by Celia Aaron
Rayford laughs a little. “Yeah, that and some snuff were her version of heaven.”
Ty nods.
“Well, I’m happy to tell you what she said, seeing as how me and her were friends. Just good friends, mind you. Anyway, Ty, you were at the diner that day, and Rayford, you were, uh, I believe you were in the state pen at that time.”
“Sounds like me.” Rayford nods. “I was in lockup when she died.” He stops abruptly and wipes his eyes.
“Shit.” Ty kicks at the floor.
“Sugar.” Bonnie covers his hand with hers. “It’s all right.”
Rayford watches the movement.
Hart gives me a confused look. “Okay, but how does that settle anything?”
“Ray, I’d like to offer you a job, if you want it.” Bonnie’s voice is strong. “We need someone to oversee the eggnog business for the next holiday season. It’s taken too much of our time away from the diner.”
Ty opens his mouth.
Bonnie holds up a hand. “You know it’s true. No sense arguing. We need help.” She turns back to Rayford. “Now, we’ll be happy to bring you on and have you work with us for fair pay. That will keep the eggnog business in the family, and I think more than that, it’ll give us all a chance to start over. After all, you two boys are all Geraldine had. And she loved you both so much. She wouldn’t want you to be fighting like this.”
Rayford looks at me, his gaze questioning. “You think I should take that?”
I’m here to fight for him, but I also have to give him my honest assessment. “I think if we put our cards on the table, we all know that this dispute can be solved right here. But it’s up to you. I’m ready to go to trial if that’s what you want.”
He taps his fingers on the table for a few moments. “Well, all I wanted was a chance. I been saying that this whole time. And that sure sounds like one.” He looks up at Ty. “I know I ain’t been there for you, and I wasn’t there for Mama when she passed. I know that. And I know you’re mad at me for suing. But you wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t give me a chance to show you I’ve changed. I’m clean. Ain’t got no involvement with any kind of illegal dealings anymore. I’m too old for that shit. I’ll work hard every day, if you’ll let me. I’ll show you I mean it.” He nods. “And yes, I’ll take that deal if that’s okay with y’all.”
“Ty, are you okay with Bonnie’s offer?” Hart asks with a markedly skeptical tone.
“If she says it, it’s gold.” Ty squeezes her hand. “What do you think, Hart?”
Hart taps his index finger on the table for a moment, then looks up at me. “All right, then.” Then he looks at Rayford. “We’d need you to agree in front of the judge that you’re dropping your suit and won’t be filing again for any of the money on previous sales. But, as long as that’s done, I don’t see why not. If that’s what Ty and Bonnie want.”
“Sure.” He looks Ty in the eye for the first time since this case began. “Maybe I’m still a no-good asshole, but I sure hope that ain’t the case. I want to be someone Mama would have been proud of.”
“This is your chance.” Bonnie reaches over and pats his arm. “And I believe in you.”
Rayford looks down at his hands. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to get on back to the store if that’s all right.” Carl stands.
“Sure thing. Thanks for coming down.” Hart opens the door to the courtroom. “Let me speak with opposing counsel for a moment, and then we’ll take it up with Judge Houston.”
Ty, Bonnie, Carl, and Rayford file out, and when the door shuts, Hart whirls on me. “What the hell kind of voodoo are you up to?”
I shrug as he strides up to me and grabs my hips, lifting me onto the table with ease. “Hart!”
“What?” He’s so close now, his scent still all over me from last night. “You don’t like my methods?” He smiles and kisses me, his mouth commanding and erotic. I push at his chest, but it’s halfhearted. After all, I want his touches. More and more, I can’t get enough.
When he finally pulls back, he lets out a huff. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”
I take his tie and straighten it. “I had a feeling. I acted on it.”
“Since when does the prim and proper Ella King go off half-cocked?”
