Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  Joe turned the shop towel over in his hands. “I reckon he can head on out.”

  “You’re a doll,” Darlene said. She wedged herself between Dane and Stella. “I believe you were going to take me to dinner. If, you know, we can wait that long.”

  Stella sidestepped her, circling to the other end of the car. She’d let it go for now, but not without a parting shot. “Don’t bother with the meal, Dane. She goes for much less than that.” She waved at Joe, avoiding Darlene’s angry glare. “Joe, I’ll be visiting Grandma Angie. Give us a ring? Tomorrow is fine. No hurry.”

  “I’ll lock it up,” Joe said. “Why don’t you drop by first thing, before Beatrice opens shop?”

  “Sure.” She waved to Dane. “Nice meeting you. Thanks for checking the tires.”

  Stella felt Dane’s eyes on her as she walked away and headed back to her grandmother’s house. That had been a bust in the end, but still, the hook was set. Up to him to actually spit out the other girl’s bait.

  5

  Dane Makes a Choice

  ––––––––

  DANE bought himself some time by checking the other tires. He didn’t want to look Darlene in the face, afraid she might misinterpret anything she saw. She’d been all right for the few weeks since he’d come to town, and he’d made a show of keeping her with the gift. But her claws were out, and after Stella’s obvious interest, no doubt she’d try to sink them into him.

  Joe seemed to understand, and instead of releasing him as Darlene had suggested, asked him to vacuum the car before he took off.

  Darlene rolled her eyes and settled in a chair in the waiting area. Dane attached the wand to the vacuum, taking great care in cleaning the creases of the already immaculate seats. He didn’t put too much stock in women, overall. The one love of his life had run off inexplicably, and not even for another man. Pam had just...gone. Didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Dane shook it off. Five years gone. Screw her. Too immature, or messed up, or whatever. And if Stella made him think of Pam, then that was one hell of a sign. Run the other way, fast.

  He glanced at Darlene. She’d been all right, not too clingy, just fun. He didn’t blame her for reacting sort of strongly to Stella’s intrusion. In a town this small, those two probably had a history. She dug through her purse, extracting a nail file. Not so bad to look at. Interesting enough in the sack. She’d do for a time.

  He shut off the vacuum. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

  *

  They rode the highway back to Holly. After the incident with Stella, Dane had wanted to go someplace bigger, and Darlene had been up for a bit of traveling on the bike, about a half hour to Branson. To her credit, she hadn’t complained about the discomfort of the ride, even though he knew she had to feel it. She’d be sore tomorrow.

  Dinner had been pleasant enough. She hadn’t brought up Stella, or been bitchy. She carried that perfume bottle in her purse like it was some great treasure. She pulled it out after dinner and excused herself to spritz it again. Not that she needed it. He might be regretting the purchase if she used it much more.

  Summer was long gone, and while the days were warm, the chill of night cooled his cheeks as they approached town. Darlene kept her face in his back and clutched him tightly. Girls wrapping themselves around him on the bike was one of the reasons he loved motorcycles. That and the view, and the smells. A bit of oil, lots of pine, the wetness of a hidden pond in the dark. When they slowed, he could catch that perfume. Hopefully it would have faded a bit.

  The sky over the tree line was a jagged field of stars. In the distance, he could make out the craggy outline of the Ozarks. He’d made a good decision, leaving Texas, his oppressive boss at the Harley shop, the dead mother. Ryker had convinced him at the funeral to come on up to Holly, start over.

  He didn’t have much tying him down other than his latest girlfriend. But he hadn’t relaxed into her, moved in any closer than he had to. Something kept him cautious, the way you approach an overheating radiator. So he’d moved on, using his mother and brother as the excuse.

  Darlene tugged on his jacket. He turned his head slightly, and she pointed to a dirt road to the right. He nodded and turned onto it, dodging the worst of the ruts.

  The road narrowed, so little used that the trees encroached on them, occasionally whipping across his helmet like a slap. He slowed again, but a break in the woods revealed a ramshackle cabin. He pulled up. “This where we’re headed?”

