Sandra had known about the effect running sometimes had on him, and occasionally she took advantage of it. One morning as he walked back into his bedroom, peeling off his sweat soaked t-shirt, he’d been stopped in his tracks by the bewitching sight of a naked Sandra bent over the foot of his bed, her shapely little bottom in the air. Beside her on the mattress was her paddle and two condoms. He’d used the condoms last.
As he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his erection, he thought of Ashley. How he’d love to have her in that shower with him, helpless, his to toy with as he pleased.
“Soon,” he rumbled, his hand closing around his cock.
Chapter Five
She was almost ready to drop it. The box that held all of her glassware. She had decided that not one, not two, but three boxes would be just the thing to have in her arms as she fiddled with the keys, trying to get the front door unlocked.
“Let me help you,” a voice said behind her. It was deep, even deeper than Parker’s. It rattled her nerves and made her warm all at once.
She looked back to see the imposing figure of Mr. Dark. She flashed a nervous smile around the boxes stacked in her arms. “Oh, that’s not—”
“Here. This is too much for you.” He grabbed the top two boxes off of the stack, his fingers brushing her breast. Whether the touch was intentional, or not, she couldn’t tell. Her suddenly erect nipples cared not a whit.
He set the boxes down on the porch, and held out his hand to her. His eyes were intent, deep green pools fixated on her. His size dwarfed her but she wasn’t threatened by it, entranced as she was for a moment by that gaze.
Oh dear, dear Ashley. You must have made somebody very happy upstairs.
She stared at his hand a moment, wondering at the strength that was obvious in the thick fingers, the veined brawn of just his hands evoking decidedly unclean thoughts about what they were capable of.
She was losing her mind. She’d fled from an abusive asshole, only to be confronted seemingly everywhere she turned by beautiful men. Why couldn’t these dudes have shown up about, oh, ten years ago? Terry would never have happened.
Better late than never.
For a moment, she thought Mr. Dark wanted to shake hands.
“Keys.” He wagged his finger at her, his brow rising ever so slightly at her bemused look.
She placed them in his big hand, and his fingers clasped over hers a moment. The gentleness of his touch belied the steel-shredding strength of that hand, and a surge of electricity raced down her spine to earth in her belly. His gaze didn’t leave hers as he took the keys from her.
He had the door open in moments, depositing the two boxes on the entryway floor before grabbing the third box from her arms and setting it atop the other two.
“I’m sorry.” She held out her hand to him. “I saw you the other day, when I came to see the house. You and … Erik?”
“I’m Drake.” His calloused mitt engulfed her delicate hand. It felt wonderful. Normally, she wouldn’t even have registered it, but she felt so … feminine in his hands. Even just shaking his hand, she felt his power, his maleness. She felt a little surge of moisture between the lips of her sex.
What the fuck is going on with you, Ash?
Apparently her body was taking Tara’s advice to “heart” — whether her mind wanted to or not.
“Parker said you’d be moving in. You should have taken him up on his offer to help.”
He stood there in the entryway, her hand still in his. His eyes dropped momentarily from her face to the white tank she’d decided to wear that morning. She knew she’d be hot from moving boxes, so she made sure to wear something light.
Now she regretted it, seeing Drake’s frank appraisal of the hard points of her nipples, obvious through the thin cotton of her top. She stood a moment longer, fighting the urge to bring an arm over her breasts, knowing it would just confirm what they both knew he’d already seen.
“Ashley.” She pulled her hand from his. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m gonna go grab some more boxes.”
She turned to head back out to the car, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes following the sway of her hips as she walked. Did it really bother her though?
He helped her bring in the rest of the boxes from the Honda. He said not a word, as if he had no concept of the idea that she wouldn’t want his help.
By the time they’d emptied the car, the sun had been covered by clouds, and she was surprised at how quickly the air chilled without its presence. She shivered a little as she closed the trunk lid with a thunk. The light sheen of sweat she’d built up was now decidedly counterproductive, and she wished she’d brought her coat — and not just to cover up her traitorous nipples.
“I’m going to start you a fire. You look cold.” Drake’s lips curved in a half smile.
“You don’t need to.” Her cheeks warmed at his comment. “I need to figure out how to use that thing myself. Besides, I’m going back to get another load.”
He glanced back at her from the doorway. “I’ll get it going while you’re gone, then. Will be toasty warm by the time you get back. Now, go.”
Then he disappeared inside, closing the door behind him as if he owned the place.
So, Mr. Dark is a little rough around the edges, Ash. You’re wondering what those edges feel like aren’t you? Slut.
“Dammit,” she muttered, opening her car door.
***
Drake really wasn’t sure what to make of her. He did know one thing though: he wanted her around long enough for him to figure out.
Sure, it probably was too soon after the disaster that was Kimber, but it didn’t seem to matter to the part of him that really ruled. His lust said it was the perfect time for another, the perfect time to wash the taint of her, the pain of her, away. The best cure for an old love was a new one.
He should have told Kimber what he wanted from the beginning. He had such hopes for her, that she’d be the one. He’d learned from earlier loves. You have to stop assuming they know what you want, what you are. But you also have to take it slow. Too much, too fast and you frighten them off like skittish rabbits.