I lean up and drop one more kiss on his lips. “Better get used to it. I talked to Benton about setting up a satellite office here in Browerton. Looks like we’re going to have plenty of cases together.”
When his face lights up, my heart does, too. God, how can this man make me so happy?
“Seriously?” He grips my ass and pulls me against him, my pencil skirt hiking up as my legs open.
“Yes.”
“I know I’m not supposed to say it, because it’s too soon, and you’re too careful.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “But I love you, Ella. And I’m going to show you soon enough just how much.”
I smile as he kisses my throat. “I love you, too.”
He freezes and returns his gaze to mine. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve only been obsessing about you for years.”
He grins.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I dig my heels into his calves.
He reaches between us and unbuckles his belt.
“Hart.” I glance at the door.
“Pull your panties to the side. I want to seal this deal.” He slides one hand up my thigh. “I know you’re wet for me.”
“What deal?” I can’t deny the heat that surges through me at his lewd command.
“The one where we’re in love.” He frees his cock, then pulls my panties aside himself.
When he plunges inside me, it’s all I can do not to moan.
“Keep it quiet, Ms. King. Courtroom decorum is a must.” He nibbles my throat as he surges forward, the table scooting across the tile floor a little bit each time.
Licking his thumb, he presses it to my clit, rubbing me in a circle as I skyrocket into arousal. The whole ‘getting caught’ thing really is a turn-on, because it only takes a few more strokes until I’m at the edge.
“Hart, I’m close.”
He presses his palm over my mouth, then thrusts harder, hitting me just right. I moan into his hand as he embeds himself deep inside, his cock hardening even more as he barely stifles his groan of pleasure. My orgasm hits hard but fast, lightning that exhilarates even as it disappears.
Taking in a gulp of air, he pulls out and rearranges my panties. With a cocky grin, he says, “Justice is served.”
I roll my eyes but pull him in for another kiss. Because I can’t get enough. And I know I never will.
Want Garrett and Elise’s story? Read Blackwood Now!
Chapter One
The grand house rose from the ground as if it grew in that one spot, nurtured for years by the sun and rain. Trees encroached from all sides, their branches leaning toward it, as if seeking to gain some of the same sun and air. Despite time and neglect, the building remained strong, the corners sharp and the roofs perfectly angled. Whoever had built the Victorian masterpiece in the woods had done so with painstaking precision. It was meant to last.
The Blackwood Estate was the last stop on my survey, and I intended to get permission to search the extensive grounds and do a few digs. Acres and acres of woods, unused farmland, and various creeks and river branches would provide months—if not years—of interest. But my main focus at that moment was the immense home hidden in the dark forest.
I’d pushed the main gate open, the hinges screeching in disrepair. The driveway was mostly clear, the cracks in the concrete streaking like dark lightning. I’d rolled steadily forward, eyeing the gentle hills and wondering what archaeological treasures lay buried beneath the fertile Mississippi Delta dirt.
At the end of the drive, I’d found the faded mansion, vines growing along the sides and a front porch swing rocking in the breeze. Despite its strong bones, time had worn away much of the home’s superficial beauty—the gray and white paint
peeled, dark green shutters along the first floor hung askew, and the windows carried a film of dirt, making it hard to tell if someone lurked inside, watching.
A shiver ran through me at the prospect. Slowing, I took in the house’s worn façade and maneuvered around a fallen limb. I eyed the second floor windows, but nothing moved. It was as if the house was holding its breath, waiting for something. For me?
I drove to the side of the structure, the driveway continuing further into the dark property. Gathering my notepad, I climbed out of the car and took the full brunt of the winter wind. Fall had come and gone, leaves littering the ground and crunching beneath my feet. A surprisingly cold winter had followed in its wake, the low temperatures often the first subject of any conversation I’d had with the locals.
The sun flirted with the tops of the trees to my left, throwing dappled shadows against the turret that rose three stories along the side of the house. A weather vane sat atop it, though it seemed frozen, the direction signifying nothing.