  Darlene swung her leg over the bike, stiff and awkward in her steps. Not a complainer. He liked her better than he had even earlier in the day, or yesterday when he’d gone to the perfume place. Her hair was calmer now, the hair spray blown right out of it, now brown and long and flowing down the sides of her head instead of all high on top.

  He killed the bike and followed her. “This yours?” he asked. No telling what sort of squatter could be living there. It looked like an old hunting cabin.

  “My uncle’s. He’s off in Colorado.”

  She lifted a flowerpot, showering dead leaves across the porch, and extracted a key. Moonlight lit the face of the cabin, but barely. She seemed to know it all by feel. Dane figured she’d brought a man or two out here before.

  The door opened with a squeal that set his teeth on edge. She flipped the light, but it didn’t come on. “He often shuts off the power,” she said. “We can find the box if you want.” She turned, fumbling with something, then a beam of light crossed the room. “Or we can go by flashlight.”

  “Works for me.” Dane stepped into the musty, dank cabin. He stifled a sneeze and closed the door behind him.

  Darlene took his hand and led him to a sofa. This place was a good find, actually, as Darlene lived with her mom. Seemed like half of Holly was grown and still at home. And Dane bunked with his brother, who seemed to have a different woman there every weekend. He didn’t know where he even found them all. Dane still didn’t have a good sense of the town’s size, or the number of available girls.

  But without a car, privacy had been tough to come by. Even though he and Darlene had been together a few weeks, she hadn’t brought him here before, making do with quickies while her mom was shopping or playing bridge next door. Or taking over Ryker’s bedroom at their rundown duplex during lunch breaks. Maybe she hadn’t trusted him before, and wisely so, to be alone in the middle of nowhere. Changing her mind about it probably had to do with Stella.

  But no rush this time. This would be good, real good. Darlene set the flashlight on the floor, aiming it at the ceiling for a little light. She perched on the sofa, patting the spot beside her.

  He didn’t bother sitting next to her but planted his knee in the cushion and pushed her down to lie on top of her. She was better than average, plenty experienced, and he had already figured out a couple of her hot spots. He would find more.

  She wriggled out of the tight skirt as he pushed her halter down. The reds of her lips and nails looked black in the dark, giving her an edgy appearance, almost evil. She unzipped his pants and pushed them down. The cool air washed across him, and then she was already leading him in, without preamble, without play.

  And unprotected. He rolled off, trying to slow things, but she came right back at him, pushing him down on the other end of the sofa. She straddled, intent, but he grasped her waist and slid her forward, onto his belly. “Aren’t you anxious?” he said. “Let me get something.”

  “I’m on the pill.” She persisted, trying to move down again and ensnare him.

  He sat up and shifted her back on the cushion. “That’s news. You wanted a condom before.” He knew all the tactics girls could use to trap a man. Pregnancy, real or faked. They just needed an incident to cast doubt. He didn’t fall for none of that.

  She tried to straddle him again, this time sitting up. “I didn’t trust you then. That you were clean.” She pushed him back against the sofa. “I know better now.”

  Actually, he was the one who should probably worry. H
e lifted her off him again and stood up. “I’ve never checked,” he lied. “So let’s assume it’s not safe.” He tugged his wallet out of the pocket somewhere near his knees and extracted the smooth wrapper.

  He could see in the low light that her lips were pressed together. He’d pissed her off, but that didn’t matter. He could coax her around. He knew the ways.

  Dane slid his hand around her knee, then down to her ankle, and slipped off one high-heeled shoe, then the other. He felt her relent a little and laid his lips against her calf, working his way back up. By the time he reached her inner thigh, she’d given in again, the incident behind them.

  But he wouldn’t forget. His guard was up, and judging from his history, the distance that had just wedged between them would only grow.

  6

  Stella’s Book

  ––––––––

  STELLA arrived in the shop to find Beatrice seated cross-legged, eyes closed, fingers in some weird circle position, on a mat in the back of the shop. She wore a hideous stretchy suit in lilac. Stella moved forward to ask her what the hell she was doing, then the smell hit her. Sweet. Sickly. Strong.

  Stella coughed and backed away. “What is THAT?”

