lips “You came back because you missed me, so don’t try to make me look like the bad guy here.” For a split second, I believed him. I felt like that despondent girl again, the one who’d had her life ripped away, got hooked on drugs, and had her freedom stolen right out from under her. But a moment later, I heard the gunshots downstairs, and I felt my own sense of victory coming. I could feel the smirk pulling up at the corner of my mouth. Confused, he ran over to the door and peeked out. I could see a sliver of the hallway and heard frantic shouting, people scrambling around.

Immediately, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. “What the fuck is going on?” he shouted at me, his eyes narrowing as if he knew this had been the plan all along. My plan. I looked directly at him, not allowing my fear to get the best of me. After all these years of being under him, I finally felt like I was on top. “Just a little media coverage. You assholes like that shit, don’t you?” He had the audacity to chuckle, looking less worried. “I don’t care what you think you caught. Nobody’s going to believe a lying whore.” If I wasn’t confident that he was grasping for straws, I might’ve believed his cocky tone.

The bedside phone rang, calling our attention. This was part of the plan, and I knew exactly who was on the other end. I reached over and picked up the wireless receiver. “Hello, Mrs. Kendall.” I kept my eyes on the senator and that damn syringe. “Who is this?” the woman asked, her voice shaking. “The woman you’re watching.” I stared at the camera hidden in the smoke detector as the senator looked around trying to figure out what had my attention. He obviously didn’t have a fucking clue that the camera was on. “Please tell me this isn’t true. I got a security alert, opened the link from my laptop and I see my husband attacking a

woman in my own bedroom.” My heart almost broke for her, but surely she had to suspect something was going on. As if reading my mind, she added, “I figured he had other women, but this? No. It’s not possible.” “I am so sorry, but your husband supports sex trafficking and uses your home as a brothel while you’re gone. He’s raped me and others, repeatedly.” Violent rage filled the senator’s wide eyes. “There’s no way. She’ll never believe you,” he spat out through gritted teeth as he reached for the phone, the syringe pointing at me. Howling screams came through the receiver, and my vindicated eyes met his. I held the phone out so he could hear

what he’d done to her. What he’d done to all of us. He rushed forward, attempting to stick me, but I’d managed to kick the syringe out of his hand. His face contorted and was red with fury as he ran over, yanked a side table drawer open and pulled out a gun. With furious steps, he came at me with it, and I felt a jarring pain as he shoved it against my temple. I was too shocked to move. “You fucking bitch. You’ve destroyed my life.” The rage on his face should’ve scared the shit out of me, but watching him fall apart, completely losing control, got me higher than I’d ever felt before. Smack had nothing on the euphoric intoxication of revenge.

With the cold muzzle digging into the side of my head, I closed my eyes, breathed in deep, and smiled. I didn’t think I was dying tonight, but even if he did pull the trigger, I’d rest peacefully knowing he’d never hurt another girl. “What the fuck are you so happy about?” He leaned in, seething, but his fury wasn’t getting to me. I’d prayed for death many times in the past in order to escape torment but had always been afraid. Now that I’d served my purpose, I was filled with tranquility, no matter what my fate was. As promised, my hotter-than-hell knight in full body camouflage busted down the door to get to me. With a ski mask concealing his face, Marcus

pointed his gun at the senator. “Don’t even think about it, son of a bitch,” he growled. “You’re one move away from me not giving a fuck and shooting your dick off. Nothing would please me more than letting you lie in your own vomit and puddle of blood while you slowly die in agony.” Marcus’ eyes cut to me for a split second before returning to the senator, who’d just backed away from the bed. “You okay, baby?” “I’m fine.” I scooted up into a sitting position and pressed my hand to my forehead, filled with relief and ready to get the hell out of here. Marcus motioned with the gun for the senator to back away from the bed even

further. “We need to wrap this shit up and get the fuck out before someone catches wind of it.” Senator Kendall looked back and forth between Marcus and me before he turned the gun on himself, holding the barrel under his chin. Oh no, this asshole was not going to kill himself after everything we went through to take him down. I was about to leap at him, make an insane move of trying to shove the gun off track, but Marcus beat me to it. Without missing a beat, Marcus shot his gun, forcing the senator to drop in pain to the ground. “You aren’t taking the coward’s way out, you piece of shit.” Damn right!

I peeked over the side of the bed and saw the scumbag grabbing his bloody fingers. Looking between the two men, I smiled at Marcus. “Good shot, babe. You kept it on the fingers.” Marcus shrugged, but I knew under that ski mask he had the look of pride on his face. “I wanted to blow his hand off so he couldn’t touch another woman, but it would’ve been difficult to cuff him.” Then his eyes darted to the dark purple mark on top of my breast. “Son of a bitch.” Marcus shook his head, cursing. Taking long strides, he kicked the gun away before nailing the senator in the ribs with his steel-toed boot, several times. I winced, imagining the pain that caused, though I didn’t give

a shit. “I should kill you for touching my girl, you lowlife cocksucker.” Flipping the senator onto his stomach, Marcus reached into his back pocket and retrieved his zip ties. He held them out to me with an expression of triumph. “Do you want to do the honors?” The senator continued to grunt in pain, blood spurting from his fingers, and I shook my head. “No thanks. I just wanted to bust his ass.” Which I did. At a price, but we got him. One of Marcus’ guys stuck his covered face through the door, and I recognized Tim’s voice. “Everything okay in here, boss?”

Marcus stood up, peeled off his gloves, and shoved them in his back pocket before reaching his hand out to me. “Yeah, tie this piece of shit to the bed so he can’t leave before the cops get here. Is the video being streamed on all the TVs in the house?” Tim gave a curt nod. “He’s just waiting for you to give the go ahead.” Pointing to me, he added, “Oh, and the camera’s off.” Wrapping his arm around my waist, Marcus pulled me to his side and continued to give instructions. “Okay, go for it, then get the hell out of here. As soon as you guys take off, have him override all the stations and stream it a

couple times before the cops have a chance to keep it from the public.” I could still hear the senator groaning as Marcus led me away. “I’ve gotta warn you,” he said softly. “It’s a bit gruesome downstairs.” I gave him a curious glance. “I can handle it.” Though, if any of the girls were hurt, I wasn’t sure I’d want to see. He swiped his thumbs across my cheeks as he stared into my eyes. “Remember when you asked about the law not being able to touch those men?” “Yes.” I nodded. His eyes were somewhat grave, though not sad. “You won’t have to worry about that now.”

As that news sunk in, I buried my face in his chest and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a little guilty about being happy. When I pulled away, something on the floor caught my eye. The filled syringe. I’m sure my face twisted up into some crazed expression as an idea came to me. Before giving it a second thought, I reached down and picked it up. My eyes met Marcus’s and he shrugged, giving me a silent ‘go for it’. Careful not to step in his blood, I leaned down and whispered in the senator’s ear, “Let’s see how you like this.” He grumbled when I jabbed the needle into his neck and plunged the liquid into his body.

“You fucking bitch,” he gritted out before I stood up and kicked him between his asscheeks with my very pointy shoes. Whimpering, he grabbed onto his ass. With a satisfied grin, I turned to Marcus. “I’m ready.” “Let’s get out of here.” Pulling me close, he kissed the side of my head, the temple where the butt of the gun had just been. Marcus made me feel so safe, unlike any other man had. A shiver ran down my spine as I filled my lungs with the comforting scent that was all him. We’d captured the monster of my real life nightmares and helped free those girls. None of us

would have to endure the horrors of the life we once had. Moments ago, I’d thought I had already fulfilled my purpose, but as we made our way down the stairs, I realized something. This second chance at life had only lit a fire within me. I wanted other girls trapped in the same situation I’d once been in to feel the relief and victory that came with freedom. At the bottom of the stairs, the smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air. Bodies littered the room that, only moments ago, had been filled with perverted men groping unwilling women. I didn’t want to take in too much in case one of the girls was hit by mistake.

Once outside the front door, I scanned the driveway. “Where are they? Where are the girls? Please tell me they all made it out safely.” “They’re around the side, but—” I took off running before he had a chance to finish and felt him hot on my trail. The SUVs we’d brought to transport them were lined up, ready to leave. I pulled open one of the doors and focused on the girl in front of me. The one who’d been laid out on the dining table. “I promise you’re safe now.” I wanted to reach out to reassure her but didn’t know how she’d handle someone touching her. “You’ll be taken to a place where you are protected and you’ll have

the choice of staying or going. You’re free.” Clinging onto the blanket wrapped around her, she stared at me with disbelieving eyes. “You...” Her bottom lip trembled. “...you saved us? I thought...” She shook her head. “Who are you?” A lump formed in my throat. “I used to be a girl in your shoes. That’s why I’m asking you to trust us to take care of you guys. I’ll be there with you.” Her face filled with relief as she shook her head again. I peeked behind her and was confused to see some of the girls from the catering company.

“We’ll meet you guys there.” I took a chance and squeezed her hand before I closed the door and tapped on the side of the SUV. “We have to go, now,” Marcus ordered while leading me into the backseat of another waiting SUV. As I scooted to the other side so he could get in, I asked, “Why were those other girls in there?” He finally ripped his mask off and pulled me onto his lap as our driver took off. “Genevieve was the ring’s leader.” “What?” My body began to shake. “She was under our noses this whole time, and we had no idea she was at the top. She made the girls switch between serving food and servicing the men.” He

threw his head back on the headrest. “God and I put you in the middle of that.” I placed my quivering hand on his cheek. “I put myself in the middle. And we caught them.” He glanced down at me, and the sad expression on his face told me something different. “She got away. We had no idea how involved she was until the girls were pulled out of the house.” “Oh shit! How do you know?” He tapped his earpiece and my heart sank. Holding me close to his body, he kissed my forehead, nose, and eye lids. “It’s okay, baby.” Huffing, he switched his tone to hopeful. “We’ll get her. We always do.”

I swallowed my disappointment. “I know, but I hope it’s before she gets her hands on anyone else.” “Me too,” he admitted. “I’m so exhausted.” My body continued to shiver. “It’s the adrenaline wearing off. Best high out there, but just like any other, it’s a bitch when you come down from it.” My teeth slowed their chattering, and I managed a smile. “We make a great team. As scary as that was, I’m ready to go find that bitch and take her down.” Sighing heavily, he frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Is there any way I can talk you into letting me take care of her?”

I snuggled further into his lap as my trembling came under control. “Oh, I think you know me better than that.” Kissing the top of my head he said, “That I do.” Feeling more relaxed than I had all day, I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the girls who were saved tonight. I hoped they would stick with our program until they were strong enough to stand on their own. And god help Genevieve when we got our hands on her. ~ The End ~

Also by K.A. Hunter

Indemnity is a spin-off short story based on an event that occurs in the upcoming novel, Confliction (Dante & Malory’s story), which is scheduled to publish fall/winter 2016. Although Marcus and Alexa aren’t the main characters in Confliction, they play important roles in the story. In the meantime, please enjoy Relinquished, the story filled with twists and surprises that originally brought Dante and Marcus together (synopsis below). Relinquished Jules Donovan has been in and out of unsavory foster homes and repulsive motels her entire life. She’s known nothing but loss, abandonment, crime,

and pain. Now that she's aged out of the system, she can’t remember ever having dreams for her future because she’s constantly fighting for daily survival. When she meets the Riley brothers, there’s something about them that draws her in. She’s never let her guard down, but Dante and Holden make her feel valuable, like she actually matters. And for the first time in her life, she senses something she’s never experienced before—protection. But can these mysterious brothers keep her safe from the dark monsters that lie in wait, ready for their final revenge? And how in the hell does

older brother Dante know so much about her anyway? Unbeknownst to her, things have been set in motion ever since she was ripped from her mother’s womb and, as each jagged piece of her life unfolds, she will begin to wonder, who’s really in charge of her fate? **TRIGGER WARNING...this novel contains non-explicit scenes of abuse. There is strong language throughout. Relinquished is intended for mature readers**

About K.A. Hunter

Currently, this author writes contemporary romance novels under her name, Kimi Flores and grittier romantic suspense stories under her pen name, K.A. Hunter.

Connect with K.A. Hunter

You can finder her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest. To keep up with the latest information on both K.A. Hunter and Kimi Flores novels, please sign up for her newsletter at: novel-dreams.com

Escaping the Cocoon by Jade C. Jamison

It was a year ago when my husband finally let me look for work. Even though I hadn’t worked in over ten years, the Workforce Center helped me get a job at the local pharmacy, Harriman’s Drug Store. After I’d started looking, my husband changed his mind, but I was already committed, and even though I’d cowered to him way too many times in the past, I’d made up my mind to move forward. My daughter was older now and had lived with her dad for years, so I no longer had to defend her against my husband’s sometimes violent temper. And something inside me had changed. I was still somewhat submissive and willing to do whatever it took to keep

him from exploding, but I had grown tired of being isolated from the rest of the world. It was hard enough having seen my parents only three times in fifteen years since we’d moved across the state, but I was no longer able to function without friends and activities. There was only so much housecleaning, cooking, and yardwork a woman could do—especially without the internet for entertainment. I didn’t care that I would have to walk to work, and I didn’t care that I would have to be creative in terms of keeping up the house and meals. I needed this. When I got the call from Mr. Thorne, Harriman’s manager, I was actually surprised. In spite of the fact that I’d

done a mock interview with my career counselor at the Workforce Center, I knew I hadn’t been that good, and my interview with Mr. Thorne wasn’t great either. I’d been honest but not good. What would you say is your biggest weakness? Umm...I don’t always stand up for myself. Oh, geez, he had no idea. I clammed up right then and there, knowing I shouldn’t say another word, because it wouldn’t help my case at all. What I’d just admitted was bad enough. I just smiled—feeling quite nervous—and then, unable to stop myself, I added to it. I’m working on that.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only interview question I blew. I blocked out how I’d responded to What do you hope to be doing in five years? I just remembered it was an equally dumb answer. By some miracle, though, Mr. Thorne offered me the job. He must have interviewed some real losers and desperately needed a cashier, because he called the next day and told me that, pending a drug test, I was being offered the job. If I wanted it and my results came back clean, the job was mine. Oh, yes, I wanted it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted something so badly.

*** Vince was a meat-and-potatoes man. It was okay if I made them in a beef stew or a pot pie or even hamburgers and fries on occasion, but he wanted his goddamn meat and potatoes every night. If God hadn’t wanted us to eat meat and potatoes, they wouldn’t taste so good together. Ain’t that right, sweetheart? I’d been eating variations on the theme for fifteen years now and had long grown weary of the lack of variety, but I’d also, more recently, tired of making myself something different. If I ate that something different in front of Vince, it would sometimes lead to words, so I

usually ate before he came home if I wasn’t going to eat the dinner I made him. I wasn’t sure why he cared what I ate, but asking him so I could solve the mystery wasn’t worth the argument sure to follow. This night would be different, though, because I had something to tell him. So I made him a ribeye (his favorite), medium (just the way he liked it), with a baked potato (and a second one in reserve), along with a salad and red wine. But first a beer before dinner. All favorites, all hot and ready to be served the moment he was ready. As usual, he walked in the door before six o’clock, mumbled a cursory greeting as he walked past the kitchen, strode to the

bathroom where he urinated and then washed up, using Lava soap. Then I could hear his boots on the floor as he made his way to the bedroom where he took off his t-shirt and exchanged it for a clean one. This was his normal routine. After dinner—if things went well—he’d have another beer or two, settle in and either watch the football game or another show on television, then fall asleep in the chair (that depended on what he was watching and how much he’d had to drink) or shower and go to bed. Also depending upon what he watched and how much he drank, we might have sex, although that happened less and less as the years went by...and I was okay with that too.

This evening would break the routine, though, and I could only hope his mood was decent. This too was dependent upon other factors, namely his day. If his day hadn’t gone well, things could be very, very bad...so I hoped that his day had been good. “My, my, darlin’. You have outdone yourself today.” He sat at the table, not grabbing a beer out of the fridge when he saw the glass of wine on his side of the table. “What did I do to deserve this?” I smiled and picked up his plate so I could load it up with goodies fast. There was already a bowl of salad on the table and a few bottles of dressing so he could choose whatever he liked and get started on it now. There were also

rolls in a bowl, and he grabbed one, slathering softened butter on it while I got the rest of the food together. “You always deserve the best,” I said, not really paying attention to my words as I pulled the cast iron skillet out of the oven. It had been keeping both flesh and starchy vegetable warm while awaiting my husband’s arrival, and I used a spatula to pick up his steak before sliding the thick slab of meat on the white plate. Many a time I’d been tempted to stab the meat with a fork to pick it up, but I’d done that once and gotten a swollen cheek out of it. That wouldn’t happen again. Never stab the meat, he’d said. It will let all the juice out. Then I fetched a potato out of the

oven with a mitt and set it on the plate, cutting a crisscross in it and then pushing the sides in so it fluffed up a bit, ready for him to top with butter and sour cream. I brought his plate to the table, setting it in front of him. Before I could turn back to the stove to get my food, he wrapped his hand around my wrist. “What are you butterin’ me up for?” He was no dummy, much as I wished he was. I needed to fess up and quick. Just get the shit over with, hope he wasn’t in too foul a mood, take my licks, and go to bed. Any damage he caused should be over by the time the drug test returned positive results and I could go to work. Or, if he was careful like he

often tried to be, my bruises would be confined to areas not normally seen by ordinary people. “Oh, well...I just—” The words caught in my throat as I placed a second smaller steak on my plate before getting another baked potato out of the oven. “I’ve been putting in some applications, and Harriman’s called me.” There was a pause and I felt my throat constrict, the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and my stomach clench. I readied myself for whatever might come, but I knew that if I heard the chair scoot away from the table, I’d want to move away from the hot stove. Cuts and bruises hurt enough without burns piled on. The pause felt like

forever, but he finally said, “Harriman’s Drug Store? On Main Street?” I swallowed past the monstrous lump in my throat, but I felt my breath finally release. “Yeah. I, uh—” “That might be kinda nice, you bringin’ in a little money. Just in time for Christmas, darlin’.” Wow. That had been easy. Too easy. Reactions like that always made me wonder when the other shoe was going to drop. *** Less than a week later, Mr. Thorne was walking me through Harriman’s. Old man Harriman was no longer the

pharmacist, he explained, having retired several years earlier, but there were two pharmacists now on staff as well as several pharmacy technicians so they could keep up with the corporate drug stores coming to town. I would be a second cashier. There was also one stocker, because we weren’t just a pharmacy. We sold over-the-counter medicine as well, cosmetics, and a few basic household supplies like paper plates and laundry soap. There were also delivery drivers, which was probably the main thing that kept this pharmacy in business over the corporate big boys, because Harriman’s wasn’t open late, crazy hours like the other ones, but the big ones wouldn’t dream of

delivering medicine when the townsfolk lined up for their better mousetrap. Carol, the older cashier who was training me, explained that she was decreasing her hours as she got closer to retirement, which was the main reason why there’d been an opening. “Once people start here, they stay. Harriman’s is a great place to work.” And I believed her. I hadn’t been there but ten minutes and already felt welcome. After half an hour, I saw him. He was a handsome man about my age with dark hair and a solid frame, and he was stocking one of the shelves near the back. When he saw me, he smiled and walked up to the cash registers. “You must be Stephanie,” he said. I smiled,

feeling very shy, because it had been a long time since I’d spoken to a man other than my husband. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, I went to the doctor from time to time and I’d had people help me when I shopped. Not all of them were female. But it had been quite some time before a man’s eyes had twinkled at me the way this man’s did— and I wasn’t sure how to react. Before my mouth could form a reply, he put out his hand and said, “Arturo.” I nodded then, my smile growing wider. “A pleasure to meet you.” When I found my voice, I replied, “Likewise.” “You need anything, you ask me. I’m always just a few steps away.” He

nodded and then turned away, walking back down the aisle to give his shelf more attention. I felt immediately drawn to him, and I didn’t know why. If Vince knew that I’d so much as looked at another man, my life—and the man’s—were in danger. So I tried to pretend like my cheeks weren’t pink when Carol said, “Arturo’s been here about five years. Really nice guy.” A customer came to the register and she rang him up, took his money, gave him change, and then turned to me. She had long since stopped training me, instead intent upon chattering. “Arturo lost his wife several years ago and has been raising his sons on his own. Such a sad story.” I nodded

but didn’t have anything to contribute. Arturo’s life was none of my business. But he kept looking up and smiling at me all day long. I knew that might be a problem, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. *** Four days later, I was working the front register on my own and doing just fine. On the domestic front, I’d gotten pretty good at making slow cooker meals on days when I’d be home later—things like the beef stew Vince liked so much, and he said he’d give a little (meaning he’d either wait a little later to eat dinner or serve himself out of the slow

cooker), but no microwave meals. That was okay. I was learning to be innovative, and it didn’t hurt that there was a small section of magazines at Harriman’s and, when it was busy, I peeked at the women’s ones for meal inspiration. I hadn’t been there a week and I was already catching myself looking at Arturo when A) he walked past me or worked in my vicinity and B) I wasn’t waiting on customers and I was sure I wouldn’t get caught. I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing, but he had intrigued me with his quick smile and warm brown eyes. I’d had it so shitty for so long, I’d almost forgotten hope.

But Arturo reminded me of that. One day, I was stealing glances at him while he was helping a vendor with a delivery. I learned quickly that we usually took deliveries through the back (and our delivery drivers used that door as well), but the side road was being repaired and so the alley had been blocked off for several days. All deliveries were going in and out the front door. And the vendor was having a hard time, because he had to park in the middle of Main Street. The middle lane was a turning lane, yes, but he was having to walk his dolly back and forth through traffic. Arturo, ever the nice guy, told the vendor he could stack the boxes just inside the store out of the

way, and he’d take them the rest of the way back to the storeroom. “You sure?” “Yeah, I got it.” “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” “It’s my pleasure.” Less than half an hour later, Arturo was signing off on the delivery and fetching his own dolly out of the back. I was helping customers, but soon I saw him lifting one box after another onto the dolly. Heavy boxes. Boxes that made his biceps and veins bulge and his chest swell under the short-sleeve white shirts we had to wear. I could see the definition, though,

and it made me think of things I hadn’t pondered since my youth. And that night, as my husband took me roughly as he often liked to do, I thought of Arturo. *** Halloween came and went, and—on the first day of November—all unsold candy from that holiday went on sale. Half price. Carol told me that Mr. Thorne always scanned it all and did a price change so it would ring up correctly on the register...but it didn’t always work that way. Sometimes we’d have to do an override.

Well, I wasn’t very good at that, nor was I good at catching if a price was incorrect. I hadn’t even been there two months and I was still learning the ropes. The job often made me feel incompetent and I’d question myself, wondering why I wasn’t catching on faster. A tall man with watery blue eyes and white hair (yes, white hair, but I could tell by his face that he wasn’t much older than I—maybe ten years older, but not more than that) had a basket full of merchandise. I’d seen him once before, a week earlier when he’d gotten a prescription. He’d checked out the candy but hadn’t purchased any of it. Today, though, he had enough Halloween

candy to invite half the town’s kids for a second chance at trick-or-treat. As I rang up his merchandise, I saw that he also had a phone charger that was on clearance and discounted toothpaste. But he had so much stuff, I didn’t pay attention to all the prices that popped up on the register. When I finished and told him the total, he started to swipe his credit card and then paused. “Wait a minute. I thought that candy was on sale.” “Oh, it is,” I said. He scowled. “I don’t think you charged me the right amounts.” I turned my screen so he could see and began scrolling the screen up so we could examine all his purchases. “Well, that’s

not right. It’s supposed to be fifty percent off, right?” “Yes,” I said, noticing how dry my mouth had grown. “That’s not fifty percent. You’re ripping me off.” “I’m sorry, sir. It was a mistake.” I touched the screen and slowly did the override like Carol had shown me before, changing it. Before I was even done, the man said, “Just a second. I thought that toothpaste was two dollars.” “Um, I’m not sure.” “You need to fix it.” “If you want to show me where it is —”

“Yes, come with me.” As we walked down the aisle to where the toothpaste was, he muttered under his breath. “They obviously need to hire smarter people. I was just at an office supply store, and they had nothing but idiots there either.” I felt my cheeks grow hot, but I hadn’t sassed anyone in a long time—not only that, but the last time I’d worked in a restaurant in my early twenties, I’d been taught that the customer was always right. That meant that you didn’t say squat, no matter how wrong the jerks really were. When we got to the toothpaste, he pointed at the sign. “See? It says two dollars.”

Yes, the sign did say that. Fortunately, I had his box of toothpaste in my hands. “But that’s not the toothpaste you brought to the register.” They were the same brand but different sizes. The tube I held in my hand was three dollars and ninety-four cents, just like the sign said. “Well, why was it there? That’s deceptive.” Arturo came to my rescue. I had no idea he was behind us until he said, “Yeah, lots of idiot customers throw merchandise back wherever they feel like it—or maybe it’s because they’re too lazy to put it back where it really goes. But maybe you need to stop

harassing the poor lady who’s just trying to make it right.” The tall white-haired man’s face seemed to grow tighter but he showed no signs of cracking. “It’s not my fault that you have idiot customers. You should give me that price.” “It’s not our fault you can’t read and see that what she’s holding isn’t what’s on sale.” Mr. Thorne walked down the aisle then, and I didn’t know if he was coming over because he had work to do in the area or if he’d seen us and somehow sensed trouble brewing. “Can I help you?” he asked the tall customer. After much discussion, Mr. Thorne told me to give the jerk the toothpaste for

the two dollars, but he also cautioned the guy that he’d never do that again—it was a one-time courtesy. When the guy tried to complain about Harriman’s “impudent” staff, Mr. Thorne apologized without looking at me. He walked over to the register and made the price changes himself before sending the customer on his way. Very politely, he said to me, “That man tends to be a difficult customer. If he gives you problems again, call me, and I’ll deal with him.” And then Mr. Thorne went back to work in the rear of the store, behind the pharmacy area. Arturo? He just smiled and winked at me. Before going back to what he’d been doing earlier, he said, “Don’t let

the assholes ruin your day.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “They’re only good for one thing—and they stink.” I was giggling as he walked away. This guy was turning out to be my hero. *** Vince showed up at work one day. He was grouchy. See, he would go months being nice as could be—calm, kind, sweet—and it reminded me of how he’d been when we first got together. I remembered that he used to seem so handsome, so sexy, but I hadn’t felt that way about him in a long time. Being treated like crap by the man you love will have that effect on you.

I don’t know how long we’d been together before he’d shown me his Mr. Hyde side, and it got more violent and the times grew closer together as time went by—although I’d learned a few techniques that would put it off longer, prolonging the calm times. I lived for those moments. He told me I needed to come home now, not later. I knew right then and there that if I didn’t leave right then, my punishment would be worse, but if I left before my shift was over, I might lose my job, and it had been the best thing for me in a long time. I was feeling a little more confident of myself, like I used to before Vince. I felt more in control of

myself and my decisions, and I didn’t want to give that up. And then there were the friends I’d made, not the least of whom was Arturo. I took care of a customer while Vince stewed, and then, after the sweet old lady left, I said quietly, “Vince, I can’t go. My shift isn’t over for two more hours.” “You think I give a fuck?” I knew I was going to get the beating of my life out of it, but I stood my ground anyway. “I’m not leaving, Vince.” I swallowed. “I’ll be home when my shift is over.” What the hell had set him off in the first place? I’d likely never know. Arturo, the man who was fast becoming my constant savior, walked

up, sensing a problem. He no doubt thought I had another difficult customer. “Something I can help with?” I forced a smile and said, “Um, this is my husband, Vince. Vince, this is Arturo.” Vince grunted and stuck out his hand, and another customer approached. The two men wound up talking over to the side, and I hoped to heaven Arturo managed to smooth my husband’s ruffled feathers. When Arturo went to the back again, I said to Vince, “The slow cooker’s going. Go ahead and eat without me. I’ll be home later.” I saw his jaw clench before he said, “I’m tired of eating like this, woman.”

“It’s hot, Vince. You can’t ask for more than that.” “Easy for you to say.” He didn’t utter another word—not a threat to come home, not a promise of pain. He just walked out the door and the bell chimed as he stepped onto the sidewalk. A while later, Arturo came back up front. Surely, he’d known I was married. I’d been wearing my wedding ring, so it wasn’t a big secret. “How long have you been married?” he asked. “Thirteen years,” I said. Vince and I had been together longer, but the actual marriage thus far had lasted thirteen years—and it had felt like a lifetime. “I was married for three years before my wife left me.”

“I’m sorry.” “I’m not. She was a junkie and I didn’t need her around our boys anymore.” I nodded. “Something shitty in your life, you cut it out, you know?” I nodded, but one thing was certain —I did not know how. *** There was no hiding the bruises on the underside of my arm. It was January, so I was able to wear a sweater when I worked at the register and the door constantly opened and closed, letting cold air in, but the rest of the store was too warm for additional layers. A few days later, I was taking fifteen minutes in

the break room—always warmer than the entire remainder of the store—and I took my sweater off. Mr. Thorne was covering the register while I rested my feet, and Arturo came in, grabbing a bottled water out of the fridge. “How’s it going?” he asked, sitting down next to me. “Fine,” I offered, looking up from the book I was reading. “Holy shit. What happened?” he asked, touching my arm where the bruises were turning an ugly yellow over the puce shade. I gasped. First, it was the first time I remembered Arturo ever touching me and, in spite of the beating I’d taken a few nights before, I didn’t mind the risk.

But, second, I was afraid of having to explain the bruises that were oddly finger-shaped. I pursed my lips together before responding. “Oh, it’s nothing.” “Baloney,” he said, sitting up. He hadn’t stopped touching my arm, and his eyes—they were so kind and thoughtful...until they looked angry. “Did your husband do this to you?” His voice was quiet but there was no mistaking his fury. “A man should never do this to a woman.” It was touching, and I couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted to defend me, had wanted to do a kindness for me. I felt my eyes fill with water, but I knew that if Arturo tried to do anything, Vince would unleash the

same type of violence on him, my new friend, and I wouldn’t have it. He had children he needed to be healthy for, and he would only be confronting my husband because of me. He and Vince likely never would have crossed paths if not for me, and I wasn’t going to have Arturo risk himself on my account. I’d gotten myself in this mess. “I never said it was him.” Arturo frowned and I saw his eyes questioning mine. I wanted to try something more difficult to say—I even wanted to tell him a lie so he’d back off, but I couldn’t find any other words. “But—” Mr. Thorne walked in then, asking Arturo if he could help him move some

shelving, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought. Two weeks later, Vince was found lying on the ground outside his work, unconscious and close to death. I stood by his side while he was in the hospital and recovering, but when he was ready to get out, I told him goodbye. He threatened me, begged me, made promises and intimidated me, but I held my ground. I’d already moved my things out and filed for divorce. I’d also spoken with the women’s shelter and told Vince I’d file a restraining order if he didn’t leave me alone. Being on my own, I had rent and bills to pay, and as much as I loved working at Harriman’s Drug Store, I

knew I needed something that paid more. I applied around town, got a job at one of the big supermarkets, starting pay a dollar more an hour, and gave Mr. Thorne my two weeks’ notice. Arturo was on vacation when I’d done that, but when he came back, I told him that day was my last day with Harriman’s. When I got ready to leave, I walked around the store, telling all my new friends goodbye, giving each one my heartfelt thanks for all they’d done for me. They didn’t know it, but they’d all had a hand in my new life. I felt like I owed them all a little piece of me. The man I owed the most too, though, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to repay,

and I didn’t know that we’d ever talk about it. “Arturo, I’ll miss you,” I said. His dark brown eyes searched mine, but I couldn’t read what he was trying to tell me. Instead of saying anything back, he pulled me into an embrace. I hugged him back, feeling lost and overwhelmed, because I didn’t know the last time anyone had held me with such love and passion. I began to pull away but he continued holding me close, and I let myself relax. He said so much through that embrace without uttering a word, and when he let me go, he merely smiled before adding, “It’s been my pleasure.” ***

By summertime, I had moved up from bagging groceries and running a cash register to stocking in the produce department. Every day felt like an adventure, and I was relishing life, wondering why I’d ever allowed myself to become a victim for so long. My daughter was going to visit me the following week, driving out on her own. I was worried about her making the trip but looking forward to seeing her. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, and I knew she had blossomed into a lovely young lady. One day, we’d had a mishap in produce, someone spilling a soda, and I was mopping it up, knowing I was late taking my break. I enjoyed the job so

much, though, that I didn’t care much about those times to myself, but my new employer was a stickler. So I hurried, wheeling the mop bucket back to the cleaning room, and then strode back to produce so I could tell my supervisor I was finally going on break. But as I began walking through the meat department on my way to produce, I saw Arturo standing near the tomato table. That smile, those eyes. Ah, how I had missed them. I felt my heart swell as I said, “Hi.” “Stephanie.” I got closer. “How are you?” “The more important question is how are you?”

“Just a second.” I held up a finger and darted over to my supervisor, letting her know I was going to take my fifteen minutes. I came back to Arturo and he seemed to sense my every move as he walked next to me through the store. We made our way out the front door and I said, “You know, I think I’m doing great.” “We miss you at Harriman’s,” he said as we stepped outside into the unbearable heat. “I miss it there too, but I like this job. The money’s great.” “Good. They treating you well?” “Yes. How are things at Harriman’s?”

“Same as always.” We walked around the corner, and I invited him to sit on the bench next to me. It was shady and I felt a breeze blow through that little area. I was glad there weren’t other employees out there at the moment, because I hadn’t seen this man in so long, I wanted to enjoy him for just a few minutes—while he was just mine. “I guess I shouldn’t say they’re the same. They haven’t been the same since you left.” I smiled. “I wasn’t there that long, Arturo. I was just a blip on the radar.” He shook his head. “No. You really weren’t. You...” I looked at him, trying to decipher his meaning but coming up short. I too

attempted to say something but the words were gone. As we most often did, our communication came through our eyes instead of our mouths. He touched my cheek with his hand and said, “If I could erase all the bad things that happened in your life, I would. If I could give you a fairytale kingdom, I would do it in a second.” I inhaled and blinked. “But if you did, I might not know that I was looking at a prince right now. There are no rainbows without storms.” Those eyes of his told me all I needed to know. I thought at first that he wasn’t going to say another word but he finally said, “It would be my pleasure to ask you out on a date.”

A date? Would I even know how to act on one nowadays? I smiled, knowing that with Arturo, it wouldn’t matter. If I took his offer and hand, I could have a chance at a new forever. So I did.

About Jade C. Jamison

Jade C. Jamison is better known for steamier stories than the sweet one you read in this anthology. For years, she tried really hard to write what she thought was more “literary” fiction, but she found herself compelled to write what she’s best known for today—

sometimes gritty, raw, realistic stories and other times humorous, light tales. Most of the stories she writes revolve around relationships and characters finding their way through life. While she doesn’t confine herself to just one genre, nor is there a nice neat label for what she writes, most of her work could be called erotic romance. Her main writing passions include rock star romance, romantic comedy, and romantic suspense. She lives in Colorado with her husband and four children.

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Filthy Rich – Blackstone Dynasty I by Raine Miller

Copyright © 2016 Montlake Romance Included herein with permission from Amazon Publishing

PROLOGUE ~CALEB~

My father always said I would know when the right woman came along. He was such a wise man. When it happened I didn’t even question it because the process was so effortless. I just fell into her...because my heart knew her right away. Knew she was the one for me. I’d known her for years actually. She came to Blackstone Island to live with her grandmother after her parents were killed in a car crash. A devastated fifteen-year-old trying to adapt to a new life in a new place, trying to find where

she fit into such a strange world from where she’d come—a forty-square-mile resort island off the Massachusetts coast where her grandmother ran the household at Blackwater, the family ancestral home. Should have known of her, that is. Our paths didn’t cross that I am aware of, but it’s possible. I rarely visited the island in those days because I was a twenty-three-year-old junior executive fresh out of Harvard Business School learning everything I could about the family business. I traveled the world, enjoying the excitement of international boardroom deals by day, and socializing at off-hours business affairs by night. I worked hard at both.

Affairs, liaisons, one-night stands, had all come and gone without a backward glance. Nameless faces and unremarkable encounters filled my nights whenever I wanted them to. The hopping nightlife of the big cities with even bigger players vying for a piece of the pie became my normal. I embraced every aspect that came with the lifestyle. Wealth, sexual favors, a certain celebrity born out of my name, all collected with barely any effort. For the next eight years I had the world in the palm of my hand as I went about amassing a personal fortune in addition to increasing the family coffers. Or so I thought.

I didn’t yet know what was missing from my life. . Until her. And then, when I realized exactly who she was, and how fate had gotten the last laugh on me, it was already far too late. She’d bewitched me utterly. And furthermore, I knew she had no idea who I was or what ties connected us. Maybe that’s what made her so intoxicating? I didn’t know and I didn’t care because it made absolutely no difference to me. I wanted her with a primal desire I could barely understand, yet I embraced that desire wholeheartedly because I was incapable of doing anything else with it. How could I not? She had enchanted me.

However, once my brain managed to catch up it wasn’t quite so effortless to accept this new and unfamiliar reality of feeling something for a woman beyond the unquestioning curiosity of when and if we might fuck. I struggled against the idea of her at first for a few reasons. She was too young. My mother would never approve of us together. Others in my world would probably chew her up and spit her out, destroying her sweetness. But I soon found out my heart didn’t give a flying fuck about any of those reasons. The heart wants what it wants and I’d discovered that for my heart, “want” was all wrapped up in the package that was Brooke Ellen Casterley.

