No Limits: A Dark Romance

by Lauren Landish

  Both of us are fine. I wish I could give you an address and some pictures, but you know how that goes. While I’m enjoying the work that I’m doing out here in the desert I’m (the following lines have been deleted by the United States government for national security purposes). So I guess I really am learning a lot out here.

  Hey, I had some good news as well. A couple of days ago, I started feeling like hell in the stomach, and I know it isn’t the food out here. They do a good job of that. So I went to the infirmary, and we have great news. Yep . . . I’m going to be a mother! Now, what’s even more surprising—but I guess it isn’t, considering who my husband is—apparently, twins tend to run in his family gene pool, so there’s a part of me that’s hoping that right about the Fourth of July or so, we’ll be getting a chance to introduce a couple of twins to the world! The timing is perfect too, because it’ll be just after the government (the following lines have been deleted by the United States government for national security purposes) and we can look at going back to Palo Alto. Of course, we’re both being silly tossing around names. We’ve pretty much decided that Jamie and Cersei are out, but the rest are up for grabs. Trying to balance the geek inside us with the reality of the world is a very interesting conundrum.

  There’s so much that we both would like to tell you, to help you understand who we are and why we’ve chosen the path we’ve taken, but that’s Master’s choice. If it helps, I think you’re trustworthy enough on that, but it’s his choice.

  Anyway, thank you. I know when we parted that you thought that Master did most of the work that resulted in my recovery, even if you said that you understood what we’d both told you about how we felt about you. Still, over the past few months, I've thought about it, and you don't give yourself enough credit. To pull from my own field of expertise, rocketry was invented somewhere around eight hundred years ago. The Wright Brothers built their first plane in 1902. The first design for a gas turbine engine was done in 1791, but the first aircraft jet engine wasn't built until the 1930s, and the first jet didn't fly until 1939.

  Yet, without those eight hundred years between that first time someone used steam or gunpowder to send a rocket on its way and 1939, we'd never have the work that I do today. We all stand on the shoulders of giants, and Rafe's work was built on the foundation you'd laid. I owe you my life and my happiness, so don't ever doubt my debt to you.

  In any case, when I get baby pics or an ultrasound scan or something, I'll send them along. Until then, take care.

  Your former patient,

  Shawnie “Angel” Meyers

  Dear Abby,

  I'm sorry that I've been so light in my emails to you. I'd love to tell you every detail, but with the rules that we have to live under until we get this thing up and into the air, that’s pretty much impossible. And not being able to Skype with you is pure agony. I’m so looking forward to getting out of here and back to a place where I can see your pretty face. But don't ever doubt—my feelings for you and Dane haven't faded at all. Actually, that's what I wanted to email you about.

  One of the advantages of doing the sort of stuff we do for the government is that we get some access to people and can make some threats that get things done. I know that Dane kept saying he didn't care about his discharge, and that since he has you and Shawn, he's happy with the way things are in his life.

  Over the past few months, I've come to understand that more, since obviously, I’m starting to adjust to not only being married, but becoming a mother. More on that, but I wanted to give you a little good news about your big hunk of a man.

  A couple of months ago, I did a little kicking the anthill, getting in the face of some people, and they agreed just to get me to shut up and do my work. Idiots actually think I'd stop working, or maybe they just decided it wasn't important enough to take the risk. In any case, if you or Dane contact the VA and ask for his military release form, you'll see a few changes. Specifically, he is now listed as having been honorably discharged on the same day he was released from Leavenworth and that his final rank upon discharge is now an E-5 Sergeant. It's not much, and I couldn't convince them to give Dane all of his missed back pay for that time in custody, but I did what I could.

  On a personal note, there are so many things I have to tell you. Laying it all out on paper, the way I was hiding things from you and not telling you about what I was going through, I nearly tore up that letter four or five times before Rafe convinced me to put it in the mail. But there’s more that I need to talk to you about. You’re my dearest friend, and it tore me apart not telling you. And I’m sorry you couldn’t be at the wedding. I want to explain how I’ve been able to recover and to hopefully get your understanding on how and why I’ve chosen to live the life I have.

  On that note, keep your eyes open come Thanksgiving. It’s the first big chance, what with the sabbatical ending and us both going back to Stanford. I’ve got to finish up my dissertation, and then we’ll see what happens then. Anyway, come Turkey Day you might get a few visitors, so if a strange car pulls up outside your daddy's mansion, tell him to keep the shotgun behind the door.

  All my love,

  Shawnie

  “You ready?” Rafe asks, taking my hand. “It's a nice house, by the way. Mr. Rawlings certainly has made a nice life for himself.”

  “True,” I agree, putting my free hand on the handles of the stroller. “Abby’s father has done well for himself.”

  The door opens even before we're halfway up the walk, and I stop, my heart clenching at seeing my best friend there. She's just as beautiful as before, all honey blond Southern belle, and the excitement on her face as she walks out with as much restraint as she can is obvious. Rafe lets go of my hand and takes the stroller, and I run the few steps to Abby, embracing her. “Oh, God, it's so good to see you!”

  “It's good to see you too, Abs,” I whisper, tears making me rasp. “It's so damn good to see you.”

