Take Me to Bed: A Collection of Naughty Bedtime Stories

by Michelle Windsor

“Is this really what you want?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more, Sammy.”

  She laughed. “Colin, do you have a name you always wanted if you ever had a son or a daughter?”

  “I never thought I would have children, Samantha.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Do you have names thought up?” he asked.

  “Well, if it’s a boy, I think we should name him Colin. I never imagined naming him after you because I never imagined confessing who his father was, but now that the secret is out, I would really like to name him after you.”

  “Never in my life had I imagined a son of my own blood bearing my name. I think that’s magnificent. Thank you.”

  “And if it’s a girl…”

  “If it’s a girl,” he prompted.

  “I want to name her Tallulah Meghan and call her Lula for short.”

  “Meghan for your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did you come up with Tallulah?”

  “Well, I have this book that tells you the origin of names and their meanings. Tallulah’s Gaelic, which is fitting since she’ll be a McCullough, but I love it for what it means.”

  He smiled at her sweetly. “And what does it mean, Sammy?”

  “Water.”

  She saw he too fell in love with the name as soon as he discovered its meaning. He kissed her softly and whispered, “I cannot imagine a more fitting name for my daughter. I love it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Samantha. And I’ll never stop.”

  Epilogue

  Tallulah Meghan McCullough was born at three thirty-five that following Wednesday. She had her father’s dark hair and piercing blue-green eyes, but her mother’s nose and mouth. The entire McCullough clan had come to town to meet the newest McCullough. The fact that the Dougherty’s owned a bed and breakfast worked out perfectly, because there was actually a place to put them all.

  Although Sam had surprised her parents by returning home with the father of her child, they welcomed Colin with open arms. Sam tried to explain how their situation had come about as tactfully as possible and her parents had gotten quite a chuckle out of the scandalous affair.

  The Thorn Bird references never ended. For the rest of the night they referred to Sam and Colin as Meggie and Ralph, but they each took the teasing in stride. She wasn’t anything like Meggie. She’d found her happily ever after and in the end, Colin had chosen her before all else.

  Samuel, Samantha’s father, gave Colin his blessing and her mother was only slightly disappointed when they turned down her offer to have the wedding at the B&B. The property was beautiful, but Colin and Sam were already in agreement that there was only one place sacred enough to make their vows.

  Labor had been terrifying, but in the end it was not as bad as she had assumed it would be. She was grateful Tallulah was a girl and not a ten-pound McCullough boy. They returned to the Dougherty home that Friday, mom and baby doing wonderfully well. Dad on the other hand was a bit of an old hen the way he clucked over the two of them, but Sam loved him all the more for it.

  When they settled Lula into her bassinette and went to find the others, they walked right into a surprise shower, this time including the McCulloughs. The aunts doted over the newest female McCullough and Colin asked Sheilagh to be Lula’s Godmother, hoping it would soften the blow of losing her position as the female of the family holding the McCullough name. Braydon proudly accepted when they asked him to be Godfather.

  A week later everyone traveled out to Saint Peter’s for the Christening. Colin’s dear friend Father Tucker performed the Mass and no one seemed to bat an eye that Lula’s parents still were not married. Everyone seemed to understand it was a result of the circumstances quite beyond their control.

  The morning of the christening Colin did give Samantha her ring. It was a simple silver Claddagh with a diamond in the center of the crown. She loved it immediately.

  Father Tucker accompanied the family back to Center County. Although Colin and Sam were not getting married in a church and therefore could not have a Catholic ceremony, it had been very important to Colin to have Father Tucker there to at least lead them in prayer.

  On Tuesday morning Maureen and Karen, Sam’s mother, helped Sam dress in a gown that had belonged to Morai. It was stunning and Sam was flattered Colin’s grandmother had offered it. Once her hair was done and her last silk covered button was fastened, Sam slipped on a pair of warm white boots and a heavy white wool coat and followed the women out to the cars.

  Thankfully it was only in the lower fifties that day and not overly blustery. The lake was calm and beautiful as always, but nothing looked as magnificent as Colin standing at its bank in his grandfather’s kilt and a formal tuxedo jacket.

  Colin finally made his vows. They were not to an institution that would never love him back, but to a woman he knew would always care for him and hold his heart tighter than any other ever could.

  His daughter looked almost as beautiful as his wife that day by the waters that had become so sacred to him and Samantha, those waters that taught them each how to love when, for their own different reasons, they thought they never would.

