She laid her head on his lap and found her bookmarked page. He adjusted the lamp for the best lighting, placed his hand on her shoulder. He lowered the sound on the TV so it didn't blast. He shifted his body.
April gave reading her best effort, but their positions were too intimate for her over-stimulated brain. He smelled so good, his thigh felt so hard and muscular, and if she turned her head just so . . . . Omigod, I'm doing it again. He's not only a Good Samaritan, now he's my freakin' boss!
* * * * *
Glennon ignored the sports action flying across the big screen, lost all interest in the clash and crash of the football players, was deafened to the roar of the crowd. What was I thinking? This is stupid. Really stupid. Every cell in his body focused on how close April's lovely mouth was to his cock. He fought the urge to slide his ass forward and present his groin, hoped her fingers would crawl over his thigh to fondle him, caress him, that her mouth would open for him, suckle him. Instead, he kept as still as Michelangelo's marble David, afraid he would spook her if he shifted even the smallest muscle. The tableau lasted for long moments, until April finally sat up, gazed at Glennon with hazel-green eyes gone soft gold. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room."
She rose with book in hand, then stepped away gracefully. She didn't look back.
Was that a hint, a come-hither plea? Am I supposed to respond? Does she want me? His hand slid to his cock, which was bursting at the seams and anxious to escape. He didn't read women well—and the last mistake had cost him dearly.
He'd been home on leave. Lisa rushed around, preparing for a crucial meeting the next morning. She'd worked her way up through the ranks to advertising exec, and her ad campaigns outsold everyone in her department—definitely a rising star. Her presentation was prepared, her favorite black suit with red pinstripes laid out in the bedroom. Suddenly, after dinner, she'd asked Glennon if he'd fueled her car. His worst habit was leaving the tank nearly empty. He'd turned on the charm, grinned at her. "Of course not. But you love me anyway, right?"
Usually she laughed and forgave him—but this time he'd totally pissed her off. "Damn it, Glennon, when are you going to take my career seriously? This isn't a joke." Before he could apologize, before he realized her intention, she'd grabbed her purse and keys, then stormed out of the house.
He called after her from the front steps, "Lise, I'll get it."She'd already backed out of the driveway, jerked the car into drive, and slammed on the accelerator. Tires squealed.
With nothing else to do until his angry wife returned, he'd parked himself in front of the television, flicked aimlessly through channels. She'd been gone for quite a while, when he caught the end of a local news flash.
"—our man on the scene, reporting live . . . a brazen hold-up at an all-night gas station and convenience store, brightly lit with camera surveillance . . . again, two people dead, and two suspects killed by police after an exchange of gunfire . . . the names of the female customer and the male store attendant are being withheld until their families are notified . . . once again—"
Before the detective's car pulled up in front of their off-base housing, Glennon knew.
What he had not known until later—because his wife wasn't sure enough to tell him—was that Lisa had been pregnant.
* * * * *
Glennon didn't come to her. April swung between disappointment and relief.
She tried to read, books usually providing her personal panacea, but the effort proved futile. Eventually she nodded off, falling deeper than just a doze.
Darkness surrounded her when she awoke. Disoriented, she checked the LED
clock face. Wow, I slept right through dinner! She peeked out of her room, but the only illumination appeared to be from the television. Odd that Glennon didn't call me for supper. There might have been faint movement in the living room, but she wasn't sure.
April took the time, made the effort, tried to look as sexy and as alluring as she could manage. A hint of perfume, a new cleavage-popping, ruby-red nightgown—
courtesy of Internet shopping. She trembled with indecision, her breathing forced. All right, I can handle this. It's like riding a bicycle, right?
She left her bedroom door open, stepped into the hallway. Then she pulled up short.
Glennon stood less than two arm's-lengths away. The faint glow of the television barely outlined his body. He didn't say a word. Didn't move.
"Glennon?" She stepped closer.
Silent for an uncomfortably long moment, he finally shook his head. He took a step back, then another. "I can't do this with you."
