A WILDer Wonderland - Sexy Stories Of The Season

by Angel Payne

  “All right, spill.” The demand was made by Troy Stearns, one of the few jocks who’d rolled with their crowd instead of his fellow sports stars. Tall as Ethan and built of honed muscle, Troy would’ve been a kick-ass Special Ops man, though his ability to wallop a baseball had taken him on a different path. He’d just signed a multi-year deal with the Giants and proposed to his college sweetheart during a seventh-inning stretch to commemorate the success. “Everyone knows how I popped the question,” he elaborated, “but all of us know nothing about your story, Archer. Well, aside from the ‘thwarting the terrorist plan’ shit.”

  “That story was incredible.” Troy’s fiancé, a polished little blond named Sarah who he’d met while attending Cal State Fullerton, pressed her hand against her heart. Ethan smirked and pulled Ava tighter onto his lap when she gasped quietly at the woman’s egg-sized engagement ring. “Did you really have to chop off the president’s hand to save his life?” Sarah continued. “And did he really let you?”

  He gave her a small nod then dipped his head at Ava. “And this kick-ass woman hauled it to the ambulance for us.”

  This time, the guys joined the women in their gasps. “That’s what I’d call an unforgettable one-on-one with the leader of the free world,” Link bantered.

  “You mean besides the ‘wanting to barf up everything in my stomach’ part?” Ava returned.

  Ethan joined his friends in giving her a raucous laugh at that—but the humor wasn’t shared by the women around the circle. He wished he hadn’t expected their reticence, but it came as no surprise. As good little girls of society, they’d all had the candidness bred out of them long ago. Now, none of them even realized it was missing. They looked at Ava like children barred from a candy store. Full of longing. And jealousy.

  “Uh, wow,” Sarah stammered. “That’s so…”

  “Unique,” Kamlyn filled in. Or was it Amy? They were so alike in their beige sweater dresses and pearls that Ethan kept mixing them up.

  “Yes, errrrm, unique.” Sarah flipped her hair over one shoulder and flicked a little smile. “And refresh my memory, Ava. Why were you at the studio, too?”

  If Ava got any stiffer in his arms, he’d swear he was holding a doll instead of a woman. It was because she saw straight through Sarah’s thin ice of courtesy. The woman’s bullshit detector was one of the billion things he adored about her. Another was her ability to maintain her calm no matter far other women decided to brandish their cat claws.

  “I work at the lot.”

  Ethan squeezed her waist in reassurance. He knew how much it chafed her to be sworn to secrecy on the details beyond that. She could never reveal the part about being held hostage in an empty dressing trailer after being knocked out with sleeping gas that was supposed to be illegal on American soil. She could never disclose that one of Hollywood’s most beloved producers had actually been the traitor who’d led the whole plot nor that the plan was so huge, California had been less than a minute away from becoming a nuclear wasteland.

  He supported her by adding what he could, in a voice filled with pride. “She was the one who made it possible for the team to get inside the soundstage.”

  “Ohhh, that’s right.” One of the Amy/Kamlyn twins chirped in with it. “You’re on the payroll for Ethan’s ex, right?”

  Sarah flashed her fake smirk again. “Oh, that’s it. You…wash her hair or something, right?”

  “She’s Bella’s stylist.” Ethan showed no mercy with his tone now, grinding anger into each syllable. He saw that even Troy echoed his sentiment, looking at Sarah like she’d turned into a creature he didn’t know. “Every thread of clothing and speck of makeup you see on Bella Lanza is designed by this woman, not Bella.”

  “Hmmm.” The woman considered that, though it was clear the needle on her diplomacy dial hadn’t been budged much. “So how come I haven’t heard of you, then?”

