“Yeah, mostly,” she said. “Most of my close friends are back in Canada, but I have some girlfriends here. We’re all pretty busy, but we meet maybe once a month for brunch.” She managed a grin. “We drink Mimosas, and eat omelets, and talk about men.”
“Do you now?” he said lightly. “You gonna talk about me at your next Mimosa meeting?”
She blinked at him, all innocence. “Hmmm. Maybe. If you do something worth talking about.”
“You mean I haven’t yet?”
She shrugged. “Nah.”
“That sounds like a challenge, babe.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” He rolled on top of her, his hands firmly planted on either side of her head. He lowered himself down in a push-up, gave her a kiss. “Oh, hell, yeah. I think.”
“OK.” Her eyes glowed up at him, so warm and loving, it kicked the breath out of his lungs. “Have at it, mon loup. Rise to the challenge. Give me something to talk about.”
And over the next two hours, Mark gave her not one, not two, but three things to talk about.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Francine’s first thought was that she was surrounded by warm, pure light. She was so cozy, so comfortable, and she idly wondered if she was waking up in a bright patch of sunlight.
But then the heat moved, somehow, moved all around her. Became like water, or wind; it became something that she actually felt on her skin. It surrounded her, and she just let it. It felt so damn good to wake up like this on a freezing winter morning, after all.
As she came around slowly, she noticed that the heat had shape. It was hard and angular, and it had strength behind it, real power. She sighed and stirred drowsily, and the heat moved again. It pulled her to it, tightened around her, held her in place.
That was when she felt the hot hardness between her soft thighs, pressing against the softness of her pussy lips.
Her eyes snapped open. She was disoriented, and for a few seconds, she wondered why her hands were held so tightly to her chest. She glanced down, saw a large hand holding her wrists, holding her in place.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, my…”
“Good morning,” a deep voice muttered behind her. “How you doing, babe?”
Twisting a bit, she turned to look over her shoulder. Mark’s gorgeous face was inches from hers, those eyes intense and stormy. His hips were moving now, making small circles against her rounded ass. The slow, gentle, rocking motion slid his massive erection against her slit, pressed against her swelling clit.
“Hi,” she managed. “I’m good. You?”
“Ummmm.” Mon Dieu, she loved that sound. “Good. But I think we could both be better.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
With that, he drew back slightly, his one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hands tight against her chest. He moved forward again, with purpose this time, and suddenly, he was inside her.
Francine gave a panicked cry. Yeah, she had a birth control implant in her arm, and she knew that she was clean. She assumed that Mark was, too, but they hadn’t discussed sex without condoms. She stiffened, tried to get away, unable to believe that he’d actually do this.
“Shhhh,” he whispered in to her ear. “I put on a condom while you were sleeping.”
She slumped in relief. “Oh.”
“C’mon, babe.” His voice was chiding. “You really think I’d do that to you? Don’t you know that I’ll always look out for you? Take care of you?”
“I know.”
“So.” His tone was teasing, and he slid his hand from her hip to circle her hard little nub. “You gonna relax and enjoy yourself now?”
Automatically, helplessly, Francine arched back against his large frame. The movement brought him deeper in to her eager body, and she arched again. So many feelings, and every single one of them was amazing.
Mark felt her give over, and he released her hands long enough to grip her chin in his fingers, turn her to face him once more. His mouth took hers in a deep, long kiss, his hips starting to plunge and withdraw, his strokes rhythmic and smooth. She shuddered in his grasp, her own body rocking back to meet his thrusts.
He gave a groan of satisfaction, trapped her hands again, sped up his movements. His thumb was on her clit, not letting up at all, and Francine shut her eyes as her climax came barreling towards her. She matched his strokes, pushing herself back as hard as she could, impaling herself on his steel as deep as she could.
When she came, she dug her nails in to his hand, needing to hold on to something as her whole world tilted and tumbled. In response, he fucked her with nothing less than single-minded passion, harder and deeper than she’d ever been taken. Her second orgasm took her by surprise, and his name fell from her lips until she went limp in his arms.
Mark’s resolve was shot to pieces now: her pussy muscles were still fluttering as she had tiny, shuddering after-shocks, and as she tightened and loosened on his cock, he knew he was lost. Lost in Francine, lost in her sweetness and kindness, lost in her heat and honey.
He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, gasping and shaking as his climax took over. He grunted, fought the urge to sink his teeth in to her delicate skin. Fuck, he wanted to mark her somehow – to stake his claim so definitively that no man ever even came near her again.
She was his.
After he’d relaxed against her back, they lay there, still joined, their breathing evening out, their heart rates slowing. Finally, she turned a bit, a big grin on her face.
“Bonjour,” she said, her voice husky and sexy.
“Bonjour,” he responded.
“Your accent’s not bad,” she said. “Maybe I can teach you a thing or two?”
“Hmmm.” He kissed her nose. “What kind of things do you want to teach me?”
Her eyes twinkled. “I may have a few tricks up my sleeve that will take you by surprise.”
Mark thought about her mouth on him last night, her throat caressing his cock, and he almost groaned aloud. “Yeah, you just may, babe. And I may not survive ‘em.”
