Beyond Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  Hearing a car pull into the driveway, Mercy stood by the side of the window, watching a woman who looked no more than four foot eleven with curly gray hair and wearing a paisley polyester dress make her way up the front steps.

  And then, another vehicle pulled in behind the woman’s dusty Honda sedan.

  A red vintage truck.

  Mercy turned toward Trevor with a wry smile on her face. “Good news, Sugarplum. Reinforcements have arrived.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  "I think you're all mad. But that's part and parcel of being an artistic genius, isn't it?”

  — Charles de Lint

  Trevor collapsed on the sofa in the living room, soon followed by Mercy.

  “I thought you said she was an evil woman who murdered puppies in her pastime?” she asked, staring at the ceiling.

  “I never said that. You did. I said she was scary and held our future in her hand,” Trevor replied. Things could not have gone better and to say that Trevor was imminently relieved was an understatement. “She was . . . quite nice.”

  “Yeah, once Madame Garmond got involved, the woman didn’t know what hit her. Who knew Madame could be so . . . charming.”

  “And warm.”

  “Enchanting, really.”

  “I don’t know why you’re all surprised.”

  Both beleaguered heads turned toward Levi standing in the living room while Madame was out of sight, marshaling the children toward the coat closet in the mudroom by the kitchen.

  “Been that way since I met her.”

  Mercy gave him a saucy grin. “You like her.”

  “What’s not to like?”

  “I mean, you like her like her.”

  “Hell and darnation, woman, of course I do. She’s beautiful and kind and sexy.”

  And the undercover spy of her generation, Trevor thought to himself.

  “Stop,” Mercy said, holding a hand up. “I don’t want to hear how sexy my fake grandmother is while sitting next to my equally grossed-out fake fiancé. By the way,” Mercy continued with squinty eyes, “she mentioned Mrs. Standish’s name before the woman introduced herself.”

  “So.” Levi shrugged a shoulder.

  “I never mentioned her name to Madame because I didn’t know it until a few minutes before she showed up.”

  Trevor smiled, thinking Madame G had more than likely been working clandestinely on their behalf and had everything sewn up before the steely woman’s pleather orthopedic shoes hit the front step.

  “She’s a sexy woman of mystery,” Levi said with a salacious wink.

  “Ew,” Mercy whined, throwing a pillow at him. “Stop that.”

  Trevor enjoyed the banter. But what Mercy failed to do was give herself any of the credit for this afternoon’s overall success.

  She was engaging, self-deprecating, and overly complimentary of Trevor until he finally latched onto her hand as a message to rein in her accolades.

  She led a tour of the house showing Mrs. Standish the children’s rooms and how they were set up with their input and interests in mind. Then she showed her the room behind the family room, which was to be an art/play room for the children.

  All of this while the children remained quiet and cooperative, even when Sugar Plum pounced on the door from the backyard begging to be let in and join the party.

  To everyone’s surprise, Mrs. Standish insisted they let the dog in as he was part of the family.

  The children stared at one another with indecision, likely afraid the small woman needed a fur collar for her latest trench.

  As soon as Mercy opened the door, the dog wedged himself through the small opening, ready to join the party. He frolicked among them as if on a heavy dose of amphetamines and oblivious to his impending doom in lieu of the woman eyeing him as if mentally calculating his total square footage of fur.

  They all took turns patting Sugar Plum and hugging him, including the social worker and Madame. Haley kissed him on top of the head before he inadvertently swished her to the side with his tail, and Trevor caught her before her small frame was body slammed into one of the cabinets.

  Then Madame G had fixed the adults a pot of tea while the children had taken turns telling Mrs. Standish how much they loved living in Wilder and all of the friends they had already made. When she turned to Haley, who had come up for air from her hot chocolate, complete with ’stache, she had asked her what she like the most about Wilder.”

  Haley leaned against Mercy, and said, “Her.”

  Trevor couldn’t have agreed more.

  But the dreaded day was over and he couldn’t have been more satisfied with the outcome.

  He continued to stare at the ceiling, mentally and physically exhausted but also infinitely grateful that he kept these three little people intact. Even if he did feel somewhat the outsider and along for the ride and not of any real consequence.

  His role being to fill out paperwork, clothe and feed them.

  Hell, he didn’t even feed them. Nate had taken over that duty.

  He just paid for the groceries. For now anyway, as Nate advised that, on average, he was paying a twenty-two percent premium at the local grocery store as opposed to shopping on online discount store alternatives.

  Another parental responsibility that Nate would soon take over if the dollar amount in Trevor’s bank account were any indication.

  The kid was raking in the dough from his day trading side hustle. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be pulling in more money than Trevor was working for M2M. If he allowed the boy to continue. He wasn’t convinced that shouldering this false sense of obligation for providing for the family was healthy.

  Maybe it was time to look into therapy for all of them.

