by Angel Payne
His answering chuckle made the car feel like a little bungalow of warmth against the storm. She followed the line of his shoulder, so strong and formidable, back up to his face, which was alive with his brilliant eyes and deep-dimpled cheeks. Dios, how she adored this man. He really was her haven in life’s storm, asking her for so little. She owed it to him to try to make a go of it with his parents, even if it would never be what she’d ultimately hoped for.
“Creativity’s my middle name,” he bantered, “remember? The US Army has trained me well.”
“Cabrons,” she muttered. Bastards. She shoved the car door open as he laughed again. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. And you get to explain the stains all over your shirt.”
“Not necessary.” To her surprise, he walked around the front of the car, scooped her hand into his, and kept walking—away from the main mansion. After passing by a large greenhouse, probably filled with his mother’s prized orchids, they arrived at a little stone cottage, situated off a quaint path off the back of the pool deck. “We can clean up in here,” he explained, “and nobody will bother us.”
“What is it?” She looked around in curiosity after he unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and let her walk in ahead of him. It seemed like a clubhouse, with a small seating area, a couple of changing booths, and a lot of expansive shelves that were now empty. On the wall were posters of rock bands from fifteen years ago. An ancient video game system sat dusty in front of an older model TV monitor. “Mierda.” She giggled. “Am I actually in the Ethan Archer teen-man cave?”
“Guilty, I guess,” he answered. “This place became my retreat for years. It’s supposed to be a showering and changing hut for pool party guests, though it wasn’t so convenient after Dad and Mom added the newer one closer to the house. There’s a shower in the bathroom, and I’m sure I’ve got an old sweatshirt or two hanging out in the credenza too.”
Ava seized the opportunity to turn arched brows on him. “Your retreat, huh? Where a lot of your old clothes just happen to be left behind?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Full disclosure time. So we may find a few other…presents lying around.”
“Shiny pretty ones?” she jibed. “In cute little foil packets?”
He gave a cavalier shrug but walked back toward her with a hint of awkwardness in his step. “I’ve liked girls for a long time, baby. You know that. At least we were always safe.” As he planted himself and drew her close with a flirtatious smile, Ava emitted another giggle.
“I think I have the visual now. A midnight swim under the stars, a promise to show her the rest of your tattoo in the pool house…”
“Back that cart up. What kind of a wild child do you think I was? My parents would’ve killed me if I had my toe tattooed, let alone my leg.” He slapped his right thigh. “The ink didn’t come until a year and a half ago, after I nearly lost this thing to a ground rocket attack.”
She wound her fingers into his to silently thank him for the revelation about the tattoo. He’d never told her much about it beyond how the interlocking symbols were the Chinese word for gratitude. A bit more of him made sense to her now, making it somehow easier for her to conjure him as a gangly sixteen-year-old, sweet-talking a girl beneath the summer stars.
But even though the image was endearing, it again underscored how different their backgrounds had been, especially after Mamá had died. Ava chuckled because of it. “Changing hut, huh? Where I come from, the ‘changing hut’ was the back of Andrea’s mom’s van, where we took turns holding the towels up for each other and hoped the boys didn’t come back early from surfing.”
Ethan’s eyes lit up. “That sounds like a blast.”
“It was cold and frantic and meant half the beach came home in my panties.” She finished with a grin. “But yeah, it was a blast.” Her stomach did a teenage-style flip in response to how his eyes intensified when she mentioned underwear. “Guess I should be glad our paths didn’t cross,” she murmured. “For you, I might’ve dropped the towel.”
“And for you, I would’ve cut surfing short.” He tugged her chin up and concluded it with a kiss, which fast turned into a hot tangle of tongues. And then another. And another. Within minutes, he had her pinned to the wall as they necked like feverish kids who’d newly discovered the magic of French kissing.
