Less than twenty minutes later were on the road, Jamey driving the vehicle at a breakneck speed as they headed for the town.
*
Emmitt swung the saloon door open as he stomped in and silence fell over Birdy’s. Every face turned to look at him, but many turned away when they met the steely flint shining hard in his dark gaze. His face looked carve from granite and only a few never took their eyes off him as he made his way to the table in the back.
He ignored the doxies that tried to catch his attention, and then only the bravest or most desperate of them did. But that wasn’t what he was here for. There in the corner sat the three men he was looking for. Their expressions were as hard as his own as he ambled over to them. He reached down and grabbed the glass of whiskey sitting in front of the man closest to him and downed it in one shot, finishing it with a gulping drink of the pint of the man on his other side.
The customers at the table stared at Emmett for a long, tense silence so thick he could have swum through it. Finally, the man sitting in the middle threw back his head with an uproarious laugh and the rest of the bar released its collective breath.
“Black Heart, what in the devil’s name are you doing back in here? I thought you were too good for us now.” Jasper, the man who had laughed, sat back in his chair and drained his drink much like Emmett just had Luke’s.
“I don’t go by that name anymore, Jasper.” Emmett shook his head as he pulled out the only empty chair and took a seat. He leaned forward, looking each man in the eye by turns. “You know I tried to make things right after that night, after everything went wrong,” He saw Jasper’s face wash white and kept talking, “I’m married now, but she’s in a spot of trouble.”
“The birds are always trouble, Black, they always are.” The last man, Elijah, was drunk than either of the other two and his words were slurred as he tried to speak.
“Be careful, Eli. You’re talking about my wife now.” Emmett said, soft and low, but by the way the man swallowed he knew he had gotten the message across. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table before he spoke again.
“Now listen. I have one last job for us to do.”
*
It didn’t take long for Emmett to track down the hovel Clara’s father was staying at once he started asking around. Apparently, he had made a drunk nuisance of himself at several different locations before finally making his way to the seediest motel this side of Texas. Maybe all of Texas, to be honest.
Emmett had to hold back a grimace of distaste as he tromped through the garbage littering the hallways, trying not to think too hard on what was making that squishing noise underneath his boots.
He stopped in front of the door that the proprietor had directed him to and took one final deep breath. He adjusted the holster at his hip, checking the hated gun one last time. He prayed to god and anything that would listen that he wouldn’t have to use it that night. He raised one fist and pounded heavily on the door three times. There was no answer. More than likely, Clara’s father was passed out in a drunk stupor, which would make his job all the easier.
Emmett checked his fob watch. The boys should just about have everything in order to send Mr. Thomas on his way for a long time, and far, far away from here, away from his daughter. Away from the new life they had just begun to build together. He would never forget the tearful look on Clara’s face as she’d told him all the terrible things from her past, and most of the blame could be laid at this man’s feet.
Shoving down his disgust, he pounded on the door again.
“Go away! I’m trying to sleep!” The slurred, angry voice called out from the other side of the closed door.
“Mr. Thomas. Open the door, now!” Emmett yelled back, as firmly as he could.
“Go to hell!” Was the reply, and Emmett couldn’t help the small grin that tipped up one side of his mouth. That’s exactly what he’d been hoping Clara’s father would say.
“Have it your way.” He said, and with one mighty shove against the old, worn out door, the hinges gave with a loud pop and swung haphazardly inward.
“What the hell do you think your–.” The man’s words were cut off abruptly as Emmett hauled him up by the front of his stained shirt. He tried not to look too closely at them. His eyes were hard on the red rimmed, beady eyes of his wife’s father.
“Stop. Don’t talk. Don’t say a word. Just listen. You will leave here. You will leave and never come back. You will leave my wife alone. You will never see or speak to her again. And if you ever lay another finger on the woman that I love you won’t live to regret it. Do you understand?”
Mr. Thomas stared at him wide eyed, and Emmett could feel his fear with every tremble. Finally, he placed him back on his feet and shoved him out of the room and into the waiting attentions of the three men who already had a ticket booked on the next train out of town.
Emmett grabbed the ticket and shoved it at him. “I never want to see your face again.”
“But…but my daughter–.”
“Is not your concern anymore, although I doubt she ever was. Go! Before I lose my patience.” He fingered the hilt of the gun, just to drive the message home and almost snorted in disgust at the look of terror that passed over the man’s face. Sure, he could beat on a woman have his size, but at heart he was just a bully.
A gasp filled the sudden silence as they dragged Clara’s father through a back door, and dread threatened to overwhelm him. Slowly, forcing his body to move, he spun until he was facing the still open door, its hinges askew.
“Clara!” Emmett cried out. “What are you doing here? Jamey?” He looked past his pale cheeked wife to the young valet standing behind her with a wooden beam held up in his hands as if to ward of attackers.
