“Is that so?” Xave asked wryly.
She nodded and smiled.
“Yes, it is so. That is why I call my place Oculus.”
She gnawed on her lower lip as was her habit when she read palms but this time, it was more than simply a flair for the dramatic.
Danica was picking up something on the strange man who had been haunting her for weeks, something genuinely troubling. She was having a hard time pinning the feeling down though.
“I don’t buy into this,” Xave told her and she smiled, her luminous grey eyes shining in the dark living room.
“You don’t have to,” she replied, her face shadowed by the flickering lights of the candles she had lit. “The spirits will get you whether you believe or not.”
Xave chuckled lightly.
“I thought that you had to believe in vodou for it to work,” he countered and Danica was surprised by his response.
“You know about vodou?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. Most people in this part of the world only knew the dark art as ‘voodoo’. She suddenly wished she was wearing her violet contact lenses.
They did more than simply add to her mystique; they served as a barrier between her and the odd someone who could look into her soul.
Someone like the dark man sitting before her.
She could not say why he made her so pleasantly uncomfortable except that there was a magnetism about him which she found irresistible.
Maintaining her pretense of spirituality was proving more difficult than she could ever remember, but she could tell that the man before her was massively distracted by something other than her reading.
“I can read,” Xave replied flippantly, his sea green eyes boring into her. “But I have to wonder how much you really know about it.”
Again, she grinned, winking conspiratorially.
“I guess you’ll have to stick with me and find out.”
She pushed his hand aside and stared at him, folding her arms across her chest.
“You really didn’t know you had parked in front of my house, did you?” she said and noted with satisfaction that color painted his face.
“It’s a coincidence,” he muttered, shifting his gaze finally. But Danica could see he didn’t believe his own words. “Like you said, I come by here a lot. It must have been ingrained in my subconscious.”
“Of all the places to wind up in Amarillo,” she laughed.
Xave shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant but she could see he was struggling with the issue as well.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” he said, standing suddenly. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Does it have anything to with why you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” she asked softly, also rising.
He’s acting like he’s going to leave but…I feel like…like he’s bound to me. He can’t go anywhere.
It was a bold thought to have but it was not out of the realm of possibility. At least, not in Danica’s realm.
Clearly Xavier Sinclair had felt the connection before she had been aware of his existence but there was no doubt that the handsome, dark haired man was meant to be here, in her house, at this moment in time.
“You don’t even know me,” Xave retorted. “You have no idea if this is my usual look.”
Slowly, she sashayed toward him, her sooty eyes meeting his again.
“I feel like I do know you,” she replied quietly. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
He lowered his head to peer into her face but he didn’t immediately respond.
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel whatever this is between us,” she insisted, placing her hands on his forearms and pulling his palms onto her slim waist. Yet at the same time, Danica recognized how outside of her normal character her behavior was. What was it about this man that made her feel like she needed to be touching him?
Cocking her head to the side, Danica parted her lips as if inviting him to kiss her.
“I can’t be here,” Xave muttered, moving to pull away but Danica tightened her grip around his arms.
“You are supposed to be here,” she murmured, drawing her lips close to his. His whole body seemed to clench slightly beneath her and for a second, she was certain he was going to pull away.
Instead, he pulled her toward him, forcing their lips together.
Danica gasped at the surprising move, attempting to step back to regain the upper hand but it was too late; she had unleashed the demon within him. The kiss was brutally hot, wonderfully aggressive, and Danica shivered at the leashed power she could feel in him.
He bent her backward, his arm bracing the small of her back as his lips crushed hers ruthlessly, biting along the edge of her lip, and then down the column of her throat.
She tried to steady herself but he was more powerful than she had anticipated, dropping her against the table she used for readings. The feelings swirling in her body were stronger than any she had felt before, she felt herself getting lost in the tumultuous storm that was Xavier. His dominance stirred something within her that she wouldn’t have thought would respond to something like that.
A rain of tarot cards flew from beneath her, the tiny gusts of wind going unnoticed as the deck scattered.
For some inexplicable reason, the motion angered her and in a defensive move she slid out from under him, pouncing on him like a cat as he lay belly down on the table.
The rickety wood table gave way then and they both fell to the ground but the sudden jarring didn’t stop them.
They rolled like wrestling animals along the floor, clothes flying off in the process. Xavier couldn’t touch enough of her at once, he needed to feel the heat of her skin, and hear the small moans that she released when his hands covered her breasts, squeezing and molding them, and then plucking the nipples until they stood out in hard little buds.
Danica’s hand found the swelling hardness between his legs, stroking him as he sucked on her rising breasts, his own fingers exploring her core. A cry broke from her lips as he fastened his teeth on her nipple, causing a flood of moisture to pool between her legs.
Again they flipped, Danica atop him, her naked nipples teasing his mouth as she slid her damp button along the shaft of his raging erection.
Below her, he bucked upward, nipping at her tender skin and Danica mewled, digging her nails into his chest.
Having already disposed of her thong, he thrust into her in one smooth motion, gasping at her tightness.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered jerking his hips up hard to fill her entirely with his shaft.
Danica leaned backward, her knees supporting her as she began to bounce against him.
He groaned again and Danica relished each thrust, the intensity increasing diabolically fast.
