Dangerous Kiss

by Michelle Love

  Zea chuckled. “Hubby. God, I never even called David that. Sorry,” she added, as she realized how insensitive she was being, but Flynt gave a good-natured shrug.

  “Baby, it’s okay to talk about him, you know. I’m secure enough in our relationship that if it helps to talk about him, do. I may regret this, but I want us to be totally honest about everything.”

  Zea felt her chest hurt with the force of love she felt for this man. “Thank you, honey. I’m just thinking, my God, what a whirlwind … from that first night, fucking in an alleyway, to this.” She laughed out loud, and he joined in and took her hand.

  “Zea, I was like an animal the minute I saw you. God, your lips, your eyes, even with that haunted look. The curves of you … damn. I was arrogant enough to believe that you felt the same.”

  His words made a pulse beat furiously between her legs and she leaned over to him, nuzzling his ear. “Mr. Newlan?”

  Flynt grinned. “Yes, Mrs. Newlan?”

  “Pull the car over. Somewhere we won’t be seen. If you want animal, I’ll give you animal.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Flynt was laughing as he turned the wheel and drove down the next turning into the dark woods.

  In a clearing, Zea got out of the car. “Where are you going?” Flynt asked. Zea grinned, and as he got out to join her, she pushed him back onto the hood.

  “Lay back, hubby,” she ordered as she stripped off and he smiled, doing as he said. She pulled his jeans off and straddled him, cupping his cock in her hands, stroking its silky length until it became rock hard. Flynt groaned as she worked on him and then, reaching between her legs, began to massage her clit, feeling her dampen and shiver under his touch.

  When, finally, she guided him inside her soft, wet warmth, she rode him gently at first, then as their gazes locked, they moved faster, harder, wanting to lose themselves in each other. In the quiet of the forest, their moans and cried echoed and as they reached orgasm, both of them delirious with pleasure, Zea knew that her whole world now was this man. And that was more than enough happiness for a lifetime.

  Kizzie switched the television off and lay on her couch, listening to the silence. Jesse had gone home, and Bree was dead to the world in the guestroom. She liked having Bree here; the other girl seemed to share her love of peace. The reason Kizzie had picked this little villa on Bainbridge was the quiet, the solitude. She had always been a loner—odd, considering she was a twin, but Lexi had been the same. Kizzie and Lexi had always oriented themselves around each other, always knowing when the other needed alone time and never holding a grudge.

  God, she missed Lexi … her sister had always been the sweetest one out of all three siblings, the most grounded. It was tragic and yet weirdly inevitable that she was the one murdered. The Auburn School Shootings might have faded from the news stories but not from the memory of everyone involved, not from Washington State. Kizzie would sit in coffee shops and diners and overhear people talking about it and she would want to scream at them to shut up. You weren’t there! You didn’t lose anybody! But she didn’t. Because what did she know? They could have lost friends, cousins, brothers, lovers. Sisters.

  I am not dealing with this well. For the last seven days, she had repeated those words to herself, trying to see if she could crack the wall of ice that had formed around her heart. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream and break down, because until she did, she didn’t know how she could move on.

  Kizzie pushed that thought away, as she always did, and rolled off the couch. She pulled open one of the French windows and stepped out into the Washington night. A full moon meant that it was well lit as she padded across the grass down to the little beach and into the water a little way. The cold water lapped around her ankles as she stared up at the sky. Earlier, she’d managed to finish off a small bottle of vodka, and now she felt her head swirling. God, she was tired, exhausted, really. The cold water felt nice on her skin, so she stripped, throwing her dress back onto the sand and diving into the deeper water. It streamed past her limbs, feeling cool, and the sensation relaxed her, soothing, soothing …

  Then her restful state was interrupted by screaming and shouting and someone pulling at her. Leave me alone. I’m asleep; I’m asleep; I …

  Kizzie opened her eyes to bright white light. Ceiling tiles and the strong smell of antiseptic. Hospital. What the hell?

