by Shandi Boyes
The longer I return Darcy’s embrace, the tighter I have to grip Regan’s hand. She appears two seconds from running, and she isn’t even halfway into the series of surprises I have planned for her.
After placing Darcy back onto her feet, I jerk Regan forward until she is once again standing at my side. She stops taking in Darcy’s bare feet, short denim shorts, and midriff top when I say, “Darcy, this is my girlfriend, Regan.” Regan’s screwed up nose from me calling her my girlfriend smooths when I quickly add on, “Regan, this is my baby sister, Darcy.”
Regan’s eyes rocket to mine, certain she heard me wrong. She didn’t. Even with her British accent in full swing, Darcy has the same sandy hair as mine, bright blue eyes, and mischievous grin.
The grin announces she has finally noticed Regan’s scowl. She’s more amused by it than disgusted.
“Darcy is an actress. She’s preparing for a role, hence the accent.”
Air evicts from my lungs when Darcy backhands my chest. “I’m an actor.” She says her last word sharply. “There is no discrimination in my field of expertise.” She doesn’t need to spell out what her remark means. She loathes my family lineage as much as my mother does.
Speaking of mothers, I’ve just spotted mine darting past the kitchen. “Mom!”
Regan grips my hand so fiercely, her fingernails pierce my skin as effectively as they did my back last night. “You said we were staying at a hotel.”
She expresses her comment softly enough neither my mom, aunt or . . . I do a quick head count. . . four cousins will hear her.
“We are. The Manor is kind of a hotel.”
“Owned by your family.”
Her words are issued with a glare hot enough to melt ice, but a stranger wouldn’t know that. She has a perfect smile plastered on her face, and her shoulders are high and without tension. If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d assume she knew of my intentions to bombard her with all my family in one sitting.
It’s a pity I know her very well. She’s not just planning to dissect my nuts the instant we’re alone; she’ll boil them up and feed them to the hounds. Even more reason for me to keep her occupied.
After introducing Regan to my mom in the same manner I did Darcy, we make our way to the rest of my family standing frozen, gawking at us. They’re not stunned by the way Regan carries herself with grace while her eyes scream troublemaker. They want to know what caused the drastic shift in my dating stance between Easter and now.
A few months ago, I declared the odds of me coming home with a date at Christmas would be zero to none. Now, I’m striving to work out if Regan and I will do Christmas at The Manor or just New Years. I guess it will depend on which celebration is more important to Regan’s family. Mine will be happy with either. As long as there is enough food to sponge up the copious amounts of alcohol they consume, they’ll celebrate the day as if it is the best day of the year.
We make it through an additional six introductions before Regan returns her focus to my mom, who is leading the campaign to assimilate her into our tight family dynamic with the gusto of a tigress. “Is there a bar here? Or anywhere within a ten-mile radius?”
My mom slaps Regan’s arm as she steps into her private bubble, popping the only defense Regan had left at her disposal. “Do you think any of us would be here if we didn’t?” My mom’s eccentric words change Regan’s fake smile to a real one. “Why do you think we’re loitering in the kitchen? We’re waiting for the clock to strike five.”
Regan bumps my mom with her hip, making the admiration in my mom’s eyes grow tenfold. “It’s five somewhere in the world, am I right?”
“Hell yes, sister. Then let’s do this,” Darcy squeals, happy someone else has taken over the troublesome reins she usually controls.
I’m left hanging in the kitchen when my mom and Darcy curl their arms around Regan’s waist to drag her toward the fully stocked bar. It isn’t a hard feat considering Regan has been seeking a way to flee from me since we arrived.
Within seconds, Grayson and I are the only Myers left standing in the once bustling space. “You know you’ve lost her for eternity now, right?” His black boots clip the wooden floor as he spans the distance between us. “They’ve been seeking a new member to join their unit since Lorraine left for college last semester.”
He pops his hip on the kitchen counter, bringing his six foot four height closer to my six foot two stature. “Is she really your girlfriend?” His eyes say the words he can’t express: Or is she your mark?
