Monster Love

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Come here, big guy.” Lanie retrieved her child. With his small hand in hers, she chattered to him as they walked down the hall. I watched them with a lump in my throat. Where had the time gone? It seemed like yesterday that I was holding her hand and helping her with her homework. In a way, she felt like my child.

  Owen sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “How about you? Are you okay?”

  “Better than okay,” he replied. “Great.” The brush of his lips across my temple filled me to the top with happiness. I snuggled into the nook of his arm, never wanting to leave.

  “Stella, something’s burning in the kitchen.” Cindy called to me from the hallway.

  I jumped from Owen’s side and ran to the oven. I’d forgotten to set the timer on the ham. When I opened the oven, black smoke rolled into the room. Dad opened the back door. Trey and fanned the smoke alarm with towels. Owen watched the performance with an amused smirk.

  We gathered around the large farmhouse table a few minutes later. Cindy had cut the burned top off of the meat. I warmed up leftover fried chicken to make up the difference. Dad said grace, and Owen poured wine for everyone but the kids. Lanie rejoined us a few minutes later with a clean Colton.

  As I looked around the table, a feeling of peace descended over me. Except for Lanie, these people weren’t my blood relatives, but they were more family than I’d ever known. I smiled through their chatter and laughter. Beneath the table, Owen held my hand. Outside, the snow thickened. And inside the house, my heart swelled until I thought it might burst.

  We were about to dig into the meal when the front doorbell rang. A group of carolers stood at the front steps. Their warm breaths steamed up the chilly air. Marjorie came forward to greet us. She glanced nervously at Owen. “We just wanted to say how sorry we are for the way we’ve treated you. I hope you’ll join us at the Christmas sing tonight. It’s at eight-thirty on the square.” One of the other carolers extended a paper flyer to me.

  “Sure. Thanks,” Owen said, in his usual, brief manner.

  “We’ll be there,” I said. Even though he didn’t show any emotion, I knew how much a gesture like this meant to him. After closing the door, I placed a hand on his arm. “That was nice.”

  “Yeah.” His deep voice cracked on the word.

  We rejoined our guests at the table. Chatter and laughter filled the house. A dozen conversations tumbled over each other. Despite the noise and the clutter, I wouldn’t trade one second of it. Beneath the table, Owen set his hand on the top of my thigh and squeezed. Our eyes met. Time stopped. I drew in a sharp breath, remembering the first time we’d kissed, and all the strange twists that had occurred to bring us to this moment. Clarity enveloped me. This beautiful monster of a man was mine, and I was never going to let him go.

  Epilogue

  Stella

  Two years later…

  The thick jungle provided little relief from the South American heat. At the front of the group, our guides cut through the undergrowth with machetes. Owen walked in front of me, a heavy pack on his back. I carried most of the camera equipment while Kevin followed up the rear. We’d been hiking for two days on an expedition to a newly discovered Incan ruin. If everything went as planned, this was going to be my second magazine cover.

  “You okay?” Owen asked over his shoulder.

  “Fine. How are you?” I asked.

  “Fine.” Although his voice was even, I could see the excitement in his eyes. He loved the thrill of exploring new places and had adapted quickly to the rigors of world travel. Although he now ran Dad’s construction company, he always took time off to join me on my photo shoots.

  We set up camp on the ridge of a mountain. When darkness fell, we snuggled together inside our tent, preferring privacy to the company of the others. Strange jungle noises peppered the night. A loud screech pierced the darkness. I dug my fingernails into Owen’s arm.

  “What do you think that was?” I asked.

  “A monkey,” he said.

  “You mean a devil monkey.”

  His deep chuckle vibrated against my side. I held my breath as his hand smoothed along my ribcage and came to a stop below my navel. “How’s junior?”

  “She’s fine, too,” I said, defying his wish for a son. According to the pregnancy test I’d taken, we were two months pregnant. After my rough childhood, I’d never wanted kids, but the thought of making a baby with Owen seemed like the perfect expression of our love.

