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Copyright ©2011 by Allie Standifer
First published in 2011
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CONTENTS
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Romancing Recee
ISBN #978-0-85715-795-9
(C)Copyright Allie Standifer 2011
Cover Art by April Martinez (C)Copyright November 2011
Edited by S.F. Swift
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-sizzling and a sexometer of 2
Club Botticelli
ROMANCING RECEE
Allie Standifer
Book five in the Club Botticelli Series
Love is never easy between two people determined to avoid heartbreak.
Experience has taught Recee Williams that love causes nothing but pain. Her past has proven her right time and again. She's content to live her life alone with no one but her friends. They may be close to the legal line of insanity, but they're her true family.
Garen's interest in the most lethal and unstable member of Club B's owners is nothing but foolish. Knowing that doesn't stop him from rushing to her 'rescue' when an ex threatens Recee's life. But Recee is more than capable of taking care of herself.
After one night together Garen knows he'll never be able to let this prickly woman go, but he'll need more than charm and great talent between the sheets.
Somehow Garen needs to find the perfect way to start Romancing Recee.
To My Friends: The Soused, Sexy and Semi-Impaired Seven,
Samantha Cayto, the Nicole Austin, Desiree Holt, Brenna Zinn,
Cerise Deland and Regina Carlysle
You ladies make the bad stuff better, the good stuff great and the great stuff worth jail time.
I wouldn't have half the stories, laughter and fun without you! Here's to our next adventure in Vegas!!
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Cheerios: General Mills
Choco-wine: 2011 Clever Imports
Thorazine: GlaxoSmithKline
Barbie: Mattel, Inc.
Mary Kay: Mary Kay Inc.
iPhone: Apple Inc.
iPod: Apple Inc.
Dancing with the Stars: The British Broadcasting Corporation
Matchbox Cars: Mattel Inc.
The moment she strutted into the club Garen 'Flash' Swifthorse couldn't keep his eyes off her. Curly brown hair spiralled down to her mouth-watering butt. Instantly his pants tightened around his growing erection. When tall, hot and edible sashayed her sexy ass up a set of metal stairs, she stopped at the landing, blew a kiss in their direction then disappeared from view. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The woman kept him hard anytime he caught sight of her. Hell, Caprice 'Recee' Williams jerked his cock with the mere thought of her. Too bad she never looked in his direction for her pleasure. Anytime the two of them were in the same room sparks flew as fast as the insults they tossed at each other.
"She single?" Casually sipping his ice-cold beer, he never took his eyes off the doorway his prey's curvy figure had entered, the doorway that led to the private office of the club's owner. Emma's friends were an amazing handful of eye candy, he mused as the cold liquid flowed down his parched throat.
"For now." The veiled answer from his best friend and business partner, Brock Cage, didn't surprise him though it did annoy him. Brock wasn't a talker under the best of circumstances, but this time Garen felt more than a flash of irritation. Hadn't Garen covered his buddy's six the first time they walked in the club, facing a pack of rabidly over-protective women looking to castrate his friend? The least Brock could do was answer a question or two. It wasn't like he had anything else scheduled for the evening.
A quick look at his expensive watch, accurate in five time zones, assured Garen he had enough time left to get a few questions answered. "That means?"
Brock lifted one broad shoulder in a casual shrug. "Recee always has a guy in the wings. I swear they take numbers."
"Then they need to be checked in to the nearest psych ward." Olivia's fiance Ethan Newton stated. "That woman carries knives like other females carry purses."
"Well, as long as she knows how to use them and no one gets hurt I don't see the problem." Leave it to Carter to offer the mature approach. Living with Briley hadn't changed the computer expert's outlook on life. Considering Briley Evans didn't have even a passing acquaintance with sanity Garen had to give the man props for remaining level. Garen felt his lip twitch with amusement.
"I shudder to think of Recee armed, dangerous and pissed off. Treat her like a safari exhibit, my friend, watch her from a distance, make sure you're armed with a dart gun and never, never piss off the queen of the jungle. She'll eat you for lunch then use your rib cage to play drums."
"Hunt, that is sick, twisted and probably the closest thing to the truth." Brock shot Hunt a knowing look. "She's all that and more. The more part being she's pretty much a sister to Trinity. Since the two of you got together with Recee's help I'd strongly suggest keeping opinions like that to myself."
"Like Emma wouldn't geld you for trash-talking her friend?" Hunt had a smirk curving his mouth.
Brock laughed. "Gelding me would hurt her, too. Nah, my Em's more likely to plan a sneak attack when I least expect it. She fights dirty that way." The shit-eating grin splitting his lips stated he didn't mind his fiancee's tendency to get dirty.
"Let's face it, gentlemen, the women we love are doing the mambo on the line of sanity. They're impetuous, arrogant, and wanted in one state for crimes none of them will talk about." Hunt laid the truth out there for all them to swallow, no matter how bitter the pill.
"So Recee is available?" All Garen wanted was the answer to that question. If some loser thought he had a place in that dangerous lady's bed he'd be more than happy to physically change his mind. Yeah, he hadn't noticed her on his first trip to Club Botticelli, but now that he had... Yeah, he couldn't wait to see how Recee's ankles looked as earrings.
Brock slapped him on the shoulder. "All I can say is yes and what kind of music do you want played at your funeral?"
"With the way you two have been circling each other I knew there'd be an intervention soon or later," Ethan muttered around his beer bottle.
"Hey, there's nothing like foreplay to spice things up, right, Garen?" Carter jumped in to play middle man once more, his hands clasped tight around his dark glass of micro-brew.
"What?"
Carter shrugged, the plaid shirt covering his tall, lanky frame twisting while his rimless glasses slipped down the bridge of his Roman nose. Impatiently he shoved them back in place. "Haven't all the fights, insults and cut-downs been foreplay for the two of you? I mean everyone within a ten block radius of you can feel the burn when you're together."
"Nah, that's just Recee using another man's balls as a whetting stone." Ethan tipped his chair back, a contented smile curving his mouth.
The rest of the men laughed as they moved on to discuss other happenings in their lives. Garen tuned them out. His sole focus, the pinpoint of light in his existence, was one smart-ass, knife-wielding, curly-haired vixen.
She might not know it yet, but Recee Williams had just met her match.
"Ladies, your cordless dildos are downstairs plotting. You might want to make sure they're not stealing each other's Matchbox cars. Or it could get nasty." Recee shut the door, separating the club from Olivia's private office.
Briley Evans' blonde head popped up from behind the wide leather couch. A sleek crystal wine glass filled her hand. "What are you talking about?"
"Would you please stop calling them that?" Trinity muttered without much heat, fighting a losing battle that her friends knew she'd never win. "At least in my case, Hunt's better than any vibrator I bought. Bigger too." The hussy had the nerve to brag.
Screams of "TMI" rang through the large feminine office. Yeah, Recee could have lived the rest of her life without knowing that much information on Dr. Huntington Windslow. But damn, that Trinity was one lucky woman, Recee admitted to herself and only to herself. Give these women even the whiff of vulnerability and they'd be on her like starving jackals, but with fewer table manners.
"I just left them not even five minutes ago and they were fine. Teasing Noah, but hell, that's nothing new." Olivia moved from behind her large oak desk to stand near Recee.
Uncaring, Recee shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is from the minute I stepped into the club I almost died from testosterone overdose." She waved a bejewelled hand in front of her face mimicking the heat wave she'd felt with that much good-looking eye candy only steps away. She didn't mention a particular set of dark eyes that set her pulse racing and her nerves humming. Or the way she'd sensed those same set of eyes trailing her up the stairs.
"Do I need to call nine-one-one or just start asking for blood donations now?"
"Trinity, Trinity, Trinity, when will you learn? I never leave a mess or witnesses." Recee allowed a smirk to curve her lips. "The toys are just fine. I, however, am in desperate need of a drink."
Sweet, lovely, and always ready to help, Emma jumped from the dark leather ottoman to fulfil Recee's request. Her red-gold curls flew as she ran to the bar and picked up a wine bottle filled with a dark cocoa-coloured liquid. "Oh, you're going to love this new wine. One of the bar's regulars, Regina, recommended it. It's called choco-wine and it's the closest thing to heaven I've ever tasted."
Recee stepped farther into the expensively decorated room, dropped her purse and coat on the desk. Then she stopped and took a good look around her.
The coffee table was covered with food and her friends looked like they'd been enjoying their new wine in large doses. But the hair on the back of her head stood straight up and formerly calm nerves started screaming in warning. Recee didn't need any more hints to know she was looking at her own personal Armageddon.
Forcing serenity she didn't feel, Recee took in the faces of the four women who were closest to her than anyone else on the planet. And made herself remember all the really good reasons she couldn't maim or torture them.
"What," she asked, "is going on? This looks way too much like a celebration."
Olivia, calm and always-practical Olivia, grabbed Recee's hand and tugged her down on the soft couch, happily shoving Briley's feet to the floor. "We are celebrating...of sorts."
Her stomach clenched and her ass puckered in fear. Whatever was coming Recee knew it was going to get ugly. End of the world, ice-cap-melting, cheap tennis-shoe-wearing, discount-perm type ugly.
"Oh Recee, how the mighty will fall." Trinity shoved a glass of the dark wine into Recee's hand. The large diamond winking from Trin's left ring finger glittered in the soft lighting.
Recee wondered how attached Hunt really was to Trinity. They hadn't been together all that long, so maybe the good doctor wouldn't notice his wife missing for oh...say forty-eight hours or so. Long enough for Recee to wipe the shit-eating grin off Trinity's face and disappear into the Canadian underworld, if they had an underworld.
"Let her have a drink first or else this won't go well." Emma warned the group while motioning Recee to drink up.
Seeing no choice but to drink, Recee put the cool glass to her lips and downed the liquid in a few desperate gulps. Damn, that was good shit. If she lived through this, didn't end up in jail or in the witness protection programme, Recee would have to thank this Regina for her rocking recommendation. The alcohol did its job and her nerves settled.
By the time she'd set the empty glass on the table her friends had formed a semi-circle around her.
"Let's get this over with." Please, dear God, she prayed, let it be about really ugly bridesmaid's dresses. She could deal with that and smile while mentally planning the burning ceremony once the wedding was over. But something told her it wouldn't be that easy.
Olivia, sitting closest to her, cleared her throat and clasped her hands. "We've talked about this and come to a decision."
"It's your turn on the dance floor, Recee. We've all made the cut and the last song, she is a-playing," Trinity informed her with a wink and a smile. The woman seriously needed to cut down on her Dancing with the Stars obsession.
"We don't want to force you," Emma said in her sweet don't-rile-the-psycho tone, "but well...fair is fair."
"Bottom line, sugar-ass, it's your turn to pay or play," Briley flat out stated.
And Recee could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach as her reality twisted itself to hell and back. But she made sure nothing showed on her face even as her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. Idiot, she cursed herself, you knew this was coming.
Tonight Club B, as it was better known to the locals, would hold its final play-or-pay meeting. Recee knew it. She smelt an ambush and damned herself and Trinity for coming up with the game in the first place.
It seemed so simple and easy at first. They would write down their deepest sexual desires, the man they wanted to act it out with and how long they wanted to play in the fantasy. They each had to scope out the man or men of their dreams and refine the details.
A year for all five of them to come up with the perfect male fantasy lover. Granted, most of them had forgotten the silly game until Recee pushed the issue for Olivia's own good. Now that her four friends were happily attached, Recee was the only one left alone and the sole object of their attack.
Of course she could throw in the towel and take her pay portion of the programme, a one-hour interview with Mindy Monique, the world's answer to Tammie Faye Baker crossed with a pissed-off Mary Kay rep. Mindy's Internet show reached millions of viewers each week and she'd been hounding the five women for personal interviews since the club opened.
Recee could handle the painted-up poodle even if she had her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. The point was she didn't want to have to. Giving in went against her very nature.
She didn't mind doing interviews in general. As a top jewellery designer, Recee did interviews all the time. But Mindy took the cake. There was nothing too personal the woman wouldn't ask, nothing she wouldn't question, but most of all, none of the friends could stand the other woman's superior attitude.
With her bony hips, skeleton legs, silicone-inflated boobs, collagen-injected lips, capped teeth, highlighted hair and slightly too-perfect nose, Mindy reminded the plus-size ladies of Batshit Barbie. Mostly they felt sorry for the other woman, and Mindy knew it. In turn, Mindy did everything she could to make all their lives a living hell.
As comfortable as she felt with her two-digit clothes size, Recee knew other women would never understand. Years of being told she wasn't good enough, pretty enough or thin enough had taken its toll on her. But she'd come through the other side stronger, smarter and with a family of friends.
So like every other challenge and fear in her life Recee lifted her chin and faced it head on.
"Looks like I'll be paying instead of playing, girls." She picked invisible pieces of lint off her shirt, trying to look as casual as possible. No one, not even those closest to her, would ever glimpse the terrified child she hid inside. Those days of being timid and obedient were over. No one controlled her life or destiny but Recee herself.
"That would be great," Trinity drawled from where she'd sprawled herself on the opposite couch, long legs dangling over the arm as her feet swung back and forth. "But we're not gonna take it. You play...just like every one of us has."
Recee made herself swallow the scream of fear that threatened to spill out of her mouth. "That just might work, if I had any reason to listen to you. I've my own plans made and I won't cancel them. I'll give our favourite skanky reporter a call and set something up."
"You know, I think Noah would be perfect for her." Olivia ignored Recee and her protest. "He's young, hot, single and looks to know what he's doing between the sheets."
"I'm telling Ethan you're getting hot for his brother," Briley trilled from her place beside Recee. "Talk about being a close family. You are getting to be a nasty girl, Livia."
"Kiss ass, nerd-lover." Olivia threw a cracker right into Briley's blonde hair.
"Damn straight." Briley licked her lips and gave a little moan. "Nerds are very very very focused people."
"Children." Emma clapped her hands to get the group's attention. "Noah, while sweet, attractive and dependable, is not the right man for our Recee. She needs someone stronger to lean on. Someone with enough self-confidence to deal with her knife-wielding mood swings and someone just insane enough to know she's worth it."
"And you think this paragon of manhood is sitting by the phone waiting on her call?" Trinity asked as sarcasm dripped from her every word. "My bet's he's already locked up and pumped full of Thorazine."
"Sounds like a man too good to be true, drooling or otherwise." Olivia offered her opinion. "But what if we went all Dr. Frankenstein and created a man like that?"
"Oh, oh, we could make the whole feet-versus-penis thing a reality. I bet Carter would help." Briley's light brown eyes lit with excitement. "You don't mind a few scars, do you, Reece?"
"Hunt would know where and how to get the body parts. Not to mention any, you know, ethical crap that might come our way." Trinity offered her husband's services easily, knowing the man was whipped enough to only object a little. Sex could and would melt the strongest man's resistance.
"This will end up just like New Mexico," Recee predicted with a sigh and sat back to await their doom. Somehow her friends would either give up, get distracted or Recee would end up with the world's first reanimated vibrator.
"It will not," Trinity said, "since we're not secretly being tapped by an undercover Interpol agent working in conjunction with the D.E.A an---"
"Shhh." Olivia slapped her hand over Trinity's mouth and gave the room a suspicious look. "We swore never to talk about that...ever!"
Trinity's green eyes narrowed on Olivia before the other woman finally withdrew her hand. "I wasn't going to say the rest. I have better things to do than have a bunch of men wearing cheap black suits kidnap me...again." Trin folded her arms under her breasts and glared.
"They didn't kidnap us last time. They were simply very resolute in their request. Besides, the club isn't bugged." Emma calmly said from her comfortable position in the wide leather love seat. "Brock checks for anything, you know, bug-like." She waved a slim hand back and forth.
Olivia sank back into her seat, looking astonished. "He does?" How very Olivia-like to ignore Emma's rearrangement of facts in regard to her friends' unlawful detention.
The rest of the group looked as stunned and surprised as Recee felt. "Why?" Recee asked.
"What does he know?"
"When did this start?"
"Can I borrow his toys?"
God bless her, Emma took the questions as fast as they came, her serenity never cracking. "Trinity, Brock knows you so no, there's not a chance in hell my man is letting you anywhere near his sensitive equipment. Olivia, he started checking the club right after we got together. The whole missing month thing really upset him, now he does it at least twice a week if not more." She swivelled to face Briley. "He knows nothing more than what I've told him. And I've told him the same thing you've told your men. Nothing. It's just when he used his government contacts to try and dig more info out that the questions started growing."
"Hot damn, Emma." Recee applauded her loudly. "You have one of Uncle Sam's finest trained war machines eating out of the palm of your head. Way to go, Em!"
They gave each other a high five, laughing like loons. Tension eased from the room. For the first time since she walked in, Recee could finally take a deep breath.
Her friends would forget about the stupid Play part of their game. Recee would give the evil gossip heifer an interview and life would go on...without her getting mixed up with a man.
"The four of you make me crazy enough to forget where I was going with all this." Emma complained even as she downed another glass of chocolate wine.
"We keep your life interesting, honey. There's no need to thank us." Trinity gave her cat-and-the-canary smile. "So long as we get to keep a video camera in your bedroom."
"Trinity," Emma shrieked and launched herself at Trin, murder burning hot in her hazel-blue eyes.
"Oh shit, somebody stop her." Trinity backed into the arm of the couch.
In a flash, Recee was off the couch and had her arms locked around Emma's stomach. "Calm down, Emma. You know Trinity has more balls than brains. She would never bug your bedroom. That's a little too Grey Gardens even for her."
"Yeah, Em, besides Brock loves you. He's totally devoted to your safety. Trust me, that man must run his de-bugging thing through your place at least twice a day. There's not a snowball's chance in hell Trinity set up a camera anywhere near your home." Olivia's reasonable tone calmed everyone.
"Trinity is a dumbass, Em, you know this and love her anyway. Just think of her as the window licker on a short bus through life. I know I do." Briley cheerfully offered her opinion while tossing popcorn in the air and never once managing to catch it in her mouth.
"Hey!" Trinity objected, then laughed. "Yeah, that's me, the licker of windows for short yellow buses everywhere."
Laughter exploded from the group and, in a tangle of arms and legs, Emma and Olivia fell to the floor.
"Trinity, you are a pervert. I don't know how that sweet Hunt puts up with you." Olivia snorted.
"I do," Recee said. "She brings out his kinky freak daddy side."
"Shut it," Trinity muttered as her cheeks flushed bright red, but she didn't deny.