  When that caused a shocked glare even from Troy, Ethan was positive something wasn’t right. Troy was a stand-up guy, meaning he wouldn’t put a ring on it with any shallow bimbo, but every word out of Sarah’s mouth said otherwise. That had to mean that the words weren’t hers. They’d been manipulated by someone else. Someone who’d been damn good at artful suggestion and had given the impression of Ava as a Hollywood poser instead of a legitimate stylist.

  He clenched his jaw until his whole skull felt the tension. Without turning his head, he started scanning the inside of the house. Where the fuck are you, Mother?

  Ava shifted on his lap before answering Sarah in an uncomfortable murmur, “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Why haven’t I heard of you?” Sure enough, the Elle Archer influence was apparent in every nuance of Sarah’s tone now. “You know, like Rachel Zoe or Kate Young?”

  He felt the deep breath that Ava took then released. When she lifted her chin a little more at Sarah, her profile was regal as a queen confronting an insolent courtier. He felt like borrowing some of Link’s arrogance for himself now. Eat shit and die, my friends. I get to marry the goddamn queen.

  “Rachel and Kate are good friends,” Ava finally said, “so I’ll pass along your regards the next time I see them. Some folks in our field don’t mind keeping a high profile. I’m fond of privacy myself. Makes it easier to get through the grocery store when I’ve had a bad day and want to stuff my face with Ding Dongs and potato chips—but I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that, and that breakout on your chin is just due to stress or something.” She used Sarah’s gawking silence to push off his lap and to her feet. “By the way, a honey and cinnamon mask will clear that up pretty fast. If the pimples spread, try some toothpaste.” She shrugged. “Helps with morning breath, too. You can wake up, lick your own face, and you’re ready to go.”

  Only through supreme self-control did Ethan hold back his whoop of approval. He was glad he did, because when she turned back to him, it flipped a one-eighty back into unease. Despite the zinger with which she’d just nailed Sarah, her smile was forced at best. But her gaze was what scared him the most. The indigo depths no longer had even a glimmer of her normal verve. All he saw were shadows, dark with sadness…and defeat.

  “Baby?” He mouthed it more than spoke it, letting her see the open question in his stare. And the fear, too. He’d never seen Ava back down about anything, except the day at the studio when she’d waved the white flag on their relationship. The day she’d torn off the scars from her past and turned them into the open wounds of her present—and let all that blood cloud everything she trusted about him, too.

  “I’m done, Ethan.” She pulled her fingers from his. “Take your time. Have fun. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  He barely heard the last part of her statement. His heart had started ramming his ribs at her first two words.

  I’m done.

  The implication extended way past the party, and she was delusional if she didn’t think he’d get it. He let her have the dignity of her exit, but he’d be damned if she got all the way to the car. As he’d hoped, she got lost between the patio and the front drive, and ended up in the middle of Dad’s putting range. He found her stomping around in the dark, in the middle of the third green.

  “Ava.”

  His growl was infused with enough command that she jarred to a stop—for two seconds. She huffed, coiled her arms tighter, then restarted her pace as if he’d only tapped her Pause button.

  “There’s a damn miniature golf course in your backyard, Archer.” She flung an arm out in emphasis. “Wait; I get it. The thing’s another test, right? Part of some obstacle course people need to pass to get out of here? At least you could add some colored lights, a couple of windmills, and some clowns with trap door mouths.”

  Her sarcasm lifted a fraction of his anxiety. She was still reaching for humor, though it was in a voice that wobbled worse than her steps in those stilts she called shoes. But it proved she still cared, in her adorable, insane way. That, added to the mist forming a beautiful
nimbus around her hair, made him yearn to close the gap between them, roll her to the ground and give an awesome new meaning to the term hole-in-one.

  Instead, with legs braced and hands jammed in his pockets, he returned, “It’s not my backyard.”

  She sneered. “Close enough.”

  His answering snort was easy to summon. Maintaining the even keel on his tone was another story. “Ava, I lived here a long, time ago. This place—for that matter, those people back there—represent nothing about me anymore.” He scowled as she tromped across the fourth green and started poking her foot in its miniature sand trap. “What the hell are you—”

  “Hmm.” She deliberately cut him off. “It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “What?”