She giggled, kissed him lightly. “Shall we chance it, though?”
“Oh, yeah.” He stroked her cheek, loving her pink glow of sheer happiness. “We shall.”
**
Francine entered the kitchen, following the heavenly scent of fresh coffee. Sure enough, Mark had started breakfast while she’d been in the shower, and she sat down to croissants, a fruit salad, and a latté.
“Ummm.” She sighed as she drank the sweet coffee. “Perfect.”
“What are your plans for today?” he asked her, sounding a bit tense about it.
“My plans?” She stared up at him. “Well, first, I’m going to the clinic to grab a few notes about Alexandra’s history. Then I’ll be going to the hospital, and I’m taking Alexandra from there to the safe house. After that, I don’t know. Why?”
He nodded at the TV. “Bad storm coming our way.”
“Oh, really? What time?”
“It’ll be a full-on blizzard by four o’clock, so I want you back here by then, yeah?”
“Back here?”
“Yeah. Back here.” He lifted her hand to his lips, planted a tiny kiss on it. “I’m making you dinner, and then we’re going to bed until tomorrow morning. You’re gonna show me some of your tricks.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head at him. “I suppose I can get behind that plan.”
“Good,” he growled. “Now, no messing around, sugar… you’re back here by four, OK? You take Alexandra to Olivia’s place, you get her settled, and you haul that sweet ass back here to me.”
“OK.”
“Good. I’ll give you a key to let yourself in, in case you get here before I do. And if you do get here first? I want you naked and in my bed, waiting for me.”
>
“Ooooh.” She grinned at him. “And if you get here first?”
“I’ll be the one waiting in bed naked.”
“Sounds perfect.” She smiled at him, so shining and bright, he was dazzled. “I actually can’t decide which scenario appeals to me more.”
**
It felt so damn wrong to let her go, so Mark put it off for as long as possible. He held Francine to him, just held on to those generous curves and all that lush sweetness. At last, though, he released her, gave her one last, lingering kiss on her lips.
Francine smiled, stopping his heart all over again, and turned away. The sun caught her blonde hair, and she just fucking glowed, and his breath shuddered to a stop as he realized that she was it. Everything and everyone was going to be ‘before Francine’ and ‘after Francine’. That was how his life looked now, and he’d never been happier about anything.
He watched her walk out to her car, watched her slide in, watched her drive away. His arms felt empty without her wrapped up in them, and his house felt empty without her standing in it. He was already looking forward to seeing her that night.
Mark wasn’t going to see Francine that night, of course, though he didn’t know that yet. And if he had known just how long it was going to be before he saw her again, if he’d had even an inkling of what was going to happen between now and then, he’d have held her harder, longer, stronger.
If he’d known about the real coming storm, he’d never have let her go.
But he didn’t know. So he dumped out the rest of his coffee in the kitchen sink, washed the mug, headed out to work. Clueless about, and unprepared for, the hell that was about to break over their lives.
**
He sat straight up on the lumpy mattress, his whole body quivering with shock. His eyes were nailed on the short, curvy blonde woman walking up to the clinic now… walking with an achingly familiar gait. He lifted the binoculars, zoomed in on her face.
Francine.
Where the fuck she’d been for the past goddamn five days was a mystery, but he’d bided his time, figured that she was on vacation, or maybe sick leave. He’d just continued to pay cash for his room in this shit bag hotel, and waited. He was good at waiting.
She opened the clinic door, strolled on in like she didn’t have a care in the world, like she didn’t deserve everything that was coming to her. He stood up, slid in to his boots without even looking, laced them up by touch. No way he was missing her if she exited again. He put on his coat, just in case, but didn’t zip it up. He stuffed his hat and gloves in the coat pockets, checked that his car keys were there, took a deep breath. He was ready to follow her the second she left work. He didn’t care if that was in five minutes or five hours. He was ready.
Good thing, too, since she walked out less than twenty minutes later. She was carrying a file, he saw, and she was on her cell phone. He shot to his feet, grabbed his always-packed bag, dashed out of the room, bolted down the stairs. He burst out on to the busy street, looked to his left.
There she was. Fuck, she was right there.
He watched her unlock a car, and he slid in to the driver’s seat of his own. He started the engine, watching her in the rearview mirror. She was still on the phone, so he waited.
As soon as she hung up, he slid the car in to gear. When she pulled out and turned right at the first stop sign, he did too. And when she parked in the hospital parking lot and hurried inside, her coat collar turned up against the bitter wind, he parked one row over, and hunkered down low.
And he waited some more.
Chapter Eight
“Ready?” Francine said cheerfully. “Shall we get the hell out of here?”
“Oh, my God… yes.” Alexandra ran the brush through her long, dark hair one last time, pouted a bit at the bandage on her nose. “So ready, doc. I’ve been planning my escape to freedom all morning.”
“I’ll just bet.” Francine grinned, looked around the room. “All packed?”
“Since six a.m.”
Francine laughed. “Let’s hit the road, then. I spoke to Liv just before I got here, and everything’s ready at the safe house. She’s there to greet you, and she says lunch will be ready by the time we arrive.”
