Johnny (Connelly Cousins #2)

by Abbie Zanders

  On Wednesday afternoon, Stacey disembarked from her flight, happy for once to be the first one off the plane. The squeal that greeted her was both familiar and welcome. The moment she’d cleared the secure area, she was completely engulfed by arms and an unruly mass of multi-hued golden hair as a soft cheek pressed close against hers. Stacey had forgotten just how good Lina’s fierce hugs felt, and happily returned the embrace.

  Stacey refused to let a single tear fall, but Lina had no such qualms. “Oh, Stacey, I am so glad to see you!” Lina murmured. “I missed you so much.”

  That was why Stacey had given in. Because with Lina there was no sympathy, no pity, no sorrow. Just genuine happiness, and it was contagious. Stacey allowed a little of that much-needed sunshine to seep into her and warm her too-cold heart.

  “Lina,” a warm male voice rumbled in amusement as a shadow fell over them. “Let her breathe, baby.”

  That voice, thought Stacey. It was deep and low, a little rough, and instantly conjured images of hot, sweaty sex.

  Lina backed off, smiling apologetically and wiping away some of the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Stace.”

  Stacey looked up at the towering source of the shadow and gaped. That body matched the voice down to the tiniest detail. Over six feet of hardened muscle barely concealed by well-worn, snug blue jeans that left little to the imagination (though Stacey had to admit, even she would be hard-pressed to imagine something better than that), a white T-shirt stretched across a broad, muscular chest, and a black leather jacket slung casually over one shoulder. Long, shoulder length black hair. Mirrored black shades hiding what Lina had told her were ice-blue eyes. Gleaming white teeth now curved in one of the sexiest male grins she’d ever seen.

  A large, work-roughened hand extended out to her. “Nice to meet you, Stacey. I’m Kyle.”

  Stacey had to kick-start her brain in order to place her hand in his. His grip was warm and firm, yet surprisingly gentle. Beside her, Lina giggled. “Told you,” she said softly.

  “Oh, honey,” Stacey said to her, her expression a mix of awe and amusement. “You weren’t kidding.” Her eyes raked him over from top to bottom once again, and saw the corner of his mouth quirk knowingly. This bad boy knew exactly what kind of effect he had on women.

  “I think I just found the cover model for my next piece.”

  Words started flowing through Stacey’s mind, exact phrases she would be pounding into her laptop at the first opportunity. Vivid descriptions of her next sexy male character, who looked, sounded, and smelled suspiciously like Lina’s husband.

  “I’m guessing you don’t write for a cycle mag,” Kyle commented, shooting a sideways glance toward his wife.

  “Not exactly,” Stacey chuckled.

  “Stacey is Salienne Dulcette, Kyle,” Lina told him quietly, lowering her voice. When his expression didn’t change, she added, “She’s the one who writes the first-editions I read in bed at night.”

  Jet black eyebrows rose above the mirrored shades as Lina’s hint registered. Kyle placed one hand on each armrest of her wheelchair and leaned in close. Stacey felt Kyle’s warm breath against her skin and tried to control the palpitations in her chest. This guy was pure, unadulterated, walking sex.

  “Then I really must thank you, Stacey,” he said softly into her ear. “And tell you Lina is not your only fan in our house.” His breath smelled like mint and something darker, richer. When he pulled away, he punctuated his statement with a wink.

  Stacey suppressed the shiver that ran down her spine – the one that had nothing to do with temperature – as Lina gave her a knowing look and waggled an eyebrow. A huge grin made its way across Stacey’s face. Any lingering doubts that she had made a mistake in coming were fading fast. This was going to be a great visit. Not only was there zero awkwardness with Lina, she already had some great inspiration for her next novel.

  Kyle grabbed the carry-on from her lap, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, then slipped behind her and guided her chair forward. In any other circumstance, Stacey would have insisted that she was perfectly capable of carrying her own luggage and moving herself. But how often did gorgeous biker demigods actually appear to do so for her? For anyone, really.

  Lina took her hand as they headed toward the baggage claim. It felt good to touch another human being again. The warmth spread up her arm and into her chest.

