Forbidden: a Contemporary Romance Anthology

by J. L. Beck

  Nick unbuttons my pea coat and sends it flying off in one swift move. He takes a step back and scans my body from head to toe, like it’s the first time he’s seeing me. Heat flashes through me like laser beams shooting from his seductive stare. He lunges forward, grabbing me and tossing me over his shoulder.

  My heart beats in double time and every cell in my body electrifies. I need Nick and I need him now. He marches to the bedroom, tossing me onto the mattress. I land on the remote, somehow turning on the television. Oh no, nothing is ruining this night. I take the remote and toss it across the room.

  Nick hovers above me, tucking a piece of stray hair behind my ear. “So what happens now?”

  I feather my fingers underneath his T-shirt, slowly easing it up. “We take on the world.”

  “You ready for this?” He grazes his thumb along my cheek.

  “I’m ready for anything with you.” I press my lips against his and prepare myself for the pleasure only Nick can give me.

  The television sounds in the background. “Special News Report…Michael Santucci of the infamous Santucci crime family was just released on $500,000 bail. More details to come.”

  The End

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  Newsletter - Amy L. Gale

  Newsletter - Liz Gavin

  About the Authors

  Amy L. Gale –

  Romance author by night, pharmacist by day, Amy Gale loves rock music and the feel of sand between her toes. She attended Wilkes University where she graduated with a Doctor of Pharmacy degree.

  In addition to writing, she enjoys baking, scary movies, rock concerts, and reading books at the beach. She lives in the lush forest of Northeastern Pennsylvania with her husband, seven cats, and golden retriever.

  Read More from Amy L. Gale:

  https://www.amazon.com/Amy-L-Gale/e/B00ILG0CEY

  Liz Gavin -

  International best-selling author Liz Gavin, has seen her books climb the charts to #1 and Top Five best-selling ranks in her home country Brazil and in others as diverse as Japan, the UK and the US.

  Liz lives in sunny SoCal, where she writes contemporary, paranormal, and historical romances. In her steamy stories, you’ll find smart, independent women, who don’t need rescuing by knights in shining armor, but indulge in naughty action with swoony Alpha males with big hearts. She also writes about women discovering their sexuality and finding happiness in unconventional setups.

  Veteran Affairs

  D.K. Combs

  Veteran Affairs © copyright 2017 D.K. Combs

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Veterans Affairs

  The last man she should want is her husband’s friend…

  Trapped in an abusive marriage, Katelynn resigns herself to a miserable fate--until her husband's best friend, PTSD-suffering marine Gage Nathan, returns home from overseas...

  1

  Gage tossed the keys onto the buffet, reaching for the light switch to the foyer. His hand slid along the wall until his fingers brushed over the plastic switch. With a breath of finality, he turned the lights on.

  Home.

  He was finally…home.

  And just staring into the foyer was enough to make his gut cramp. He ducked his head, sliding the camo duffle back off of his shoulder. It slumped to the ground, filled with street clothes and uniforms, and he walked past it.

  “Britt?” he called out, the sound of his low voice echoing through the empty space.

  Home. Empty. Not enough…coverage.

  Jaw ticking, he walked past the foyer, into the living room. Marbled tile turned into soft beige carpet, and feet that hadn’t felt that plushness in ages suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. He bent down, undoing the ties at his boots. Off came the boots, then the socks. The first touch of his feet against the carpet was foreign, hard to believe. His eyes closed as his toes curled into the plush mass. He took his first step over the carpet and nearly groaned. After so long of keeping everything to himself, though, it was impossible for the sound to pass through his throat.

  “Britt?” Gage took in the living room, searching for her. The leather couches were spotless, not a single cup left on the coffee table. All of the coasters were piled into a neat stack.

  If he had known better, he would have thought Brittany was aware he had returned. Instead, that was just who she was. A neat freak—which was good. The same habits had been ingrained into him through years of training and combat. Organization. Precision. Effectiveness. All three were a composite to keeping life simple…as simple as it could get, at least.

  Heaving a sigh, he checked the kitchen, the dining room, and then went up the stairs. It would make sense that she was asleep, he told himself. Her car was parked in the driveway, the little Ford Focus as run down as it has been two years ago. At least she’d gotten the busted taillight fixed, though. Somehow, she had managed to go a full year without getting pulled over for it.

  Gage reached the top of the stairs, and that’s when his neck tingled. There were voices—one female, and one…male. Her brother, maybe? He knew that whenever things were tense at college, her brother stopped by for a couple nights. A few skype calls had involved him, too.

  It could have been her brother, except… It wasn’t. Couldn’t have been.

  The voice was a deep baritone. Laughing, they were laughing. His shoulders tensed. The laugh was too deep to be her younger brother’s; it wasn’t a laugh he knew from anyone.