"I bet they take pictures or better yet, tape themselves getting down and dirty." Recee wanted to tweak her friend. "Maybe dragging out the floggers, whips and chains...oh my!"
Instead of responding to the verbal bait Trinity went straight for the jugular. "Who's going to be Recee's play?"
"Bitch," Recee mouthed at her friend.
"Ackkk!" Emma shouted from her landing spot on the floor. "I've been trying to tell you brainless bimbos I already have the perfect man for her."
All conversation and commotion stopped at Emma's words. Emma never shouted, raised her voice or in any way appeared anything other than a lady. Well, at least she didn't do those things until Brock popped back into her life.
"You do?"
"Yes, and if you stopped acting like four-year-olds I would have told you by now. You see, I have the perfect plot."
Recee groaned. "Em, this is not one of your books. You can't plot my life to a happily ever after. There is such a thing as free will."
"Overrated," Trinity chimed in.
"Complicates things." Olivia's opinion.
"Too much room to screw things up," Briley muttered.
"Recee's playmate, so to speak, is Garen Swifthorse. Brock's best friend and business partner."
Eyes the colour of deep dark chocolate flew into Recee's mind. That was the man they wanted her to have sex with? Could her friends be any more psychotic? Garen was nobody's fool. Recee knew it for a fact. No teasing or flirting could manage that man. Alpha male was written all over his muscular, sculpted body.
Call her a Beta girl all the way. She knew enough about herself to understand that an Alpha man would set off all her triggers. No way would she take a chance on losing what little sanity she left to a penis with legs. Too damn much trouble with their need to control everything and everyone in their world.
Shit no. Recee tapped her carefully manicured fingers against the leather and tried to plan her way out of this mess. If she went for Ethan's little brother Noah, that would only complicate matters further, something she was not looking forward to doing. Throwing another man's name into the pot wouldn't work for the simple reason Recee couldn't think of any other man's name to save her life or sanity.
On the other hand if she agreed to play with Garen then everyone would leave her alone. She'd take Brock's buddy home with her, explain the rules, lay down her law and quietly, but quickly send him home.
The moment they'd met insults had flown between the two of them. Emma, bless her romantic heart, swore it was Garen's way of tugging her hair. A guy way to show how much he liked her. Recee knew different. The guy was a man-whore with a different woman every time she saw him. Not that she could blame the hussies. Any female with half a working hormone would be drawn to his sexy Native American vibe. The high cheekbones and velvety midnight eyes combined with the body of a Greek god almost left her panting after their encounters.
Just because she agreed to Garen's name didn't mean Recee would crawl between the sheets with him.
"Garen Swifthorse it is."
Her friends' arguing and bickering stopped at once. Four sets of manipulative, speculative eyes trained on her and forced Recee to hold back a shiver of fear. These were her friends. They wouldn't really do anything to hurt her, right? At least, not permanent damage.
Emma let out a whoop of victory while the rest of her companions smirked at her easy compliance.
"You can only kill me once, right?" After all, how bad could it get?
He didn't drive by her house every night.
Only on the nights when he didn't have a job, couldn't sweat her out of his system and sex with anyone else wasn't in the picture. So yeah, he drove by a lot.
"Shit." Garen hit the steering wheel of his truck with his forehead. "I've turned into a silent stalker." If Recee had a decent neighbourhood watch system in place he'd have been screwed the first night he sat, parked down the street from her house. Good news was the woman lived in an old neighbourhood, which meant the houses weren't close together. Considering the size of her yard, Garen figured he had a good acre and a half between his truck and nosy neighbours. Then again, with the amount and size of all the old trees lining the street he doubted anyone could see no matter where he parked, regardless of how often he found himself back here.
He wasn't in love with the woman. Recee was way too violent, too loud, too beautiful, just too...everything for Garen to even think of getting involved with her. But the soft silky look of her caramel skin, the curls that tumbled so enticingly down to her ass, and her uniquely coloured navy eyes seemed to draw him in whenever their gazes met.
He loved her statuesque height, the round sexiness of her figure. With Recee he'd never have to worry about hurting her in bed. She had the kind of body a man could sink into without worrying about breaking her. The woman could and would take whatever the world dished out. So why the hell did he feel so compelled to sit out here night after night just to watch her end her day?
His interest didn't have a thing to do with emotional attachment. It was basic physical desire, a visceral feeling that had nothing to do with sentiment and everything to do with hormones.
But Recee hadn't asked him to spend most, if not all, of his free time staring at the windows of her big Victorian. In fact, Garen pretty much stayed pissed off at himself because he couldn't sleep without watching Recee's lights go out.
It was just an ache, a phase he was going through. He might, if pushed with the point of gun, go so far as to admit to an obsession. A temporary, very fleeting, short term one at that.
All he needed was time, and detachment, and making love to enough other women to drown the possibility of how earth-shattering it could be with Recee. He refused to give in to the ache to be with her. It had everything to do with conquering his own demons and keeping iron control over his own life.
What did it matter if he got hard just thinking about her? So what if a stray whiff of her light peppermint scent drove him mad? Most males went through this type of thing as adolescents or in their twenties. Garen missed that phase and his body had decided to make up for lost time.
At thirty-six he should be past all the bullshit nonsense of romantic ideas. His life was exactly the way he'd planned it at age six. Garen lived by lists, schedules and the clock. He knew where he was supposed to be, what needed to be done, and what would follow every minute of every day.
This...thing with Recee messed up not only his list but his schedule as well. Nothing ever messed with his preordained agenda. In a world where nothing could be controlled or assumed Garen held his OCD tendencies tight. At least he could count on night following day, twenty-four hours in each day, seven days in each week. He liked being able to flip through any of his three calendars and know what he'd done or would do at any given time.
"No more," he vowed, staring at the bright light in the upstairs apartment of her magnificent home.
Garen might find objections with ninety-nine per cent of Recee's life, but not her home. The old Victorian was picture perfect. Three storeys of redwood, primavera and white mahogany which had been shipped in from Central America, along with other woods and even onyx from Mexico, East India, and the Philippines.
From a little internet research, Garen had found out the house was originally built in 1896. A wealthy industrialist, Lamar Booken, needed a large home for his large family---with six bedrooms, three bathrooms, plus multiple nooks, crannies and other unique rooms. A newspaper article said the house still remained in the hands of the original owner's descendant, Caprice Williams.
From the details Brock, Emma and others dropped, Garen knew Recee had meticulously restored the five thousand square foot house. Using photos and documents from the family files, she'd worked tirelessly for two years to take the house back to its original pristine beauty, but with all modern upgrades.
Sitting on an almost three-acre lot surrounded by lush foliage, a large pond, gazebo, massive gardens, in-ground swimming pool complete with hot tub, a three-car garage and a chauffeur's apartment above the garage, the home looked too flawless to be real. She could have sold it for a fortune and bought something more modern, a new house without all the upkeep, quirks and none of the charm.
It seemed a shame to him to waste all the elegant space on one woman, but he'd overheard Emma talking to Olivia and understood Recee's plans for her home.
"The first floor is finally done to Recee's exacting measures. She's got a carpenter on speed dial to build some type of custom cabinets and cases for showcasing everything. I just hope she remembers to put a damn good lock on the door separating the business from her top two floors." Emma had fretted to her friend.
Sitting under an old oak tree heavy with summer leaves, Garen sighed as he looked, envying Recee her amazing house. If he only knew a way to get an invite to see the inside he might be partially satisfied. The other half of his discontent wouldn't go down without a fight...or Recee.
Feeling like a bigger fool than normal, irritated at having wasted his time and again screwing with his schedule, Garen reached for his keys.
A late model sedan sped past him to swerve wildly into Recee's curved driveway.
Garen stopped. "What the hell?" It had nothing to do with him. Probably some little boy she'd broken to pieces back begging her for scraps of attention.
"Leave her to it," he muttered, but his hand still reached for the door handle.
Resistance is futile. He now understood how those poor futuristic space people felt when forced to act against their will or better judgement. Regardless of what Garen told himself, he couldn't stop his legs from racing to close the distance between him and the stranger now pounding on Recee's elegant glass-fronted door.
Halfway down the brick drive, Garen drew close enough to get a good look at the male and nearly tripped over his own feet in shock. The stranger wore an expensive suit, drove a new car and walked like a duck. He shifted, scratched, and whimpered as he readjusted the front of his pants.
"Well shit," he muttered and knew whoever was coming at her, Recee Williams probably had it coming. However, no matter the provocation---and Lord knew the woman liked to provoke people---Garen couldn't stand there and watch any man browbeat a woman, regardless of what she'd done to him. Because Garen had a feeling little Miss Caprice Williams had a whole hell of a lot to do with this man's obviously painful and itchy looking state.
Slowing his pace, hands held loose at his sides, Garen stayed in the shadows of the big oak trees. When he got close enough to hear the man's insults clearly, he stopped and leaned one shoulder against the trunk of the nearest tree.
His schedule might be shot to shit, his list screwed six ways to Sunday and his cock permanently imprinted by the zipper of his jeans, but Garen sure as hell wasn't bored.
Smiling at his good fortune in catching the free show he relaxed and waited for the performance to start.
"Recee, you sadistic fat bitch! Open the fucking door! I'm gonna kill you!"
Most women living alone in a big-ass old house would have jumped at the pounding at their door at eleven-thirty at night, been shocked at the insults and death threats, or at the very least grabbed the phone to call nine-one-one. Instead Recee unfolded herself from the floor, checked her pockets and sauntered to the door.
She'd been kind of expecting this visit anyway, always better to get the unpleasantness over with.
The tall, blond man in the elegantly cut, summer-weight, grey suit battering her original wooden door with its leaded glass inserts would have been handsome, except for the filth tumbling out of his mouth and the sneer pulling down his lips. All those could be overlooked with a good mute button on her remote or a brown grocery bag.
However, neither she nor any other red-blooded female with a pulse could not, would not overlook the puffy clear blisters covering every visible inch of his pale skin.
"Hmmm." Recee tapped a long nail against her lips. "What the hell? This could be fun." With a careless shrug, she flipped the deadbolts, deactivated the house alarm and patted her back pockets, ensuring that no matter how harmless she thought him, she'd still be able to defend herself if needed. The knives added to her sense of security. Some people called her strange, psycho or just plain dangerous because Recee refused to leave home without her precious knives. Screw 'em, she thought with a vague satisfaction. The only opinions that mattered were those of her friends. And they were okay with every part of her crazy.
Satisfied by the feel of the sharp blades, she pulled the heavy mahogany door open, pleased when the well-oiled hinges made not a sound. "Thomas, what a surprise!" Recee plastered a smile on her face and stepped between the male and her one-of-a-kind nineteenth-century front door. Thomas she could easily replace. The door had taken her three years to track down.
A shaking manicured finger pointed straight at her nose. "Don't you dare, Recee Williams!" Thomas Morehouse, respected attorney, churchgoer at the Southern Baptist Cross of Christ Church and all-around charming country club gentleman, shrieked into her face. "You ignorant, bloated cow, I could kill you for this."
Spittle sprayed across her chin and nose. Recee calmly un-tucked her T-shirt, wiped the nasty fluid off her face and slid her palms into the back pockets of her jeans. As easily as if they'd met at Avalon Country Club, she rocked back on her heels, looked Thomas up and down, head to toe and swallowed a laugh.
Once those words would have had the power to break her, crumble her very foundation, but she'd remade herself since then. The person she was now knew this man and his lame insults couldn't touch or harm her in any way. She batted the painful words away with easy practice. Unwittingly, her parents had started teaching her very young how to absorb blows or ignore them.
Then again, considering he looked like a freak show of his own maybe he shouldn't start throwing stones around his glass house. He looked like a hideous B movie monster escaped from a film set. Damn if that didn't make her proud.
"See," she mentally lectured her absent friends, "I can find ways to solve my problems that don't involve violence or knives."
"Why, Thomas Morehouse." Recee slid one hand out of her pocket and covered her heart in the perfect imitation of Innocent Southern Belle. "I can't imagine what you are talking about? Has something happened?"
He took a threatening step in her direction. Recee cocked her hip, lifted a brow and slipped out a knife. Years of practice with the lethally sharp blade showed as she flipped it easily in the air, then slid it back into her pocket.
Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. For a split second, fear flashed through his perfect WASP-blue eyes. "I know what you did!" He pointed to his face, neck, hands and whatever uncovered skin he could. "This is all your fault. I want you to tell me how you did it before I find someone to break that devil-born neck of yours."
She hadn't had this much fun in ages, not since she and her friends had taken a little trip south of the border. She'd become bored waiting in the first class lounge and went to mingle with the other airport travellers. Was it really her fault she kept switching people's bags? She really was doing them a favour. Who knew when a crazy terrorist or a bored southern woman would strike? People really should keep better track of their belongings.
Thomas' shouts escalated, forcing Recee to turn back to the problem at hand.
"I'll sue you for every cent you have. I'll drain you personally, blackball you professionally and then when you've got nothing left and your ass is on the street, I'll buy this ridiculous money pit tribute to the past and burn it to the ground. You couldn't make it in your parents' world so you take your anger, jealousy and resentment out on those of us who do fit in. What kind of freak show are you? You think I wanted to ask you out? Hell, my reputation suffered every time someone I knew saw me dragging your wide load around. That's why I always wanted to stay here. So no one would know how low a Morehouse had gone to please a client."
Recee had been taught that ladies never cursed, spat, hit or put on lipstick in public, but how much of a lady had she turned out to be? Besides, the dimwit wasn't insulting her honour or anything stupid like that. The moron was threatening her beloved house. The house she'd put not just her money in, but her time, attention and, sometimes, her blood. The house was the only physical reminder she had of the people who had once loved her.
Her temper ignited like a match to a fourth of July fireworks exhibit. Recee backed Thomas into a dark corner of her front porch while making a mental note to install extra security lighting because she was crazy like that, then repeatedly drilled her finger into his scrawny, linen-covered chest.
"You listen to me, Thomas Morehouse, upstanding attorney-at-law. You come after me with so much as a sneeze and I'll bring you to your knees." She waved an arm to encompass his blister-and boil-covered chest. "You think this is bad, you haven't seen anything yet. You can't touch my business or me and you know it. I'll bury you before you set foot in my house. And, honey, I do know where to hide the bodies. Plus, I'll invite my friends over for a wiener roast. You'll be the guest of honour." She couldn't help smirking at him.
Like all bullies, Thomas cowered when confronted. Instead of striking her back verbally or physically, he whined. Recee wanted to slap him for that insult alone. Good gracious granola, why had she ever gone out with such a twit in the first place?
Oh yeah, her damn friends. Favours like this had her wondering if she needed said friendships.
"But why, Recee? I thought we had something special going on."
Recee snorted. "The only thing we had special was we both enjoyed looking at you. Guess that's over now. Besides did you or did you not just call my ass fat and my presence lowering to your reputation?"
Tears leaked from his watery blue eyes as a trail of snot ran from his perfect patrician nose. Ugh. Did the man not have one ounce of testosterone in his body? "You did this to me because I'm a little vain and wanted to keep my standing in the community?"
Rolling her eyes, Recee prayed to her Nana for patience. "Calling you a little vain is like calling Hurricane Ike a little wind. No, I didn't do this because you're too stupid to live. Though you are." She hadn't planned on telling him, but what the hell? Maybe the white bread boy would learn a lesson. She sincerely doubted it, but Nana always had said that second chances were God's little blessings.
"Listen up, Tom-tom. If you're going to screw around on someone try to be a little less obvious about it next time. I had three people calling me on the phone before you even made it to your hotel room. And for goodness' sake, your secretary? Really, you couldn't be more imaginative than that?"
"Executive assistant," Thomas corrected in his more normal tone. "Roy's a great assistant. I'd be lost without him."
A snort escaped her mouth before she could control it. "Yeah, I saw exactly what he was assisting you with. Though to be honest I've never seen a vibrator that huge with polka dots. If we weren't sworn enemies I'd ask where you got it. Briley's bridal shower is coming up and I'd love to see her face when she opened that gift. Come to think of it, Carter would get a kick out of it too, right before he took it apart then put it back together as a can opener."
"Recee!"
"What?"
"Could this, for once, not be about you?"
"Hey, you came banging on my door, which if you cracked or injured in any way I'll take it out of your ass, at zero-dark-thirty at night, screaming at me. How is any of this my fault?" Really, some people had the manners of road kill.
Thomas' perfectly cut hair slipped over one eye, giving him the appearance of a mischievous boy. She hated that look on any man. Made her feel like a dirty old woman trolling for high school kids.
"I wouldn't be here if you hadn't done this to me." He pointed to his swollen, blister-covered face. "How the hell do I explain this to my clients, to my family, to my church?"
"Really, Thomas, if you aren't prepared to pay then you'd better not play."
"What the fuck did you do to me, Recee? I did you a favour and this is how you repay me?"
Recee stepped in to cut off that thought before it could feed his ego any more. "A favour? Honey, the only favour going on here involved your mouth and Roy Retreat's personal assets. However, I am pretty sure you can kiss Ethan and Noah's business goodbye."
"You fat, sloppy, ugly, no-talent bitch. Tell me what the hell you did and how before I lose control of my temper and give in to the urge to strangle you, but I doubt my hands would fit around that thick neck of yours."
Sticks and stones, she thought, dismissing even a touch of the hurt his words might have caused. She was beyond that now. The only approval she needed was her own.
"Hmm, you are looking quite icky and pus-filled." Nana's voice poked Recee into revealing her simple yet brilliant revenge. Letting out a breath of disappointment---after all, she loved to drag out a good time as much as any woman. "After you and Roy finished, uh, assisting each other, I went by your place, took your supply of lube and added a few ingredients of my own. Then I replaced everything all nice and neat."
She didn't think it possible, but Thomas' face grew even redder as she spoke.
"You stupid fucking bitch! You could have killed Roy and me. Did that relevant thought ever cross your psychotic, twisted, conscienceless excuse for a brain?"
Psychotic? Really, that was going a little too far. She hadn't been the one who'd cheated in the most trite, predictable way known to man. "I wasn't trying to kill you, Thomas, you idiot. What the hell would I have done with your stupid body? I don't have time for that kind of mess." She dragged the fresh night air deep into her lungs and desperately hung on to the minute amount of patience she had left. "Besides, I knew it wouldn't kill you or your little assistant either. It's only a little poison oak, poison ivy and stinging nettles."
