by Frankie Love
“It’s the bike gang that’s been cruising around the premises. They’re looking for Tess. I don’t know their intentions or how fast they want to move, but I need a detail following them as closely as possible.”
“We’re on it. Do you want to involve the police?”
“No,” Tess says emphatically. “Do not call the cops. Swear to me you won’t.”
The security guy raises his hands. “I’m just following orders.”
“For now, no,” I say. “Wait until you hear from me.” I guide Tess to the helicopter. The propellers rotate violently, sending Tess’s hair flying and my jacket flapping behind me.
Once we’re seated and buckled, the pilot takes off.
It’s so loud that neither of us speaks. Instead, we look out the windows, watching the motorcycle gang cruising the vicinity of my condo.
Tess is in trouble, and I need to know what kind. Her frozen face tells me it’s something bad.
And, damn it, I need to know what it is, so I can figure out how the fuck I’m supposed to protect her.
So I can figure out if I’m a fool for letting her into my goddamned life.
Chapter Fifteen
TESS
Nothing about the trip is relaxing. From a terrifying helicopter ride, to a bumpy flight in a tiny plane, to the unspoken frustration emitting from Jack’s every comment ... I feel tense as hell.
“Did you call them?” I ask. “Do they know we’re coming?”
“My parents? No, I didn’t call them. I got you on a plane and got you the fuck out of Vegas, Tess. Calling them wasn’t really a priority.”
“Okay. God.” I take a deep breath. The private plane dropped us off at a tiny airport in the middle of an island, and now we’re waiting for a taxi. “Before we get there can we stop at a mall or something?”
Jack looks at me like I’m crazy. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“What?” I ask. “I need clean clothes and, like, a toothbrush.”
“We can find stuff at my parents.”
“I am not wearing your mother’s underwear.”
“There are no malls here, honey.”
“There’s got to be somewhere we can stop. Like a Target?”
“This island has a population of eight hundred.”
“Okay, then, is there some sort of general store?”
Jack nods his head slowly. “There is one option. And I can’t wait to see what sort of panties you find at Roscoe’s.” He smiles as a taxi arrives, and I feel him relax.
He holds the door for me, and I climb in. All I have in terms of luggage is my purse. Jack throws his duffel into the trunk.
“Hey, Lenny,” Jack says.
“The famous DJ has returned, after only a week away,” the driver smiles widely, taking me in a little too appraisingly.
Ignoring his long look, I turn to Jack.
“Can you take us to Roscoe’s before going to my parents’ place?” Jack asks.
“Sure thing, Mister Jack Harris,” Lenny answers from the front seat. “And I see you brought home your sweet thing.”
“This is Tess,” Jack says “Tess, Lenny is the one and only taxi driver on the island. He’s been doing this for as long as I remember.”
“Yep, yep, yep, since this boy was in diapers,” Lenny says, smiling in the rearview mirror at me. “Any friend of Jack is a friend of mine. Though these days Jack is a bit out of my league.”
“There are no leagues, Lenny,” Jack says.
“Well, your parents are the talk of the town. Got themselves a brand spankin’ new boat just a few weeks ago.”
Jack doesn’t comment, just nods politely. It’s weird seeing him outside of Vegas. His scruffy beard looks more appropriate here than in the casinos, but his eight-hundred-dollar jeans don’t mesh with Lenny’s Carhartt jacket and trucker cap.
I absorb Lenny’s words—a different league and a new boat. That, combined with the fact that we took a private plane to get here, reminds me that Jack’s world is so not my own.
Jack may say there is no such thing as leagues, but the divide between our worlds is large. I should probably just stay in Lenny’s taxi and let Jack go hang out with his parents.
Lenny drives us toward a very small town and parks outside Roscoe’s General Store.
“Stay here, Jack,” I tell him. “I honestly can’t deal with someone wanting your photograph, not knowing who might end up with it.”
He squeezes my knee. “No one on this island is going to sell my picture to a newspaper, Tess.”