The death of my father from the evils of cancer was an eye-opener for my siblings and me. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t stop the Grim Reaper from calling on you if it’s your time to go. Death was called the great equalizer. And it truly was. Wealth was a trivial thing when it’s only extra fuckin’ zeros on a balance sheet that makes any difference between lives lived. Doesn’t matter if you are rich or poor when you die, because none of it counts at the end. You leave this life the same way you come into it. You go out alone and take nothing. “There has to be more to life than making money, son,” he told me at the end. He took hold of my hand and squeezed as hard as his frail

strength could manage so as to make me understand the importance. He had regrets and wanted to share with me what he’d learned to prevent me from making the same mistakes. I understood him clearly. The most essential value my father tried to teach me alongside with my brothers and sisters was the idea of family. Family took precedence over money. “Take care of the family first and the wealth will grow, Caleb,” he said. A strong family moving forward was the only thing that truly meant anything at the end of the day. The Blackstones had been here on the island since the days when The

Mayflower made its treacherous journey to the untamed American shores. As the eldest son it was my duty to make sure the Blackstones would still be here a hundred years from now. My plan to fulfill my duty included her. It wouldn’t work any other way for me. I knew it the first time I ever felt the heat of her eyes as they burned me from across the room. I knew it down in my bones. I was going to marry that lovely, beautiful girl from England and she would be mine. ONE ~CALEB~

September Boston

I rolled off her and knew it was the last time we would ever fuck. No use in trying to fake it and pretend there would be a next time. Janice and I were done even if she didn’t know it yet. Sex happened when I needed some, and for the rest of the time, it was work, work, and more work. I’d been busy anyway, traveling all over the world since I’d taken over the reins at Blackstone Global Enterprises eighteen months ago when my father became too ill to continue.

Janice purred up against my neck and rubbed her tits into the side of my chest. I fought the urge to push her away but stripped off the condom instead. In the beginning we both seemed to be on the same page with expectations that our connection didn’t really extend beyond the bedroom. She was a successful model in the fashion industry and traveled as much or more than I did, so I hadn’t felt her to be clingy before. If she had been then there never would have been a “thing” at all between us, because I knew all about women who cling. The line of females looking for a rich man to make all their dreams come true was as long as it was easy to spot, and I’d fielded so many attempts over the years I

was an expert at avoidance. But now I sensed Janice wanted so much more from me than I was able to give her, and I dreaded the confrontation that was coming. Some sort of commitment to the future was never going to happen, and it annoyed me she still pushed. I thought I’d been clear when we started out. She’d come to my father’s funeral six months ago with her family, and in my grief I’d turned to her offer of comfort, even though I’d said I probably couldn’t give her more than an infrequent night at a time. After a few weeks of regular sex I’d suggested we be exclusive, which was completely new territory for me. Not having to play the

field in order to get laid was convenient, and we came from the same world, having grown up privileged in the Boston area, attending the same private schools, vacationing at our beachfront homes on the island. Being with someone who understood the ins and outs of New England society just made for an easier time of it, so I decided to give the girlfriend thing a shot with her. We both had to be in Boston at the same time in order to be together anyway, and that wasn’t always easy. As much as I’d made the effort to work toward what I believed to be my first real relationship, in the hopes maybe I’d feel something for Janice, it was time to face up to the fact there was nothing deeper than an

orgasm or two going on between us and there never had been. My mother would be devastated when she found out. Probably even more than Janice would be. Our families were close and I accepted that it would be awkward between her people and mine once our break-up was announced. Note to self: Don’t fuck friends of the family in the future. And there was also the suspicion Janice was cheating on me. The fact that I wasn’t bothered too much was telling in itself, but she was the only woman I’d been with for the last six months. If we couldn’t even be honest with each other about who we were fucking, then it was

hopeless for us anyway. Not contracting genital herpes would be an additional plus. I wished I could lay that bomb on my mother when she started in with the guilt trip over our demise as a couple. But it wouldn’t do for Madelaine Blackstone to hear the word “fuck” or any variation of it in a conversation with her son. Ever. What a pity that was. I’d love to see the horrified look on her face— “What are you smiling about?” Janice asked, her hand sliding down my stomach on a direct path to my cock. “Was I?” I stopped her hand from gripping me at the last second and disentangled myself from her body. I

rested my forehead in my hands as I sat up on the side of the bed. “Yeah, Caleb, you were.” She sounded annoyed. “What’s the matter with you anyway? Why don’t you want to go again?” She draped herself over my back and shimmied the whole naked length of her body into mine while I tried not to shudder. “You know once is never enough for me,” she said with a very noticeable touch of desperation thrown in to hopefully change my mind. You’re a motherfucking idiot for ever getting involved with her. Learn from this, moron. Learn! I was pretty sure Janice was a nymphomaniac, and while it had been a bonus in the beginning for a guy who

needed to have his brains fucked out to bear the loss of a beloved parent—now not so much. I reached for my pants and dragged them on, desperate to put a barrier between my cock and her as quickly as possible. I really needed a shower, but my conscience couldn’t go another five minutes without dealing with delivering the news we were finished—fucking—forever. The three f’s that became an eventual reality for every woman I’d ever been with. I knew it made me an asshole for having sex with her first. I shouldn’t have and I wasn’t proud of it, but to be fair, Janice initiated the sex tonight, starting with the elevator ride up to my

apartment. She would have happily blown me on security camera if I hadn’t insisted we wait. Public fucking was her thing, not mine. Tonight I’d needed her on my arm for a charity dinner because at five grand a plate it was downright cheap if you went solo. Ten thousand dollars to cancer research was a lot better than five for the charity. I wouldn’t have minded writing a check for ten times that amount and skipping the dinner altogether, but that would be a socially retarded thing to do. Benefitting cancer research in my father’s name was something I would support generously for as long as I lived. My check would always have the extra zero at the end of it anyway.

“So you’re really all done for the night.” I could hear the disdain in her voice. “Caleb, I’m leaving for Hong Kong in the morning. It’ll be at least a week before we can be together again.” Try never. I sighed and turned to face her. “Janice, we need to talk.” Thirty minutes later I was minus my first “girlfriend” and in possession of a very noticeable shiner. For a hundredpound woman, Janice could throw down. It helped that she took me by surprise and I never saw it coming. It would also be fair to say she was unhappy about our break-up. I checked the bruise on my left cheekbone and the accompanying black

eye in the entryway mirror. It would look so much worse in the morning. Going into the office would be fun tomorrow. When I asked for her key to my apartment be returned, the crazy bitch had punched me right in the face. With her motherfucking shoe. The crying came a minute later, accompanied by hysterical accusations of me leading her along to think we were heading towards marriage and a future together. I knew exactly where that idea had come from the second she screamed it at me in a rage. Fucking crazy talk. I told her there was only one Mrs. Blackstone alive in my family, and that was my recently widowed mother, the person responsible

for planting such a ridiculous notion into her head. She’d told me to fuck off before storming out my door, calling me every name in the book as she catwalked her way toward the elevators. The neighbors would’ve had to have been dead in order to miss her not-sosubtle show. God. My phone buzzed and I was afraid to look to see who was messaging me. I wasn’t up for discussing Janice with Mom right now, or anytime for that matter. James. I guessed what he would say before I even started reading because he only lived two floors down from me. She hadn’t had far to travel.

J: Hey man Jan is here crying u broke up w/her. That true? I shook my head as my fingers flew. C: Yeah. J: So...u don’t care she’s here? The poor bastard was playing with deadly fire. Like soak a huge pile of dry leaves with gasoline and blast it with a blowtorch. C: Nope. Thx for checking w/me first but we are over. J: Ok man. Christ, James was gonna go there with Janice. C: Hey James? J: Yeah. C: Be careful. Don’t die tonight. Jan is a goddamn nympho if u didn’t

know already. J: Yeah I got that impression when she showed up here and said she wanted 2 suck my cock. I won’t die u fool. Talk laterC: Safe sex, James and wrap that shit up tight. J: Yep. C: Suggest u only go one night. She’s a clinger. J: I went to get a Sam Adams out of the fridge. What a cluster of a night. Did it make me a horrible person to be worrying more about what was happening to my friend than my exgirlfriend right now? James Blakney was in for a night of crazy sex with an

even crazier Janice. I couldn’t help but feel grateful for dodging an immediate bullet with her, but knew this shit couldn’t possibly end well for me, or for James. But I had to remind myself he was a big boy and he had been warned. He’d find out exactly what Janice was like soon enough. I needed to put in an order to have my locks changed. I quickly sent a text to my PA Victoria to set that up. She’d take care of it tomorrow. A shower was calling my name. Burning hot with lots of Dial soap—the hardcore yellow stuff that just about took your skin away with the dirt. I flipped on the light to my bathroom and flinched at the sight of what greeted

me. “Jesus. Christ.” Janice had been upstairs trashing my bathroom while I thought she was getting dressed to leave. FUCKING BASTARD was scrawled on the mirror in her red lipstick. She’d smeared shampoo, toothpaste, and God knows what else, everywhere from the walls to the countertops to the floor. Towels had been shoved into the toilet. The contents of the drawers had been dumped out and thrown around. Utter mayhem and destruction. I checked the cupboards but the stuff there appeared untouched, somehow miraculously escaping The Wrath of Janice. I was almost expecting a severed horse head or a dead bunny

rabbit to be behind the doors when I opened them to check. The whole thing was straight out of Fatal Attraction and creepy as fuck. I shut off the light and headed for the guest room to take my shower, draining my beer as I went. I felt sorry for Ann having to clean it all up tomorrow, but the mess was too much for me to deal with right now. I’d be sure to thank Ann with a paid extra day off during the week for her trouble. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Oh goody, a picture. From Janice. Of her sucking on James’s cock no less. She even added a message to go along with it. You will be so sorry you ever fucked with me Caleb Blackstone.

I was already sorry. And Janice was seriously unhinged. I did three things before powering off my phone for the night. Deleted the photo. Blocked Janice’s number. Texted James to tell him she was posting pics of his dick in her mouth. His father, a judge for the First Circuit Court of Appeals, wouldn’t be too keen about it should the picture get leaked. Well, four things. I went back for another beer and downed it before going to the guest room for my long overdue shower. As the too-hot water poured over my skin I made a promise to myself to stay away from women for a while. Dating certainly wasn’t doing me much good and I’d had it with all of the crazy

females who only wanted to use me for open access to my money, or trap me into marrying them. Where were the normal women of the world? Were they only a myth? I remembered something Dad had said to me before he’d died. “When you find whatever it is that makes you happy, Caleb, hold on to it with everything you’ve got. Your heart will let you know.” I wanted to believe what Dad had told me was true, but the fact of the matter was my heart hadn’t told me a thing in a very long time.

TWO ~BROOKE~

Blackstone Island, Massachusetts

Living on an island had its perks, but the hour-long commute on the ferry into Boston wasn’t one of them. There were other reasons for being here though. Good reasons, I reminded myself as I pulled my coat a little tighter against the autumn chill breezing over the water. My nan needed me now and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for the woman who’d taken me in at fifteen after Mum and Dad were killed. I don’t

really remember a great deal about when I first came to live on the island with Nan. I must have blocked it out due to the terrible shock over what had happened to my parents, and being so suddenly uprooted. The high-end touristy retreat called Blackstone Island couldn’t be more dissimilar from the place I’d previously called home. From the suburbs of London to a swath of colonial America separated from the mainland by Massachusetts Bay. Well, at least the language was the same. Sort of. “Oh, you have an accent.” No, you’re the ones with the accent. “You’re from Australia, right?” Wrong hemisphere.

“Hey Brooke, say something in your English accent for me.” Something. I had heard every joke and had been asked nearly every question imaginable, but it didn’t bother me. Not really. I knew people were merely curious about how I’d come to be here and tried to be friendly. In time I came out of my shock. I went on to finish what they called high school here on the island, and then later attended university at Suffolk where I earned my degree in interior design. I didn’t realize it then but those were the happy times. Then I met someone and made a terrible mistake, and had to leave Nan on the island while I lived far away in

Los Angeles. I suffered through my terrible mistake for a year and a half until the day came that I didn’t have to endure the suffering anymore. Not physically at least. The sorrow was still with me and probably always would be, but I was determined to keep moving forward in a positive way. And I’d made a promise to myself not to let the bad parts of my past hurt me anymore. It was a goal and I planned to stick to it. Five months ago I left L.A. and came back to Boston, and then went about the process of getting my life back. Nan was still in her darling cottage on Blackstone Island where she had come to live all the way from England as a young bride. Many a time I’ve heard the

locals tell the story about how my grandfather had brought home an “English girl” for a wife, as if she’d come from an alien planet. Nan and I had our citizenship in common—both British born but called America our home. I’d lived in the U.S. for so long now it was home in my mind. “Penny for your thoughts, young lady.” I turned toward twinkling blue eyes that regarded me kindly and smiled. Herman was a dedicated flirt. Since he had to be pushing seventy, and also the mayor of Blackstone Island I gave him a pass. He was rumored to own most of the property on the island and to be

worth millions. You’d never know it though. He lived what appeared to be a modest life in a very small house, with a really big ocean-front view—probably what constituted the millions he purportedly had—and was one of the most cheerful people I’d ever met in my life. He always greeted me warmly and asked about Nan. I’d wondered if he might be a little in love with my nan, actually. “Good morning, Mayor. What has you heading off island today?” I asked, suddenly curious. I’d never seen him on the morning ferry to Boston before. “County council quarterly meeting in the city.” He looked out at the view of the shoreline and seemed pensive as he

studied it. “One of the few reasons left to get me to leave, otherwise I wouldn’t.” “Ahh, well I don’t blame you a bit. I’d choose the island over Boston any day.” “Why don’t you then?” he asked quickly. “Herman, you are the mayor so I know you are fully aware there is no thriving interior design business on Blackstone Island for which I might be employed.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully before replying, “I’ll have to work on that one then, but you never answered my question.” “What?”

“I offered you a penny for your thoughts, but I guess you’ve raised your rates.” He pretended to sulk. The man could still flirt like a champion and his handsome features hadn’t been erased by the years, either. He must have been quite a specimen in his younger days breaking hearts all over the place. I’d have to ask Nan about his past sometime. “For you, no charge.” I nodded toward the trees rising majestically along the rock cliff and the rocky beach below as the ferry moved around the horn of the island toward the open bay. “I was thinking about how happy I am to be back here. I do love that view so much.”

He admired the scene along with me for a minute. “Glad to have you back, too. I know your grandma is thrilled.” Was that a flicker of something I just saw pass through his deep-blue eyes? I waited for it. “By the way, how is your grandma doing since her surgery?” As dependable as clockwork, dear Herman Blackstone was when it came to my nan. “Thank you for asking. She is recovering well, but between you and me, I don’t think she was ready to retire from Blackwater when they closed the house. She loved her job, and now I think she’s a bit bored.” There were other things I left unsaid because I didn’t want to offend Herman in any way. It

was his family who’d employed my grandmother for more than three decades, before abandoning the property two years ago. Nan had been the housekeeper at the Blackwater estate for thirty-five years when it was boarded up for good and now sat empty along the western cliffs of the island. The family didn’t come here anymore. I’d heard it was only the father who loved it so much, but after he became ill they didn’t return again. “A lot changed while you were away.” “As things do,” I replied softly, sensing his sadness but not wanting to pry.

“Yes indeed, but that doesn’t mean there’s no room to improve the situation,” he said, “and remember where you’ve come from.” Clearly he was unhappy with his family giving up on the island. I put my hand on his arm. “I am so sorry for your loss, Herman. Nan told me about your brother’s passing.” I’d heard Mr. John-William Blackstone had died of cancer not long before I returned five months ago. “I only met him one time when Nan first took me in, but he was always a very good employer to her and she thought the world of the family.” That was mostly true. Nan never said a word against her, but I don’t think she held Mrs. Blackstone in the same esteem

as her husband, and she’d stopped coming to the island for holidays years ago, once her children were grown. I guess not everyone could love the rich beauty of the island in the same way. He turned his wise eyes on me and covered my hand with his. “I’m sorry for your loss as well, Brooke. Your grandma told me when it happened. She was worried sick about you, and she needed—well, I think she needed to talk to somebody about it at the time or she would have lost her mind.” Kindness can induce an outpouring of emotions I had found. This wasn’t the first time it had happened to me, either. My friend Zoe’s heartfelt condolences had done the same thing when we first

met up after I returned. Same with Eduardo. When someone showed they cared about you, and expressed it in a kind way, that very kindness held the power to bring all of those experiences and hopes and dreams of memories rushing right back up to the surface again like it had happened yesterday. Even when I believed I’d buried it deep, my hurt was really just hovering at the surface, barely covered by the thinnest of sheets ready to blow away in the breeze. My eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. I gave in and let them fall. Sometimes I was weak and couldn’t help remembering what I’d lost...and I cried.

“Oh hell, I’ve upset you—I’m so very sorry, Brooke,” he sputtered. I could tell Herman was absolutely horrified by my outburst, the poor man. I heard it in his voice. Awesome! I’d freaked out a sweet old man, and the day was barely underway. I’d bet money he’d go straight to my nan and tell her about it the minute he returned from his meeting in the city. Then she would be worried. And she didn’t need to be worrying about me right now as she healed from her knee replacement. I was fine. And nothing would change the past no matter what people said or didn’t say to me. The whole experience of grief was rather an unending cycle,

and so damn exhausting, I just wanted off the ride at this point. I shook my head and stared down at the decking below my feet. “It’s okay, please. This happens to me sometimes and I—do this—” I used my knuckle to brush away a tear and took in a slow, deep breath to help bring my emotions back down to a functional level. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, Herman.” “Don’t you apologize to me when you’ve every right to grieve,” he scolded. Then he presented a pristine white handkerchief to my hands. I took it gratefully as Herman drew his arm around me and pulled me in against his shoulder. The soft leather of his jacket cushioned my cheek as I accepted his

offered comfort. “Of course you’ll be fine, Brooke. You have your whole life ahead of you and wonderful things will come, you’ll see.” We stood like that and watched the island grow smaller and smaller until the ferry turned southward and she slipped out of sight. I knew I’d be back to this same exact spot in the ocean when I returned on the five thirty after work. I’d wait for that moment when the island appeared on the horizon, after the captain made his northward turn. I’d breathe a sigh of relief when she came into view, and my heart would settle. It was a weird ritual with me, but it happened every time I came and went from Blackstone Island. It hurt a little to

leave her each time, but the tiny thrill I experienced when I returned had never failed me either. As I pulled myself together and indulged in my Zen moment with Herman, I thought about what he’d said...about wonderful things were ahead for me. I wanted it to be true. I so wanted it to be true.

THREE ~BROOKE~

Harris & Goode was tucked away on Hereford Street where it was a bit

quieter from the foot traffic Newbury Street enjoyed. It didn’t matter the location was quieter, though, because clients looking to hire a designer in this neighbourhood usually weren’t walkins. The interior design business relied on word of mouth, but mostly the coveted referrals from prior clients to their friends with the money to pay for such services. When I felt like walking, I got off at the Copley Station and followed Newbury Street down to where I worked. If the weather was unpleasant, I took Hynes because it was a lot closer. Today wasn’t unpleasant though. A sunny and dry autumn day was always appreciated.

My small emotional breakdown on the ferry this morning with Herman had strangely helped. In a way. So I let my guard down and remembered my sadness for a moment. I’d become emotional. I’d cried and scared poor Herman. But we both survived it, and when the flurry of my sadness had passed, I’d felt much better. And I think Herman did as well. It wouldn’t be weird when we saw each other next time because now we’d sealed our friendship. That, as I pondered further, was a good thing. I stopped at Starbucks to repair my makeup, and more importantly to supply my coffee addiction, before heading

inside Harris & Goode at the next doorway. God, I loved that we had a Starbucks next door. One of the nicest perks about my job. There was a line for the loo so I checked my messages while I waited. The one from Martin was unexpected. He wanted me to work a reception cocktail party this evening, six to nine. My side job serving for Jonquil Catering was not my favourite, but it paid pretty well when I could fit a job in. I loved working at Harris & Goode designing rooms for clients based on their visions, but couldn’t quite make the ends meet on a junior designer’s salary. Not yet anyway. So I took jobs serving on weekends and evenings if I had

proper notice. Nine hours wasn’t enough time for me to arrange anything, and Martin knew that. I had to have a place to stay the night for one thing, because the last ferry left the dock at eight thirty p.m. on the dot, and if I wasn’t on it, then I was stuck in Boston for the night. I’d stay over with Zoe, but my friend was out of town for her sister’s wedding for at least another week. I didn’t have clothes for the following day of work at Harris & Goode, or my black and whites for serving. There was no way I could work for Martin tonight. I texted him my reply: Sorry, can’t do, Martin. I’m already on the mainland for the day. I need some

notice to arrange where to stay, clothes etc. –B He’d be pissy with me now but what could I do about it? Living on an island made for some challenges and I couldn’t control the ferry schedule. There wasn’t a lot of demand for a boat to Blackstone Island in the middle of the night. I fixed my face in the mirror at Starbucks and thought I’d pass for normal. If Eduardo didn’t notice I’d been crying then I’d call the whole thing a success. Straight blonde hair and very light brown eyes—that I’d been told were amber—had been inherited from my mum. Nan reminded me frequently that I looked just like her. I thought my mum had been very beautiful, so when

Nan told me I could be Mum’s twin, it made me feel good inside. I studied myself thoughtfully and came to the conclusion that I didn’t look bad, just a bit...sad. Because I was. It was no coincidence my favorite character from the movie Inside Out was Sadness. She was necessary—an important part of your life—and if you tried to keep Sadness out completely, and didn’t let her in once in awhile, then the rest of the parts of you started to break down from the pressure of trying to deny yourself the right to be sad. It all made total sense to me. Maybe I’d watch it tonight after I visited Nan at physical therapy.

“Good morning!” Eduardo lambasted me with his standard greeting. “Looking very sexy today, my Condesa. Those boots are screaming ‘do me ’til I can’t take it anymore’ you know.” I set my coffee down on the reception counter and unbuttoned my coat. “Good morning to you too, and they are not screaming anything of the kind.” “They so are, darling. I bet you didn’t notice the hunk in the sunglasses checking you out either, hmm?” Eduardo waved toward the full-glass front doors of the building where a “hunk” was indeed peering in as he took a call. Six two, maybe six three, with dark hair, a

very nice wool coat in camel over an expensive gray suit, and aviator sunglasses was all I could make out through the window. But even through the glass and shadows, his handsomeness was apparent. There were men like him everywhere in Boston’s business centre, though. I saw them every day, hurrying from one corporate deal to another. Trying to get ahead just like everyone else. “He’s talking on his phone, Eduardo, not looking at me, you tit-head.” “He did. You passed by and he checked you out real good, honey. He liked what he saw, mmm-hmm,” he informed me with a straight face, “and I love it when you talk dirty English to

me.” It was all I could do to keep from laughing at him outright. Eduardo Ramos was good for my soul. I’d only known him since I’d started working at Harris & Goode four months ago, but we had clicked right away. He knew all about my past, and was nothing but supportive and compassionate about my situation. He loved the fact I was British and called me Condesa most of the time—Spanish for countess. The thing with Eduardo was you had to overlook the outrageous and inappropriate comments he made on just about any off-limits topic for a place of business—and always at the most inappropriate times—because it was simply part of the package. A gorgeous

Puerto Rican gay man with a mouth, and absolutely, perfectly lovely. I shook my head at him slowly. “Do Jon and Carlisle know that you fantasize about the foot traffic when you should be working?” He sniffed and frowned. “They do the same thing when they come through the front. But it’s right there, Brooke, right in front of me.” “What is right in front of you?” I looked back toward the glass and noticed the hunk had moved on. “Man heaven,” Eduardo sighed dreamily. “Big...hard...cocks...just walking—walking past us all day long. Ay Dios mio!” He fanned his face with both hands flapping.

I lost it and had to either laugh out loud or explode. “Probably not so hard as you imagine if they are walking. I think it would be quite painful to walk around with a stiff cock all day.” “You have a point there, Condesa, and please say ‘stiff cock’ for me again in your pretty accent.” “No, I will not say it again, and you can stop being cheeky with me.” Eduardo knew I wasn’t annoyed. It was a game we played for fun. Jon and Carlisle, the owners, didn’t give a toss either. It was part and parcel of working with three gay men who were interior designers. It came with the territory, and the setup worked for me just fine.

*** “Martin, I’ve already explained why I cannot do it. I do not live in Boston. I have no place to stay overnight nor do I have clothes to wear tomorrow. If you want me to work for you then you will have to give me at least twenty-fourhour’s notice next time.” Seriously, the man was dense. What did he not understand about the situation? More likely he just didn’t care. “Why can’t you stay the night with your friend?” Martin suggested. “Zoe is away, and even if she was here there’s still the matter of clothes.” I wanted to smack him.

Eduardo, who had the habit of listening in on all conversations in the office if he was at all able, spoke up, “You can stay with me if you need a place to go tonight.” Too bad he said it rather loudly. “I heard that,” Martin informed me. “So it’s settled, then?” I stayed quiet and glared at Eduardo. He would get payback in a minute. “Brooke?” “Yes, Martin?” “So I’ll see you at six. I’ll text the address when we hang up.” “Wait. I don’t have my black and whites with me.” “What are you wearing right now?”

If Martin were in my line of sight he would be writhing in pain from my death stare. “I have on a chartreuse and emerald green blouse with a black skirt and over-the-knee boots. Totally inappropriate for serving. I can’t do it as I’ve said.” “So you go buy a white blouse on your lunch hour and wear the boots. It’s some sort of corporate celebration and most of the guests will be men. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the boots over your beautiful long legs.” Ewwww. What a grotty little arsehole. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make a sexually suggestive comment about my performance on a job, and move along to payment, shall

we, Martin?” Serving in heeled boots wasn’t going to be easy, plus putting me out the cost of a new shirt as well. If Martin didn’t like it then he could fuck on off. Eduardo giggled and gave me two thumbs up. “Double time, Brooke, just be there.” As much as I wanted to decline, the extra money would be helpful right now. “Fine, I’ll do it, but, Martin, if you want me in future—give me some notice so I can make arrangements for the night.” If there would even be a next time. Maybe a job search was a good idea. After I ended the call I pointed a finger at Eduardo and gave him only a

slightly less violent version of my death stare. “You are in trouble in case you didn’t realize. You are to go tell the bosses we are leaving to shop for a blouse for me and will return with their lunch. And you get to pay for mine today.” I then smiled sweetly before getting up from the desk to put on my coat. “Yes, my condesa,” Eduardo sang before bolting up to the second floor to get Jon and Carlisle’s lunch orders. While he was busy upstairs, I needed to let Nan know I wouldn’t be over to see her tonight. She would get a kick out of me having a sleepover at Eduardo’s place, though. I tried to see her every evening for a short visit and didn’t want

her wondering where I was when I didn’t show. My call went through to the front desk which wasn’t a surprise. Nan rarely stayed in her room, especially when there were activities going on. “Blackstone Therapy Center, Lilah speaking. How may I assist you?” “Hi Lilah, this is Brooke calling.” “Your grandma is in a painting class right now working on a seascape.” “Ah, sounds lovely and I can’t wait to see it. Can you please let her know I’m working for Martin tonight? She will understand, and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow as usual.” “Sure thing, Brooke, and thanks for letting us know so she doesn’t worry, because she would you know.”

Placing Nan in a temporary nursing facility while she recovered from a knee replacement had been our only option. She couldn’t be left alone in the cottage all day, trapped in a wheelchair while I was working in Boston. She never complained, but I knew she would rather be at home as anyone would. I wished she could have in-home nursing care, and that I could provide it for her, but it just wasn’t possible on her very fixed income, or mine. Once the Blackwater estate closed and she was forced to retire, her money had to be carefully managed to make ends meet. She wasn’t old at only sixty-one, and I suspected she missed her job very much, as well as the camaraderie with her

workmates. In fact, the fall that resulted in the need for her knee replacement had happened after she’d lost her job, while she was bored stiff all alone in her cottage. Thank God her friend Sylvie was due for tea later on that day and discovered Nan at the bottom of her cellar steps—frightened and in terrible pain. I often wondered if the Blackstone family who’d employed my nan, bore any kind of conscience at all to dismiss a loyal servant after more than three decades with hardly a thank you and goodbye. No pension or departure compensation—nothing at all. “Deplorable” came to mind. “Selfish

arseholes” did as well. There was no defense for their behavior. None at all. Blackstone Island was primarily a place where a few very rich people, with ocean-front vacation homes worth millions of dollars, came to play at summer holidays. Unfortunately, it was also a place where a great many poor people worked very hard to serve those same rich people, and had little to nothing to show for it.

FOUR ~CALEB~

The last thing I wanted to do at the end of my day-of-shit was go to a client appreciation reception for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres with my face looking like it did from being smacked by Janice’s Valentino. All day long I’d fielded the concerned inquiries from people who weren’t assholes, along with the jokes and harassment from the people who were most definitely assholes. I don’t think many of them bought my lie about slipping in the shower and colliding with the marble soap dish. What they didn’t know was I couldn’t care less what they thought of me in my personal life. As long as they respected me in business, I was good. I could make money grow from just about anything.

So what if I had terrible emotional skills when it came to relationships with women. I just didn’t feel anything for those women like I probably should if I really cared about them for more than sex. But I’d never felt anything beyond an admiration for their beauty, along with the desire for some shared pleasure if they were interested in the same. I wasn’t stingy either. Before we were done I made sure they were well satisfied. I didn’t know how to operate any differently, and until I figured my shit out, I should just stay away from women altogether. It made the most sense. The fact it was my father’s law firm hosting this gathering was the only

reason I’d stepped foot inside the door. There was a part of me that still wanted to make him proud even though I’d made my own successful career apart from his. Now he was gone, I’d taken on his business as well, and I knew his peers were watching closely to see how I would do. My brothers had their own interests and money, as well as a share in Dad’s holdings, but they weren’t involved in the day-to-day management like I was. Lucas lived like a hermit on the island designing gaming systems, and Wyatt was in New York doing his thing, which nobody seemed to know much about. Being the oldest child, followed by identical twin brothers, and then five years later by another set of twins, but

this time girls and fraternal, I was the odd man out. Willow was engaged to her ivy-league professor, and Winter was in grad school, so everyone was focused on their own goals as they should be. My mother was very proud of the fact she’d given my father five children and only suffered through three pregnancies. And Mom made sure we all knew it was suffering of the worst kind to give birth to every one of us. Maybe that was why she resented me. All that effort only produced one baby— me. My relationship with my mother was just the start of my women troubles. I’d had a not-so-pleasant conversation with

her on the phone earlier today. Janice had gotten to Mom quickly, crying out a sad tale of disrespect and broken promises on my part. I didn’t tell her that within five minutes of leaving me, she was deep-throating James Blakney. Thinking my mother didn’t need that visual, I didn’t say much in response except that Janice wasn’t the girl we all thought she was, and she definitely wasn’t going to be anything more than a friend of the family to me from here on out. Mom then took the opportunity to tell me I’d made things very difficult for her friendship with Janice’s mother. I offered her the advice a generous donation to their non-profit would probably smooth things over. I suppose

she didn’t care for my suggestion because she ended our call quickly after. I would give this thing two drinks max before I was outie. Nodding and saying the right things, I shook hands with the colleagues who’d known my father, and accepted condolences from others. I made a mental note of the people who’d made the effort to mention his name to me, and I would write them down with the event and date as soon as I got home. I’d worked my way through the room, as I had been taught by my dad— by the best to ever work a roomful of potential deals—when I decided I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do tonight. It was time for me to go. After

setting my glass down on an empty table, I started for the door...until I saw her. Just like that. She appeared in my line of sight and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The beautiful girl from this morning at the Starbucks on Hereford Street. I knew it was her because how could anyone forget those sexy boots? Her blonde hair wasn’t down like it had been this morning though. She’d pulled it back into a sleek ponytail...but she was serving at this event? I’d seen her go into that design studio next to Starbucks. She probably had two jobs. Industrious...beautiful...sexy. I quickly returned for my half-empty glass and snatched it up from the table. I

suddenly felt like an appetizer or two. She saw me approaching and moved closer with her tray. “What are these called?” I asked without sparing her tray a second glance. Bad move on my part, but I was too busy taking in her golden eyes and hair, and everything else I could now see up close. Perfect skin, dark lashes that framed spectacular eyes, and a scar along the hairline of the right side of her face. Something had hurt her at some point in the past, and I found it utterly insane that I was disturbed by it. She rolled her pink lips together as if she was trying to suppress laughter. “Well, they’ve told me it’s something called a...meatball. Very unusual

gourmet creation. You should try one. They’re said to be quite delicious.” That voice of hers was...fucking beautiful. “Okay.” I picked up a meatball and popped it in my mouth. Didn’t taste a thing. I could have been chewing slaughterhouse by-products and I wouldn’t have known. My brain had shut off everything except her beautiful voice. “You are either messing with me or that blow to your head must have been devastating. I would wager you’ve had a meatball before.” “I am.” She lost her smile. “You are messing with me?”

“No, I am devastating—I mean devastated—by the blow to my head.” What in the mother fuck was I even saying to this girl? I sounded like Rain Man minus the IQ. I needed to stop talking. “I’m sorry to hear that. It looks painful.” “It doesn’t hurt me now.” I think I smiled and shook my head but couldn’t be sure. Just call me the village idiot because I knew I was acting like one. I did love the sound of her voice though. “Another rare and precious meatball?” She offered her tray and studied me this time. She had to be disgusted by my appearance and turned

off by my behavior, but she didn’t show it if she was. “Yes, please.” I took another meatball but I didn’t eat it. “You are British.” “You are American,” she said with a fast wink, before turning away to serve other guests. I watched her walk away from me and felt the pounding of my heart vibrating throughout my entire body. Something had just happened to me. I wasn’t completely sure what exactly, but I was crystal clear on the reason. Her. ***

I did not leave as I’d planned to do. I stayed in that ridiculous meet-ngreet so I could stalk a girl I did not know. I, Caleb Blackstone, became a stalker in that moment, and was not in the least apologetic about it, either. Oh, for the next hour or so I put on a good show and kept schmoozing with people I hardly paid attention to, so I could watch her walk around the room serving meatballs in her tight skirt and fuck-me boots. I even managed to paint an image of her wearing nothing but those boots in my head. My thoughts were downright filthy, to the point my cock wanted in on the action. Badly.

This wasn’t happening to me in a roomful of business associates. My dick was not getting hard from watching a pretty girl offer up food. Yes, it was. I also figured out I wasn’t the only one looking at her, and those boots weren’t exactly helping her fade into the background at an event like this one, made up of mostly men thinking about sex once every fifty-two seconds. Seeing her, it was impossible to think about much of anything else. “I’d take my time tapping that tight ass nice and slow—with the fucking boots on.” Kevin Aldrich was a dipshit investment banker with a receding

hairline, an expanding waistline, and a big trust fund inherited from his oldmoney grandfather. He also had a wife, two or three teenage kids, and a drinking problem. The sad truth was he probably did get beautiful women like her to fuck him because he had the money to help them get over the fact he was a complete and total douchebag. I said nothing, but I felt my blood start to boil. In that instant I truly understood the meaning behind the expression “it made my blood boil.” Mine was going nuclear. Aldrich lifted his drink and all but drooled in her direction to call her over. She noticed him and came forward with her tray of what I knew were individual

shrimp cocktails. I’d not make the same mistake again. “Shrimp cocktail strike your fancy, gentlemen?” she asked pleasantly. “You strike my fancy, Sexy Boots,” Aldrich said with an obvious leer. Okay, the guy was worse than a disgusting douche. He was a moron with the social skills of a cockroach. “Clever. I’ve only heard that fourteen other times in the last hour and a half,” she said smoothly. “Can I offer you a shrimp cocktail?” she repeated, clearly not amused and her golden eyes showed it. Aldrich was either too drunk or too stupid to catch the clues, however. “How about your number instead? I’ll

take you somewhere where we can eat all the shrimp we want.” He flicked his tongue at her and I just about lost my shit. Forget my boiling blood, I wanted to kill him. “No fucking way, Aldrich, you did not just do that!” He did two more really stupid things nearly simultaneously. He reached his arm around to drag her body against his, and said to me, “Don’t cock-block me and Sexy Boots here. We’re just getting acquainted and she looks like she can use a long slow ride in those b—” Aldrich didn’t finish his sentence however, because he received an immediate and skilled defense move of an elbow to the front of the nose. Her

elbow. His nose. Too bad I tried to get in there first and push him off her. The back of his bulbous head caught me on the chin to the effect he went down hard, taking me with him, along with tiny glasses of cocktail sauce and airborne pink shrimp that sprayed out in an arc catching anyone within a ten-foot radius. Silence ensued as all conversations ceased and focused their attentions on us. “You fucking cunt! You broke my nose,” Aldrich bellowed from behind the hand trying to stem the gushing blood pouring from his mean little face. “You put your hands on me. Nobody does that and gets away with it anymore,” she told him in a steely voice

before bolting off in the direction of the kitchen. “Get the fuck off me, Aldrich!” I shoved him away and got to my feet. “Stupid goddamn shit you just pulled, man. Very goddamn stupid,” I said as I removed a lone shrimp stuck to my jacket by its tail. “But she assaulted me. You saw it happen, Blackstone,” he yelled. “I will sue that bitch for damages, the fucking whore!” I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him right up to my face. “You will do nothing of the kind or you’ll live to regret it. Go home to your wife and family if they’ll even have you at this point.”