“Oh, Emmett.” Clara sobbed, and his heart broke. He had never wanted her to see him like this. As the outlaw he knew in his soul he would always be.
“Clara, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t even–.” His words cut off as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tight it was hard to draw breath. Or maybe that was the shock.
“Sorry? How could you be sorry? That was the most noble, gallant, wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.” Finally, Clara pulled back just enough to look up at his eyes, and so he could stare down into her beautiful green ones. He had to choke back a tear of his own, from relief and gratitude and above all as she smiled sweetly at him.
“Emmett, my husband. My hero.”
Epilogue
“My love. Come here.” Clara smiled saucily at Emmett, boldness sweeping through her at the look of pure desire gleaming in his eyes. They had been married for six months now, and she still couldn’t get enough of him. The thought had her blushing but she couldn’t deny its truth.
She held out her arms and her husband sank into them, drawing her close to his heat, his hard body, so wonderfully different from her own softness but a perfect compliment. The contrast had shivers of anticipation running down her spine.
Then his mouth was on hers, soft at first, so soft and gentle that she had to close her eyes as a wave of sweet tenderness crashed across her body, tightening her chest and drawing out a small moan of pleasure. Emmett took it, his mouth slanting more to give him better access as the kiss deepened into something so much wilder. Primal.
That was what she felt when he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. Primal and feminine and truly alive in a way she had never felt before. He really was her own personal slice of heaven. His hands distracted her, cutting off all ability to think as he slowly slid off her dress and led her to their bed. The bed they shared every night, and that she planned on sharing for the rest of her days.
Emmett drew her back against him, whispering kisses down the side of her neck, across the curve of her shoulder until she cried out his name, begging for more, begging for what she so desperately needed.
Finally, he capitulated, helping her to lay back across the blanket as the fading light of the sunset washed a rosy
glow over both of them. He teased her with his fingers, drawing across her body in a way that had her writhing in ecstasy before they had even gotten started. Impatient for him, Clara reached up, guiding his hard length to that most secret part of her, the part that craved him like a drug she could never satiate.
They both groaned loudly as he sank all the way home, each thrust sending waves of friction building and building until she felt like every muscle was pulled tight. It was too much, it was just enough, it was everything she needed and then all of a sudden, it really was too much as he sent her spinning into oblivion, crying out his name to the evening air. Her body clenched down hard as she exploded around him, drawing him with her as they both crashed together on waves of bliss.
She collapsed bonelessly where she lay, unable to move, unable to do anything all except let the feelings sweep over her as her body floated back down from heaven. Clara looked over at Emmett, laying with his eyes half closed, panting for breath next to her.
“My Clara. My sweet, sweet Clara. You are going to be the death of me one day.” He joked as he groaned, also unable to move muscles that had suddenly turned to jelly. But Clara just laughed, staring at him with all the love in her heart shining out at him.
“That’s okay, Emmett. Because you are my life. I love you, husband.”
“I love you, my wife.” He said with a sappy smile on his handsome face.
“Is that a promise?” She asked, sighing in contentment as he wrapped his arms around her as sleep threatened to pull them both under.
“It is” He whispered softly. “My only promise.”
Charmed by the Wicked Billionaire
Chapter 1
Nya felt giddy as soon as she stepped onto the wharf. There was a nearby window that was reflective enough for her to use as a mirror. Her dark skin was lightly tanned from her recent hours under the open sun, but her hair was short and hung just above her ears. Her figure was rotund, but looks didn’t matter so much in this business. She was here for the science and still expecting to wake up as if from a phenomenal dream.
The spray of the sea was enough to convince her that she really was experiencing this. It still didn’t seem like it, it was too good to be true! Three weeks out of college and she had already found a benefactor that was willing to invest in her research! It was either a tremendously lucky windfall or perhaps someone had found the means – and desire – to play a large practical joke on her.
She remembered the day that she had received the letter confirming what she had been hoping for. A benefactor willing to shoulder all of the money she could want to conduct her research and all she had to do was prove that it worked? She’d heard of people having to wait their whole lives and half their careers for an opportunity like this. But that such a wind of fortune should blow from the Carver Group?
She had danced like a mad woman when she’d received the letter. Every day since had seemed as surreal as if she were tripping on Acid. She’d barely been able to sleep for the last three days she’d been so excited. And it wasn’t until she had set foot in the marina parking lot that it had begun to feel as genuine as the air in her lungs.
This was real, and the smell of salt on the air convinced her that she wasn’t having any kind of delusion. She was no stranger to the ocean, she’d been immersed in it her whole life. Even when she was on dry land she was up to her eyeballs in it. But today, it felt as if she had never been this close to it in her whole life.
“Stay calm… be professional… prove that it works…” she said, reciting her mantra over and over for every step that she took deeper into the South Shore Marina.
The docks weren’t quite what she had expected them to be. South Shore was the reputed place for everyone with money in Miami to come if they had a fancy for the sea. Playboys with money that liked topless girls and strong alcohol in tangent with the smell of the sea usually came here.