“Have you got a few hours? Because it will take at least that many for me to work through my own confusion before I can tackle yours.”
Grayson nudges his head in the opposite direction from where Regan and our female relatives just went. “I’ve got more than a few hours. Let’s hustle.”
He heads out the door we entered only twenty minutes ago, not bothering to turn around and check if I’m following him. He knows I’ll follow, but he wouldn’t care if I didn’t. Grayson isn’t called the game player for no reason. He knows everyone’s strong points and weaknesses. That’s how he plays the game so well. If you’re on his team, you’re set. I wouldn’t recommend getting on his bad side, though.
Six beers later—Grayson, not me—my older brother slumps into a wicker chair in one of the many screened patios of The Manor. “Are you certain the guy from Regan’s apartment is the same man who assaulted you?”
I nod. “What other reason would he have to clock me over the head?”
“I can think of a few.” Ignoring my squinted gaze, Grayson rests his feet on the glass table holding his empty beer bottles. “Your girl is right: you ain’t got shit in evidence. If I hadn’t seen the little vein in your forehead working overtime as you recited the facts, I would’ve believed this was a ruse to force her here against her wishes.” He uncrosses his ankles and leans forward to grab another beer from a cooler at his side. “What about that techie you mentioned? Has he found anything more concrete?”
I drop my eyes to Regan’s phone that I haven’t let out of my sight for a single minute today. There are no messages, emails, or missed calls—unfortunately.
My disappointed sigh must answer Grayson’s question on my behalf. “Give me the afternoon to get clearance, then I’ll run some searches.”
“You’ll do that for Regan?” Shock resonates in my tone.
Grayson is the first to tell you his time isn’t free. If you want it, you better be willing to pay for it, so I’m shocked he’s offering to help without additional stipulations being discussed.
I yank away from Grayson when he tugs on the clump of hair on my chin. “I’m not doing it for your girl. I’m doing it for you.”
I wait, knowing there is more. I’m proven right when he says, “On one condition.”
I’m not happy, but I jerk my chin up all the same. I’ll even go as far as pretending I haven’t noticed him eyeballing a beautiful redhead from the corner of his eye the past two hours if it gets me one step closer to unearthing the person striving to hurt Regan.
I stop trying to figure out why the redhead seems familiar when Grayson says, “Call Bennett. He’s struggling with his new placement.” He taps my shoulder, takes one final glance at the redhead, then enters The Manor via a squeaky screen door.
I wait for it to stop swinging before punching a frequently dialed number into Regan’s cell. I’ve never believed in delayed gratification, so I may as well tackle Grayson’s demand now.
Bennett doesn’t answer my call, but his voicemail is extremely concerning.
“Hey, you’ve reached Dok. Leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you.”
Dok? Who the fuck is Dok?
11
For every minute I spend drinking and chatting with Alex’s family, the chances of him waking up tomorrow morning still breathing increase. I should hate him for the predicament he placed me in. I should castrate him as a warning to any man thinking about strong-arming me, but when he waltze
s into the room, his brows furled in confusion, the last thing I want to do is hurt him.
Kiss him. Fuck him. Do wickedly naughty things to him with my tongue. They’re the top items on my agenda. Then, after a quick rest, I’ll let him return the favor. I could blame the tequila in my veins for speaking on my behalf, but I had most of these ideas hours before alcohol hit my system.
A whoosh of lust shoots through me when Alex notices my heated stare. He dips his chin, his lips furling more than his brows as he makes his way across the room. The bustling chitchat filling the bar only moments ago fades to barely a whisper. All the guests are too enamored by our pull-thrust routine to continue with their conversations.
I’m not surprised by their interest. People I hadn’t been formally introduced to bombarded me the instant I was out of Alex’s earshot. Their questions all honed in on the one focal point: was I really Alex’s girlfriend? I should have told them Alex can’t afford me, but something stopped me from doing that. I dropped the “B” word first, so I can’t be angry at Alex for running with it.