He dragged a disfigured hand through his hair. "I...can't believe anyone would stoop so low or go so far. You are an embarrassment to the Williams name and legacy. I'm only grateful your parents aren't alive to see you now."
"Me too," she whispered too low for him to hear. Then in a louder voice, "Thomas, it's time you left. You've made your threats. Let's consider me cowered and fearful of your big manly self and call it a night. I've still got work to do. And I'll bet you've got some really interesting places to scratch."
He turned with great care and walked to the steps before looking back at her. "This isn't over, Recee, not by a long shot. I'll get you in the end."
"Yeah and you'll get my little dog too, huh, my pretty?"
With awkward, hesitant movements Thomas moved to his luxury car. She couldn't help but call out after him. "Hey, Thomas, you might want to check the label of your anti-itch cream."
He lowered himself in the vehicle and it was all she could do to keep the laughter between her lips. Oh, how his ass must be hurting, along with his mouth and other certain more sensitive parts of his anatomy. Since the lube she'd stolen was strictly used in a sexual manner Recee could only imagine the shock on Thomas' doctor's face when he'd walked in and explained the nature and location of his problems.
Whoever said revenge was best served cold never tried it her style. She grinned.
A car's engine revved. Bright lights flashed, blinding her eyes. She had less than half a second to wonder what the hell Thomas' car was doing coming closer to her before a tornado smashed into her and lifted off her feet.
The more he listened to the conversation the more Garen worried over his sanity. What man in his right mind would find Recee sexy after hearing her confession? She'd deliberately put stinging nettles and poison ivy and oak into the man's sex lube. How insane was that?
At least now he had an explanation for the man, Thomas Morehouse's, appearance. When he first got out of the car Garen had a bad flashback to his first Night of the Living Dead movie marathon with his cousins. Only after six months could he go to sleep without a light on. The guy stumbling across the well-tended lawn brought back all the scary nightmares with his misshapen face and hands.
Then the door had opened and Recee stood there looking like a fertility goddess come to life. Garen checked his chin to make sure no drool had escaped his mouth. He'd enjoyed listening...okay, eavesdropping on the two. He loved the way Recee stood up for herself and didn't take any of this fancy lawyer's shit.
What he hadn't liked were all the references to her parents and their disapproval. He'd whipped out his pocket notebook and wrote a note to himself to investigate the parents. Returning the slim book to his back pocket, Garen watched the Morehouse man climb into his car. He'd been about ready to call it a night himself when the boil-marked asshole revved the motor and shot the car across the lawn, aiming directly at Recee with the fancy hood ornament leading the charge.
Thanks to years of training and thousands of military dollars, Garen was already in action before his brain finished processing the new information. He sprinted across the lawn, bunched the muscles in his calves and jumped the stairs. He yanked Recee off her feet and rolled them both out of the way just as the best of German engineering slammed into solid concrete stairs.
Training dictated his actions as he anxiously ran his hands up and down her curvy figure for blood, broken bones and other injuries. No sticky wetness met his palms and Garen let out the breath he'd been holding.
"Get the hell off of me, you tank with legs," Recee demanded from her prone position on the porch.
"Don't move. I can't tell if there are internal injuries so we'll have to wait for the ambulance to check you over. I'll start with your feet. We can do a methodical check over each area therefore eliminating one bone at a time." Putting words into action Garen moved down to her feet, clasped one tenderly in hand and wiggled her big toe. How cute were those toes covered in a happy sunny yellow polish? Very sexy now that he thought about---
"Get your hands off me, bugaboo. I don't need medical care. Hell, I didn't need your train impersonation to save me either." She pulled her delicate foot from his callused palm with ease and jumped to her feet. "Besides, the Joker is getting away while you contemplate your Bat-navel."
The Batman references he understood. Recee was accusing him of letting her would-be murderer drive off. He would allow her to get away with that only once since she didn't know him. "I've already written down his plate numbers, make, model and what I think is a fairly accurate reading of the odometer."
Recee stopped brushing the dirt and dust from her clothes and simply stared at him. Her bee-stung lips opened and closed several times before she managed to speak. "You do all that, huh?"
Garen expected praise for his quick thinking, at the very least a kiss for his foresight and logic. Instead she kicked his shin with her bare foot, then spent the next few seconds hopping up and down cursing him.
"Ouch, crap, shit, damn." As Granddad would say, Recee looked like a one-legged competitor at a butt-kicking contest. "What do you have, bones made out of steel?"
"I work out. I'm in amazing shape and there's nothing logical to be gained by hitting me while not wearing shoes of any type," he generously pointed out. Later he would add several items to tomorrow's list to prevent this situation from happening again.
She poked a flower-painted nail in his direction. "You are in such deep shit right now."
Puzzled, he pursed his lips then blew out a breath of frustration. "I saved your life. Copied down and memorised pertinent information that will lead any half-decent law enforcement officer to his arrest and conviction. I don't see how this could possibly get me in deep anything, much less shit. You should be thanking me for my fast reflexes."
Those deep navy, soul-penetrating, eyes narrowed. The outdoor lights captured only half her delicate face leaving the rest hidden and secreted in shadows. He expected more anger, additional attempts to harm him...even a few bodily threats.
Recee tossed her head back, sable curls flying, and laughed. She laughed so hard she held her sides as tears streaked down her face. Between snorts and gasps, she managed to choke out, "You...saved...my life?"
Uncomfortable, Garen shifted from foot to foot. Obviously she didn't understand what had happened. "The man leaving your house intended to hit you with his car which, you might not have noticed, was travelling at a speed which would have led to you becoming his new hood ornament."
Still gasping and swiping the tears trailing from her eyes, Recee blinked at him. "You are completely serious, aren't you?"
"Yes,"
"Oh, boy..."
"Oh boy, that's all you have to say to me after I very well may have saved your life?" The puzzle that was Recee grew more and more complicated by the second.
"Yeah, thanks for the thought, bugaboo, but you didn't save my life. See those stairs?" She pointed to the ones he'd bypassed in his rush to rescue her.
"Of course I see them."
"Those stairs are made up of rebar, cement and left over pieces of steel from the factory my family owned at one time." She crossed the porch to tap her foot on the steps. "Nothing is getting through these things. That's why my great-however-manys-grandfather had them made this way. He was a bootlegger in his time as well as being the main source of income with the steel factory. Great-granddaddy didn't take chances, ever. So he built these steps as the first line of defence."
The story made sense in a completely nonsense kind of way especially if Recee's great-granddaddy was anything like she was. The logic train didn't travel all the way around her particular set of tracks.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his already messy hair. "So you were just going to stand there while that idiot tried to kill you?"
The careless shrug she gave almost stopped his heart.
"Woman, you are not right in the head."
The remark earned him another throaty laugh, along with a lifted brow. "Like I've never heard that before."
Seeing he couldn't change her opinion on the potential seriousness of tonight's events, Garen blew out a long breath, then checked the time on his watch. Since it wasn't too late he unclipped his phone, which by some miracle had remained attached to his belt. Hitting the third name on his favourites list, he relaxed enough to lean back against the sturdy pillar supporting the wide porch.
"Hey, who are you calling?"
Ignoring her seemed to be the lesser of two evils so Garen pulled the notebook out of his pocket along with the pen and started adding items to his list for tomorrow. His stomach clenched in familiar misery at having to alter his final permanent list. He really hated rearranging his closely ordered life. There was a time, place and order to everything in his world. Toss in one raving knife-wielding sex goddess with a death wish and everything neat and proper in his life flew out the window.
The phone rang twice. "Yeah."
"Nice phone manners, Cage."
Recee's head flew up at the name of her friend's fiance and his partner. "You called Brock!"
Desperate to protect his remaining eardrums Garen moved farther down the porch, balanced the phone between his neck and shoulder, then opened his notebook.
"Who was that? Shit, man, you aren't with psycho chick, are you?"
Rather than answer, Garen grunted before flipping pages until he reached the last one he'd written on.
Brock let out a tortured groan. "Flash," he said, using Garen's name from their military service. "You cannot be around that woman. She's so not normal."
"That's my best friend you're talking about, Brockston Cage!" Garen smiled to hear the pissed-off note in Emma's tone as she gave the man she loved hell. Emma might have been the most relaxed and easygoing of the five friends, but when riled, her temper matched or exceeded Recee's. The couple bickered while he waited with impatience.
What Garen wouldn't give to have such a loyal woman in his life. A sharp slap on his arm and he turned around to raise an eyebrow at the female fury standing at his side. When she hit him again he huffed a sigh of resignation, snatched her wrists and held them securely behind her back. "Hush, I'm doing grown up work."
Recee remained quiet as her mouth flapped open and closed before her power of speech kicked in once more. "Let me go, you overgrown son of a troll." With her hands immobile she lashed out with her bare feet and knees.
Brock finished fighting with his woman, so Garen ignored the slight stings of Recee's attack and returned his focus to the most important problem at hand. He flattened his palm against her forehead keeping her attack to a minimum, but revving up her temper.
"What do you want?" Brock asked.
"The Spurs to win the NBA championship, world peace and honest politicians, but in the real world I need you to run standard background on some loser that tried to run your girl's best friend over."
"Aww, fuck," Brock muttered and Garen guessed his buddy was picturing his bout of make-up sex flying out the window. "Some shmuck thought he could actually kill the queen of darkness?"
"Brock?" Emma's strident angry tone came over the line loud and clear.
"Shit, I mean why oh why would someone want to hurt an innocent such as our delicate flower Recee?" Brock's voice went high, feminine and, for some strange reason, British.
Garen wondered exactly when his friend had lost his mind, then answered the question himself. Pretty much when he hooked back up with Emma and the Oestrogen Loon Gang.
"Look, can you hurry this up? My schedule is already pretty much trashed for the night. I'd like to recoup what I can of the evening." Sadly he saw the many items that had been crossed off his precious list. Never in all the years he'd been making his lists had he been forced to cross off so many, and in pen, no less. Shivers of distaste ran up and down his spine.
Brock drew in a sharp breath, but remained silent for several significant moments. "You've messed up the holy schedule...for a woman...for Recee?" Disbelief clouded his friend's voice.
"There was no other alternative, but I'd like to move this along, if you don't mind." He stole a quick look at his own familiar handwriting, checked the time and knew if he got a move on only part of his evening would be ruined.
"This is insane."
"Yeah, I happen to agree. It's not every day some moron ties to take out Emma's girl." Garen agreed while blocking the blow Recee attempted at his balls. Damn female, didn't she know he was trying to take care of her in the most expedient manner possible?
Brock laughed. "Hell no, man, I can easily believe Recee's got a hit list on her a mile long. That woman makes enemies the way Emma makes friends. I'm shitting bricks because you canned your schedule for a woman. You never deviate, never. When I was shot you told me to suck it, we had a timeline."
"We did," Garen said. He remembered the event very well. Brock's wound had almost slowed them down and would have caused the whole team to miss their ride back to civilisation. "Are you ready to take this information or do I have to waste more time skipping down memory fucking lane with you?"
"Shit, take it easy, Flash. I'm ready. Let's hear the details."
Garen rattled off the details written in his precise, neat handwriting. When he finished reciting all the information he had, he looked down at Recee. "You got anything else to add?"
"Besides the fact that you're an uncouth, knuckle-dragging asshole with no manners who is not afraid to use his size and strength to take advantage of people smaller than you?"
"Yeah, besides that."
His answer only stopped her for a minute. "Thomas Morehouse, forty-three years old, lives on Marchmont Drive, a senior partner with West, Higgens, and Takers. Loves his mama, is terrified of his daddy and has a very intimate relationship with his executive assistant." Her dainty hands reached up and tried to pull his hand away from her wrist, but Garen liked her somewhat powerless. It kept his balls intact and hope for future children alive.
"Huh. What's her name?" What kind of fool slipped some on the side when he had Recee waiting for him? Then again, he could pretty much answer his question. Morehouse was a hot-headed fool with little brains or common sense, as tonight's attack showed.
"His name is Roy Moats and my best guess is he's probably at the hospital or at the very least a quick care clinic." She intensified her struggle to get free, but Garen easily ignored her feeble pulls as he related the information to his partner.
"Oh sweet heaven, do I want to know what she did to make medical intervention a necessity?"
Garen thought of the swollen blisters on Thomas' mouth, the funny way the other man had walked and the very slow, tentative slide of his ass into the car seat. "No, you really don't."
"I didn't think so." He heaved a put-out sigh. "Fine, I'll make a few calls to find out what's what. Think the viper is still in danger?"
Looking Recee up and down he couldn't see beyond her rounded curves, wide dark eyes and bee-stung lips. Shit yes, she was in danger. Was her danger from something lurking in the dark or the man holding her captive with one hand?
He blew out one long, frustrated breath. "I have no idea. Depends on what you find out, but my gut tells me this was more of a spur of the moment thing. I doubt he'll have the ability or balls to come back tonight."
"Got ya. Then I'll get to work and hit you back when I find something out. Until then back away from the devil's spawn and leave while your manhood is still intact."
Garen ended the call without bothering to reply. Yeah, he understood Brock's aversion to Recee, but from what he knew and saw of the woman her reputation wasn't an exact fit.
Shoving the small phone in his pocket, he looked down at the woman staring daggers at him. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?"
Recee had several really good ideas of what he could do, but none of them were legal. At least not in the States or Canada. Maybe she could convince him to take a quick trip to Taiwan.
"You are not going to do a damn thing with me or to me. I don't how the hell you ended up here in the first place, but you're on private property. I want you to get the hell off... Now."
A casual, dismissive shrug of those mountains he called shoulders almost pulled her arm out of its socket. "What will you do if the boyfriend comes back?"
A snort of disbelief escaped her pursed lips. "Yeah, right. He's not coming back. You said it yourself, this was a crime of opportunity. Thomas is too stupid and too concerned with his public persona to try anything this dumb again."
"Is that why you haven't called the police yet?" Why did he have to sound so calm and collected when she wanted to scream, punch and throw things?
"And tell them what, exactly? That the deacon from the biggest Baptist church in town tried to mow me down in his fine luxury automobile?" She gave a sniff of disdain. "Where's my proof? The only thing hurt in this whole disaster is his precious car." The thought gave her something to smile about.
Thomas loved his car almost as much as he loved himself. The impact against her reinforced stairs must have put a hell of a dent in the peacock's vehicle, not to mention his paint job.
"So you have no problem staying here all by yourself?" The heavy layer of doubt in his voice made her want to kick him again. Except her foot still hurt from her last attempt. If she'd broken bones she'd find a way to break a few of his.
"Of course I don't have a problem staying the night...alone...in...my...own...home." You moron.
Garen didn't say a word, so Recee didn't know where he thought this was going. Did he know about the 'play or pay' bet going on with the girls? Could that be why he showed up out of nowhere like some fabled superhero, thinking he could get a little head start?
But that didn't make any sense. Olivia, Briley, Emma and Trinity would rather break their mani-pedi date than give some man the advantage over her. A slight shake of her bound hands brought her back to her present large unmoving problem.
"You still with me, Rocky?"
"Huh? Rocky?"
A sexy smile curved his lips as he looked down. "Yeah, Rocky. You remind me of the movie character. You get knocked down, but you keep getting back up again. It's either Rocky or Weeble, you pick."
"Weeble? Did that really come out of your mouth?" She didn't know if she should laugh or fight. The man had her flying from one emotion to the next.
A startling thought blazed through her mind. Would he be able to bring that same talent into the bedroom?
Studying him in the soft porch light of her family home, Recee saw a strong man with sun-darkened skin and high proud cheekbones proclaiming his Native American heritage. With his long thick hair the colour of midnight and eyes to match she couldn't deny his sensual appeal. Nor her desire to experience everything this man could give her.
It wasn't as if she really had a choice, right? The game demanded results and Recee was nothing if not an honest competitor.
Yeah right her conscience snorted in derision. You haven't cared about honour or fairness since you were sixteen years old.
Honour and fairness had been easily-disposed-of commodities until she'd met her friends, the sisters of her heart who'd become her family. Olivia, Emma, Briley and Trinity had saved her life, her sanity and her soul, but they would never know. So only for them, for those four amazing women, would she keep her word.
"What's going on inside that head of yours? Probably a tilt-a-whirl gone crazy, huh?"
She jerked her gaze back to him. "Kindly remove your hands from my person, then yourself from my property."
This time he did as she asked. The loss of his touch sent a wave of neediness through her, but Recee squashed it with the ease of long practice.
Again he flicked a glance to his expensive and technical-looking watch. The man was obsessed with time. Did he have some sort of hot date planned for later? If so, why the hell had he showed up here?
"Look, if you've got better places to be then by all means scoot off. I'll be fine here." And she meant it, too. She knew how to take care of herself. She'd been doing just that for years.
"It's not necessarily someplace better, but it's on my schedule."
Her eyes grew wide as his words and actions sank into her brain. "Oh damn it, you're one of those people."
"One of what people?" Confusion shadowed his serious black eyes.
She lifted her brow lifted as she pointed to his watch, then to the back pocket where the tiny notebook had disappeared. "One of those people with lists, schedules and appointments all the live-long day. I bet your home is so clean I could eat out of the toilet."
Garen's cheeks might have turned red. She really couldn't tell in the dim porch light. But he said, "It's not a crime to be organised," sounding defensive, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans. "I like everything in its place. That way I don't waste time searching for something when I need it."
The closet in her bedroom mocked her...loudly. If she had half Garen's OCD issues the portal of doom wouldn't threaten to take over her room. As it was Recee could never find half her shoes or if she found one, then the other had mysteriously disappeared. The closet, she suspected, had a leather fetish and was eating expensive footwear sole by sole. Before long the only things protecting her feet from the ground would be her flip-flops.
"You have problems with being organised and on time?" He rocked his big frame back on his heels, those dark eyes never once leaving her face.
She shrugged. "Shit happens, then I scramble to keep up."
He looked appalled with his mouth halfway open, eyes wide and one hand pressed to his chest over his heart. "You don't have a plan? An alternate way of getting somewhere or getting something done?"
His tone made the questions sound more like "You eat newborn puppies raw with mayonnaise?"
"What's the big deal? Not all of us can live in your dictator-like world order. I like surprises."
This time, instead of grabbing his heart Garen shoved his hands into his hair and pulled. She wondered if he did that a lot. If so why wasn't he bald by now? "How do you live like that?" he asked.
Recee opened her mouth to blast him that she lived very well, but his phone rang before she could release the words.