  There's motion in the doorway, and I look up, seeing Dane holding Shawn in his arms, the now nearly eighteen-month-old boy as beautiful as he looked on a video screen. “Yes, buddy, that's your godmother,” Dane says as Shawn waves his arm shyly. “Come on, let's get them inside. We've got space for everyone ready and the place to ourselves for the afternoon.”

  We all go inside, Abby barely able to contain her happiness as she kneels in front of my children. “They're beautiful. What are their names?”

  “Abigail and Mikey,” Rafe says, picking up Mikey and handing him to Abby.

  Abby takes Mikey carefully in her arms while I hand Abigail to Dane. I pick up Shawn, my godson, where he promptly nestles in and looks up at me with his bright blue eyes. He's adorable, and I'm glad that I was able to return the honor to Abby that she gave to me by naming Shawn after me.

  We go inside, where I see Dane and Rafe size each other up before they reach that peaceful coexistence that seems to be a totally guy thing, Dane taking Rafe toward the big wing of the house where, if I remember right, the family room is. Knowing them, they’re probably going to bond over a football game or something.

  Abby watches, then puts an arm around my shoulder. “So, what is this big secret that you’ve been wanting to tell me? When I told Dane, he said that he’ll keep Rafe entertained as long as we need. And by the way, Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanks, sister. Well to start, let me show you my wings,” I say, leading Abby to her old room. It takes me nearly two and a half hours to tell her my story, with lots of pauses for tears, but also more laughter than I thought there’d be as I tell her about some of the things that we’ve been able to do since getting married. When it’s done, Abby traces my wings with her finger wonderingly. “So . . . he’s my Master. Although we understand that in public, or around people who won’t quite get it, we use our normal names.”

  “Angel . . . it’s a beautiful name for you. And is anyone else allowed to call you that?” Abby asks.

  “Nobody has so far. But if my family wanted to, I’d l
et them.”

  Abby nods, then hugs me, holding me tightly. “Then, Angel, I’m glad that you found your Master. We’ll keep it as Rafe though, until I can explain it all to Dane. I love you.”

  We go downstairs, and I see that Dane’s prediction of having the house totally to ourselves is a bit off as Abby’s father and stepmother have joined us. The nine of us all pile into the big family room that does feel like a sense of home, the adults more or less relaxed while the three small children all sort of look at each other uncertainly. Brenda, Abby’s stepmom, is going gaga already. “Shawnie, they’re so beautiful, and so big already! How can they be walking so young?”

  “Good DNA, I guess,” I say with a shrug as Rafe tries not to laugh. He looks at me, seeing the look that I exchange with Abby, and he understands. “So thanks for letting us girl talk for a while. Dane, it’s good to really see you again.”

  “It's good to see you too. So what can you guys tell us, you know, about the project and stuff?” Dane asks.

  “It was warm, and we got to do what we love,” I tell Dane. “In a few years, you might even get a chance to see the thing fly. In the meantime, we're doing well, and we're making it. I guess in the end, that’s all we can say.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Dane asks. “Please at least tell me that you don’t have to rush back right away.”

  I smile, reaching out to take Rafe’s hand. “Oh, no, we’re staying at least through Saturday, then we’ll jump over to South Carolina to see my family. There’s no way I’m not going to be spending as much time as I can with my sister from another mister.”

  Abby laughs at the old title and nods. “Good. So does that mean y'all get to stay for dinner, too?”

  Rafe laughs and nods. “Of course. And if you can take a little time to teach me the proper use of the word y'all, I'd appreciate it. Still can't quite get that down so far.”

  “Don't worry about it, Rafe,” Dane says, laughing. “I don't think I'm ever going to get it fully down, and I'm planning on spending the rest of my life here.”

  “Sounds good,” I tell Dane. We settle down to watch the Cowboys and Redskins get ready for kickoff, and I relax. I’m loved, I’m a new mother . . . and I’m superior.

  What else do I need?

  Read on for Off Limits, Dane & Abby’s story. Shawnie is a secondary character, and this takes place before No Limits.

  Off Limits: A Bad Boy Romance

  OFF LIMITS

  She’s Daddy's little girl, but I’ll make her a rebel.

  They call me a killer — a felon. I spent five years in a medium security sh*thole.

  I swore I'd stay out of trouble, but when I met Abby Rawlings, all bets were off. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to have her.

  But Daddy dearest is standing in my way. He thinks I'm no good for her, and he's declared her Off Limits.

  Well, I don't give a damn. In the end, I'll make her mine...

  **Off Limits is a full-length novel with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger!**

  Chapter 1

  Abby

  "And so, as our country faces the challenges of a new generation, it’s still important for us to remember the values that brought us here. Hard work. Family. And most of all, our faith, both in each other and in God."

  I tried not to sigh too much. I knew that it wasn't what Daddy would want. I hated this sort of political stuff, especially since I thought that the man speaking had absolutely no idea how to lead a dog pound, let alone a higher office. Still, my sigh caught Brittany's attention. She leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Abigail, come now. Try not to fidget so much."