"Put this on." Martone had dragged her into his secret playroom, then locked the door from the inside. He'd thrown a sheer, crotchless teddy at her, the fabric a bilious lime green. He saw her about to protest. "Don't open your mouth. I said, put it on. Pin your hair up, or this time I'll cut it all off. And be quick about it. I'm not waiting all night."
Then he'd shoved her toward the private bathroom attached to the room.
When April had walked hesitantly from the bathroom, every light in his private dungeon had been switched on. Fear and horror built in her gut as she tried to look away from the strange sexual paraphernalia scattered around the room. Bondage fixtures swung from ceiling chains; more hung bolted to the walls. The St. Andrew's Cross stood in the corner, an X-shaped saltire, affixed with wide leather straps to secure a person's hands and feet. A four-poster bed with leather straps and cuffs. She'd tried to cover her exposed sex, but there was no hope for it. She stood in the middle of the room and fearfully awaited instructions.
Angelo heaved his burgeoning bulk out of the overstuffed chair in the center of the room, adjusted the belt of his robe and circled her, examining her like a race horse he might consider buying. "What a waste. You couldn't even star in a good porn movie." He dropped into the chair again. "Kneel before me, useless bitch."
April froze, her eyes wide, as he uncoiled a new flogger from the deep pocket of his robe.
Brutal chrome arrowheads tipped the long, slender, braided leather tails, and, in his cruel fist, the carved wooden handle resembled a large, black-enameled phallus. She'd never seen it before—he usually punished her with his favorite mini-flogger, which sported short latigo strips that protruded from an intricately braided handle. She knew there were even more brutal sex toys in the fancy closet built into the far wall.
"I . . . told . . . you . . . to . . . come . . . here. You know what happens when you disobey. I own you—unless your want your precious parents to learn what their princess is really like.
Now . . . kneel." Agitated, Angelo lifted the flogger up and to the side, like he was handling a bullwhip, then slapped the side of the leather chair with the tails. The pointed metal tips split the expensive cowhide. A second strike shredded the tough leather. He'd never used that flogger on her, but there was always a first time—there was no doubt that the cruel plaything could strip flesh from bone.
She'd dropped to her knees, her arms limp at her sides, the gorge in her throat rising with the level of her fear.
Angelo stared at her, dark piggish eyes brimming with malevolence. "Never mind, I don't want you, useless whore. You might be interesting if another broad was here, but you're worthless alone."
He rose and walked by, leaving her on her knees, her head bowed. "I'm going to bed. Stay out of my sight, don't bother me."
As he passed, she'd caught a faint odor, almost masked by his overpowering European cologne. The scent of another woman's perfume. Too sweet, too floral. The combination was nauseating. A snarl passed Angelo Martone's lips as he left the room. "I can't do this with you."
April stared at Glennon without seeing him, suddenly chilled to the bone. I can't do this with you. "I thought—"
Humiliated, her tongue tripped over her own words as she reeled backward, unable to catch her breath. "I thought . . . I thought . . . you wanted . . . ."
Omigod, please, not again. Not again. Arms folded over her breasts
, she spun and fled to the safety of her room, quickly locked the door.
I am so stupid. How could I be such an idiot, to believe he actually wanted me? The ache of degradation sank any smidgen of self-worth she'd managed to build up since escaping Martone. I can't do this with you. What were the chances of hearing that twice in a lifetime? When Martone had left her, she'd nearly sobbed in relief. But when Glennon backed away—
Glennon doesn’t want me. He has no desire for me. At best, he probably thought of her as an efficient employee. She knew she had talents in that department. Maybe even as a comfortable housemate, like two guys sharing an apartment. At worst, he pitied her. What happened in the kitchen? Didn't he want me? He acted interested. He was hard enough, I know he was. She hugged herself tighter, willed the soft sobs to stop.