The rain came down harder on the little cottage’s roof, adding to the illusion that they were all alone, locked in a secret haven with nothing but time and passion to burn. Ethan moaned into her mouth while tucking a hand beneath her skirt and palming her ass. Ava answered his quest with a high mewl and a desperate grind, needing more of the bulge that now throbbed against her naked pussy. “Oh, Ethan,” she rasped, lost to the magic of his strength and the desires from every touch. “Ethan…Ethan…”
“Yeah, baby.” His words were like steel shavings in her ear, demanding as the cock that pounded at the zipper fitted to her core. “I know. I know.”
“Ethan?”
They froze together. The strident call hadn’t come from her. It was outside, from somewhere in the rain. And it was female.
“Ethan, are you out here, honey?”
And it was getting closer.
“Shit,” he spat—right before the door swung in to reveal Elle Archer in a sleek white rain trench with a matching umbrella and rubber boots. Well, the boots didn’t match exactly. They had little interlocking cherries all over them. What the hell did cherries have to do with dodging rain puddles?
“Well, here you are!” Wearing an overly bright smile, the woman clearly tried to look everywhere except the obvious: the spot where Ethan still had his hand rammed beneath Ava’s dress. “I was talking to Ashley at the office, and she said you’d been in but then had disappeared before lunch. Then I thought I might’ve heard your car on the back driveway, not that I could hear a thing through all this rain…”
Ava barely held back a snort. Of course she couldn’t hear a thing. Or wasn’t watching that damn driveway like a she-falcon hoping for a mouse to drop in for lunch.
“…so have you dropped in for lunch?”
Ethan straightened and let Ava do the same. “We thought it might be a good idea to come by,” he responded, “since last night was such a zoo.”
Elle gave a preening sigh. “Oh, but what a zoo! I think we’ll make the city news page with it, not just the society column. If it’s a slow news week in San Francisco, they might carry a little piece on it. Didn’t everyone look terrific? I’m sure Avery Reed wore that suede number just to catch your eye, E. You always told her you liked her in brown, and—”
“I’m partial to red these days.”
He bit out every word as he wrapped a possessive hand into Ava’s. She hated admitting that it felt better to have him holding her like this, but it did. Mierda, what was wrong with her? She dealt with lunatic attention seekers every day of the week. Hell, she worked for a woman who chewed up women like Elle Archer for breakfast. But you don’t want to marry Bella Lanza’s son.
And there was no time like now to suck up her fears and make that fact known.
Plastering on a brave smile, she scooted forward and said, “There’s nothing wrong with brown, either. It’s a wonderful neutral. I have lots of it in my own closet.”
Elle blinked at her like she’d just spoken every word in Martian. Once more, Ethan’s grip came as the reassurance she needed, though the new tension to his presence was disconcerting. Or maybe “tension” was putting it diplomatically. A peek up at his profile confirmed her suspicion. His lips were a board-straight line, as taut as the glare he bolted into his mother.
“Sunshine,” he uttered, “you’re shivering. The bathroom’s through that door. Why don’t you grab a quick shower?”
She gave in to the instinct to squeeze his hand now. “Sure.”
His mother huffed and waved a dismissive hand. “That isn’t necessary. She can shower up at the main house.” Her face pinched. “Dear heavens, Ethan Aaron, it lo
oks like you need to, as well. Is that…lipstick?”
Like a scene from some superhero cartoon, Ethan pulled up on his posture, seeming to grow a foot in the process. “She’ll shower here.”
Elle rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridicul—”
“Get in the shower, Ava. Please. Now.”
She didn’t waste any time scurrying toward the door—though unbelievably, she actually felt a twinge of concern for Elle. She knew Ethan would never physically lay a hand on his madre, but the dark smoke invading his gaze and the pulse that hammered in his jaw were enough to make her throw the shower on but leave the stall empty. She went back to the bathroom door and cracked it open just enough to get a peek at what was going on.
“Is that really lipstick on your shirt, E? What happened? It’s everywhere. Which is definitely where you weren’t last night. I barely saw you after Daddy gave his toast.”