  His hands found the waistband of my panties and slipped inside. I stifled a moan as his fingertip dipped between my thighs. Outside the tent, I could hear the men’s voices and the crackling of the fire.

  “You’re going to have to be quiet,” he said with his lips against my ear. “Because I’m going to ride you like a Harley on a bad piece of road.”

  We’d been married for a year and still couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I wriggled out of my shorts and spread my legs for him. Even though we were sweaty and tired from the trail, neither of us cared. His weight settled on top of me. I helped him drag his shirt over his head then ran my fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest.

  “You’re so hot,” I whispered and slapped his ass with the flat of my palm. The sound echoed through the tent.

  “Stella.” His body shook as laughter rolled through him.

  “Mosquito.” With my teeth, I tugged on his earlobe. He moaned. “Now who’s being noisy?”

  “Behave, woman.” As he spoke, he slipped inside me. We stilled, enjoying the sudden friction, and the freedom from birth control.

  “If you wanted an obedient woman, you should have married someone else.”

  “You’re the only woman for me, Stella Henry.” In the darkness, his gaze sobered. He shifted his weight, driving deeper, rolling his hips in a slow circle. “I knew the moment I saw you outside the principal’s office that I had to have you.”

  I dug my heels into his ass, clawing his back with my nails. We rocked together slowly, savoring the intimacy. In my wildest dreams, I’d never conjured up anything as wonderful as my current life. We’d gone through hell to get here, but the struggle made the reward even sweeter.

  Thank you for reading Monster Love. I hope you’ll enjoy this sneak peek at The Exiled Prince (formerly titled Sex, Lies, & Lipstick) available at all retailers June, 2018.

  THE EXILED PRINCE (Sex, Lies, & Lipstick)

  I wandered through the ballroom, mesmerized by the scores of beautiful people. Behind their masks lurked some of the most famous faces in the world. Every now and then, I thought I recognized the curve of a woman’s smile or the width of a man’s shoulders, but I had no way of knowing who was who. The masks came in all shapes and sizes. Some were elaborate combinations of feathers and gems on a background of satin. Others were sleek and simple like Ivan’s. Everly had picked up my mask on one of her many trips to Venice. It rested lightly above my nose, held in place by strings of silk, allowing a clear view of my eyes but obscuring enough to hide my identity.

  After a few minutes, I began to grow comfortable among the guests and had to admit I was enjoying the anonymity. Without the threat of disapproval, I could do anything, and be anyone, I wanted.

  A brown-haired man in a navy tuxedo tapped my arm. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”

  Remembering my promise to Everly, I accepted. His aristocratic features and pleasant smile bolstered my resolve to meet someone new. “I might be a little rusty. I haven’t danced in years. If you don’t mind my clumsy feet, then I don’t mind either.”

  He extended a hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

  I placed my hand in his and let him lead me to the dance floor. The brush of our palms together sent a pleasant ripple along my skin. The orchestra segued smoothly from a foxtrot into a waltz. From the sidelines, Everly nodded approvingly. My heart skipped a beat when he put his arm around my waist. It felt good to be held b
y a man again. He twirled me around the floor until I was breathless, ignoring the many times I stepped on the toes of his shiny shoes.

  At the end of the song, he smiled down at me with full lips and gray bedroom eyes. Beneath the dark blue velvet mask lurked the face of a handsome man, around my age, maybe younger. “That was delightful. You’ve made my evening.”

  “Thank you. You’re too kind.” I smiled. He lifted my hand to his lips, grazing his mouth over my knuckles, sending a shiver of attraction through my body. “You can call me Nicky. And what should I call you?”

  Panic evaporated the moisture from my mouth. I cleared my throat. “I thought we weren’t supposed to reveal our real names.”

  “I never said it was my real name.” He watched me closely, waiting for my answer, his gaze focused on my lips.

  “You can call me—” I searched for an appropriate name. “You can call me Cinderella.”

  His burst of laughter escalated my panic. “Oh, that’s priceless. Well, Cinderella, tell me, how did you come by an invitation to the elusive Masquerade de Marquis?”