Rushing to the bathroom, April scrubbed her face until it was nearly raw. Fuck the mirrors, who cares? She stripped off the sexy nightgown, accidently tore the pretty garment in the process, flung it to the floor. What was I thinking? The utilitarian cotton nightshirt fell nearly to her ankles. Harshly pulling a brush through her hair, she wished it had grown long enough to pull into a sexless ponytail.
"April, c'mon, unlock the door. We need to talk."
Oh no we don't. Words were not possible, not even to tell him to go away. The sad part was that, even after his blatant rejection, she didn't want him to leave. Not really.
My God, am I really so pathetic? Glennon tried the doorknob again. The sobbing under control, she stayed as quiet as the proverbial church mouse, until the doorknob stopped jiggling.
Great, one sucky relationship after another. She hiccupped . Relationship? Those aren't relationships, they're more like repeated disasters. When it comes to men, I'm a disaster magnet.
What does Mom always say? Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Now I understand exactly what she means. April settled herself, propped up on a pile of pillows. Enough with the tears.
Think. Plan. No male interference. I got out before, I can do it again. This time, on my own.
April leaned back, closed her eyes. Not to sleep, but to plot. She'd escaped from Martone and he was big-time, so she knew she was capable. The trick, as she saw it: never trust another man. Never again allow herself to be tossed away, unlamented and unwanted. She'd go solo.
More than anything, she needed to get back to the West Coast, needed to reach her folks. If she got to them first, she could do damage control before Martone made good on his threat. She would come clean and tell them the story, the sordid tale of their not-so-clever daughter. Oh yeah, I can just imagine trying to explain to my parents! Mom, Dad, sorry to disappoint, but my libido temporarily got in the way of my common sense. She was sure that whatever she told them wouldn’t be as mortifying as being rejected as a sex partner. Not a lover, not even—what is it called?—a fuck buddy. Not rejected once, but twice . I thought men always wanted sex, so what's wrong with me? Have I morphed into a bridge troll?
She had no vehicle, no contacts, no cell phone, no untraceable ID or credit cards.
The friends she'd made at her old job were more like acquaintances, no one she could ask to shelter her. Thanks to her mom, she had some money left. Maybe enough, if she parceled it out very carefully. I need to get out of Jersey, alive. Then back to Chino. Alone.
Chapter Six
Sunday, early morning
Only April knew about the church, so that seemed the most logical place to begin. I should be able to make it to the convent before dawn, on foot. Hitch another ride from convent to bank. Empty safety deposit box. Head west. Maybe Father Joseph has contacts. Maybe he can hook me up with church tour groups heading west. Maybe as far as Vegas. Maybe Vegas will be close enough to call home for a ride. Who would target church buses on the interstates, filled with good Christian ladies whose worst vices were bingo and penny slots?
She sorted her new clothes into two piles: necessary and frivolous. Then she crammed as many of the necessaries as she could into her duffle bag. Into her roomy shoulder bag went the antibiotics, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, whatever personal stuff would fit. Note to self: replace the colored contact lenses, but no more hair dye. Hats and scarves will do. The only item she hadn't replaced was her jacket. Even though it was summer, the nights seemed to be cool and damp in northern Jersey. Too late now to buy one, but I can make do.
Gear packed and ready, April cracked the door quietly, then checked the hallway. Total darkness met her. The only fly in the ointment was not knowing where Glennon lurked. No matter, he'll be glad to see the back of me. She couldn't imagine that he would try to stop her physically. She also felt confident that any confrontation would probably destroy her slim hold on the bravado required to flee the safety of the building, with its high-tech defenses.
Stopping at the coat closet in the foyer, she quietly felt for the black and red reversible nylon windbreaker she knew hung on a hook at the back of the door. Should be safe enough to wear.
Except for the barely lit elevator buttons, darkness pervaded the indoor garage, its floor graded slightly upward, toward the sidewalk. Hugging the wall, April squeezed past the parked vehicles that apparently lived there. Just a few more feet—
she'd be out of the building and on her way to church. Church and me, not two words usually strung together in the same sentence. Not even in the same thought sequence.