  “Don’t tell me he’s a real, old-fashioned gentleman type, too?”

  “Yep, afraid so.”

  Stacey faked a swoon that even had Kyle chuckling. He’s a walking wet dream and he knows it, Stacey thought to herself. And yet, he only has eyes for Lina. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, talked to her, quietly commanded her personal space. A brief but unwelcome pang of longing shot through Stacey. Lina was a lucky woman indeed.

  With a little help from Kyle (he was every bit as strong as he looked), Stacey was seated comfortably in the front seat of Lina’s Jag, her single suitcase and carry-on slipped into the back. Once her lightweight chair was collapsed and stowed in the trunk, Kyle drove them back to their house.

  “Nice car,” Stacey said, appreciating the immaculate detailing and fine leather interior.

  “Thanks. Johnny rebuilt it for me as a welcome home surprise.”

  “Johnny owns the construction company, right?”

  “Right, but he loves working on cars and bikes, too, in his spare time.”

  The farther north and west they got from the airport, the more Stacey relaxed. Four-lane highways became two-lane roads; houses and businesses grew fewer and farther between. Stacey’s ears popped a few times as they drove up into the mountains, but she barely noticed. She was too busy looking out the window, drinking in the scenery. Peaks and valleys decorated in full summer splendor, with striations of color provided by active farms and meandering rivers and streams.

  “I never knew there were so many shades of green,” she murmured aloud at one point, making Lina laugh.

  When they had travelled to the top of the mountain and started their descent down the other side, Lina pointed at the valley spread out below. “That’s Birch Falls.”

  “It’s beautiful. No wonder you wanted to move back home.”

  Kyle and Lina’s house was a charming, modest rancher on the edge of town. Small and simple, but clearly a home, filled with love. With mismatched furnishings, warm colors, and soft lighting, it was nothing like the ultra-modern chrome penthouse apartment she lived in.

  After carrying Stacey’s things into the guest room, Kyle offered his apologies, saying he had to get back to the shop. With a goodbye kiss to Lina that left her breathless, the two women found themselves alone.

  “How do you not just jump him constantly?” Stacey asked in amazement, watching out the window as Kyle mounted his Harley and rode off.

  “I pretty much do, actually,” Lina answered quite seriously, causing the two of them to break out in giggles all over again.

  To celebrate Stacey’s visit, Lina ordered a pizza with everything (except anchovies, remembering Stacey’s aversion to them), and pulled a cold six pack out of the fridge. “Smithwick’s and a Super Supreme?” Stacey said, accepting the frosty bottle with a smile. “You remembered!”

  “Of course I did!”

  Whenever one of them was feeling down due to grades, guys, or just life in general, they would close the curtains, put on their pajamas, and pig out on delivery while downing a few drinks and vocally expressing their dissatisfaction at whatever was irking them at that particular moment. Commiseration therapy, Lina used to call it.

  Stacey skillfully eased herself out of her chair, and joined Lina on the floor, reveling in the moment. To her, it was nothing short of heaven.

  They laughed, and talked, and giggled the evening away as if they were eighteen again. Lina filled in a lot of the details of the last few years, including her after-grad travels and her initial doubts about returning to Birch Falls. Stacey told her
about writing, how sometimes the words came so easily and other times, not so much.

  Before they knew it, they had devoured the entire pizza and were halfway through their second six pack. By the time Kyle returned, both women were stuffed and nicely buzzed. With a bit of patience, he managed to get them both to bed without too much trouble.

  On Thursday, Lina gave Stacey the grand tour of Birch Falls. They started at O’Leary’s diner, where they had a big breakfast and Lina introduced Stacey to her grandfather. Then they visited Amy’s Book Shoppe, which Stacey absolutely loved. As it turned out, Amy had an entire window display dedicated to Salienne Dulcette, declaring herself to be Salienne’s biggest fan. When Lina confided Stacey’s secret identity to Amy over gourmet coffees and fresh pastries, Amy could barely contain her excitement. And when Stacey autographed several dozen books for her to sell, Amy was ecstatic.