  “Your head. You’ve clearly found some sand in which to bury it, and this seemed the logical choice.” Before he could think of a comeback to sputter, she marched back over to him. “Caramba. Don’t you seriously see how all of this affects us, Ethan?”

  He re-enforced his stance. “The only things that effects ‘us’ is us.” He openly gritted his teeth when she reacted to that with a grimace. “Christ, Ava. I thought you’d understand that better than anyone. You know that city you work in? The one Rhett refers to as ‘Hollyweird?’ The one where the clothes a person wears and the place where he lives don’t define the scope of his character?”

  “Of course I understand that.” Every word was bitten out, as if she struggled for patience with a naughty puppy. “This—this is different.”

  “Different.” Echoing the word acted like a key in the lock of his understanding. A key dipped in poison. “Different because it’s me.” He rocked his head back. “Because it’s changed your view of me.”

  Her lips flattened. “Ethan, I love you. That hasn’t changed. It won’t change.”

  He straightened his head and squared his stance. “But…?”

  “But now I’m also going to marry you.”

  He kicked up his left brow. “The two are usually inclusive of each other.”

  She flung out both arms this time. “This is your family, damn it. I’m going to become a member of your family, Ethan.”

  “And I’m going to become a member of yours. I still don’t understand the issue.”

  “I’m going to bear your name!”

  “You want me to take yours, instead?” He cocked his head, giving the idea some mental traction. “Ethan Chestain. That sounds pretty good.”

  She folded her arms back in and rolled her eyes. “Sure. Like your mother would ever speak to you again. Or your father, for that matter.”

  His instinct shot off its second flare of apprehension in as many minutes. It was official; she was dancing around another subject here—but his inability to discern its cause, though he scrutinized every inch of her actions for the remotest clue, made him feel like a blind rat in a maze. “Damn it, Ava. What’s this really all about?”

  The way his words made her stop confirmed he was right. She wobbled in her heels again, making him clench every muscle to hold back from rushing her and yanking the damn things off her feet. His frustration only increased as the mist turned into a light rain and she huddled against it, looking sad and nervous and small.

  “Talk. To. Me.”

  She tugged on her lip with her teeth. When she looked back at him, her eyes were big as twin moons. “Your—your family doesn’t like me.”

  “My family doesn’t know you.” He slammed a fist against his thigh. “Thanks to this stunt of my mother’s, none of them has had a chance to spend more than ten minutes with you.” He openly scowled. “Though I think my cousin already has a crush on you.”

  She flashed her you’re-full-of-shit glare, though her lips quirked a little. “The investments guy or the pharmaceutical mogul?”

  “You think I’m going to say?”

  That coaxed her into a full laugh. The moment was a blip of relief before she slouched again. “Maybe this was all for the best, anyway. Maybe I’d have just made the night a giant chingadera by now.” She shook her head. “And maybe…”

  His trepidation needle hit the red zone again. Thank fuck for his training on the teams, which allowed him to approach her without revealing how thoroughly she scared him right now.

  “Maybe what?”

  He was going to flog himself for not leaving her silence alone, probably sooner than later. But her face, plastered with wet curls, was etched in such desperation. Her posture was bent in such defeat. Her grief was his call to action. He’d slay any enemy for her.

  “Maybe I’m just not going to be good at this wife thing.”

  Any enemy. Except for when that foe was herself.

  Her whisper, pitched high with its honesty, plummeted between them just before the heavier drops from above. Ethan stared hard at her through the rain, thankful for the leaden chill of it in contrast to the acid burn of helplessness in his veins.

  Maybe this was all for the best.

  It was, nearly word for word, what she’d said to save face when finding Bella Lanza parked on his lap during their covert operation in Hollywood. Oh, how graceful she’d been while totally backing out on him.

