The Alpha's Assistant & The Dom Next Door

by Michelle Love

  “Fuck you! I’ll kill that little bitch! None of you know your place!” She hits her head on the doorframe on her way into the car, and threatens Jamie with a few badly-aimed kicks.

  “Thank you!” Emmeline manages very shakily, and I start stroking her hair.

  Once they’re gone, I take Emmeline back to my place to calm down. Jenny greets us at the door with a sleepy puppy leaning against her leg. “What happened?” she frets, bouncing.

  Crap. I’d hoped that she would sleep through this mess like she does almost anything else, but looks like I miscalculated. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say as I bring Emmeline through the door. “I had to help Emmeline with a problem.”

  “Okay.” She frowns in worry as she sees Emmeline’s tear-streaked face. I close the door behind us, and she chirps, “Who was that loud lady?”

  “My sister,” Emmeline replies softly as I lead her over to the couch and help her settle onto it.

  “Oh.” Jenny thinks about it a moment, then smiles. “You’re nice. I’m sorry your sister’s bad.”

  Emmeline lets go of me reluctantly as she sits down. “Me too, sweetie. I’m sorry she woke you up.”

  “I have to get her settled again,” I apologize to Emmeline, who smiles tearfully and nods.

  “Go ahead. I’ll manage now that she’s gone.”

  I peer at her, wary of a martyr streak. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She nods. “I’ll be fine.” She turns to Jenny, who is waving as I scoop her into my arms.

  “Goodnight, sweetie. The bad woman’s gone, so you try and rest now, okay?”

  “Okay!” Jenny says perkily. I walk out with her as she waves over my shoulder, the puppy bumbling along behind us.

  I’m a lucky guy. My little girl doesn’t freak out at the prospect of a nut bothering the neighborhood. She trusts me when I say she’s safe, and she’s sleeping peacefully within five minutes.

  When I come back down, Emmeline has calmed down a lot. She sits on my couch with her hands in her lap, and I realize for the first time that she’s in my home in nothing but her nightgown, slippers, and robe. Blue and cream. Cute, and—fortunately for her—warm. But the glimpses of her shape underneath make it sexy.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her as gently as I can. She swallows and nods, and I settle onto the couch nearby. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “Um,” she looks at the ceiling, eyes tearing up again. “You’ve already done so much.”

  “I do it because I want to,” I reassure, and she smiles briefly, with a touch of embarrassment. “No, seriously, don’t think you owe me something. Even if you weren’t hot, and kind, and adorable, I would do this. Thought I covered that already.”

  “I’m just not used to it, not since my dad died. I’m ...very sorry if I make it awkward.” Our eyes meet briefly, and I see the shame and pain in hers and hold up a hand.

  “No, seriously. Just assume you can ask me for anything. If it bothers me, or if I can’t do it, I will let you know. Okay? I’m being completely straight with you right now.”

  She bites her lip softly, and I feel my mouth go dry. But I wait quietly, and finally she says, “Actually, there is one thing …”

  She asks me to do something I actually wanted to do anyway—check her house for intruders, since she didn’t have time to properly lock up. Once I get some tea in her and she’s feeling well enough, we go back to her front door.

  “I’ll go in first,” I insist. “Trail back at least a few paces.”

  She nods obediently and I give her a smile. Good girl. I have to force myself away from wondering if she takes direction just as well in bed.

  I clear each room, checking everywhere a human could hide, before letting Emmeline into it. The house is only ten rooms, including the finished attic and both bathrooms. It doesn’t take long to find ... absolutely nothing.

  And that’s a good thing.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” I tell her as I return to her. “All clear.”

  “Thank you,” she murmurs again. “I don’t know what I would have done without you here.” She sniffles, and I see tears start to gleam on her cheeks again.

  “Hey,” I say softly, moving forward to lay my hands on her shoulders as we stand in the upper hallway. “Don’t you think about that, because I was here. I’ll always be here, sweetheart.”

