The Wolf in the Mansion [A Siren Adult Fable]

by Gracie C. McKeever

  Deja stuck her key in the lock, turned it and almost leaped out of her skin when she opened the door to find Lincoln standing on the threshold in that damn skimpy towel. “Goddess, you scared the crap out of me!"

  "I'm sorry. I was just eager to see y—what had happened in town."

  Deja's skin heated at his curtailed admission and it didn't help she had to squeeze by the man to get into the cabin since he barely moved his broad-shouldered frame out of her path.

  "Do you mind?"

  "Not at all.” He stepped aside, then closed the door before following her into the living room. “Did we bring anything good back to preserve my modesty?"

  "Hope so,” Deja mumbled as she placed the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter to unpack. More like preserve her sanity.

  She almost remembered too late the newspaper with the front page headline of ‘Prominent local businessman missing and presumed dead’ was in the bag.

  Now, how was she supposed to get to it without Lincoln seeing?

  She should have left it out in the car, but had been as eager to see Lincoln as he had been to see her, wasn't thinking straight. Actually, she hadn't been thinking straight since she met the man. If she had been, she wouldn't be harboring a relative fugitive and getting involved in an obviously bitter family feud.

  But he needed her help and she had never been one to turn her back on someone in need.

  Deja turned to him as she neared the bottom of the bag, keeping the newspaper well behind her. She reached for the Wal-Mart bag and handed it to Lincoln.

  "I hope I got your size right. I forgot to ask, so I just estimated."

  He took the bag from her and peeked inside like a kid getting clothes instead of a much sought-after toy for his birthday.

  She almost chuckled at his look of distaste before saying, “I know it's not quite the designer threads you're used to, but—"

  "Don't get me wrong. I'm not ungrateful."

  "What then?"

  He looked at her as if putting on clothes was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, then turned his gaze longingly toward the kitchen window. Did he want to go running through the woods in the buff and was that why he didn't want to put on the clothes?

  The idea was too much for Deja to consider without warm moisture flooding her panties. Oh, what she wouldn't do to run naked and free with him beneath a full moon! Deja shook her head to rid it of the totally erotic images that beset her.

  "Well, don't just stand there.” She pointed him to the bedroom. “Go try them on."

  He snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, Ma'am!"

  Deja laughed as he pivoted on his heels and headed for the bedroom.

  She had to watch it with the bossy behavior. He wasn't Shawn, after all. He was her boss, at least for the time being. Who knew what would happen if Cyril succeeded with proving Lincoln unfit to run the company, which seemed to be his ultimate plan if the paper had correctly attributed half of the quotes she'd read. Heck, he'd made Lincoln out to be some depressed, reclusive, suicidal widower still in deep mourning over his wife's death. Obviously, from all that Cyril mentioned, one was to assume that Lincoln was mentally and emotionally unfit to perform simple daily functions of living much less run a company.

  Deja knew better. Sure, Lincoln was lovelorn and liked his solitude. Deja liked her quiet time too, and probably more than most people. But this didn't make her ready to jump off the nearest bridge and she was sure the same went for Lincoln. His slight air of melancholy was to be expected. Suicidal and lovelorn did not walk hand-in-hand as Cyril would have everyone believe.

  Deja finished emptying the bag of everything except a box of condoms and some blue candles she'd hastily picked up at a drug store. Each item purchased for protection, divergent protection though it was.

  She carefully set the bag aside and left out the box of frozen French toast, breakfast sausages, and the newspaper.

  She stared at it as if it was evil incarnate, unwilling to let Lincoln be injured by its content and knew she was being overprotective and silly.

  She should just sit Lincoln down in front of the paper and let him see for himself what Cyril was doing. He was a big boy. He should be able to take it. The quicker he found out what was going on, the quicker he could do something about it and perhaps the quicker the shock would jar his memory some more.

  Still, the man had been dealt more than enough shocks in the last twenty-four hours, on top of being shot and almost drowned. A little break wouldn't hurt.

  Deja was still in the middle of trying to decide how much to tell Lincoln about his brother's activities when she heard the door open behind her. She hastily folded the newspaper and stuffed it into the back waistband of her skirt, turning to face Lincoln just as he emerged from the bedroom.

  Deja had been wrong in thinking clothes would make him less appealing and dangerous.

  He looked just as delicious in a pair of jeans and a navy polo shirt as he did in his skin. Probably because she already knew what was under the jeans and polo shirt, probably because she knew what was under his skin.

  Lincoln spread his arms and did a three-sixty turn in the middle of the floor before facing her again. “So, what do you think?"

  Deja stopped gaping long enough to nod. “Looking good."

  "Everything fits perfect. And you didn't even take my measurements."

  Goddess, she probably would have tackled him to the floor and mauled him before she finished measuring his inseam. Just the thought of kneeling before him with her hands between his legs suddenly made Deja's own legs weak.

  She reached back for one of the barstools and plopped down into the high seat.

  "Are you okay?’ Lincoln took several steps forward before she put up a hand to stop him in his tracks.