  He’d let her get away with the retreat back then to preserve the integrity of the mission, but now he wasn’t going to be so kind. Now the mission was them. The stakes were a hell of a lot higher. And he’d be damned if he let her get away with sneaky and graceful when they’d fought so fucking hard to find each other, to win the rarity of their love. He’d given her a custom engagement ring to signify that and told her so when they sat on the sand after his proposal, watching the stars rise over the ocean. She’d cried harder and curled into his lap, telling him how deeply he’d climbed into her soul.

  He’d believed every word she whispered then, and still did now. The woman loved him. It was still as real to him as the marrow in his bones.

  But she was running from him. Again.

  Why?

  Frustration plowed through him. If they were anywhere but here, getting drenched by a rain storm on the grounds of his parents’ estate, he’d order her to strip, kneel, and start spilling. Reality was a harsh CO sometimes. Tonight, the bastard dictated patience. Thank fuck he could be a patient man when he wanted to be.

  “Ethan?”

  Ava’s apprehensive murmur yanked him out of his brood. Perfect timing. He reached and took her hand as another affirmation pushed to the forefront of his mind—and the core of his cock.

  Patience had its payback when it was funneled into a plan. Especially a daring, devious, and decadent one.

  “Ethan?” she asked again. “Are—are you okay?”

  “Never been better.” He tugged her toward the path that led around the gazebo, toward the service gate where they’d be able to leave the grounds without anyone knowing. “I just happen to be done, too. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ava woke up to a dim gray room and the sound of rain pounding the suite’s bay window. During the night, the squall over San Francisco Bay had collided with a storm front from the ocean, temporarily turning the hotel and its grounds into a page out of Wuthering Heights.

  Or perhaps the skies were just sending down a vote of empathy for her spirit.

  Things with Ethan were still a mess, with most of the blame rightfully astride her shoulders. He’d wanted—deserved—honesty last night, and she’d all but broken into a tap dance to evade him. But the first hour of Elle’s not-so-little “surprise party,” complete with Ethan’s country club friends everywhere but the rafters, had toppled what little calm she’d been able to maintain about the night. By the time she’d regained her equilibrium, the blond on the patio dug into her like a rabid TMZ reporter, making it time to punch the Game Over button. Didn’t take a course in rocket science to figure out why—but the psychological crap from her past wasn’t a load to dump on her fiancé during a rain storm in the middle of his dad’s backyard golf resort, as their engagement p
arty was reaching warp speed.

  So…she’d played conversational duck-and-run. And had honestly expected to catch hell for it—sí, perhaps even there in the rain during the party. In the end, Ethan saved her dignity by dragging her back to the car, but had leveled another stunner by actually driving her all the way back to the hotel. His forced smile remained in place the entire time, too. There wasn’t another eyebrow raised in question, a probing glance from those piercing blue eyes, or a merciless quirk of those elegant lips. He gave her only surface courtesies, making her stomach wrench with the certainty that he was simply waiting for the privacy of their suite.

  Once behind those doors, he’d unleash his darker methods of interrogating her…processes that would only start with his palm against her ass. The man was extremely inventive with found items, no matter where they were together. She’d actually squirmed in her car seat as she thought about what plan was formulating in his devious mind, overtaken by a demented mix of fear and anticipation…

  But here she stood, nearly eight hours later, without a single bruise on her backside. Or a defining soreness in her sex. Or a reminiscent ache anywhere on her body.

  As soon as they’d gotten back to the suite, Ethan had kissed her softly, said he was beat, and taken a shower. Once done, he’d kissed her again, repeated the bullshit about being tired, and climbed into bed. She’d stood in the middle of the living room for another ten minutes, expecting him to emerge with a smug stare and the assertion that he was just kidding, when the light went out in the bedroom—and confusion turned up its glare in her mind. After the intensity of his focus back at the mansion, his about-face didn’t make sense at all.