Silence enveloped the neighborhood. Storefronts unlit, street barely illuminated by decades old, yellowed streetlights. Even the coffee shop shared the dark, too early for the bakery gnomes to begin baking and brewing for the morning stampede of humans desperate for their after-church sugar-and-caffeine rush.
Just inside the leading edge of blackness in the bat cave, April gazed longingly at the empty shop and sighed an itty-bitty sigh . Add me to the list. I could sure use a jolt of sugar and caffeine right now. She took a last look to the left and right, stepped out to the sidewalk.
Someone grabbed her from behind, dragged her backward into the garage. A large hand, clamped over her mouth, forced the escaping scream to lodge in her throat.
April tried to bite, but couldn't get her own lips out of the way. She dropped her bags, kicked backward to catch her attacker's knees. She struggled to dislodge the hand across her face, grabbed the pinky finger and tried to break it. Her attempts proved useless, but she didn't give up. The immovable human vise trapped her against the wall, the painted cinderblocks damp with early morning condensation.
" Shh, be still. Bloody hell, would you stop kickin' me? I'll not cause you harm."
The whisper in her ear—faint Scottish accent, deep, husky, almost raspy—sounded familiar. "Miss April, it's Daniel. Do you understand?" He grunted. "Damn you, stop biting."
Oh yeah, I understand. I understand that I stayed in town too freakin' long. Angelo's personal bodyguard, the new guy, had tracked her down. Shit, I didn't bail out fast enough. Should have kept to my original plan of cut and run. She knew her assailant, realized she fought a losing battle. She slumped in Daniel Wyndsor's massive, rock-hard arms.
"If you promise not to scream and not to run, I'll release you. Nod if you agree."
The Scottish overtones were soft, almost soothing.
Like I have a choice. Gigantor can snap me like a dry twig. April nodded.
The man removed his hand, then set her upright. "Are you all—?"
Before he finished the question, she made a mad dash toward the street, toward freedom. In less than half a step, he trapped her once again in his iron grip.
"You agreed not to run."
"I lied."
"You're bloody lucky I grabbed you before you hit the street. What the hell is wrong with you, coming out in the open like this?"
Okay, so much for his voice being soothing.
"I managed just fine until you showed up." She rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, then straightened her clothing.
"Girl, Martone has men everywhere. You don't stand a chance."
&nbs
p; The scare transformed her fear into anger. Her words tore out in a low snarl.
"Martone's men? Hang on. You work for Angelo, you are one of his men. So why aren't you dragging me back to the fucking Chamber of Horrors, kicking and screaming the entire fucking way?" She hammered his chest with both fists. "Or is that still your fucking plan?"
"That trashy mouth is a new talent. Can't say I'm terribly fond of it." He ignored the punches."I resigned the day you left, while Martone's private physician attended to the damage you caused. Impressive, by the way. Martone was furious at my resignation, but his men wouldn't take me on. I don't work for brutes who abuse women."
Then, in the stillness, a new sound. Very faint. It seemed like . . . like . . . . Is he sniffing me? Really? "What the hell are you doing?"
"You smell like men's cologne, for fuck sake."
"Trash mouth yourself."
Assuming Glennon's windbreaker was the culprit, April struggled out of the jacket, then threw it toward Daniel's feet. Then she shrugged off the annoying neck straps, piled everything on the ground. She leaned back against the wall.
"Well, it took you this long to find me." She tried to identify his form, but his big body was still only a darker blob in the shadows. "How did you find me?"
Daniel grunted. "Army Ranger, 75th Regiment. I never lost you."
A voice broke through the dark. April damn near jumped out of her skin.
"Marine Corps Force Recon. You should have stayed away."
Daniel's faint accent, now clipped, laid blame."And you should have protected her better. You're getting sloppy, Garrett."
Glennon came back with an unmistakably gruff tone."Not too sloppy to track her from the penthouse, then follow her with infrared. Not too sloppy to keep you in my sights, Wyndsor. What are you doing these days, slumming? Martone? Really? How the mighty have fallen."
Hunting April Page 5