“Perfect.” Alexandra watched Francine grab her small suitcase containing her entire life. “Lead on.”
Francine cocked her head. “I have to take you out to the parking lot in a wheelchair.”
Alexandra groaned. “Really?”
“Yep. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“OK,” Alexandra grumbled. “But after this, I stand on my own two feet. And I mean, forever, and in every single way.”
“Deal.”
The women headed out to the parking lot, then ditched the wheelchair and climbed in to Francine’s car. The storm was coming now, coming fast: they saw it rolling down the Rockies on a sky the color of slate. Francine gunned the engine, looked at her watch.
“We’ve got to get moving,” she said. “The news predicted full-on blizzard conditions by four o’clock.”
Alexandra glanced at the heavy clouds. “Will you have time to get me to the safe house, and then get home again before it all hits?”
“I’ll make time.” Francine pulled out slowly. “I’ll be fine, Alexandra. Don’t worry about me, OK?”
**
“Alexandra. Welcome home.”
Olivia Foreman stood at the front door of the safe house, smiling at Francine and Alexandra as they entered the warm, bright hall. It was a jarring contrast to the outside of the house, which boasted a security system that would put some governments to shame.
Six months ago, Dallas had insisted on its installation, and Liv had gone along with it without a murmur of protest. She knew that in the back of his mind, he still worried about her personal safety, still had nightmares about not saving her from her stalker. If putting in and paying for the most sophisticated, rock-solid system on the market ensured the man peace-of-mind, she’d give him that, without any hesitation.
It was about more than just her safety, though, of course. At this exact moment in time, the safe house was home to eight women – Alexandra was the ninth – and fifteen children ranging in age from six months to twelve years. These women and kids had all escaped the most horrifying domestic situations imaginable, and the men actively seeking them out were nothing less than brutal, violent, unreasonable creatures. Keeping them outside and away was Olivia’s number one priority.
Alexandra looked at the other woman, stunned at her beauty. Yeah, she’d known that Olivia Foreman, formerly Olivia Jameson, was an ex-model. She’d seen Liv’s photos plastered across men’s magazine covers, and she’d also read about the horrific attack that had unceremoniously ended that career.
Liv’s face had a thick, raised scar down one perfect cheekbone, but her brown eyes were sparkling and warm, her pink lips soft and pouty. Her body was long and slim, but surprisingly curvy through the hips and thighs; her breasts were full and generous. Alexandra was shocked to discover that Olivia Foreman was, in fact, truly breathtaking in person, and far more gorgeous carrying a few more pounds.
Alexandra figured that this is what the love of a good man did for a woman: it made her glow and shine. Made her beautiful. She wondered if she’d ever have that herself, wished hard for it.
“Hi,” she said now, feeling oddly shy. “Thank you so much, Liv… I’m happy to be here.”
“You’re welcome,” Liv said, gesturing at the dark-haired woman next to her. “This is Emma Cartwright. She’s our in-house therapist, but as you can see, she’s gonna be gone soon enough.”
Alexandra glanced down at Emma’s swollen stomach, smiled.
“How far along are you?” she asked, shaking Emma’s hand.
“Just over eight months,” Emma said. “And man, am I ready for this kid to make his appearance. He keeps me up al
l night dancing, and then kicks me all day long. His energy is off-the-charts, I swear, and he isn’t even here yet.”
“You’re carrying a boy?”
“I am indeed, and if he’s anything like his Daddy, he’s monster-sized.”
Alexandra laughed, relaxed. “Congratulations, Doctor Cartwright.”
“Emma, please.”
“Emma.”
“And how are you doing?” Liv asked, her eyes taking in the fading bruising along Alexandra’s eyes and chin, her nose hidden under thick bandages, the stitches on her cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”
Alexandra stared at her feet, trying to decide what to say. “I’m – I’m working on things. I’m feeling clearer, more centered.”
The other women nodded quietly.
“You hungry?” Emma said, changing the subject. “You can come and sit, meet some of the women and the younger kids, chat over lunch.”
“There are lots of kids here?” Alexandra said, and nobody could miss the longing in her voice. “I love kids.”
“Well, some of them are at school, of course,” Emma said. “But we have eight in the daycare program in-house while their Moms take lessons, job hunt, and have therapy sessions.”
“I’d love to meet some of them,” Alexandra said. “And I’m ready to eat. Hospital food is like an imposed diet, you know?”
“Oh, we know,” Liv said wryly. “It’s like they deliberately make it horrid, just to hasten the healing process. It’s a strong incentive to get well, so you can get the hell out of there and get a cheeseburger.”
Alexandra laughed again. Francine picked up her bag.
“Come on,” Francine said. “I’ll take you to your room, and then I’ll show you around a bit, bring you to the dining space.”
“You’re staying for lunch?” Liv said. “We’ve got lots.”
“Oh, no. I wish I could, but I’ve got to get going while the weather’s still clear.”
“Speaking of which,” Emma said, glancing at her watch. “I should get moving. Dean called me about ten minutes ago, threatening to come and get me if I didn’t get my pregnant ass in the car in the next fifteen minutes.”
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