He’d spanked her one drunken night, and she’d reacted quite well, all things considered. They’d fucked afterward, with an abandon, a savagery, they’d never had with each other before. Maybe it was just the booze, rather than any submissive inclinations on her part. Whatever it was, it was gone the next morning, as if it never happened. She wouldn’t even talk about it. Deleted from the memory banks.
But it bothered him more and more as time went on. Sure, she’d been drawn to his dominance in the same way many women appreciated men. But he thought she enjoyed it more because it simply got things done, rather than on some deeper, visceral level. He really had no way of knowing. That was another thing that was wrong between he and Kimber — they were too damned much alike.
He didn’t speak until he was sure there was a need to, sure there was something that needed to be said. She was, well, she was too similar — except in her case, she just didn’t have that much to say. She relied on Drake to figure things out, work the problem, solve it. She apparently thought looking pretty — which she excelled at — was all she needed to do.
Well, big tits and a pretty face will take a girl far, but not far enough when it comes to love. Real love. The kind Drake was looking for. She just … wasn’t. Wasn’t looking for love, wasn’t looking for something deeper. She just wasn’t looking, period.
Drake thought it was a shame, because he still wondered about her, even after it was over and done with. The arguments, screaming, the recriminations, the hurt. There was something, deep down. Down where she didn’t even want to examine it, feel it. But she just closed herself off to it, and she closed him off in the process. Trying to salvage it was a lost cause, and ending it was merciful — to both of them.
He really knew nothing about Ashley, but seeing the look in her eyes as he helped her with the boxes intrigued hi
m. It was the same glimpse into the primitive female he’d seen that drunken, wonderful night with Kimber.
And that body. Holy shit! Seeing those impudent nipples of hers peeking through that tight tank top just about had him drooling. He wondered what those nipples would feel like on his tongue, what kind of moans he could wrest from her as he squeezed them between cruel fingers.
She definitely knew how to dress to show off that body. But it was alluring, rather than slutty. Just well enough put together to speak to the male, hint to him, about what might be under the surface — and under those clothes.
Parker had been holding out on him, and he’d have to have a word with him about that.
Thinking about Ashley helped him, really. It helped to distract him from the festering wound that was the break up with Kimber. He’d rather be drawn and quartered then let Parker or Erik know it, but Kimber had gotten to him. He’d gotten close to her — even loved her. It hurt more than he wanted to think about right now. The aching feeling of loss, whether or not it was for the best, was hard to bear. Even Superman had a weakness, and Drake’s was a deep-seated need for a connection with that one special woman. Someone he could be the real Drake with — someone who wasn’t afraid of all that he was.
Maybe that someone didn’t really exist. The thought made him sick.
Chapter Six
“Now or never,” she whispered, rapping her knuckles on Parker’s door. The smell of meat cooking somewhere made her stomach growl, and she tried to remember when she’d last eaten.
The door opened, and the hulking form of Drake filled the doorway. He was talking to someone, his cell phone held to his ear. “Yeah, hang on Martin.”
He nodded his head to her to come in. She slipped around him and he closed the door behind her.
It was about as masculine a scene as she’d laid eyes on since her childhood. Drake was on the phone still, his eyes watching her, as he sat back down at the dining room table. The table was covered in parts of some kind (she guessed auto parts, based on what she remembered seeing her Dad always working on).
Men. It must be in their DNA to lay their crap on the dining room table.
She tried to suppress a smirk.
Ashley looked across the large living room, where the big screen was showing an episode of Wings on the Military Channel. Nobody was sitting on the big sectional watching it though.
Drake put his hand over his cell, his eyes inscrutable. If anything he looked a little irritated. “He’s out on the deck,” he said, voice a deep rumble, pointing at the sliding glass doors at the far end of the living room.
Somehow he seemed to know she was looking for a familiar face. Parker’s face.
Walking through the room, her heels sinking into the deep pile carpeting, she noted the huge rock-lined fireplace that dominated one wall, and what looked to her to be an antique rifle or musket hanging above the oak mantelpiece.
Parker appeared at the doors, sliding it open before she reached them. He was dressed in a gray WSU t-shirt and blue jeans. She couldn’t help but notice the tanned, defined biceps as he slid the door open, a long pair of metal tongs in one hand.
“Hi there! Glad you came by.” He waved the tongs at her. “Come on out.”
She suddenly felt very overdressed. She’d worn a snug navy skirt, and cream blouse for yet another fruitless day of showings, phone calls, and disappointment. Her hair was up, and a choker of delicate pearls set off the slender column of her neck. She’d stopped by the house to ditch the matching suit jacket, and to freshen her perfume before heading over, but she’d decided not to change anything else, and just came in the clothes she’d worn to work.
She stepped through the deck door, and Parker slid it closed behind her. The deck and backyard were wonderful
A well kept green lawn rambled outward to be absorbed into what she could only describe as wild prairie grass. It was difficult to tell where the yard ended and the wild grass began as there was no fence — something that was an alien concept to her suburban upbringing.