Pulling my red pea coat closed, I climbed the front steps and knocked on the dark brown front door with as much authority as I could muster. The wood was too thick and seemed to absorb the sound from my knuckles so that only someone standing right next to it would even hear it.
“Hello?” I banged on the door with the side of my fist. A solid thunk of flesh on wood was my only reward.
I glanced around for a doorbell or a knocker. Nothing.
The wind picked up again, whistling along the eaves of the house like an unruly ghost.
I swore under my breath and knocked again. “Is anyone home? I’m Elise Vale from the university. I just have a few questions.”
No luck. The house remained silent, watching me. Turning, I walked along the front porch, past the rusted swing, and to a set of dusty windows. I bent over to peek inside.
The interior was so dark that what little sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees was still too much. The gold reflection blinded more than it illuminated. I dropped my note pad onto the swing and cupped my hands on the chilly glass to peer inside.
When I saw a face only inches away from mine, I shrieked and stumbled backwards, falling on my ass with a thump.
Chapter 2
The front door creaked open, but not enough for me to enter or the man to come out. Relief flooded my veins. The man I saw through the window wasn’t someone I wanted to meet face to face, not when I was out in the boonies alone.
I scrambled to my feet and clutched my notebook. The county records indicated the land was still in the Blackwood family, now owned by Garrett Blackwood, thirty-two years old. Could this be the same man? Surely not.
“Mr. Blackwood?”
“What do you want?” The voice was low and gruff, scratchy from disuse.
“I’m Elise Vale from the university.” I brushed off my pants.
“I’m not deaf, Red.” His voice boomed through the crack in the door. “I heard that part. What do you want?”
I took a few hesitant steps closer. “I’m working on my Ph.D. in archaeology, and my focus is on Choctaw culture.” Usually that was enough to shake loose a question or an expression of interest from the landowners I spoke with. Not this one. I continued, “The woods and fields here in the Delta are littered with artifacts, and the university has made some great finds over the past few years in several of the areas near here. I was hoping you’d allow me to survey your land and perform a few digs—all with your express permission, of course. I wouldn’t do anything or dig anywhere without first gaining your approval.”
A few beats went by. I tried to see into the dim interior of the house, but the darkness was all-consuming. Only his voice and the tips of his fingers—the nails dirty and black—along the edge of the door proved that a man stood just inside.
“Go.” He pushed the door, closing the narrow pathway between us.
I put my hand out and stopped the door before it closed all the way, only a sliver of space left. “Please. I’m counting on this to finish my Ph.D. Most of the land around here has already been searched and studied. The Blackwood”—I gestured to the skeletal forest encroaching on the house—“is the only untouched site in this part of the eastern Delta.”
A harsh laugh cut through the air. “Untouched? Nothing here is untouched. Everything is spoiled, ruined. You want to hunt for remains of a murdered civilization? Look around; you’re surrounded by ghosts. No digging necessary.” He pushed the door all the way shut, and the clink of a lock sounded from within the thick wood. “Leave.” His voice barely made it to my ears, though I suspected he leaned against the door when he spoke. It was as if I could feel him through the surface, the fibers separating at microscopic levels to carry his cruel voice to my ears. “Stay off my land or I’ll call the sheriff.”
My stomach sank. I needed to dig on this property.
And not just for my Ph.D. project.
“Please reconsider, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll leave the papers in the letterbox out here if you change your mind.” I opened the rusted letterbox next to the door, the hinges squeaking angrily, then slid the permission documents inside. “My phone number is on the first page, and you can call my thesis advisor, Dr. Stallings, if you have any questions. His number is there, too.”
“Go!”
I jumped as the door rattled and boomed. He must have banged his fists on it.
The sun hid behind the trees as the chill wind picked up again. I turned, disheartened, and trudged down the stairs and back out to my car. After one more glance at the faded mansion in the woods, I backed up and headed down the driveway toward the road. The windows remained empty in my rear view, no sign of life or hope to light any of them.