He tapped the phone. "Swifthorse," and shifted away from her. Great. The giant troll didn't want her hearing anything that might have to do with her attack? Hell, no.
Recee marched around him, planted both feet solidly on the wooden porch and crossed her arms. Many people, men included, had fallen by the wayside underneath this particular glare.
Garen just lifted a dark brow, held up a finger and turned away from her again.
Again!
What kind of mojo did this guy have? No one walked away from her especially when she gave them the flying-monkeys-of-death stare.
Drawing her foot back Recee stopped right before the point of impact, the low light catching and glinting off the bright yellow polish, not to mention the red swollen area.
Had she chipped her big toe? Catching her right foot in her hand she hopped around attempting to get a better look.
Damn it, less than a week and already her pedicure had chipped. She blamed the big lug ignoring her. Only a man could do this much destruction in such a short amount of time. That she'd kicked him of her own volition was a fact she dismissed as easily as she ignored the fact that so far everything but the attempted murder had started because of her actions.
Righteous in her fury, Recee dropped her foot back to the porch, grabbed the fly swatter from the railing and whacked one of the finest asses she'd ever had the pleasure of viewing.
"Son of a bi---" Garen roared and swung around, fist raised to strike. Stopping just short of her quivering chin he bit back another curse. "You psychotic house-cat, what the hell is the matter with you?"
Fear and rage swallowed her words. Instead she pointed to her right foot with all the justification of a murder victim. Why was it that something didn't hurt until you became aware of it?
"What?" His hand cupped the phone, preventing their conversation from being overheard. "I don't have time for your drama."
"You chipped my toenail polish." Recee found her voice, low and mean. "And I think there's more than one broken bone in my foot. See, it's red and puffy."
Nothing for a few heartbeats. Then those black eyes narrowed. "Don't say another word, woman, not one word. Or else I promise you on every clock in the country I will put you over my lap and spank your ass. Then the swelling on your foot won't matter in comparison to your butt."
"I need therapy because there is something so not right with my head," she muttered, but moved away from him all the same.
Garen shot one last glare in her direction before returning his attention to the phone. "Go ahead."
Standing around all night didn't make her list of favourite activities. The former solider could posture and pose all he wanted, but she refused to stand there like a twit and take it.
Too bad getting into the house involved walking right past him, but with his attention on everything but her she might be able to slip past. Acting as casual as possible, Recee limped across the smooth wooden floor, but her attention was diverted by her new, sexy guardian angel threatening the security and privacy of her home.
Almost there. Recee wrapped her fingers around the worn knob of the screen door and pulled. The heady feeling of victory filled her with righteous power.
Except the door didn't open. The harder she pulled, the less it moved. With no lock on the inside of the door she didn't fully understand the problem until she looked down.
On the left side of the wooden panel, a yacht-size brown hiking boot kept the door shut. Recee tilted her neck to follow the leg attached to the boot, deliberately skipping the more interesting parts, up past a flat stomach, wide shoulders, thick neck, sensual full lips, arrogant Roman nose, all the way up to jet black eyes.
"Going somewhere, Rocky?" he purred, the tone so different from the way he normally addressed her.
Suspicion reared its cranky head. "What are you up to, Swifthorse?"
"I'm not the one attempting to slip into the house."
"Here's the thing." Recee attempted to sound logical, something no one would ever accuse her of being. "You are not the boss of me. I have no idea what you're doing here or why. While I appreciate your gallant attempt to protect me, even when I didn't need it, it's time to go home. Better yet, why don't you get out the handy dandy list? I'm sure there's things on there you're dying to cross off. "
As she hoped, the mention of his precious list grabbed his attention. His dusky cheeks went in and out as he clenched his jaw in a valiant attempt to control his temper around her. Maybe Brock should have warned his friend no one held their temper around her. Part of her charm or maybe her basic chemical composition.
"I prefer my time to be organised and productive, unlike some people," he said.
"You prefer to be uptight, prudish, stick-up-your-ass Neanderthal." She pushed against his chest, attempting to move a mountain with her twig of a hand.
"At least I know what's going on from one day to the next," he shot back, his dark head tipped down as his big body inched closer in her space.
"Oh right, knowing your freaky ass I bet you have the next forty-five years planned out." Anger, desire and the barest trickle of fear formed her words, throwing caution and reason to the wind as she rose to the tips of her toes with no intention of backing down. "Including the names of your kids, where you'll live, how many pets you'll have and what night of the week you'll fuck your wife."
Surprise flicked briefly in those dark mysterious eyes. "I will have the wife, kids and pets because I'm not a short, stubborn, dark-haired, knife-wielding loon who should be locked up for the safety, protection and sanity of others."
Oh, he'd gone too far. Tapping a few buttons could set her off, but questioning her sanity topped the list. Anyone who'd survived her childhood couldn't be completely sane.
She got nose to nose with him, totally in his face. She didn't try the deep breathing exercises or counting to one hundred as her anger management counsellor recommended. "Get out of my face, off my property and out of my life before I have you arrested for trespassing and stalking."
He answered her threat with a snort of amusement. "Yeah, right." He leant down until every word he spoke brushed her lips with a tingle of awareness.
She wanted to wail. Dammit! How was it fair for someone to piss her off so badly, but turn her on at the same time? No one else ever made excitement zip through her veins faster than fire, but twice as hot. It scared the hell out of her. Instant lust and desire didn't happen to her.
"Who do you think the police will listen to? A respectable upstanding citizen with decorated military service, not a blemish on my permanent record, or the woman responsible for paying for the city's finest new flak jackets thanks to your numerous speeding tickets? Not to mention the black files from New Mexico or the hastily covered up arrest in Mexico? Yeah, I'm sure Avalon's finest will bend over backwards to believe whatever you say."
"How...how did you know about New Mexico?" Hadn't the nice man in his black suit promised the five of them the issue would never come up again?
"Military intelligence," he growled, lids heavy over his dark eyes.
"No such thing. It's an oxymoron."
He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her to face him. His thin T-shirt did very little to hide his sculpted chest and rock-hard muscles. "It's shit past dark, and you may have a crazy Baptist lawyer stalking you. You refuse to take the situation seriously and don't let your friends know what's going on."
"Emma knows," she retorted, desperately trying to ignore the heady musk of his skin.
She was tired, nervous, turned on and slightly panicked, all of which had nothing to do with Thomas and everything to do with the man holding her gently in his powerful grip.
"Yeah, but she's not going to say a word to the other three for fear of your wrath. Normal is not having your closest friends scared of you."
Was Garen trying to tell her she wasn't normal? Hell, Recee already knew that, but it pissed her off he had the balls to say it. Incensed, she put both hands on his hot, hard chest and shoved him as hard as she could. The mountain disguised as a mortal man's body moved maybe half a centimetre. "My friends aren't scared of me. They know I can take care of myself."
"Then take care of this," he said furiously, closed the scant distance between them and kissed her.
His mouth was hard, angry and determined. His heart throbbed under her palm. He kissed her and reality melted away, leaving only Garen and the incredible desire he aroused in her. The primitive taste of him filled her, his cotton-covered, hot skin tempted her to touch, to savour. He locked her tight against him, his arms so strong she couldn't breathe, not that Recee wanted to waste time drawing oxygen into her body, not when she could eat away at Garen's mouth. Against her stomach the hard ridge of his erection dug into her soft skin.
He shook, such a big, tough, strong soldier, undone by passion. The things he'd faced in the past without flinching---sights that would make an average person run screaming. Now he stood on the porch of her home, his body a furnace of blistering desire as he tried to keep his touch gentle.
Recee's knees wobbled and she sank against him, dissolved into him, wanting this moment, the perfection of the way they fit together. She rose to the tips of her toes to meet his demanding kiss, determined to meet him as an equal in all ways. He groaned, deep and low in his throat, as the kiss moved from desperate anger touched with violence to one fuelled by carnal hunger. She gave in, gave up totally, drowning in the maelstrom of passion.
Still, it wasn't enough for Garen. He wanted more, demanded it as he sank his hand in her hair, pulled her head back and attacked her throat with biting, punishing kisses. She closed her eyes, helpless in his iron grip. She couldn't summon the will to want to be anywhere else.
This man made her forget everything that came before him and the possible heartache that might come after he left her life. He lifted her off her feet, swung her around and she didn't complain except when he stopped kissing her. She didn't want to lose his mouth, his touch, the electric haze his presence produced.
"Damn it, Recee, stop moving around," he moaned in a rough tone, shifting her to one side of his volcanic hot body.
"No," she said, barely recognising her voice, low, sultry...even sexy. Who knew she could even sound like that?
"Fuck, Reece," he shouted, "if you don't stop rubbing against me I'll take you right here, on your front porch where anyone could see us."
Somewhere in the back of her befuddled mind she knew he made sense, but sanity skittered away in the face of her burning desire. To do what he wanted meant she would have to stop touching him, something she couldn't comprehend ever wanting to do.
"Don't care," she panted out and nipped his earlobe with her teeth.
He wrenched open the screen door, then the heavy wooden door and carried her inside. The room was dark since she didn't use this portion of the house as her living space. Low ambience lighting glowed softly from the showroom to their right, but Garen didn't notice or care.
"My room is up the stairs, last door in the middle of the hall," she told him while she continued her erotic torture, fully expecting the man in her arms to carry her up the stairs and to a nice comfortable bed. She was grateful for the salon appointment yesterday. Just because she hadn't planned to get any didn't mean she wasn't prepared. It was a motto the Girl Scouts taught her right before they threw her out.
"No."
"No?"
"You had your chance for a nice slow easy fuck, but you said no. Now we're doing it my way." His breath came out in great bellows, almost like he'd been running a marathon.
"Your way," she mumbled in agreement and ground her pelvis against the massive pike captured behind his zipper. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, mesmerised by the sheer strength and power of him.
Swearing, Garen fumbled a few steps and pinned her to the wall. He yanked her slacks with rough impatient hands, attacking the fastenings until the material tore. The slacks disappeared along with her underwear as he lifted her out of the pile of now useless clothes.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Recee wound her legs around his hips desperate to get closer, to sink inside his skin. "Shit, woman, you're killing me here." He leaned his heavy weight against her, effectively stilling her frantic movements and unwrapped her legs from their death vice grip on his hips. "Got to get covered."
Somewhere in another reality Recee was grateful and pleased this man took the time to protect them both. As he lifted her high once again she coiled her legs around him, her body settling in place over his thick erection. His knuckles brushed between her legs as he pushed down his jeans and dropped them to the floor.
With clumsy hands Recee pried his soft T-shirt over his head and tossed it away. She caught her breath as that final barrier fell from between them. Skin to skin, heat to heat they touched and Recee almost came from the sensation alone.
Then his latex-covered cock pressed against her, hot, wide and pulsing. Need, desperate and rising, beat through her. Mewling sounds escaped her throat. She shoved, ached and rubbed, urgently needing more.
She heard his low groan as he licked and nibbled his way around her throat and ear. Then, with great care, Garen hitched her just a little higher to adjust her position. The throbbing, wide head of his cock rammed at her, then shoved in as he eased his hold on her. Her weight sank her down to swallow his whole length.
Her body resisted at first, the pinch of pain making her second-guess herself. Then as he stretched her, a different sensation filled her. Never had she been this full, this stuffed as if when she swallowed his taste would linger on the back of her tongue. Everything in and around her tightened to keep his hard cock inside her as tingles turned to tremors.
When he stopped, Recee screamed at him to move, to do something, anything, but the man remained stubborn, still and silent. With his hot face pressed against her neck, he asked desperately, "Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He breathed heavily above her, his urgent pants matching and meeting her own.
With his words, the steel fortress surrounding Recee's heart cracked. He was so hard he was hurting, but he'd stopped. Stopped to make sure there was no pain for her.
Moving her hand from his neck to gently cup his bristly cheek, she met his midnight dark eyes. "I love the way you feel inside of me." She nipped his nipple, not able to resist the tempting bit of flesh. "Every solid inch of you."
"Good," he said, then braced her against the wall. With one rough thrust and a wild yell, Garen shoved the rest of his massive length inside her.
He must have taken her word as gold, because when she screamed at the deep invasion he ignored it. Every nerve and blood cell in her body redirected to the spot between her wet thighs where they were joined. His thick shaft pounded back and forth in a steady, deep-reaching rhythm. She climaxed before she knew it happened. Sensations exploded in her, and she threw her hips against him, countering his every move as her hips jerked, her body shuddered. Her head tossed from side to side against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut from the primitive pleasure.
The world exploded around her, inside her and throughout her.
She jerked her hips, then tightened her internal muscles as hard as she could around him. Garen rasped out an inarticulate noise, desperate, primal and demanding. He thrust again, no steady or controlled rhythm, just a frantic race to completion. His cock pounded into her, hard, fast and uneven. With his face buried in the hollow of her neck, he panted against her sweat-slickened skin.
More of his weight pressed her against the wall. He felt so good, so right, that she wanted to dissolve in a puddle of satisfaction at his feet. To promise anything and everything if only he would never leave her, to give her these feelings day after day, night after night.
His sleek heavy pecs rasped against her swollen nipples. She felt his thick, silky-soft hair tickle the sensitive skin of her chin. His muscles knotted under her hands.
He slammed into her fast and hard, his ass rising and falling in quick succession beneath her hand, his breathing sawing in and out of his desperate lungs as he took her higher and higher.
A harsh primitive cry signalled Garen's release as he fucked her with an almost brutal force. Her body slapped again the wall with each hard thrust, her weight slipping and shoving him deeper each time, so deep he touched a bundle of nerves buried inside her no one else had come close to discovering.
She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming in shocked and stunned pleasure but minute sounds escaped her, gasps, cries and nonsensical words of praise and pleasure. She shook, every cell exploding and reforming while pleasure drowned her other senses. Her body convulsed beneath Garen's heavy weight while her slick, heated pussy clamped down on his cock.
Garen bellowed, his teeth sinking into the curve of her neck. His orgasm came hard and tearing as he soared over the edge. Higher and harder his hips jerked against her until with one last desperate shove he halted inside her. The pulsing, heated scorch of his semen burned her even through the layer of latex.
Collapsing against her, his sweat dampened body kept her pinned to the wall, his cock still heavy and hard inside her.
Reality twisted and turned around Recee, finally settling over her consciousness like a thick blanket of truth. Garen briefly pulled out of her and she heard the crinkle of paper. Then he was back again, sliding deep inside her with a new latex barrier in place. How could he still be hard? The semen flooding the condom was proof enough of his release.
What the hell had she done? What had he done? What had they done together? One part of her sluggish brain recognised the sex completed her pay or play debt. The other, the sated and hormone-driven part of her, begged to do it all over again with chocolate syrup and two very tempting nuts.
Hearts pounded in a driving rhythm as sweat-dampened bodies cooled in the air conditioned room.
Before Recee dug up her ability to think and speak coherently, Garen slid one arm under her ass while the other held her securely to his chest. "We need a bed." He started to walk. Every step he took pushed his hard length against the same sensitive bundle of nerves.
Protest, yes... She needed to say something, anything, to stop him, to stop this from happening again. Instead she leaned in, her hands exploring from his wide shoulders to his arresting face, her fingers tracing the outline of his stubborn jaw. "This is a huge mistake," she whispered, her mouth only inches from his.
The decision left her hands when Garen pressed his mouth to hers, and she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue inside and conquer her all over again. Their playful teasing stopped, both of them aware of his cock swelling and filling her further. Primitive instinct again took over as their heads tilted to opposite sides to dive deeper inside each other.
Garen's amazing recovery time had her hips tilting to take more of him. It felt so damn good, so right to have him in her, a part of her.
Oh shit. Recee's brain briefly came out of hormone-induced hibernation to confirm she was in trouble, deep-past-her-chin-and-drowning trouble. Knowing and understanding the shit pile that was currently her life didn't stop her from tangling her fingers through his thick dark locks, gripping him tighter with her legs and every internal muscle she had.
When he broke their kiss to lean back, she whimpered and tried to capture his mouth again.
"We need a bed this time," he growled, staring down at her while his hips started a shallow thrusting rhythm. "I want room to take you every way I can imagine."
She disagreed about the bed, but wholeheartedly agreed for him to take her any way and every way he could imagine. The bedroom existed somewhere...not here, but somewhere far from where they stood. Nope, she wouldn't make it. They'd made it to the hallway near the stairs. Yep, this would do just fine. Maybe round three or twelve would allow them to fuck on a flat surface, but nothing mattered more than having him again.
He jerked her up higher until her breasts were in the perfect position for his mouth. Closing his lips around one already-puckered nipple he played with it in a way that had her shaking in his hold. She writhed against the wall, but Garen's massive palms kept her pinned between his hot, hard body and the unforgiving wall at her back. The inability to move, to act, drove her higher, cranked her crazier and, if possible, even wetter. He changed to her other breast and used the same pulling, teasing routine, driving Recee to pant for air. This man did something to her that left her turned on, confused and desperate. Her body quivered, close to coming. She tried to rub her clit against him for the desperately needed friction, but his hold didn't allow her freedom to budge anywhere.
Then he lowered her again, all the while keeping his cock to shallow movements, never giving her the deeper hard battering she needed. His hands slid under her ass and he slanted back the head of his erection, barely breaching her, challenging her dripping body.
"Here," she pleaded and pulled her arms from around his neck. Sliding her hands up the silk-papered wall, she threaded her fingers through the wrought iron grille above her head. "I'll have you just like this."
Garen shook his head, determination, lust and something else flicking through his black eyes. "You need to be sure."
Of all the idiotic, stupid, moronic men in her life she had to get their king. "If I didn't want this, didn't want you, you'd already be in the ER with some nice nurse holding your cock in her hand while the doctor tried to sew it back on."
He gave her a wicked smile and he pressed forward to ram the rest of his hard, pulsing length inside her. Too much, way too much... If possible, he'd grown wider and longer than before. Either that or her body had shrunk. When the muscles in her neck gave out, Recee leaned her forehead in the hollow of his throat and panted. "Give me a second, just need to..."
Garen would never find out what she needed...when he moved, Recee's ability to think vanished. From one instant to the next, the pain and discomfort disappeared only to be slammed away by an orgasm that stopped her breath. She was coming, coming hard, fast and so damn good. Her hands left the grille to latch on to him. A scream rent the air as her fingernails dug into his tough, tanned skin. Dimly she knew she'd screamed, but how else could she manifest the power and pleasure tearing her apart?