“Fuck you, Blackstone.” But it came out sounding more like “fung gew, Blaxsdone” on account of his broken nose. Lost a lot of its impact that way, too. Arrogant asshole. “And make sure you take a cab to protect the populous of the city from yourself,” I added. “You’re too fucking drunk to stand right now, let alone drive anywhere.” Then I let go of him and watched as he fell back down to sprawl on the floor, soaked in his own blood and a shitload of shrimp cocktail. I found her having it out with her boss in the kitchen. “Why in the hell did you hit him?” “Sexual assault is against the law, you idiot. Why in the hell did you put

me in this situation tonight, Martin, and then abandon me to that pack of dogs out there? Hmm? Do you have any idea what I’ve had to put up with tonight?” Ouch. I dearly hoped she didn’t lump me in the same category as the rest of the dogs in the room tonight. She reached into the front pocket of the red apron wrapped around her hips and pulled out a handful of business cards and tossed them at her boss. “That’s how many of the dogs want to get to know me better and show me a banging good time, emphasis on the bang! I shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of thing when I am trying to do a job.” Jesus Christ, she’s right.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Brooke, it wasn’t that bad out there. You totally overreacted.” She really didn’t. “He put his hands all over my arse and flicked his tongue at me, and you think I overreacted?” Her boss had the brains to keep quiet about her last comment at least, I’d give him that. “Go back out there and get names and numbers, apologize, and clean up the mess. We’ll have to cover the dry cleaning at least. Do that, and you can keep your job.” I don’t think you know your employee very well. She’s done with you, asshole. She gaped at him in shock for a moment, then put her hands down and began untying her apron. It took a few

seconds for her to get the crisscrossed ties free, but the passage of time only seemed to increase the anger coming off her in waves. Her idiot boss just stood there watching her, waiting for her to drop the apron. Which she did. Right at his feet to lay with the scattered business cards the dogs had given to her. Good girl. “No, thank you, Martin. I quit this hideous job, and don’t you ever try to contact me again.” Smart girl. “Brooke,” he yelled after her, “who is going to pay for all of this?” I think that would be you, Martin. But Brooke had already grabbed her things and was at the door when she turned back one last time, her long

blonde ponytail whipping around her neck from the force. She was so very angry, but her composure was a thing of magnificence—and her words spoken in that accent of hers—awe inspiring. I couldn’t take my eyes away for anything. “Take it out of my final pay. And then you can fuck off.” My dick is so hard for this girl right now. Then Brooke was really gone. “I’ll cover any damages, but I sincerely doubt there will be any. The guy who grabbed her was way out of line and I witnessed the whole thing. I’ll cover the dry-cleaning bills too.” I handed the fool my card and left him standing there in the kitchen with his

mouth hanging open like a goldfish gasping its last breaths. I caught up to her out on the street where she was in line for a cab. She looked me over as I walked up but she didn’t say a word. “Hey, those were some impressive self-defense moves you’ve got,” I said. “Sorry you were in the line of fire in there.” She indicated her head toward my suit which was pretty much trashed with shrimp cocktail sauce. I shrugged. “It’ll clean. How about you? Are you all right after that disaster in there?” “I’ll be fine as soon as I can get home.” Her voice didn’t sound as strong as before and I sensed the adrenaline

was wearing off. She was upset, and rightly so. “Can I give you a lift? My car can be here in five minutes and I’d be happy to take you wherever you need to go.” She shook her head. “That’s not possible unless your car can float on water.” She checked her watch. “Besides, I don’t know you and I would never get into a car with a man I don’t know.” “Fair enough,” I said. Although I was disappointed she wouldn’t take me up on my offer, I had to agree with her superior logic. A girl who looked like her definitely shouldn’t go with any man she didn’t know. It would be dangerous. For some reason I hated the

idea of her in any kind of danger. “I’m really sorry you had to endure that crowd tonight. I hope I didn’t do anything to offend you—” “I saw you stand up to him, and I thank you for that. And no, you didn’t offend me with your ignorance of meatballs. I’m happy to have helped sort out that little problem for you. Now you are an informed connoisseur of the rare delicacy called a meatball, and you owe it all to me,” she replied with a hint of a smile. She was so awesome trying to joke around with me when it was apparent she was still upset about the clusterfuck that had happened to her inside that reception tonight. She looked beautiful,

but very...sad. If I had to choose a word to describe how she appeared to me it would have to be sad. And that bothered me greatly. “Thank you for the meatball tutorial. I enjoyed it very much. I’m Caleb by the way. Caleb Black—” I was interrupted by her phone chiming out the unusual but unmistakable ring tone of Ricky Martin’s, Shake Your Bon-Bon. Interesting choice I thought, as she turned away to take the call. “Fucking hell, I’m so glad you called me back.” The word fuck in that accent —damn... “I can still catch the eight-thirty ferry if I hurry so I’m going home after all. I won’t be staying over.” Ah. That’s not

possible unless your car can float on water. Got it. “Long dreadful story. Suffice to say I’m looking for a new second job.” She needed a second job? “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The offices on Hereford Street. “I love you, too.” Boyfriend or just friend? My stalking skills were improving by the second if I was now capable of listening in on entire conversations and deciphering them. I’d caught every word she’d spoken. A cab pulled forward for her, and she said clearly, “Blackstone Island Ferry Company,” to the driver as she got in.

I watched her cab pull into traffic and drive away until it was out of sight. She never looked back to say goodbye. She’d not told me her name either, but I knew it was Brooke. Brooke who lived on Blackstone Island and worked in the design studio on Hereford Street next door to Starbucks. She was beautiful and witty and feisty. I was more than impressed by her no-nonsense attitude throughout the night with her boss and the patrons. Brooke was no shrinking violet, plus she had the most amazing voice I’d ever heard. That was all the information I had been able to gather about her, but it was

enough to find her again if I wanted to. There was no ‘if.’ When. And it was more than plenty.

The End (for now) *** FILTHY RICH, Blackstone Dynasty I Book #1 in a new series from Raine Miller Publishing autumn 2016 by Montlake Romance Pinterest Board for FILTHY RICH

Hard Luck by Liv Morris

CHAPTER ONE

“Cali, do you see who is standing at the bar?” asked my best friend, Taylor. I tried to look everywhere but the aforementioned place, where a group of men had gathered around on stools or were standing there looking like gods. “Whatever,” I said back to her in a dismissive ‘please move to another topic’ tone. “You have to be kidding me, girl. It’s the entire offensive line for The Bears.” Taylor finished her comment while licking her lips and flashing her lashes. Like they could see her from a mile away.

“Oh, them,” I tried again to get her to move beyond the hot men who took all the air out of the pub. But Taylor had a thing for football and that was why we became close friends. Not too many women had an obsession for the gridiron like we did. “What’s the matter with you?” She gave me a punch of a look and on a normal day, I would take it like a champ. But nothing about this day is normal. Or yesterday. Or even the previous week. “I think I’m changing my Bears jersey in for the Blackhawk one.” I shrugged my shoulders at her while she dropped her jaw and stared at me. I almost checked around my head to see if

another one had sprouted up, as she looked that terrified. “But you hate hockey! You’re more of a football nut than I am.” And she was right. Until the quarterback, Marcus Flea-flicking Flynn, became my first erectile dysfunction patient last week. Let me back up a little and explain. The usual doctor for the specialty clinic was called to the hospital unexpectedly. He asked me to take his patients for the day since the other doctor in the practice was attending his mother’s funeral. I was thrilled that he felt I was ready to take patients on my own and he assured me the caseload for the day was

light. Just a couple patients coming in for test results. I straightened my shoulders and took the files from his hands with a quick nod. No problem, I thought to myself. I was ready to begin my medical career as a true doctor, not just a wannabe. I glanced over the patient information and my heart stopped. I became dizzy and had to sit down when I read the name of the day’s last patient. None other than the notorious Bear’s quarterback, also known as the Chicago manwhore himself, Marcus Flynn. Besides the name, he was the right age at 32. The right height at six-footfive. The right weight at two-thirty.

How many times had I imagined having that man’s weight laying over me? Pushing into me? Every damn night... Marcus earned the title of my go-to boy toy when I had to rub some things out. Rumors abounded about his exploits in bed. How he could fuck a woman into the next week. So seeing him on my patient list didn’t make a lick of sense. My first patient was already waiting in a room, so I had to stop my curious mind from focusing on Marcus. Instead, I put his file on my desk and walked down the hallway to meet the fifty-year-old man with issues common for his age.

But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the fact I was going to face Marcus in a couple of hours. And we would be talking about his cock. “So what happened last week,” Taylor asked for the millionth time. Little did she know that I couldn’t tell her what I saw and heard. A little law called HIPAA kept my mouth closed like a vice. Fact was, I loved to eat and one small leak would get me fired and banned from medicine for life. But holy shit, how I wanted to spill out what I learned, and that mostly, he was so damn beautiful. A square jaw that was firm and commandingly arrogant. Blue eyes so vivid that the depths rivaled the crisp Caribbean Sea. A body so hard I could

believe that granite would be softer. And speaking of softer... He had an issue. He hadn’t been able to have an erection of any kind in months. I laughed at the chart as if what I was reading contained lies. No way was this virile man impotent. I bet I could swing a pussycat and hit several pussies in Chicago that would attest otherwise. “Ladies.” A server interrupted my thoughts and Taylor’s continued lament on my sad state. “Drinks from a gentleman at the bar.” I knew who it was without even asking. Marcus has been my constant shadow for the last week. I was tempted to call the cops or even obtain a restraining order, but it was Marcus stalking me. My boy toy. And

now patient. I hated blurred lines. Damn you, Robin Thicke. You made them sound so sexy. “Please tell the person who gave us these drinks that we respectfully decline, but thank you.” The server knitted her brow and stopped with the drink midair before setting them down in front of us. “Ouch,” I cried when Taylor’s Louboutin connected with my shin. “Like hell we will ‘respectfully decline’ them.” Taylor wrapped her hands around both of the drinks while the server glanced to and fro between us. I slumped my shoulders in defeat instead of enduring another bruise on my shin.

“Whatever has gotten into you better come out soon or I’m calling a priest. First sign of needing an exorcism is direct shifts in personalities. Like an upside down change.” Taylor eyed me over the top of her free drink as she sipped it. I forgot to mention that Taylor was obsessed with people who were possessed. She converted to Catholicism in hopes of being on a deliverance team. “You’ve been acting peculiar since last week.” “I know, but I can’t talk about it. Believe me, if I could, you would be the first person I’d tell every detail to.” I reached for the other gifted drink from Marcus and sucked about a third of the fruity Cosmo down.

“Well, you’ve been drinking like you did back in college.” “It’s not that bad,” I tried to defend the undeniable fact. I was swimming in booze. My blood type was likely V for vodka and Taylor knew me well. We met at a football game at Northwestern. We were the only two girls in the entire section cheering on our team or cursing them depending on the play. Even the guys didn’t have the passion we showed. We also both had swatches of black swiped under our eyes. Nothing said soul sister like football war paint. “You know you’re lying and avoiding the subject. I just wish you

could tell me why. I would bet the next Bears’ season it involves a man. As a matter of fact, since when have you rejected drinks from hot Bears’ players?” Taylor pitched her brow and gave me a ‘cough it up sister’ stare. I glanced up at the bar and my eyes wandered all over Marcus’ fine ass. One that I had seen up close and very personal. Like my fingers palmed it in the exam room while his “problem” nearly hit me in the face. He had been visiting our clinic with “issues” for two months according to the charts. He kept asking me where his regular doctor was instead of just letting me examine him.

I tried to assure him I was qualified. Sure, he was the first patient I was flying solo on, but no one had ever challenged my qualifications when other doctors were present. I had the respect of our clients and staff...until him. “I wish I could tell you every last detail, but it’s work related.” I confessed the situation with as many details as HIPAA allowed me, which amounted to practically none. “I don’t get it. You see old guys that can’t get it up.” Taylor regarded me over the last of her drink. I knew this conversation would head into dangerous territory fast, so I decided it was time to leave.

“Listen, I’m going to run. Emily should be here any second and you two can prove that your milkshakes bring all the boys to the bar,” I smirked and pointed my finger at the row of Bears’ players still looking our way. Emily was our close friend who liked football enough to tolerate Taylor and me. “Okay, but whatever is troubling you better leave you alone. I want my friend back or I’m making an appointment for you with my priest,” Taylor warned me and my hairs danced on my arms. She could be scary as hell. Literally. “I mean it.” “I’m sorry.” I gave her a hug and an air kiss. “I just have to outlast this one, until he figures things out,” I spilled

even more this time and I watched Taylor’s mouth open to speak. But I shook my head and brought a finger to my lips. I departed before she could blink an eye.

CHAPTER TWO

Outside the bar’s entrance, I pulled out my phone and opened my trusty Uber app. I selected a car and sighed in relief when I saw the vehicle was only two minutes away. I loved how easy it was to get around in downtown Chicago. So much

different than the busy streets of New York City and much cleaner. My Uber pulled up to the sidewalk and I approached the curb with my heels clicking on the pavement. Just as I reached for the door handle, a man’s arm flashed before me. I looked beyond the arm and saw that it was attached to none other than Marcus Flynn. As if I was a fellow player he could order around, he opened the door and motioned for me to get in. I had a quick decision to make. Turn around and head back inside the bar, or do as he wanted and enter the backseat. A small shiver of excitement rushed through me at the thought of being in the

backseat with him. But a sobering thought brought me back to reality. He was my patient and I never crossed that line. But then again, I never had a hot Bears’ football player pursuing me. “Dr. Jones,” Marcus said. “Get the hell in this car.” I stiffened up my back and brought my hand to my hip. I shook my head to give him my final answer. “Please,” he begged and in such a way that made me wonder if he would drop to a knee. “It’s a matter of life and death.” I knew he was lying. I had read over his chart and saw his fine ass as well as his hard cock. There wasn’t a single

thing wrong with this man, except an inflated ego. “We have nothing to say,” I huffed and crossed my arms. Conversation over. He left my office after he declared himself healed. But that declaration came after he had stroked his ten-inch cock in front of me for a minute or two. Apparently he wanted to make sure he would stay erect before leaving. I stared in awe with my mouth open. I was pretty sure I licked my lips and drooled too. He threw on his underwear and redressed into his clothes like he was Flash Gordon. His exam gown was left wadded up in a ball on the floor. He took two quick strides to the door with his long, muscular legs. He

encircled the doorknob with his fingers and stilled. My mouth was still gaping open from his brief live porn display. “Thanks doc.” He turned his head to me and spoke. “I’m cured. Finally.” He left the room with a noticeable spring in his step. I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath. I wasn’t sure how I was going to write up this appointment in his chart. I ended up using the word “touched” for stroked. Noting he stroked himself in front of me was too unprofessional to write down in black and white, especially for my first solo appointment. “Why should I do a thing you say? You’ve been my shadow over the last week. Appearing at the office, begging

to see me. Following me out of my apartment building. And now this.” I had a hand on each hip waiting for his response. “Not here,” He hissed as he scanned the sidewalk area. “We won’t be alone,” He pointed to the amused driver smiling at us. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. Big, brawny football player desperately seeking a stubborn woman, me. “You’re not making your case very well. You’ve been kicked out of my office and I’m about ready to call the cops.” “I just need to talk to you. Like I said-.”

“It’s a matter of life and death,” I finished off his sentence. The same one he used all week when he tried to get my attention. I didn’t know why I was on the brink of caving to his demand now. Maybe it was his purely masculine and unforgettable scent making me high and stupid. More than likely it was all the drinks I downed in the last hour. “Okay, but I don’t want to see you again after tonight.” I said...with absolutely zero conviction.. I knew the truth. I would be seeing him every night in my dreams...

CHAPTER THREE

We are both seated in the cab when Marcus gives the driver an address. I raised a brow at Marcus knowing we weren’t going to my place. He hadn’t even asked. “Where the hell are you taking me?” I scooted to the furthest corner of the backseat by my door. I wanted distance. Hell, I needed out of this damn cab, because Marcus looked too damn good for my peace of mind. “Would it scare you if I said I was kidnapping you?” I gripped the door of the cab and glanced up at the driver. He had an amused smile on his face. I was sure he knew who shared the backseat with me. Marcus was the golden boy of

this city. He owned it with every pass he made, both on and off the football field. A week ago, if I had this same conversation with Marcus, I would have been demanding him to take me back to his lair for a full-frontal tackle between my legs. But I met him while wearing a white coat and examined his fine body with a latex-gloved hand. I can’t remove my professional hat no matter how bad he made me want to remove my clothes. “Come on. Where are you taking me?” I chose to ignore the kidnap comment altogether, because it played into my naughty fantasies. “To my coach’s apartment in the city.” He made the statement sound so matter-of-fact like.

“Does he need medical care too?” I asked. “Are you kidding?” I answered Marcus with a shake of my head. “He wants to talk to you about me. I think I’ve scared you this week.” “You have shown up everywhere I’ve been. Like you’ve been following me around.” Marcus shifted his eyes away from me and lowered his head. “You have been, haven’t you,” I demanded. “Okay. Yes.” He looked up and pleaded with his blue crystal-like eyes that sparkled even though the streetlights were dim and sparse. “But I have a very good reason.”

I prayed it was because he fell madly in love with me during our one brief encounter. I glanced down at his crotch in memory and swallowed at the thought of all ten inches of him, even if he would be next to impossible to fit in my mouth. I have seen cocks of all shapes and sizes, but his was flipping beautiful. And his ass... Well, it was so tight I could’ve bounced a coin off of it. “And you can’t tell me what’s up? “It’s complicated,” he said while running his long fingers through his thick and glorious hair. I can’t remember how many times I dreamt of having that head between my legs as my fingers weaved through his hair. I closed my eyes knowing I was in deep doo-doo here.

“It’s complicated on my end too,” I replied back to his non-answer response. “You’re my patient and I can’t cross the personal line with you.” No matter how hard I wanted to. “I’ve severed all ties with your office. I’m no longer a patient at your practice.” “Right. You’re cured now.” I peeked down at the general area where his former issue was and then back up at his eyes. “I can’t say I’m cured, but I know who can cure my problems.” “Who?” My voice was as quiet as a whisper, but he heard me. “You.”

This entire night and last few days started to make more sense to me. Well, partly. Marcus was clearly delusional and troubled. Maybe the pressure of bringing home a trophy to Chicago’s rabid fans made him snap.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Dr. Jones, I mean, Cali,” Marcus said. “This is Coach Larson.” I stood outside a penthouse apartment door in an awkward threeway setting. I had no clue what the night would bring, but I wanted answers.

“Hello, Dr. Jones,” Coach Larson reached out his hand to shake mine. “We’ll keep things formal for now.” The coach moved away from the door and Marcus placed his large hand on the small of my back. I felt his thumb rub back and forth over the silk of my blouse while he gently ushered me inside the penthouse. The skyline view overlooking downtown Chicago greeted me and I was drawn to the window to see more. “Wow,” I said in awe. Marcus was right beside me as I stood near the floor to ceiling windows. “My apartment is on the other side of the hallway. Coach and I share this floor,” Marcus whispered into my ear.

His hands found their way to my lower back and his fingers did the same magic as before. My panties were wet from just his slight touch. “Is that so,” I replied in a husky voice while turning my head to the side and eyeing the football Adonis next to me. “Glad you like the view,” Coach said behind me with a laugh. My blatant gawking of his star player wasn’t hard to miss. “I will make this real quick, Dr. Jones. Please take a seat.” I spun around to face Coach, then moved to where he was standing near the large leather sectional taking up most of the living area. I found a corner on the couch and sat down. Marcus parked

himself right next to me, as in his big commanding thighs pressed into mine. But I had nowhere to go, so call me trapped, in more ways than one. “Coach is going to explain everything.” Marcus reached for my hand and wrapped his big football paw over mine. I could see only the tips of my fingertips sticking out of his fist. I glanced down at his feet and realized for the first time that he walked around on virtual skis. I bet he wore a size 15, at least. Made sense. I saw his “manhood” in its full glory and it was huge, but in the most satisfying ways. I gave Marcus a sly smile and watched his eyes go big. The little gesture was the first not-sosubtle flirt I had slung his way.

“Okay,” I said while Coach took a seat on the dark wood coffee table placed in front of Marcus and I. “I can’t wait to hear what’s up,” I gave the Coach a little wink and he raised his brows with a nod or two. “Smart one with a smart mouth,” Coach said. “But I like her. A lot.” “Me, too,” Marcus cooed in my ear. His hot breath made a cool shiver run down my spine that ended between my legs. A place I wished for years had more action. “Me, three,” I giggled. “Give it to me straight up.” “Oh my God,” Marcus muttered under his breath. “She’s killing me here.”

“Here’s the story.” I sat back into the plush brown leather as I had a feeling this story would take some time to tell. “A few months ago, Marcus went on a complete bender down in New Orleans. Let’s just say he was having fun with the women,” Coach added with an eyebrow wiggle. Nothing new really from the reports I have heard around town. “On his last night in NOLA, he met a mysterious woman at a bar. She promised him the sex of his life and he left the bar with her. They went back to his hotel room for the evening. After what he tells me was a marathon sexcapade, he offered to give her enough money for a cab and a Louis Vuitton bag.”

Coach rolled his knowing brown eyes and shook his head. “The woman became offended and walked around the room speaking fast under her breath. Marcus couldn’t make out what she was saying, but knew she was angry as hell. And hell hath no fury as a woman who thinks she’s scorned. See, she wanted to snuggle into Marcus’ side for the night and have little football babies with him. She thought they had something special and was hurt and wounded when she learned otherwise.” Coach turned from me to Marcus. “Gotta know the kind of women you bring home son. You misread this one and it cost you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that poor Marcus ran into a little trouble.” The sarcasm in my voice laced my words. “But I don’t know how I can help you here.” “Well the story is more than just about a scorned woman. She was a voodoo priestess.” My mind immediately went to my bestie, Taylor. She has warned me over the years about voodoo and all its powers. She told me to never mess with that shit. Seeing how she was the closest thing I had to a spiritual authority, I took her advice. “The woman, we will call her, Tarot, pulled out a set of cards and sat on the floor by the bed. She spoke in an unknown language and placed the cards down in a square. When she was

finished, she doubled over with laughter. It made the hairs on Marcus’ arms stand straight up. He had a feeling he was sunk.” I watched Marcus as he rubbed his hands over his thighs in a nervous motion. He didn’t appear so cocky and self-assured, instead when he looked at me, I saw a spooked man. “Finally, the woman gathered up her cards and stuffed them in her large bag. She asked Marcus if he wanted to know what was in store for him and he said yes,” Coach threw up his hands in surrender and shook his head again. “I swear, if he didn’t know what she conjured up with those cards, he never would’ve been effected. I think it’s all

been in his mind,” Coach tapped a forefinger to his temple. “Coach, you had to be there,” Marcus spoke up in his defense. “The woman was wild-eyed and crazy.” “Fine. It’s water under the bridge at this point,” Coach motioned with his hand to dismiss the topic of this still unknown-to-me problem created by Tarot. “She told Marcus that he was now cursed and that his player ways had caught up with him.” “Man, I can barely listen to this conversation without feeling sick to my stomach.” Marcus rubbed over his stomach and looked over at me with scared eyes, the kind that made a man

shake in his boots. This woman sure spooked the shit out of him. “So here’s what her curse was. Marcus wouldn’t be able to have a full erection until he met the woman he would marry. His one true love,” Coach finished his sentence and let it hang in midair. Eventually the true love part became clear as it landed on my thick skull when Coach pointed his eyes directly at me. “Me,” I blurted out. “Yes, Dr. Jones. Until he came into your office the day of his appointment, he hadn’t had an erection since Tarot left the hotel room. See, whether or not he’s cursed doesn’t really matter, he believes

he is, so nothing is working in the sex department.” “Wow,” I whistled through my lips. “Marcus thought he was cured the day he saw you. But later that night, after a quick hookup, he learned otherwise. Then you probably saw him lurking as your shadow this past week. Thanks for not turning his sorry ass over to the cops for stalking you by the way.” “Well, I was beginning to wonder what the hell was up. I was more afraid that I might cross some professional line.” The truth was I wanted to cross that line badly, but knew I better refrain. Something about eight years of crazy med school made me cautious and unable to throw all cares out the window

and into Marcus’ pants. I would never doubt my willpower again. “So here’s the deal. Marcus needs your help. I need your help. His teammates need your help. Hell, the entire city of Chicago needs your help.” I rolled my eyes and huffed. The start of his appeal made it seem like the future of the entire world sat on my shoulders. “We need for you to be Marcus’ wife for at least three months. I would prefer a year, but let’s start here.” “Wait a second. His wife?” I rose from the couch and walked away from the two men, but I could feel their eyes burning up my backside. My hands began to shake as I thought about the consequence, mostly as they

related to my profession. A doctor needs a pristine reputation. Spotless. This type of deal could likely get very messy and painful, especially to my heart. I glanced over my shoulder at Marcus. Beautiful, perfect Marcus, who believed I held the key to his sexual future and total happiness. The weight of his expectations pushed down on my shoulders. I was barely able to find my own happiness as a human being. This burden would be a challenge no matter how gorgeous and sexy the man was behind the issues. “I need to know all the details.” I took a seat in a lone chair away from Marcus. His smell intoxicated me and sitting so close to him made my mind

fuzzy with pent-up desires. Distance worked, even if it was only a few feet away. Coach picked up a few papers off the coffee table. The sheets were legal sized and spelled one thing out very clearly to me. Contract. Whatever Coach was about to offer me would be binding. I sighed as he walked near me with his hands outstretched. I took the papers in my hands and watched them shake. “I get the nerves,” Coach laughed, but even his laughter seemed forced. How the hell could this situation get any more uncomfortable? Well, I was about to find out. “Let’s go over the major points. First off. This contract requires a signed NDA

from all parties involved. Even me as the facilitator for Marcus during this meeting.” So far this conversation sounded so sexy. Not! I mean what woman dreams of enduring a relationship with a muzzle on her mouth? Well, besides those enjoying that kind of kink. “You will agree to be Marcus’ wife for a flat fee of one million dollars after taxes. You will attend functions with him. Be seen on his arm. Live in his penthouse. He will dote on you in public.” Good God. One million dollars after taxes would wipe out my medical school loans with money left over to buy my own damn penthouse. But was I up for

sale? I felt a twist in my stomach, probably my conscious. Coach paused his little speech and the room’s air became heavy. I glanced from Marcus to Coach and knew something sticky was next. The kind of sticky that doesn’t wash off easily, like flypaper on a hot summer night. I began to sweat. My father was an attorney and drilled into me one thing. Never sign anything without legal counsel. But who the hell could I even call? Sticky. It’s a very, very, sticky situation for sure. “Now, the sex part,” Coach coughed these words out and Marcus went back to rubbing his palms over his jeans. I

was sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to see how my panties were going to drop. My bet was on hard and fast. Sexy Marcus wasn’t going to be denied, especially not by me. “You don’t have to have sex with him.” I raised my eyebrows at him in disbelief. “How will he know I’m his cure then?” It seemed like a logical question. “Smart woman,” Coach said. “I’m not sure how smart I am. My attorney father would tell me to hightail it out of this room.” I wanted to show them I wasn’t totally in their camp yet. They needed to work to get me to join their damn team. I wished I had some

war paint on my face to make me more of a badass. “Off the record here,” Coach asked and Marcus looked at me with sad, pleading eyes. Damn him and his sexy pout that made me want to kiss him back to happiness. I was majorly fucked and will likely be majorly fucked by him often if I signed this contract. I squirmed in the chair as I thought of that ten-inch piece of him taking me where I longed. This could be worse. Yeah, that would be my new mantra. “Sure, off the record,” I agreed. “You need to have sex with him and often. Like tonight. The poor man has been beside himself. Can’t remember a thing he learned over the last eight years

in the NFL. His future belongs in your hands.” My hands? I would say my vagina. “Marcus?” I had to ask one question before I signed this paper. “Do you even find me remotely attractive?” Marcus rose from his seat on the leather sectional and kneeled in front of me. He enclosed my hands with his and looked me square in the eye. Those hypnotizing eyes of blue that made me think of cloudless skies. He tightened his jaw as he posed before me with a hard determination. “How could you even ask that?” He scanned over my body and left a heat wave over my skin. “You have it all. You’re the total package.”

One of his hands found my knee and began to stroke over the top of it. His hands were so massive that his fingertips reached the middle of my thigh. A scant few inches away from the promised land. “Your petite, curvy body. A D-cup, right?” I nodded as his eyes laser focused on my chest. If I ever doubted he was one cocky bastard, I don’t anymore. “Your mouth makes me insane. Silky hair I want to see covering every part of me. And these legs.” He brought his other hand to my neglected knee and caressed it too. I parted my legs without even thinking and he followed my lead as he continued higher and skimmed the lacededge of my panties. Teasing me, he

immediately drew back lower to a safer zone. After all, Coach was there only a few feet away. “I would be attracted to you even if you weren’t the only woman able to get me hard. But as luck would have it, you’re the only woman that has me worked up.” Speaking of worked up, my hormones shot through my body at the speed of light. My insides were on fire. I knew what I was going to do before I said it, but hell, I loved football and used to love sex from what I remember of it back in my pre-med days. Since med school, I had one boyfriend and he ran on batteries....

“Hand me the damn pen,” I said in defeat though I was pretty sure I would win a lot from this deal. Sure it would be hard to explain to my family and friends, since I couldn’t talk about it under the damn NDA, but being hitched to the biggest, sexiest football player in Chicago would have to be enough.

Note to reader: The rest of Marcus and Cali’s story comes out later this year in an expanded and lengthier version. Be watching for the rest of HARD LUCK. Marcus Flynn had Chicago and the sports world under his thumb as the star quarterback for the Bears. Women loved

him. Hell, men loved him too. No one could deny the sexy player what he wanted. Marcus lived life fast and “hard” with his choice of hookups until one night in New Orleans when he picked out the wrong woman, a voodoo priestess. She put a sexual curse on Marcus after feeling scorned by him that night. Poor manwhore Marcus was thrown completely off his game and the Bears season looked doomed as he couldn’t “get it up in the air” both on the field and in the bedroom. Then Marcus mets an erectile dysfunction doctor, Dr. Cali Jones, who happened to be the one woman with the power to break the

supposed voodoo curse. Now Marcus has to convince her to marry him...

Also by Liv Morris Coming Spring 2016: MARRY SCREW KILL See MARRY SCREW KILL, The standalone you need to read sitting down here on GOODREADS

About Live Morris

Raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, Liv Morris now resides on St.

Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating twelve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she's planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.

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The Decoy – An Undercover Prequel by Emma Nichols

CHAPTER ONE

My phone chimed at the worst possible time. “Dammit! I thought you turned that thing off when you went to bed,” Roan complained as he pounded against my ass. “Way to ruin the moment.” As I grabbed my cell and put it on vibrate, my eyes narrowed, not that my expression mattered since I was facing the headboard. The text was from Denzi, my roommate. Denzi: Are we riding to work together or taking separate cars? For a moment, I considered her request. Sometimes we did. Since I

wanted a reason to get out of here, after twenty minutes of this torture, it gave me the perfect excuse. me: Hell yeah! Be home soon. Then I moved the phone back to the nightstand where it slipped out of my hand and clattered as it hit it the wood. Behind me, Roan sighed loudly. Mostly, I didn’t care. After all, he woke me up to have sex and it was meh sex at best. “Really, babe?” He growled as he gave up and flopped on the bed beside me, landing on his back. His bent arm covered much of his face, but from the way he bit his lower lip, I could tell he was frustrated. Rolling over, I let my feet hit the floor and immediately set to work

finding my pile of clothes. The skirt and shoes were easy enough, since I dropped them beside the bed, but then Roan had decided to get involved and tossed the rest of my clothes around with little care, which would explain why my bra was draped over the lampshade and my sweater dangled from the footboard. The location of my panties was a mystery for a moment until I glanced at Roan and found them dangling from his forefinger. “Thanks,” I muttered as I started to shut myself in the bathroom. “What? No apology?” He glared at me from the bed where he lay propped on his side. Taking a deep breath, I considered for a moment precisely what he wanted

me to say. Nope. I had nothing. “And what am I supposed to be sorry for this time?” I didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in my voice. “We didn’t finish.” He gestured to his semi, like I was supposed to stop and handle it for him. Judging from the pile of Hustlers I’d stumbled upon not so long ago in his closet, he didn’t need my help. Come to think of it, if it weren’t for my vibrator, I wouldn’t have had an orgasm in freaking forever and he never apologized to me. Fuming, I reached into the bathroom drawer, pulled out what I sought, and tossed him the KY Warming Lube. “Handle it.” Then I slammed the door.

Relationships weren’t supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be dating anyway. Roan had been bartending one night and I stayed to hang out after my assignment. I may have done a few too many shots and he took me home. His home. This very apartment. The sex had been amazing, spontaneous, fun, sexy, and perfect. I almost never had one-night stands, except for like four times, and when he wanted to see me again, I agreed. While I showered, I remembered how everything had worked between us for a while. The first six months had been great, but lately we were in rut city. We never had fun. We always argued over stupid stuff. And I had started

feeling used because I couldn’t remember the last time I had an orgasm during sex. Seriously, even now as the steaming hot water washed over me, the particulars of that momentous occasion escaped me. Hell, the sex had been meh long before I stopped having orgasms apparently. As I turned the water off, Roan passed me a towel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight, babe.” While I dried my face, I gritted my teeth. ‘Babe’ had been a cute nickname at first, but now I wanted him to call me by my name or find a new term of endearment. It felt so...basic...and I was anything but basic, according to that

Facebook quiz. “Do you even remember my name?” “Of course, I do.” Roan shifted uncomfortably against the vanity. I wrapped the towel around me and tucked in one corner near my boob to hold it in place. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled sweetly at him. “So what is it?” “What do you mean?” He rubbed the back of his neck and I could see him struggling to deflect my question. “Wanna meet up after work tonight?” “Answer the question, please.” I took two steps towards him and leaned against his chest. He had a nice body. Honestly, his looks were my favorite

thing about him, which made me feel terribly superficial. Instantly his arms were around me and he leaned down to kiss me, but I pulled out of reach. “Delilah,” he groaned. “Now the rest of it,” I urged. “What does it matter? If I have my way, you’ll quit your job, marry me, and take my name!” Roan frowned deeply. You know, when a guy you’ve been dating for a while suggests marriage is in the future, most girls squeal in delight. My reaction was more of a full body shudder. Luckily, he took it as me being cold or we’d have had a bigger fight on our hands.

“Babe, get dressed. You’re freezing.” He ran his hands up and down my arms. See, if he had paid any attention to my skin temperature, he’d have noticed I was actually toasty warm, still pink from the nearly scalding hot shower I’d just enjoyed in an effort to wash the stress out of me. I could’ve commented on it, but instead, decided to tackle the one most relevant issue. “I’m not quitting my job.” I spoke quietly and my eyes never met his. Then I turned, picked up my clothes and trudged out to the bedroom to get dressed. There were clean panties in my purse. I’d put those on for now and change my clothes at home when I

returned in seven minutes or less, if I had my way. Ah, but Roan had followed me out and flopped on the bed angrily. “Why do you insist on keeping that job?” He glared at me while propped on his side facing my direction. “I quit college five years ago for this job. I have no real skills. I’m sticking with it until I figure what to do with my life. I’ve told you this. Tons of times. Why is this so hard for you to understand?” I stood in only panties, my hands on my hips, my jaw set. If this douche kept causing frown lines, I’d be out of work in no time whether I liked it or not. Carter liked his decoys young and flawless. Let’s face it, I was already hanging on by a thread.

Roan sat up suddenly. “It’s a job, not a career. It can be replaced.” At first I ignored him and tugged my bra into place before pulling on my skirt and shirt, then I realized he was in no position to lecture me. Straightening, I leaned toward him and enunciated my words. “You’re a damn bartender. Why don’t you get a career, then you can talk?” I could actually see the hairs on his neck bristling, but I rather than hear him out, I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the room. He followed me as far as the front door, but since he was still in boxers, he wouldn’t chase me farther. Yanking on the lever, I started to walk into the too bright sun when I realized my hand was

stuck. To my horror, Roan started to walk over to me and help, but I wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. “Leave me alone!” I shrieked as I struggled to free my hand. It hurt like hell and I could already feel it swelling. Still, I somehow managed to rush from the apartment, holding my palm to my chest as warm tears stung my eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

“Ready?” Denzi asked an hour and a half later as we walked from the parking lot to the office for our usual afternoon meeting.

Sighing, I fished in my purse for my phone. This was the fourth time it had rang since we left our apartment. I groaned, then I showed her my cell screen. It was Roan. Again. Still. Once more, I sent him to voicemail. “I can’t even right now,” I muttered. Before I could drop my cell back into the deep abyss that was my purse, she grabbed my hand and looked at me wide eyed. “Um, what happened here?” Chuckling, I glanced at the back of my hand. It was swollen and had a purple bruise. Shaking my head, I explained using as few words as possible. “You know the expression about never going to bed angry?” I

smirked as Denzi nodded. “Apparently I should never leave angry either.” “Fighting again?” Her brow furrowed with worry. “Yeah, we argued, which is why he’s blowing me up now, but this,” I said as I gestured to my injury, “was because I tried to storm out pissed and my hand ended up getting stuck in his levered door handle.” Her eyes bulged. “You did this on a door handle?” “True story. I’m a delicate flower, you know.” Winking, I picked up the pace. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.” “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss Carter’s classic meeting opening.” Then

she made a gagging sound and we laughed. “Greetings, decoys!” I mimicked, in my best Charlie voice. “Angels has a much nicer ring to it,” I mourned. “Of course he thinks he’s being more politically correct, since we have guys too.” “Still, do you not feel a bit like a wooden duck when he says that? I actually hear quacking in my head every day at that greeting,” Denzi commented as she pushed her long dark hairs back from her face. “Truth? I totally pretend I’m paying attention, but I’m really writing the reports I was supposed to do before I

came in.” Chuckling, I reached for the handle to enter the building. Stepping in front of me, Denzi grabbed for it instead. “I’m thinking I should get this for you,” she teased. “You can’t afford to mess up anything else. It’s money, baby!” Bowing slightly, I mumbled, “Of course you’re right.” Then I sashayed through the door. “You can get all my doors for me. Handle my light work, woman.” Obviously her mind was still on our previous conversation. “I can’t believe Carter has never caught you,” she murmured, a hint of wonder in her voice. “I mean, he loves to call us out on pretty much everything.”