  She sat up and saw her parents and Jesse standing just outside the door. Jesse looked over at her and smiled. She mouthed “What the fuck is going on?” at him and he nodded, moving to the door. Her parents followed her. Kizzie immediately saw her mother’s red eyes, the strain on her father’s face.

  A doctor came in, before she could ask them what the hell she was doing there.

  Kizzie felt her head whirl, fuzzy with pain. Jesse squeezed her hand. Her father stood at the doorway, watching, smiling whenever she looked over to him. Her mother wouldn’t look at her and Kizzie felt a pull of grief in her chest.

  Dr. Napier shone the light into her eyes and she winced. Dr. Napier smiled. “Sorry … are you still experiencing confusion?”

  Kizzie nodded. “Yes, some.” She looked over at Jesse, perched on the side of her bed. He winked at her, but his face was somber. He exchanged a look with the doctor. Dr. Napier put his penlight away and sat down next to her. He leaned forward, his eyes searching her face.

  “Kizzie … I need to ask you. Why did you stop taking your anti-depressants?”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

  The doctor picked up her charts. “We ran some blood. You were on,” he checked the papers, “Zoloft?”

  She nodded. “Dr. Napier, I didn’t stop taking them. I know the risks. I wouldn’t do that.”

  He looked at her steadily. “Kizzie, the blood tests don’t lie. You haven’t been taking them for some time, at least three months. Not only that, we found aspirin in your system. You’re allergic, correct?”

  She nodded. “Very.”

  Bree was in the room then, and Kizzie felt a tug of gratefulness in her. “That was me. Remember, earlier, when you said you had a headache? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were allergic, Kizzie. Otherwise, I would never have—”

  “In this case, you did Kizzie a favor,” the doctor interrupted. “If her airways hadn’t been closing themselves off, more water would have gotten in.” He looked at Kizzie. “Bree saved your life twice tonight.”

  Kizzie, still confused, tried to smile at Bree.

  Bree smiled, a little shyly. Jesse put his hand on his shoulder. Kizzie was silent for a moment then looked at the doctor again.

  “Look, doctor,” and she could feel panic beginning to rise in her chest, “I swear to you. I got my prescription filled last week, there should be twenty capsules left. Get someone to go to my house…”

  She trailed off as the three men all shifted. Her father moved to her side, looked down at her.

  “Kizzie, we did that,” he said softly, his eyes grave, “I checked. The bottle was full. I’m so sorry, but none of the pills were gone.”

  She was shaking her head from side to side now. “No, I remember taking them, damn it. I remember taking it last night. Jesse … you were there…”

  “Not in your bathroom, sweetheart.” Jesse stroked her hand, but she could see the doubt in his eyes.

  “You’d been drinking,” the doctor went on, his tone sympathetic, “you’d had an emotional day, an upsetting day. What with the recent spotlight on your family’s history … you’d be forgiven for wanting things to, um, change. The fact you went for a swim in the middle of the night, in this weather … Kizzie, it’s okay if things got to you. We can help.”

  Desperation now. “I do not believe this is happening…” she cast around for support from Jesse, from her father, but the consternation she read on their faces was hard to look at. “I did not try to kill myself. I have no idea how I got in the water, and I know I was drunk, but I am not suicidal…” A sob choked off what had been about to say.r />
  “I want to go home,” she whispered and, without opening her eyes, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. They were on her before she could stand.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor huffed as he and Jesse pushed her back. She opened her eyes and wrenched her arms out of their grip.

  “I’m not staying here.” The hysteria in her voice was building, the fear overwhelming, a roaring in her ears, the hard hammering of blood, of rage, of helplessness. She was struggling now, looking to Jesse for help. He shook his head.

  “You have to, bubs. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He held her head to his chest as she gave up, sobbing.