“Mother.” His broad shadow shifted, and there was the sound of him taking a heavy step.
“Somebody said you left early, but I’m sure they were just—”
“Mother.”
“What?”
“I’m only going to say this once, so sit your ass down and listen.”
Ava pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. Elle wasn’t so diplomatic. “I beg your pardon, young man?”
“I left ‘young’ behind a while ago, Mom. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” His hands appeared, reaching for hers. “If there’s one thing the army has taught me well, it’s just how much I do love you and Dad, how grateful I am for you both.” He pulled in an audible breath. “But my heart has grown big enough to love another. Ava’s my soulmate, Mom. No amount of parading my exes out at your parties or pretending this is something I’m going to get over, like Batman or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, is going to change it. I proposed. She said yes. And I’ve never been so happy.”
There was a significant silence now. A thick sniff. “Just like that, then?”
There was a smile in Ethan’s reply. “Yeah. Sometimes you get lucky, and—”
“Luck has nothing to do with it, Ethan!” A chair scraped before the cherry boots took some furious stomps. “She’s…what…a Hollywood hair person or something?”
“She’s a respected stylist and designer for one of the biggest stars in the industry. Her looks are on the red carpet, and—”
“Stop. Stop. I can’t listen anymore. Do you know how many years I spent as you were growing up, cultivating the appropriate relationships for you? Watching all the right girls for you?”
“Ava’s the right girl for me. The right woman. And you know how I know that? She reminds me a lot of you, when you drop all this society bitch stuff, and you’re simply a passionate, joyous person.” There was a rush of energy as he stepped back over to her. “She wants a mom. She hasn’t had one since she was nine. She cries about it in her sleep, and it breaks my damn heart.”
Ava swallowed hard. Tears stung, sudden and sharp and sweet. How the hell had he put all of that together? And knew it with such perfect clarity?
“You’re with her when she sleeps?”
He actually got out a laugh. “Yeah, Mom. Sometimes I am. But even if I wasn’t, I’d know one thing for certain. All she wants to do is be a great daughter for you. She wants to get to know you, damn it, so yank down your walls and let her!”
Elle squirmed and fumed through a very long pause. “Since it’s you asking—”
“I’m not asking.”
She psshed at him. “Don’t be insolent.”
“Mom, I’m the guy who cut off the president’s hand to accomplish shit. I’m. Not. Asking.”
She didn’t bristle at him this time. For a second, Ava wondered if the woman even breathed. She wasn’t sure her lungs were cooperating beneath the weight of her astonishment.
And the love that had just grown a thousand times over for her incredible sergeant.
At last, Elle yanked her trench shut again and swept toward the door, readying her umbrella for another tromp through the deluge. “I’ll fix some sandwiches from the party leftovers,” she offered breezily. “Both of you come up to the house when you’re ready, and we’ll have a good visit. Maybe you can help set up the Christmas tree while I get to know your fiancée a little better.”
Ethan pulled his mother into a tight hug. “I’d like that. And I know she will too.”
She pulled back and gave his clothes another long scrutiny. “Can I request that you take off the cosmetics counter before you step foot in my kitchen?”
Ethan threw his head back on a laugh. “Yes, Mom. You can. And I will.”
Ava bit her lip, new tears burgeoning, as she watched Elle lean up and kiss her son’s cheek with real affection this time. But as soon as the woman was gone, she couldn’t wait to get her own hands on the man once more.
“Oof!” Ethan caught her and chuckled as she launched herself against him. “Wha—”
She cut him short by mashing her lips to his, drenching him in kisses she couldn’t make passionate enough or long enough. “I’m going to burst with it,” she finally confessed with gasping fervor.
“What, baby?”
“My love for you.” She cupped his beautiful face, gazing deep into the cobalt eyes that had always aroused her sex and stirred her heart…but now captivated her soul too. “And yours for me. And your belief in me. And the way”—she choked on a tight wad of emotion—“you watch over me when I sleep, and keep my secrets safe, and—”
He cut her off with a reproving growl. “You were supposed to be in the shower.”