“Ah yes, but Carter loves to hear the sound of his own voice more. It’s all in the timing. Watch and learn, dollface.” The demonstration began as I gave her my most focused look while we waited for the elevator. “The key is to look serious, intent. When you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, you just look guilty.” “So that’s lesson one?” Denzi rolled her eyes, then she tried to imitate my face. The results were completely laughable. “Practice. Lots and lots of practice.” The rest of the lessons would have to wait because the doors opened and we joined a group of executives returning to their offices from lunches

and meetings. It was the same thing every day. Some would try and catch our eye. Okay, probably Denzi’s gorgeous green eyes, since she was 5’10”, thin, and beautiful in a way I had always envied, but only because I was merely 5’0” tall and average at best. Denzi kept staring down at me. Finally she spoke after everyone else had cleared out on a previous floor. “I’m not sure I like the way you’re looking at me.” Still in my lousy mood, I sighed in frustration before words began to spill out uncontrollably. “I swear I don’t know why we’re friends sometimes. We have nothing in common. We can’t wear each other’s clothes or shoes. Our

coloring is too different to share makeup!” Turning on me, Denzi hit the emergency stop button and shocked me silent. Immediately, the alarm sounded. “I’ll tell you why, Delilah Morgan. We’ve been friends since grade school, back when our last names meant we shared a pair of desks. Our bond is deeper than communal stupid superficial stuff. We share an apartment, a love of fine wine...that we one day hope to afford, and the same opinion on what makes a good man, which is why I’m still looking and you should be.” Her head bobbed while she rambled on. “I can’t help that I grew up tall and have this mad metabolism any more than you

can help having outgrown the training bras I still wear and looking like you’re smuggling melons under any shirt, sweater, or dress that you own. So just stop it!” Her finger hovered over the button that would cease the terrible noise she had been screeching over. “Are we good now?” Feeling more than a little sheepish, I nodded. “I’m sorry. It was that stupid fight with Roan and this dumb job and...everything.” “Apology accepted. Me? Sorry not sorry. It had to be said.” Immediately, Denzi punched the button and the sound ended while we rode up a few more floors to our destination. The doors opened and we walked out as though

nothing had happened. If only I could just maintain the calm I needed to survive the meeting, I might be able to salvage my day. We walked into the packed conference room and grabbed the last two seats around the enormous table. It was as though our presence signaled the commencement. Moments later, as I opened my laptop to finish my report, Carter entered with his usual flair for the dramatic. After smoothing his golden hair and flashing his bright white teeth, he opened the meeting. “Greetings, decoys.” Immediately, Denzi and I exchanged looks as we gave the required response

with the rest of the employees. “Greetings, Carter.” “Let’s begin.” Then he loaded the presentation from his laptop and I promptly zoned out and focused on my task. He was about to share each decoy’s assignment for the night. It looked like every one of us had a mission this Friday evening. No wonder I didn’t have time to find a better boyfriend. Over the next thirty minutes he passed out file after file, giving the relevant information and reminding each decoy their operation could be found for later use in their email. It was simple enough really. There was no need for

the meetings other than Carter was a bit of an attention whore. I watched as the others were given some pretty exciting missions. When Denzi was sent to an art walk in NoDa, I sighed. She was constantly hired for these sweet locations and hot guys. Time and again. I could say this as we’ve been working for Carter roughly five years, since before we were old enough to drink and needed a job to support our college wannabe party lifestyle. It was cool then, now at twenty-four, it was starting to wear on me. I was probably going to die of cancer from secondhand smoke given all the crappy ass bars I kept getting sent to.

“Something you’d like to add?” Carter asked with more than a hint of annoyance when he heard my sigh. He did hate being interrupted. I opened my mouth to respond, but he made it clear his question was merely rhetorical. “We’ll talk after,” he announced as he passed me my file featuring a creepy looking mail carrier known to frequent the bar near the post office on Carmel Road. Finally Carter closed the meeting the same way he always did. “I haven’t lost a decoy yet, and I don’t intend to.” He gave us a stern look. “Follow the rules. Keep your locator app on at all times. Never agree to meet at a secondary location. And call me when you’re

through, take care of you!” Then Carter smiled as though he were so clever and hadn’t stolen his best line from a Julia Roberts movie. By the time ‘after’ came and he turned his attention to me, I was ready to just slink out of the conference room. Once again, I had landed a loser. “Have fun,” I called to Denzi as I packed up and she walked out. Turning to leave, Carter stepped in my path. “Is there a problem, Delilah?” he questioned with a frown. Pulling my shoulders back to access my full height, I tried to appear confident as I shared my dismay over my job. “It would just be nice if I had a sweet

assignment now and then like Denzi, for example. That’s all.” Throwing an arm around my shoulder, Carter hugged me against his side and steered me so we could survey the rest of the decoys as they moved about the office outside of the glassed in conference room. “Look at them. Look at Denzi and Marcy and Elisa especially.” He pointed with his free hand to indicate the three women he had named. “What about them?” I struggled to hold back a sigh. “These women, they’re stallions,” he cooed by way of explanation. Gazing at them, I recognized they were all tall, thin, and beautiful, but still

I worked here. I managed to have operations almost every single night. His explanation still didn’t add up. “What does that mean?” My frustration was beginning to show in the edginess of my voice. “Well, they are built for speed.” He turned to look at me, placing a hand on each shoulder. “You? You’re built for comfort. Luckily, this stable is a place with room for all types because men, men love all types.” He smiled down at me. “Now go get the creep.” Somehow, I could almost picture him patting my rump, like he would a plow horse to keep it plodding along. My shoulders drooping slightly, I moped out to my cubicle to study the file and prep

for my evening. Reading as I walked, I discovered my target was married. His wife had contacted the agency because he was staying out late on Friday nights, every week. Sometimes when he returned, he smelled of perfume. At least once, she’d found lipstick on his collar. It was pretty much a report of all the classic red flags. When I arrived at my desk, my extension was ringing. Immediately I recognized the caller. Apparently, since Roan couldn’t reach me on my cell, he’d decided to harass me on my work line. Clearly this was never going to stop unless I answered. After the conversation with Carter, I think I was

just upset enough to face this new disappointment. “What?” I asked coldly. “Hey babe!” Roan sounded relieved I had finally picked up. “You didn’t answer any of my calls before.” Sighing loudly, just in case he hadn’t already picked up on my annoyance, I responded. “I was in a meeting. I’m working. We’ve been together over a year. You should know my schedule by now!” “Sorry. You know how much I hate your job. I didn’t pay attention,” he mumbled into the phone. “Yeah,” I hissed. “You never pay attention. At least doing this job, I get to feel attractive because you sure as hell don’t do that for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Analyzing his tone of voice, I realized he didn’t sound angry, just genuinely confused. It made me all the more upset. “Why did you call me?” I asked, completely frustrated. “What do you want, Roan? It certainly isn’t me.” I leaned back in my chair, brushed my unruly hair back from my face, and covered my body protectively with my free arm. Suddenly, I felt very exposed and insecure. “Of course I want you,” he murmured gently. “If I didn’t, I would have left right after we had sex, silly!” Looking to the ceiling, I questioned why I was with this moron. “Roan,” I

began agitatedly, “we were in your apartment! Why would you be the one to leave? Dammit.” Some days, carrying on a conversation with him was like talking to a concrete wall. He was that dense. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “So, instead, I left angry this morning after yet another stupid fight and you didn’t come after me.” “Well, if you left then you didn’t want to be there. Why would I go after you and try to get you to do something you didn’t want to do, be somewhere you didn’t want to be?” I could actually hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice. Roan was convinced he had a valid argument.

History suggested if I discussed my grievances with him long enough, the idiocy seemed to rub off and his ridiculous reasoning began to make sense. I needed to end this conversation before that happened. “I have to go. I have to get ready.” “Coming over after work?” he asked. “Nope.” The word came out just as sharply as I intended. “I can go to my own house and not have an orgasm. I don’t need to drive to the other side of town to get used by you.” Then I slammed the receiver down, leaned forward on the desk, and shut my eyes a moment while I waited for the frustration to dissipate. My solitude lasted all of

thirty seconds before I could feel someone standing beside me. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see Denzi looking down on me with a worried look. “Well, Denzi Miller. How the hell are you? I seem to be having the day that just keeps on giving.” I smiled sadly. Pulling her chair over from the next cubicle, she sat down. “I have some time, doll. Let’s talk.” She leaned forward conspiratorially and looked around before she opened her mouth again. “What’s going on?” Then before I could even consider how to respond, she spoke once more. “I may have overheard the tail end of that convo. Just sayin’. What’s going on with

Roan?” The sympathy in her eyes nearly made me cry. Nodding, I sniffled. “Yeah. We hardly ever have sex. There’s always an excuse. Even worse, when we do have sex, it’s less than satisfying.” Reaching for the tissue box on the shelf above me, I yanked one out in anticipation of the tears I just might not be able to hold back this time. Denzi chuckled. “If you need help shooting down an excuse, I’m so your girl. We’ll get you two doing the horizontal Cha Cha in no time.” She smiled confidently at me. I wished I shared her enthusiasm. “Wait. Is he a selfish lover? Do you even want to have sex with him?” The sideways look she

offered suggested I might just take this as an opportunity to move on. “You know how much fun we could have single together, right?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Tempting, but I feel like at my age, I need to start getting serious about a permanent relationship,” I explained honestly. Opening her purse, Denzi felt around inside until she found what she sought. Dipping her finger in a pot of lip gloss, she puckered and applied before responding. Snatching my tissue, Denzi wiped her fingers. “Please, you weren’t going to need this.” She wadded up the soiled Kleenex and tossed it in the garbage can under my desk. “Oh, and

we’re twenty-four, it’s not like we’re old maids, crazy pants.” She shook her head at me. “The sex with Roan used to be good, as I recall...” Her eyes flew upward to the ceiling. “Oh Lawd! Please help this child.” Then she trained her look on me. “As you recall? What the hell ever. You should be going at it like rabbits! So what are these excuses?” Opening my hand I began ticking them off on my fingers in order of most frequently in play. “He needs the testosterone for work. It’s too early. It’s too late. It’s not time yet. He wants a shower first. He just showered...” I smiled. “You see where I’m going with

this. “It’s one reason after another.” My eyes began to water at the humiliation. “You’ve probably never experienced anything like this,” I mumbled, in full wallow mode. “Hell right, I haven’t. Oh, but not due to my looks,” she insisted, “it’s all about my attitude. Any man is lucky to have me. And if he doesn’t appreciate me, fulfill my needs, he can just keep on walking because if not, I’ll do it for him.” Watching her made me smile. Denzi was so full of life. Normally so mellow, like a reformed hippy, she still surprised me when she let this side of her personality shine through. “I love you,

Denzi. What would I do without you?” I asked affectionately. “Your own hair and makeup,” she joked with a smirk. While I had been speaking, she had been removing one item after another from her purse and lining them up on the side of the desk. “Seriously. You need to go in about twenty minutes. Let’s make your outside match your inside. Never forget you are simply beautiful, Delilah.” She smoothed the hair back from my face. “Ugh, but this hair must go.” Standing, she worked on fixing me up, making one of those sloppy stylish buns everyone but me seemed to know how to create.

CHAPTER THREE

Minutes before five in the evening, I parked and took one last peek in the visor mirror before exiting the vehicle in front of Char Bar 7. Through the years, this place had gone through numerous transformations. At one time it had been a Hickory Tavern, but then the bigger beautiful newer one popped up just down the road in Ballantyne and this one lost its clientele, closed, and sat vacant for a bit. Then it was turned into another bar that didn’t last long enough for me to remember the name. For the last couple of years it had been surviving under this new identity. It was a nice place with

okay food in a decent location. There were worst dives to be assigned to. I should know. The past five years, I’d worked most of them. At the very least, when my job was done, I was close to the apartment Denzi and I shared. So why was I so miserable? I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing. It just all added up to...God, I didn’t feel like being here. I checked my phone one last time to ensure I hadn’t inadvertently turned off the app everyone in the office used for safety purposes. Sometimes, because of consistently being assigned boring ops, I was sloppy. After all, five years had passed with little to no excitement whatsoever. Satisfied I was following protocol, I

exited my cute little black Fiat and strode into the place. The brick stairs were really taking a toll on my stiletto heels. Why did I ever let Denzi talk me into buying those shoes? Then I smiled to myself as I turned and used the key fob to lock my vehicle. She wasn’t always wrong. She had steered me completely right on my car. Taking a deep breath, I focused and accepted it was time to go in. Just before I reached for it, the bar’s door opened as a waitress rushed out to the heated patio. I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if this would be the best place to lure my target, but decided I really needed to give the rest of the bar and restaurant the once over first. For

all I knew he was already inside eating dinner with another woman. How many times had that happened to me? It made for an easy night. I would sip a glass of wine on the company dime, take a few discreet pictures of the happy adulterous couple, and then we’d share it with the wife or girlfriend. Case closed. In the pictures the wife provided, this man had a comb-over, his eyes looked glazed over and I’m not sure he had smiled ever. So, yeah, I kinda hoped he was with someone already and it wouldn’t have to be me. Walking inside, the warmth hit me instantly, which was a nice break from the late fall chill, along with the inviting smell of steaks grilling. Then I realized

something. There was not one single person in the place. Though I was normally reasonably confident, the combination of fighting with Roan and Carter’s brutal honesty had me reeling. What if Roan really was the best I could do? What if we broke up and I was alone forever? Immediately, my eyes started watering and I made a beeline for the bar. Blinking back tears, I stared the bartender down to get his attention. He was talking to the manager and nodded to indicate he would be right over. Sure enough, seconds later he stood in front of me. He set a napkin in front of me as he asked, “What can I get you?”

“Just a glass of Merlot,” I announced as I eyed the napkin he’d laid before me. While I knew it was supposed to be for my drink, I started to pick it up in the hopes of salvaging my makeup, but a hand came down on top of mine. “Here, use this,” a kindly voice suggested as the man passed me a handkerchief. “Thank you,” I mumbled, thoroughly ashamed I’d been caught crying in public. I had to be hormonal. There was no way this was normal for me. Then I dabbed at my eyes, careful not to mess up my eye makeup. If I could pull myself together, I still had a shot at completing my assignment. If I didn’t, I’d have to deal with Carter. The choice

was obvious. Pasting a smile on my face, I moved to return the linen square to the gentleman. “I’m not sure about the etiquette for this,” I began, my eyes low and my embarrassment real. “Do you want this back?” For the first time, I looked him in the face. It was Herman Barnes, my target. “Nah, keep it,” he said with a smile. “I have more.” He winked. Now, I have to admit he didn’t seem nearly as creepy and gross as he had in the picture she provided. Maybe Herman and I actually had something in common. I take lousy pictures. Roan has told me time and again there is something about me that just doesn’t translate onto film. Why couldn’t he just

tell me I look great? Did no one ever teach him how to treat a woman? Then I heard Denzi’s voice in the back of my mind, reminding me I was the one who chose to be with him when I could cut and run. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I should definitely cut and run. Guess I knew what I was doing Saturday. *le sigh* “What brings you here?” Herman questioned. “Meeting someone?” He seemed really interested. This had to be my easiest op ever. God, I needed a challenge. A mirthless chuckle escaped my lips. “I’m here to drown my sorrows.” I picked up the wine glass the bartender had set down and took a healthy sip. “I

just realized I’ve wasted a year of my life on a bad boyfriend. You?” My eyebrows rose in an effort to display some interest. “Ah, well, I just finished work and I’m trying to stall before heading home.” He waved to the bartender who quickly appeared for his order, since we were still the only two customers inside the bar. “Can I just get a Bud Light?” As soon as the bartender moved to get his drink, I initiated further conversation. “Bad girlfriend?” I asked sympathetically. “Bad wife,” he admitted. “I asked her for a divorce, but she refuses to leave, so I spend as much time away as possible.”

Nodding, I tried to commiserate as best I could to win his trust. “I completely understand.” Then I laid a hand on his, much like he had just done to me minutes before. My purse began to vibrate. “Hold that thought,” I murmured as I peeked inside. Pulling it out, I realized that Roan was calling...again. Seriously, how did he not understand I was working? This just further cemented my belief he didn’t respect me. Showing my phone to Herman, I groaned. “And this would be the bad boyfriend now.” Then I made a point of sending him to voicemail. “Was he the reason you were crying?” Herman asked with a frown. “You know...it’s better to be unhappy

alone than it is to be unhappy with someone.” Nodding, I used the handkerchief to swipe at my nose before I spoke again. Feeling more confident in my decision to dump Roan, I replied, “Your advice is very profound.” Then I glanced at the truly soiled handkerchief. “Well, now I guess I really do have to keep it,” I noted with a smile that never reached my eyes. “Definitely. And that wine is on me,” he mentioned as he paid the bartender for both of our drinks. Tilting my head, I smiled. “Aw, you didn’t have to do that, but since I’m having such a lousy day, I appreciate it.” It seemed like a good time to take a moment. I’d have to get a leash on Roan

before he ruined my op. “I’ll be right back. Time to powder my nose.” Then I stood, winked at him, and sauntered through the bar and restaurant to the bathroom. I had made it all of two feet when he called after me. “For the record, I think you’re perfect!” For a moment, I stopped in my tracks. It was meant to be a compliment, I was certain, but still the way he said it made me shudder slightly. Perfect. Without looking back, I kept walking until I was safely inside the bathroom. As soon as the heavy wooden door shut behind me, I pulled my phone out of my purse and returned Roan’s call.

“Hey, babe!” Roan chirped happily as soon as he picked up. “For the love of God!” I groaned. “How do you not get that I’m working? Do you want to ruin things? Do you want me to lose my job?” I had been asking the questions so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to respond. Finally, in his saddest voice, he answered, “I wouldn’t mind if you lost your job.” “Well, unless you plan to pay my bills, leave me alone!” My frustration was obvious. Quietly, he agreed. “Okay. How long?” “I can’t give you a time. You should know by now how these things work.” I

sighed heavily. “I’ll call you. How about that?” “That’s fine,” he mumbled morosely. I almost felt guilty for hurting his feelings, but I was afraid if I was nice, if I backed down, then once again the lesson would be lost on him. “Thank you,” I said firmly. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.” Then we ended the call. Finally, I was confident he wouldn’t be bothering me further. Peeking at my face in the mirror, I realized all I needed to repair the damage was some lip-gloss and some fresh powder on my nose. Less than a minute later, I emerged, hoping he hadn’t cost me my target in the meantime.

Nearing the bar, I saw Herman was holding my drink protectively while he awaited my return. He smiled widely when he saw me, exposing crooked stained teeth. It took everything in me not to falter. As I returned to the empty stool beside him, he passed me the glass. “Here you go!” He seemed so enthusiastic it was unnerving. So I told myself he was just socially awkward and completely harmless. “Thank you.” I nodded at him before I took another sip. I really just wanted a quiet minute to calm down. Closing my eyes, I inhaled slowly as I waited for the wine to work its magic. “Bad boyfriend has your nerves shot,” he surmised. “I’m gonna go

smoke. Wanna keep me company?” Taking a glance at my wine, I decided I didn’t want to leave it unattended, so I quickly gulped down the rest of it. It hit me hard, way harder than expected. Smiling, I stood clumsily. “Yeah. After that, I think I need the fresh air.” Slowly, I walked by his side, struggling to balance with these wildly impractical shoes. When I stumbled slightly, he reached out and steadied me. “Here.” Herman offered me his arm. “Those heels.” He shook his head. “I know, right?! What was I thinking?” Then, like most drunks, I found myself answering my own question. “Well, I guess I thought it’d be

sexy. Do you think I’m sexy?” Wow. I just had to stop talking, only I couldn’t. My edit button seemed to be broken. I felt really relaxed, warm and...relaxed. Before I realized it, we were in the parking lot. Even though moments before I had been really toasty, now faced with the cold air and winter-like temperatures, I shivered. His arm snaked around my shoulder. It took everything in me not to tense up. Harmless Herman was creeping me out. “I’ll keep you warm,” he assured me. Then his hand rose with another handkerchief in it. Shaking my head, I reminded him. “I already have one.” I even held up the one he had given me earlier as proof.

“Yes,” Herman murmured, “but that one has tears and makeup on it.” Looking up into his face, I nodded blankly. Man, my body felt heavy. My head was so cloudy. Stupid wine. “Check this one out,” he suggested calmly. Then a smile spread across his face. “Does it smell like chloroform to you?” Seriously, I laughed. I thought he was joking, playing around, which was why I let him hold the handkerchief over my face while I inhaled sharply. There was a definite odor there. The alcohol blurred my mind as I struggled to find the words to describe the scent. I felt weak. My knees threatened to give out on me. Luckily, he helped hold me up

while we walked. I just wanted somewhere I could sit down. “So, unlucky in love, just like my Norma Jean,” he whispered in my ear. “They’ll only care when you’re gone.” Somewhere, in a place that seemed so far away, I heard a car door groan. My body was being lowered. Still, I inhaled, sniffing the handkerchief again and again while I tried to figure it all out. What did chloroform smell like anyway? Then my mind went dark.

CHAPTER FOUR

When I woke, I discovered I was in the back seat of a strange car and my hands were cuffed. It took me a moment. Handcuffed? How much did I drink? What the hell had I done? Then as my vision cleared, I realized I wasn’t in a cop car. Judging from the thinning hair on the driver’s head, my wimpy, boring, moderately creepy, but otherwise seemingly harmless target, Herman Barnes, had managed to abduct me. What the fuck? I mean...seriously. Who does that? Once I felt like I had my bearings, I popped up to a sitting position and nearly scared the poo out of him. (Just a guess, given his reaction, of course.) He

gasped as his eyes bugged out and grabbed at his chest with one hand. “You’re supposed to be passed out!” Herman exclaimed, exhibiting a combination of shock and disappointment. “I drugged your drink. I chloroformed you.” He sounded so dismayed. I had to comfort him. “Well, this isn’t my first rodeo. I attended lots of frat parties in college. I’ve been drugged before. Maybe I’ve built up a tolerance.” Shrugging, I smiled sweetly at him. He seemed to brighten some. “As for the chloroform, did you know you have to hold it tightly over the face for five to seven minutes for the desired effect? It’s just a rookie

mistake.” What can I say? I watch a lot of Forensic Files. Herman was spluttering now. “No, I didn’t know that. You stopped moving. I didn’t know how long you’d be out, but I thought I at least had time to make it to the house. This is just...awkward.” He beat one fist against the dashboard. After two light punches, he winced and stopped. Rolling my eyes, I decided to play nice. It wasn’t Stockholm Syndrome, it was self-preservation, plain and simple. Build a bond. He might let me go. “Easy there, big guy. You’ll really regret it if you injure a limb. Look at this!” I held up my cuffed wrists, angling my bruised hand for him to see.

“Did that on a door handle.” I nodded knowingly. “A door handle. That’s terrible. You need to be more careful.” He frowned. Those words might’ve been the understatement of the year. I’d been drugged and handcuffed because I’d mistakenly believed Herman was harmless. Glancing about the back seat, I discovered there was no way to get out. Even if I could get up the courage to jump out of a moving vehicle, the handles for the doors and windows were missing. He was less incompetent than I’d suspected, and in complete control, which I hated. “Yup,” I agreed. “I definitely need to be more careful.”

We were silent a few moments. I’m not sure what he was thinking, but I was busy assessing my situation. Whatever he drugged me with was doing a fine job of keeping me level. I could feel some panic rising, but I was holding it together remarkably well. Honestly, I’d need to stay calm if I even hoped to have a shot at surviving this. Maybe he’d never done this before. Maybe he’d be nervous. In some ways, he still seemed rather inept. “So, am I your first?” I asked brightly. Clearly he recognized the hopeful note in my voice. “Aw. No, sorry. There have been three before you.” He winked, the easy demeanor from the bar returning.

“And where are they now?” I wondered. Immediately, he shook his head. “So, is that...you don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?” Herman sighed. “The latter.” He was quiet a moment before he spoke again. “Listen, we’re having a really good time. Let’s not bring up past relationships and mess things up. Okay?” Past relationships? Is that what he thought this was? Crap. Naturally, I was afraid. More importantly, I was also determined to live. There were times in my life when I almost expected to be taken too soon. I worried some when I had eaten an incredibly good meal, had a really perfect day, or enjoyed some truly

amazing sex. Of course, it had been too long since I had experienced any of those, but I wasn’t going out like this. Somehow, I was going to survive. And when I did, I would have my best day, a combination of all of those. Smiling a little and trying to remain calm, I finally responded. “Okay. Sounds good.” It was really dark outside, but still I hoped I’d be able to pick out a landmark or street sign. During my perusal of the vehicle, I had discovered my purse was up front, far out of reach. There was no way for me to grab my phone yet, but it was probably still on. It was too early for Carter to be tracking me, worrying over a call that hadn’t happened. For this type of mission he wouldn’t wonder

until at least ten at night. The dashboard clock showed it was only six in the evening. Somehow, I’d have to stall, keep him from achieving his goals until long after I was rescued. My mind raced, trying to come up with solutions. “So, what did you give me? I only ask this because I’m remarkably calm given the situation.” It was my goal to keep our discussions light and conversational. We needed a bond, for him to trust me so he’d slip up. It always worked on the television dramas. Smiling, he nodded. “Good stuff, right? It’s just Valium.” Leaning back into the seat, I realized it made perfect sense. “Oh, I’ve had those before. They gave me like half a

pill before I had my laser eye surgery a few years ago. It really took the edge off. Yup. Me likey.” Then I closed my eyes for just a moment. I didn’t want to seem too interested, like I was watching too closely. When I opened my eyes once more, I casually scanned my surroundings, before asking yet another question. “What’s next? It looks like you’re my Friday night date.” I shrugged. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Shall we get a bite to eat?” “No food.” Herman announced sternly. Then seeing the genuine disappointment on my face, he softened. “We haven’t even worked up an appetite yet.”

Swallowing hard, I tried to hide how much I didn’t like the sound of that. “You don’t even know my name. Shouldn’t you know my name before you presume we’ll ‘work up an appetite’?” Shaking his head, his next words served only to raise my concern. “I know your name. You’re my Norma Jean.” Crap. Clearly, Herman was a special kind of crazy. “I look nothing like Norma Jean. I have dark hair!” I argued. “So did Norma Jean,” he reminded me. “It’s Marilyn who you don’t yet resemble.”

Well damn. He had me on technicality. “You do know I’ll never be her, right?” I watched him for a reaction, but he seemed to have tuned out. “My name is Delilah Morgan. I’m twentyfour years old. I have a boyfriend, and a roommate, and a family that loves me. I promise you, I’ll be missed.” “Of course you will be.” He nodded sadly. “I’m doing you a favor really. You’ll be famous when you’re gone.” Then the car turned down a driveway in a section of town I still hadn’t been able to place. Stupid Charlotte and its stupid sprawl. Herman seemed happier. Putting the car in park, he turned to face me with a smile. “We’re here.”

It seemed like I was supposed to say something. He was just waiting and staring at me. All I could think about were his words. I didn’t want to be famous. More than that, I didn’t want to be gone. Ruminating on it had soured my mood. Finally, without thinking, finally responded. “Oh, goody.”

CHAPTER FIVE

In some ways, the drugs were wearing off. I realized this when seeing Herman all happy and confident had my heart thumping against my ribs. It had to mean danger for me. Struggling to keep it

together, I waited to see what would happen next. Taking a moment to assess my status, I realized I currently felt a little light headed, not quite right. As soon as he let me out, I’d know if I was steady on my feet. Ugh, my feet. Looking down I realized my shoes were nowhere to be found. “Oh, Herman?” I began casually. “I can’t help but notice my shoes are missing.” “They weren’t practical,” he reminded me. “You couldn’t even walk in them.” “While that was most definitely true, now I’m going to have to walk with nothing. How’s that going to work?

Don’t suppose you plan to carry me?” I stared at him in the rear view mirror. Must be I had hit a nerve because he seemed very irritable when he threw open the door, emerged from the front seat, and yanked open the back door. Time to do what I did best, turn the tables, win him over. Extending my handcuffed hands, I smiled at him, beamed, pretended he was the love of my life, my prince. It definitely had him off balance. A half smile appeared on his face and he reached for me gently, instead of subjecting me to the same abuse he had inflicted upon the car. Slowly, he put my hands over his head. “I’m going to turn around,” he

warned. “A piggyback ride is probably the best I can do.” In my mind, a vision flashed of me using the handcuffs and my weight to choke him out. For a millisecond, I wondered if it could work. Then he seemed to reconsider. “You’ll never get on my back in that skirt.” He sighed heavily as he pulled my hands back over his head. “Guess I’ll just have to throw you over my shoulder.” Without further commentary, I found myself being tossed over his shoulder, my pelvis resting heavily on his clavicle. It hurt, the bone grinding on bone with each step he took. I tried to shift, to find a more comfortable position, but he

only gripped me harder against his body. I refused to give him the satisfaction of whimpering or whining. I was one tough chick. Sometimes, I just forgot. From my position, upside down, facing the ground, I couldn’t see anything. It was unnerving, but I knew we were heading toward the house attached to the driveway. It was dark with few streetlights. The car’s headlights hadn’t illuminated much of the residence. All I could say for certain was there were no lights on inside. We went up three steps to a rickety porch and I could hear him fumbling with his keys. Finally, there was the creak of the door as it opened and we stepped inside. Though I expected my

feet would now hit the ground, Herman continued to carry me deeper into the home. The place smelled old, musty. He didn’t live here. No one did. In the far back corner of the house, he flipped on a light switch that turned on a lamp on a nightstand, and then walked a few more steps before dropping me into a chair. The room was still quite dark. It made my heart pound in my chest, but I hid my fear and instead, I smiled at him. “Thank you! The blood was rushing to my head. Whew!” Then I casually glanced around. “Any chance I can use a bathroom or get a drink of water?” Sure, it was doubtful, but I had to try.

Shaking his head, he admitted, “There’s no water here.” “Oh, I just thought...since there was electric...” My voice trailed off because I really hoped he’d fill in the blanks. Herman squatted in between my legs. For the first time, I looked down and saw the chain system he was hooking to my handcuffs. Shaking his head, he murmured, “This place was my mother’s home. She passed away about a month ago. I needed the electric to go through her things.” While I had heard what he said, all I could think about was being chained to the floor like a damn dog. “Is that really necessary?” I asked teasingly. “I have no idea where I am. I have no shoes.

It’s maybe forty degrees out. Let’s face it, I’m not going anywhere.” It was a partial lie. Given the opportunity, if I had to cross a floor covered in Legos, I’d try to escape. “No need to tempt you, give you false hope.” When I heard the final click, I knew I was locked in tight. From what I had seen in my casual inspection, the room was a bedroom in varying shades of pale pink, right down to the mauve carpet and accent wall behind the bed with rose wallpaper. The bedspread was old pink chenille; a few bare spots showing excessive wear in the middle where there was also a significant dip in the mattress. The

folding closet door was open and it looked to be overflowing with dresses. “Looks like you haven’t managed to clean out much yet,” I commented, another effort to keep him talking. Standing, he smiled and walked back to the wall. His hand hovered over the switch plate as he spoke. “Aw, I already got rid of her stuff. This...is mine.” Then he flicked the switch and the room was instantly blindingly bright. Though I had done a fine job of staying calm thus far, a gasp still escaped my lips. What the hell was going on here? The walls we covered in Marilyn Monroe posters. There was Marilyn memorabilia everywhere. This guy, this collection...was serious.

“My wife hates Marilyn,” Herman commented. He held up an old picture of a woman next to an old picture of Norma Jean. “Look they could’ve been twins.” He glanced at me and caught the disbelief in my face. “Okay, well sisters then.” Slowly, I nodded and wished I had another Valium. “Hey, I don’t suppose you have more of those little blue pills...” Herman stiffened. “I don’t need Viagra. I don’t care what Mildred’s telling people. It’s her, not me.” Great. I’d managed to hit another sore spot. It was like walking through landmines, trying to have a conversation with this guy. “Not Viagra, silly. I meant

valium. A little one.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together and winked at him as I spoke. It was my best Marilyn look. He froze a moment and I began to think it worked. Softening, a smile slowly spread across his face. “Will you behave while I go get one?” My eyes scanned the room. I needed to become her, quote her. “Well behaved women rarely make history.” Then I puckered and blew him a kiss. Standing, Herman rushed over and knelt at my feet to check the chains one last time. “You’re amazing, Norma, and so right.” He leaned in, never taking his eyes off me. Nervously, he gave me a

quick peck on the lips. It was all I could do not to retch. Channeling my inner actress, I lowered my lids and practiced being coy while he raced from the room. I could hear the front door slam as he left the house. Carefully, and as quietly as possible, I examined the floor. With any luck, one of his past conquests might have loosened it for me, but it didn’t seem to be the case. Everything still had that strong and sturdy new feel. Though I hadn’t planned to really take the Valium when he brought it to me, now I’d reconsidered. The door slammed and I could hear his boots scraping the floor as he shuffled back to where he’d left me. When he held out his

hand, I saw a full pill before me. “Split it with me,” I suggested in my breathiest voice. His jaw dropped. “You sound...perfect.” Ignoring his reaction, I nodded toward the pill. “Come on, halfsies. Me and you.” I closed my eyes and nuzzled against his cheek. With shaking hands, he broke the pill in half and I opened my mouth obediently to receive my portion after he popped one section into his mouth and dry swallowed. I tried to do the same, but ended up simply sticking it under my tongue. Carefully, he reached out to caress my cheek. “Sweet Norma Jean,” he murmured.

Standing suddenly, he moved to the dressing table and began to pull out pots, jars, and makeup brushes from one drawer, then lip liners and eye pencils from another. Afraid to break the silence, I watched and waited as he prepared to apply it to my face. “I’ll have you looking like yourself in no time.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. My guess was the valium had begun to hit his system. After all, he’d been drinking earlier and the pill was already broken which made it dissolve faster. Feeling sufficiently calm, I sat still and silent while he applied layers of makeup, far more than I was accustomed to wearing. When he urged me to get out

of my chair twenty minutes later, I simply stood patiently. Then he started pulling dresses from the closet and I tried to hide my fear. Holding up two, he murmured, “I can’t decide.” “The black and white one,” I suggested. “Very classic.” “Yeah, but it’s kind of fancy for staying in, don’t you think?” He frowned as he considered the options. “So take me out.” I shrugged, trying to act as though it were no big deal, when obviously my life hung in the balance. Herman stared at me a moment. “I don’t know. I kinda wanted us to stay in.”

“You didn’t strike me as a jealous and insecure man.” I gave him a sideways glance. “Maybe I’ve been all wrong about you.” My eyes scanned the walls until I found the perfect words. “All a girl really wants is for one guy to prove to her that they are not all the same.” Then I looked up at him seductively, the way I’d seen Marilyn pose in countless pictures. “I’m nothing like those other guys,” he grumbled. “Good. Then we’ll go out.” My mind raced at the possibilities. Somewhere public. Somewhere I could truly escape. “There’s an art walk tonight. We should go. We’ll come back here after.” Keep in mind, when I said ‘we,’ I pretty much

meant the police and me, but I didn’t need to share that technicality with him. “Yeah. After.” He nodded clumsily. Thank goodness for valium. As quickly as they worked, they could wear off. We needed to move faster. Turning around, I asked, “Unzip me so I can change?” Clearly he wasn’t accustomed to his victims being so malleable. I watched as he swallowed hard and then struggled not to flinch as he touched me. His fingers fumbled with the metal pull, but finally he managed to inch it down past the widest part of my hips. Slowly I turned. “This will go faster if you let me help.” I held out my wrists, hoping he might uncuff me.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the key and carefully unlocked my wrists. “Don’t get too used to it. We’ll be wearing these in public.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to lose you.” My words weren’t a lie. This guy wasn’t going to get away. I’d see to it he never hurt anyone again...if at all possible. In minutes, I was naked except for my matching bra and panties. Herman’s hands were shaking as he passed me the dress and I pulled it over my head. He could barely work the zipper by the time I turned to him for help once more. Then I stuck out a foot. “What’s that?” His face scrunched up as he stared at my naked toes.

“Shoes. I need shoes. I can’t very well walk around in public without them.” I smiled seductively, I hoped. My face felt heavier with all the makeup and the lingering effects of the drugs, including the pill currently dissolving under my tongue. “Oh, of course.” He gave me a quick and awkward hug before he ran to the car again. “I’ll be right back!” He called over his shoulder before he door slammed behind him. I wasn’t worried. In fact, I was happy to have a few seconds alone in the house to find a weapon, maybe search out a phone. Exiting this room, I peeked into the next bedroom, but it was completely empty. The room to the left

was a bathroom, so I stepped inside, opening the medicine cabinet. A quick scan showed it was mostly outdated over the counter meds and hemorrhoid cream. Poor mom. By the time the front door slammed again, Herman was closing in on the bathroom so I decided to play it off. “Hey,” I murmured as he nearly passed me on the way to the room where he’d left me. “What are you doing in here?” He grumbled as he grabbed my wrist. “I just wanted to see how beautiful you made me.” I pouted at him and batted my eyelashes. “You didn’t show me. I wanted to look nice for you.” His grip loosened.

“I didn’t even think about it. I’m sorry.” Herman rubbed his hand up and down my arm. “The others didn’t care.” “You should know by now, I’m not like the other girls.” I smiled as I stuck out my foot for him to push my shoe on. He squatted low and I heard a pop. “My knees are bad,” he explained as he helped me get into my shoes. Once they were on, I held out a hand to help him up. Smiling, he took it. When I started to exit the room toward the front door, he shook his head. “But the art crawl.” My face fell. There was no hiding my disappointment. “Oh no, Norma,” he cooed. “We’re going, but you’re not ready yet.” He tugged me back to the bedroom.

Everything in me wanted to pull away, to fight and run, but I needed to trust I hadn’t misread the situation. I might only have one shot at this escape. I couldn’t blow it by fleeing too soon. Once inside the room again, he motioned for me to sit in the chair. The very idea of being locked in again terrified me, but I simply swallowed and sat. The other option was the bed and I definitely didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Then I crossed my legs seductively and hoped he’d forget to cuff me. For a moment, Herman paused and shook his head as he stared at me much like I stared at desserts in the bakery case. Then I nearly heaved a sigh of

relief when I watched him disappear into the closet. Seconds later, he returned with a blonde wig and pulled it onto my head. I sat still while he adjusted it and finally stepped back to admire his work. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes alight in wonder. With some effort, I managed a smile.

CHAPTER SIX

All of ten minutes later, we were settled into his car and were driving towards NoDa for the art crawl. It ended at nine and we were closing in on eight. Worse, I’d never been before. Would I run into

anyone I knew? Would there be police around? Would I somehow be able to manage an escape? How the hell was I supposed to balance keeping Herman happy and comfortable enough to let his guard down while finding a way to live? These were the thoughts I struggled with as we finally reached our destination. Surprisingly enough, we had no trouble parking. The biggest challenge would be hiding my excitement, trying to remain calm when really I wanted to run screaming from the car into the arms of the nearest person. So when Herman stepped out of the vehicle, I waited patiently, since he had me handcuffed to the handle. As he opened my door, I slowly found my footing and waited

patiently for him to secure the cuff to his wrist. When I glanced about, I realized the streets were all but vacant. We needed to get onto North Davidson and join the art crawl before I’d have a shot at running into someone. Still, I tried to act casual as we walked to the first venue. “I’ve never done this before,” Herman commented as he squeezed my hand. I forced a smile. “Me neither. This will be fun.” “Then we’ll go back to the house.” This time he rubbed his palms together which jerked my arm around and made me shiver. “Are you too cold?”