  Still feeling rather full from breakfast, they skipped lunch and went to Big Mo’s, the custom chopper shop where Kyle worked as the head cycle guru. Stacey lovingly ran her hands over some of his custom creations. She’d been quite an avid rider at one time, but the accident put an end to all of that. Now, among the smell of leather and gleaming chrome, she swore an oath to herself that if she was ever able to ride again, she would ask Kyle to make her something special. The man was a certified artist, a genius with steel, chrome and beautifully shaded paints.

  Lina also took Stacey by Tiny’s Tattoos, calling him the ‘Rembrandt of tats’. After seeing the design he’d created for Lina, she made up her mind to get one herself. They spent a fun afternoon looking through possible designs before finally deciding on a dragon wrapped around her left ankle. As a special favor to Lina, Tiny stayed late and did it for her that very evening.

  Friday was “spa day”. Lina and Stacey spent most of the day at the local salon and spa, being primped and pampered with soaks, wraps, massages, facials, mani-pedi’s, and waxes while sipping margaritas. It was the most relaxing day Stacey had in a long time.

  By Friday night, Stacey wondered why she hadn’t done this sooner. She leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh. The past forty-eight hours had done more good than all of her sessions with over-priced therapists combined. She was having fun. She couldn’t remember when she had last smiled so much, or when her heart had felt so light. Yet no matter how wonderful the last two days had been, her wheelchair never let her forget her reality completely.

  Lina was a doll. Not once had she badgered Stacey about her injuries or her prognosis. They had done a great job of ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room. As it turned out, it was Stacey who finally broached the subject.

  “I don’t blame you, you know.” Stacey’s quiet words made Lina pause as she was shoving a few things into an overnight bag. They were expecting Kyle home any minute to drive them up to the cabin. Lina said nothing and resumed packing.

  “Lina.” Stacey moved beside her. “Please look at me.” Lina sat on the edge of her bed, biting her bottom lip and twisting her hands in her lap. The familiar tell almost made Stacey smile. She’d forgotten how Lina had done those things when she was unsure or nervous.

  “There’s still hope, you know, remote though it might be. They’re coming up with new procedures all the time.”

  “How many have you had?” Lina asked, her voice even quieter.

  “A few,” she admitted. “It doesn’t matter, Lina. I can’t give up. I want my life back.”

  “You are a beautiful, caring, hugely successful woman. Isn’t that a life?”

  “For some, maybe, but it’s not me. I want to ride on a bike again, Lina, and feel the wind whip through my hair. I want to drive fast, sporty cars. Go white water rafting. Spend the entire month of February in Vail, skiing during the day and warming by the fire at night.”

  “But you can do those things.”

  A sad smile played about her lips. “You sound like one of my therapists. Technically, and to a certain degree, you’re right,” Stacey agreed. “But it’s not the same. It’s not enough. I want the Harley, not the sidecar. The Shelby Terminator, not the handicapped-friendly van. Don’t you see? I want to walk into a room and have heads turn because of the way I look or what I’m wearing, not because my chair can’t quite fit through the door.”

  Stacey took both of Lina’s hands in hers. She needed her to understand. “I want to be able to wrap my legs around a man while he’s making love to me, Lina.” She smiled sadly. “Hell, I want a man to want to make love to me again.”

  Eyes filled with unshed tears, Lina wrapped her arms around her. “I’m sorry, Stace. I cannot even imagine what it’s like for you. You have my support always, no matter what, you know that. Just stop selling yourself short, okay? You’re still the same person on the inside. You are vibrant, caring, and creative. And you’re like a sister to me.”

  As touched as she was by those words, Lina was wrong. Stacey was not the same person. It was so easy to pretend when she was here with Lina, but eventually she had to go home and face the cold hard reality of her life again. Correction – eventually she had to go back to her apartment. It was a place, not a home.

  But she didn’t need to tell Lina any of that.

  “I’m glad I came, Lina.” Stacey said, stroking Lina’s hair.

  “Me too, Stace.”