  Madame G emerged from the kitchen with the trio fully coated up. “We left a bottle of champagne chilling in the icebox for you two to celebrate a successful outcome. And in case Master Trevor had yet to procure proper champagne glasses, a set of flutes are sitting on the kitchen counter as well.”

  “Where are you taking my children?” Trevor asked, feigning concern. Considering his current state of exhaustion, he would’ve been fine with them learning craps in a back alley of Wilder.

  “They claim they are famished and asked for a pizza pie.”

  Nate added, “I’ll have to adjust my nutritional calculation for the week, but it seemed a worthwhile cause considering the potential for comradery.”

  Madame pushed the children toward the door. “You two look utterly exhausted. You are to remain here to have a bit of bubbly and celebrate a victorious campaign.”

  “Are you sure?” Trevor asked, glued to the sofa.

  “Of course. As a single parent you’ll soon learn to embrace a few hours of peace and quiet while you can.”

  The door shut behind them as Trevor and Mercy remained in the same reclined position.

  Trevor wasn’t surprised when she became fidgety. Mercy’s ability to remain still for any period, a rare event, and then she blurted, “We achieved our objective. I suppose we can break up now.”

  Trevor didn’t reply, thinking how he wasn’t ready. Things were still up in the air. Much like in the direction his dick was moving. He grabbed one of the thousands of throw pillows on the sofa that Mercy insisted he buy and covered his lower body, crossing his arms on top of it as if it were a totally casual move.

  He didn’t like that idea. Not one bit.

  “We better wait until it’s in writing and official,” he said, turning his head toward hers. She met his gaze, making him fully aware that they were only inches apart and feeling far less lethargic than he did a moment ago. Which probably had a lot to do with the blood flow making a singular path toward his midsection.

  But when he was around this woman, he couldn’t help himself. She made parenting appear effortless while looking like an edible morsel he’d like to make as his personal snack.

  Nodding her head in solidarity, she said, “That’s probably a good idea. Make sure everyth
ing’s signed, sealed, and delivered before staging our dramatic breakup,” she mused, rather unenthusiastically.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer,” he said.

  “A week maybe?” she asked.

  “Two weeks, tops,” he added. “Of course, we are talking about a government agency. We should probably plan on three weeks.”

  Trevor’s toes curled at the thought of spending three more weeks with this woman.

  “Is this you’re way of finding excuses to spend more time with me?”

  “Not at all. This is me being realistic when it comes to bureaucratic delays.”

  “Admit it, you’ve been obsessed with me since the first day we met. It was my super-tight leather leggings, wasn’t it?”

  “If you mean obsessed with devising creative ways to stem your airflow, then yes. Totally obsessed.”

  “I drive you crazy.”

  “You drive me up the wall.”

  “Okay, what I just heard there was that you want to drill me against the wall.”

  Fuck yeah, he did.

  Funny how her suggestive comebacks were fast becoming his reality.

  “One day, your smart mouth is going to get you into trouble.” His eyes landed on that smart mouth and back up to her eyes.

  She shrugged, the loose sweater sliding over one delectable shoulder. “Until then, let’s drink some champagne.”

  She slapped his knee before getting up and moving toward the kitchen. He watched her backside while making a torturous path to the other room.

  He scrubbed his hands in his hair and pushed his palms into his eye sockets.

  It was official. He had lost his mind.

  The woman was unpredictable, smart-mouthed, and chronically kind.

  What did it say about him that he wanted to drown in her body and bottle her scent, but first, he wanted to throw her over a cliff?

  Honestly, what was the point? He’d just race to the bottom in time to catch her.

  They were temporary. Their fake relationship was soon coming to a crushing crescendo with their fake breakup. But he couldn’t get her out of his head, her incessant saucy remarks that she used as a defense mechanism doing the opposite with his libido.

  He pulled himself up from the couch, suddenly wide-awake and ready to take her on headfirst.

  Literally.

  Mercy filled the second glass and suddenly found her stomach pinned against the counter with what felt like a large steel pipe running along the crevice of her backside.

  “What . . . what are you doing?” she gasped, grabbing the flutes before they toppled and spilled all over the counter.

  His mouth was making small bites along her neck, the sensation simultaneously making a direct hit to her crotch.

  “Kissing your neck. Finishing what we started in the pantry.”

  She leaned forward and held on tight to the counter’s edge. Oh yes, they should totally finish what they started. But she didn’t want to come on too strong, despite her racing heart and damp panties. Okay, maybe she could at least dial it down to marginally horny.

  When his teeth latched onto another area and then released, she seized the advantage and turned toward him, grabbing him by the shirt front in an attempt to think through what was happening.

  Okay, that was a monumental error in judgment. He was now bending his knees as he bit down on her collarbone and ran his erection against her cleft, causing her breath to hitch and her blood to boil at levels she had never experienced before.

  She twisted in his arms and fisted his shirt; she’d spent an exorbitant amount of time attempting to iron hours before, holding on tight, but instead of using the leverage to hold him back, she was using it to pull him closer.