Beyond, a dense, tall stand of conifers formed a stunning backdrop against the peaks of the Cascades to the west, the fading afternoon light casting the trees in inky shadow. It looked like something out of a landscape painting.
Parker moved to stand next to her, holding an opened beer up to her. “Nice view, isn’t it?”
She nodded her head slowly. “It’s gorgeous.”
“All that Lodgepole pine used to cover this whole property until Grandpa had it cut back. Money from the wood helped build this place.”
Normally, she would have been sizing up property like that to mentally figure out how many lots it could be subdivided into, but the thought of chopping this up was repellent to her. It was just too beautiful.
Then the smell of the cooking meat hit her again, and her mouth watered.
“That smells great, Parker. Thanks for inviting me over.”
She took the offered beer and quaffed a quick sip, successfully stifling the shudder at the bitter taste. She hated beer, but didn’t want to be rude. At least it was cold.
He moved over to the grill, flipping the meat and closing the lid. “Just a couple more minutes.”
She stood just behind him, savoring the wonderful smells. She normally didn’t eat much meat, but she was starving. “No pizza, huh?”
He winked at her, the corners of his gray eyes crinkling. They didn’t seem as cruel today, but they were still just as gorgeous. “I figured if we’re going to have guests we’d at least make some effort. If it was up to that caveman in there, we’d have to kill our dinner every night.”
Smiling, she found herself picturing Drake in caveman garb, club over his shoulder, dragging a naked woman by the hair behind him.
Another of her little girl fantasies she figured she’d keep to herself.
“Did you drive over here, Ashley? I thought that was your car I heard.”
She smiled, dropping a pointed look down, taking another sip of her beer. “I would have walked but … “
“Ah, I see.” He glanced down at her three inch navy heels, the painted maroon lacquer of her nails visible through the open toes. Maybe they were just this side of slutty, but she thought they still went perfectly with the skirt.
“Not exactly walking shoes. Good choice though.” He turned back to the grill, smoke wafting out as he opened the lid to give the meat one last turn.
The deck door slid open, and Erik’s blond head peered out. “God, that smells fu—”
He bit it off when he realized Ashley was on the deck with Parker. He flashed a grin at her. “Oh hi!” He stepped out, offering his hand. “Are you the new neighbor?”
Damn, they grow them tall out here in Washington.
He towered over her, even taller than Parker or Drake, though his youthful (but supremely fit) build was more on the slender side than either of the older men. He shook her hand, his fingers much like his body: long and lanky. He had the clearest pale blue eyes, to go along with that blond hair.
Seeing him up close, she realized she’d been wrong about his age earlier. He couldn’t be a day over nineteen.
Watch the dirty thoughts, cradle robber.
She needed to get hold of herself. She was acting like a cat coming into heat. It was hard to behave though. She hadn’t been laid in months, and she was surrounded by hot guys. Once she told Tara about this she had a feeling her best friend might find a way to make it out there sooner rather than later.
“This is our little Aryan vagabond,” Parker said, waving the tongs at Erik.
“I’m Danish, not German. Dickhead.”
Ashley giggled, masking it by taking another draw off of her beer.
“Whatever,” Parker said, shrugging. “Ashley, this is Erik.”
She flashed Parker a sidelong glance. “We … kind of met already.”
“Nice to put a name to a beautiful face though,” Erik said, nodding his head at her.
“Save the Rico Suave routin
e, charmer.” Parker waved him over. “Help me bring this food in.”
Erik’s handsome face flushed as he took the blue platter piled high with meat. He gave her one last glance before disappearing back into the house, the food leaving a contrail of steam behind him.
Parker tapped his bottle against hers. “Let’s eat.”
***
They ate in the kitchen gathered round a huge butcher’s block that Parker told her had been hewn from a gigantic Doug Fir his grandpa felled along the North shore of Lake Chelan in the 1930s.
This was how she’d imagined three bachelors eating dinner. A chaotic, informal affair that resembled a feeding rather than a meal. Still, she reveled in the relaxed energy of the men, so different than being around a group of women. More laid back, but with a low level undercurrent that she could just barely detect.
“Sorry about the accommodations, Ms. Dietrich.” Parker held up a piece of steak skewered on his knife. “But my roommate here seems to think the dining room table is superior to the garage when it comes to working on cars.”
Drake grunted, mouth full of food, and gesturing at Parker with his fork.
“That’s okay,” she said, smiling. “Reminds me of my childhood. Dad had us cleaning brake parts more than once at the dinner table too.”
“You related to Marlena Dietrich?” Drake asked, swallowing enough food to talk, his lips curved in a half smile.
Parker groaned. “I’ll bet she’s only heard that about a thousand times before.”
“A thousand and one now,” she teased, giggling. The beer was starting to taste pretty good. Not a good sign.
“He win a prize or something? Drake’s not used to winning things.” Parker’s eyes danced, gleeful.
She cocked her head considering Drake’s brooding stare. “My undying gratitude. How’s that?”
Drake beamed, the expression lighting up his dark features. “That’ll do — for a start.”
Trent Evans Page 4