Cold was the very least of my problems. I’d be dead and cold if I couldn’t find help. Shaking my head, I murmured, “Nope. I’m great.” We came upon a couple that was so engrossed with each other, no matter how long or hard I stared, I couldn’t seem to get their attention. What must it be like to be so lost in someone the rest of the world melts away? Tears stung my eyes. This might be harder than I anticipated. We took a few more steps and literally ran into a couple coming out of a nearby building. “Sorry!” The girl giggled as she bounced away. Reaching out with my free hand, I tugged on her coat. Her eyes met my face

and I mouthed, “Help me, please.” Her face scrunched up as though she were considering what I’d said. Then she glanced at Herman, and broke out into laughter. She nodded and walked away. Yeah. I suppose she thought it was a bad first date. This was getting me nowhere. I had begun to lose hope. My spirit was broken. My stomach was grumbling, yes, even at a time like this. Overwhelmed with sorrow, I kept my head down as we walked a block. We were about to enter Peddler’s Post when I saw a car I recognized. My eyes narrowed in on the lime green Kia Soul. Even in a city the size of Charlotte, there couldn’t be too many of those around. I peeked at the license plate as we walked

by: RONZRYD. What the hell was he doing here? This time, I might actually be happy to see him. My heart raced as I imagined throwing myself into his arms. Then we turned a corner, and I froze, stumbling slightly as Herman tugged me along. Roan already had someone in his arms. They were kissing. As I stomped my foot and cleared my throat, he saw me, grabbed the girl’s hand, and bolted in the opposite direction crossing the street to avoid me. The lousy bastard. I balled my hands into fists at my sides and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with all the oxygen I’d need to shout and out him as he scampered away. Before I could let out so much as a squeak,

Herman had leaned in and plastered his lips to mine. “What are you doing?” I spluttered as I pulled away. “I thought you wanted a kiss,” he explained weakly. “You stopped walking. You were staring at the couple making out.” I sighed angrily. “My hands were balled up at my sides and my face was contorted in rage, but somehow you thought this translated into desire? Jesus, Herman. No wonder you’re so fucked up. You can’t read body language at all!” I stomped away yanking him with me as we entered the building I’d seen Roan rush into. “Try to keep up,” I snapped.

We had moved several feet inside the door of Amelie’s Bakery when I planted my feet and scanned the room. Sure, there was a possibility Roan hadn’t recognized me, but he was still cheating, dammit. Suddenly, I’d forgotten all about my precarious situation with the psycho attached to my wrist and remembered everything about what was wrong with my relationship with Roan. “He’s cheating on me. He’s been fucking cheating on me. This is why our sex sucks and he has all the ugly excuses,” I grumbled as I charged toward Roan. “Slow down,” Herman hissed. “You’re making a scene.”

My eyebrow shot up. I didn’t know if it was the public place or my anger that had given me this sudden burst of courage, but I’d use it to my advantage either way. Swinging my arm, I whipped my captor around in front of me and grabbed him by his lapels. “You think I’m making a scene now?” We were practically nose-to-nose. Herman wasn’t a big man and in my platform heels, we were pretty evenly matched. He whimpered and shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Stay out of my way.” “It’s gonna be hard with the cuff,” he whispered. “You should’ve thought of that earlier.” My words were barely audible through my gritted teeth. I released him

suddenly and he stumbled slightly as he found his footing. “Drug me, kidnap me, threaten to rape and murder me and think I give a fuck if I make a scene. Goddam moron dressed me up like some Marilyn Monroe lookalike and then worries I’ll attract too much attention,” I muttered angrily under my breath. As we approached, Roan had his back to me. Angrily, I tapped him on the shoulder while his girl stared at me, her perfect little lips forming a giant ‘O.’ He whipped around, a frustrated look on his face. “What?” Instantly, my hands were on my hips. “What? We’ve been dating over a year and all you can say to me when I catch

you with someone else is ‘what?’ Seriously, dumbass.” Roan’s brow furrowed as he studied me. “Delilah? Is that you?” A new understanding dawned and he grinned at me. “It looks nothing like you!” He ran his hands down my arms while Herman shifted uncomfortably. “New hair. Different makeup. Unfamiliar dress...” “Fancy jewelry,” I interjected as I lifted my arm and pointed out I was handcuffed to the douche beside me. “More importantly, who’s your arm candy?” I glared at the girl beside him who had the good sense to shrink against the wall. Let’s face it, I was behaving like a crazy lady and it was no act.

“Excuse me, but you’re going to have to take this outside or we’ll be forced to call the police,” a woman murmured quietly. She wore a nametag and obviously worked for the bakery. My eyebrow arched again and I crossed my arms awkwardly over my chest, which had Herman’s hand touching my boob. In frustration, I shook my fists and dropped them to my side. “Call them,” I responded angrily. She shrugged and started to slink away, but I stopped her. “I’m serious. This guy tried to kidnap me. Call the police.” By now, Herman was in a panic. He had reached into his pocket to find the key. It was almost painful to watch. Involuntarily, my eyes rolled. When he

pulled out the key and started to work the lock, I kicked him in the shin. He doubled over, yelping in pain, and I grabbed the key and stuffed it in my bra because I’m classy like that, but mostly because I refused to let him get away. “Oh no. You’re staying,” I warned him. Then I turned my attention to Roan who had started to sneak off while I was distracted. “Get back here now, Roan.” “Babe,” he began nervously, “you have a lot going on. Why don’t I leave you to it and we can talk later?” He turned, and nodded for the girl to start walking. “I have a better idea. Why doesn’t she leave and we can talk now?” I glared at her meaningfully. Her eyes

widened and her chin bobbed. She seemed quite happy with my suggestion. Then I tapped her on the shoulder. “For the record, I’m not mad at you. I’m not dating you. It’s him I have a problem with.” I jerked my thumb at Roan. The poor girl visibly heaved a sigh of relief and rushed out of the building. Roan leaned against the wall and groaned. “Now what?” “Now we’re through.” I shrugged. “We’re done? Just like that?” His hands flew up in the air. “You want to throw it all away?” “Well, you did cheat on her,” Herman muttered. Then he glanced at me. “I’d never cheat on you.”

I shook my head with my eyes closed before I stared him down. “That’s very kind of you, Herman. So you’d rape and murder me, but not cheat on me. Glad to see you have a code.” Moments later an officer came over to us. “What seems to be the problem here?” For a second, I was speechless. The second he looked at me with those deep blue eyes, I was at a loss for words. Plus, he was wearing that uniform a little too well. I reached out with my free hand and tugged at his pants to see if they would break away. He backed up hastily and unsnapped the holster of his gun while his hand hovered over it.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I shrugged. “I had to be sure. It has been one crazy night.” My stomach grumbled loudly and a laid a hand over it. “Could be my blood sugar.” “Could be her cheating boyfriend,” Herman offered. “Could be the guy who kidnapped me didn’t feed me, asshole!” I glared at my now meek captor. The cop’s lips twitched. I could tell he didn’t know what to make of the situation yet. “And who’s this guy?” He jerked his head toward Roan. “Her boyfriend,” Roan replied. “Ex.” I sighed. “He’s my exboyfriend.”

“Babe, we can work it out.” His pleading, whiny voice hit a nerve. “You call me ‘babe’ one more time and you’ll be working your testicles out of your throat. Got it?” Then I slapped my forehead. I’d just threatened him in front of a cop. This was not going well. Still, I preferred jail to death. Staring at the cop, I frowned. “So are you going to arrest me?” “Ma’am, I don’t even know why I’m here yet. I was called for Marilyn Monroe disturbing the peace.” He looked me over a moment and his gaze rested on my shackled wrist. “What’s that about?” Before I could respond, I heard a commotion behind me. “Delilah! Oh my

God. Are you okay? Carter called me to check on you. Said you’d gone rogue and were all over the place.” Denzi rushed over and wrapped her arms around me as best she could given the handcuff. “Hey. What’s this?” She lifted my wrist. “Denzi, thank goodness you’re here. Never leave me again...as soon as you come back with a Napoleon and a chocolate croissant.” I pushed her toward the counter as she eyed me curiously. “Serious. I’m dying. Go.” Slowly, Denzi walked away and the officer snapped his holster and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ready to explain?” “I’m a decoy.” I frowned at Herman. “His wife hired us because she thought

he was cheating. Instead, it was much worse. He’s a murderer and rapist.” Roan gasped and started to close the distance between us. I whipped around and glared at him. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.” “Sir, please back up.” The officer held out his hand to show Roan needed to keep his distance. Then he stared at Herman who suddenly looked really small as he dangled from my wrist. “This guy?” I nodded. “Yup. Drugged me. Dressed me. Planned to rape and murder me.” From behind him, Denzi rushed over with the food I’d requested. Holding out my hand, I grabbed the croissant from her and took a huge bite.

My eyes closed as I savored the first bit of nourishment I’d had since lunch time. “I love you, Denzi.” “It’s the hunger talking,” she joked. “No, you saved me. I was dying of hunger.” I grinned as started to take another bite. “Ma’am?” The officer struggled to get my attention. “Right. Shouldn’t you be taking my statement at the police station or something? Oh, and I really need to pee too.” My eyes widened as my bladder warned of impending doom. “Okay. Well, let’s get you free.” The officer reached for his handcuff keys, but I beat him to it, grabbing the one from my bra.

“Gotcha covered,” I mumbled with my mouth full. He shook his head. “How do you have those if you’re the victim?” I swallowed and slapped my chest as the food went down hard. Man, did I need a drink. “I stole them when he tried to escape. I wasn’t letting him get away.” I shrugged. There was an indecipherable look in his eyes. “You’re really something,” the officer noted. “Let me call for backup and we’ll get this all sorted out.” Taking my keys, the officer uncuffed me and secured Herman’s wrists behind his back. With two hands free to eat, I felt much better. “Hey Denzi, I’ll love you

forever if you get me a drink.” She chuckled. “I thought you already loved me forever.” “Yeah, but this time I mean forever forever.” I giggled. “I have no purse. It’s in his car, I think, along with my phone.” “Carter’s gonna shit a brick when he finds out about all this.” She shook her head as she walked away. “Why?” I wondered. “He still hasn’t lost a decoy yet. Perfect record. Plus I foiled a serial killer. I should get a damn medal. And a raise.” “I’ve always hated your job,” Roan complained. “Go away Roan. I’m kinda hating you right now.” I didn’t even look at him, I just kept eating my croissant.

“This is amazing,” I gushed as I held the pastry out to the cop. “Try it.” He grinned, showing perfect white straight teeth and I think I fell in love. “Can’t do it.” “Because it’s not a donut,” I teased. “No...” He stared at me a moment. “The timing is all off.” “There’s never a wrong time to eat.” I eyed him meaningfully. His head tilted and he gave me a lopsided grin. “You know what? At some point, when this is all over, if you want to share a meal, I’ll ask you. Right now, we have all this going on.” He glanced between Roan and Herman, both of whom were shifting uncomfortably. I nodded sadly. “I get it.”

Denzi rushed back with a sweet tea. “What’d I miss?” “The cop won’t share my croissant with me because of Roan and Herman.” I shrugged. The officer threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not exactly how it went down.” He smiled at me and we shared a moment as more officers flooded the scene. One officer pulled Roan aside to take his statement. Another took Herman and exited the bakery. The crime scene unit had arrived to process the car. For a moment, Denzi disappeared when her phone rang. A second later she returned, holding it out for me. “It’s Carter,” she warned.

“Delilah,” he growled, “you broke the rules tonight.” There was an edge to his voice that had me instantly on the defensive. “Which rule is that?” My confusion was genuine. “No secondary locations!” “Seriously? He drugged me. I woke up passed out in the car. It’s not like I did this on purpose.” I waited for his response, but for once, Carter was silent. “Are you going to try to fire me for this? Are you kidding me? I could’ve been killed working a job you assigned me and you’re going to not only blame me, but punish me for it?” I held the phone out for Denzi. “Take it before I say something I mean.”

Denzi put the phone to her ear once more. “If she goes, I go, Carter. Think about it.” Then she ended the call and dropped the phone in her purse. “Cute,” I commented as I pointed to her bag. “New?” “Yeah. Bought it last night after work.” Denzi yawned. “Can you come home now?” We both looked at the hot officer who frowned. “I’m afraid not. I still have more questions.” “Is one of them if she’ll go out with you? The answer is ‘yes,’” Denzi shoved me toward him. His lips twitched. “I’ll need a contact number.”

“Dammit. My phone is in Herman’s car.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Use mine.” Denzi nudged me. “Please, so you can steal my new would-be boyfriend with your hotness and adorable ways? No, thank you.” I shook my head. “Delilah Morgan, you wound me. I’m not that kind of girl.” She glanced over at the officer. “I’m really not.” I sighed. “She isn’t. I’m insecure.” “Too many bad relationships,” Denzi explained while shaking her head. “You do seem to be attracting the wrong kind of guys lately.” He agreed. My cheeks went up in flames. “And what are you?”

“I’m the right kind of guy at the wrong time.” He grinned. I licked my lips as I stared at him. My cheeks couldn’t get any redder so I decided to go for it. “Will tomorrow be better?” He looked at me in a way that sent goose bumps all over my skin. “You can go,” he said to Denzi even though his eyes never left mine. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely.” Without saying a word, Denzi took a picture of him with her phone. Then she glanced my direction. “What the hell?” She shrugged and took one of me too. “Trust no one is my new motto.” The officer chuckled. “What about you?”

I smiled. “I don’t have a motto. I’m just going to work on my timing.”

About Emma Nichols

What made her decide to be an erotica author? Simple. How else was she going to parlay her two favorite past times into a career? Emma is single and loving it. Like her first character, Alysin, Sin for short, she doesn't believe in settling or in settling down. She loves to indulge in her passions whenever the mood strikes

and enjoys keeping all of life's cliché moments spicy. Known for her sense of humor, Emma surrounds herself with friends whose antics often become the source of book fodder. Her ideal situation would be to explore the Caribbean while writing. She pursues that dream daily.

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Book Boyfriend by Melanie Shawn

CHAPTER ONE Michelle

I edged the corner of the hardcover book a little closer to the window where it sat on the sill. I held my phone up in front of the tableau I was creating, looked at the picture it made on the screen, and scowled. Hmmm. It still wasn't exactly right. So I inched a few steps to the left, reexamined the scene from a new perspective, and then lifted my eyebrow. Again...hmmm. Okay. Not bad. Definitely getting closer, at any rate. But it still wasn't exactly the aesthetic I had in my mind.

"Shit," I hissed under my breath. The sun was setting, and I was going to lose the gorgeous golden-hour light streaming through the window within minutes if I didn't hurry. "Hey, Michelle. What's up?" I turned around toward my friend and coworker, Brandy. She and I always ended up together on these dead shifts at the library. We both did work study there, and it seemed like nobody else wanted these awkward night and weekend shifts. Everyone else had friends, clubs, social lives. Significant others. Brandy wanted this schedule because she and her twin sister, Sandy, were putting themselves through school

and she needed every penny she could get her hands on. Me? I simply had no life. "Hey, Bran. Nothing much. I'm on reshelving duty tonight, but I finished half an hour ago. You?" "Same lyrics, different song. I processed all the returns and sent out late notices. I guess it was pretty dead today. Not much night work." She pointed at the artsy arrangement of books I had built in front of the window. "Is this for your Instagram?" I nodded. "Yeah. But something's missing. I love the interplay of the gorgeous sunset light streaming in on the faded brown leather of the book cover. And the deep green of the pine trees in

the background through the window definitely fits beautifully in that color story. But it needs something else. I just can't figure out what." Brandy tilted her head to the side and knit her brows together for a moment before an idea lit up her face. She hurried off, tossing a, "Be right back!" over her shoulder. While I waited for her to come back, I turned my gaze to the scene outside the window and breathed a sigh of contentment. I was in my second year at Winship University, a private liberal arts college located just outside Arcata, CA, and I absolutely loved it. The school was in lush, wooded Humboldt County, six hours north of San Francisco on the

Northern California coastline. It was far and away the most beautiful place I had ever lived. The natural beauty was one of the great factors, of course, but I also loved that Winship offered one of the premier Library Science programs in the country. People could talk all they wanted about how the printed word was dying out, and digital books were taking over the future, and on and on. I didn’t care. I loved books. Heavy, hardcover, printed books. They were my drug of choice, and I was happily addicted, with no plans to rehabilitate. Plus, the library system had saved my life and sanity when I was younger, giving me an outlet and an escape, and I felt honored to have

the chance to return that favor by devoting my life to working in it. Yep, I loved Winship. I loved Arcata. I loved my major. I loved my life. Would I have liked to have a bit more active social life? Sure. A few more friends? Yeah. Maybe even...a boyfriend? Of course. But, as the old saying went, God didn’t give with both hands. For now, I was quietly content spending long evenings working in the library with Brandy...and, of course, my “true loves”—the books. Brandy came rushing in then, carrying a tiny, perfectly-formed bird's nest in her hands. She held it out to me, a flush of triumph coloring her cheeks. "I saw it on the outside planter retaining

wall as I was walking in to work. I think it fell from the roof or the eaves. I'm not sure. But it's beautiful, right?" I nodded, excitement bubbling up inside my chest as the picture took shape in my mind. I positioned the lovely little nest in front of the book and angled the two of them so that they caught the light beautifully. After snapping a few photos of the scene from various angles until I was satisfied, I chose my favorite and uploaded it to Instagram. "Ok, then," I mumbled aloud as my thumbs flew across the screen. "It's all set. Just gotta caption it. ‘What's better than a beautiful sunset? A beautiful sunset with books, of course. Working in the library with my buddy Brandy.

This was a joint effort.’ Now how should I tag it? Let’s see...‘#nightlibrarian #librarylife #birdsandbooks #nofilter #bringtheoutdoorsin.’ Oh, and can’t forget the standards! ‘#bookstagram #books #booklove #bookworm.’ There. And...posted." I grinned at Brandy, but I was caught up short when I saw who was standing there instead of her, grinning right back at me. Sebastian Winters. Gulp. He'd obviously been watching me the whole time I’d been typing on my phone and narrating my caption aloud. It was clear from the way he was smiling.

What I didn't know, however, was what that smile meant. Did he think I was cute? Or weird? Or pathetic? Or something entirely different? He winked. "Hey, Miche. Is that for your Instagram? I follow you. I'll have to make a special point of double-tapping it later." Oh, holy hell. I stopped to count the individual instances of butterflyinducing hotness present in just that simple statement. One, there was his deep, magnolia-drenched Savannah accent that never failed to send heat rushing through my entire body. He drew out the heavy, round vowel sounds so that the words sounded like honey dripping from his lips. It lent weight to

everything he said, making it seem like poetry, like even the simplest statements were oratory. Two, there was the special nickname that only he called me. Miche. Pronounced like meesh. Everyone else called me Mitch or Shelly. Or didn't bother with a nickname at all. Not Sebastian. Nope. To him, I was Miche. Three, there was the fact that he knew I had an Instagram and he followed me. Four, there was the dripping-with-sex, double-entendre way he’d said "doubletapping." That couldn't have all been in my head. Could it? Fuck! He’d gotten me so turned around with one little paragraph that I

couldn't even think straight. "Yeah," I replied stiffly. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be smooth. But as my eyes traveled up and down the chiseled muscles of his body, the everpresent five-o’clock-shadow-esque scruff on his strong jaw, the buttery softness of his dark blue eyes, the wavy brown hair that I wanted to bury my fingers in so badly my hands actually twitched every time I was near him— well, every vestige of “cool” that I’d ever cultivated left me in an instant. "You know, there's only one thing wrong with that Instagram of yours." He grinned, and then dialed up his honeydrenched accent to eleven. "It's all pictures of books and scenery. And don't

get me wrong, darlin'. They're pretty. You have a great eye. But there's one beautiful thing in your world that you hardly ever post any pictures of, and it's a glaring omission." Maybe listening to that slow, sexy Georgia drawl had my brain that discombobulated, but I really didn't see where he was going. "What?" "You, pretty girl. You need to post pictures of your gorgeous self." Fuck. My face was burning, but it wasn't from the effects of my crush this time. No, now, it was from humiliation. He had to be making fun of me. He had to be. I mean...right? There was no other explanation for why a guy like Sebastian —handsome, popular, baseball star, big-

man-on-campus-type Sebastian—would be flirting with me. It wasn't that I had low self-esteem. I was just realistic. I knew I was cute. I could see that. But I wasn't gorgeous. Not like the girls that Sebastian dated. And that was fine by me. It really was. With my short, blonde bob that usually had a neon streak (or two) running through it, black-rimmed glasses, array of tattoos, quirky fashion sense, and general artistic sensibilities, I tended to appeal to a certain type of guy—and it wasn't Sebastian's type. Not by a long shot. No, my type of guy was more likely to be making fun of sports than playing them. My wheelhouse was far more

"bass player" than "baseball player," and that had never bothered me. Until now, anyway. Something about Sebastian threw me way the hell off-balance, and...yeah. I didn't hate it as much as I wished I did. We had met on the first day of the semester. We were in Comm205 together. The Art of Debate. He shouldn’t have noticed me. There were a hundred kids in that class. But he had. He'd come up and talked to me afterward—flirted, really. And he'd been doing it ever since. I just couldn't figure out why. All of my past experience conspired to tell me that he was making fun of me. All of my instincts told me to watch out,

not to trust him. There was no way he could like me for me. If he was interested in me, it was only because I was a "project." The words played in my brain nonstop when it came to him. But...damn. I was still drawn in. I couldn't help it. Something in his deepblue eyes seemed sincere, and I couldn't keep from wanting more—in spite of myself. I never knew how to respond when he got me into this state of confusion, however, so I did what I always did. I ran away. "I've gotta get back to work," I mumbled, and then I hurried down one of the long, book-lined aisles without

giving him so much as a backward glance. Coward. Brandy caught up to me when I was halfway to the break room. "What are you doing?" she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. "Hiding," I groaned. "And what was up with just abandoning me back there, by the way?" She grabbed my arm to slow me down. "Girl, I wasn't abandoning you! I was giving you room to work your magic. Or let him work his. Either way. I never imagined you wouldn’t want me to! So, what’s the deal? Why do you need to hide from the hottie?"

"I don't know. He just makes me feel so...like I don't even know myself when he's around." She sighed. "Oh my God, that's the best feeling!" "No, it's not! It's very disconcerting." She grinned. "But in the best way, right?" I nodded begrudgingly, a small smile sneaking its way onto my lips. "Yeah. I admit it. In the best way."

CHAPTER TWO Sebastian

"Dude. You are seriously delusional if you think you have a chance with that honey." I had gone straight from the library to the weight room, and texted my roommate (and baseball teammate) Jackson to meet me there. I figured, why not kill two birds with one stone—get in one of my required outside-practice workouts, and also sweat out some tension. I figured just lifting weights with Jackson, enjoying the camaraderie, shooting the breeze or not talking at all, would help me clear my mind— particularly of anything Miche-related. Normally, Jackson was about as deep as a puddle when it came to conversational topics. That had made me

think he would be a good partner for some mindless weightlifting. I’d been wrong. I scowled at him. "The fuck are you talking about?" "Library Girl? That's who you're thinking about, right?" "And again, I say. The fuck are you talking about?" I was full of shit. I knew what he was talking about. Obviously I did. But I didn't like him giving me crap about it. So I continued lifting weights as I did my best to ignore his pointed questions. He shook his head, his knowing smirk telling me all I needed to know about how damn transparent I was. Of course, after having roomed together for

going on two years, not to mention playing on the baseball team together, Jackson could read me like a book. But it didn't even take that level of familiarity to be able to call this one. I was an open fucking book when it came to Michelle. I couldn't help it. He set down the hand weight he’d been lifting and lightly punched my arm when I was on the downswing. "Don't even try it. Ever since you spotted that girl across the auditorium in debate, you've been walking around in a zombieass trance." "Maybe I'm thinking about the season starting. Or worrying about grades. Or obsessing over where my next Cali burrito is coming from."

He snorted. "The undisputed frickin' awesomeness of carne asada, french fries, and guac wrapped in a tortilla aside, I don't think that obsession would constantly lead your ass to the library. Where you've been hanging out a lot lately. And which is where Library Girl works. Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence." "Whatever. Maybe I'm going to the library to, oh, I don't know...study? Research things?" Jackson hit repeat on the snort. "Bullcrap. That's why God invented the Internet. You're there to creep on Library Girl. Trust me. I've known you long enough to know there's not a damn thing

of any interest to you in that building except her sweet ass." The protective flame that ignited in my chest was completely foreign to me. Normally, I was as easygoing as they come. Quick to smile, and even quicker to laugh. But when Jackson joked about her ass, I wanted to punch him in his smirky goddamn face. "You shut your damn mouth about her." That fuckin’ smirk grew into a fullfledged self-satisfied grin. "Ah, yeah. But it's not like you care or anything. Right?" I stared straight ahead as I attacked my reps without saying anything. I didn't want to speak while I was this angry. I

didn't want to lose control. I liked control. Michelle was the only girl I'd ever met who had the power to cause that control to slip. That made me nervous as hell, but at the same time, it thrilled the fuck out of me. Whenever I was with her I felt like I was jumping out of an airplane—sure, if your parachute didn’t open, you were gonna end up going splat in a big way. But, damn. What a way to go. The one thing I knew was that she made my head spin—constantly. And, whether I loved that or hated it didn’t really matter. The point was, I couldn't get enough of it. I kept going back for more. Again and again. No matter how much of a lost cause it seemed to be.

The single-minded repetition of the exercise served to cool my blood. I saw the situation with Jackson in a new light. Even though it sucked that he had guessed what I felt for Michelle, maybe I could use it to my advantage. They didn't call him J-Dog for nothing. He was as big a hit with the ladies as I (usually) was. I could lay out the situation and get his perspective. After all, a month of hitting on her hadn't gotten me anywhere, and it was starting to drive me a little nuts. I needed a new approach, and maybe Jackson could help me devise one. "Look, I'm not saying you're right," I begrudgingly admitted.

"Except for the part where you just did exactly that," he smart-assed. I finished my set and carried my weights over to the rack. On my way back to the bench, I flipped him off, but laughed as I did. I had never met anyone in this world who loved being right as much as Jackson did. "Setting that aside, let's go back to the part where you said I don't have a chance with her. Why is that, ya think?" He shrugged. "Because you're not the kind of guy that gets emotionally destroyed over song lyrics by some band that wears eyeliner." "The fuck now?" "You're not her type, compadre. She's a...whatever you call it. Emo.

Hipster. Goth. Whateverthefuck. She thinks safety pins are jewelry is my point. Until you paint your nails black and start wearing skinny jeans, you ain't gonna be getting in her jeans. Accept it and move on. She's not worth the damn trouble." The tidal wave of protective rage boiled up again, and I wanted to defend her. To tell him to take his dumbass opinion and deposit it where the sun don't shine. But I shoved that impulse down. Fighting with Jackson would be counterproductive to the goal of picking his brain. I needed to think of this like a game. Eye on the prize. "Well, what if I think she is worth it?”

He stopped lifting and looked at me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. For the first time in this conversation, I thought he might actually be taking it seriously. Finally, he sat on the weight bench across from me and said, "So, this isn't just a joke, then? You're not just trying to game her? You're actually serious about this one?" I put my weights down and considered the question. "Shit, I don't know yet if it's serious. I just know I'd like it to be. I want to get to know her better. Hell, I need to get to know her better. But I'm getting fucking nowhere. And, not to be a cocky bastard or anything—"

"Oh, no. Not you." His voice was full of good-natured sarcasm. "—but this is not how it usually is for me." "Nah, I get it. This one's making you work for it." "Yeah. I guess so." "That's probably a good part of the appeal." "Maybe," I admitted. "But there's a helluva lot more to it than that." "Like?" "Like...fuck. Like everything. Like the fact that I get more damn satisfaction from causing her lips to twitch just the tiniest amount at a joke than I do from making ten empty-headed sorority girls belly-laugh. Like the fact that looking at

the artistic pictures she posts online has actually made me start looking at the world differently because I want to see it the way she does. To see that kind of beauty in small things. Like the fact that —" "Look, I'm gonna cut you off there because, to be honest, I'm afraid that if I listen to any more, I'm gonna need to buy some tampons. But whatever. I get it. She's a special snowflake, and she's captured your tender little heart." "Please don't make me beat the hell out of you right now." "All right, all right! I'll get serious. So, here's the thing: If this girl's really that different than all the other girls who have fallen for your shtick—oh, sorry. I

mean your charm—in the past, then why are you so surprised that the same moves aren't working on her? She's different. That's why you like her. So take a different approach." "Yeah. Makes sense. But what approach would that be?" He laughed. "Hell if I know. Shit, dude. Why do you think I stick to the baseball groupies? No strategizing required. The uniform does ninety percent of the work for me. But damn. I mean, if you want some real advice... I guess...be yourself or some shit? I don't know. I feel like that's what the Reading Rainbow dude would say. And he seems like he gives good advice."

I laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure LeVar Burton would be happy to know that his legacy was to inspire a generation of young people to 'I guess...be yourself or some shit.' That's some sage-ass wisdom right there." Jackson laughed as he resumed lifting weights. "Hell, bro. And the sad part is you're the one coming to me for advice. So, how pathetic does that make you?"

CHAPTER THREE Michelle

"Damn it!" I banged my head against the steering wheel as I turned the key in the ignition for the fifth time. Just like with the first four, there was no response except for a weak and stuttering grind. Not a whole lot of things in the world could drive me from zero to livid in .728 seconds, but my grandmother's old '82 Chevette—a.k.a. my college car—was one of them. Damn. I was supposed to be going to the grocery store to get food for my grandma and then bringing it over to her house. She didn't have her driver's license anymore and couldn’t do it for herself. If I couldn’t make it over there, what was she going to eat?

A loud knock sounded on the driver's side window next to me, echoing through the car. My head shot up as my heart began to race, my startle response in full effect. Unfortunately, I whipped my head up so quickly that my nose crashed into the steering wheel, causing my hands to fly up to my face as I shouted a curse. When I turned to see who had knocked on my window—the person who was witnessing me at my absolute nosecrush-cursingly worst—there was the gorgeous and ever-grinning face of Sebastian Winters. Oh, God. If my suspicion that he was only interested in me as some sort of project, the human version of a fixerupper, was correct, then his witnessing

me in this situation was giving him plenty of fuel for that fire. I put my head back on the steering wheel, slowly shaking it from side to side. "This. Is. Not. Happening," I groaned. The knock came again. "Miche? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" I looked up, smiling ruefully. "Not hurt," I answered through the glass, "unless you count my pride." "Well, probably for the best that your pride isn’t in full working order. You know what they say about it going before a fall. And I don’t know how much more of a beating that cute little nose of yours could take," he replied in that sexy

drawl I was quickly becoming addicted to. "Think you might want to come out here and talk to me? Or at least roll the window down?" I didn't, really. I was embarrassed and preferred to exit the car via the hole I wished would spontaneously open up in the earth and swallow me. But, since the odds of that happening were, oh, fifty-fifty at best (or, you know...maybe slightly less), I decided I might as well face him. I stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind me. It would have been a much smoother and more suave move if I hadn't been forced to slam the door three times, increasing the force with

each attempt, before the latch caught for good and the door stayed closed. "Is this your car?" Sebastian asked. Maybe I was projecting, but I thought I heard an undertone of pity in his voice. "Yep," I said, adopting a tone of studied nonchalance. "Haven't you heard? This is the latest thing. When it comes to trends, 'piece of shit' is the new black." "I have heard that," he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "All of the car blogs have been talking about it. I believe they refer to it as 'classic.'" "See? There ya go." "Can I give you a ride somewhere, darlin'?" "Nah. I'm good."

I hadn’t even thought before I’d responded. Turning down help, not to mention turning down anything to do with Sebastian Winters, was simply second nature to me. I'd never really stopped to think about why, I’d just followed the instinct to keep him at arm’s length. However, now that I was faced with actually needing his help, I was forced to take a closer look at my knee-jerk reactions. "Come on, Miche." He grinned, nudging me companionably with his elbow. "Give me a chance, why don'tcha? Where were you headed?" Well, damn it. That's where he had me. I needed to get those groceries to my

grandma, so I could definitely use the ride. "Don't laugh, okay?" I prefaced. Damn, asking for help was not easy! "No promises," he teased. "I have to go to the grocery store to get food and then bring it to my grandma's house." The jovial demeanor disappeared from Sebastian's face, and his expression turned to a mixture of concern and puzzlement. "Honey, why would you think I would laugh at that?" I shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems like the kind of thing that jock types would look down on." The wide, bright smile returned, bringing back with it the warmth that

shone from his eyes. He slung his arm easily around my shoulder as we started across the parking lot together. "Well, then, I guess I just need to make it my business to show you that I'm not the typical jock type. Besides, if there are two things Southern boys take seriously, it's their mamas and their grandmas. I would never look down on you for taking care of yours." I relaxed a little at the warmth and acceptance in his tone. "Okay. I have to warn you though. For when we go over there. She's kind of...a character." "All the best grandmas are." He pulled a key ring from his pocket and pressed the unlock button on his fob.

The horn and lights on a large, shining, red pickup a few cars down from where we were went off. "That's your pickup?" I asked. "Oh, hell yes, darlin'. I forgot to mention the other thing Southern boys are serious about—their trucks."

CHAPTER FOUR Sebastian

"So, did you grow up around here, living with your grandma?" Michelle shook her head. "No. I wish. My grandma didn't even live here while I was growing up. She was kind of

a nomad. But being with her would have been better than my mom and stepdad." "They were kind of a nightmare?" She stilled, avoiding my eyes as she examined the label on a can of creamed corn. "No. That would be putting it too strongly. They never beat me or anything. My stepdad is just kind of passiveaggressively manipulative. You know? He has this surface charm thing going on, but underneath it are all of these intense expectations nobody could really meet." "Sounds stressful, living with that day in and day out." "It was. I think the worst part was that he always put my mom in the middle. If I did something he didn't like, he'd turn to her and say, 'Charlene,

please tell her that we don't...’ fill in the blank. Whatever I’d done that he didn’t like. ‘Not in this house!' He'd always end it that way. 'Not in this house!' Like he was some monarch or something. Like he had a lock on what civilized behavior was supposed to look like." "Damn. Sounds like a real bastard." She looked up at me, delight sparkling in her eyes. A small, slow smile spread across her face, and my heart swelled from knowing I'd put it there. Even better than the smile, though, was the fact that she was opening up to me. Most girls would blurt out their entire life stories within minutes of meeting a person. Michelle wasn't like that. With her, I had learned that her trust

was not something she handed out freely. It had to be earned. And, apparently, I was now doing that. She put the creamed corn into the basket, and we moved farther down the aisle. Her opening up to me, even a little, gave me food for thought. Hell. Maybe Jackson was really onto something. Maybe I didn't need some big strategy. Maybe the whole "be yourself or some shit" thing was actually working. "He was a real bastard, as a matter of fact. But the thing that made it weird was that it wasn't out of meanspiritedness. He wasn't just a plain old, garden-variety asshole. He was more like this very straight-laced citizen-of-

the-year type. He’s a lawyer, you know? Very orderly, upstanding, keep-upappearances-and-keep-up-with-theJoneses type. And he had this vision of how a perfect, normal, traditional family should be. And, as you might have guessed, 'perfect,' 'normal,' and 'traditional' certainly don't apply to me." I rested my hand on the small of her back, and she abruptly stopped walking. A rush of sensation at the contact zipped up my arm like steroids had been injected into my veins—or how I would imagine that felt, at any rate. Like a huge ball of power and strength and energy, all rolled into one, shooting out through my entire body from the point of contact. I leaned down to her ear, my lips close

enough to brush the hot-pink strands of hair curled above it. "I disagree," I whispered. "Traditional? No, that's not you. Or normal. And that's a good thing. You're an individual. You stand out. But perfect? Hell yes, you are. You're the most perfect thing I've ever seen." She stood stock-still. I could hear the sped-up rhythm of her breathing. I could sense the beating of her heart, in time with mine. Time slowed. My vision tunneled down to just her face. Sounds faded away until they seemed like they were coming from another place. No. Another dimension. The world shrunk to nothing but Miche and me and the blood

rushing through our veins in perfect synchronicity. She turned her face to me in what seemed like the slowest of slow motion. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her waist, pull her warm body to me, and crush my lips to hers. Need filled me. I shook with it. My head spun. With every last bit of control I possessed, I made myself step back from her. I was just starting to earn her trust. There was no way I was going to fuck it up that quickly. Her cheeks flushed, and her chinadoll eyes widened behind her glasses, making her even more adorable than usual. And that was really saying something.

I racked my brain, trying to think of what to say next. Something casual. Something that would move the conversation on before I had to walk through this damn grocery store sporting wood. Nothing came to mind. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the moment came to a crashing halt. Michelle spun back around and pushed the cart up the aisle with a distracted, "Only two more things on the list. We should hurry. Gran's waiting for me." Her knees trembled a little as she walked away from me. I smiled. That was good. Very good, in fact. It meant that I’d gotten under her skin, too. At

least a little. It was a useful tidbit to know. I jogged down the aisle to catch up with her, my muscles taut and alive from the adrenaline rush I'd just experienced. "Well, damn, girl," I teased. "Stop holdin' us up, then. We've no time for nonsense! Let's get this shopping finished." Her lips twitched the way they did sometimes when she found a joke of mine amusing, and fireworks went off inside my brain. Hell, in my baseballplaying career, I'd hit my share of home runs. I'd easily loped around the bases, keeping my pace steady and even so that I could soak in the sound of the stadium full of cheering fans. I knew what

victory felt like. I knew it with every fiber of my being, right down to my bones, and there was no mistaking it. When I made Michelle Mitchell almost-smile, the feeling that flooded through me was pure, unadulterated victory with a capital V. And I couldn't get enough.