  She smiles through her tears, and I hug her against me again. It feels so fucking good to hold her. The smell of her hair, that jasmine perfume, her warmth, the way she shivers against me. How long has it been since I’ve had a woman in my arms that I actually care for? Years. Since Mary.

  She makes a sudden, soft sound of pleasure, and I don’t fully know why until I realize I’m totally absorbed in the warm, wet softness of her full lips against mine. Her body arches up against me, breasts pushing into my chest through my shirt, and I feel my cock stir to life as my grip on her tightens.

  She’s clinging to me, trembling, her body pressed urgently against mine. That jasmine perfume mixes with the faint musk of her body, enticing me further. I know without a doubt that she wants this. But ... why is she trembling so hard?

  I break the kiss very reluctantly and look down at her, murmuring, “You all right, sweetheart?”

  “Just a little dizzy,” she admits, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’ve actually never done this before.”

  My mind and body immediately go into total war against each other as I realize she’s untouched as well as untrained. I might be her first real crush ever—maybe even her first kiss.

  She’s scared and overwhelmed, exhausted ... and entirely new at this. I’m not going to take advantage—no matter how badly I want her.

  Instead, I stroke her loose hair back from her face as I smile down at her. “We’ll take things slow, then. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  My cock aches for her, but I force myself to loosen my grip. I will keep my word. I will let her set the pace, gently pushing at her limits, not bulldozing them.

  I see the relief hiding in her smile, and the trust, and I know that I have made the right choice.

  Chapter 7

  Emmeline

  I’ve never experienced a kiss like that in my life. I’ve been kissed impulsively by men before, but not the kind of deep, passionate embrace that I’ve been dreaming about for months. My whole body tingles; every inch of my attention collapses inward toward the feel of his mouth on mine. I don’t even remember when I start clinging to him, but I know for certain that I would be a puddle on the floor if it weren’t for his arms around me.

  When I get overwhelmed, it embarrasses me. The flood of sensation, this unexpected closeness, the passion in his kiss, all of it feels incredible—but there’s too much pleasure, naked and raw, so much that it edges on pain. Nerve endings that have never been used tingle uncomfortably as my heart pounds and I start to lose control of myself

  He shocks me with his understanding, and offers to take it slow. I’m breathless and shaky as I nod my agreement. When he leaves my house, I lie awake for hours, remembering the taste of his mouth.

  I let myself sleep in a little, knowing that I’m safe and that no matter what happens, Shayla can’t get at me right now. Even if she pays her bail, she’s being watched by the police.

  My alarm wakes me again at seven thirty. I feel bleary and fog-headed from the lack of sleep, but we’re due at the police precinct at nine, and I have to get ready.

  In the shower, the hot water stinging my skin reminds me so much of how I felt with Carl that it makes me dizzy. That kiss is going to haunt me for weeks. It’s a welcome memory.

  I’m smiling as I make my way downstairs. Carl hasn’t messaged me yet, but it’s eight thirty and I’m sure he will soon. I’m so happy and relieved to have his help—and to have felt his kiss—that I don’t even look through the peephole when the doorbell rings. I just pull the door open.

  A total stranger is standing on the other side.
>
  I freeze, blinking out at the man in white who stands with a mild smile on his face just inches from my screen door. He has a door-to-door evangelist’s blandly cheerful smile on his pale, pretty face, and his pale blue eyes gleam flatly, his brown curls tousled just so.

  “Hi there,” he says around that odd smile. “I’m Roland from the diocese.”

  My fear fades a fraction—but not that much. I’m not expecting anyone, and I’m absolutely certain that the diocese would have called before they sent someone. “Can I help you?” I ask tentatively, still too shocked to sort out my feelings on the sudden intrusion.

  “Yes, well, the Mother Superior you were working with spoke with us about your current crisis of faith. I wanted to know if you would like to discuss it before making any final decisions about your life as a Catholic and as a candidate for the convent.”