“Just, please.” I shake my head; frustrated with the way he doesn’t seem to realize how uncomfortable I am right now. “Stay in the car and call your parents. Please.”
Lenny smiles. “Got to listen to the woman.”
I smile tightly, and push open the car door.
Walking inside, I grab a cart and look around for personal items. Roscoe’s is a gas station slash grocery slash hardware store.
I find a dusty rack of tee shirts, and they’re all screen-printed with bald eagles, ten-point bucks, or grizzly bears. Classy.
I find a few in size small and throw them in my cart. Digging around, I find a pair of overalls in my size, and a pack of men’s boxers that I figure will double as pajamas.
The pack of granny underwear feels like a coup, and I grab basic toiletries as I dart around.
“Hey, little lady, haven’t seen you around before.”
“Just visiting some friends,” I tell the cashier. I deposit my items on the counter, reading his nametag. This is Roscoe himself.
“Who might your friends be?” Roscoe asks. “Small town, we all know one another.”
“The Harrises.”
“Ohhh, fancy folks, them are.”
I hand Roscoe my debit card and he swipes it, then bags up my items.
“Thanks,” I tell him, the uneasiness growing in the pit of my stomach. I don’t do families, and especially not fancy ones. Turning back to Roscoe, I ask, “Um, how fancy are they?”
“The Harrises? Ohh, they’re the fanciest family on the island. Waterfront property, neither of them work. Have a famous son.” He leans across the counter, looking me over. “But you must know all this if you’re their friend.”
“Right. Well, I am. I’ve just never been to their place.”
“Me neither. Just rumors. That singer Ashley Fast used to come up here with their son, and the whole town would be in a titter.”
It makes perfect sense that Jack and his girlfriend would come here to visit his parents, and it just reminds me that Jack isn’t bringing me here because I’m his girlfriend; he’s bringing me here because ... well. I don’t really know.
He wanted to take me somewhere safe, and I feel pretty crappy to have tied him all up in my life.
“Oh, well, thanks again.” I leave the store and slide back into Lenny’s taxi.
“Get everything you needed?” Jack asks.
“Yeah. Did you talk to your parents?”
“No, I tried, but no one answered. They’re probably out on the boat.”
“Right. The boat.”
I have a sinking feeling this is going to be a disaster. I need normal people. A family I can relax around—which, to be honest, is nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Or, if not a normal family, then I need quiet, seclusion. A chance for me to get my head on straight.
Not fancy-pants people who will be nosy and judgey while driving a freaking yacht around. Eating lobsters and gorging on diamonds as parents of a world class DJ who has a helicopter pad on his freaking rooftop.
“You okay, Tess?” Jack asks.
“Why?” I shake out of my thoughts.
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, I promise,” I tell him sharply, knowing as I speak that my tone is undeserving. Sighing, I add, “I’m emotionally spent. I need a shower. Need to eat. Need to relax.”
“I’ll get a masseuse to the house, if you want? Mom has one come ou
t every few days.”
“What?” I squint my eyes. “A massage every other day? I can’t even, Jack.”
Lenny pulls up to the house and grabs Jack’s bag. I carry my measly plastic sack, holding my possessions. Feeling like I couldn’t be arriving here in a less fashionable way.
After Jack pays him, we wave goodbye to Lenny.
Walking to the front door, my heart slows. Okay. This place isn’t a mansion. It’s actually ... quaint.
I take in the blooming hydrangea and lilac blossoms. The fragrant clematis climb along a wooden fence, and the walkway to the door is covered with moss and tiny white flowers. It isn’t the manicured garden I was expecting. This is a garden from a storybook.
The house itself is a two-story cottage, something built a hundred years ago, and Jack opens the unlocked door and lets himself in.
“Mom? Dad?” he calls, walking through a small foyer into a living room.
Large leather armchairs flank a fireplace; bookshelves cover the walls. Magazines fill a coffee table, but not my gossip rags. The yellow spine of National Geographic and the iconic cover of TIME stick out from the pile.