CHAPTER FIVE Michelle

It should have felt good to smile. No, it should have felt great. Forget should have though. What it actually felt like was terrifying. All I

could hear inside my head as my lips curled up as if of their own accord, was my step-douche saying in that oily way of his, "Now, smile like a proper young lady. Nobody likes a frown." Whether we were going to church or a school function where there would be other parents to impress, or having some of his colleagues over for dinner, it didn't matter. Douchebag Dan, Stepfather Extraordinaire, could never resist the opportunity to remind me that I just didn't quite measure up. I shivered as I remembered his words, hearing them play through my brain as clearly as though he were right next to me. I had the same reaction to the memory as I’d had when I was in high

school and had continued to have subconsciously ever since: Fuck him! If he thought I should smile, then I'd frown. If he thought I should wear frilly dresses, I'd wear skinny jeans and studded belts. If he thought I should wear a floaty, floral, button-down blouse, I'd dress all in black. Not all of the rebellion had been terrible for me, of course. Some of it had left great stuff in my life. For instance, all of my pushback on the pretty, sweet "proper young lady" clothes he had tried to foist on me had led me to experimenting with fashion choices and aesthetics, and now, I loved my look. I felt comfortable in my own skin.

Also, trying to escape all the constant pressure to socialize and make nice with the people he wanted to impress had led me to seek escape in books, and books had been my salvation. They had opened up a world I never could have dreamed was possible. They had made the bad times better then, and they made the good times sweeter now. I was even devoting my life's work to books. As a library science major, I hoped to one day become the person who led others to discover the mindaltering and, in many cases, life-saving power of books. So, even though I was happy to keep some positive parts of my miserable childhood’s legacy, I was ready to let

other parts go. Like the part where it was hard for me to smile, trust people, or let them into my world because I was so afraid they were going to judge me or try to change me. I wanted to free myself of those walls, but I felt powerless to do it. I glanced over at Sebastian. His hand was casually slung over the top of the steering wheel as he maneuvered his truck down the road. Damn. What was it about his easy charm and his quick wit that penetrated my barriers so effortlessly, like a hot knife through butter? It scared me. But, oh, God, it thrilled me, too! "Make the next right. My grandma's house is the green one," I told him.

"Your wish is my command, darlin'." He winked and expertly palmed the wheel to turn the truck onto her street. He parked at the curb in front of her house, turned the engine off, and opened the door to get out. "Wait one second." I put a restraining hand on his arm to keep him in the truck. Then I took my glasses off and stuffed them in my bag. "I don't wear these into the house because it worries her. She thinks I'm losing my sight or something. I just wanted to tell you ahead of time so you wouldn't say anything." Oh, God. There was that warm, confident grin again. The one that made me feel like we were in on a secret together. The one that made me weak in

the knees and tingly in places slightly north of there. "Now, wait just one minute, Miche. Are you trying to tell me that you don't need those glasses? They're just for show?" "They're an aesthetic choice," I defended, trying to sound unaffected even if it was the furthest thing from the truth. "So, did they come prepackaged with some vintage tees, Doc Martens, and a selection of beanies in your hipster starter kit? Or were they a one-off purchase?" "Hey! I'm not a hipster." My voice lacked the conviction I had planned to make that declaration with.

"Oh, really?" he said in his lazy, seductive drawl. "Because, last week, you wore a T-shirt that said 'The things you like, I liked five years ago.' Now, if that's not the very definition of a hipster, I don't know what is." I smiled. It was nowhere near the full-wattage grin Sebastian regularly lit up the room—and my libido—with, but it was a start. I paused for a moment to absorb the sheer awesomeness of the fact that he noticed what I wore and remembered it. "Touché,” I said. “I don't really consider myself a hipster, but I concede the point. I do know a joke about hipsters though. Want to hear it?"

He dramatically slapped his palm against his chest as if the shock were giving him a heart attack. "A joke? From you, my serious girl? Abso-freakinglutely. I have to hear this joke. Go for it." My smile stretched wider. "How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?" "How many?" I leaned back and shrugged, adopting an air of blasé indifference to perform the last line. "Oh, it's, like, this really obscure number. I'm sure you've never heard of it." Sebastian threw his head back and laughed from deep in his belly. He looked at me and shook his head, his eyes still shining with amusement, as his

laughter died down. He took my hand and smiled, looking into my eyes as if he could see right down into the depths of me and liked what he found there. Warmth and satisfaction spread through me—things I hadn't felt in such a long time that it took me a minute to place the unfamiliar emotions. When I recognized them, I sighed with contentment. What I was feeling was acceptance, and it was incredible. I hadn't even understood how deeply my soul had missed it until it flooded through me, making me dizzy and drunk with its sweet intoxication. Part of me wanted to stay there, bask in the glow of Sebastian's honeyed laugh and shining eyes forever, and savor the

way he looked at me like I was a precious treasure. Like I was important. But another part of me simply couldn't handle that. It was too close. Too intimate. Too tempting in its invitation to lower my walls and trust another person, to believe they could see me for who I truly was and value that. That sharp and jagged corner of my soul, though small, was strong and hard to crack. And, in this case, like it had so many times before, it won out. I opened the truck door and jumped out, slamming it behind me. Then I scurried up the walk as fast as I could. "We'd better go in," I called behind me without even looking back.

CHAPTER SIX Sebastian

I hopped out of the pickup, grabbed the grocery bags from the backseat, and hurried after Michelle. I was stoked with how this was going. A couple of hours ago, I had been getting nowhere with her. Now, I was making her laugh and meeting her family. Sure, it wasn't like that was entirely due to me and my suave debonairness—a broken-down car was in the mix. But what of it? By my way of thinking, that just meant fate was on my side. Now, my one and only job was to not fuck it up.

We climbed the porch steps, and Michelle raised her hand to knock on the door. Before she could make contact, however, it was violently flung open. Standing on the other side was a woman holding a tumbler full of amber liquid in one hand and a burning cigarette with a long and precariously trembling ash trail at the end of it. She was in her sixties or seventies, as far as I could tell—but it was difficult to judge because of the heavy layer of makeup covering her face. Her lips were a bright orangey-pink color, and her eyelids were solid blue all the way up to her eyebrows. Her hair, piled high on top of her head, was stiff from all the hairspray holding it firmly in place.

She was wearing a housecoat of brilliant blue to match her eye shadow, and her feet were covered with fuzzy black slippers. When she spoke, her voice was low and whiskey-soaked with a thick East Coast accent. "There you are! I was starting to think you got eaten by a bear in this godforsaken wilderness. Come in, come in." Michelle's grandmother gestured wildly as she spoke, and I was amazed that the liquid stayed in the glass and the ash didn’t fall off the end of her cigarette. It was mesmerizing to watch. "Hello, ma'am," I interjected. She turned, noticing me for the first time. She looked me up and down for a long moment and then nodded

decisively, apparently approving of what she saw. "Right. I get it," she said in a wicked tone, swiveling back to face Michelle. "That's why you're late. You're finally having a little fun. Well, good for you, kid. You deserve it." She gave Michelle an affectionate pat on the cheek with the cigarette hand as we walked past her and into the house. "Grandma!" Michelle sounded scandalized. "Nothing's going on. Sebastian just gave me a ride." Her grandmother chortled dryly. "I think that's pretty much what I just said." Michelle's cheeks flamed, and I didn't think I'd ever seen her so embarrassed and uncomfortable. I should have felt bad for her, but I

couldn't help it. It was cute as hell, and I loved it. I set the bags on the counter and extended my hand to her. "Sebastian Winters, ma'am. I sure am pleased to meet you." Michelle, her face still as bright red as a harvest sunset, said, "Sebastian, this is my grandma, Trudy. Grandma Trudy, Sebastian. He's a friend from class." Nice. I'd been upgraded to friend! Tonight was turning out to be made of win. Grandma Trudy set her drink next to the grocery bags and then snuffed out her cigarette in the olive-green, glass ashtray next to the cabinets. She grasped my outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you,

doll. You can call me Grandma Trudy if you like. You be good to my girl, now." I said, "That's the plan, ma'am," at the same time that Michelle was exclaiming, "Grandma! It's not like that!" While Trudy laughed, I got the distinct impression that she liked pushing Michelle out of her comfort zone and watching her squirm. I suspected she thought it was just as cute as I did. Michelle, her voice firm and frustrated, said, "Grandma, seriously. The Chevette wouldn't start. Again. Sebastian saw me in the parking lot, trying futilely to whip its ass into shape, and offered to give me a ride to the grocery store and then here. That's it. I swear."

Her grandmother didn't miss a beat. "Well, what a nice young man. You could do worse, Michelle. And you have." She cackled again in her dry, rattling way. Michelle closed her eyes and shook her head. As for me, I couldn't do anything but grin. Grandma Trudy had done more to lay my cards on the table in the last three minutes alone than I'd managed to do over the course of the entire semester. I gave the swell old broad props. "Come on," Grandma Trudy said. "Let me fix you two kids some dinner." "Oh, God, no!" Michelle exclaimed in horror, imagining, I was sure, all the ways her grandma could think of to embarrass her if given a full and

uninterrupted hour. Then, her face flushing as the harsh words hung in the air, she softened. "I mean...we really need to get back to campus. Like...really. But I'll be back on Saturday morning to help with chores. I promise." "I'm gonna hold you to that, doll. Now, run along. You and your young man go have fun." Michelle looked like she wanted to die. I, on the other hand, was on top of the world.

CHAPTER SEVEN Michelle

"Okay, girl," Brandy said, taking the book I was holding out of my hands and setting it aside. "You've scanned that book three times now. I think it's safe to say it's well and truly checked in." I rubbed my fingertips against my temples in a vain attempt to clear my head. "Sorry, Bran. I'm in a fog, I guess." She winked slyly. "A fog named Sebastian, I'm guessing?" "Oh, God!" I dropped into one of the creaky, cast-aside office chairs that had been relegated to the back room of the library where the check-ins were processed and categorized for reshelving. I buried my face in my hands. Brandy sat in the similarly brokendown chair opposite me and eagerly

rubbed her palms together. "Wow. If this story requires all of those dramatics, I certainly can't wait to hear it." I smiled ruefully at her. "No. It's nothing like that. I'm just frustrated. Mostly with myself. Oh, and confused. Don't forget confused." "I would never," she laughed. "So, what's so frustrating? What's so confusing?" I took a deep breath. As much as Sebastian had been on my mind, thoughts of him swirling around my brain with dizzying speed, I had yet to try to distill my feelings into words. "It's just that...he's so...perfect." "Oh, yeah," Brandy deadpanned. "I can see how that would be a real

problem." "Well, smartass, it is. Or, at least, my reaction to it is. Because everything he's said, everything he's done, has been one hundred percent the stuff of fantasies. Like, I couldn't even dream up a better guy than him." "Don't forget what he looks like. I could construct a couple of fantasies based on those abs." "Or those baby blues," I agreed. "I know! He's hot, he's sweet, he's funny, he's..." "Perfect," Brandy filled in. "Exactly. I mean, hell. I've read thousands of books in my life. I've probably read every novel on these library shelves. Some of them more than

once. And, in every one where the guy was even half as fan-freaking-tastic as Sebastian is, I was mentally screaming at the girl through the whole thing. 'Wise up, bitch! Can't you see what you're missing out on?' But, when it comes to me, I can't seem to relax and trust it. To trust him. What the hell is wrong with me?" "Well, maybe nothing is. Let's try to figure this thing out," she said pragmatically. I was grateful. Her no-nonsense, efficient approach to things made her a fantastic coworker and an even better friend. "So, what's happened in the last couple of days that's made you feel so

much more strongly about all of this and about him?" I gave her a quick rundown of the broken-down-car rescue operation, the grocery shopping, and how wonderfully easy and charming he had been with my grandma, even when she had been saying things that should have, by all rights, embarrassed the shit out of him. "Wow. That is kind of 'hero material' stuff," she said. "Oh, and that's not even all!" I continued. "After I hustled him out of there and he took me back to campus, he looked under my hood—" "Ooooooh la la," Brandy singsonged. I laughed. "Not like that, perv. I'm talking about my car."

"Well, that's not quite as fun. But very impressive. And it definitely adds to the dreamboat-hero column," she conceded. "Yeah. He figured out that it was just a dead battery. I must have left my lights on the last time I parked. So he gave me a jump—" "Rawr," she growled in a low, seductive voice. "Ohmigod, seriously, stop," I laughed. "He gave my car a jump from his truck's battery. And then he rode around with me while I drove it for half an hour to get the battery all juiced up and started it a few times when we got back to make sure it worked."

"Seriously, Michelle? That's amazing. He's obviously a stand-up guy. And you're clearly head-over-heels attracted to him. So, why aren't you, like, ready to marry him?" "Yeah...I know. That's the problem right there. I have no fricking idea what's holding me back. It's nothing to do with him, and it's nothing to do with my feelings for him. It's something to do with me. And I don't know what that is." "You know what we need?" ”I wish I did. But, nope.” "More brains trying to solve the problem. You're coming to ATB on Sunday night, right?" I nodded. "ATB" was short for "Around the Bend," the nickname we had

given the study group that consisted of me, Brandy, Sandy, and their roommates Evelyn and Cat. Well, it had started out as a study group, at any rate, and we still called it that to make ourselves feel more productive. But, early on, it had evolved into a regularly scheduled "hang and gossip" sesh, and I loved it. "I'll be there." "Well, maybe the girls will be able to succeed where we've failed. Maybe they can help unsnarl this problem." I breathed a sigh of relief, the slightest ray of hope breaking through the fog in my brain. "I hope so. I feel like, by not being able to relax and accept what's happening with Sebastian, there's a possibility that I'm missing out on

something really great. Like, maybe the greatest thing that will ever happen to me. But I just can't make myself do it. My subconscious is holding something back and I don't know why. So, if the girls can help me whip my brain into shape in time to not lose out on the best guy I've ever met—or even read about, for that matter—that would be freaking amazing." Brandy slipped her arm around my shoulder. "Absolutely! Don't give up hope. All's not lost, babe. Never underestimate the problem-solving power of a group of motivated girls with an unlimited supply of snacks and wine coolers."

CHAPTER EIGHT Michelle

I pulled up to Grandma Trudy's house on Saturday morning, my mind still buzzing with thoughts of Sebastian. I wondered if he thought about me a fraction of as much as I thought about him, and I was surprised at the powerful ache that blossomed in my chest. It was melancholy hope, the combination of desire for it to be true that he was as wrapped up in me as I was in him—and the simultaneous doubt that it could possibly be true. I was so distracted by my interior musings that I barely even noticed my

grandmother sitting in the middle of the front yard, in a lawn chair she must have dragged around from the back, her hands in their normal state—full of a drink and a ciggie. I stopped short, trying to process the sight. She wasn't even facing the street, which would have made some sort of weird sense. Maybe that would’ve meant she was relaxing and watching the neighborhood go by. But, rather, she had angled the reclining garden furniture so that it was facing the front door. The fuck? "Hey, Grandma. What are you doing?" I asked carefully. If this was indicative of the first stages of dementia,

I didn't want to freak her out by overreacting. "Hey, doll. How you doin', baby girl? Look who stopped by." She made a sloshing upward gesture with the hand that held the drink. I followed where she’d indicated with my gaze, trepidation filling me as panicked thoughts raced through my brain. Is she talking about God? Or an alien? If she's losing it, how am I going to handle that by myself? I'm just a kid! By the time my gaze reached its destination, though, I knew I wasn't going to have to worry about any of that. What I saw as I inclined my neck was the one and only Sebastian Winters. Up

on a ladder. Painting my grandma's second-floor shutters. Without his shirt on. Swoon. "Hey, Miche." He grinned brightly. Oh, God. How could I be expected to think clearly while those rippling, defined abs were on such glorious display? To add insult to injury, he had adorable—no, make that sexy—flecks of paint all over his bare chest and his torso. Holy. Shit. Somewhere, there might have been some girl who could have kept an even head in the face of a paint-splattered and half-naked Sebastian Winters, but I was certainly not that girl. Not even close.

"Hey," I breathed. "What are you doing?" "Well, I remembered you said you were comin' over here this morning to help with chores, so I thought I'd pop by and help. Then Trudy told me—" "I told you, doll. Call me Grandma Trudy." "Sorry. Grandma Trudy told me that her shutters and trim needed a fresh coat of paint real bad." "Grandma, you didn't!" I cried, my stomach clenching. She shrugged. "It isn't every day I get able-bodied young men showing up on my doorstep out of the blue, offering to help me with chores. What am I, an idiot? I may not know what you actually

do with a gift horse, but I know what you don't do, and that's look it in the mouth." "But, Grandma, he was just being polite," I growled through gritted teeth. She repeated the shrug and then gestured up at him again, her drink sloshing around the glass. "Clearly not." Sebastian climbed down from the ladder and came over to join us. "Seriously, Miche. It's no trouble. I'm glad to do it. Your grandma is great." "Thanks, doll. You're pretty swell yourself." My brain felt fuzzy and disconnected, and I was afraid I might pass out. Shit! I was so tired of feeling out of control where he was concerned.

There was no other option, I had to get to the bottom of this. I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the side of the house and to the backyard. "Come on. We need to talk." "That's what I've been saying for a while now." He grinned. "Grandma, we'll be back in a second!" I called over my shoulder. She raised her glass to me and nodded before taking a slug of the whiskey. When Sebastian and I reached the side gate, I unlatched it and pushed him through. Then I led him to the porch swing on the back deck, which faced the meadow and lush grove of pine trees my grandmother's house backed up to.

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the early morning birds chirp as I tried to collect my thoughts. I was surprised to see how quickly the momentum I had marched him back here with had fizzled when it came to the point where I actually had to say something. Coming up with the right words was a lot tougher, it turned out, than just making a grand pronouncement about the need to "talk." Finally, he broke the impasse by brushing a stray chunk of hair behind my ear. "You're adorable when you concentrate," he said. When I turned to face him, I saw that expression I loved—that I've never seen anything as cute as you are in this

moment expression that made me feel like the prettiest, and luckiest, girl on the planet. I closed my eyes. "What is this?" I whispered. His voice was even, unruffled. "This is Saturday morning chores, darlin'." It seemed like nothing ever got to him. I opened my eyes and looked straight into his. "No. I mean...what is this, all of this, about? Why are you here? Is this about flirting with me? Is that what you're doing?" "Darlin', if you're not even sure if I'm flirting with you, then something is most definitely wrong. I haven't been exactly

subtle. But let me make it even clearer for you: Yes." "Yes?" "Yes. As in, yes, I am flirting with you. Yes, I want to get to know you better. Yes, I am smitten as hell with you. And, finally, yes, I am definitely going to kiss you right now." My eyes widened, and my mouth went dry. "Really?" "Most definitely." With that, Sebastian leaned his head down and gently pressed his lips to mine. My brain exploded into a thousand sparkles as his mouth moved against me. Heat flashed through me from head to toe, and I was overwhelmed with

sensation. I slipped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me as I lost myself in the sweetest and most mind-altering kiss I had ever experienced.

CHAPTER NINE Sebastian

I pulled back from Michelle's sweet lips and stroked her hair. Her eyes were wide, and her face was flushed. She was breathing hard and trembling. Fuck, she was beautiful. I loved her toughness, but I especially loved the moments when her vulnerability peeked through. That was

special because it wasn't something she let just anybody see. "God...why do you like me?" she blurted out. She reeled back, stunned, as if she had shocked herself by saying it. I laughed a little, thinking she must have been joking. "Why wouldn't I like you?" "Because...look at you. And look at me. Guys like you are not generally attracted to girls like me. Is this some kind of bet or dare? Because I've seen that nineties teen rom-com in all of its forms, just like everyone else." Whoa. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had been under the impression that she felt like she was too cool for me —not the other way around! "No! God!

It's nothing like that. Why would you even think that?" "Okay, well, then is it some kind of librarian fetish? Like, you think one day I'm going to shake my hair out and take my glasses off and be instantly transformed into the gorgeous supermodel that was somehow always hiding underneath my bookish façade? Because I've seen that porn, too. And, frankly, if that's what you're waiting for, you're going to be waiting a long time. That's not real life." I brushed her hair out of her face. She closed her eyes and drew in her breath sharply. I leaned close to her and whispered, "Not only do I not fantasize about you

taking your glasses off, I kinda think you should leave them on. Don't get me wrong. You're cute as hell without them too. But I see now that I never gave them proper credit for how hot they are. They're very you. And you're sexy as all get out.” I rubbed my thumb against her cheek as I spoke. When she tilted her head to the side, almost imperceptibly pressing her face into my hand, I knew I was getting through to her—even if it was just a little bit. So I pressed on. "Now, I'll grant you this: Girls like you don't usually end up with guys like me. But that doesn't make one tiny bit of difference to our situation. You know why? Because I'm not 'guys like me.' I'm

just me. And you're not 'girls like you.' You're just you. And 'just me' thinks 'just you' is pretty damn spectacular." She opened her eyes and looked pleadingly into mine. "But that's the thing. That's my question. Why? Why do you think that? I'm being serious!" I nodded. Insecurity simmered behind her eyes, making her vulnerable. She had never shown me that side before, and I was willing to bet that she rarely showed anyone that side. It broke my heart and made me want to protect her from anything or anyone who might hurt her. I needed her to know that, as long as I was around, no one would ever have the chance. They'd have to go through me first.

I dropped my default teasing tone. "All right, then. A serious question deserves a serious response. Reasons Why I Like Michelle: Part One. Note: The creator of this list reserves the right to add to it on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Number one: the most unpredictable damn things come out of your mouth. Ninety-nine percent of the world is as predictable as if they were reading a script, but you are one of a kind. And it gives me an actual physical craving, like a hunger, to know what the next thing you're gonna say will be that absolutely knocks my socks off. "Number two: I've never seen anyone light up about anything the way you light up when you talk about books.

The way your eyes spark with fire from inside when you recommend a story to somebody in the library or even just talk about what you're reading to someone when we're in class. Your skin glows with it. You're so alive at that moment that it makes me feel more alive just to see it. "Number three: well, damn. I was about to talk about how gorgeous your eyes are, but then I thought...no, her dimples are my favorite feature. But the thought of your dimples brought to mind your smile, and of course, then I thought that was my favorite. But, just as I was about to settle on your smile, I remembered your long, graceful fingers and how, every time I look at them, all I

can think about is you touching me and what that would feel like and look like. That, of course, made me realize I hadn't added all of your, shall we say, sexier parts to the list of my favorite attributes. So, now, I'm realizing I should just go with...number three: you are one helluva beautiful woman, and I'd be honored to have you by my side." I gave her my best devilish smile. "Or in my bed. "Number four—" I never got a chance to tell her what number four—or any of the rest of the numbers up into the thousands—were. She stopped me by pressing her lips against mine and kissing me in a desperate frenzy, those beautiful, elegant fingers buried in my hair. And, before

too long, I couldn't even formulate that list anymore if I'd been asked to. It flew right out of my brain. That wasn't important though. The only thing that mattered was that it was still written in my heart, and nothing could ever change that.

CHAPTER TEN Michelle

"So, holy shit. You've been talking to Sebastian Winters!" Sandy burst out before I had even fully walked through their door. Wow. Welcome to ATB.

"Damn, Sandy. At least let her set her books down before you pounce," their roommate, Cat, laughed as she cleared a place on her desk for me to set my messenger bag. "I honestly don't know why you persist in the fiction that we are actually going to study here by lugging that heavy messenger bag to our room every time you come over," their fourth roommate, Evelyn, dryly observed. "At this point, we don't really need to pretend that this is a study group. You can feel free to accept the fact that the studying part of this is out the window and we’re just hanging out." "I just like to keep my options open," I protested. "We always meet up in your

guys' room because you have one of the super suites and it's so much more comfortable. But that means that, if we did suddenly decide to study, you'd all be prepared. And I wouldn't. And I really like to be prepared." "Agreed," Brandy said solemnly. "This whole 'preparedness is next to Godliness' philosophy must be a libraryemployee thing," Sandy blithely observed. "Now, let's stop talking about boring old books and talk about what we really all gathered here tonight to hear about: Sebastian. Freaking. Winters." This whole line of questioning really made me feel put on the spot. After all, even the talking (and making out) in Grandma Trudy's backyard yesterday

hadn’t completely rid me of the sensation of waiting for the other shoe to drop where Sebastian was concerned. I still felt like, at any moment, I was going to wake up and find out that this had all been an extremely pleasant but singularly unrealistic dream. Talking about it with Brandy had just seemed like chatter. Talking about it with all of these girls? That would make it real. And real was scary. "I don't really know what there is to talk about," I hedged, pulling my legs up in the chair and tucking them underneath me. "Classic evasion," Evelyn noted. A theater major, she wanted to be a classically-trained New York theater

actress. She made it her business to study body language and connect it with the internal story that it told. After all, she’d pointed out, if she wanted to be able to embody other people on stage, to understand and portray their motivations and their emotional landscapes, she had to be able to interpret what those landscapes were by observing them. She had to pay attention. And she had gotten unnervingly good at it. I sat up straighter, attempting to make my face and my demeanor as blank as possible so that she couldn't read me. "I don't know what you mean," I said in as neutral a voice as I could manage. All of the girls burst out laughing. I looked around, my brows furrowed.

What was so funny? Finally, Cat took pity on me and said, "Sorry, Michelle. It's just that we've all tried that 'blank slate' routine with Evelyn at one point or another. Trust us. It doesn't work." Evelyn nodded slightly, her eyes narrowing as let her laser-focused gaze travel up and down the length of me. "The flat, monotonous tone. The shrug. The going-for-blasé-but-not-quitegetting-there face. The downward rounding of the shoulders as the legs are tucked out of sight. Yep. All of these conspire to indicate that someone is trying to deflect attention. To hide. And what that tells me is"—she smiled

wickedly—"this is someone who has something to hide." I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. Evelyn gave a what-did-I-tell-ya shrug. "Wow. Do I even need to comment on the literal hiding of the facial expression?" I looked up at the girls. My cheeks were flaming, which wasn't part of my normal MO. Then again, being this far out of my comfort zone wasn't part of my normal MO, either. So, who knew how I would usually react when put in this kind of situation? I couldn't ever remember having been in one before. When it came to positions in the social structure,

center of attention was not my go-to place. Cat, the sweetest and most nurturing one in the group, immediately rushed to my defense when she saw my face. "Okay, guys. I think that's enough. If Michelle doesn't want to talk about Sebastian, then she shouldn't have to." I smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Cat. I appreciate it. It was super sweet of you to stick up for me. But I'll be honest. Even as you're defending me, I can hear the disappointment in your tone underneath the layers of solidarity." She laughed. "Guilty as charged. I have to say...when I found out you were hanging around with Sebastian Winters, I was just about eaten up with curiosity.

After all, he usually never goes outside his little group of jocks and the future supermodels that surround them. I don't know that I've ever met anyone on campus that's actually had a real conversation with him. I'm dying to know what he's like. Is that weird?" "I think it's kind of weird," Brandy answered. "Hell, he's not a celebrity. He's a frickin' student! Just because he plays a sport, damn! Am I literally the only person on this entire campus who’d never even heard the name Sebastian Winters before Michelle started talking with him?" "Yes," the rest of the girls answered in unison.

"He's Winship royalty, Bran," Sandy explained. Brandy shrugged like she still didn't understand what the big deal was, but she dropped the subject. "No, Sandy's exactly right. She hit the nail on the head," I said. "That's the issue. He's Winship royalty. And I'm a Winship peasant. So, how did this happen? That's what makes me nervous about the whole thing." "You're not a peasant!" Cat exclaimed, clearly hurt on my behalf that anyone would say such a thing about me, even if that anyone was me. "I'm not saying that to be down on myself," I clarified. "In the Winship hierarchy, I am. And that's totally fine.

The majority of us are. If the Winship social system were an economy, Sebastian would be part of the One Percent." "And you would have been out in the park on Wall Street, occupying your anarchistic ass off," Brandy added. "Precisely. So Sebastian’s taking an interest in me... I guess I just don't really understand how that happened. And, if I don't understand that, how can I trust it to last?" "Shit, girl. You're asking all the wrong questions," Sandy said. "What are the right questions?” "Instead of asking yourself how and why this happened, ask yourself how you can make the most of it. Instead of

spending time and energy wondering how long it's going to last, ask yourself what you can do to enjoy it as much as you possibly can while it does last." Brandy raised her eyebrows. "Wow, sis. For someone who doesn't often give a lot of thought to topics beyond clothes and makeup, that was shockingly wise advice." "You don't give me enough credit," Sandy said haughtily. "Clearly." "I also think about hair," she added. Brandy narrowed her eyes and smirked. "Smartass." "Okay. Clever twin banter aside, I actually think that's very good advice," Cat said. "What's wrong with just

relaxing and letting it play out? Not everything has to be forever. Why miss out on a good thing just because you're not absolutely sure, going into it, that it's going to last? Maybe it will still be amazing, even if it eventually ends." I nodded. I could see the wisdom of the advice, so I vowed to do that. To stop overanalyzing and thinking everything to death, killing any pleasure I could experience in the moment because I was trying to see ten months— or ten years—down the road. I was going to relax and go with the flow, baby. Even as I smiled my agreement and made that internal commitment, though, I found myself wondering if I would be

able to actually live up to it when it came down to it. Was there any way on earth—or any way in Heaven or Hell, for that matter—I was ever going to be able to look into Sebastian Winters's intoxicating blue eyes and want anything short of forever?

CHAPTER ELEVEN Sebastian

At the beginning of the semester, when I had signed up for my classes, I would've called anyone who had told me that the highlight of my week would be going to debate class a fucking idiot. That my

heart would beat faster when I thought about walking through the auditorium doors. That I would count down the days and the minutes until the next class started. That my palms would even get a little sweaty with anticipation when I thought about the next time I’d drop into one of those seats and listen to one of Professor Kaminsky's boring-ass lectures. But, obviously, that had all changed on the first day of class. That was the day I’d seen Miche. That was the day everything had changed—and not just the way I felt about Debate class, either. Everything. I still remembered the first thing that attracted my attention: her blue hair. I

smiled now while thinking about it. On closer inspection, though, I had realized that it wasn't entirely blue. There was just a blue streak through her beautifully wavy, platinum-blond bob. Then, looking her up and down, I noticed her skirt. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. It was a bunch of neckties all sewn together, side by side, with the pointy sides falling at her knees. The vibrant colors and patterns of the silky ties were at distinct odds with the rest of the outfit, which consisted of thick, black tights, scuffed Doc Martens, and a grungy thriftstore tee. However, none of it seemed sloppy or thrown together. It gave the impression of being very carefully thought out.

I was fricking mesmerized. I remembered thinking to myself that I just had to get to know the girl behind the brain that would put together an outfit like that. Then, when I’d watched her in class (because, trust me, it was a lot more interesting than fucking Kaminsky's lecture), I’d been taken by her epic concentration. She listened, and not in the way most kids did. She really listened. I could see the wheels turning behind her lovely eyes. And that had pretty much been it for me. I was sprung as hell. I was, as my mama would have put it, a goner. Of course, when I'd flirted with her and hadn't gotten anywhere, far from putting me off, it had only fueled the fire.

And, now that things were actually progressing between us, I wasn't just excited to see her in class. I was damn near thrilled. I stepped through the door and followed my unconscious routine, which had now become second nature, of scanning the room looking for her. When I spotted her, I smiled as I headed down the aisle toward her seat. This time was different. All the other times I had looked for her, it had been because I’d wanted to see her, to know where she was. I’d had no real use for the information. Now, I was looking for her because I was going to sit next to her. Big improvement in my book.

When I dropped into the seat next to her, she looked up, startled. Then she laughed. "You scared me. I guess I'm not used to people invading my space without warning." I gave her a cockeyed grin. "I can give you a warnin' if you like, darlin'. But I definitely plan on 'invading your space' on a pretty regular basis from now on. So, why don't we just consider this a blanket advisory?" “You have the coolest way of phrasing things,” she said, smiling warmly as she gave the compliment. Heat grew throughout my body. Wow, that smile. It had been tough to earn her trust enough to get that smile, but now

that I was on the receiving end of it, I knew that it had been worth it. In fact, it was an even sweeter prize because of all the effort that had gone into winning it. “Well, darlin’, I do have a naturalborn gift for words. I come by it honestly. My daddy’s a Southern lawyer. And his daddy’s a Southern preacher. I’ve been listening to both of them expound eloquently on various topics since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I guess some of it rubbed off.” She laughed, delighted. “Wow, that makes so much sense! It’s why you always sound like you’re the lead actor in a Tennessee Williams play. And I guess it’s why I can never figure out if

you’re giving a closing argument, or a sermon.” “Well, honey, when you come right down to it—they’re basically the same thing. It’s all about using words to convince folks of your point of view, and both of them are masters at that. But, I have to say, I do think I’m using my oratory gifts in a much more noble pursuit than either of them.” Her eyebrows drew together and her head tilted to the side. I knew I had her. I winked just to drive it home, then teased. “You see, Miche, all they do with their skills is defend the downtrodden and bring people to the Lord.” Her puzzlement grew. “And what are you doing?”

“Why, impressing a beautiful girl, of course! What’s more noble than that?” The adorable blush that spread across her face let me know that I’d succeeded. Professor Kaminsky entered the classroom and shuffled to the podium. "All right, all right. If we could have conversations come to an end, please? Let's begin, shall we?" One thing about Kaminsky that always bugged me was how he always sounded so unsure of everything he said. Rather than just telling everyone to shut the hell up because class was starting, he made it all sound like a question. As if he was asking us if that was okay. It always made me feel kind of rebellious,

and I'd usually make a point of continuing on a few more sentences because it annoyed me. Not Michelle though. As soon as she heard the professor's voice, her head whipped around to focus on the front of the room. Suddenly, I didn’t exist. She was fully engrossed in class. Damn. She was serious about her studies. It was just one of the things I found so fascinating, admirable, and cute as hell about her. After thirty seconds had gone by, Kaminsky followed up with, "Students, students! Come on. Settle down now, all right?" in a distracted and slightly annoyed tone.

No one—except for Michelle—had shut the hell up yet. After another few seconds, he shook his head and pulled a group of papers out of his battered, leather briefcase. "I have quizzes to hand back, people!" he announced, holding the messy sheaf over his head. Well, hell. That quieted the room fast enough. He should have just led with that. As the two TAs circulated throughout the room and laid the papers facedown on each desk, I smiled at Michelle. She couldn't have been more focused on watching the papers being handed back, though. She wouldn’t have noticed even if I’d stood up and waved my arms around, so I took advantage of

the opportunity to gaze at her beautiful face uninterrupted, and enjoyed the view. Michelle didn’t wait even a second to flip her paper over after it was set in front of her. Her hands were on it before the TA had even fully laid it down on the desk. "Damn, girl," I said with a low whistle. "Ninety-seven percent! That's some good work!" "Thanks," she said, sitting up a little straighter. "I studied really hard." "It shows." The TA laid my paper down on the desk. Rather than flipping it over though, I just lifted the corner and peeked. When I'd seen my grade, I slipped the paper

into my bag without fanfare. As I was closing the flap, a gentle hand rested on my forearm. When I looked back at Miche, her eyes were buttery with warmth and compassion that I had never seen there before. "You don't have to be embarrassed," she said, her voice soft with concern. "A lot of people struggle. I mean, especially athletes. If you want, we could get together and study before the debate trip next weekend. Maybe on Wednesday night? That's my night off." Damn. I wasn't going to turn an offer like that down! "Sounds good. I'll text you my dorm room number. We can meet there."

CHAPTER TWELVE Michelle

When I knocked on Sebastian's door, I had to admit that I was bit jittery. I had spent over an hour in front of my mirror like some sorority girl, trying on outfits and discarding them one by one. Then I labored over my hair and makeup for another hour. Of course, the clothing I was trying on was nothing a sorority girl would be caught dead in—but that was just fine by me, because it's not like I wanted to wear their frou-frou shit, either. But I had to face the fact that

Sebastian was turning me into a stereotypical "girl" in many ways, something I never thought would happen. What really surprised me though? I kinda liked it. When the door swung open, I took a step back. Not because I was shocked or appalled at anything I saw. Quite the opposite. God damn, but he was handsome! I stumbled backwards a few small steps because, all of a sudden, my knees were no longer capable of holding my legs up. Yep. Typical "girl." And, yep. I loved it. "So, where are we headed? To study, I mean? The library? The caf?"

He laughed. "Girl, I'm not gonna take you back to spend the evening at your job on your one and only night off!" Wow. I hadn't even thought about it that way. Because I loved the library like no other place on earth. It felt like home. The smell and the tactile sensation of the books. Being surrounded by other people who loved the written word as much as I did. Damn. I'd probably set up a cot in the back room and never leave it if they'd let me. "I don't mind," I said amiably. "I really like it there. And it's a very conducive environment when it comes to studying." He smiled that oh-my-God-holy-shithe's-so-sexy-I-can't-feel-my-fingers

smile of his and leaned in toward me conspiratorially. He adopted a low, sexy tone as he said, "I think we can do better. I think we can find an environment that's conducive to studying...and other things as well." I almost passed out right then and right there. However, I did manage to keep my voice relatively tremble-free (score!) when I responded, "Well, where did you have in mind?" He stepped back with a flourish and extended his arm to invite me in. Oh, holy mama cow. His room. He was inviting me into his room. Alone. Just the two of us. In his room. Be cool, Michelle. You can do this.