  His language is very generalized. Alarm bells start to ring in my head. I don’t want to be rude, but ... this isn’t normal.

  “I’m very sorry,” I say in the politest tone I can muster, “But I have an important appointment and will be leaving in a few minutes. Would you like to leave your card, and I’ll arrange something with you after I get back?”

  The smile freezes on his face, and I feel worry wash through me. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, I just know that something in his expression stands as a warning. Maybe it’s the fact that his eyes never change expression.

  “I’m afraid that this is the only time I have in your area,” he replies smoothly, his eyes raking me over. It makes me even more nervous. I feel a strange tension rising inside of me as my manners and my caution clash.

  “Then I’m afraid that this is a missed opportunity,” I force myself to reply, my own smile feeling brittle. “I am sorry. Please let Monsignor Adams know that I will call his office as soon as I get home.” The Monsignor’s name is Bryant.

  He doesn’t notice. That’s when the alarm bells really start going off. I’m already backing away from the screen when he lunges up close to it suddenly and presses his hands against the mesh. “It will only take five minutes. You should really let me in.”

  A cold sweat has broken out on my body, and I’m backing away to close the door even before he starts rattling at the screen door handle. Then suddenly, a huge shape looms up behind him.

  “May I help you with something?” Carl rumbles in the most forbidding tone I have ever heard from him.

  Roland freezes, and then turns his head, blinking slowly and mechanically. “Oh,” he says in a strangely casual voice, as if a huge, intimidating neighbor is simply something he hasn’t planned for.

  “He says he’s here from the diocese. From Monsignor Adams.”

  Carl folds his arms and stares at the man icily. “Is that so? There is no Monsignor Adams in New Orleans.”

  I can’t see the man’s face, but my guess is he’s no longer smiling. “Oh. Well. Perhaps I’m in the wrong neighborhood.” He starts to edge around Carl, who turns to watch him the entire way.

  “Maybe you’re in the wrong state, my friend. I’d rectify that quickly if I were you.”

  The man bobs his head as he hurries down the walk. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind!”

  Carl turns back to me, shaking his head. I come out and slip an arm around him for comfort as we watch the man retreat to a smallish black sedan that screams “rental.” “Do you think he was a con artist or something?” I ask in a small voice as he moves his arm to wrap around me protectively.

  “Or a burglar, casing the place. Or something worse.” He’s staring at the back of the car, and I realize after a moment that he’s taking down the license plate number on his phone. “I’m gonna do a little background research on our boy, and I think we should mention this incident to the police.” He winks at me. “Got a picture of him, too.”

  “You’re the best.” I nestle against him, enjoying his warmth and scent. The weather is warm enough that we don’t need jackets, and I’m happily taking advantage.

  He nuzzles the top of my head briefly. “Jenny’s at daycare until three. Let’s get this over with, and then I’ll take you to lunch.”

  “I’d like that.” I feet another glow of adoration for Carl. He has just made bringing up a date a whole lot easier. Lucky thing, too, because I have no idea what I’m doing here.

  On the short drive over, it’s all I can do not to start touching him again. I hold off so I don’t distract him while he’s driving, but I have to squeeze my hands between my knees like I’m worried they’ll wander over to him on their own.

  “Your alternatives are somewhat limited due to the lack of any physical violence,” fox-faced Officer Jamie Eames tells us as we fill out the report together. “But there are other witnesses, there was an assault on an officer, and some of what your sister is charged with involves two cops, with dash cam footage to back it up. That’s going to be true no matter what you choose to do.

  “Disturbance of the peace, drunk driving, disorderly conduct—all those things are a slam dunk, as is filing a false police report. Cocaine and a weapon were also found in her vehicle. She’s going down for those.” He gives me a very direct look, and I swallow as I sit stiffly in the chair across his desk.

  Next to me, Carl gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “How long will she go away for?” I ask, forcing myself to speak clearly. I’m shaking inside. Once she gets out, she’ll hate me even more. But maybe by then, I’ll be gone.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” The cop gives us both an apologetic smile.