No one’s here, though. I follow Jack into a large kitchen, and the beautiful space has been renovated. But it isn’t granite and stainless steel. A large white enamel farm sink and butcher-block counters create a welcoming environment. A bright yellow Le Creuset Dutch oven sits on the stove. I watch Jack lift the lid.
A grin spreads across his face as he smells the pot. “Sunday roast.”
I can’t help but smile. My constricted heart softens, and those tears that don’t have any place here surface.
“What’s wrong now?” Jack asks, replacing the lid.
“I’ve been freaking out about coming here.”
“To my parents’?” Jack asks, pulling his head back in confusion. “Why? My parents are, like, the most down-to-earth people on the planet.”
“How would I know that?”
Jack shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Well, Lenny was talking about their fancy new boat and Roscoe was telling me how they live on the water.”
“Yeah, but … I mean, I got my dad that boat last week because his old one died. He’s been driving around the Sound for the past twenty years in that one.”
“Oh. I just assumed.”
“Assumed what? That my parents were some elite millionaire parents of the one and only Jack Harris?”
“Something like that.” I shake my head, feeling stupid. “I just … I don’t do families, Jack. And Roscoe said you brought Ashley here.”
“Girl.” He sighs, walking toward me and setting his hands on my shoulders. “Listen, I did bring Ashley here. And the town is really small. And my parents are really well off. But they aren’t like people in Vegas. Fuck, they aren’t like me. They’re good people. The best kind. And, honestly, you need to trust me on this.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’m acting all whack-a-doodle.” I set my bag of clothes on the counter.
“Not true,” Jack says, wrapping his arms around my waist. “The day has been intense. And long. Besides, you can act however you want.”
He leans in and kisses me, not letting me run away from the feelings stirring inside. He’s calling everything out for what it is, and not scared to admit that this is complicated. He’s a man. The kind of man who knows how to take care of a woman. And, God, that is sexy as hell.
“I’ll explain everything once I’m fed and showered. I promise, Jack.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Tess.”
I kiss him back, feeling the stress melt away as his lips press against mine. Hell, I’m hungry—but right now, I’m hungry for him.
“So, your parents?” I ask him, a hand wrapped around his neck, the other reaching for the waistband of his jeans, plunging my hand into his pants. “Are they home?”
Chapter Sixteen
JACK
Knowing we should scope out the property to see if they’re here, before we strip and fuck on the kitchen counter, we look for my parents outside.
Tess follows me to the water’s edge, where I look for my dad’s boat. It isn’t docked, and Mom is nowhere to be found, but her car is here.
“They’ve got to be out on the water.” I turn to face Tess. Her brow unfurrows, her shoulders drop. She can breathe.
“Oh, okay.” She looks out over the sound. “It’s so beautiful here. I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“What? Come again—you’ve never seen the ocean?”
“No. I mean, I flew over it when we went to London. But I grew up in Arkansas. Then, when I came west, I stopped in Vegas. I never got as far as the coast.”
“Damn.” I pause, thinking about her words. “So you’ve never been on a boat?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Nope.”
I step toward her, grabbing her ass, pulling her to me.
“This is going to be a good week, Tess.” Growling, I nibble her ear.
“Is it?” The question is so tender, so willing. So full of want. Her head tilts closer to mine, and I look in her wounded eyes.
I want to know who made her so broken. Who hurt her so bad. I want to destroy those bastards and make them pay.
But right now, with just her and me here, I need to take her away from the places in her mind that hurt. I’m going to show her that fear isn’t the only thing that she needs coursing through her veins.
I lift her perfect little ass up and carry her toward my studio. It’s past a grouping of trees on the edge of my parents’ property. It’s the studio I built after I got my first royalty statement. It replaced the shed I grew up playing music in.
Opening the door, I carry her inside. She’s pressing her tight pussy against me, and my cock is hard. Ready to take her.