Sex had never been this good, not even the one time she'd talked herself into being in love. With each thrust he dug deeper, becoming a part of her, the burn of his cock imprinting her pussy as his for all time.
Before she recovered from one orgasm he shot her into another. She clenched down hard and tight dragging him with her. The will to fight disappeared the more she gripped him. When the world exploded around and through her again she'd be damned if she fell alone.
A shout signalled the end of his resistance. Hot jets of cum blasted into the safety of the condom as each burst tore through him. He wrapped his arms around her. Shuddering within the safety of his embrace, she said nothing as Garen went to his knees, then his ass, still holding her tight.
Pale strands of moonlight played over the intricate tin ceiling above his head. Dark curls tickled his nose as Recee's sweat-dampened body pressed against him, their hearts still pounding from the latest blast of lust-induced madness. His hand smoothed up and down her silky back in a gesture that comforted him and kept his blood humming.
"You have the most amazing skin," he murmured, not realising he'd spoken out loud until she answered him.
"Mhhh." She peppered soft kisses on his chest. "It's my mutt heritage."
"Mutt heritage? What the hell is that?"
"You sure you want to hear this since we're naked and all?" Recee used her foot to stroke his calf while her knee delicately rubbed teasingly along his half hard cock.
Frissons of desire raced through his blood. He captured her sneaky long limbs between his legs. "I want to hear it. Then we'll see what you can do with that knee."
A sweet kiss dropped against the tip of his nose before she set her head back in the notch between his shoulder and neck. He'd never felt so comfortable with a woman, not once the sex was done. Maybe not even before that.
"My family is the ultimate melting pot, you could say. I've got so many different nationalities in me I could be the United Nations all by myself. My great-great-great-grandmother came over as an African slave. My great-great-great-grandfather was a Swedish immigrant who fell in love with her. Throw in a Russian, a Mexican, one Korean and melt them all together and voila, here I am. At least on my mother's side. My father's family heritage is a little more complicated and involves black Irish, Native American Sioux, Cajun fur trappers, a Haitian housekeeper and an exiled Saudi sheik."
"Wow, I thought my family was complicated. How did you learn all this?" He'd never known a woman who could trace her family history back so far with so much detail. Made his efforts to look into the Cherokee side of his family tree seem half-assed.
Brightly painted nails drummed a faint rhythm along his chest. "My...ah...parents were big into the whole family heritage and all that crap. Besides I had to inherit this place from someone, right?" She waved a ringed hand to encompass the house surrounding them.
The more he learned, the longer he remained with her, the more he couldn't help but want her. Recee was drawing him like a spider drew a fly and there was nothing he could do to resist. Honesty compelled him to admit he didn't want to resist.
Regret... He kept waiting for the emotion to hit him, along with the need to get up and get out. But contentment and a low buzz of desire were the only sensations humming through him. "We should get off the floor at some point." They'd been at it for the past couple of hours, desire never far from the surface no matter how many ways he had her or in what positions. Even now his cock twitched with renewed interest.
They tried to get to the bedroom upstairs, but made it only to the second floor landing before the sight of Recee's plump, perfect ass distracted him again.
Not once had she complained and turned away from him. God, he could really get into a female who exploded with barely a touch.
"I need food before you come at me with that monster again." Recee sat up, brushed her hair out of her face and sent a wary look at his crotch. "Feed me and I might let you talk me into trying out my bed."
"Uh...bed." Bed plus Recee was nothing but a win/win combo in his mind. "Is there food in the house or are we dependent on the mercy of the takeout gods?"
Smooth and agile, Recee stood and stretched. Garen reached for her again, his hands on her waist before she noticed and danced out of his reach. "No way, schedule man. Feed me first then we'll see."
"You want me to make you dinner?" No one ever asked him to do anything. Generally his bedmates catered to his every whim, offering him food then serving it up nice, hot and homemade.
"You want sex then get your tight ass up and in the kitchen." She turned and headed to the end of the long hallway, her ass looking ripe and plump as she sashayed away from him "I'm taking a shower. I expect food, real food, by the time I get out."
Exhaustion pulled at Garen when he dragged himself from the floor. Something crackled under his foot, so he stopped to pick up the empty packets and used condoms they'd run through like a pair of bunnies on Ecstasy.
Cooking equalled heat and Garen had no intention of leaving his Johnson hanging out waiting to get burned off, so he went off in search of his pants. After the first frantic round they'd stopped long enough to lose his boots, socks and pants.
"Somewhere in the... Bingo!" His clothes had been thrown in random patterns that brought back very heated memories. Scooping up his pants, Garen dragged them on then carried the rest of his possessions back up the stairs.
After poking around random rooms, Garen developed a sense of Recee, one he knew she'd never allow him to see. Recee had a romantic heart. Every inch of her personal space shouted hidden emotions buried under ten miles of concrete-covered steel. The woman made his paltry barriers look like a joke.
Jewel tones, textured fabrics and fantasy art with heroes of old blended seamlessly with the restored majesty of the historic house. Though fascinated and curious to explore more of the unseen depths of his new lover, he held back. Dig too deep, too fast or, worse, get caught by the prickly private woman, and he'd be thrown out on his ass.
Running his hands through his wild mass of hair, he backed out of the library and went in search of the kitchen. His thoughts tumbled and raced through his mind. How could he care about a woman he'd been close to killing only a few hours earlier? Granted, he'd never actually follow through with it, but still, the itch had been there.
Now...oh yeah...now the mighty had fallen. Thoughts like these would do him no good, not when Recee was so close and he could still smell her sweet scent on his skin. But there was more to her than amazing curves, full breasts and smart mouth. He liked how she never backed down from him or anyone else. Confidence, pride and her wicked sense of humour turned him on just as much as her wicked tongue.
With even those simple thoughts of her, Garen's denim-imprisoned cock tried to rise. "Quiet down." The damn thing should be exhausted, sore or broken. Erections weren't like toys. They didn't keep bouncing back up as soon as you emptied them or at least they weren't supposed to. His poor cock hadn't understood the message. A whiff of Recee and the dumb bastard rose to salute her in his own cocky way.
"Food," he muttered, straightening his shoulders and marching into the kitchen like a man preparing for war.
Something had happened tonight, a connection he would bet his last dollar Recee would deny to the point of torture. Maybe all the dancing around each other and verbal sniping had been their particular style of foreplay that had both of them going up in flames the moment skin met skin.
Not to mention the astounding recovery time on both their parts. Garen couldn't remember a time, even as a horny lust-ridden teenager, when he'd been ready for action so quickly after the first round. Nor had he ever wanted another woman with this almost desperate desire and compelling need even while still in her arms, still wrapped snugly in her body.
Though a man with few addictions, he could easily see having Recee several times a day becoming his daily fix.
But he needed to quickstep his way through the minefield of Recee's emotions and barriers, coming out the other side with her in his arms and in his life.
Big muscled arms looped around Recee's waist and a soft gentle kiss brushed the back of her sensitive neck as she finished the last of the dishes.
"Who knew such skill was hidden under that macho veneer?"
He smiled against her skin. "Just because I don't cook doesn't mean I can't. The military trains for more than shooting guns and blowing stuff up."
With a genuine smile she turned in his arms and pressed a kiss to his whiskered chin. "Yeah, but I bet you liked the blowing up part the best."
The shrug he gave was all male. "Setting explosions fed my...what did you call it? Oh yeah, OCD monster."
"Blowing shit up gave you a sense of order?"
"No, it's the planning beforehand. Understanding the structure or target, finding the perfect weakness or combination of stress points to bring an object down." A wistful sigh left his kiss-swollen lips. "I really miss that."
"Maybe we can find you a train set. You know, one with all the little villages, homes, shops, people...even barn animals. You could blow that up as much as you want." Come to think of it, the idea sounded fun to her too. She'd never blown anything up before unless you counted a frozen turkey in the microwave. She never counted it since the explosion hadn't been deliberate.
Garen shot her an incredulous look, dark eyes wide. "Wow, I'd never thought of it, but it would be fun."
"Yeah," she said, encouraging him, always ready to egg someone on when they were headed for disaster. Good thing this disaster would be harmless and environmentally safe. "Just think of all the little people dressed in their perfect suits and dresses. You could have them spinning through the air like confetti. Heads, arms and legs raining down in your own personal version of kaboom paradise."
"I like the idea maybe a little too much." He released his hold on her to back away. He didn't stop until his hips rested against the granite counter across the room. His dark eyes lost the light of laughter and settled into something far more serious.
Recee's stomach twisted.
"Are we going to avoid talking about this?" He waved a hand to encompass the two of them.
Suddenly uncomfortable in nothing but her overlarge sleep shirt, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do we have to talk at all?" Though women were supposed to be the ones obsessed with sharing their emotions and feelings, in her experience, Recee believed men had the bigger obsession.
"So... What? We spend the rest of the night together as intimate as two people can be, experiencing the best sex, no, the best lovemaking this side of heaven. Then wake up tomorrow morning and act like nothing happened?"
Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palm.
"Go back to insulting each other every time we're in the same room?" he continued. "Forget I know exactly how you feel squeezing my cock as you come, yelling my name and scratching your pleasure into my back. Is that what you really want?"
"I like that plan. I could really get behind a plan like that." What she wanted was for him to get behind her again, to take her over, body and mind, but his fixation with tomorrow ruined her plans. "Besides I doubt I'd fit in your schedule."
A flash of surprise crossed his face while a hint of a smile curved his lips. Damn the man was too sexy for her. One night of really good sex with no strings attached... Why was it too much to ask? Or had she simply found the wrong man to break her long fast with? Would any man who made it to her bed have brought out these conflicting and irritating emotions in her?
She doubted it. Garen Swifthorse was a man like no other.
"When it comes to you I think my schedule is a little flexible."
Why did such a stupid, simple sentence thaw her heart? The man knew nothing of traditional romance, but his words found their way past her barriers, something she vowed years earlier to never happen again. Caring for Garen could easily lead to loving him, no matter what bullshit she spouted to herself or her friends.
Love...been there, done that, had the scars to prove it. No thanks. She'd leave the sweeter emotion to those who deserved it. In no way, shape, form or life cycle would she ever believe she deserved that soft, life-affirming, soul-altering emotion.
Not after she'd let down the only person who'd ever counted on her.
Love generally meant saying you were sorry, but only after it was too late to stop the train wreck from happening.
Mentally strengthening her walls and hardening her heart once more, Recee tilted her chin. "Look, Swifthorse, we had fun. Got an itch out of our systems. I'll be the first to admit my attraction to you. You are a good-looking man with a tight ass and big hands. Everything I like in a man, plus you're normally not a big talker. Please don't try to make more of this than it is. We can still have a good time together without having the 'tomorrow' discussion."
The space between them shrank even though neither one of them moved. Dark angry eyes drilled into her with burning heat. "So we had sex because I met your requirements?"
"No...yes...I mean..." She yanked her hands through her still wet curls and shifted her weight from one bare foot to another. "Shit, I don't know. I just know that whatever this is can't go anywhere. One word, just one word reaches Olivia, Briley, Emma or Trinity and they'll have our wedding planned along with the names of our kids."
"So?"
"So? Have you lost your tiny organised mind? We barely know each other, for one thing. For another, I don't do relationships like that. Never have and never will. Don't forget we always fight. That won't change just because we got a taste of each other. So if that's what you're hanging around here waiting on then you might as well pack it in now. I'm alone because I like it, not because I can't find a man. I don't do romance."
Dipping his head in a slow nod, Garen uncrossed his arms. With unhurried steady steps he closed the distance until only mere feet separated them. "I never questioned why you were alone. Beautiful, smart, successful and talented, you're a woman many men would have a hard time forgetting. What I can't understand is why you're allowing some nameless fear to trap you in a life smaller than you deserve. And everyone deserves to have a little romance in their life."
Alarm burned in her stomach. How could he know? The past, her past remained buried where it belonged. If she felt a twinge of envy every once in a while at the love her friends found... Well, no one's life was perfect.
"I don't fear anything. Haven't you heard the rumours about me?" She didn't wait for his answer before rushing on. Her heart pounded a crazy rhythm in her chest. Panic clawed inside her heaving lungs as she struggled to get air. "I carry knives. Always. I know how to use them. Men lose their ability to father children from my presence alone. I'm the boogeyman of bad boy fairy tales." Her finger pressed sharply into her chest as she emphasised her point. "I am exactly who and what I want to be. No man, no testosterone-filled alpha male, is going to change me. The sex may be incredible, Garen, but unless you're willing to agree to be fuck buddies, then don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
Garen stomped the gas and his truck responded to the punch of power as it ate up the distance to his house.
His fist slammed into the leather-wrapped steering wheel. "Damn woman!" His brain spun in circles, but all paths led back to Recee and not just to her smoking hot body. He loved her ability to laugh at herself, her loyalty to the nuts she called friends and her amazing talent in designing beautiful objects from bits of metal and gems. Even her penchant for knives turned him on. As a former solider he respected the hell out of anyone prepared and capable of taking care of themselves.
So he was hooked on a woman who professed to want nothing to do with him other than sex. One who didn't believe in or want romance.
Or, he thought, remembering the stark look on Recee's face, maybe no one had ever taken the time to romance her.
He was striding through his house without remembering the rest of the drive. His mind focused on the plan forming in his mind.
He'd show Caprice Williams exactly what she was missing.
One flick of his finger brought his computer to life and he settled in his perfectly aligned orthopaedic chair to start his plan to romance Recee.
The slap of pain in his knuckles drove Garen to push himself harder. Steadily ignoring the burn of his overtaxed muscles, he continued to pound out his frustrations on the heavy bag swinging with each blow.
Memories of his one night, not even a full night, with the most stubborn, outlandish, sensual, beautiful woman in the world haunted him throughout the day and long after he was supposed to be asleep. Every word spoken in the kitchen between the two of them ran through his mind. With the eye of hindsight, Garen mentally edited his words and his actions until even the very air he'd drawn into his lungs caused him concern.
Never had a woman got to him this deep this fast. What exactly made Recee different he couldn't pinpoint. Nor could he understand when he'd gone from mildly intrigued to flat-out besotted. The situation had ended even worse, if possible, because of the fact he'd given his word to Recee to keep their involvement to himself. So he couldn't ask his best friend for advice, couldn't use the other man as a sounding board without breaking his word.
But at least his campaign to romance her started on the right foot. Flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals, CDs filled with ballads and small things that brought her to mind. He'd even run across a small whetstone to sharpen those knives she liked so much. No matter what he sent, Recee still refused to contact him. It was enough to make any sane man question his mental stability.
"Screwed coming and going," he muttered, his taped hands flying against the bag until nothing existed but the movements of his body.
How long he stayed in the physical zone he didn't know. The slight tingling on the back of his neck had him swivelling from the abused bag to the stairs leading up from his basement.
Brock stood there, face frowning, arms crossed and denim-clad legs spread apart, a stance Garen knew from countless bar fights and fire fights. Someone had pissed all over his buddy's Cheerios and Brock was spoiling for a fight. Damn good thing Garen wanted nothing more than to oblige him.
"What's up?" he asked, grabbing his sweaty towel and a bottle of water from the floor.
Brock didn't move from his position by the stairway. Despite the distance separating them, Garen saw a muscle clenching in his friend's jaw, a sure fire way of gauging Brock's level of anger.
"Why don't you tell me?" Voice flat, demeanour controlled.
Garen's instincts burned with warning. "Since the last time I saw you?" That had been at the club when he'd started asking questions about Recee. Shit, he thought, no one could know what happened between the two of them. Recee wouldn't say a word no matter what her crazy friends did and he sure as shit had kept his mouth shut mainly by staying the hell away from people. Everything he'd sent her had gone straight to her house, but billed under a different company name so no one he associated with would know he sent them.
"Yeah, anything new come up?"
Okay, the conversation had flown by weird, diving straight into creepy. The Brock he knew would never hesitate to spill a little blood to settle a score or an argument. This Brock... Well, Garen didn't know what the heck his thought process was.
With a tired sigh he swiped the towel over his sweat-soaked face and neck. "Look, whatever you're digging for, find another plot. I've got nothing." In three gulps he drained the water and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin in the corner.
Brock moved, his stride determined as he crossed the wooden floor. "You stupid piece of shit, did you really think no one would find out? Recee's good, I'll admit, but she's not the only one with sources around this town. Or do you not remember what we do for a living, Swifthorse?"
Dread crawled in his stomach and settled there as Brock's words echoed in his head. How? How the hell had anyone found out? Maybe they hadn't. Maybe one of the crazies Recee called friends glimpsed something or Recee carelessly let something slip and Emma had sent Brock here to gather intel.
The more he thought about it, the better he felt. Even the ball of acid in his gut stopped burning away its lining. "You here just to bust my chops over shit I have no idea about, or is there a real purpose to this visit? Did Recee set you up for something? 'Cause I got to tell you this little visit isn't in my schedule."
The easy, fluid denial stopped Brock, just as Garen knew it would. His buddy was like a bull. Raise a red cape and Brock went after it, no holds barred. Change the tone or cape to another colour, Brock stumbled and reason returned.
"Emma said..." His friend shook his head. Hands planted on hips, he stared everywhere but where Garen stood. Brock released a frustrated sigh. "I hate those women. Some days I really do. And screw you and your damn anal calendar."
As the tension ratcheted down a few notches, Garen drew in a deep breath. "So what have the sisters of evil and all that is wrong in the world done now?"
A smile broke Brock's grim features. "Yeah, that about describes them, even my poor sweet Emma." Another quick shake of his head, then he explained, "Trinity called some weird ass emergency meeting yesterday morning. We're talking before ten a.m. on a Sunday!"
"So Trinity's always doing weird crap no matter how often or much the good doctor tries to rein her in." Which was nothing but the absolute truth. The beleaguered doctor Hunt Windslow might be in love with Trinity Mailer and married to the nutcase, but Hunt did his best to temper Trinity's wild escapades with the voice of reason. Ninety-nine per cent of the time he failed, but the man had balls of steel to even keep trying.
"Well, this little meet and greet was a no-boys-allowed type gathering. I know they met up at the club because Ethan informed of that little tidbit. However, none of our delicate little women would 'fess up to the purpose of the meeting."
"And I'm trouble because..." While he was used to logic having no place around the Club Botticelli women, Garen did tend to expect it around his male friends.