  It was getting dark by the time they got to the cabin that night. Lina gave Stacey a quick tour of the first floor, showed her where everything was and how to use it. Kyle fashioned a makeshift ramp from some planks he’d found in the garage so Stacey could relax in the sunken living room and enjoy the spectacular view. After building a fire, he claimed exhaustion and left the two women chatting well into the night.

  When Lina and Kyle left early the next morning, Lina made her promise to be careful and to call if she needed anything at all between then and the following weekend. She felt uncomfortable leaving Stacey at the cabin by herself, but Stacey assured her that she’d be fine. She was, after all, used to being alone, and wanted nothing more than the peace and solitude she needed to complete her novel. She promised Lina with a conspiratorial wink that it would be her best ever.

  Chapter Three

  Stacey set herself up for a marathon writing session, gathering everything she needed. Fresh pot of coffee, check. Sweet and salty snacks, check. An imagination brimming with ideas, check and double-check!

  For the first time in years, she’d gone three entire days without writing a single word. Now she was rested, rejuvenated, and primed to immerse herself in the land of romantic fantasy and not come out till she crafted some magic. Her fingers tingled with excitement, anxious to begin.

  Outside, it was a picture-perfect day. Crystal clear blue skies and bright sunshine provided a stunning backdrop for the purplish-gray stone of the mountains, visible only in occasional glimpses between the dark, rich greens of the forest. Stacey was able to see it all from the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the entire southern wall of the cabin’s living room. She could even look down upon the deep midnight blue of the lake from her scenic perch, capturing the diamond-like shimmers of the reflected light a mile or so away. Lina had told her that her father had built this cabin when they were kids. The man obviously had a talent for recognizing perfection.

  The beauty and serenity of the place further inspired her, and the moment she opened her laptop, words began to flow effortlessly from her mind, through her fingers, and onto her hard drive. For the first time in a long time, Stacey really got into her story, using words to make the private world she envisioned in her mind come to life. She didn’t just write the words, she felt them. Trancelike, she let herself go and created a magical story of romance and passion that was sure to reach out and pull in anyone who opened the cover.

  When she encountered the occasional snag, she sat back and tried to imagine Kyle and Lina in the same situation as her hero and heroine. Those two were the real deal. If she managed to capture even a fraction of the love and passion that thrummed be
tween them, she’d have another best-seller on her hands.

  Usually it took several weeks, sometimes months for her to take a story from start to finish. Each one was unique; she didn’t understand writers who made each book a carbon copy of the last, changing only a name here or a profession there.

  The only constant from one book to the next (besides steamy scenes hot enough to earn her an offer for a Salienne Dulcette line of personal pleasure toys for adults) was that her stories would always have a happy ending, though what made them happy was often surprising. Stacey had a way of weaving emotions and instinctual reactions into her novels so suddenly that readers often found themselves smiling in triumph, seething with rage, crying silently as they turned the pages, or – probably the reason most women enjoyed her books – feeling a hunger in their core that had nothing to do with food.

  Stacey believed that at least part of her success was due to the fact that her characters were so real to her; she often joked that she had fallen madly in love with every one of her leading men, and had a sister-close bond with her heroines. Her depictions were vivid and explicit, masterful blends of romance and passion that promised an escape from the everyday.

  Today, she was unstoppable. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, struggling to keep up with the scenes forming in her mind. She wrote non-stop for hours, taking only occasional breaks to visit the bathroom or refill her snack bowl. Somewhere around mid-afternoon, she finished off the coffee and started partaking of the fruit-flavored, malt beverages she found in the fridge. They were cold and refreshing, with just enough alcohol to keep her relaxed and in the mood.

  When the room began to darken, Stacey hit CTRL+S to save her work and lifted her arms, giving her back and neck a much-needed stretch. She’d just completed a particularly intricate scene, an emotional clash that ended in an epically hot sex scene (if she did say so herself). A quick glance at the wood-and-brass clock on the far wall told her she’d been at it for a good twelve hours, give or take. Not too shabby for a woman who, a week ago, was struggling with a gargantuan case of writer’s block.