Take her away.
The studio is a barn with a loft, and the entire space is soundproof. Perfect for the fucking she and I are going to do.
“This is your place?” she asks, as I set her down.
“Yeah, it’s the most peaceful place on the planet. The place I write my music, the place I can get stoned, or drunk, or just forget. I come here when Vegas becomes too much. When I need to ground myself.”
“This is where you brought Ashley?” she asks, turning in a circle taking in my sanctuary.
There’s a piano, guitars, and a complete recording studio. Beyond that is a small kitchen, a bathroom. There’s a living room with couches, and upstairs, in the loft, is the bedroom.
“I didn’t bring her in here.”
“What do you mean? You brought her to your parents’ house and didn’t show her your place?” Tess’s nose scrunches up as she tries to understand.
“We came up for less than twenty-four hours, twice. I never brought her out here. We stayed in the house.”
“Why did you bring me?”
“Why do you think?” I kiss her again, this time hard, and she gasps for breath as my tongue finds hers.
Her little plastic sack of clothes falls to the floor, and my duffel bags drops with a thud. I kick off my shoes, and so does she; in this moment, all I want is her naked skin against mine.
“Fuck me, Tess,” I tell her, as my tongue slides down her throat. As my hands dip into the waist of her jeans. “I want your little pussy on my cock.”
“I’m already so wet for you,” she moans.
“Show me.”
She peels off her pants, slips her shirt over her head. Her tits are in a lacy black bra, and a tiny black thong covers her runway. I smack her bare ass cheek, and she quivers in response.
“Spank me again, Jack. Spank me hard.”
I do as she asks, her round ass warm with the heat. She cries out, and I don’t want to hurt her. Kneeling down, I kiss her ass; then I slide that tiny thong down her hips, and I run my hand between her legs.
“You’re so nice and wet,” I tell her. My fingers run up and down her entrance, feeling the juicy wetness seeping from her.
I stand,
stepping in front of her. I lick my finger, tasting her sweetness. “I want to eat you out so bad, girl.”
“I want that, too,” she whispers.
“Then sit on that couch and let me make you come.” I spank her ass again, directing her to the leather sofa.
“I want to squirt all over you, Jack,” she tells me as she sits down.
Kneeling before her again, I spread her soft legs, my hands gripping her thighs.
“I want my juice all over your face.”
“Good, because I want to lick it off. I want to put my fingers in your pussy and make you scream. I want to make your body shake.”
“Do it, baby,” she begs. “Fuck me hard. Fuck me now.”
I press my mouth over her cunt, my tongue rolling over her throbbing bulb, and I suck so hard that she’s writhing under me in seconds. I feel her juice begin to pour as I use a finger, rubbing in tight, fast circles across her hood.
She grabs fistfuls of my hair, her back arched in ecstasy, and I flick my tongue over her again and again until she is sopping wet. Until her thighs are slick and soaked.
I press a finger in her, fluttering it up and down, but I know this girl likes to be pounded, likes to feel nice and full—and I like to make her tight little pussy ache as it’s pushed to the limits. Three fingers do the fucking trick, and I’m working her over, her come running out of her, down my hand.
I press my other hand to her covered tits, then I pull down the lacy bra, and her gorgeous tits falls out, unbound; I swear her nipples are hard as rocks. I hold her tits in my hand, as her pussy weeps, and she throws back her head as an orgasm runs through her.
She is drenched in herself, and I fucking love getting her off.
I refuse to stop when she’s so fucking ready.
Dropping my pants and pulling my shirt over my head, I want to see her pussy come even more when she remembers how nice and big my cock is. I want her eyes to fill when she sees my thick rod, ready to fuck her.
“You want that, baby?” I ask, my cock at attention before her. Her legs are still spread, the couch covered in her juice.
“Oh, yeah, Jack. I need you in me.”
She unhooks her bra and begins massaging her own tits, showing me she’s still so horny, so fucking ready.