  “Explain,” Carl replies evenly, but with a slight edge to his tone. I sit silently, my expression as calm as I can manage.

  “Shayla posted bail immediately, in cash. She’s a free woman until her court date, which is in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks?” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice. Carl immediately cuts in, as if sensing that I’m at my limit.

  “The potential for violence here was explained to the judge, correct? Her history of harassment and abuse?” He sounds so businesslike, in spite of standing there in his leather jacket and jeans, with his scruffy hair brushing against his collar. I wonder where he learned so much about criminal law.

  There’s so much about him that I just don’t know. And maybe I should be afraid of that fact. After all, he might like me now, but that could change.

  But I have to have faith in him. I have to believe in all that he’s done, that what he says is true, and that he won’t fail me when I need him most—by abandoning me, by betraying me, by being cruel ... or by dying and leaving me alone.

  “I’m sorry. But Judge Carhart saw the lack of violent history here, and decided that he couldn’t keep her.”

  I drift off in my head to that dark, cold place where I once lived, where everything pretty was stolen or smashed. Where Shayla gave me misery day and night and my parents tried to patch it up with apologies, excuses, and gifts. She can’t be stopped, I think illogically, and wonder if I’ll ever be free.

  Then Carl’s hand wraps firm and warm around my wrist, and I turn my head to catch his fierce gaze. “Don’t check out on me, sweetheart,” he commands gently, and I snap back suddenly into the present.

  I shudder and blink the tears out of my eyes. He promised he would help me and protect me. Can I believe in him? Can I put my life in his hands?

  Can the two of us together do what I have found so hard to do on my own?

  “Okay,” I mumble. “Let’s talk about what options I do have.”

  Chapter 8

  Carl

  “You did really well in there, sweetheart. I know it was tough to sit and listen to all that and make a decision right there. Not to mention all the extra paperwork. But believe me, starting an investigation into Shayla’s abuse of you and filing an order of protection against her were both smart moves.”

  Emmeline sits quietly in my kitchen as I grill us up some chicken for sandwiches. She asked if we could be somewhere less public f
or a while, and I immediately proposed my place and lunch.

  The preschool’s now got Jenny until five, which she’ll love because most of her friends stay until five too. That way, I can make sure Emmeline’s looked after before I send her home for a nap.

  “Do you do anything for your PTSD, sweetheart?” I ask very gently.

  “Huh?” her head snaps around and she blinks at me as if she’s worried that I just read her mind. “How did you know ...”

  “Dealt with it myself for a while. You can recover, though through during a lot of the process it feels like you never will.” I keep my voice low and calm as I turn the chicken breasts on my hibachi and paint them with lemon, olive oil, and pulverized herbs.

  “I barely know anything about you,” she mumbles. “I’m scared I’ll tell you things about me and you’ll reject me for them.”

  It’s the most naked confession I’ve ever gotten from a woman. Sweet Mary, whom I adored, hid her pain from everyone until she snapped. I’m glad as hell that Emmeline isn’t doing the same. At least, not with me.

  I turn down the heat, flip the chicken one last time to finish the sear, and then leave them to cook through as I walk over to take Emmeline in my arms. She gasps and slides her hands up my arms, hips tipping against mine in subtle reflex. “I have my own skeletons in my closet.”

  She nods, looking up at me searchingly, then murmurs, “Carl ... I feel better when I’m with you. I don’t mind that you’re not perfect.”

  I flash a brief, wry grin. “Well, I don’t mind that you’re not perfect either, all right? Look, I’ll start if you want.”

  It’s a risk. A risk that could end with me getting thrown in jail if she spills it to the wrong people. And she might judge me. But ... here goes. If I want trust, I have to give it.

  “My uncle ran pot into America over both borders for twenty years, starting in the nineteen sixties. You could say he came back from Vietnam a changed man. He had six bullets in him that they couldn’t pull out, and though he lived another forty years, he always had pain.