  This was their lake. It held their secrets, their fears, and their most sacred memories of coming to know one another. It was a place of hope for them both, a place of peace, a place of escape. They were their waters and they were more sacred than any other place on earth.

  The End.

  If you enjoyed ALMOST PRIEST, you will love BEAUTIFUL DISTRACTION, the next story in the McCullough Mountain Series

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  BEAUTIFUL DISTRACTION!

  About the Author

  Lydia Michaels is the Award Winning and Bestselling author of over thirty-five contemporary romance novels. Her favorite things are coffee, the Jersey Shore during the off-season, snuggling, and unforgettable love stories inspired by real people.

  * * *

  Lydia is the two-time winner of the 2018 & 2019 Author of the Year Award by Happenings Media, as well as the 2014 Best Author Award from the Courier Times. Her work has been featured in USA Today, Romantic Times Magazine, and more. As the host and founder of the East Coast Author Convention, the Behind the Keys Author Retreat, and Read Between the Wines, she continues to celebrate her growing love for readers and romance novels around the world.

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  Also by Lydia Michaels

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  The Boss

  Melanie Moreland

  1

  Evie

  I raced down the street, tears streaming down my cheeks. The salt stung the abrasions, but I didn't stop to wipe them away. I had to get away—as far away as possible.

  I stuck to the shadows, pulling my jacket around me, burying my face into my scarf. My pocket contained the only thing I had grabbed before I fled. My small wallet and the five hundred dollars I had snuck from his jacket.

  A busy intersection was coming up. I didn't want to take the chance and cut down a dark alley. The exact kind of alley a girl was warned to avoid all her life. But, at that point, it didn't matter anymore. If someone grabbed me, they couldn't do any worse than he had. If I stayed, I was dead, and I had decided I would rather die running than stay and let him finish me off.

  I heard shouts, and my chest tightened. I started to run faster, not caring where I was headed. I ran until I was breathless, from alley to alley, until there were no sounds except my heavy breathing.

  Leaning against a crumbling brick wall, I tried to catch my breath and let my heart slow down. I looked around, no clue where I had ended up. I peeked around the corner at the quiet streets. The neighborhood was industrial, the buildings a mixture of rundown businesses and closed, boarded-up warehouses.

  I inhaled a shaky breath, pushing my hair off my face. I winced when my fingers met my forehead, and drawing them back, I saw they were wet with blood. More tears ran down my face. Unsure what to do, I began to walk, trying to gather my thoughts. I couldn't go to a hotel since a credit card would be required. He would trace it. I needed a cheap motel that would take cash and no questions. I glanced around—it was the sort of area I might find one, but it had to be soon. My legs were shaking, and my head ached.

  A car drove by slowly, and my panic returned. He could find me there as well. When the car stopped a few blocks ahead and sat with the engine running, my heart stuttered. There was a narrow break between the buildings, and I slipped between them. It was dark, and I used my hand to trace along the wall. I encountered a door handle, and when it turned, I held my breath. The door creaked in the small passage. I could hear the car that had frightened me coming back, and quickly, I slipped through the door, shutting it behind me.

  The air was damp and musty, mildew and dust tickling my nose. I was shrouded in darkness and eerie silence. I could hear voices outside. Fumbling, I found the lock on the door and pressed it. I held my breath as the voices came closer. The handle jiggled, the lock preventing it from opening. "Are you sure she came down here?"

  "I thought so. Ugh, who cares, man. We can find another piece of tail."

  The voices drifted away, and the car drove away. I shuddered, holding my aching head. They weren't looking for me specifically, but I was still grateful for the door I had found.

  A few moments passed, and I knew I had to make a decision. Leave the way I came in or explore what might be a place I could sit and rest for a while, gather my strength and figure out my next move—as limited as my choices were.

  Cautiously, I walked forward, coming to another door. I pushed it open, entering a large room. From what I could see from the partially boarded-up windows, I was in a deserted office building. The dim light helped, and I investigated until I found a glassed-in office that contained some old furniture. I sat down at a timeworn desk. The chair was hard, cold, and damp, but it was big enough for me to curl up in. I drew up my shaking legs, wrapped my arms around my knees, and rested my head. I drew in a quivering breath, the feeling of gratefulness for a deserted building and a rickety old chair overwhelming me.

  The tears restarted, and I let them flow. My sobs were choked and deep, and the ache in my head intensified. The blackness began to gather, and I fought it. I had a feeling if I succumbed, I wouldn't wake up. But it was useless, and gradually, the world dimmed.