  “What would I find if I slid my finger down the front of your zipper?” he asked with a hoarse voice, as he continued to gyrate against her.

  Her throat went dry as the persistent throb between her legs morphed into a persistent drumbeat.

  “Underwear?” she replied inanely. Not altogether sure that was the answer he was looking for.

  His fingers sifted through her hair, securing the strands and pulling her head back, his gaze a low-flame smolder and their lips a breath apart. “Jesus, that fucking mouth.”

  And then he kissed her. He kissed her.

  Her very first kiss was with a man who held every negative characteristic and attribute on the “no go” list on her bedroom door.

  Dangerous job.

  Nomad lifestyle, moving mission to mission.

  A career that required he pretend to be someone he wasn’t, uncovering the target’s desires and motivations and using them to his benefit.

  She could argue that his life had transformed since finding Haley, moving to Wilder and making the selfless choice to foster two additional children. But that didn’t make him a saint. In his core, he was still a player, and more than likely ready and willing to play her if she allowed it.

  And he was kissing her, like his life depended on it. Dirty, sloppy kisses.

  And she was loving it.

  She made a sound that came out half-gasp, half-whimper while he invaded her mouth.

  Could this even be happening? For how long did she assume a snarky, offensive attack as the answer to avoiding the wrong man for the right reasons? Only to have this man ignore them and instead, assault her lips and grind his body against hers in the most suggestive way.

  Oh God how she wanted him. The fact that she was all but climbing him like the solid oak tree in the front yard was a clear indication. She arched her back and lifted her slim leg to rub against his thigh, giving him better access to the most sensitive part of her body, switching her stance so she could do the same with the other leg.

  His lips pulled away, allowing her a moment of respite as they both panted as if they’d finished a sprint.

  “Look at me.”

  She did, and the heat nearly singed her eyelashes.

  “I do think you’re a goddess, and yes, I do want to drill you against the wall. Those are the things I think about every day as I watch you doing simple tasks like ironing my shirt, which you suck at, by the way. Or, God forbid, bending over to pull clothing out of the dryer.” His voice wasn’t sweet or kind. It was harsh and ragged, making her nipples tighten and that drumbeat in her pants become reverberating drums.

  “Everyday I watch you. And all I want to do is slowly strip you of all your layers, until your raw and naked and ready for me.”

  Where did this sex-chatty version of Trevor Forrest come from?

  Overwhelmed. Consumed. She had just experienced her first kiss, or ravaging, and he was moving so fast, making it impossible to reconcile her desire against her better judgment.

  “I . . . this changes nothing,” she panted.

  “This changes everything.”

  “We’re not a real couple.”

  “There’s nothing fake about what we’re doing.”

  Until he was done with her and moved on. Until she was no longer of use to him.

  “We have to agree. If we do this, it’s just . . . sex.”

  “Let’s agree to see where this goes.”

  “No,” she said, finally using her hands to give her some space and make her point. She looked directly into blue eyes that reminded her of pools of dark chocolate the color of burnt umber. “If we do this, nothing changes.”

  He didn’t respond, and then without taking his dark eyes from hers, slid his hand behind the front zipper of her slacks, beneath her underwear and through her folds.

  “You’re wet for me. Ready for me.”

  She nodded unabashedly. “I am. I so am.”

  His fingers were drenched with her arousal as he made a sinuous stroking path with his fingers. Her hands held on to his shoulders as he worked her body, one finger breaching her folds as she went up on her toes. And then a second finger as he held his forehead to hers, still not taking his eyes off her.

  She was hot and writhing unapologetically against his fin
gers. And then they were gone.

  Her body yearning to be refilled and retouched as he stared back with an unreadable expression. He slowly began to methodically unbuttoned his shirt.

  Trevor walked backward toward the hallway with an adorable confident nod of his head.

  “Are you coming?” he kept moving, as if the question were rhetorical.

  “No, yes . . . no . . .” She looked down at the counter, landing on the champagne glasses and brought one of the flutes to her lips, downing the contents.

  Down the hallway, she heard his voice call out, “Come on, Buttercup.”

  He gave her a nickname.

  Fuuu . . . dge . . .

  “Who am I kidding?” she said to no one, grabbing the second flute and tipping the bubbly alcohol down the back of her throat and plunking the glass back onto the counter. “I’m going in.”

  Mercy straightened her spine and made her way toward his bedroom with feigned confident strides. Not altogether ready but determined to experience those things she and Loren only read about in romance novels or watched in movies.

  Well, her sister had experienced a few of them. Mercy didn’t want to think about how that all turned out.

  There was a lot of things she didn’t know, but to learn them required that she take a leap of faith and experience them. Like ripping off a Band-Aid or jumping into the deep end of a shark tank to learn to swim.

  Was that how the saying went?

  One objective was to finally get it over with and the other to prove herself capable of doing something millions of grown adults do everyday.

  Maybe without the sharks.