I shrugged with the studied nonchalance I only wished I had actually been feeling. "Sure. Cool. We can do that." I was proud of myself. I might have been turning to jelly on the inside, but if someone was listening to my voice, they would've thought I was as cool as a cucumber. As I brushed past Sebastian, he whispered in my ear, "Don't worry. I won't bite. Unless you ask me to." Okay, so maybe not quite as cool as a cucumber. I surreptitiously glanced around as I moved into Sebastian's room. I had kind of expected his room to be a filthy mess, with discarded athletic gear—including

maybe jock straps?—slung all over every available surface. But it was nothing like that. It wasn't immaculate by any means. Not in a way that seemed unnatural. Rather, it was sort of comfortably lived in, with books and papers piled up on the desk, and the bed was made, but a bit rumpled. "Where can I put my things?" "Right there on the desk is fine, if you’d like." I walked over to the desk and lifted my messenger bag to set it on the surface. Just before I did, though, I noticed the pile of papers fanned out over the center of the desktop. They caught my eye because they were familiar. I recognized the format. They

were the debate quizzes. I had a pile of the exact same papers in my own dorm room. I looked closer. Well, damn! Maybe not exactly the same. I slung my messenger bag back over my shoulder and bent down to shuffle through the pile of quizzes. I couldn't believe my eyes. After I had reached the bottom quiz on the pile, I turned to Sebastian, my jaw dropping. He was casually reclining on the bed, watching me with a knowing smile. "You haven't been doing badly on the quizzes!" I accused. "These quizzes are all marked one hundred! Hell, Sebastian, you've been breaking the curve!" His lazy grin spread wider and he laid on his thickest honey-drenched

drawl, which I noticed he did whenever he was trying to make a point. "I never said I'd been doing badly. That was your assumption. I simply didn't disabuse you of the notion." I opened my mouth to protest, but realized he was totally right. Based on nothing more than his status as an athlete and a campus god, I had assumed that he couldn't possibly be smart. Embarrassment caused me to snap my mouth shut, my cheeks flaming. With my fashion sensibilities and my passionate interest in books and school, I had been the brunt of so many stereotypes over the years that I hated the very idea of assumptions and

stereotyping. Yet there I was, engaging in that very thing. I ruefully shook my head. I had always believed that, when you were wrong about something, the best thing to do was simply own up and apologize. So I said, "Damn, dude. That was my assumption. I saw that you were kind of stealth about your score, so I just figured that it must be a bad grade. I don't really know why my mind automatically went there. My bad. Sorry." He spread his arms wide. "Hey, I can't feel too bad about it. After all, that very assumption is the reason why you’re standing in my room right now. So it could never be all bad. But I do hope that this little misunderstanding lets

you know that there is a lot more to me than meets the eye. Whatever you think I am on the surface, it's not necessarily the truth. If you want to know something about me, just ask. Where you're concerned, Miche, I'm an open book." I smiled. "Okay. I do have a question, then. Since you're offering and all." He folded his arms behind his head and reclined further, relaxed and open. I set my messenger bag on the desk and took a slow step closer to the bed. Then another. Taking a page out of his book, I made my voice low and seductive when I spoke. "Since it's pretty obvious that neither one of us needs an emergency study

session before the big debate trip this weekend, what do you suggest we do with the rest of our evening?" He sat up, every muscle suddenly taut, his eyes sparking with pent-up tension and desire. The grin he gave me smoldered with lusty fire. When he spoke, his voice was raw and raspy, and it sent waves of tingling tremors up and down every inch of my skin. "Oh, baby girl, I'm glad you asked. Because I definitely have some ideas about that. Yes, I certainly do."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Sebastian

I could hardly believe my eyes as Michelle walked toward me, seductively swaying her hips, her eyes holding sultry promise. This very scenario had played out in my dreams and fantasies so many times over the past few months that I felt like I should pinch myself to find out if this was real or not. If that were the case I never wanted to wake up. I sat up straight on the edge of my bed as she came closer. She stepped between my knees and rested her hands on my shoulders. My hands rose to encircle her waist. I could feel the heat of her skin even through her clothes, and when she bent closer, the warmth of her breath mingled with mine.

Oh, yes. She was real, all right. Very, very real. "Do you know how long I've waited for this? To have you here, alone, in my room? In my bed?" I rasped. I touched her face with my fingertips "I think I do. If it's anywhere near as long as I have waited, then it's safe to say this has been a long time coming." I stood and wrapped her up in my arms, holding her tight as I crushed her lips to mine. I didn't want to let her go. Now that I finally had her in my arms, with no barriers, no restrictions, I wanted to make every instant count. I loved the way that she felt pressed against me. Her body felt perfectly molded to mine, as if the two of us had

been made specifically to fit together in this way. I wouldn't have thought that it would be that perfect—I'm so tall, and she's so adorably tiny. But the absolute rightness of the way our bodies notched together like puzzle pieces was a beautiful surprise. I hoped that it was the first of many amazing things we were going to discover about each other— that night and for many years to come. She snaked her arms around my neck, which caused her to stand on her tiptoes. It was about the most adorable thing I had ever seen, and it tore a low moan from my throat as I bent down and scooped her up against me. My dick strained at my jeans as she wrapped her legs around my waist. Fuck. Had I ever,

in my entire life, felt anything as goddamn sexy as the tight, hot pressure of Michelle's slim legs squeezing my waist? That was a simple question to answer. Fuck no. I had not. I slipped my tongue into her mouth, exploring its hot wetness. She whimpered, which caused my cock to have even more trouble staying within the tight confines of my jeans. Holy shit, she was the sexiest thing. Her moans and sighs were like erotic music to my ears. "It feels so good, Sebastian. Please. Please never stop. Never stop kissing me. Never stop touching me." She didn't have to worry about that. I lived to touch her. I had since the first

moment I’d seen her, and that had been before I’d even fully realized how amazing her body would feel against mine, how incredible her soft skin would feel under my fingers. Now that I knew, her biggest problem was going to be keeping my hands off her at times when PDA would be inappropriate. Worrying that I would ever, in a million years, want to stop touching her? Stop kissing her? Yeah. Those fears were totally unfounded. I sat on the bed again, pulling her with me. As I leaned against the wall, she settled in on top of me, straddling me. It was almost too much to handle, the heat coming from between her legs, directly onto my cock. Even through our

jeans, it felt like a raging fire. My dick pulsed with need. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to rip her clothes off, claim every inch of her naked body with my hands and mouth, and then plunge myself inside her, hard, again and again until we were both spent and satisfied. That would happen. It most definitely would. It wasn't even a question. But, for this first time, I needed to take it slow. I was seized by an instinct even more powerful—although I wouldn't have thought that was possible —than the instinct to ravage her: to protect her. I would have done anything it took to make sure she was happy and

safe. That meant putting a leash on my caveman instincts and being tender. Of course, I reasoned as I began to trail butterfly kisses down her soft and sweet neck, that wasn't all bad. Those tender feelings were inside me. I just needed to make sure those came to the forefront instead of being drowned out by my raging libido. Underneath my lips, her pulse pounded in her neck, fast and delicate like a hummingbird's wings. So I deepened the kisses as I moved farther down her neck and her chest, swirling my tongue on her hot skin. Her moans encouraged me—and the way she arched her back toward me and tangled her

fingers so tight in my hair, insistently pushing my head down. Although she hadn't said a word since we'd climbed on the bed together, her body and her breathing were combining to tell me more than thousands of words about how much she wanted this—how much she wanted me —ever could. And, God, if that wasn't the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world, I didn't know what was. To know how much pleasure I was giving her body, the same way she was giving pleasure to mine—it turned me on more intensely than anything I'd ever thought or felt up until that moment. I inched my hands up her body, gently pressing my fingers into the flesh

of her belly and her torso. My mouth continued its downward progress until I was kissing the ripe flesh of her breasts, which were exposed over her neckline. I cupped her breasts, pushing them upwards and brushing my thumb over her nipples, which were hard even through the fabric of her tank top. She gasped and tightened her fingers in my hair, pulling it almost to the point of pain. Even that felt beyond pleasurable in the moment though. Her nipples hardened even further under the pads of my thumbs as I rotated them, massaging the firm buds in slow, even strokes through her tank top as she whimpered and moaned.

This was it. I knew I had her in the palm of my hand. I could feel it in her body, hear it in her voice. She was aching to be naked with me every bit as much as I ached to get her that way. I took my hands from her breasts and gently trailed them up her arms. Her skin turned to gooseflesh underneath my fingertips, and her muscles convulsed in tiny shivers with every new inch of contact between my hands and her exposed skin. God, I couldn't wait until the bare skin I was touching was in a much more secret, personal place than her upper arms—and the convulsions that rocked her were far from tiny. I tugged the strap of her tank top down, exposing her perfect breast, going

slowly to draw out and enhance the anticipation. I took a moment to drink in the sight, but the tender, pink bud of her nipple was too tempting for that to last very long. I hungrily lowered my head and enveloped her sweet breast with my mouth, rubbing my tongue in rhythmic circles around her hard nub. Her muscles trembled under my touch, and she began to rock her hips back and forth in time with my tongue. I groaned, the friction against my cock making it grow harder and harder by the minute. I applied some gentle suction to her sensitive tip, and her breathing sped up. All of a sudden, though, she stiffened —and not in a "this feels so good, you

sexy beast, you" kind of a way. No, this was definitely more of an oh-shit kind of stiffening of her entire body, every muscle at once. When I looked at her, her eyes were wide and her face was frozen and white. Shit. She was completely freaked out. Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask her what was wrong, what I had done, and how I could fix it and make her feel better, a slow clap started across the room. I froze as well, but only for an instant. I sprang into action, my immediate thought that I needed to protect Michelle from whoever this intruder on our private time was.

I grabbed the edge of the comforter on my bed, then pulled it up and wrapped it around her back as I stood up. That provided enough cover so that she could yank her tank top back into place and straighten her clothes before she tossed the blanket back on my bed. I glanced over her shoulder as I helped her quickly dress to see who had so unceremoniously walked into my room. It was my roommate, Jackson. "What the fuck, dude? I thought you were supposed to be out all night?" He laughed. "Plans changed, my friend. Why didn't you put the sock on the doorknob?" Damn. He had a point. This was ultimately my fault. I couldn't get too

pissed at him for walking into his own room, really. Still it didn't matter if it was justified or not. I was royally pissed. "Yeah, I guess we just got a little carried away," I mumbled. I looked down at Michelle, who was still standing next to me, fidgeting in discomfort. "This is my roommate, Jackson." "Hey, Library Girl," he said, his jovial tone matching the casual grin that covered his face. "Ignore him. He's an asshole," I rushed to say, but then pointedly added, "Plus, he's leaving. Right now." Before Jackson could argue, Michelle babbled, "No! No, I

mean...there's no point. This is his room, after all. I'm gonna go. I'm just gonna go, now. Yeah. Um...bye." As she gave that frenzied speech, she grabbed her book bag off my desk, jerking it to her with such force that the pile of quizzes I had strategically placed there fluttered to the ground and coated the floor. ”God damn it!” she growled, bending down to gather the papers with trembling fingers. "Miche, don't be silly. You don't need to go. I don't want you to go. Trust me. I want you here a lot more than I want Jackson." "Hey, now," Jackson protested, but it was good-natured.

Michelle smiled tightly. The intensity in her eyes on her face didn’t seem angry, just extremely uncomfortable. Somehow, though, I hated that even more. "No, no. I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm just...I'm gonna go. I'll, uh...I'll text you later." With that, she rushed out the door, closing it firmly behind her. Even though Jackson was still on the other side of the room, the dorm room had never seemed emptier. Every room Michelle was in lost all of its life and color when she left it, as far as I was concerned. I looked at Jackson, shaking my head at the amused smile that remained on his face. "You're an asshole," I said flatly.

He put his hand over his heart as if wounded. "Damn. You cockblock a guy one time and it's like you never even knew him." I rolled my eyes. At that moment, he didn't know how close I was to wishing that were actually true. But he was about to find out.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Michelle

I stood awkwardly by the curb with the rest of the debate class, my army surplus duffel slung over my shoulder. We were waiting for the bus to rumble up so that

we could load our luggage into the cargo hold and then board it for what promised to be an interminably long trip to San Francisco. Damn it all to hell. The other kids from class were already staring and whispering. I was sure this bus trip was going to be the epitome of awkward. Hell, at least I had a book. I'd bury my nose in that son of a bitch and shut out the rest of the world. It was a move I was used to, so I could easily pull it out again. This was exactly what I had been afraid of all those months when I'd been ignoring Sebastian's flirting. I had known that, once the thing between me and Sebastian—whatever the hell it was— had made any forward progress, people

would find out about it. And there was no going back after that. Of course, I was afraid of other things as well. But this was certainly among them. As for Sebastian himself? Yeah. Nowhere to be seen. And I hadn't heard from him in the past two days, either. Uncharacteristic tears pricked my eyes. Frickin' hell. I was sure he was over me, based on the way I’d lost my cool and bugged out of his room on Wednesday night. When he had listed off the things he liked about me that day in my grandma's backyard, all the attributes he had named revolved, in one way or another, around my being centered, self-possessed, and

basically an all-around badass bitch. Not, in other words, the kind of girl who gets embarrassed because someone caught her making out. Yeah. I was sure he was Audi 5000. And it made me feel like shit. The bus pulled up in a cloud of exhaust, interrupting my self-pitying thoughts. I sighed. Well, it was time to get this weekend over with. I lined up behind the rest of the class, adjusting my duffel and choking on the exhaust that blew into my face. We inched forward, person after person tossing their bags into the cargo compartment. When only three or four people were in front of me, a car horn started honking insistently behind the

bus. I figured a very frustrated motorist was being held up by the oversized vehicle. But, as I was about to toss my bag into the luggage compartment, someone called, "Miche! Hey, Miche!" I froze, then straightened and looked around. I edged out of line and walked toward the sound of his voice, back along the length of the bus. Was I imagining it? My heart beat faster with every step. What did this mean? There, parked behind the bus, was Sebastian. He was in his idling truck, a broad grin covering his handsome face as he locked eyes with me and waved. I hurried over to the driver's side window to talk to him.

"What are you doin', darlin'?" he teased. "Um..." I wasn't sure how to answer, so I opted for simple and factual. "Getting on the bus. To go to the debate trip." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Oh, now, Miche. Please tell me you don't really want to ride in that smelly, crowded, ol’ bus?" A smile tugged at my lips. His teasing could always do that to me. "Depends on what my other options are," I said archly. He burst out laughing. "Woman, throw your bag in the back of this truck and get your ass in here," he commanded good-naturedly.

I grinned and rushed to comply. He wasn't going to get any argument from me. An hours-long trip with judgy strangers from my class? Ugh. No, thanks. An hours-long trip spending oneon-one time with my sexy Sebastian? Oh, hells yes! By the time I had tossed my bag into the truck bed, Sebastian had turned the truck off, hopped out of the driver's seat, and hurried around behind me to fasten straps over my bag to keep it secure. When he was finished with that, he opened the passenger door for me and snaked his arm around my waist, getting ready to boost me up. That contact with Sebastian's body, after I had convinced myself I had felt it

for the last time, gave me a head rush so intense that I saw nothing but white for a moment. I breathed out and unconsciously pressed back into him. "Mmmmm...that's what I like to feel," he murmured against my ear. "Me too," I whispered, snuggling into him, reveling in the strength of his arms, the warmth of his skin, and the musky aroma of his cologne. It seemed like the rest of the world was blocked out, like Sebastian and I were alone in a beautiful bubble made for two. It felt that way pretty much every time I was in his arms. He had the power to make everything around us disappear. It was something in his eyes that held the secret, the way his soul

shined through them and made me feel like I was the most important person that had ever existed. God. I could spend forever lost in that magic. Our lovely bubble moment was interrupted by the loud roar of the bus engine as it rumbled away, trailing exhaust, enveloping us in a noxious diesel cloud. Sebastian chuckled. "I guess that's our cue," he said lightly, boosting me the rest of the way up into the truck cab. He gracefully pulled himself up into his seat, and I couldn't help but be impressed by the easy flexing of his muscles. A flutter went through me, from my heart to my torso and then farther

down. Then an ache and tingle made me squirm in my seat. Sebastian looked over, concern all over his gorgeous features. "You okay, babe? You comfortable?" I nodded, my throat clenched too tight to form sounds, let alone words. Damn, this was going to be a long trip. But in the very best way. His face lightened. "So, you need anything before we hit the open road? Coffee?" I shook my head, the power of speech not having returned to me yet since it’d been ripped away by Sebastian’s sexiness. He turned the key in the ignition but didn't drive off. Instead, he turned to me

and carefully studied my face. When he spoke, it was in an unusually subdued tone. "Hey, Miche, about the other night..." I opened my mouth, ready to blurt out apologies, but he beat me to it. "I'm really sorry about that, baby. Jackson is an asshole. I could tell it really embarrassed you and made you uncomfortable. Believe you me, I ripped him a new one. Nothing like that is ever going to happen again. Trust me." Lightness filled me as relief rushed through my veins. Whoa. He really wasn't through with me after all! Far from expecting me to be one hundred percent badass one hundred percent of

the time, he actually wanted to protect me. Warmth flooded my heart. "Thanks, Sebastian. Thanks for saying that. For doing that." He reached across the seat and stroked my hair. "Of course, baby. You're mine, my precious treasure. Anything that hurts you hurts me. I would go to the ends of the fuckin' earth to protect your heart and your dignity. Giving my roommate one very welldeserved ass-reaming was nothing." I laughed, but he continued. "I wanted to give you space these last two days. I've really been trying to respect that and not spook you or overwhelm you. But I've gotta tell you,

Miche..." He trailed off, looking down at his lap and shaking his head. I prompted, "Yes?" He looked back up, directly into my eyes, and said, "It was hell. Not talking to you for two days, especially when you were upset? Not knowing if you were happy or sad or how else you might feel? It was hell." His voice shook. "It was fucking hell." I grabbed his hands. "I feel the same way," I blurted, the intensity of my feelings for him filling my voice. He grinned. "Let's never do that again. 'Kay?" he said, his tone deceptively light but his face betraying the true intensity of what he felt.

I grinned right back. "That's a plan that I can get on board with."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Sebastian

Driving down 101 with Michelle by my side was awesome. The open road, a truck, and my woman. I felt ready to write a country song about it. Of course, in the song, I'd have to be wearing boots instead of sneakers. And Michelle would have to trade in her faded, thriftstore Sex Pistols tee for a fitted, buttondown, plaid blouse.

I preferred my life to the imaginary song version of it. I had driven the road between Arcata and San Francisco before. A few times, in fact. But it looked more beautiful now than it had in the past—which was quite a feat, considering how naturally beautiful it already was. But now, the hills seemed more lush, the green of the pine trees deeper and brighter. Everything just felt bigger, better, and more alive when I was with Michelle. That was the simple fact of the matter. When she was with me, it didn't matter what we were doing—I felt like I was seeing everything with fresh eyes. I noticed every brilliant detail I had glossed over before.

Partway through the drive, I saw one of the signs that marked a scenic view spot and pulled off the highway. "Oh, are we stopping to check out the scenery? How cool! I love unscheduled stops during road trips. That's always when you see the coolest stuff!" "Absolutely! Plus, I thought that it might make a nice picture. You know, for your Instagram." "Oh, that's awesome! Thanks, Sebastian. That's so thoughtful!" I felt kind of guilty for taking credit for such a sweet and selfless idea. Although the Instagram thing had been part of my thought process, the other plan I had in mind was a lot more of it.

In addition to looking at beautiful scenery, after all, there was another thing view spots were well-known to be good for. Parking. The road off the highway led up into the hills to the west, narrowing and winding as we crested farther up the mountain. When we reached the peak, I drove into a sprawling, largely empty parking lot. Still, even though there was hardly anyone there, I chose to park the truck in the remotest of spots, far away from the small cluster of cars that were in the lot. Michelle gave me a knowing smirk, and I could see in her quick and intelligent eyes that she knew exactly what I was thinking. That suspicion was

confirmed when she opened the truck door and hopped out, tossing a sassy, "Fine, Casanova, but we're gonna go look at the view first," over her shoulder. We walked up to the railing that enclosed the viewing deck and admired the gorgeous vista. I didn't even mind taking time away from the busy "making out" schedule I had planned for us. Not really, anyway. Standing with my arm around Miche, her head on my shoulder, as we gazed at some of the most beautiful land in God's own creation might not have been naked-time levels of awesome, but it was pretty damn awesome.

After fully taking in the scenery, not to mention snapping about fifty pictures of it from different angles, Michelle turned to me, the teasing half smile back on her lips. "All right, Romeo. I think we've looked at the trees enough. We've earned some tongue-on-tongue time. Don't you agree?" I laughed. "Hell yes. I reached that conclusion ten minutes ago." Her half smile blossomed into a fullblown grin. "Well, I suggest we collect our reward, then." We hurried back to the truck, and I opened her door and gave her a boost to help her swing into the high seat. Then I rushed around to my side and got in. I

turned to her and found her smiling at me affectionately. "Hi," she said simply. Her voice was high and sweet, and it made me want to hold her for the rest of our lives. "Hi," I answered. Then I brushed my thumb against her cheek. She closed her eyes and pressed into my hand. Her chest rose and fell, her breathing coming faster. And, with that small amount of contact and the tiniest of evidence that she was getting turned on, my cock grew to the point that it was almost painful against my jeans. Even through the pain, though, waves of intensity and pleasure flowed through me. I wanted nothing more than to set my dick free and feel Michelle touch it.

Everything in me yearned to touch her everywhere and have her touch me the same way. I trailed my hands down her body until my arms were firmly circling her waist. Then I pulled her forward. Her eyes popped open, wide with delight at the forceful action. "Wow,” she said. “You don't mess around. I like it." Her seductive, low rasping shot straight through me and drew a low moan from deep in my throat. She leaned forward and started kissing my neck. It was warm and soft, but at the same time insistent. God, if I had thought her lips felt like heaven when I kissed them, I was totally unprepared for the amazing

way they felt when she started kissing other parts of my body. It sent me into the stratosphere. I relaxed back against the seat and lost myself in the sensation of her lips and her tongue on my skin for as long as I could possibly stand it. Finally, though, I had had enough. I couldn't take it one minute longer. I had to touch her, had to claim her. I had to let her know that she was mine. I sat up, pushing her back into the seat and wrapping my arm around her. I pressed my mouth on to hers and began to kiss her, passionate making my movements even more forceful. The intensity grew second by second as she responded, clinging to me and returning

my kisses with even more desperate ones of her own. Her head fell back as she gasped, "Oh, God! Oh, Sebastian! It feels so good. How does it feel so good? How is it possible? When you touch me, when you kiss me... It's like...inhuman. It's insane." Her words sent desire rocketing through every inch of my muscles. As she rambled on almost incoherently, in ecstasy, I trailed kisses down her neck and her chest and slid my hands underneath her T-shirt. When they reached her breasts, I began playing with her nipples, which were already hard. Then her flow of words turned into incomprehensible gasps, grunts, and

moans. It was like her brain couldn't even form complete thoughts. I knew the feeling. I lowered my head to her breasts, mindful that we weren't in our own private space—even though we had started to steam up the windows quite a bit. I made sure I kept her T-shirt down enough so that no one would be able to see anything or tell what was going on if they walked by. For an extra precaution, I slipped my hand behind her butt and scooted her hips forward so that she was angled below the window line. Not only did I want to protect her privacy and her dignity, but fuck me if I was going to let

some random stranger lay eyes on my girl. She was mine and only mine. I covered first one breast and then the other with my mouth, swirling my tongue over her sweet nipples, always using my fingers to play with whichever of her breasts wasn't getting attention from my mouth. Hey, I didn't want either of them to feel left out! Her shivers and moans grew more and more frequent and intense until finally she fisted my hair in her hands and violently arched her back. Her entire body convulsed, and she cried in a strangled voice, "Oh, God, yes, Sebastian! Yes!" She bucked under me for a few more seconds as I continued sucking on her

breasts, and then she collapsed into an exhausted heap, her head thrown back. I sat up, tugging her T-shirt down over her breasts so she wouldn't be exposed. "Did you..." I hesitantly inquired. She looked up into my eyes, her face flushed and satisfied. "Yeah," she said, disbelief coloring in her voice. "But I wasn't even touching you," I said, confused. She giggled. "Yeah, you definitely were." "No, I mean I wasn't touching you—" "I know what you meant. But, I mean, apparently that wasn't necessary." I stroked her hair, which was wet with perspiration, back from her forehead. My other hand was around her

waist, my thumb tracing small circles on her flat belly. "You mean you can come just from me kissing your breasts?" I asked. She laughed a little as she said, "Yeah. I mean...I guess I can." Pride puffed up my chest. "Wait a second. Are you telling me that that's never happened before?" She shook her head, a wicked little smile playing around her lips. "Nope. Never." I sat up straighter, pride puffing my chest out, and said in a cocky tone, "I'm the only guy that ever made you come like that?" She grinned. "The one and only, stud."

Wow. I had achieved a lot in my life. Academically, athletically—you name it. But I'd never been quite so proud of any accomplishment as I was of this one. I reclined back in my seat, scooting my pelvis forward, and grinned at her. "I think I deserve a reward, then." She chuckled. "I agree," she said, sitting up and smiling. She ran her hands over my chest, and when she reached the waistline of my jeans, she unbuttoned my fly with deft but trembling fingers. I rubbed her back. "Don't be nervous," I whispered comfortingly. She winked at me as her fingers continued to work. "I'm not nervous," she assured me. "I'm turned on." "So much better."

"Agreed." When my pants were completely unfastened, she slid them down my legs, along with my boxers. Then she grasped my shaft in her small hand, which caused my cock to jump. It also pulled a low moan from me as I threw my head back. She pumped her hand up and down, slowly at first before picking up speed. Then, the best thing of all, she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. I thought my brain might explode from the sheer force of how awesome it felt. If that happened, it would have been well fucking worth it. "Mmmmm...tastes good..." she murmured in a voice that held a low

groan. I fastened my hands onto the back of her head and forced my eyes open so that I could watch her beautiful kewpie-dollshaped mouth moving up and down on my steel rod. She gazed into my eyes as she bobbed her head, never breaking eye contact with me, which almost caused me to bust my nut right then and there. Although I'd never regretted having to do anything so much in my life, I moved my hands down to her shoulders and pushed her head up off my dick. She looked up at me, confusion coloring her expression. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna come. I don't want to... I mean, we haven't—"

She put her finger across my mouth to stop the words and smiled a small, sexy smile. "Don't worry about that," she said. "I hate to disappoint you, but we’re not going to have sex right now. I definitely don't want our first time to be in a car." I nodded. Yeah, of course. I was a guy with a raging hard-on, so obviously I was disappointed to hear that. But the part of my brain that was still processing logical thought recognized that she was one hundred percent right. "Not to mention," she added, "we are actually going to be staying in a hotel tonight. If we can just manage to convince our roommates to give us one

of the rooms to ourselves, we'll be all set." Yeah, there was logic in that, too. I took a shuddering breath and forced myself to nod. "Yeah," I said, trying to hide the disappointment that wanted to creep through in my tone. "Yeah, you're right. We should go ahead and go." I reached down and started to pull my jeans back up. She laughed and put her hands on my wrists to stop me. With wicked mischief dancing in her eyes, she said, "Hey, now. Nobody said anything about stopping. Just that we weren't gonna have sex." With that, she lowered her head to my cock again and began to buck up and down while using one hand to follow her

mouth and stroke my shaft and the other to massage my balls. In the heightened state I was in, there was no way I could withstand that for more than a few seconds. I came almost immediately, exploding into her mouth. As I emptied my load, she kept her lips locked around my cock, swallowing every drop of what I gave her. When I was completely spent, she sat up and wiped her mouth, satisfaction written across her face. Then she snuggled into my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my waist, and I pulled her close to me, kissing the top of her head. "Holy hot damn, you're the best," I breathed.

She laughed quietly. "You have no idea," she said. "I'm just getting started."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Michelle

Sebastian walked toward me, across the spacious lobby of the hotel the debate tournament was being held in. He held two keycards up as he drew closer, a triumphant smirk gracing his face. My jaw dropped. "I can't believe you managed to convince them to check both of us in. Kaminsky made a huge point about everyone having to be careful not to forget their IDs because no

one was going to be able to check in without IDs, and blah blah blah. Now you just flash your pearly whites and they hand over my room key? I call bullshit." "Hey, what can I say? It's good to be king." "Damn sure is, I guess," I teased. He laced his fingers through mine. "Hey, no worries, babe. The upside for you is that you're my queen." "Is it good to be queen, too?" He kissed me long and hard. "You tell me," he rasped. "Yeah, it's pretty fan-freaking-tastic," I whispered. I wasn't trying to be coy. Or even seductive. He had just stolen my voice

with the power of his hotness. Again. Damn. That was becoming a very annoying habit of his. In a reluctant tone, he said, "There is one tiny wrinkle I couldn't manage to iron out." I stepped back, widening my eyes in mock surprise. I splayed my fingers across my chest and made my voice high and unbelieving when I said, "What? How is that possible? I thought it was good to be king? Let me guess. Now you're going to tell me that heavy is the head that wears the crown." "Yeah, yeah, smartass. Well, here's the thing. I tried to get our roommates to trade places—"

"Why would I want to stay with your roommate?" He laughed. "God, you're in rare form today." I smiled and leaned against his chest. I liked that his automatic response was to wrap his arms around me when I did this. "I'm just happy," I murmured. "That makes me witty." "I guess so. Anyway, I tried to get our roommates to trade places with us. So that we could stay in the same room, and they would be in the same room." "No dice?" "Not a one." "Does whatever girl I'm rooming with feel uncomfortable at the thought of rooming with a guy?"

"No, actually, she was one hundred percent for it. In fact, if I hadn't snatched my hand back quick enough when she tried to grab the room key, I think you'd be staring at a dangling stump right now instead of the handsome limb that you see before you." "Oh, so it's the guy that doesn't want to switch up the room? That's surprising." "I know, right? Apparently, he's in a relationship and his girlfriend would have his nuts in a vise if she found out he spent the night in the same room with another girl, even if it was completely platonic." I made my voice high and sound unbelieving again. "Even if he explained

that he was doing a favor for the king?" Sebastian laughed. "Even if. Although I guess I kind of get it. If I found out that you went out of town and spent the night in the same room with some random guy, I'd have to track him down and personally tear his throat out with my bare hands." "Damn," I said, impressed. "If this guy spends the night in the same room with a girl, his nuts get put in a vise. If I spend the night in the same room with the guy, his throat gets torn out. It seems like the guy is always the one that gets the short end of the scenario." "That's because of how guys think. Always planning something. You've gotta threaten them with punishment

based on what you know they want to do, not what they actually did do. That's the only way to keep the fear alive and keep them in line." I nodded, absorbing that little piece of wisdom. My mouth twitched as I said, "Hmmm. Good to know. I'm definitely going to keep that in mind for the future." He grasped my upper arms and moved me back a couple of steps, leaning down so that he could look directly into my eyes. There was not a hint of levity about him now. He was completely serious. His tone was grave, and so was his body language. "You don't have to. It'll never come up. Trust me. With you is the only place I

want to be, and you're the only girl I want to be with." My eyes misted over. Having someone declare their feelings for me so straightforwardly, so passionately and intensely, was something I wasn't sure I would ever get used to. But one thing was for sure: I wasn't used to it yet. Every time Sebastian was honest with me in that raw, guileless way he had, a tsunami of emotions washed over me, threatening to knock me right off my feet. I didn't know how to respond to that kind of vulnerability, so I cheated. Instead of answering, I lifted myself up on my tiptoes and kissed him. Sure, it wasn't the most emotionally mature thing to do...but from the way that Sebastian

wound his arms around me and squeezed like he could never get enough of holding me while his lips pressed to mine with an intensity that actually dwarfed what had come from his words...well, I figured he probably didn't mind too much. In fact, as he slipped his tongue into my mouth and began to explore, I decided he might have downright preferred it. "Students, students!" Kaminsky yelled ineffectually in the lobby. Sebastian didn't stop kissing me though. Didn't even slow his pace. But ignoring a teacher calling for my attention simply went against my nature. I couldn't do it. So I pulled back from

Sebastian's delicious kiss and faced Professor K. "All right, then... All right. Let me see," Kaminsky muttered once he had the majority of our attention. Then he consulted his clipboard. "Ah! Yes. Here we have it. Let's see. You are divided into three groups... No, four groups. And you will be splitting up between the various ballrooms to view different portions of the debate competition. Um, yes...uh... Your name tags... Let me see... No, oh, all right... You need to pick up blank name tags and fill them out..." Our teacher babbled distractedly with instructions for at least ten minutes. Most of the students standing around the lobby were either staring off into space

or engrossed in their phones or tablets. When the endless instructions finally finished, small clumps of students began to wander off to the various ballrooms. A couple of them who had been paying better attention than the rest walked over and took a blank name tag before heading back to the hall that led to the conference rooms, but it was a relatively small number. Sebastian grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. In a mischievous and excited tone, he quietly said, "This thing is completely disorganized. It's a fuckin' mess, in fact. Not to put too fine a point on it. Kaminsky's never going to know if we were in one of those ballrooms or not. You wanna get outta here? Go see

the city?" His eyes were sparking with adventure. I don't know what possessed me. It ran completely contrary to my nature to do something like cut class, play hooky, or whatever you want to call it. Deliberately not fulfilling one of the requirements of the class I was enrolled in was ssssoooo not me! But, without even giving any of that a second thought, I smiled and shot back, "Sure! Sounds like fun."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Sebastian

"I really think San Francisco might be the perfect city to explore on foot. Everything you'd want to get to is right there, or if it's not, it's a quick bus ride away." I gave Miche a quick kiss. God, I loved being able to do that whenever I wanted to! "Of course, anyplace would be amazing to explore as long as we were doing that exploring together." She beamed up at me. That was something I could definitely get used to as well. When she gave me that smile, I felt twice as tall, twice as strong, and twice as masculine and virile. Hell, if somebody could figure out how to take "Miche's Proud, Beaming Face" and convert it into a pill, they'd make

billions. The feeling it gave me was indescribable and incomparable. She threaded her hand through mine as we walked down the steep hill and then laid her head on my shoulder. "So, what do you think we should see? I mean, there are so many amazing San Francisco landmarks. The Golden Gate Bridge, obviously. Lombard Street. Ghirardelli Square. Fisherman's Wharf. Alcatraz." "Do you have your heart set on anything?" She squeezed my hand. "On the one hand, I'm kind of on the same page as you in terms of enjoying the day. As long as we're together, I'm having a fantastic time."

"But on the other hand?" She giggled, and it held a joy and an abandon, a sense of excitement, I had never heard from her before. She sounded like a little kid being offered a choice between playing with all of her favorite toys, with every option so exciting that it was impossible to choose. It was adorable as fuck. "I want to see it all!" she burst out, a hint of guilt underneath her animated tone, as if she were surprising herself by being so greedy. I stopped and took her in my arms. "Then, baby, by God, we are going to see it all!" She clapped her hands in front of her as her face lit up with a glow of pure

and unadulterated anticipation, and it was maybe the cutest thing I had ever seen in my entire life. And I'd seen baby goats playing. In person. We spent the rest of the day walking and Ubering to all the different sights Michelle wanted to see. While enjoying them, we snapped a ton of pictures of us in front of them for her to upload to Instagram. I knew I would copy those photos onto my computer when we got back to Arcata, no question. I wasn't even able to enjoy all the landmarks we were seeing during the day, breathtaking though they were. I only had eyes for Michelle. I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. Watching her face as she looked at amazing things was more

fascinating and moving to me than the amazing thing itself could ever be. As we rode the cable car for our last tourist-y activity of the day, I wrapped my arms around Miche and held her close to me, protecting her shivering frame from the chilly San Francisco evening air. She felt so delicate in my arms that I wanted to hold her forever, shield her from much more than just the cold—I wanted to protect her from every bad thing the world could ever throw at her. I wanted her to be able to exist only in the sheltering circle of my arms, where she was safe from any harm. I gently kissed the top of her head, her silky-soft hair caressing my lips. "I

noticed you took my advice." She looked up, puzzled. "What advice is that?" "Remember when I told you what was missing from your Instagram feed? What the only beautiful thing in your life that you were around every day was that you never posted?" A blush crept up her cheeks, but she didn't answer. Instead, she faced forward again and snuggled into my arms. Then she gave my forearm a playful tap. "Oh, stop." "I'm serious!" I protested. "You are the most beautiful and fascinating thing I've ever seen, and on your social media account, which is entirely devoted to

posting photographs of beautiful and fascinating things, I very rarely would ever see a picture of you. But all that's changed today. I think you're part of every single photo you've uploaded today. And I'm proud of you for that. That's all I'm saying." She was quiet, and I hoped that I hadn't embarrassed her so much that she would clam up and end the conversation right there. I certainly didn't want a repeat of the other night in my dorm room. That two days of radio silence had been fuckin' torture. But, luckily, that wasn't the case this time. After a moment, she said thoughtfully, "You know, I never wanted to be one of those girls that was

constantly posting duck-lip selfies of themselves, as if their faces were the most interesting thing anyone might want to look at. So I think I just went the other way. I only posted beautiful photos of nature, scenery, books, food—all the little vignettes that made up my life. But what I didn't realize was that, by excluding myself from the record of my own life, I was sending a message. To the world, and to myself. That I didn't even deserve to be there. That I didn't live up to the things that were surrounding me. That I wasn't even good enough to be included in my own life." It tore my heart out to hear her talking about herself like that. I wanted to shut it down, to stop her words of

depreciation with my own words of encouragement and support. Or maybe even stop them with a kiss. Whatever it took. I held myself back, though. She needed to work through this. But I could protect her by giving her a safe place to talk about what she was feeling, and I would do anything to protect her. Anything. Even shutting the hell up when everything inside me was screaming to tell her how amazing she was, that she deserved all the wonderful things life had to offer just as much—if not more— than anyone else did. She shyly bit her lip and dropped her head, looking up at me through lacy eyelashes. Whatever she was about to

say made her feel vulnerable. I knew it was coming straight from her heart. "You changed all of that," she whispered. "Seeing myself through your eyes—that's what made me realize I deserve to be part of the action. I'll never be a duck-lips-selfie girl, but I damn well deserve to be in my own photographs. I deserve a place in my own life." I kissed her, trying to express every ounce of pride and affirmation I felt through the act of pressing my lips to hers. "You do," I agreed, my voice tight with intensity. "You deserve a place in your own life. I'm so happy that you see that now. And, Miche, you deserve a place in mine too. So much. I want you

there, more than anything. I only hope I can prove that I'm worthy of a place in yours too."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Michelle

My hand trembled as I slipped it into Sebastian's. This had been the most wonderful day of my life, bar none, and I was absolutely sure about what I was working up to say to him. Still, that didn't mean that it didn't take courage to say. It did. And, where he was concerned, having courage was a new experience for me.