  Her father came and sat on the bed, winding his arm around her waist. “I’m here, sweetie, I’m here.” The solid warmth of his body next to hers made her body involuntarily relax against him. He hugged her tight. Kizzie saw her mother’s lips tighten. “I’m here.” Jesse and the doctor both released their grip as she let her father hold her, all fight in her gone. She listened to them talk, words like ‘psych evaluation,’ and sedative’’. Her father’s arms tightened around her. The doctor sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Kizzie. I’m placing you on a seventy-two-hour involuntary hold. The psychiatrist will be along to see you soon.” He nodded to Jesse and her father and left the room. Kizzie looked at her parents, Jesse, her friend Bree, and saw the pain in their eyes. “I swear to you all,” she said in a shaky voice, “I did not try to kill myself.”

  Her mother gave a sob, and a tear dropped down Bree’s face.

  Kizzie closed her eyes again, pulled away from her father’s arms and rolled onto her side, away from both of them. No one believes me.

  It was then, finally, that she gave up hope.

  Emory had taken to walking around the compound—she hated that word, so militaristic, when really the place was a set of gorgeous buildings set over acres and acres of woodland and meadows. It was heavenly, and so, to aid her recovery (again, she thought with a wry smile), she took long walks around the place. Dante joined her for many of the walks, bringing along his two dogs, a long-haired German Shepherd named The Brigadier and a mad dark red Cavalier King Charles called Duke, who was madly in love with Emory.

  “He has good taste,” Dante had said ruefully, and Emory giggled at his eye-rolling as she played with the two dogs. “Damn dogs get all the attention.”

  They talked, a lot, Dante telling her about his fiery Italian mother and laidback father. “She would always be flinging her arms around ranting about politics and feminism and just everything, and he would just nod along and agree. That drove her mad; she wanted the arguments, the debates, the passion. It was pretty funny to watch.”

  “They sound amazing.”

  Dante nodded. “They were. I was very lucky.”

  “They’re not with you anymore?”

  “Cancer. Within weeks of each other five years ago.”

  Emory was appalled and tucked her hand under his arm. “I’m so sorry, Dante.”

  He covered her hand with his. “Thank you, Em.” She loved how he called her that, so friendly, so at ease with her. She leaned against him, and he smiled.

  “Have you had any new memories come back?”

  Emory nodded. “Some. Bit and pieces. I remember Bree mostly, how much she meant to me, how close we were. I mean, after I was her teacher, we were friends, I think.”

  “I think so too. You saved her life. What about,” and Dante cleared his throat, looking nervous, “her family? Do you remember them?”

  “Her mom had a beautiful name. That’s all I remember right now. I can’t quite…”

  “Clementine,” Dante said, then hesitating again, “and her father? Luca Saffran?”

  Emory felt a jolt at the name. She stopped and closed her eyes, willing the memories to come back. “There’s something … I can’t reach it.” Suddenly she felt tired and Dante, noticing, wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be pushing. Let’s get you back.”

  They walked slowly back to the guesthouse. Dante held Emory’s hand and was gratified that she didn’t pull away. “Can I try and suggest again you move up to the big house? It’s not for me, you understand,” and the playful expression on his face made her laugh, “it’s just that Duke and the Brigadier keep insisting and I just don’t know what to tell them.”

  Emory chuckled. “Is that right? Well,” and she flushed red and had to turn away to hide it, “A change of scenery is always good for recovery.”

  Dante rocked back a little before a delighted smile crossed his face. “Wow, I took a chance … really? You’ll come stay?”

  Her face burning, she turned back to face him, taking in the utter joy on his face. Her heart flipped a little—God, he was adorable and gorgeous. She stared up at him, her hand drifting up to touch his cheek. She took in his intense green eyes, his black curls messy, the dark shadow of his beard. “I’d like that.” Her throat felt thick, full of emotion.

  Dante opened his mouth to speak, but then they both heard Sophie calling him. He smiled at Emory regretfully. “When you want to move your stuff, call me, and I’ll come help.”

  Emory loved that he didn’t say “send my staff to help.” “How about after dinner?”

  Dante grinned delightedly. “You got a deal.”

  He stroked her cheek with a finger and then he went to find Sophie. Emory drew in a long, shaky breath. Emory Dutta, do not fall for this man. Emory smiled to herself. “Way, way too late,” she whispered softly and then went to pack.