"I finally broke Emma, and man I got to tell you..." Brock ran a frustrated hand through his cropped hair. "I've been up against terrorists with hundreds of kills beneath their belts who cracked quicker than my Emma."
Brock sounded surprised, annoyed and way too proud of his tender-hearted woman. Emma might write romance for a living, but she wasn't anyone's pushover. She needed a spine of steel to put up with Brock and his shit.
"I could have told you Em's got a sterling set, but did you really torture her?"
Garen watched Brock's cheeks redden with...embarrassment? What the hell?
Brock averted his gaze, hands going from his hips, to pockets then back again. "Let's just say I was in a unique position to question her. Trust me, she spilled everything she knew and then some."
"Unique position?" The words tripped off his tongue even as the meaning behind them clicked in his slow-thinking mind. "Oh yeah, um..." He scratched his head and went to grab a couple of bottles of water. Distance from Brock was the best thing for both of them. In no way, shape or form did Garen want to know any more details of his buddy's sex life or how Emma finally broke.
He tossed a bottle to Brock and kept one for himself. Exercise, along with the discomfort of hearing about Emma's sex life, tended to leave a man's mouth dried out.
Brock downed half the contents in two gulps before lowering the bottle. "Look, let's skip that part and move on to why I came busting in here ready to take your head off."
Cold fresh water eased the heat burning his throat. "Works for me."
By unspoken agreement they went to the leather armchairs positioned in front of a wall-size flat-screen TV.
"I take it there's talk of a revolution in the dark queen's palace?"
Brock shook his head, his eyes lighting up in humour. "Dark queen? Revolution? There is something to be said for your college education. But to answer the question, the five of them are up to something. They haven't been this sneaky since Trinity's kidnapping."
Yeah, he remembered when the four friends ganged up on Trinity, determined to see her with Hunt. Regrettably the women never worried about minor details such as a bogus bidding war during Olivia's charity auction, illegally drugging Trinity and smuggling her out of the country.
Boundaries, laws, morals...nothing stopped the five minions of darkness from getting whatever results they wanted. To hear they'd gathered again without witnesses... Yeah, something was coming. Unhappily the woman he couldn't get out of his mind was leading the charge into whatever asinine plan they'd created.
"What about the security equipment we installed in the club? The mics are sensitive enough to pick up a mouse shitting in the basement. Let's just download the feed and hear what they're planning."
Brock rubbed the back of his neck. "The thing is every room in Botticelli is wired for sound except..."
Though he could guess the answer Garen still needed to ask. Needed to hear just how far his buddy had fallen into the love trap. "Except what, Cage?"
"Except there were a few concerns Emma brought up after we finished. Uhh, you know about how maybe the mics and camera should be removed for privacy."
"Oh, you didn't?"
"Hey, you look into those big hazel blue eyes and tell her no! She's got me wrapped around her little finger so tight and there's no place I'd rather be."
The buddy part of Garen wanted to rag on his friend, to point out the weakness in letting your happiness depend on a female. The other half, the lover in him, completely agreed with finding happiness and a sense of belonging in his woman's arms. Happiness he'd found for himself, albeit briefly, with Recee.
"So we've got no ears or eyes in the office or apartment upstairs?"
"Nope, just the doors and windows with the standard security alarms." Brock tilted his head in Garen's direction. "So there's nothing going on with you and Recee? I can report back to Emma and get this whole mess out of my mind."
Almost agreeing, Garen stopped himself in time. Maybe he should ask a few questions of his own. Then he'd get back on track. As he'd told Brock, this discussion wasn't on today's schedule. "Hey, what gave you the idea that Recee and I were hooking up anyway?"
There! The way he'd worded it, Garen technically wasn't lying. He and Recee weren't currently hooking up, absolute truth.
"Emma said Trinity told her the police called Trinity two nights ago. Apparently some joker Recee dated called nine-one-one after leaving her house. Reported a crime. The police went by, but no one answered the door. Trinity was called as the first person on Recee's contact list. She went by, assured the police everything was in place and used her key to double-check Recee's inventory. Apparently Recee's shower was on and she wasn't alone. Trinity high-tailed it out of there. Two houses down she swears she saw your truck. That led to the little conference. The little conference led to a secret meeting which led to me dragging the answers out of Emma."
"When did all this happen?"
"Uh, Trinity called the girls two nights ago. I found out a little after that."
"Then what took so long for you to get over here?" The words zinged through the air just as the obvious answer registered in his sleep-deprived brain.
"Yeah, well what can I say? Emma was really hard to break." Brock shot him a wide, shit-eating grin. "Then I was forced to let her return the favour...uh...torture."
"Exactly how dumb do you think we are, Recee?"
Recee kept her eyes on the small wire in her hands. "Trin, don't you need to go service Dr Hormone? You've been separated for what, two hours? Isn't this where the withdrawal pains start? Shouldn't there be seizures, fever, foaming at the mouth or talking in tongues?"
"Don't make me slap you when my nails haven't set yet." Trinity blew across her fingers. "Besides Hunt and I had a quickie in the store bathroom before he left. So I'm good for another little bit."
After twisting the catch on the last section of her client's custom earrings, Recee finally raised her head. Several popping noises sounded as she shifted her stiff neck from one side to another. Umm, that felt good. Too many hours spent bent over her worktable, doing her damndest to forget about Garen and the short time they'd spent together. Not to mention the gifts that started appearing the morning after they'd fought. She rubbed the small of her back through the big pink T-shirt she wore over black tights. Casual and comfortable were Recee's main requirements in work clothes.
No one had to know underneath her plain boring clothing a few naughty wisps covered her most private places. The body suit in red silk chiffon with self-tied halter hugged her plump curves. The soft material cupped her breasts in a loving embrace while the thong gave her a sexy swagger.
Too bad the man behind the erotic gift hadn't bothered to call her since the night he'd stormed out of her house.
The man was actually romancing her, wooing her with simple, extravagant, cheap and expensive gifts. No man had ever gone out of his way to show his interest in her before. Recee didn't know what to think other than to always have Garen on her mind.
"Why do you insist on violating my life, my home and my business with your kinky sexual fetishes? Last week my carpenter almost walked in on the two of you going at it in the front closet." She dragged a hand through her tangled hair, then scooped it up, twisted it into a loose ponytail and jammed a pencil through the messy mass.
Trinity's green eyes glinted with wicked humour as she leaned her elegantly clad form against the desk Recee rarely used. The sherbet lemon colour Trin wore should have made her look like a duck on crack. Instead, she glowed. She freakin' glowed with happiness, satisfaction and something Recee had never seen before...contentment. Her friend finally had found a peace in her life and she'd never looked better. Love had that effect on some people.
Just not on Recee.
A jaded look skipped across Trinity's expression as she buffed her sunshine yellow nails against her linen pants. "You made me wait. You know what happens if I get bored."
"I asked for ten flipping minutes to finish up a client call. Asked if you wanted to wait in my office with me. Hunt asked for a drink of water. The next thing I know my general handyman is running out of the house, tool belt knocking his ass every step of the way." The memory ignited her temper. Hunt, Trinity's husband and much better half, tried to take the blame, but Recee knew better. She'd known her clothes whore of a friend too long to buy her man's lame excuses.
"Oh shit. Please get that look off your face and stop picturing whatever foul deeds you used to devirginise my front closet. The exorcist is on speed dial thanks to all the freaky sex you've committed on my property. The whole place will be tented next week." The couple seemed determined to practice their unnatural behaviour in and on every square inch of her home.
The soft dreamy look accompanied by a deep sigh disappeared. "You really know how to ruin a girl's perfect afterglow."
"Yeah, it's my mission in life."
Trinity tilted her head, green eyes narrowed. "Hmmm."
"What?"
"You've had sex." The blonde sniffed at Recee's neck and the thin pink T-shirt she wore. Recee thanked her extra large shirt for hiding the sexy underwear. Trinity really would interrogate her if she saw. "Really, really good sex, too."
Freaked out of her mind Recee jumped to her feet, heart pounding in her chest as guilty panic raced through her. "What the hell is the matter with you? Did Hunt pound your skull into the headboard one too many times?"
As graceful as a cat on the prowl Trinity rose, blond brow arched. "I could never tell before, but now... Oh honey, no wonder you've been avoiding us."
She loved her friends, Recee reminded herself. No murder allowed even if she did have the perfect crime planned along with an economic, environmentally friendly way to vanish any bodies. "How upset do you think Hunt, Ethan, Brock and Carter would be if the four of you suddenly disappeared without a trace?" A girl needed to have a back-up plan, in life and in death.
Instead of looking upset or frightened like any normal human being with a pulse, Trinity merely tapped a bright fingernail to her lips a few moments before speaking. "Hunt, Ethan and Brock will threaten you with everything up to and including death. They would even relish the situation. However, the one to keep your eye on, in case you choose this track for your crazy train, is Carter. The man is quiet, smart and sneaky, very worrisome traits in a male if you're determined to kill his woman."
Recee shook her head, causing her hastily erected hairdo to tumble down. Irritated, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, and leaned against the wide wooden desk, arms crossed. "Why I expected a sane answer from you I have no idea. Though I will admit Carter's more the underhanded, CIA spooky, poison-your-ice-cream type guy. You think Briley knows this?"
Trinity snorted before smiling. "Briley probably encouraged the poor man to the point of having plans A through Z. Garen must be rubbing off on all of us with his lists, plans and schedules."
Bolts of guilt, need, and shame slammed in her chest at the mention of her one night stand. Why it should bother her Recee didn't know and was determined not to care. Before their time together two nights ago, the two of them hardly ever ran into each other. The chances of seeing him any time soon were minimal at best.
The silence stretched on too long. "Yeah...uh huh." Brilliant, Recee, she scolded herself. Any other time she'd have the perfect words tripping over themselves to leave her mouth. The one time it counted, the one singular time she needed her wits and words about her, she sounded like a stoned teenager, brain damaged from too many video games.
"Before you go planning our funerals---I want to be cremated by the way---maybe we should steer the U.S.S. Insanity back to the port of reality. Now tell me what I want to know or I'll get Emma over here. You know the woman won't think twice about using her powers for evil instead of good."
Her friend's sombre yet threatening words jolted Recee back into the here and now. "Just because you think I had sex doesn't mean anyone else is going to put faith in your delusions."
Not to mention Recee really couldn't stand it if they brought Emma in with the big guns. Tears didn't work on her---at least anyone else's tears---but that of her sweet author buddy. One look into those eyes welling up and Recee would confess to being Jack the Ripper to make her stop. Weird, considering she hated tears in herself and anyone else, but it was the secret power with which Emma ruled her.
Shaking her head slowly, Trinity advanced on Recee, eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter how much you protest, the truth will come out. You can stop this with...just...one...word. Give me his name, Recee, and none of this will have to happen."
Hello rock, howdy hard place. Recee mentally scrambled for a plan, a diversion tactic, a smoke screen...anything that would prevent her friends from taking action and discovering the big secret. Normally telling her girls the absolute truth about everything wasn't a problem. The tendency to over-share sometimes got her a show of crossed fingers and screams of TMI. Maybe if she wasn't so tired she wouldn't be this off her game.
Flustered, she ran her hand through her tangled hair again. "Why does this matter to you? You've never given a damn about any of the other men I've brought home and slept with."
Too late she realised what she'd admitted.
Trinity pounced on Recee's stumble like a dog on a meaty bone. "I knew it. So there is a man and you're hiding him for some reason. Why? Is he ugly? Deformed? Sexually deviant? Nah." She dismissed the last accusation with a wave of her hand. "If your man were into monkeys, tomato sauce and bandanas you'd just brag. So there must be another reason to keep him under wraps. I have a cousin Paisley that dated a carnie. Is he a carnie? We can deal with it."
"I'm not hiding anything," she mumbled. From out of nowhere, exhaustion weighed her down.
"The reason I'm asking about this guy is because you had sex with him. The others were only distractions, so mystery guy actually means something."
The fight drained out of Recee. She slid to the floor, bent her knees and rested her head on them. "Please, don't do this."
"Oh honey." Trinity sat beside her and put her arm around Recee's bent shoulders. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but you have no idea how long we've waited for this."
Without lifting her head she asked, "Waited for what?"
Gentle fingers smoothed the hair out of her face. Recee turned her head to look at her friend. The serious gleam in the blonde's green eyes did not bode well. They'd been thrown out of New Mexico after one of those looks from Trinity.
"Honey, I love you. Hell, you've been there for me and the rest of the girls no matter what else was going on in your life. You are one of the most generous, selfless people I've ever known. No one else but the four of us ever get to see that side of you. When Ethan, Brock, Carter then Hunt came into our lives you pulled a typical Recee and threatened their ability to reproduce if they hurt your friends."
Embarrassed, Recee ducked and pressed her forehead back to her knees. "It's not a big deal. Besides Hunt already knew what he was getting into. The idiot has been hanging out with us since he met Olivia."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about." Trinity sucked in a long slow breath then let it out just as measured. "You keep this hard shell around your softer side and no one but your friends is allowed inside. Honey, I know what losing your sister did to you and I understand the psychotic unit that made up your parents."
"But..."
The arm around her shoulder tightened. "But...but you keep this up and they'll still be running your life until you die a bitter, lonely, old, cranky woman. You're letting them win. I can't stand by and watch you give up this chance for possible happiness because you're too stubborn to let your past go."
"It's not as easy as that." She managed a broken reply, shoving any mention of her parents into the black hole in her mind.
"Babe, if it was easy you would have kicked this ghost's ass years ago. Can you at least accept the possibility that there are a few demons you haven't managed to scare off?"
Once more Recee turned to look at her friend, wondering where all this wisdom came from. "How long has this been on your mind?"
Trinity shook her head, blonde hair glinting in the overhead light. "Not just me, babe, but all of us. Once we knew the story behind your freaky knife fetish Emma, Olivia, Briley and I all knew you had some serious history to overcome. We've been waiting until we thought you might be ready."
Pain pounded in her temples as Recee tried to focus. "And for some strange reason you think I'm ready? What, is the moon full, the planets aligned or Venus ate Mars?" The soothing strokes up and down her back made Recee's lids flutter. "Stop or I'll fall asleep on you. Just think, all this fabulous wisdom and advice would go to waste."
"Maybe you need to sleep, it might be the best thing for you."
"Shit, sleep never solved anything and only cowards run away from their problems." The quote was automatic, the result of defences worn down.
"Nothing but bullshit, my friend, so don't even go there. Now let's get you upstairs and into bed. When you wake up the rest of the girls will be here and together there's nothing we can't conquer, destroy, maim, defeat, bury or buy."
A fog of sleepiness surrounded Recee as Trinity almost carried her to her bed. "I never take naps. They're for children, sick people and old people."
"I know, sweetheart, but right now you're acting like an old child sick in the head."
"Bitch," Recee said, but the insult lacked heat and energy.
"Slut," Trinity shot back easily as she tossed the deep emerald comforter off the huge bed. "Strip off the clothes then get some rest. Your life will be fixed and in order by the time you wake up."
Trusting Trinity as she did very few people, Recee gave in, stripped off her clothes and crawled between her soft sheets after changing into a pair of cotton boy shorts. "Thanks, Trin."
A brush of lips against her forehead almost made her smile. "For you...anytime, Reece. Notice I'm not saying a word about the lingerie? We'll discuss it tomorrow. Get some sleep, babe."
The mattress shifted as Trinity got up. Even beneath the darkness of her lids Recee sensed darkness closing in as Trin closed the shutters one by one.
"It's Garen," Trinity announced to her friends once they showed up at Recee's house.
Silence met her unexpected declaration. Somehow she'd expected more fireworks and fewer chirping crickets.
"Did you hear me?" Hands on hips she faced all but one of the sisters of her heart. "Garen Swifthorse is boinking or was boinking our friend."
Olivia, Briley and Emma shared a look. Unspoken communication flowed between them before Briley drained her wine and sat forward. "Trin, it's not that we doubt your word. Hell, I'd believe you before Carter most days." She winked. "But don't tell him that. I'm working on it. Anyway, I know you thought you saw Garen's truck here Saturday night."
"She did see his truck," Emma spoke up. "Remember Garen told Brock about the fight and that frog-lover Thomas trying run our girl over."
"Dipshit always underestimated Recee, not to mention the flood of interesting and illegal characters in her family history." Olivia refilled everyone's drink with the chocolate wine, her current addiction.
"Wait." Trinity held up her hand, palm out. "You're telling me Brock's already questioned Garen about this?"
Olivia lifted a perfectly arched dark brow in that faintly superior way of hers. "You don't think we were just sitting around waiting for you to get answers, do you?"
"Well, yeah." Of course she had. The answers would come or they wouldn't.
"Forgive me for sending in the big guns. We all agreed years ago that to get Recee over her past we'd do anything, use anyone and go anywhere," Olivia said.
Trinity didn't need her memory nudged. The nightmares Recee suffered weren't something Trin would ever be able to forget. So yeah, the past continued to treat Recee like its bitch and she, as well as the rest of Recee's friends, were tired of watching it.
"More important, you think Recee is ready to banish those sorry, frog-loving, ball-licking, devil-possessed piece-of-shit excuse for parents?" Briley asked. Her extensive and creative vocabulary had grown since her fiance Carter had come into her life.
"Yeah, I think it's time. She allowed Garen in here, not just in her home, but in her bed as well. We all know Recee doesn't sleep around, much less have sex no matter what trashy images she tries to force down our throats." Trinity mused aloud.
"The girl is locked up tighter than a Baptist in a whorehouse." Again, Briley's opinion.
"Thanks, Bri, we all needed that imagery. Moving on, so while the world at large thinks Recee's bed sees more action than a Vegas penny slot machine, we know better. The girl is more choosy about her bed partners than Olivia is with her precious shoes."
"Hey." The shoe addict looked affronted before she shrugged her silk-clad shoulders in resignation. "You're right. The shoe diva accepts the ruling. Proceed."
"I think Garen's the one and I think she's already half in love with him." Trinity knew deep in her gut she was right. No other rationalisation explained her dark-haired friend's distracted, moody behaviour.
"What are we basing this on?" Emma sipped her wine, her brow wrinkled as she tapped her fingers against the cut crystal.
Unable to remain still, Trinity jumped to her feet and paced the length of the living room. The worn carpet muffled her steps. "I'm basing it on the actions of my friend over the past few days, not to mention the fact that said friend had sex for the first time since I've known her. I'm basing it on the fact that Garen was here when she might have needed protection. I'm also basing it on the fact that Garen started asking questions about our girl. He wanted to know if and who she was dating. Asked a lot of personal questions for a guy merely interested in getting some."