  "I'm fine.” She pointed him to the pinewood kitchen table a few feet away. “Why don't you have a seat while I get some breakfast started. You must be starving."

  "Actually, I didn't have much time to think about it before, but now that you mention it, I could go for something to eat.” His stomach growled as if to punctuate his words and Lincoln broke out into deep masculine laughter that brought chill bumps to Deja's skin.

  She tried to keep her back away from him as much as possible when she went about getting breakfast started. While the sausages sizzled in the pan, she brought two glasses of orange juice to the table and a bowl of sliced strawberries and melon that Lincoln immediately dug into.

  Within minutes, she was bringing a platter of hot food to the table.

  Lincoln waited for her to sit down and join him before he doled out a helping of the French toast and sausages to Deja and then to himself.

  Deja tried to ignore the newspaper in the waistband of her skirt as she ate. Sitting across from Lincoln made it both easy and hard to do. Not only was he good to look at, but he was a great conversationalist with a twisted sense of humor to match hers.

  She wondered what he would be like when he could remember more about himself and his life if he was this chatty when he couldn't. Then she recalled the aloof and withdrawn businessman she'd come across in the halls of McCabe Associates and wondered if he had saved all of his anecdotes and humor for the right person, the right woman.

  A woman who looked like his dead wife?

  Suddenly the sausage felt like a lead pipe in her mouth. She had to struggle to chew and swallow the bite she had taken before finally washing it down with a big gulp of orange juice.

  "Is something the matter?"

  "No, of course not. Why would you say that?"

  "You don't look well."

  "I ... just got something caught in my throat."

  "You're sure that's all it was?"

  She couldn't help grinning at the stubborn glint to his eyes, the tone of his voice said he wasn't going to let her drop the subject. She knew he was digging in for an argument. Well, he had another thing coming, because Deja had been a world-class debater in high school and captain of her debate
team. She loved a good argument and knew how to segue and feint with the best of them.

  "Why didn't you have much time to think about food earlier? Were you busy trying to force your memory to come back?"

  "I was bored."

  "And did straining your brain remedy that?"

  "Some."

  "So, did you remember anything?"

  "Nothing specific. Just vague images."

  Two could play the stubborn game. “What sort of images?"

  "Of my brother, if you must know."

  She thought for sure he would say his wife, figured his most intimate and older memories would come back to him the quickest and first. But that theory didn't wash since he hadn't remembered his parents’ death.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Like she'd told him, she wasn't a doctor, just playing one with a patient she wanted to strip and give another sponge bath to in the worst way.

  "What about your brother did you remember?"

  "Nothing important."

  "Right now, anything you remember could be important, Lincoln."

  "Call me Link."

  "Where did that just come from?"

  "I'd just prefer it if you called me Link."

  "Is that what your wife called you?"

  "Dahlia?"

  "Yes, Dahlia.” Goddess, where was this petulance coming from? If she could hear it in her own voice, then she was sure Lincoln could.

  "You don't need to be jealous. I know the difference between you two."

  "Do you even remember her?"

  "Actually, I do. And you don't just look like her. You act like her too."

  Should she be flattered? Well, she wasn't. “In what way?"

  "You're quick-tempered like her from what I can remember."

  "I am not quick-tempered!"

  He chuckled then suddenly turned serious to murmur, “Beautiful beyond belief."

  Deja stared, frozen as he reached across the table to cup her face. She cleared her throat, more stalling for time than in any hope she could clear her mind of the sensual fog Lincoln had woven around it. “What else do you remember about your wife?"

  "Flashes here and there. Her laugh, her smile."

  "Oh.” Deja's heart shuddered at the sound of longing in his tone, a tone that made it obvious he wasn't over his wife even after all these years. Should she really expect him to be? Just because she had never really known the love of a good man didn't mean he hadn't known the love of a good woman.

  "I like your laugh and smile, Deja."

  She caught herself trying not to grin, though she could do nothing about the heat rushing to her face and the enjoyment she got when he said her name in that low, smoky voice. “Don't throw the dog a bone."

  "You're more to me than just a substitute, Deja.” He scooted his chair around the table, closer to hers, and leaned in to nuzzle her neck. “From that first meeting in the park, you always have been.” He pulled back to slide both hands under her skirt between her legs, his palms scorching a luxurious path to her pussy.

  "You remember that?"

  "I remember a lot of things that have to do with you."

  Deja spread her legs and let her head fall back as she sighed. She was glad she had put on the skirt this morning instead of shorts or jeans, until she remembered the newspaper as it shifted against her back.

  How could she move and get it out of her skirt without Lincoln noticing? Did she even have to worry about it when he was so obviously occupied elsewhere, like with his mouth joining his hands in a party between her legs!

  Deja avoided jerking up in her seat through the most monumental effort, didn't want to whack Lincoln's chin or otherwise hurt him.

  She hadn't even felt him slip to his knees or slide her panties off for that matter. She was so focused on what his thumb was doing to her clit, obviously setting the stage for his agile fingers and talented mouth.