I squeezed his hand and drew to a stop on the sidewalk. He halted in this tracks as well and turned to give me a questioning look. "What's wrong?" he asked. I took a few small steps closer so that I was pressed right up against him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and snuggled my shoulders into his chest, turning my head to the side and pressing my cheek to his chest. Being so bold would be easier if I wasn't looking directly at him. "I was thinking," I murmured, my breathing speeding up. "Mmmmm," he said, rubbing my back. "I like the way you said that. I can't wait to hear what you were thinking."

"Well..." I tried to keep my voice even, but a raspy quality was sneaking in. "Just because our rooms at the main hotel are off-limits because of roommates doesn't mean we couldn't rent another hotel room. You know, in a different hotel. Just for us." "Wow," he said, that same rasping in his voice. "I definitely did want to know what you are thinking." "So, does that sound like a good idea to you?" "Abso-freaking-lutely!" he exclaimed. "I mean, we couldn't sleep there," I hastened to qualify. "Even if we don't get caught for skipping out on the tournament today, we would definitely run the risk

of getting reported by one of our roommates if we don’t go back to the hotel tonight, even if they weren't doing it to be mean. Even if they were just worried about us. I think that would be too risky." "Agreed," he said reluctantly. "And, also, it's kind of expensive to rent a hotel room for the whole night when we’re only going to be using it for a couple of hours." My voice was hesitant. I wasn't sure, even as I kept spitting out more reasons why it might be a bad idea, why I continued giving him an easy outs or excuses not to do it. It wasn't that I didn't want to move forward with the

plan—I most certainly did! I wanted to more than anything, as a matter of fact. But maybe I needed to be sure he was just as on board with it as I was. Maybe I needed to know what he would be willing to sacrifice. Maybe I needed to know that, in his mind, I didn't come cheap, and that was okay with him. He laughed, the incredulous tone in his voice setting my mind at ease. "Holy shit. Are you really talking about money? I don't care about money. Are you fucking kidding me? No matter what it costs, it's going to be worth every single goddamn penny and more." I drew back and smiled up at him, his reaction having given me enough

courage to look him in the face again. "Awesome," I said. "Let's go!" We ducked into the lobby of the very next hotel we came across. Sebastian, like a true gentleman, got me settled in a comfortable seat in the lobby before going over to the front desk to check us in. Tingles of anticipation raced through my body as I watched him from that chair. He talked to the front desk clerk, pulled his wallet out, signed a slip of paper, and took the room key. That was my man, taking care of business, getting things squared away for us. Something about that was incredibly sexy to me. Electricity overtook my body and I couldn't wait to get upstairs.

When the heavy hotel room door kachunked shut behind us, the tiniest bit of nervousness crept back into my belly. I decided that it would be best to take decisive action, and quickly, in order to squelch it before it grew. Without walking around the room and inspecting our surroundings, I strode directly to the bed, stripping my T-shirt and bra off as I covered the ground in three long strides. When I reached the edge of the bed, I turned and sat, scooting back and pulling at my feet so that I could unlace my boots. I met Sebastian's gaze and give him a naughty smile, but his eyes were firmly glued to my breasts. I laughed. Such a "guy" thing to do.

After I’d tossed my shoes and my socks aside, I hopped down from the bed and cocked my head to the side, placing my hands on my waist. "Well?" He looked up then and did meet my gaze, his jaw slack and his eyes lost in a stuporous glaze. "Well what?" he said slowly, as if he were in a trance. "Well," I said in a sultry, come-hither voice. "Aren't you going to help me do the rest?" I didn't need to ask twice. He was by my side in a split second. I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Running my hands down his beautiful chest on the way back down, I marveled at the hard ridges of muscles underneath my fingertips. He was a

perfect specimen of male humanity. Every contour of his pecs and his abs seemed like they had been sculpted out of marble. Warm, wonderful, inviting marble, that is. He kicked his tennis shoes off and removed his socks, and then we were both standing in front of each other in nothing but jeans and bare feet, naked from the waist up. Although my original intention had been to get all of our clothes stripped off as quickly as possible—I could hardly wait to be naked with him—I became impatient and threw my arms around him, clinging to him. I needed to feel him against me. I needed his warm, hard chest against my

soft, cushiony breasts and the sensitive tips at the end of each. I needed his strong arms around me as our skin pressed together, with no barriers in between. "Oh, God, Miche. You're so gorgeous. So beautiful. Fuck...your body —it's so amazing." "Yeah, that's exactly what I want you to do," I teased. He drew back and looked at me, confusion knitting his brow. "What?" "That's what I want you to do," I clarified in a joking tone. "Fuck my body. Yes, please." He laughed and then pushed me back on the bed. "Your wish is my command,"

he said, and then he began kissing his way down my body. My brain was consumed by a fog of lust. I couldn't even form words, let alone jokes, as his mouth and his tongue trailed down my chest. Then he paused to pay special attention to my nipples before continuing on down my torso. He gave me a sly smile as he unfastened my jeans. "I was thinking of seeing if I could manage a repeat performance," he said. "To see if I could make you come again without kissing anything but your tits. But then I thought, nah. Why not turn it into a challenge? See how many places on her body my tongue can make her come by kissing in one day?" With that, he yanked my jeans

down over my hips and legs, pulled them off, and tossed them aside. "God, you're so beautiful," he breathed as he slipped my panties off in the same way. He ran his fingers up and down the outside of my legs, up my sides, down my belly, and over my inner thighs. When he reached my knees, he paused then looked at me, a fire of lust burning in his eyes that shot straight to my core. In a low, commanding tone, he said, "I'm gonna open your legs now. I want to see your pussy." My voice caught in my throat, and I was unable to say anything or even grunt out assent. I simply nodded furiously. Then, with a powerful thrust, he pushed my knees wide open and knelt between

them. I felt so vulnerable spread out there before him as he examined me. Yet, as I watched the awestruck look on his face, I also felt powerful and sexy. It was an intoxicating combination. Without tearing his eyes from between my legs, he began to trail his fingers up and down my inner thighs again, making my legs shake with pentup arousal and lust. "You're beautiful," he breathed. Then, still not averting his laser gaze, he said, "I'm gonna eat you now, baby. I need to know if you taste as delicious as you look." He covered me with his mouth. I felt the hard, hot length of his tongue running up and down my slit and then plunging inside me. I cried out as my legs

involuntarily shot up and around his shoulders and I desperately tangled my fingers in his hair. I pushed his head forward, deeper into my pussy. I needed to feel him closer, closer—as close as I could get. I wanted his tongue deeper inside me, I wanted his mouth tighter on my pussy. I would've done anything I could've done to feel more of him, to be closer to him in that moment. "That's right, baby. That's right. Just like that," he murmured against my sensitive flesh. Waves of pleasure had been rushing the length of my body the entire time Sebastian had been touching me, but they picked up in speed and intensity when he began to focus his attentions on my clit,

swirling his tongue in tight and fast circles over my hard nub. "Oh, fuck," I whimpered. "Oh, God. Oh, yes. Right there." He inched one hand up my belly and tweaked my nipple between his thumb and his forefinger, adding to the intensity of the electric sparks that were exploding all through my torso and out through my extremities. Then he sent me over the edge when he plunged his fingers into my cunt as he continued to work me with his tongue and play with my nipples. The combination of sensations was simply too much for my body to bear. The pressure built up until it had to boil over.

I screamed as my entire body clenched and fireworks went off inside my brain and under every inch of my skin. Through every instant of the intense orgasm I could've sworn I simply couldn't bear the pleasure of one second longer. Even though I was about to shatter into a million pieces, my body continued somehow to send the pleasure impulses through me. It continued on and on for what seemed like an eternity, each crest of pleasure higher than the one before, until I really did wonder if I was going to explode. If I was going to die from the sheer bliss of it. If it was going to short-circuit my brain or my heart. Eventually, the crests became increasingly gentler and the fireworks

began to steadily dim behind my eyes as my orgasm rolled to a close. I had hardly any time to process this, though, before I was swept up in another wave of arousal. The instant I opened my eyes, I saw Sebastian standing over me. With one hand, he was smoothly stroking my pussy to guide me back down from the amazing orgasm. With the other hand, he had pushed his jeans and boxers down his legs and was rolling a condom on his steel-hard erection. "Oh, God," I groaned. He flashed me a lusty smile. "Hey," he said. "Even though I made you come again, I still haven't fulfilled your wish.

You know, the one to fuck your body? I plan to remedy that immediately." Although, just seconds before, I would've sworn I was too tired to talk, let alone move, the thought of feeling him inside me, filling me up, and pumping into me with that huge cock energized me to such an extent that I found myself instantly popping up into a sitting position so that I could lean forward and push his jeans the rest of the way down his legs. He grinned at me. "Ah, I see you like that idea," he said as he kicked his jeans and his boxers off his feet. I scooted back on the bed until my head was reclining against the pillow and opened my arms and my legs to him.

"I do like that idea," I said. "I like it a lot. In fact, I like it so much that I think you should put it into practice immediately." He climbed on top of me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he placed the head of his cock at my entrance. When he positioned himself, he whispered in my ear, "Are you ready?" "I've never been so ready," I whispered back. "I need you. Fuck me. Please, right now." He drove himself into me with a force that took my breath away. I screamed, and he pulled back, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes tight with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head, but the worried look didn't disappear. "You're so tiny," he said. "Was I too big?" I didn't think I could speak, but when I tried, my voice was there, although barely. I said in a raspy whisper, "No. I was screaming because it felt good. Yeah, you’re huge, but in the best fucking way. It feels so good. Please don't stop." He groaned, collapsing to his elbows on top of me. He began to move inside of me, his hips building up speed until he was thrusting powerfully. His chest brushed the tips of my nipples as he pumped in and out of me, adding to the festival of pleasurable sensations zipping around my body.

"Oh, Miche," he moaned in my ear. "Oh, God. I don't know how long I can last. I've just... I've dreamed about this for so long." "Don't worry about it," I whispered. "Come whenever you want." "I'm gonna try to hold out," he gasped. "I want to fuck you as long as possible. God, I never want to stop fucking you." "God, yes, that sounds amazing," I agreed. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding on for dear life as he pounded into me for what seemed like forever. Finally, the muscles of his back bunched under my fingers, and he buried his face in my neck, groaning loudly as

his arms slipped around me and crushed me to him. I felt a delicious pressure inside me and realized it must have been the force of his orgasm, which I could feel spilling into me through the thin sheath of the condom. I held him and stroked his hair as he trembled. My muscles were shaking, as well. He rolled over and collapsed back on the bed, gasping, "I don't want to crush you." I tumbled with him, snuggling into the niche where his chest met his neck and reveling in the feeling of his arms holding me, his fingers stroking my hair. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't be a good

idea," I teased. "Although, I won't lie—it wouldn't be a bad way to go." He laughed hoarsely and kissed the top of my head. "That was amazing, baby," he said. "No argument here," I answered. Then we were silent for a while. I lost myself in the sound of his heartbeat under my ear, the feel of his chest rising and falling under my cheek. I had never felt closer to another human being than I did to Sebastian at that moment. It was hard to tell where I ended and he began. Our bodies were intertwined and entangled, as were our souls. I was complete in that moment, in a way I had never been before.

The utopian bliss was shattered by a loud chime coming from my cell phone, which let me know that I had a text message. I groaned and turned over to get out of bed and head over to my purse so I could get my cell phone. "Don't!" Sebastian said. "Just leave it. Ignore it! The world outside doesn't exist, Miche. The only real world is the one in here. The one between me and you." God, it sounded tempting. But it wasn't realistic. "True,” I said. “The world in here feels more real than anything I've ever experienced out there. But the truth is, there actually is a world back at our hotel, including roommates who could

get us in a hell of a lot of trouble if they reported us. I need to make sure that's not one of them." He raised himself up on his elbows. God, he looked impossibly handsome, all rumpled and bed-worn. "Good point," he conceded, but he didn't sound happy about it. Neither was I. But neither one of us would benefit from our grades going to shit, so it had to be done. I swiped my phone and entered my password. Then I pressed the icon to bring up my text message. "Oh, fuck," I groaned. He laughed, stretching his arms above his head as he lay back on the pillow. "I know you're saying that

because you're not happy about whatever you see on your phone, but I can't help it. Seeing you standing there naked and groaning, 'Oh, fuck,' is sexy as hell," he said lightly. I held the phone up to him. "It's my parents," I said flatly. "Hmm. Distinctly less sexy," he agreed. "They're in town," I explained. "They came in as a surprise. They want to have dinner." "And getting less sexy by the moment." "Yeah. Trust me. It's not gonna be any fun," I said, pulling my clothes back on.

He stood up from the bed and began to get dressed as well. "Well, I guess we’ll find out," he said, smiling. I stopped in my tracks and looked at him. "Do you want to come with me?" I asked, surprised. "Would you do that? "Hell, yes," he confirmed. "Where you go, I go, babe. Plus, with me along, maybe it will be fun. I'll be moral support." I laughed. "Don't get too ahead of yourself. You might be magic, but even Harry freakin' Potter couldn't make this night enjoyable. Or even bearable." I wrapped my arms around his waist. "But you have no idea how much it means that you're coming with me. Seriously."

He kissed the top of my head. His voice was full of affection when he spoke. "Like I said, babe. Where you go, I go."

CHAPTER NINETEEN Michelle

My hands shook as Sebastian and I walked up to the restaurant door. It was amazing how quickly a day could turn on a dime. Only an hour ago, this had been the most magical day of my life. Then, with the snap of a finger—well, the chime of a text message, anyway—it had all changed. Now, we were headed in to

do the thing I dreaded most in life: spend time with Douchebag Dan. I gave our names to the maître d', and then Sebastian and I followed him as he wove through the dining room. When I spotted Dan and my mother at a far table, I gave them a tight smile and a wave. My mom's face lit up when she saw me, and her hand shot in the air to wave. Warmth spread in my heart. I loved her so much. That's why it hurt me so much to see how Dan had dimmed her fire. As if he could read my mind, Dan leveled a disapproving stare at my mom and grabbed her wrist to pull it down. After he’d leaned in toward her and whispered angrily, she cast her eyes to

the table and hunched her shoulders like a naughty child accepting a scolding. Fuck. I really hated him enough to almost kill him the majority of the time, and the feeling was only heightened when he pulled dick moves like that one. Sebastian placed his hand on my hip in support as we continued toward the table. While we were still out of earshot, he bent down to me and whispered, "Holy shit, your stepdad really is an asshole, huh?" I gave him a quick, mirthless smile before whispering back, "I prefer cocksucker, but, yes. Yes, he is." Sebastian and I sat at the table, and I flashed a quick smile toward my mom, hoping Dan wouldn't notice and say

something caustic. I was going to do my best not to let him ruin my night, but that would be a lot easier if he would cooperate by not being a total dickhead. We exchanged introductions, and then Dan unfolded his napkin, snapping it pretentiously, and laid it across his lap. "I couldn't help but notice that you weren't at the hotel where the debate competition was being held when your mother and I dropped in. If I'm not mistaken, attending the competition was the point of this entire trip, wasn't it? Not to mention a mandatory requirement of the class?" Well. He certainly blew the whole "not being a total dickhead" thing right

out of the gate. I wanted to scream, "I am a grown-ass woman! You do not get to tell me where I have to be anymore!" But, of course, that would have hurt and upset my mom, so I gritted my teeth and struggled to keep the frustration out of my voice as I answered, "No, we weren't at the hotel. We stepped out to do some sightseeing." My mom smiled. "Oh, that sounds lovely, honey!" Dan sent her a withering glare, and the smile died on her lips. He grumbled, "Sightseeing? Glad my money's going to good use." I plastered on a tight smile and replied in an even tighter voice, "My school is paid for with scholarships,

grants, and work study. I don't know if your money goes to good use or not, but it doesn't go to me, so whether or not I go sightseeing is irrelevant to your personal finances." Dan narrowed his eyes at me, but before he could respond, my mom interjected in her smoothly cheerful way, "Sebastian, we're so happy to meet you. I want to know all about you. Now, how did you two meet?" Sebastian seemed relieved for he and my mom take over the bulk of the conversational duties, keeping Dan and I from interacting. For my part, I kept my mouth shut as much as possible so as not to bait Dan into snorting derisively or shooting my mom a dirty look. He did

those things throughout dinner anyway, but it seemed like the sound of my voice was a real trigger for his condescension. So, with that in mind, I attempted to remove it from the equation as much as possible. As the dinner went on, sadness grew in my heart. It wasn't like this tense back-and-forth between the three of us was an unusual occurrence or anything. Nah, this had basically been every night of the week when I was in junior high and high school. This night was nothing special. The thing that made it different was being there with Sebastian. All night, I kept watching Dan and my mom, and then me and Sebastian. I tried to draw

some sort of conclusion. I just couldn’t figure it out. Dan had to have looked at her once the way Sebastian looked at me now, right? Like she’d hung the moon and her eyes were the stars? What had happened? When had he started thinking every clever, fun, creative thing she did or said was stupid? When had she started agreeing with him? When had she started making herself small so that he could feel bigger? The acid knot in my belly grew steadily all night until, by the time we said goodbye, I didn't know if I could even stand—I felt that sick to my stomach. As we prepared to part ways on the sidewalk, I wrapped my mom up

in my arms and held on extra tight. I didn't want to let her go. "I love you," I whispered as if it were the last time I would ever see her. "You're the best. Seriously, Mom. You're the coolest, smartest, funniest mom in the world." When I drew back, she had tears in her eyes. She looked taken aback at the praise, and that filled me with guilt. As much as I hated Dan for putting her down, I hadn't ever done my part to build her up, either. I vowed to change that. She touched the side of my face, her eyes shimmering. "You're the best girl," she said, her voice a tight-throated rasp.

Dan, of course, fucked up the moment by rolling his eyes and clearing his throat loudly as he looked at his watch. That broke the spell, and my mom glanced at him nervously. "Sorry, honey," she rushed out even though she hadn't done anything wrong. And, with that, they headed off down the street. I thought I might vomit. Sebastian wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close as we walked toward the hotel. He kissed the top of my head. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" Ice filled my veins. When he said that it "wasn't so bad," he meant that it hadn't erupted into a screaming match or

anything. However, it scared the shit out of me that he had witnessed Dan’s treatment my mom and could characterize it as "wasn’t so bad." All I could do was wonder how long it would be until everything Sebastian thought was so adorable about me right now turned into annoyances he’d try to stamp out. I wondered how long it would be until I let him. Until I was trying to beat him to the punch by smoothing out everything unique or memorable thing about me to make myself bland and palatable. God, I couldn't stand the thought of living a life where all I tried to do, day in and day out, was curl myself up into a metaphorical ball. To try to be tiny and

unnoticeable. That was death. Everything inside me railed against that possibility. Sebastian must have felt me stiffen, because he stopped walking and put his hands on my upper arms, turning me to face him. "What's wrong?" he asked, searching my face. "How long will you like me the way I am?" I blurted out, my voice trembling. "How long until you just want me to be normal, like everyone else?" He glanced away for a moment, his expression thoughtful, and then back to me. He looked unbearably sad, and I couldn't stand that I had done that to him. But I had to know.

He took my hands in his and spoke solemnly. "Miche, I don't know what more I can say to convince you of the way I feel. First, it was why do I like you. Now, it's how long will I like you. And I get it. Believe me. I get how hard it must be for you to trust. And, after tonight, I get it even more than I did before. "But the truth is, there's nothing more I can say that will make you believe what’s in my heart until you know within yourself that you are good enough. All of my words will be nothing but empty promises to your ears unless you already know that deep inside. And I can’t do that for you. The only person who can

give you the gift of knowing your own worth...is you." He drew me to him and held me tight. I felt like I would shatter. I recognized the embrace. It was the one I had just given my mother. It was the way you held someone when you were afraid you were seeing them for the last time. He pulled back and looked into my eyes. "Come on. Let's get you back to the hotel. I think maybe I should drive back on my own tomorrow. That maybe you need some time to think. Away from me." Everything inside me screamed that it wasn't true, that I needed him, not time away from him. Everything, that was, except for the part of my mind and my heart that

recognized the truth in his words. I nodded, and we continued on the long, wordless walk back to the hotel.

CHAPTER TWENTY Sebastian

"Dude, seriously? You are bumming me the fuck out. Do you plan on, maybe, I don't know...leaving the room today? I know that's a radical idea. But just consider it for a moment. Also consider that foods other than Cup O' Noodle exist in the world. If you just, ya know...leave the room to go get them." "Jackson, f'real, shut the fuck up."

He whistled low and disapprovingly. "God damn, dude. I never thought I'd see the day." He was obviously fishing for me to ask him what day he was talking about. And I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but the longer the silence stretched on, the more annoyed I became. Finally, I rolled my eyes and said, "Fine. Fuck. I'll bite. What day?" He grunted. "The day that Sebastian Winters was so pussy-whipped that he stopped living his fucking life because a girl wouldn't return his texts." I sighed. It was true. I had expected to spend the hours on the drive back to Arcata apart from Miche. I had thought

we would talk again that night when we got home. That we would iron everything out and things would go back to normal. But nope. It had been almost a week now, and I hadn't heard from her. Not one word. I was about to respond to Jackson when he interrupted me with a groan. "God damn it, stop sighing! I swear to God, it's like I'm at my junior high school sister's slumber party and they're watching fuckin' Twilight all the time with the nonstop sighing and melodramatic shit that's been going on in here! Now—and listen closely, compadre, because this is a one-time offer—if you want to talk, talk. Now. I'll listen. If you don't, don't. That's fine too.

But if you choose 'don't,' then you've gotta get your shit together and pull your ass out of this funk on your own. Ifucking-mmediately. I'm pulling the roommate card, man. I've let you stew in your own juices for a week. It's enough." I didn't answer. After a week's worth of moping around, doing nothing but listening to Seether on my headphones, I knew he was right. I was ready to snap out of it too. I just hadn't been able to summon up enough momentum to break the inertia of my downward spiral on my own. "I definitely don't want to 'talk about my feelings.' I'm not that far gone." Jackson looked distinctly relieved. "Fine. Well, what are you gonna do,

then? If you want my advice, I've always found getting shitfaced to be a solid strategy." "Nah. Not my style. I think I'm gonna go work out." "There ya go. Sweat out those demons." "Yeah. Maybe go for a jog, combine the endorphins with the fresh air." "That oughta do you good. Shit, before you know it, it'll be like you never even met this girl." "That's placing a lot of pressure on one run around campus." Jackson grinned. "I'm nothing if not an optimist." I laced my running shoes up and tried to get myself mentally pumped about the

idea of getting my muscles moving, losing myself in the hypnotic rhythm of my feet pounding the pavement in a steady beat. My heart rate rising, sweat breaking out on my skin... But that made images, completely unbidden, of Miche and me, in bed, naked, pop into my mind. Our bodies pressed against each other, her skin so smooth and creamy under my hands, her head thrown back and her eyes closed in pleasure... "Come on," Jackson groaned. "What's with the fucking sighing again?" Yeah. He was definitely right. It was beyond time for me to get out of my head. I was an athlete, damn it. I had been trained to make my body perform to capacity regardless of what my thoughts

or emotions were telling me to do. I was going to employ that training now and push my muscles to the limit, using the exertion to switch up my headspace. One thing was for sure—I had proved that sitting around eating Cup O' Noodle wasn't going to get me out of my head. Time to try a different strategy. I stepped out of the dorm and into the bracing breeze coming off Humboldt Bay before I did a few stretches to work out a week’s worth of couch potato kinks. As I loped off across the quad, I put in my earbuds and started my workout playlist. Yeah, sure, it was still Seether. But at least it was Rise Above This this time. In my mind, that was progress.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE Michelle

I said a quick prayer—as I always did— that the Chevette would start and then turned the key. Yes! Success. The engine roared to life, and I prepared to pull out of my parking space. I was going out for the first time all week. In a very antiserious-student—and therefore very unme—move, I had blown off my classes for going on five days now and spent that time in my room. I had told myself that I was contemplating. Meditating. But I was just stewing.

I just couldn't imagine a world where I would ever trust Sebastian's feelings for me. To trust that he liked me for exactly who I was and wasn't going to look for opportunities to change me into someone more mainstream as time went on. Of course, this was a direct result of having watched my douche nozzle of a stepfather do that to my lovely, wonderful, free spirit of a mother over the years. Now, she was little more than a Stepford wife. She had been complicit in this change as well, yes. She could've kicked his ass to the curb at any time. Or she could've at least pushed back a little on all of his constant demands to sandpaper off any of the things about her

personality that stood out—things he thought of as rough edges but I thought of as all of her best parts. And, also of course, Sebastian never acted that way. Not toward me or anyone else. He and my stepfather were entirely different people. They were polar opposites. I knew that—in my head. The problem seemed to be making my subconscious recognize the difference. No matter how many times Sebastian did something wonderful for me or said something that showed me that he looked at me and saw my uniqueness as something precious and special—something to be protected, not ground away—I still couldn't bring

myself to trust it. I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. And Sebastian was right—I couldn't keep putting him through it. I needed to solve this within myself. But I didn't know how. And, even if I had known how, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to. It was a shitty situation to be in, and I resented the hell out of it, but I was also terrified and depressed. I was terrified I was about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I was depressed because it was entirely my own fault and I didn't know how to fix it. But...none of that changed the fact that my grandmother needed groceries, and I was the only one who could bring

them to her. So there I was, firing up the Chevette and heading to the store—one of the many activities that would forever be tied to Sebastian Winters in my mind. I smiled a small, sad smile. It was true, I would never be able to make a grocery store run again in my life without remembering that night he’d saved me. As I pulled out of my parking place, I did a double take. Was I hallucinating? Was I seeing visions of Sebastian because he had been the only thing on my mind twenty-four hours a day for the past week? I blinked. Nope. That was actually him loping across the quad in running shorts and no shirt, earbuds firmly planted in his ears and a determined expression on his face.

A wave of melancholy crashed over me, competing with the wave of lust that rushed through me with equal strength. God! As sad as I was, I would never see a shirtless Sebastian Winters and not have my libido sit up and take notice. That would just never happen. I put my car into gear, a little more forcefully than necessary, and pulled away from the curb. I figured that the best way to shake loose of the powerful emotions was to remove myself from the situation. It didn't help much though. I pretty much sleepwalked through the grocery store aisles, throwing things in the cart without really looking at them. In a vague part of the back of my brain, a small voice whispered that I'd better

hope I was buying the right food, but I couldn't even muster up the interest to pay it much attention. When I got to Grandma Trudy's house, I set the shopping bags on the porch next to me and fumbled with the key in the lock. Fuck! What was wrong with me? Even my fingers weren't working right. The door was pulled open from the inside with a sudden force while my keys were still in the lock, which yanked them out of my hand with no warning. I looked up into the concerned face of Grandma Trudy, who had chosen a palette of bright-purple eye shadow and shocking pink lipstick that day.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you sick? What's the matter?" She came out onto the porch and placed her hands on either side of my face while studying my eyes. Then she used the patented "Grandma Trudy" method of taking my temperature—planting a big kiss on my forehead. When she pulled back, she still looked concerned, but not panicked. "Well, you don't have a fever," she said. I believed her. In fact, I would have pitted her lips against the most finely tuned thermometer in a battle of accurate temperature gauging any day and expected them to come out on top. "No, Grandma, I'm fine," I assured her.

"That's horse puckey," she replied. "Now, tell me what's wrong." I gathered up the grocery bags and moved past her and into the house. "Come on, Grandma. Let's go inside or else we'll both be running fevers before too long." "You're evading," she noted as she followed me in, "and that can only mean one thing." I let out a beleaguered sigh. "And what's that?" "This is about that boy. Sebastian." I shrugged but didn't deny it, and then I silently put the groceries away. I willed myself not to cry in front of my grandma. She had enough troubles

without having to deal with me falling to pieces. My grandmother's voice was soft and sympathetic when she spoke again. "What happened, baby doll? Did he hurt you? I'll kill him!" That made me laugh, which was a welcome relief from the nonstop melancholy. "Unnecessary,” I said. “As a matter of fact, if it came down to which one of us is causing the problem, I'd have to go with me." "So...are you broken up? Or is this just a hiccup?" "I wish I knew. That's part of the problem."

"Okay. Well, what's the rest of the problem?" I stopped putting groceries away and sat at the kitchen table. Grandma Trudy sat across from me and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. After taking a moment to get my thoughts straight, I launched in. "I just... Well, you know how I've always placed such a high value on being myself. Even if I didn't fit in with the rest of the world. I have to be who I am, and I don't appreciate people trying to take all of the unique things about me and make them 'normal.' I can't let that happen, because once you let someone start chipping away at you like that, bit by bit, over time, suddenly, you wake up

thirty years later and you don't even recognize yourself. You're not even the same person anymore. Like I said, I can't let that happen." "That's true. But...is that what was happening?" "What do you mean?" "Well, granted I've only met the young man and seen you two together a couple of times, but I have to say, he seemed to think you were pretty spectacular 'as is.' So, has he been trying to change you? That would surprise me is all." I shook my head. "No. No, that's not it. I just... I can't let myself get sucked in. He's the epitome of mainstream. He's the fricking king of mainstream. How could

he be satisfied with me and my weird ways forever? I mean, I'm sure Mom thought Dan loved her 'as is' when they first got together. That's the magic of new relationships. I just... I can't let myself turn out like her. Not to be mean, but...it's like she used to be painted in vibrant Technicolor. Then, over the years, he's been running this constant campaign to fade her brightness until, finally, she’s barely more than black and white. I can't wake up one day and realize that, while I wasn't looking, I turned to black and white!" Grandma Trudy put her hands up in front of her to stop me from barreling on with my tirade. "Whoa, now. Slow down a bit there. First of all, Sebastian is not

Dan. I know you think he might turn into Dan one day, or at least you're afraid that he might. But let me tell you something. I've held my tongue out of respect for long enough. You're an adult now, and I can be frank. Your stepfather is an asshole." I burst out laughing at the sheer unexpectedness of the statement and the bluntness with which she'd delivered it. "He is,” she said. “And I've known it from minute one after meeting him. So I wouldn't worry too much about Sebastian turning into him over time. Assholishness like that is pretty tough to hide, even in its early stages. "Now, about your mother. I love her. She's my daughter. Don't get me wrong.

But, just like Sebastian is nothing like Dan, you're nothing like her. Ever since she was little, she was always looking for love and acceptance. She'd do anything to fit in. That's probably my fault. I don't know. I tried to fix it. I tried to help her, to make her feel loved. I tried to instill a sense of self-esteem. But...I don't know. Maybe she was just baked that way. Sometimes, our personalities are what they are, and that's always been a part of your mom. "Now, when she met your stepfather, it was a perfect storm. A man who loved to control matched up with a woman who was willing to give up her individuality to be loved. A perfect pair in the worst way possible. Now, honey,

that's not Sebastian, and that's not you. So, why would you give away a chance at real happiness, real love, because of what a jackass your stepdad is? Hasn't he stolen enough of your joy already?" My head spun with the implications of everything my grandmother had just said. A lot of it mirrored things Sebastian had already said to me or I had even said to myself. But, until I’d heard it laid out, step by step and piece by piece, in my grandmother's trademark no-nonsense delivery... Well, it just hadn't really sunk in. Now, these truths were hitting home like a hammer. I dropped my forehead to the table on top of my folded arms, and then I sat up straight. I was done being passive. It

was time to take some action. It was time to take control. It was time to get my man! I popped out of the chair and hurried over to my purse, taking my phone out with trembling fingers. Then I hastily tapped out a text message. Me: I'd like to talk, if you still want to. Almost immediately, the phone made a swooshing sound as the reply appeared. Sebastian: Where r u? Me: At my grandma's. I expected another immediate reply, but when I didn't get one, I sat back down in the kitchen chair, dejected.

My grandma stood and ruffled my hair. "Don't worry, baby doll. He's going to call you later, after you get home, just you wait and see. He probably just doesn't want to interrupt your visit. Here. I'll make you some hot cocoa." "Thanks, Grandma." I didn't know how the warm, chocolate concoction would help my nervousness, but I appreciated the effort. Just as she was pouring the warm milk into a mug, however, we were surprised by a sharp and insistent ringing of the doorbell. When I opened it, I was even more surprised to see a very outof-breath, very sweaty, and (still) very shirtless Sebastian Winters. I stepped

outside and joined him on the porch, closing the door behind me. "Sebastian! Holy crap! Were you running in this neighborhood?" He shook his head as he bent over halfway, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Were you still running on campus when I texted?" He nodded, still breathing heavily. "Holy shit. That's, like...over a mile away!" "Hell yeah," he agreed, sounding winded. He straightened and grinned. "You can bet I've never been so happy to be able to do a four-minute mile in my entire life."

Joy and relief bubbled up in me so profoundly that I couldn't even put it into words. All I could do was grin from ear to ear and rush to Sebastian, my arms outstretched. He stopped me, though, with a hand on my upper arm. "Babe, wait, no," he said. My heart sank. I could imagine everything he wanted to work through and talk about before we kissed and made up, and that was completely fair. I couldn't blame him. What he said, though, was, "I'm all sweaty." I laughed and launched myself into arms. "I don't care," I gasped as I kissed

him hard, first on the mouth and then all over his gorgeous, precious face. I tasted tangy salt on my tongue as we kissed and held each other—a mixture of his sweat and my tears. Again, I didn't care. I only cared that we were back in each other's arms. The road ahead of us wouldn't be easy. We were so different, and we were going to face challenges because of it, both from other people and between ourselves. But one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt—and I was damn sure not going to forget it again—was we loved each other. No matter what obstacle we faced in the future, we would face it together. "I love you," he whispered in my ear.

I pulled back and smiled brilliantly. It seemed like smiling was all I could do. "I know that now," I replied, "and I'm going to do my best to remember it each and every day." He stroked my hair back from my face. Love shone from his eyes so brightly that it mesmerized me. "Well, if you forget, don't worry. I'll remind you." And then we were lost again—in kisses, and in each other.

EPILOGUE Michelle

I stood in front of the open suitcase and critically eyed the contents. I was going to be gone for a month and a half. I had to make sure I would have everything I'd need. Without warning, strong arms encircled my waist from behind and I was swept off my feet. I laughed, grasping the muscular forearms that held me up. Sebastian placed a couple of quick kisses on my neck and then replaced my feet on the floor, but he kept his arms wrapped around me. I leaned back into the warm security of his chest and, for the thousandth time (that day), marveled at how perfectly I fit in his embrace.

He made a show of looking over everything in my suitcase. "Hmmm..." he said mock thoughtfully, "I'm not sure if you have enough books. The fifty-fifty clothes-to-books ratio you have going on here is a little light on the printed word, I think." I playfully swatted at him. "Shut up! This is going to be an epic summer road trip. We're doing forty-eight states in forty-eight days. I can't run out of reading material. I'd go nuts!" He moved to my side, squeezing my waist. "There are these little things called ebooks..." I gasped. "I know you did not just say that to a future librarian!"

He put his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. Far be it from me to try to separate a biblio-holic from her pages full of 'the hard stuff.' Or maybe I should say 'the hardcover stuff.'" I groaned. "You're clever. I'll give you that. Nowhere near as clever as you think you are, of course... But, then again, that's a high bar." He touched my hair the way I loved and looked at me, his eyes shining. They held affection, attraction, and—my favorite of all the A-words—complete and total acceptance. Oh, and I couldn't forget amusement. "Do you really think you'll read this many on the trip?"

"I have to keep powering through as many books as I can," I explained lightly. "I'm on a quest to find a hero in one of them that even comes close to measuring up to you. I can't abandon it now!" He laughed and pulled me into a warm embrace. He slowly drawled, "Darlin', that's gonna be a long, frustrating, and ultimately fruitless search. You may as well just give it up and enjoy the real thing." "Hmmm... Okay. So 'modesty.' That's another quality the hero would need. Let me make a mental note." We stood together for a moment until I finally sighed and gave him one last squeeze.

"All right. I'm satisfied with what I've packed. Let's close this puppy up and get on the road. My Instagram followers are expecting me to be in Oregon by nightfall and Idaho tomorrow. Montana after that, and so on and so on. We've got a schedule to keep. We’ve got states to visit, and I’ve got pictures to take. #48states48days and everything.” He grinned down at me. "And the best part is you're gonna be in every shot." I kissed him long and hard. My heart beat wildly, just like it did every time I kissed him. Or touched him. Or, hell, even thought of him. "No. The best part is that we are."

About Melanie Shawn

NEW YORK TIMES & USA TODAY bestselling author Melanie Shawn is the writing team of sister duo Melanie and Shawna. They are the authors of the Hope Falls, Crossroads, and Someday series. Originally from Northern California, they both migrated south and now call So Cal their home. Growing up, Melanie constantly had her head in a book and was always working on short stories, manuscripts, plays and poetry. Shawna always loved romance in any form - movie, song or literary. If it was a love story with a happy ending,

Shawna was all about it! She proudly acknowledges that she is a romanceaholic. They have joined forces to create a world where true love and happily ever after always has a sexy twist!

Acknowledgments I want to give a HUGE THANK YOU to all of the amazing authors who donated their time and creativity to this fundraiser: Ruth Clampett, Cambria Hebert, K.A. Hunter, Jade C. Jamison, Liv Morris, Raine Miller, Emma Nichols and Melanie Shawn. Thank you for trusting me with your words and characters.

Regina Wamba – your creativity amazes me. You create a cover that tells a story beautifully. Thank you for donating your

time to raise money for Pink Shades of Words.

Julie Prestsater, you saved me from formatting! Thank you for being a life saver and formatting the book. I owe you big time woman!

FIFTY SHADES OF PINK teamThank you Karen, Sharon, Kimberly, Javier and Melissa for being amazing teammates. You are always there to help me out with my crazy fundraising ideas and never once say “you must be crazy”. I love you guys!!!

I love our weekends together in September as we do our best to complete the 39.3 miles. Let’s take more selfies this year though!

Lets Rock This Bitch and Kicks Cancers Ass!!!

www.fiftyshadesofpinktea

www.authorsintheoc.com

Fifty Shades of Pink team participates in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk in beautiful Santa Barbara, CA. You can donate to our team at www.avonwalk.org/goto/50shadesofpink Like us on Facebook www.facebook.com/50shadesofpinkteam Email: [email protected]