“Hey.” Alex presses his lips to my temple, causing the crowd surrounding us to let out a collective sigh. “Settling in okay?”
I drag my hand along the countertop, revealing my last three hours have been well spent. If I wanted to add to the groove between his brows instead of erasing it, I could pretend alcohol is the only cause for my giddy state, but recalling his pledge for us to be honest this weekend has me saying, “Your mom is a hoot. If she wasn’t called away on a guest emergency, she would have drank me under the table.”
Alex grins, knowing I’m being 100% honest. He is the spitting image of his mom, Marilyn, but her personality is on the opposite end of the spectrum. She is cozy and warm, and has a mind as wickedly depraved as mine. I thought her nurturing side derived from raising four children with a somewhat absentee husband, but she guaranteed me that wasn’t the case.
“I didn’t know evil ran through my veins until I produced mini versions of myself,” Marilyn said earlier this evening, her tone half-witty, half-serious. “Alex’s dad already had me pulling my hair out, so imagine throwing four babies under the age of five into the mix. I’m shocked they made it to adulthood alive.”
“From the way your Ma talked about your Pa, I thought they were separated.” Alex’s lips quirk, not stunned by my reply. “It’s a pity for her I got my soul-matching skills from my mom. I can’t believe it, even thirty-five years later, your Ma is still head over heels in love with your Pa. He must have a magic wand or something.” I add a wink to my last sentence, giving it the frisky edge I was aiming for.
When a genuine smile crosses Alex’s face, I gesture for him to occupy the seat his mom just vacated. He accepts my offer, just not in the way I was anticipating. Instead of planting his backside in the seat next to mine, he plucks me from my seat, slides into my place, then lowers me to sit in his lap.
My cheeks flare as rampant heat attacks my senses. I could pretend my flaming cheeks are compliments of the numerous pairs of eyes glancing my way, but prolonged gawks are nothing new to me. I get them no matter what I’m doing. Even something as mundane as picking up my dry cleaning in a pair of dirty gray sweatpants and a plain white T gets me eyeballed. The attention used to bother me, but the more regularly it occurred, the more adapted I became.
It is so second nature now, I was genuinely put off when nothing I did secured Alex’s attention for more than two seconds when we co-dined at Taste. From his disinterest, it’s shocking how far we’ve traveled in such a short period of time.
Perhaps that’s the excuse I can use for not bolting the instant Alex relinquished my hand from his? His unexpected entrance into my life handed me months of sexual frustration, so it’s only fair he clears his debt before we move on to greener pastures.
Yeah, right.
As much as I hate to admit it, just the idea of Alex moving on ensures I won’t be seeking my own seat any time soon. Although that doesn’t mean I’ll go down easily.
“Is there something wrong with the four empty stools beside me?” I glance over his shoulder. As suspected, every eye in the room is on us. “Or the other twenty or so ones scattered around the room?”
My last three words come out in a purr from Alex’s beard scraping my nape so he can growl into my ear. “I prefer this seat. Do you have a problem with that?”
He didn’t have time to trim his beard, so it’s a little more scraggily than it was when we wrestled in the field. I should hate it—I should hate him—but his Viking facial hair doesn’t just have my insides purring like a kitty; it makes my heart gallop as well. I’ve always gone for sophisticated, clean-cut men. I had no clue what I was missing out on!
“I do have a problem with you stealing my seat. . . if it improves my chances of getting spanked.”
When Alex’s brow gets lost in his hairline, I lift a recently replenished martini to my mouth to hide my smile. His lips aren’t moving, but I don’t need him to speak to know what he’s thinking. He’s shocked by my confession, and, if the thickness in his pants is anything to go by, incredibly turned on. I can understand both his responses. I don’t relinquish power—ever! But this is different. We’re even, which means the occasional switch up is okay.