Briley rubbed her face before clearing her throat. "I forgot Carter mentioned something about that too. He said Garen watched her the way---"
"The way what?" Trinity needing to hear the words even when her gut told her everything she wanted to know.
The blonde looked everywhere but at her friends as she swallowed half her glass of wine. When the glass was empty, Briley scratched her nape, then dropped her hands to her lap. "Carter said Garen looked at Recee the same way he looks at me when I'm not aware. Like he can't believe I'm real and that I exist in the same world he does."
"Awww," three saccharine voices exclaimed at the same time.
Briley jerked her shoulder. "Shut it, all three of you, before I start in on the sappy crap you and your boy toys have done."
"Guilty." Emma laughed and raised her hand in the air.
"Happily and well satisfied guilty," Olivia lifted her hand while a smug smile curved her lips.
Trinity crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "That goes without saying." She topped her statement off with a loud, long satisfied sigh 'cause damn, did her man keep her happy and sated.
"Then we know Garen's in as deep as Recee. The only problem is Recee's past and Garen's fear of commitment." Olivia broke into the mush fest with a large dose of reality.
"What makes you think Garen has a fear of commitment?" Emma asked, sitting back on the couch, tanned legs crossing at the knee as she gave Olivia her complete focus.
Olivia shrugged. "Isn't every man plagued with commitment phobia? I mean if he was ever interested in a relationship for the long haul wouldn't he be in one?"
Emma cocked her head, rolled her eyes, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it before speaking. Two deep slow breaths later she managed to say, "First off, Garen is not afraid of commitment. He gave almost twenty years of his life to the US military. When that man finds something or someone to believe in Garen Swifthorse will do everything up to and including death to ensure he keeps his word. If Recee is what he wants then I bet my next royalty cheque he'll be exactly what she needs to let go of all the crap in her past. He doesn't flinch when faced with the worst. He's loyal, steadfast and strong enough to let Recee be who she is without trying to change her or take her over. The only problem the two of them will have is staying in the same room long enough to admit their feelings to each other."
Silence covered the room as each woman thought over the information shared.
Then Olivia snapped her fingers, snagging everyone's attention. "I've got it. What worked on Emma and Brock will work for Garen and Recee except we need a place that's Marine-proof."
"You want to lock them in Brock's cabin?" Emma tilted her head to the side and bit her lip.
Olivia shifted her attention from refilling her glass to Emma. "Of course not. Or not that exactly." She pursed her mouth. "I mean we need a place with only one or two points of entry or exit. Preferably no windows, but also with plumbing, lights and all that necessary stuff."
"I see what you mean." Briley nodded before pulling out her iPhone and tapping her finger against the screen. "Maybe there's a place we can rent. Hell I'll buy whatever, if it gives Recee a chance to fight her ghosts once and for all."
Trinity watched Emma reach over and squeeze Briley's shoulder while Olivia slung her arm around Emma's neck. Tears welled, but Trin refused to let them fall. Later in the safety of Hunt's arms she'd allow her emotions free reign, especially the overwhelming gratitude her four amazing friends filled her with.
"Wait." Briley dropped the phone to her lap. "I can't believe I didn't think of this first."
"What?"
"You thought of a building?"
Trinity waited for the others to finish.
Briley's big brown eyes glowed. "I know the perfect place. Marine or not, Garen won't escape without bringing down the building on top of him."
"So we've got the building. Now all we need is to find a way to get both of them there preferably unconscious and naked," Olivia pointed out in her reasonable tone.
"Drug them," Emma said, sounding matter-of-fact.
"Jeez, sometimes I forget what a devious mind that sweet face hides." Olivia scooted away from Emma. "You could be a serial killer for all we know. Until we stumble across the bodies or discover your wacky human-skin-bound journal detailing all your sick plots, we'll never know."
"Did you have pets as a kid? Did any of them manage to live to old age? Did they die of old age or accidents or general fear of their lives?" Briley asked in rapid-fire succession.
Most people would be offended, angered or at least miffed. Emma, in her twisted writer's mind, apparently took the serial killer accusation as a compliment. "As if I'd leave bodies. Might I remind you freaks that I faint at the sight of blood, so no journal, sick or not, covered in human skin. But thank you for thinking I'd have what it takes. It's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."
The other three shook their heads in amazement. Trinity finally verbalised what the other two were probably thinking. "Only you would think being accused of being a serial killer is a compliment. What does that say about you?"
Head cocked, Emma lifted her chin in a snooty manner. "What does it say about the three of you that we're all friends when I could be out killing people in my spare time?"
"We all need a hobby," Briley admitted and the rest of the group nodded.
"But until then let's take care of our girl. She's made sure the four of us are happy and in love so that's the least we can do for her." Trinity stood and stretched out her hand.
Emma, Olivia and Briley locked hands with her. "For Recee," Trin said.
"For Recee," they echoed.
The door shuddered under the punishing weight of Garen's body, but didn't break or even budge. Feeling disgusted with himself, his friends and the whole situation, he turned away from the door that wouldn't bend and tromped down the stairs.
When he got out of this Brock would be in some serious trouble along with his little helpers from hell, namely Carter, Ethan and Hunt. What possessed the four brain-dead musketeers to trap him alone in this love-shack-style basement with the one woman he couldn't keep his hands or mind off?
The bane of his existence slept undisturbed throughout his door pounding and shouting. Curled up, looking like a rosy-cheeked child, Recee had one arm tucked beneath her head while the other clutched a pillow to her chest. Thick dark curls obscured her face, but the steady rise and fall of her exceptional chest ensured her continued wellbeing.
Another possible blessing, if he were counting those, would be the fact that they were still in the country, still in Avalon. Food and water were both in abundant supply. The kitchen fridge overflowed with sandwich meat, veggies and fruit along with juice, coffee creamer and case after case of Diet Coke. A snug bathroom contained a shower, toilet and sink, but no window for possible escape.
No television, but a nice docking station complete with iPod sat on a table across from the bed. And shit, what a bed. Garen could very well believe he'd been transported into another world, for only in his dreams had he imagined such an offering to the gods of decadence. Solid oak with four posts, each the width of his calf, met with a lacy canopy embroidered with entwined leaves and winged elves making love in various and imaginative positions.
Sweat dripped down his forehead the one and only time he took a good look at the unusual design.
The damn fools had thought of everything. Well, everything but one. However, until he could find out what he was doing down here, Garen kept that option in his pocket. The 'in cases of emergency or fire get out of jail free' card emergency.
When asked about Recee's condition, Trinity's cheery voice via intercom informed him that her friend was drugged, but should wake in the next few hours. The angry roar he emitted following her statement pretty much summed up his opinion on the matter.
"What kind of people drug and kidnap their friends?" He wondered then stopped. Of course normal people didn't do this kind of thing, but nothing about the Club B women was normal.
Memories of Brock grabbing Emma and hiding out in his cabin in the middle of the woods came to mind. Also Recee had been the one to drug Trinity's drink so Hunt could whisk her off to a tropical island get-away. Maybe he should be grateful his buddies hadn't knocked him over the head with some random hard object and thrown his unconscious body down the steps.
If he'd had an inkling of what had been planned for him, Garen would have fought tooth and nail before getting trapped down here. Unfortunately he had no gift of foresight, so when Carter called to ask if he could lend some muscle to a moving project Garen had agreed with no hesitation. But as soon as he'd passed the doorway, the door had swung shut behind him and stayed shut ever since.
Only the intercom recently installed, thanks to the traitor Carter, allowed communication from his basement prison to the outside world or upstairs to the main floor.
Briley's soon-to-be husband fell all over himself apologising for locking him up, but no amount of physical threats changed Carter's position on unlocking the door. When Garen finally calmed down enough to listen, Carter explained the reasons behind his false imprisonment.
"Man, I hate doing this to a friend, but Briley thought this would be a great way to get past your communication barrier and commitment phobia."
Garen heard a slap, then Carter's mumbled cursing at the woman he loved before the resident computer genius and sometimes hacker returned to the line. "Sorry, apparently I'm not supposed to mention your phobia... Woman, smack me again and we'll end this here and now."
Letting out a long sigh, Garen leaned against the smooth brick wall, crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the bamboo floor. Patience he'd always had in spades until he'd got mixed up with these law-breaking idiots. To think he'd altered his schedule for these people. No one would miss him for at least twenty-four hours.
It took almost ten minutes for Carter to end his mock fight with Briley and refocus on the prisoners in the basement.
"Again, sorry about that, Briley has got to learn to stop with the slapping of my head. I'll end up brain dead before too long if she keeps this up," Carter complained.
"Do you think I really care?" Would this nightmare ever end?
"Nah, I guess you don't. So anyhow here's the deal. Trinity, Olivia, Emma and Briley are convinced Recee loves you and you love her. The only problem is getting the two of you to admit it. Once you cross that hurdle you can live happily ever after, knives, freaky schedules and all."
A low growl built in his chest, but Garen manfully smothered it. Nothing would be gained from yelling at the brilliant, misguided genius holding him captive.
Letting out a slow, even breath, he focused on getting out. Then he could allow his temper free rein. "Carter, what the hell have those crazy women conned you into doing? You do know it's illegal to hold someone against his or her will. Jail time will not be pretty for a man of your looks and stature."
No fear or shocked gasps came over through. Carter sounded as calm and composed as he normally was. "Yeah, I thought of that when the girls brought the idea to me, but since I invited you over and you went down there of your own free will I figure I'm in the clear."
Never go up against a genius, Garen reminded himself, you'll always lose.
"So answer me this, how long does this farce go on? After a couple of weeks we're going to need more food and water." Keep calm and rational, he repeated over and over again in his mind.
"I doubt we're talking weeks. You two just need enough alone time without other distractions to admit you love each other. Then we'll go for dinner. There's a great Thai place that opened up---"
"Carter." Garen didn't want to hear future dinner plans. "I know you love her, but even you will admit that Briley is a few nuts short of a split."
"My doctor doesn't call it crazy. I'm reality challenged." Briley spoke up for the first time since she'd whacked Carter's head.
"I'll---"
"Just hush it for a minute, big and bad. You need to know a few things if you really want a chance at Recee for longer than an hour or two." Briley's voice cut him off, sounding more sober and serious than he'd ever heard.
Maybe this insanity was catching because he found himself agreeing. "Fine, tell me what I need to know."
Briley let out an aggrieved sigh. "Oh, how I wish I could, but alas my better half and the scary friend with tears of persuasion, Emma, has convinced me I have to let you find the info out on your own. The only thing you need to do is get Recee to talk about her parents and her little sister. If she opens up about either of those topics you're golden."
"I didn't know she had a sister."
"She doesn't...at least not anymore." The tapping of feminine fingernails echoed in his ears. Garen could easily imagine the tall blonde sitting on Carter's desk, her light brown eyes narrowed in thought while her fingers restlessly drummed against the wooden surface. "Just talk to her, Garen. She can't run away. There's no place to hide down there and honestly Recee needs to stop running from the past if she ever hopes to have a future."
He'd left it at that. What could he say with a million questions running through his mind and the only source of answers lying unconscious across the room from him?
Recee'd had a little sister once upon a time. As protective and fierce as she was with her friends Garen could only imagine her behaviour to a little girl depending on her.
He crossed the basement in several long strides, then dropped down beside the bed. Recee slept on unaware of the love and treachery of her friends.
"Recee, baby, you need to wake the hell up. It seems we have more to talk about than either one of us knew."
He tipped his head back, finding the brick wall a hard pillow, but he'd slept in worse places. Getting into the soft warm bed with Recee would be worse torture than anything any terrorist could imagine. So he sat next to the bed, his hand stroking her curls while wondering what nightmares plagued the strongest woman he knew.
Something stroked her head in a soft, gentle manner. Recee never wanted that tender touch to end even though nightmares attempted to pursue her into the twilight of waking. She tried to open her eyes, but the overwhelming, unusual sense of peace had her hesitating. The callused, tender fingers brushed the hair off her temples.
"Come on, beautiful, open your eyes." The voice...she knew it. Garen. A flash of his handsome face formed in her mind's eye. What was he doing in her house? Especially after the horrible way she'd treated him after the best sex of her life.
Somewhere in the back of her fuzzy brain Recee knew if she opened her eyes, acknowledged her return to consciousness, Garen would be gone. His touch, the comforting scent of his skin and most of all the sense of rightness just being near him gave her...she would lose it all if she left the dream world. So she'd keep her mouth and eyes shut, staying lost in the fantasy.
"Recee."
She heard her name coming from far away and tried to focus around the warning that screamed and raced through her mind. The flashes of her sister's face haunted her as did the last words she'd said to Recee.
"Recee."
Thoughts, impressions, hopes, dreams, desires and fears jumbled fast and furious through her brain as she sought something to hold onto. Anything that would stop the vortex of fear and panic swirling inside her, the nightmare of her parents hovering just over her shoulder, waiting for a single sign of weakness to overtake her.
"Recee, baby, please stop. My heart can't take this. Please stop crying," Garen begged. His strong arms engulfed her securely. "Please, wake up and come back to me. I'll never ask you for anything again. I'll stop pushing for more. Just don't cry anymore. I can't handle your tears, baby. They're tearing me apart."
Tears? What the hell? Recee never cried, never. She was the bitch from hell. The one other bitches made offerings to. Why the hell would she cry?
The images from her nightmare slammed into her memory, forcing a cry to escape from her lips as her body shook in rejection. The last thing she needed was to be buried in her past any longer. With a shout of denial Recee pried her eyelids open.
"Garen," she whispered, unable to believe he was sitting there at her side, holding her against his pounding chest.
"Oh God, Recee, I was so scared. You wouldn't wake up. Then you started crying and shouting. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't call for help." He pressed his forehead to hers, his words coming out in an unsteady rhythm. "I've never felt so helpless in my life. Don't you ever do anything like that to me again."
Since Recee didn't have any idea what she'd done except possibly make an ass out of herself, she kept her mouth shut.
All too soon Garen moved but instead of releasing her like she'd expected, he positioned them both on their sides, so they lay looking at each other, pressed chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh.
"Are you okay to answer a few questions?" His gentle tone and the soft strokes to her back soothed her wayward emotions.
"I guess."
"You cried out 'Joelle'. Who is that?"
Joelle. Oh God, she hadn't heard that name mentioned in years. Had forced herself to put it away with the rest of her dysfunctional childhood memories. Why would he bring this...her...up now? Too many things didn't make sense and Recee felt like a piece of tissue paper ripped apart by a hurricane. No way to survive, no way to go back and no idea how to go forward.
As she opened her mouth to brush Garen off, the remnants of the nightmare crashed back into her weary mind. Joelle. She'd come back.
"My sister. Joelle was my little sister. She died when I was sixteen and she was thirteen. A stupid waste of an amazing soul. My sister was everything I'm not, kind, sweet, compassionate. Joelle had a way of making everyone love her. She wanted to please people, to make everyone around her happy. Thanks to my parents' so-called love, my sweet, innocent thirteen-year-old sister starved herself to death trying to make them happy."
The shrieking in her head threatened to take her under again. Worse, it combined with the heavy guilt that consumed her slowly, piece by piece.
"Shit, Recee." His arms squeezed her protectively. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
Unable to keep her eyes open while the images of the past flew through her mind, she tried to answer in a calm tone, but failed miserably. "No one but the girls know the truth. My father was a fashion photographer, my mother a top runway model. Nothing mattered to them, but the way people looked. If I gained so much as six ounces Daddy Dearest would lock me in my closet with two bottles of water. I'd get to come out once I promised to take the hideous disfiguring weight off. Joelle hated seeing me locked up. She'd sit by the door, try to cheer me up. Ever since I can remember she hated being in the dark. So imagine her nightmare coming to life when my father started in on her."
The memory had her eyes burning as she fisted Garen's thin T-shirt in her hands. The words almost choked her throat, but Recee forced them out, for her sister, with her lids shooting open, better to stare the nightmare down. "It took only one trip to the dark for Joelle to break. She came out a different person, no life or laughter left. She grew so terrified of being trapped in the dark again she refused to eat. When I forced the issue she'd eat enough to keep me happy, then sneak out and throw it all up. I tried to get my parents to take her to the hospital, to do something, but why should they? Joelle was thin, following their sick rules. They didn't care. That's what hurts the worst. Two of the most self-centred, vain creatures on the planet had no business having kids."
Garen's dark gaze stared at her, his eyes the colour of the richest cocoa beans with small crinkles edging those deep pools of midnight brown. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry. No kid should have to live like that. There was no one you could call or turn to?" Featherlight kisses trailed along her jaw line as he did his best to comfort her, his voice gentle.
"No one I knew of at the time. My grandmother Emmerson took me in after Joelle died. I never looked back. I never tried to contact those people who raised me. When they died in Paris, driving drunk or high no doubt, I told my grandmother I wouldn't go to the funerals. I wanted nothing more to do with them. Bless her, she didn't make me. She took care of everything, tucked their life insurance policy away and kept on living life."
"Thank God," he muttered into her hair so low she almost missed hearing his words. "Thank God they're dead so I don't have to kill them."
Those sincere words broke the last barrier of her heart's barricade. Emotions long suppressed crashed through her. Love for her work, love for her friends, but most of all love for the amazing man holding her in his arms like he'd never let her go.
"Thank you," she whispered and pressed a soft kiss to his throat.
"For what?" he asked, just as softly.
"For letting me kick, scream and generally make a fool of myself while I fell in love with you." The confession freed her from the last restraints trapping her soul. She already felt lighter, more liberated than any other time in her life. Who knew confession really was good for the soul? Or maybe it had more to do with the man hearing her confession than the actual words themselves.
"What changed your mind?"
Recee focused on Garen's words. "You mean about telling you everything? My family, my sister or falling in love with you?"
"All of it."
"You and Joelle. Joelle because I dreamed of her right before I woke. She promised me she was happy and safe. The only thing holding her back from complete happiness was the fact that I couldn't let her go. Garen, she was my little sister. I was supposed to take care of her. Instead I let her down in the worst way imaginable. But Joelle, being Joelle, told me to get over it. That I had so many blessings in my life I should take the time to count those instead of wallowing in what I'd lost. So if I believe in the dream, which I kind of do, then in order for my sister to be happy I have to let her and my guilt go."