  I tried to smile and stay calm, deflecting the question with one of my own. If I’d learned anything during my years with Everly, it was that people loved to talk about themselves. “I kind of fell into it.” Not exactly a lie but not the truth, either. “What about you? Have you attended to the masquerade before?” I kept walking in the direction of the ladies’ powder room, preparing to excuse myself before I got into trouble.

  “A few times.” He fell into step beside me. “No one turns away an invitation unless they want to offend the host, and Mr. Menshikov doesn’t like to be offended.” His eyes watched me with the sharpness of a hawk watching a mouse. The predatory nature of his stare raised the tiny hairs on my arms.

  “Are you a celebrity?” I kept my tone light and teasing but cast a glance in the direction of the ladies’ room, judging the distance.

  “In some circles.” A dimple popped on his right cheek. “Mostly I’m here because I have friends in high places.”

  “Are you a friend of Mr. Menshikov?” My sense of self-preservation went to war with my curiosity. I wanted to know more about the enigmatic host without giving too much of myself in return.

  “Friends?” The sharpness in his laugh made me flush. Obviously, I’d crossed an invisible boundary. “Roman doesn’t have friends.”

  “Ivan said he’s not here tonight.” I stopped walking and gave my full attention to Nicky, hoping to coax more information from him. “Do you know him? Roman, I mean?”

  “I don’t think anyone truly knows Roman.” Mystery edged his words. Mistaking my curiosity for the host as interest in him personally, he smiled and took my hand again. He lifted it to look at the ring on my little finger. Delicate strands of silver and gold vines twisted together to form a circle. Amethysts sprinkled throughout the band like tiny flowers. “Your ring—it’s very unique.”

  “It belonged to my mother,” I said, running my thumb over it. “My father had it made for her when I was born.”

  “Ah, how romantic.” He stroked the band with a fingertip, the light pressure tickling along my skin. “Speaking of romantic, would you like to take a walk in the garden? There are all kinds of entertainers down there. There’s nothing I love more than a moonlight stroll with a beautiful woman.” He leaned down, his tone lowering. “Someone said there are naked performers dancing through fire. How can you pass up a chance to see something like that?”

  Although his charm was infectious, I shrank away from the opportunity. I didn’t want to blow my cover. A few yards away, Everly lifted an eyebrow. Although she didn’t speak, I knew her well enough to understand the message. Get your ass out there. Live a little.

  I squared my shoulders. “Thank you so much for the invitation, but I think I’d like to dance some more.” Dancing was safe. With the music swelling and the hum of conversation and laughter surrounding us, there was little opportunity for questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “Fair enough.” He bent low in a deep bow. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  For the next several hours, I danced with Nicky until my feet ached, drank champagne until my head swam, and laughed until my insides quivered. He was delightful, although his prodding questions required my skillful avoidance.

  “Who is that man?” I asked, having caught sight of a gentleman near the fireplace, his forearm resting on the mantle. Although I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mask, I felt the weight of his relentless gaze following us around the room as we danced. The curling edges of his dark hair hung to his collar, its messiness at odds with the crisp lines of his tuxedo.

  “Where?” Nicky followed the incline of my head. “Oh.” For the first time, he missed a step. His shoulders tensed beneath my touch, the smile sliding from his face before he recovered. “I’m not sure. He could be anyone.”

  Was it my imagination, or had I heard a touch of Russian accent in Nicky’s reply? “He keeps staring at us.”

  “Probably because you’re so beautiful,” Nicky said. In an adept maneuver, he directed us toward the opposite end of the room. Within minutes, I forgot about the stranger, too focused on following Nicky’s lead and the heady exhilaration of being held by such a charismatic guy.

  “It’s getting late, and I have to leave soon,” he said, leading me toward the row of chairs along the wall. “I know it’s against the rules, but I can’t go without learning your name—your real name.”

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” I said, still breathless from his touch and the physical exertion.