She popped her stare in feigned innocence. “Ohhh, yeah.” With a teasing finger, she motioned backward toward the bathroom. “About that…”
Ethan shot up a brow. “Go on.”
Mierda, she was pushing it but couldn’t help an impish tilt of her head. “I need to know something first. Did you really have a crush on Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“Ava. The shower?”
“Wellll…” She was her own interloper now, letting out a high gasp as his hands found their way beneath her skirt again. “Ummm…it’s…it’s nice and heated up now, Sir.”
Ethan suckled her neck as he reached from behind to finger the folds of her pussy. “Sure as hell seems that way.”
She sighed and pulled off the dress as he tromped into the bathroom, carrying her by her thighs. As rain drenched the world outside, they drowned together inside, awash in the torrent of their passion, the flood of their desire. As Ava let her sergeant fill her with his body and submerge her in his love, her soul confirmed a beautiful, undeniable truth.
She never wanted to come up for air again.
Glacier Girl
Wyatt and Josie Hawkins
Chapter One
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Josie Hawkins wasn’t kidding about the accusation directed at the woman who’d snagged the heart of her favorite nephew, Garrett, but Sage had obviously lost her mind. That had to be the only excuse for why she now stood there, looking like a runway model for snow accessories and fluffy boots, proposing they go inside the little studio tucked off a cute courtyard in Des Moines’ East Village—and shed everything they wore for a photographer.
“Come on, Jo.” Sage’s seafoam eyes sparkled. “It’ll be fun. Valentine’s Day is around the corner. This kind of thing is better than chocolate for guys like ours.”
“Valentine’s Day is not ‘around the corner.’ It’s months away. And Wyatt loves my chocolate brownies.”
“He’ll love a raunchy picture of you more.”
She huffed. “I’m not getting naked for a total stranger.”
“Like you’ve never done the same thing for strangers at a kink club.”
Josie compressed her lips. She and Sage had been through enough together to know very personal things about each other, like the erotic domination they both enjoyed from their loving but hot-blooded husbands. But Sage had traveled a lot of the world and now
lived near Seattle and its robust kink scene, whereas the cultural excitement of Josie’s life involved driving thirty minutes through corn fields to get to Des Moines, where she could pull “inspiration” from antique stores, vintage-clothing boutiques, and homewares displays. And these days, she was too busy even for that. Running into town consisted of stops for the essentials and nothing else.
No. Not running. Trudging. She saved the running for the marathon of keeping up with Violet Charlotte Hawkins, twenty pounds of feisty energy, who’d now discovered her legs were good for lots of things besides kicking during diaper changes. Her daughter had been the hugest blessing ever from the Almighty; the timing on the delivery had just been a little late. She and Wyatt were the walking, talking, exhausted ad campaign for the highs—and lows—of parenthood in one’s forties.
But it also wasn’t like life had allowed them a choice.
Another correction. It wasn’t like a three-way marriage had allowed them that choice—especially when the third arm of the triangle was known to the rest of the world as the US Army’s Special Forces. But she had no place boo-hooing about that fact. She’d willingly agreed to the circumstances. Sort of. She’d fallen so instantly in love with Wyatt Hawkins, all those years ago on that snowy Chicago street, that the man could’ve walked up in a clown suit and she’d have giddily run away with him and the circus.
Sometimes, being married to an SOF soldier felt that way, anyway.
More crying in your milk about this, Josie? Well, suck it up, Mrs. Hawkins, and get on with being a good friend to the other Mrs. Hawkins around here.
“Sage. Sweetie.” She quirked her mouth into an indulgent smile while patting her niece-in-law’s hand. “In case you can’t tell, in these parts, ‘kink’ refers to a knot in a garden hose, and ‘club’ is where the Assistance League hens play bingo on Friday nights.”
Sage frowned. “But you and Wyatt haven’t always just played convert-the-barn every time you want to play, right?”