  I swam to consciousness, my head spinning. I didn't move, but stared through the dirty glass, confused. The large room I had wandered through before was lit up and a group of men stood in a circle, arguing. They flung their arms around, gestured with their hands, and their voices were angry.

  Carefully, I pushed the chair back as far as I could. The little office I was in was still dark, and I didn't think they could see me, but I wasn't taking any chances. One glass pane was missing, and by craning my neck, I had a clear view of them.

  There were five, tall men, all in black coats. One of them towered over the rest. They moved, and I saw another two people. They were sitting on the floor, beaten and bleeding, tied with their backs pressed together.

  I shrank back, terrified. I heard the loud slam of a door, and another man strode into the room. He was tall, slender, with broad shoulders, his overcoat long and swaying around him as he walked. His hair was slicked back, its color a deep brown. His face was sharp angles, his gaze intense and furious. He commanded the notice of all the men in the room. They stood taller, their shoulders back—almost at attention. He stopped, sneering at the men on the floor.

  A barrage of words in a language I didn't understand came from his mouth. He raged, his voice echoing in the empty room. More than once, he slapped the helpless prisoners, screaming in their face. His leather gloves shone in the dim light, blood-red against black, wet and dripping. He stepped back, his face dark, evil, and twisted. He was like an avenging angel—straight from hell. He held out his hand, and one of the men placed a gun in it.

  He stared, cold and ruthless, then he nodded. The circle of men all drew their guns and aimed.

  I held my hand over my mouth, holding in my scream, knowing what I was about to witness.

  "Burn in hell," he spat.

  Gunshots rang out.

  The men on the floor jerked, their bodies arched and flailed, then slumped. Blood ran, crimson and thick.

  I couldn't control myself. I lurched forward, emptying the meager contents of my stomach. My head swam from the sudden movement. I heard more cursing and rushed footsteps in my direction, but I knew I was trapped.

  "What the fuck?" A low voice growled as strong hands gripped my arms, forcing me upright.

  I looked up, meeting a pair of brown eyes. They widened then narrowed, brimming with fury. Up close, his face was beautiful—the sort of beauty that easily distorted into fierce malevolence. A devil in disguise.

  "Who the fuck are you?"

  "No one," I whispered, before the world went dark.

  2

  Evie

  I woke to stinging on my cheeks. I was back in the chair, pushed behind the desk. The devil stood over me, his fingers flicking at my skin. I whimpered, and he hunched lower.

  "Awake now?"

  I nodded, but the movement made my head hurt.

  "What are you doing here? How did you get in this fucking building?"

  I cleared my throat. "It–it was an accident. I got scared and the door was open by the alley."

  "Scared of what?"

  "I thought someone was coming after me."

  He studied me. "Looks like they already did."

  I didn't say anything as tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

  He crossed his arms, his voice furious. "You made a mistake coming here."

  I hung my head. "Please," I whispered, knowing it was useless.

  "You saw something you shouldn't have seen."

  "Nothing. I saw nothing,” I lied.

  He laughed, cruel and low. "You are a lousy liar."

  "I won't say anything. No one will know. Please let me go."

  "I can't do that."

  The tallest man appeared in the door. "Boss? You need help?"

  "No. Clean up the mess. Dispose of it."

  The tall man stepped forward, laying a gun on the desk.

  I started shaking, long shudders running down my spine and racking my body. "Please…" I begged, my voice falter
ing.

  "What?"

  "Make it fast, please. And let me shut my eyes." My voice wavered, as more tears slipped down my cheek. "There's money in my pocket. Could you drop it at a shelter or something?"

  There was silence for a moment. "I don't do errands."

  "Maybe one of your men?"

  "Why would a dead woman care where her money went?"

  A sob burst from my chest. Without thinking, I gripped his arm, the material of his overcoat thick and soft under my fingers. "Please. I'm begging you."

  "Begging for your life?"

  "No. Begging you to show some mercy and give the money to a place that needs it. You don't need it. But it could help someone like me." I reached my hand into my pocket and pushed the roll of cash into his hand.

  He stared at me, his gaze moving between the cash and my other hand gripping his coat.

  "I don't like to be touched."

  I pulled back my hands. "I'm sorry."

  He took the cash. "Where did you get this money?"

  "I stole it."

  His eyebrow rose in question. "You stole it?"

  "Yes."

  Movement caught my eye, and I watched, horrified, as the men in the other room rolled the dead bodies into large tarps. I hadn't noticed them on the floor until now. Once the bodies were moved, there would be no trace of them anymore.