  "Brittany, nobody's paying attention to me. Everyone's paying attention to Greg," I replied, also keeping my voice low. I may not have wanted to be there, but I still was doing my best to respect Daddy's wishes. "He's the man of the hour."

  "Still, people are going to look. And I've asked you before; in public, please call me Mother," Brittany said. Actually, she wasn't my real mother. Brittany Worthington-Rawlings had married my father when I was thirteen years old. After his first marriage was cut short by a traffic accident that took both my mother and my older sister's lives when I was three, Patrick Rawlings had raised me by himself for nearly eight years before marrying again—this time not so much for love, but for what could best be termed advantage. Tired of working so hard and still being stiffed by those in established families with society connections, he married Brittany Worthington. From one of the long-established families in Atlanta, she'd fallen on hard times financially when her first husband had been convicted of insider trading and sentenced to five years in jail. She hadn't signed any sort of prenuptial, so their bank accounts and estate were considered one by the IRS and the SEC, which cleaned her and her family's hundred-year-old fortune out to the tune of tens of millions of dollars.

  She hadn't exactly been living on the streets. People from Brittany's roots don't end up on the streets, but she had been forced into societal situations that she didn't want to be in, such as not going to the Master's Golf Tournament because she couldn’t afford to be even a basic patron.

  For both of them, the marriage had been advantageous. At first, I'd been quietly opposed, because my father shouldn’t marry for anything but the most noble of intentions. I'd held my tongue, however, and I had to admit that as the years went on, they did seem to care for each other, even if there was never quite the amount of tenderness and affection I had seen in the old home videos of my parents. Of course, both also got what they wanted, too. Daddy got access to the society connections that had eluded him for years, and Brittany got access to his bank account, free and clear of the government.

  But, it never really seemed like she wanted to be the mother to a nearly teenage girl, and for that, she and I didn't really get along all that well. She never went to any of my school events, parent teacher conferences or anything of the sort. The only time my presence was really important was when she wanted me to grow into a young society woman that she could mold into the image she wanted. It was the last thing I wanted, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

  Around the house, at least, we could avoid each other as we were three people living in a house that had five bedrooms along with ten acres of property. As long as we weren't in public, that suited both of us just fine. On the positive side, though, Daddy still kept a bit of his blue collar roots, and at least at home, he didn't mind if I acted like a bit of a tomboy. I could wear shorts and t-shirts and go hang out in the back yard however I wanted. On the weekends or when he had free time, we’d go riding our ATV's, go fishing at the river that ran through the back of the property, and all sorts of things that we both enjoyed.

  In public, though, he let Brittany have a much freer hand in her critiques of how I acted. "Honey, I spent too many years breaking my back because too many people around these here parts still think who you know is more important than what you know. They'd let me build their houses, their office buildings, hell, even their country clubs, and they never let me inside, no matter how much money I had. These people have ways of doing things that I don't know, or perhaps I do, but I know that there's no way I could get through those ways on my own. Brittany does know, and she can get through, and I want you to learn from her. Because I’ll be damned if I'm going to let my daughter scrap and scrape the way I had to before you were born."

  Regardless of the reason for his thoughts, he didn't say anything as Brittany corrected me for the tenth time that night. At least I didn't have a stepbrother or stepsister to go along with the whole deal, a sibling who would know all of the rules that I didn't—or did know but didn't want to follow. There was nobody my age, at least, to give me the hairy eyeball. That would have been too much.

  "Abigail, you must learn the most basic lesson. In public, you’re always being watched, and you must always be watching as well," Brittany whispered, continuing her lesson. "For example, did you notice that Henrietta DeKalb has already drunk four glasses of wine dur
ing her husband's speech?"

  Henrietta DeKalb, wife of Gregory DeKalb, was one of Brittany's frequent points of observation. There seemed to be some sort of long-term animosity between the women, but I never quite understood what it was. For all I knew, it stretched back generations. That was the way things ran in this level of society. Still, for all of Brittany's pointed commentary, I didn't really care if Henrietta was sucking down Old English Malt Liquor straight from the bottle, or if she was primly sipping Darjeeling from a china cup. I just didn't want to be there.

  Unfortunately for me, my father’s desire to be accepted into the upper crust of central Georgia society meant I had to endure such events on a much more frequent basis than I'd have liked. This night, we got to listen as Greg DeKalb gave a campaign speech in front of the *ahem* fraternal club that both of them now belonged to. Daddy had been accepted only after his marriage to Brittany. Greg was running for Governor in the next election, and he was certainly hitting up his cronies at the club for funds. While I saw nothing wrong with trying to get money from his friends, the dog and pony show that was this speech and dinner just dragged on my nerves. Seriously, why not just go around the golf course while shooting a round and ask for support? At least then I wouldn't have to sit through it.

  Thankfully, Greg's speech went on for just another few minutes before he wrapped it up, and the two hundred dollar per plate dinner started. I glanced at the ornate grandfather clock against the wall near where we were sitting, stifling a curse that certainly would have earned another rebuke from Brittany. Once the lights rose, I turned to my father, pointedly ignoring her. "Daddy, I understand that this is something you wanted to do, but would you mind if I go?"