  Beatrice opened her eyes, and Stella realized she wasn’t wearing makeup. Bare eyes. Plain cheeks. Her pale mouth opened, said something, closed.

  “What?” Stella asked, still hacking up a lung.

  “Incense.” A pale purple arm, encased like a sausage in the tight sleeve, waved at a pair of sticks in a glass vase. Thin streams of smoke curled upward from the ends.

  “Like in church?” Stella had only been to Mass three times in her life, but she distinctly recalled the preacher, minister, whatever he was, swinging a smoking metal can on a chain. Pretty much the worst thing she had ever smelled.

  “It’s to cleanse the air,” Beatrice said. “So I can find inner peace.”

  Stella dropped her purse on the back table. “It’s going to overpower the whole shop. People are going to think we sell that crap.”

  “Maybe we will. Maybe we won’t.”

  Stella slipped out of her jacket. Something was way wrong here. “What has gotten into you?”

  Beatrice heaved herself up with some effort. “Yoga. Newest thing. Well, the newest old thing. I am going to become a yogi!”

  “Like the bear?” Stella wanted to avert her eyes now that the full form of her boss in the lilac stretch suit was in view.

  “No, no. The ancient art. Finding your center.”

  “So why aren’t you centering at home?”

  Beatrice lifted one of the sticks and stuck the smoking end into a bowl of sand. She picked up a pair of tiny cymbals and clanged them twice.

  “Beatrice—”

  “Shhh. You’ll disturb the balance of the room.” She crammed another stick in the sand, clanging the bells again.

  God. Stella brushed past her and through the curtain to the shop. She unlocked the door and propped it open to let some air in. Her mother had found Jesus when Stella was sixteen and smashed all her Bee Gees albums and, most horrifically, her soundtrack to Grease. Hopefully Beatrice’s middle-aged obsession with yoga would be less destructive.

  Maybe she should hide the good stuff in the shop. Anything Beatrice might foolishly destroy to banish materialism.

  The phone rang. Stella picked up the heavy receiver, wishing Beatrice would break down and get a modern push-button phone rather than the old rotary dialer. “Good Scents,” she said.

  “Stella? It’s Joe. You forgot the car this morning.”

  “Right.” She hadn’t forgotten but wasn’t up to facing postcoital Dane at dawn’s early light. She glanced at the curtain. “Beatrice is a little, hmm, busy this morning. I don’t think I’ll be able to get over there for a few hours.”

  “No problem. We can hold on to it. Or I can send one of the boys over with it.”

  Stella’s heart hammered painfully. “Dane, maybe?”

  Joe cleared his throat in a half-chuckle. “Haven’t seen him in yet. Late night for him, sounds like. He’s usually pretty reliable.”

  Stella twisted the cord between her fingers, her mood dashed. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “I can wait for him to get in.”

  “No need, Joe. Thank you. I’ll come by during lunch.” She hesitated. “Or maybe I’ll send Dad.” If he’ll get up.

  Joe knew what she was thinking, both about her dad and about Dane. “Don’t worry your pretty head about a thing. I can always send Ryker.” He paused. “How’s Angie?”

  Stella leaned her head against the back wall. “Sleeping, mostly.”

  “All right. Well, you take care of her.”

  “I will. Thanks, Joe.” She hung up quietly, her shoulders heavy.

  Joe was a good guy. Grandma Angie had actually taken a shine to him for a bit, and the whole town had buzzed about the possible romance. Vivian had intervened, calling the whole thing “a sickness.” Then Grandma had actually gotten sick. Even if she could have kept things going, Joe backed off. He’d watched one great love fade out when his first wife died slowly and painfully from cancer. He probably just couldn’t do it again.

  She didn’t think Joe would send Dane now. She pictured Darlene straddling him and burned with disgust and misery. No doubt that girl had unloaded her entire arsenal. Stella had to let it go. Forget about him. Not worth the trouble.

  She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a binder stuffed with travel brochures, newspaper clippings, and letters she’d gotten from employment agencies. She flipped through the book, pausing in the section on St. Louis. She could go to secretary school there, learn shorthand and some other skills. She typed fast. They were interested. They might even offer her a work-study to pay her way while she finished the course.