Furthermore, the horribly depressed state my vagina was in the past two months has all but vanished from his devotion, so shouldn’t his dedication be rewarded in the most wickedly spectacular way?
I swallow my glass of martini in one gulp, pop the olive between my teeth, then slam my glass onto the polished bar so firmly it nearly snaps from my determination. “I’m horny. We should fuck.”
Alex coughs, choking on his spit. “What?”
I swivel in my seat, my desire intensifying when I feel him thicken beneath me. “I’m horny. We should fuck,” I repeat more slowly and seductively. Well, as seductively as I can since I’m three-quarters drunk. It was delivered a little more slurred than I would have liked, but the alcohol thickening my veins adds a husky edge to my voice I can totally pull off.
Alex’s sober eyes bounce between mine. He reads the eagerness, determination. . . and unfortunately, the glassiness in my wide gaze.
“How about we get some nutrients in your belly to absorb the slosh in there—” He presses his finger to my lips when I attempt to interrupt him. “Then. . .” he keeps me hanging long enough I’m on the verge of sobriety before suggesting, “. . . we’ll discuss the possibility of fixing your dilemma.”
“No deal.” I shake my head. “I’m not discussing anything.” I air quote part of my statement. “What is there to discuss? I’m horny. You have a cock—a very stupendous one—and I want it in my mouth. No discussions needed.”
“Rae. . .” He sounds as if he is in pain. “Fuck me. You can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why not?” My question is so loud, I swear half the continent hears me.
“Because you’re drunk.”
I furiously shake my head, adding to the giddiness clouding it. “I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy, quite possibly on my way to being drunk, but I’m not drunk. Not yet, anyway.”
He smirks, more amused by my tirade than angered by it. “You haven’t eaten since the plane. Your dad will kill me if you live off olives for another night.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll kill you just for the naughty thoughts streaming through my head.”
Alex scoffs. “So I’m to blame for your depraved mind?”
He stands, taking me with him. I wait for him to place me onto my feet before nodding. “As far as my daddy is concerned, I was a good country girl before the city-slickers had their way with me.”
I said my comment in jest. Alex didn’t hear it that way. “Had their way with you? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shouldn’t love the jealous possessiveness in his tone, but I do. “You know what city folks are like when they have a naïve, country girl in their midst.” I scrape my fingernails across his chest that is suddenly thrusting har
d. “They take advantage.”
Grinding teeth sound through my ears before he demands, “Give me names, Rae, and I guarantee the only things they’ll take advantage of are the hours their cellmates are sleeping.”
Even though the raw aggression in his tone kickstarts my libido, it isn’t strong enough for my hazy brain to miss the vital point in his confession. He just admitted he has the ability to detain criminals. If that isn’t a critical clue to his real job description, I don’t know what is.
“Wanna protect me, big boy?” I giggle, weakening the angry lines staining his gorgeous face.
“More like wanna kill for you.”
His comment is missing the playfulness of mine. He’s being one hundred percent honest, making me suddenly fretful for the person stalking me. If Alex is right, and Danielle isn’t the only one wanting to hack my private parts into pieces, they better hope the authorities find him before Alex does, or he might not get out of this situation alive.
“How about we save the body maiming until after we’ve eaten?”
Grateful for the invisible white flag I’m waving, Alex stops flexing and unflexing his fists. “Are we eating in or out?”
I shrug. “Depends.”
He shadows me out of the bar, slicing the curious glances directed our way from half a dozen to just a few. “On what?”
I stop halfway down an elegant hall. It has all the pretty knickknacks you’d expect at any high-end B&B; there is just one difference: there are dozens upon dozens of personal photos scattered throughout.
“On if you brought a change of clothes. I’m not going anywhere that sells food with you looking like that.” I fake a gag as I drag my eyes down his frozen frame.
My pulse thrums when I take in his casual T, faded dark blue jeans and sneaker-covered feet. His laidback look should have my libido crawling back into the hole it only found its way out of days ago, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, Alex rocks the casual look.