Nya recalled that a few years ago this place had been the place to be if one liked to party on the water. She’d never heard of that trend really going out of style and people with money could afford to party every day if they really wanted. But for the rest of the people in the country, they had to work at it.
That didn’t dispel her fear of being here and thinking that she would be walking into some kind of a never-ending party. But despite that worry, she was relieved to find it as she did. She had imagined rows and rows of gleaming white private yachts, covered with women clad in bikinis and men in expensive suits as they danced to whatever the kids considered to be “cool” music these days as they splashed their way through bottles of expensive champagne and martinis.
But the marina was, by and large, quiet. So quiet it was like it could have been a retirement home for expensive boats. The only sounds that she could discern here was the gentle lapping of the water against the wooden struts of the wharf or against the hulls of the many docked boats that were lined up on either side of her as she walked down the row. Occasionally there was the sound of a cawing gull, the splash of a fish, or even the muffled voice of the occasional person from inside their own crafts. But she paid them no mind as she looked for the ship that she was to board.
She found it at the far end of the dock, three spaces over from dead last on the long boardwalk. She knew it to be the vessel, for her acceptance letter had contained a detailed itinerary of how and where she could find the boat when she arrived. There had even been a picture enclosed so that she would know for absolutely-damn-certain that she had arrived at the proper place.
And it felt like she was waking up to a dream come true as she looked the vessel over, still expecting to be jolted awake at any moment.
It was called the Sea Sprite.
She was perhaps a hundred fifty to two hundred or so feet long and about forty wide if she had to guess. She counted three above-the water decks, including the weather deck. But she knew the boat’s design was deceptive, recalling that there was at least one more deck – maybe two – beneath the water line. This was, after all, a research vessel, and not a party yacht like she had thought every other boat here to be. However, like every other boat that she saw in the marina the hull was gleaming white with a fresh shine upon it as if it had never put to sea before.
She knew better than that, though. The Carver Group was on the front-line for marine biology and exploration. And this very vessel, she had read, had been on the water when some of the group’s greatest breakthroughs had come in.
She looked the vessel over from nose to stern. It had an impressive array of scientific equipment. Direction finders, radio, com-sat uplink gear, its own short-wave repeater, sonar, weather scanners… the works. The boat was a lab that floated and that she would be allowed to work upon it filled her with incredible pride.
And just waiting for her along the port side was a white wooden staircase that would take her up to the weather deck just aft of the bridge. And the stairs seemed beckoning her to ascend them.
“I got this, I got this,” Nya whispered to herself and she climbed the wooden steps, toting her sea duffle and science bag with her. When she reached the landing on the boarding stairs she saw that there was a single person standing on the deck. This one looked to be a man, dressed in white shorts and a matching polo shirt. It was appropriate attire for someone living in the Miami atmosphere. He stood with his back to her, a mop and bucket on the deck beside him as he cleaned the wooden panels of the flooring.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” she asked.
The mop man turned around and she saw he was a younger man, perhaps in his early twenties since it looked like his acne hadn’t finished clearing up yet. But his hair was neatly combed and he looked fit for business.
“Hello,” he said with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Nya Wilson,” she said, and then her mind seemed to draw a blank for anything more to say. It was foolish to think that this boy would know who she is if he was mopping floors. “I was told to be here?” she said.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t so foolish.
She smiled, relieved. Part of her had thought that this would still be some kind of a terrible joke or that it wasn’t really happening. That she had imagined the whole thing was still a thought that circulated on the inside of her mind. Thank god, she thought to herself. Aloud she said, “Um… permission to come aboard?”
The mop boy laughed at that. “Well, I’m not the captain but since we’re expecting you… permission granted.”
She stepped onto the deck and felt instantly how the waves affected the rolling hull of the boat. It took only a moment for her legs to adapt. “Thank you,” she said taking two steps further aboard. “I was also told to meet with the owner.”
“He’ll be waiting for you in his cabin. I can take you right to him. Just follow me.”
Chapter 2
She was led below to what was labeled “C” deck. Near as she could tell these were the living quarters for the crew and others. She figured that most of the rest of the ship would be dedicated to science.
The cramped living conditions were no better than that of any college dorm and she had been fine with such tight quarters. Living on a ship where a bunk with an extra blanket was a luxury should have been a breeze.
Towards the bow of the ship they came to a wooden door. It was nothing special, the door, made from everyday pine she thought. The only thing that was significant about it was the brass name-plate upon it that read “Admiral”. Nya was no naval expert but she was pretty sure that a boat this size wasn’t usually commanded by someone of that rank.
The boy that met her on the deck knocked on the door twice but didn’t bother to wait for an answer before he pushed the door open and permitted her to pass inside. What she found on the inside wasn’t what she had been expecting either.
REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) Page 58