I gripped the steering wheel hard, too hard, and came to a stop at the main road. This had been my chance, my one chance to find the truth. I stared into the woods ahead of me, my headlights barely penetrating the surface of their shaded depths.
Blackwood had taken the truth away from me, along with so much more. I knew without a doubt those documents would rot in the letterbox, and I would never be allowed to dig on the property.
I was so close. I looked at my stack of signed permission papers in the passenger seat and chewed my lip. I had to have express approval from each landowner before Dr. Stallings would release funds for my digs. I’d hyped up the Blackwood site so much—too much—that it was pivotal for me. Dr. Stallings warned me that the university wouldn’t pay for me to dig in tracts that had already been surveyed unless I had something fresh to investigate.
It was Blackwood or nothing. I slapped my palm on the steering wheel, the resulting ache in my hand letting me know I was still alive, still in the game, and still able to continue my search.
I pulled a copy of the Blackwood permission papers from my stack and took a pen from my bag. Putting pen to paper, the name “Garrett Blackwood” flowed out easily in black ink. His property was expansive. I could dig without him ever knowing, Professor Stallings would have his paperwork, and I would finally be able to discover the truth about my father’s disappearance.
Chapter 3
Dr. Stallings flipped through my approval papers, his sandy blond eyebrows drawn down as he checked each signature.
“They’re all there.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to calm my skittering nerves.
“I see.” He glanced at the last page—Blackwood’s page—then leaned back in his chair. “I see you got the Blackwood permission.”
“Yes.” I dropped my gaze to my sensible flats. “I think I’ll start there.”
“I’ve tried for years to get permission to dig out there. No dice.” He gave me a half-smile. “I should have realized all I had to do was send a sexy student to ask.” His light brown eyes scanned me with a cursory sweep. I used to think they were the color of honey, and the man who owned them just as sweet. Not anymore. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you on some of the scouting?”
“And interrupt your classes?” I shook my h
ead. “No. I can handle this.”
He narrowed his gaze and motioned toward the door, silently telling me to close it. I stood and pushed it shut, even though acid began to rise in my throat. Even though I knew what was coming next.
“Are you okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he asked, the buttons on his light blue dress shirt straining.
“Yes.” I sank into the leather chair in front of his desk and silently prayed he wouldn’t ask me to chat with him on the couch. I’d heard too many stories about that couch.
The wrinkles around his eyes tripled as he gave me a look of faux concern. “I wish you’d let me take you to dinner where we could talk quietly.” He glanced at the door. “More privately. I know it’s hard for you to share your feelings in this setting.”
I had to play this carefully. One wrong move and he’d think I was interested in his advances. A move too far in the other direction and he’d threaten funding for my digs again. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.
“I’m still not ready. I’m sorry.” I sank into my chair with a sigh.
He stood and walked around his desk. The skin on the back of my neck crawled as he hovered behind me. “Your mother would want you to be happy.”
Don’t you dare talk about her. “You’re right.”
“I can make you happy.” He slid his hands onto my shoulders, the fingers digging into my flesh like tenterhooks.
“Doctor—”
“Call me Frank. You know you can talk to me.”
I remembered the last time he wanted to “talk.” The memory of his hot breath on my neck made me shudder. “Frank—”
“Come sit with me.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, the sting of pain keeping me grounded. “I’m fine here.”
He squeezed my shoulders hard, too hard. “Come on. You’ll feel better.”
I bit my lip and rose as he released me. He sank onto his couch, one arm slung along the back. He was handsome, his sandy hair and clean-cut features screaming “All-American guy.” I’d never seen him with so much as a shadow along his jaw. Never a hair out of place, his clothes always perfectly pressed. He wore a uniform, a costume designed to lull me into a false sense of security. It failed to hide the fact that he was forty, married, and a known student-fucker.