  No, he thought, his stomach dropping. No, she wouldn’t.

  He strode forward, legs moving out of pure instinct. They’d moved like that a thousand times. Every time he ran into combat, every time he rounded a corner from a deserted village. Every time he was forced to stare into the dark and make a move… His body moved on its own, when all his mind wanted it to do was stay in the hallway, to keep the illusion that she wasn’t doing what he thought she was. No—knew she was.

  He came closer to the door, and the laughing turned into a soft, faded moan.

  And then came the creaking.

  2

  “Kate, you can’t be serious—“

  “Justin, I don’t know what’s wrong here, I seriously didn’t mean to. It was an accident—“

  “No, Kate,” her husband said tiredly, disappointed.

  She folded her hands in her lap, swallowing down her nerves. He was being…calm about it. Which was different—and terrifying. He was never calm when she screwed up, never this quiet.

  He’s sober, her mind whispered. Wait until he has a sip of beer. You know he’ll change.

  “Kate,” he said, sighing. “Taking the wrong suit to the dry cleaner is a mistake. This…was intentional. I know it is. You know what kind I like, so why would you even think of grabbing this?”

  He slammed the case of Michelob on the counter. She jumped. She couldn’t help it. There it was, she thought, avoiding his gaze. There was the anger; the short burst that had turned into a lot more lately.

  The late nights at work had carried into drinking, and now she was severely wishing she had paid more attention.

  After he had come home from work for lunch he had found her away, at the store. H
e’d immediately demanded she come home. She’d quickly grabbed the rest of the groceries, picking up Michelob instead of the Budweiser.

  She wasn’t versed in alcohol. She normally just searched for the blue case and brought it home—but this time, two cases had been right next to each other, and they’d looked alike. So she’d picked the case on the right.

  And now there was going to be a fight.

  Because she hadn’t paid attention.

  “Do you know how disgusting this shit is, Kate?”

  “No, Justin—honey, I’m sorry, okay? I can go grab the right one—“

  “No use,” he snapped. “There’s literally no use in you leaving the god damn house, because I can’t trust you to grab the right fucking alcohol. You can’t do anything right, Kate.” He picked up the case, and she watched him bring it to the table from the corner of her eyes. Actually looking at him, meeting the furious, disgusted gaze of her husband was enough for him to start an argument. He’d take her looking at him as a challenge, as a threat; that she was going to try to defend herself.

  And he hated that.

  Justin hated being…wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, flinching when he smacked the case onto the table. From inside the cardboard case, she heard the crack of glass as it fractured. When she saw the liquid start to seep through, her lungs tightened. They seized in her chest as the weight of disappointment fell on her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Justin looked at the liquid in shock, as if he hadn’t heard the crack, then glanced back at her.

  “This shit is why I hate being married to you, Kate,” he snarled, the shock disappearing, leaving way for anger as he grabbed the edge of the cardboard and ripped it open.

  The shock, the pain over his words, was put on hold. She was more concerned with what he was doing than what he was saying. He pulled out each bottle until he found the one that had cracked, then held it up, not even caring that it was dripping all over the table. Part of the droplets created a puddle that overflowed from the edge of the table, and at the first splatter on her lap, she pushed back from the table and stood there, watching him with wide eyes.

  Then, slowly, she reached her hand out for the bottle. Letting him keep it would only mean more of a mess for her.

  “Let me take that, Justin,” she said softly, as soft as a feather falling through the air. The last thing she wanted was for him to explode.

  He looked between the dripping bottle and her hand, jaw ticking, and then handed it over.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d actually given her the bottle, he was actually letting the argument go. He wouldn’t be giving it to her otherwise, right?

  She gave him a grateful smile, no matter the fact that he’d just ripped her heart out of her chest and stomped on it. This wasn’t the first time he had snarled or shouted those words at her. No, this whole past year had been a nightmare with him.

  Luckily, he had never raised his hand to her. He’d only gotten as far as yelling, threatening, and barring her from leaving. As long as he never raised a hand to her, she’d be okay. Once he hit her, there was no going back. There would be no forgiveness. They would be past the point of no return. But that was something she didn’t have to worry about, she thought to herself as she opened the cap and dumped the remainder of the bottle out. He loved her, and when you loved someone, you didn’t hurt them.

  They’d been married for three years. The two good outweighed the one bad, and she was sure this was just a phase. It had to be. Her husband had always been so kind and loving to her, and she had a hard time believing that this was permanent.

  It couldn’t be.

  “So!” She turned around with a smile, wiping her hands on her jeans. He was still standing there, still staring at her, but she ignored the tension—if she smiled and acted like nothing happened, this would blow over.