  Postcards of New York spilled from the next section, so she ripped a piece of scotch tape from the spindle by the register and affixed each card to a page. She wouldn’t seriously consider such a drastic move, but the pictures were beautiful and frightening. Buildings so tall you had to stretch your neck to see the top. They seemed to blot out the sky. Maybe that could be her first real vacation once she was a bona fide professional.

  She wanted to skip the Texas section, knowing that that was where Dane came from. Lots of people in town called Ryker “Tex” or “Cowboy,” even though his leather and tattoos didn’t fit the part whatsoever. Dane was more clean-cut, but still retained that biker air. Nothing country about either one of them. Most of what Stella knew about Texas, she’d learned from Dallas. J. R. and Sue Ellen and Southfork.

  But the brochures from there were super nice, from the oil rigs in the fields to the fancy ball of light in the big city. She liked Houston a lot, the giant supermalls and bright stores. She could make a lot more in a shop there, if she didn’t want to do the secretary thing, and she was pretty sure she didn’t.

  Stella didn’t have a whole lot of skills, but she could sell anything. At Good Scents, Beatrice made a few perfumes of her own, custom mixes for her best clients. Stella learned some of that, but she didn’t think it would be useful to her out in the real world. She liked managing the business side, understanding costs of goods sold and overhead and profit and loss. She wasn’t college material, so this was the best way to learn.

  The door jingled and Mrs. Kramer shuffled in, her gray hair carefully spun into a cotton-candy web to make it appear she had volume, when really the entire coiffure was made of air. As usual, she wore a ball gown, this one fuchsia taffeta with giant puffed sleeves and layers of ruffles that cascaded to the floor.

  “Hello, Mrs. K.,” Stella said, swiftly rounding the counter before the elderly lady’s walker could knock aside anything breakable. “In for another bottle of Shalimar?”

  Mrs. Kramer kicked at the loose tennis ball on the base of the silver leg of her walker, revealing white sneakers. “Thought I’d shake things up a bit, Stella. What’s new?” The old woman lifted her head finally, her pale eye
s foggy and liquid beneath an inch of ice-blue eye shadow and fake lashes.

  “Well, we have a new one in.” Stella pointed inside the glass case. “Paloma Picasso.”

  “Like the painter?”

  “It’s his daughter.”

  Mrs. Kramer shoved the walker forward another step and almost tripped on her hem. She peered into the case. “Is it any good?”

  “Let’s take a sniff.” Stella headed back around the counter, extracting the key from the register to open the case. She wondered if Beatrice was still doing yoga or if she’d come out in that horrid outfit.

  She pulled the tester out and spritzed a card. “Here you go.”

  Mrs. Kramer lifted the card to her nose. “Rubbish.” She tossed the card on the counter. “We’ll stick with Shalimar.”

  This was an old routine. Stella simply smiled and lifted the royal-blue box from the row.

  Mrs. Kramer heaved her purse from where it hung on a bar on the walker to the counter. Stella smiled, feigning patience as she waited for the woman to extract a worn gold wallet and peel two twenty-dollar bills from a roll inside.

  “I love your gown today,” Stella said.

  “This old thing?” Mrs. Kramer laid the money on the counter. “I wore it in 1943 at a Mardi Gras society dinner hosted by the Krewe of Proteus.”

  “It’s lovely.” A movement in the window caught her attention. A car was pulling up. Her grandmother’s car. She stuck the bills in the register and rapidly made change. Who had brought it? The glare made it impossible to see through all the layers of glass.

  She dropped the change in Mrs. Kramer’s outstretched hand and hurriedly slid the perfume into a bag. The door to the car opened, and Stella couldn’t bear it, so she left the counter to move closer to the front.

  Her chest tightened as she recognized the black waves, the sharp jaw. Dane. Joe had sent Dane.

  The door jingled as he pushed through. He’d layered a flannel shirt over a T-shirt today, blue and gray plaid. A smiley face with a bullet hole in its forehead peeked out as he lifted his arm to rattle her grandmother’s key chain.