The past few minutes had gone better than she'd ever imagined. Garen took the news of her family to heart, something she'd never imagined someone other than her girls doing. She reeled from the turn of events that led her to where she now lay.
"Can you do it?"
Let go of the past, let go of the anger, distrust, and misery that tainted her every move? Putting it in perspective, Recee didn't think she was really letting go of anything, more like freeing herself from the shackles of the past.
As the silence expanded, Garen poked gently at her for answers. "Recee, can you let go of something you've held onto for so long?"
How did she explain something what now seemed so clear and right? "It's not letting Joelle go, Garen. It's letting everything I chained her memory down with. The anger, pity... none of those belonged to my sister. As of right now they don't belong anywhere in my life either."
His dark gaze captured hers and he leaned in for a kiss. His mouth pressed, soft and lush against hers, his tongue running along the seam of her lips.
How could she have ever thought there was any other emotion in the universe to compare to what she'd found in Garen's solid embrace?
"I do love you, Garen, with every twisted, sarcastic, plotting, knife-throwing piece of me."
"About damn time," he muttered and took her mouth in a kiss of desperate possession. "Now I need you out of your clothes." Garen grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head.
"Wait." Recee struggled to think as he undid the snap and zipper of her jeans. "Condoms," she panted raggedly as his rough palms slid against the softness of her skin to push down her underwear and jeans.
She sat in front of him with only her bra. When she saw the glow of love in his eyes she tried to cover her body, a vaguely shy gesture...probably for the first time in her life. Lust she was used to but this emotion went far deeper.
His voice, jagged and low, halted her actions. "Don't, Recee. Give me this, at least. I'm...my control barely exists here. Let me look at you, all of you. There's nothing about you or your body that I don't already love." He reached behind her and before she knew it the silk covering fell tumbling to her feet. "God, I love you so much!"
The words were a balm to her shredded soul and filled her with incredible happiness and joy. Garen Swifthorse loved her, her past had been laid to rest and her sister was at peace. "Can it get any better than this?"
"I sure as hell hope so."
With a surety born of love, they explored each other's bodies, roaming the different planes and textures with greedy fingers and sensitive tongues. His clothes vanished like magic beneath their eager hands leaving only heated skin pressed to heated skin.
"You look so sweet with your nipples puckered tight. I bet you taste even sweeter." He licked his lips as his hands fisted in the sheets at his side.
"Oh...wow..." Recee nervously licked her lips.
His jaw clenched as his eyes followed her every move. He shot her a half smile with his wicked eyes speaking of naughty intentions and erotic deeds. "Don't worry, baby, I've got our protection covered. There's a whole box here for our pleasure. It may be enough to last the night. If not I've got a few ideas we can try until we get more."
"Good, that's good." She licked her dry lips as she drowned in the desire reflected in his dark eyes.
He took her lips in a deep kiss of possession. "Now that we've covered all that, I need you flat on your back with your legs spread wide or else I'm going to lose my damn mind."
What else could a woman say to that? "Okay."
Within seconds he suited actions to words as he laid her down on the feather-soft mattress. She lifted her head and slowly kissed his lips.
His response was immediate. His rock-hard erection throbbed heavily against her. They both gasped at the erotic contact. The next thing she knew, she was against his hard body, his palm cupping the back of her head as his mouth took her over and over again. Their tongues tangled and duelled as Recee grew drugged on his flavour. Her heart raced while the rest of her body went up in needy flames of desire.
She couldn't stop the whimper from rising in her throat, but Garen caught the sound in his mouth as he rolled her beneath him, using his arms to keep from crushing her.
Recee's legs rose so her thighs were cradling his hips. Her pussy contracted and a trickle of moisture slid between her thighs at the feel of his firm, hot flesh.
A look of primal hunger fell over his passion-darkened eyes before his mouth locked against hers in a voracious and devouring kiss. She couldn't get enough of him, his scent, his unique flavour. Everything that made Garen had her hungry for more.
He was as wild as she as they attacked each other again and again. His hands slid beneath her naked back pushing her flesh hard against his own. The feeling melted her beneath him.
Her touch affected him the same way his did her. His grip tightened as he raised his head to let out a hiss of breath.
They panted for air, staring shocked into each other's eyes. Then with a slow downward slide of hard flesh he lowered his head to her breasts.
"Garen," she cried out. He took her beaded nipple between sharp teeth and tugged before letting it go. Erotic delight sang through her bloodstream at the pinch of pain. She nearly jumped out of her skin. His cock slid against her eager skin and her body clenched in demand, but she knew he wouldn't take her, not just yet. Leaning down, he kissed her slowly, easily, but completely.
"I've got to taste you," he whispered against her fevered flesh. He kissed her again, then moved down her flushed body, dropping kisses at random along the soft flesh of her round stomach. He licked across her neck and she shivered at the feel of him. Loving the fact that she never knew where or how he would touch her.
"Spread your legs."
Garen slid down her body until he'd notched himself between her thighs. He stroked his tongue over the swollen folds of her sex. Up one side and down the other and around again he absorbed the taste of her in his mouth. His tongue swirled against her swollen, throbbing clit.
Her gaze drifted to his black hair buried at the heart of her desire. He was so intent on her pleasure that something in Recee's heart cracked. He truly loved her, flaws and all. The enormity of this complicated man's devotion caused Recee to run her eager hands up and down his back, shoulders, sides, wherever she could reach, just to absorb the reality of him beneath the sensitive pads of her fingers.
His tongue teased her clitoris as he slipped a thick finger inside her pussy. Recee lifted her hips, seeking more of his teasing touch even as he moved his mouth from her dripping core to drop sweet kisses to her inner thighs.
His head bent forward again and he kissed her at the very tip of her clit. She moaned at the slight touch, pushing up her hips, silently demanding more.
Garen complied eagerly. His tongue flicked around her, but never quite hitting the one spot needed to push her over the edge. He opened her up with two fingers, parting her folds wide. She was drenched by her arousal. All she needed from him was a tiny nudge to send her flying. Something to make her scream.
Before the thought finished forming in her mind he firmly fixed his mouth to her.
She jerked in surprise, but settled back to enjoy his quick tongue and talented fingers. Her feet clamped around his neck, thrusting into his every move, and her hands slid deep into his hair, securing him to her.
His lips trailed to her clit and surrounded the tender swollen flesh as his tongue flicked it. She cried out, her hips bucking for more, more of anything he wanted so long as he kept his mouth on her.
His hand curled around her thigh on one side and her hip on the other. As he ate at her with a voracious hunger, Recee dimly heard faint moans and pleas, realising the noises had come from her throat as the sounds died away. She shook as the pressure continued to build deep inside her. Her body jolted.
"Come for me, Recee, my love. Let me feel you squeezing my fingers." He sucked her clit into his mouth, curled his finger forward and stroked her sweet spot, a sweet spot she'd never known existed before Garen came into her life and body. Thank God for such a talented and intuitive man.
Recee's body snapped straight as the sensations were too much. Contractions started deep in her core and she came with an explosive scream of pleasure. It might have been his name, it might have been nonsense, Recee didn't know or care as she flew free of her body and fireworks exploded all around her. She pulsed in erotic rhythm, her whole body filled with sensual release. Proof of her joy gushed from within her as her internal muscles clamped down on his fingers.
Garen never stopped stroking and sucking her as her body jerked and twitched with wave after wave of aftershocks.
He surged up her body to imprison her mouth, drinking her in a long, ravaging kiss until she was faint and unfocused with it.
When they finally parted, Garen's cock pulsed with urgent desire against the soft flesh of her leg. She wanted to taste and take him the same way he'd taken her. To give him the same pleasure, the same sense of love and acceptance he'd given her. A gentle push of her hands had him rolling onto his back, arms flung to his sides, completely open to her every whim.
"I love you, Garen." She couldn't stop the words flowing from her heart.
Dark eyes filled with love, need and possession met her gaze. "I think I've loved you since the moment you insulted me. You are my life, Recee Williams, and I never want to spend a minute of the next sixty years without you by my side."
Tears of happiness and joy trailed down her cheeks. "Make it seventy and you've got a deal."
Their lips met. The wounds inflicted so many years ago didn't disappear, but the balm of Garen's love shrank the hurt until nothing mattered more than the man in her arms.
"My turn." Recee ran her tongue over his nipple, pleased when his low moan reached her ears. With sure movements she moved down his body. The sharp jut of his cock against her stomach made her eager for the feel of him filling her again.
She followed the trail of dark hair that ran down the centre of his muscle-hard stomach, tracing it down until she reached the pulsing length of him.
All this was hers. Her playground of sensuous delights, to soothe or arouse her love depending on their moods. Proof that he needed her, wanted her. That this man, this warrior exposed himself completely to her.
The enormous weight of his gift brought tears to her eyes, but she swiped them away with impatient hands. His vulnerability was the greatest gift ever given to her aside from his love. That this proud man would lay there naked, open to her.
He trusted her just as he desired her.
Warmth grew in her chest as she understood what a precious treasure this man was. How he managed to win her heart and change her view of the past with nothing more than his patience and love.
Leaning down, Recee swallowed the very heart of his need and desire between her lips.
Recee's mouth swallowing him whole almost unmanned him.
He couldn't stop the deep moans she drew from him, so he simply lay back, unable to do anything but allow the moment and his woman complete control. Wave after wave of pleasure raced through his body as her tongue swept the long length of him.
Tip to base and back again. Deep, addictive licks of her teasing tongue around his seeping crown. Then tender, firmer strokes as she cupped the sensitive sacs beneath.
"Recee, baby, please," He didn't know what he was begging for, but it didn't matter.
With one hand, she squeezed the base of his cock. The pleasure was so great he gritted his teeth to keep from coming along over her talented hand.
She used her thumb and forefinger to tighten around the thick slick head. The sweet feminine heat of her other hand sent his mind spinning in erotic ecstasy as she applied a steady pressure that held him in motionless suspension.
Nothing had every felt more right in his life. Except being buried deep inside the wet heat of the woman he loved.
With expert strokes she dragged moan after moan from his chest as she brought pleasure to his every nerve ending. He took as much as he could, took the pleasure and the pain of holding back his release before yanking her down and into his arms for a long, claiming kiss filled with everything he felt.
"The things you do to me. Feel that? I'm hard again. Something I can't seem to help so long as you're around. You make me want to keep you locked up and do nothing but fuck each other until we die." He settled himself against her, his cock resting directly along her pleasure-swollen clit. Once he was there, once he coated himself in her satisfaction, he couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips. She cried out against his mouth, her nails biting into his shoulders with sudden, glorious ferocity.
He reached to the nightstand and thanked the gods as his hand swept over and captured a small foil packet. He sheathed himself. Shifting, he rolled them over, falling on top of her and thrusting himself as deep as possible, his balls slapping against her ass at the force of his possession.
Recee was ready for him, wet and eager. He fell into the long, rhythmic stokes so incredibly perfect with only this woman. She met him thrust for thrust, her body matching his every surge.
He fucked her steadily, the tight muscles of her slick body gripping him, milking him. When he shifted to glide one hand between them to take her clit between two fingers, she nearly screamed with gratification.
Recee panted, her body writhing for what it craved, the movements mindless and frantic as she lost herself in the passion he'd created. He didn't know which way was up or where Garen ended and Recee began.
His movements became urgent as the need to claim her grew. He picked up the pace, his hips slamming against hers in a blur of movement. He lifted one knee in his hand and pushed her leg away from its hold around his waist, opening her wide for every pounding thrust.
As Garen drew back and slammed into her, Recee's back came off the bed. She scrambled to clutch the sheets, to keep from sliding off the bed. He jack-hammered her tender flesh, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Garen." Her breasts shook as he continued to stroke deeper and harder inside her, the rhythm impossible for her to keep up with. "Slow down."
"Can't. You feel so damn good. Even better than I remembered, all slick and tight and greedy for me. You taste just like candy. You're fucking amazing, Recee. You're better than any dream."
His eyes were filled with a unique blend of lust, passion and something deeper that sparked an answering fire inside her. Did she have the same look of wonder and awe on her face?
"Need you to come now, baby," he demanded, flicking his fingernail over her clit, back and forth, driven for her release, to feel her squeezing as her body erupted.
She whimpered and he felt her muscles clench as her tight walls jerked in release. She came with a strangled cry, his name escaping her lips as her whole body locked down on Garen's still stroking cock.
It couldn't last, nothing this beautiful and perfect ever could. His orgasm exploded throughout his body and he shot stream after stream of cum. He buried himself deeper inside her and grunted at the quiver of Recee's muscles tightening around him as her powerful release continued.
Garen gave a strangled shout. He collapsed at her side, his half-hard cock still buried deep inside her. Recee's internal muscles continued to clamp down around him as aftershocks swept through her.
"Damn." He kissed her lips softly, their bodies covered with sweat. The pleasure blinded him, but even in that darkness he felt surrounded by Recee's love, so much so he wanted to burst with it. He linked their fingers together as the world disappeared around them.
"Quick question."
Garen grumbled something in her hair, but other than tightening his arms around her he gave no evidence of being awake.
"Come on, I think we've been asleep long enough." She nudged his rock hard chest with her elbow and received an irritated grunt in response.
"Damn it, woman, I'm not a machine. You've got to give me some time between your salacious demands." Warm kisses pressed against her neck as Garen's whiskers tickled the sensitive skin.
"Me?" Recee tried to roll over and face him, but the strong arms around her waist prevented any movement. "You're the one with the one with the magic penis."
A rumbling chuckle. "Magic penis?"
Recee shrugged. "Yeah, magic penis. It never goes down, always ready and full of surprises."
His whole body shook as loud gasps of laughter fell from his lips. "God, do you know how much I love you, Recee?" he asked after the bout of hilarity ended.
Turning her head, she kissed him with all the love in her heart before answering. "Almost as much as I love you?"
They remained quiet for a few minutes before Recee asked again. "Where are we? I thought at first it might be your place, not that I've ever been, but somehow I don't get the feeling you live in a basement like a frat boy."
"Ah no, I don't. I rent a house over on Southwest Drive. A house I'm in no way attached to or fond of." He wiggled his dark brows at her in a comical leer. "You know, just in case you ever want to invite me to stay longer than a night or two."
"Is that a hint, Garen, that you want my house as much as you want me?"
"Hell no, not possible, but you do have a damn fine home, Recee."
It didn't take any thought or a single ounce of courage to say what came next. The words felt right. "Garen Swifthorse, would you please do me the honour of moving into my home for the rest of my life?"
He leaned over her shoulder dark eyes serious as they met her gaze. "Only if you do me the honour of being my wife, of spending every day of the next seventy years by my side and loving me more with each year that passes."
She turned until they could hold each other. "Yes, I'll marry you and share my life and house with you."
They shared a kiss filled with the promise of a bright future and endless possibilities.
"So are you ever going to tell me where the hell we are?"
He rubbed his whiskered chin. "I kind of hoped you'd forget that."
"Spill it, buddy, because I'm not letting it go."
"We're in the basement of Carter's store. The guys and your insane friends locked us in here to work out our differences."
Shock, gratitude and a wave of love for her friends swept through her. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve her girls, but she'd make sure to never take them for granted again. Words she needed to tell them tripped over her tongue, but she kept her mouth closed. But she'd make sure they knew how much she loved and cherished each one, but first...
Their clothes were thrown over the floor, so Recee reached down and grabbed the first thing she could reach. Garen's T-shirt, perfect.
"Where you going, beautiful?"
"Not far, Garen, don't worry. This won't take but a minute." She crossed the familiar floor and wondered why she hadn't recognised the space the minute she opened her eyes. Then again, she'd been in a pretty bad head space at the time and probably wouldn't have known her own bedroom, much less a place she'd been to only two times.
Her feet flew up the stairs until the intercom lay passive under her hand. What she was about to do was sneaky, mean, underhanded and completely what her friends expected. So why disappoint them?
A flick of her fingers turned the system on. "Carter, are you there?"
"Ah...hi Recee...you okay?" His normally even voice was hesitant and unsure.
"I'm just fine, Carter, thank you for asking. Are the girls there with you?" she asked in her sweetest, most sugar-filled tone.
"Ah...yeah...I mean yes, Olivia, Emma, Briley and Trinity are all here. They've been here since we shut the basement door. You know how much they love you, right?"
Recee didn't respond to his question. After all, she had a naked man who loved her waiting only a few feet away. A naked man with a magic cock.
"Livia, Em, Bri, Trin, I have only one message for you."
"What?" they chorused together.
Recee leaned closer to the microphone. "Run," she said.
"What?" Various feminine voices screamed, shouted and questioned.
"Run."
She flipped the intercom off and strolled back to the man she loved.
"You're mean and vindictive," he said, throwing back the sheet in invitation.
"And you love me just the way I am." She crawled into bed beside him.
"I love you, period."
She pressed kisses along his strong jaw before leaning up and staring into his emotion filled eyes. "Did I ever tell you how much I love my presents? I loved seeing those boxes on my doorstep or hearing the doorbell ring. After the shock wore off I couldn't stop thinking about you."
A self-satisfied grin spread across his face. "I told you, you were made for romance. I intend to spend the rest of my life proving it to you."
Then Garen and his magic penis set out to show her exactly how much she was loved...over and over again.
About the Author
Allie Standifer lived in various countries around the world. The gift of travel has enabled her to accurately describe the scent, sound and feel of far-off places, feeding her overactive imagination.
Her life has been one of constant adventure. From growing up in Saudi Arabia where her brother tried to sell her to Bedouins (for what amounts to less than $1.50), it's been non stop. And she loves every minute of it.
Ideas, plots, characters and conversations keep her company from inside her head and fuel her need to write. (And no, they don't tell her to start fires. =) Tired of everyday stories, Allie's tales often have a paranormal twist. They're filled with past lives, chain e-mail sending oracles, mythical creatures, magic, sexy gods, and heroines who know exactly what they want and aren't afraid to get it.
Any free time is spent spoiling two nieces and two nephews, pumping them up on sugar, caffeine and buying very loud toys then sending them back to their parents, the perfect revenge for all the slights of being the youngest child.
When not writing or contributing to the delinquency of minors, Allie enjoys the ocean, reading, trying to outsmart her psycho cat and spending time with her wonderful and supportive family.
Email: Allie@Allie-Standifer.com
Allie loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Allie Standifer
Ordering Olivia
Enticing Emma
Beguiling Briley
Teasing Trinity
Tempting Temps: Temporary Fix
Christmas Goes Camo: Trapped By Ice
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