  “How was work, babe? Did your boss ever reply to that email?” She deftly picked up the case of beer, taking it to the fridge.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  She froze.

  “I…was going to put it in the fridge. For later, in case you wanted it.” God, she couldn’t do anything right by him, could she?

  “I didn’t ask you to put it away.”

  “Oh, honey, I know, I just thought that—“

  “That, what?” He came around the table, every inch of his posture screaming, ‘You screwed up.’

  “That—Justin, I was just trying to help. I shouldn’t have to ask to—“

  “Don’t give me the bullshit,” he hissed, staring down at her. Her husband was anything but a small man—no, he had surprisingly wide shoulders, and was a head taller than her. Blue eyes, perfectly kempt hair, and a well-trimmed beard, he was handsome. Perfect. Gorgeous. Looking at him when he was sober and grinning with his perfect white teeth, no one would ever never know what he could turn into after a long day at work.

  “Honey,” she tried, imploring him. She didn’t want to fight, not tonight. Not ever—there was no need to. But, for whatever reason, he was just…

  “I know what you’re trying to do—hide the beer so that I’ll be your perfect, happy little husband who doesn’t hate his god damn life and everyone in it.”

  “You don’t mean that, Justin,” she said, reaching for his shoulder. To touch him, to bring him back to reality, to make him see that he didn’t hate her. “And I would never hide anything from you—“

  It happened so quickly that she barely had time to react. No sooner had she touched his shoulder that his hand shot out, the back of his palm throwing her head to the side.

  The only sound in the kitchen was the sound of their ragged breathing. Shock made the tension as fragile as ice; the severity of what he had just done not lost to either of them.

  “Kate,” he said, the anger leaving his voice as suddenly as it had risen. “Kate, I didn’t mean—“

  She reached up, gingerly touching her cheek, still facing away from him, still facing the direction he had forced her into.

  “I think I’m going to sleep in the spare room tonight, Justin.”

  “No, you aren’t—“

  She held up a hand, cutting him off.

  “Yes. I am. If you have a problem with it, then hit me again and maybe I’ll listen like a perfect little wife.”

  She waited, heart pounding, throat closing up on her, for his answer. When there was none, with not a single glance in his direction, she walked away.

  She didn’t remember walking to the spare room. Didn’t remember whether she walked or ran, didn’t remember closing the door behind her. All she knew was that he’d finally crossed a line there was no going back from.

  She entered the room, swiftly closing the door behind her. That’s where everything stopped.

  The panting, the tears welling in her eyes, the stinging of her cheek. It just…stopped. There was pain, yes, but it was back there. Her mind took over, whirling and spinning, disbelief creating a tornado of havoc.

  Justin…had hit her. He’d raised his hand to her, when he never had before. Not only that, but she wasn’t…surprised.

  Now that it had happened, she saw it for what it was.

  The end.

  The past year…it had all been leading up to this. The drinking, and the fighting; it had all been leading up to this. All a prelude.

  And she’d known it. She had tried to fight it, had tried to put it past her—but no. The yelling and the arguing had been easy to put aside. It was just stress, she had told herself. Stress and a new marriage, a demanding job. That’s all it was.

  But she was wrong. So wrong. The proof of it was stinging her cheek still.

  Vaguely, she realized her back was against the door, her ass resting on the ground, elbows bent over her knees to hold her head up.

  The worst thing about all of this? There was no escape.

  It might be the end for her, might be past the point of no return, but there was no where she co
uld go.

  The ringing in her ears was disturbed by a knock on the door—and not the one she was hiding behind.

  The front door. Someone was there.

  She pushed herself away from the door and went to the window. The spare room was off to the side of the entry way, and the window faced out to the street. The truck that had parked on the street was just turning off, going by the way the headlights dimmed as she watched.

  She frowned, trying to place the truck. Neither of them knew enough people in this town to have many visitors, and Justin hadn’t had a friend over in God knows how long. So who the hell would be at their door, this late at night?

  She pulled away from the window, touching her jaw. Yeah, there was no way she was going out there, not like this. Even if he hadn’t left a mark, she knew her eyes were red from crying.

  She didn’t expect Justin to open the door, and for a second she thought he hadn’t. But then she heard the handles unlock, and the low sound of her husband’s voice—who sounded…normal. That bastard actually sounded like tonight had been another walk in the park.

  “Hey…Man, it’s good to see you.” The words, bathed in relief, became muffled, like he was talking into clothing.

  She moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it.

  “What brings you here? When did you get back?”

  “Got back tonight. Listen, man. I don’t think I can take it back at my place right now. I was wondering if you still had that spare room.”

  The voice was deep, deeper than her husbands, and there was something off. Not in a malicious way, but just…something was off with the person. Like he was detached.