  “But you can. It’s just a stupid rule Roman invented for his own amusement. You can tell me. No one has to know.” He squeezed my hand tighter, his jaw tightening. “I want to see you again.”

  “No. You can’t.” At the flicker of hurt in his eyes, I softened my refusal. After all, he seemed like a nice guy. “There’s no point.”

  “You’re married?” His grip loosened on my fingers.

  “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that I’m going back to America in a few days.” Behind his mask, his eyes searched mine. I fisted my hands, resisting the urge to brush his light brown hair from his forehead.

  “I travel to the States frequently. I could look you up. We could have dinner, and you could show me the sights.”

  “Excuse me, may I cut in?” A smooth, deep voice sliced into our conversation. From his accent, he was American, a New Yorker or somewhere on the east coast.

  Nicky and I both turned to face the stranger. A black leather mask prevented me from going further than the curve of full, pouting lips. My gaze traveled from the onyx buttons of his charcoal vest down the perfect crease of his dark gray trousers to the shiny, pointed toes of his black shoes. Unlike the other formally attired guests, the tail of his silver bow tie dangled from the breast pocket of his jacket. The lack of formality seemed out of place and rebellious in a room overflowing with perfection.

  “We were having a conversation,” Nicky said, his tone acidic. The change in his demeanor caught me by surprise. I glanced from him to the stranger. A palpable air of animosity pulsed between them.

  “Watch your manners, Nicky.” The stranger’s light rebuke reminded me of a parent scolding a rebellious child. “Please forgive him. He’s been running with the wolves for too long.”

  “At least I’m still running.” There was no mistaking the competitive edge in his words.

  My gaze bounced between the two men. Whatever their relationship, it was complicated and intriguing.

  “Not here. Not now. Not in front of our lovely companion.” While he spoke, his dark eyes locked onto mine. He took my hand in his long, graceful fingers, his smooth palm gliding against mine, and lifted my knuckles to his mouth. My heart stopped at the brush of his soft lips on my skin. In the background, the introduction to a tango began. “Dance with me.”

  Three words sent my pulse into overdrive. “The tango used to be my favorite, but I haven’t done
it in years.” I panicked at the thought of the intricate moves.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” After another kiss to my knuckles, he led me to the center of the dance floor. The guests parted, making way for us, their eyes heavy on my back. I couldn’t blame their stares. This man exuded confidence, elegance, and power. He placed my left hand on his waist and took the right in his palm. Shying away from his gaze, I stared at his throat. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt gaped open, revealing a triangle of smooth, tanned skin dusted with black hair. He squeezed my hand, demanding my attention. “Eyes to mine. Don’t look at your feet. Follow my lead.”

  Behind the mask, his eyes were dark, almost black. Anxiety closed my throat. This would either be an amazing experience or extremely embarrassing. Probably the latter. The music swelled, and we began. Within a few steps, I captured his rhythm. He was strong and forceful, moving me into each position, twirling me out then snapping me back against his chest. I gasped at the press of my breasts against hard muscles.

  “Very nice,” he said. A neatly trimmed beard and moustache couldn’t obscure a square jaw, reminding me of a jaunty pirate.

  “Thank you.” The warmth of his approval spread through my chest.

  “I’m going to have to step up my game.” His eyes glittered with challenge.

  “Yes. You are.” They were bold words for a girl who hadn’t danced the tango in six years, but I didn’t care. I liked the feel of his body against mine and the strength in his arms. More than anything, I enjoyed the way his overpowering maleness made me feel feminine and dainty.

  “Be careful what you ask for.” His arms tightened around me. I slid slowly down his torso and pressed my breasts into the hard lines of his body. When my eyes reached the level of his narrow hips, he yanked me to my feet. The crowd gasped.

  “You surprise me,” he said.

  “You aren’t the only one with secrets, sir.” The hem of my skirt swirled around my ankles. The slit opened to flash a stretch of my leg and the white garter belt around my thigh. I felt his gaze go there. It returned to mine, flashing with desire.