  "Oh Goddess...” Deja slid forward in her seat, bracing her feet against the seat of Lincoln's vacated chair as she raked her hands through his lush black waves and held him in place between her thighs. Not that he was showing any desire to leave any time soon.

  Lincoln burrowed deep, digging in for the long haul as he firmly stroked her with his tongue. He pulled back only for the few seconds it took him to spread her labia with his thumbs and whisper, “I love your taste. I need more of you."

  "Be my guest."

  He chuckled, the lighthearted sound totally belying the intensity with which he attacked his project, thrusting his tongue into her again and again, alternating between nibbling, licking and sucking her clit and pussy until Deja cried out.

  Still, he didn't stop, plunging his tongue as far as it would go and capturing the nectar he had produced with his salacious mouth.

  Deja uncontrollably shuddered beneath him, fisting her hands against his scalp as she circled her hips and mercilessly ground her pussy against his face until the tremors subsided.

  Lincoln pulled his head from between her legs, massaging each of her thighs until she finally opened her eyes to look at him. “You're addictive. I want more."

  "Me t—Link! What are you d—"

  He slid one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders before she could finish, lifting her in his arms as he stood. “So now I know how to get you to call me Link. I have to surprise you."

  She laughed, liking the feel of his hard chest against her as she wrapped her arms around his neck, too late feeling the newspaper ride up and out of her skirt. It tumbled to the floor with a muffled thwack at Lincoln's feet.

  "What's this?” He let her go to slide down the front of his body, holding her against his side with one arm as he bent to pick up the newspaper.

  "I was going to tell you."

  "Why do I get the feeling that it would have been under duress?” Lincoln unfolded the paper and Deja knew the exact moment when he saw the repugnant headline and caption beneath a grainy photograph of himself proclaiming: “Foul play or suicide? Brother and partner of reclusive and depressed businessman fears the worst."

  "That bastard!” Lincoln slapped the newspaper down on the table and flipped to the story on page three.

  Deja watched as he read, saw his jaw muscles working while he gritted his teeth. She had never seen a man look fiercer or so capable of murder.

  Tentatively, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, fully expecting him to jerk away. Instead, he surprised her when he took her hand and raised it to his lips to distractedly kiss the back of her wrist.

  Lincoln raised his eyes to her once he'd finished reading, still gritting his teeth. “I'm not going to let him get away with this."

  "You won't have to.” What was she saying? How were they supposed to stop Cyril?

  Lincoln looked at her with the same doubt she felt shining out of his eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do to stop him? How do I clear my name when my amnesia only proves everything he's saying about my competency, or lack thereof?"

  "Your memory will come back. It already is."

  "But not enough, I still have significant gaps, Deja. I can't afford to wait!” He closed his eyes for several seconds then opened them to look at her, his glare gentling as he raised her hand to his lips to plant another kiss on her wrist. “I shouldn't take this out on you. You've done everything you can to help me."

  "Obviously not enough."

  "It's not your fault my brother's a greedy, backstabbing—” Lincoln released her hand to pace, pounding his fist into the opposite palm, all but growling.

  Deja licked her lips as she watched him. Even now, with the man's company and life as he knew it being snatched away from him, she could think of nothing but having all that ferocious energy focused on her, inside her.

  She gasped and closed her eyes against the image of him pounding against her, her legs wrapped around his waist as she squeezed her vaginal muscles around his cock.

  "That's it!"

  Deja opened her eyes to see him stopping in the middle of the
floor. “What's it?"

  "I think I know why he wants me out of the way."

  Deja listened as he told her about the argument he and his brother had two weeks ago over a merger of which Cyril was in resolute favor and Lincoln was dead set against.

  "He doesn't care about family and employee loyalty or the memory of our parents. He's only interested in making a quick buck to line his pockets no matter who it hurts. I told him so and he'd sell the company over my dead body."

  "You think he took you literally?"

  "If you're asking me whether or not I think he's the one who shot me, I'm not a hundred percent sure. I still can't remember what happened last night, not in enough detail to stand up in a fight in court."

  She could understand his denial even with all the evidence piling up against his brother, circumstantial though it was. She was still in disbelief herself, her ethical system refuting the idea of one human being who tried to kill another over a business disagreement or money.

  Deja had had some bad days and face-offs with her mother in the past, especially over how to raise Shawn and what to tell him about his father. Her mother wanted her grandson to know what a low-life snake Jeff was while Deja refused to elaborate one way or the other on the man. Admittedly, these were the times when she'd come close to using her powers to hurt someone or for anything close to self-gain.

  She'd always fought the temptations, but it had not been easy. If she had been like Cyril, a person with seemingly no moral compass at all, who knew what she might have done back then, how much worse she could have hurt Jeff's ego in her quest for retribution?

  Goddess, maybe she and Cyril weren't that different!

  The idea frightened her and reinforced her decision all those years ago to keep to herself and use her powers as sparingly as possible when she wasn't hiding them completely.

  But maybe she and Lincoln had been brought together for a reason just as he believed. Maybe she was the only person in the world right now who could help him and her powers could do some good, though she didn't think that what she was about to propose would go over so well with him.