  Maximo Neri’s heart was thumping hard, but he kept his face blank and expressionless. Luca had suggested they meet with Clem after Maximo had told Luca he would help him in anyway. Now they were driving to her home to meet the journalist she was working with, and Maximo found himself suddenly nervous about seeing Clem again.

  To distract himself, he looked over at Luca now. The man looked strained almost to the breaking point; Maximo recognized that feeling well. To have the woman you love taken away so violently …

  “You know, you still have to decide what to do with Raymond Grace.”

  Luca nodded. “I know, and I’m struggling with it. I want to rip him limb from limb, but then it’s the easy way out for him. Where have you got him?”

  Maximo cleared his throat. “Best you don’t know.”

  Luca looked if he was about to argue, then closed his mouth. After a minute, he said softly, “You’re a good friend, Maximo.”

  Maximo smiled. “I appreciate that, Luca. Maybe when all this is settled, we can spend time together more fruitfully.”

  “Almost there,” Luca said, distracted. Maximo drew in a discreet silent breath and pulled the car into Clem’s driveway.

  Clem herself opened the door and immediately her eyes met Maximo’s. She smiled, and he could see she was as scared as he was. She led them into her living room where a young blonde woman sat, glasses shoved onto the top of her head, glass of wine in her hand. Clem introduced her as Tatiana Mendelssohn, and both Max and Luca shook the woman’s hand. After Clem had got them some drinks, they all sat down.

  “Luca, Max, Tat, and I have been talking about Emory’s Foundation and we think that we need to narrow the focus down, make it about intimate partner violence.”

  “I agree,” said Luca, nodding. “It’s the most appropriate message. We need to reach out to politicians and make sure we tighten the laws.” He talked for a few minutes more, and Max could see the strain on his face.

  When Luca had finished, Max said softly, “Could we extend it to familial violence?” Taking a deep breath, he told them everything about Ophelie’s murder and Ferdie’s exile. He was open, honest about the whole story, his pain and passion laid out for them all to see.

  Clem didn’t take her eyes from Max as he told about his lost love. Her heart was thudding, her stomach squirming with horror as Max laid out the brutal way his brother had killed Max’s love. It answered so many questions. When he had fin
ished, Clem reached for his hand automatically, and Max squeezed her hand before withdrawing.

  Luca, watched them, his eyes soft. “I’m so sorry, Maximo,” he said gently. “I had no idea. No wonder you’ve been so empathetic. Thank you, it must have brought up terrible memories.”

  Max nodded. “It has, but I want to use that pain, that anger, we both have to make a difference.” Clem smiled at him gratefully and looked at her friend, Tatiana.

  “What do you think, Tat?”

  Tatiana smiled at them all. She was a serious-looking English-woman who Clem had instantly bonded with, despite the fact that Tatiana was closer to Bree’s age than Clem’s. Her intelligence and compassion surprised Clem, but Tatiana told her that journalism was merely her way to get to the information she needed for her activism.

  “I’m a fierce feminist,” she had told Clem at their first meeting, “and I don’t back down when presented with a challenge. Women’s rights are being decimated in the most insidious ways; low-key, under-the-radar, eventually we’ll be regressing back to the Stone Age, and we won’t have seen it coming.”

  Now she went through her plans for the book with Clem, raising the issues from the shooting, yes, but tying them into Emory’s murder by her ex-husband.

  “Guys … I don’t need to tell you this is a compelling story. Beautiful young teacher, popular, inspirational, saves the life of a teenager, only to be shot to death by her jealous ex-husband.”

  They all saw Luca wince. Tatiana looked sympathetic. “I know, Luca, I do know that it sounds like we’ll be exploiting Emory’s story and in a way, we will. But we’ll be doing it to protect more woman—and men—who are living under the threat of violence and death. Forgive me, but I cannot see a better legacy for Emory than that.”

  Luca nodded slowly. “Look … Clem, Max, can I talk to Tatiana in private for a moment?”

  Clem was surprised but nodded. “Of course.” She looked shyly at Max, “Max, shall we go to the kitchen, find some food?”