Deeper and deeper she worked him inside, her movements increasing as she drew nearer to climax. Xave thrust upward with such force, Danica was momentarily thrown off balance as he had intended, and suddenly he was atop her, his hand fisting in her long hair.
His green eyes were glassy with ecstasy and he drove himself into her, the fires of passion rising up and consuming him whole.
Danica stared at him, her eyes wide with pleasure.
Somehow he increased the intensity, his gaze locking on her as he brought them both to the brink of orgasm. Danica moaned as the tidal wave of heat finally took her under, all the passion bursting from her cells at once. Her core gripped Xavier’s shaft like a fist, milking every drop from him.
Just as her orgasm began to subside, he thrust one final time, his ass clenching hard and his head thrown back. He gritted his jaw to keep from shouting out his release as his cock filled her core with his hot seed.
Awe stricken, she struggled to recapture her breathing, watching his face in amazement. Never had she experienced anything like that. What the hell? She asked herself. What was that?
Withdrawing, he fell to the floor at her side, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
For a moment, the only thing that could be heard was the sawing in and out of their breath.
“Are you happy now?” he asked darkly, and Danica sat up, her long hair a dishevelled mess about her slender shoulders.
“Happy?” she echoed. “Should I be happy?”
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To read the first book in Chloe Fischer’s bodyguard “Protect Series”, titled PROTECT HER, click the link below.
CLICK HERE
His best friend’s little sister = his kryptonite.
Cleo’s intentions were good – she just needed money to help out a friend. Who knew that she’d soon have the most ruthless drug lord in the area out to kill her?
Cleo’s brother is a cop who is going to clear up this mess for her – or try to. But in the meantime, he literally hand-delivers Cleo to his best friend Dallas for safekeeping.
Dallas is ex-Navy SEAL, he’s handled way harder jobs than this babysitting gig. So what if he’s always been wildly attracted to his best friend’s little sister?
He’s disciplined.
He can control this.
But what he really wants to do is control her…
And for Part 2 in the Protect Series, click below for the second stand alone novel.
PROTECT ME
Mia is a spoiled, arrogant, gorgeous, rich girl.
Mark is a cop who accepted a short bodyguard gig for a day – protecting Mia.
How hard can it be, right?
Turns out Mark would rather be facing off against a gang of violent criminals than the mouthy socialite who escapes from him the first chance she gets.
Yeah, that’s right.
She. Runs. Away.
After he saves her butt, he is SO going to teach her a lesson!
Protect HER
The first thing that people notice about Cleo is her hair. Although she always tries to play it off as strawberry-blonde, it is decidedly red. Long and wavy, the fire can be seen flowing down her back, kissing the top of her buttocks from a mile away. Today she had it tucked in a bun, in an attempt to hide it from view since she was trying hard to blend in to her surroundings. Her eyes were almost as startling as her hair. They were a sparkling green that showcased a sense of confidence not usually found in one so young. And finally, if one failed to notice these two features, her lithe body and wicked smile completed a package found in sirens in Greek mythology.
But as Cleo stalked down the empty street, she did all she could to hide these distinguishable features. She wore a grey hoodie, hunched her back over and even had a pair of dark sunglasses on -- despite the thick cloud cover that blotted out even the smallest hint of sunlight.
The street she found herself on was one that she didn't usually frequent. It was on the other side of town. The one left to the degenerates of society; the bums and criminals that couldn't hold down a job for longer than a week, and more often than not, didn't want to. This was evidenced by the closed shop fronts with boarded up windows and the litter that created a small minefield on the sidewalk, the broken bottles and discarded trash that covered the roads and the stale musk that hung in the air.
She purposefully ducked down a narrow alleyway located next to an old bottle shop, checking over her shoulder as if worried someone might be watching. What she sought was likely located down at the end of the alley, and although she didn't think anyone would be watching her, she knew that in this part of town, one couldn't be too careful.
"My horoscope told me it was going to be a good day," a reedy male voice echoed from the end of the alleyway. "I had no idea just how good it meant."
Cleo smiled to herself when she heard the voice. She knew who it belonged to, and was happy to have found its owner sooner rather than later. "I didn't know horoscopes were usually so vague," she said back. "Did it hint at anything else I need to know about?"
Halfway down the alley, Cleo came to a halt as the owner of the voice stepped from around the corner. His name was Stan, and he stood in stark contrast to what his voice may have suggested. He was skinny to the point of being malnourished. He had a beak face, terrible teeth and skin, and greasy hair that hung down to his shoulders. It was hard to believe that he was only twenty four years old.
“Is it really you, Cleo?” Stan said with more than a little awe in his voice. “I haven’t seen you in years. What’re ya doing around here?” Cleo just smiled.
“And that hoodie and those glasses," Stan continued as he approached Cleo. There was a quiver in his voice. It was pretty evident that he was excited about seeing Cleo. "That disguise doesn’t do much good if you don't cover your face properly. I spotted you half way down the road."
"And why would I want to cover my face up?" Cleo asked coyly. "Most say it's my best feature."
"I won't argue that. But considering who your brother is, I would think you wouldn't want to be seen in these parts?"
"True. But I'm going to be quick... or at least I plan on it. But that really comes down to you."
"To me?" he asked, puffing out his chest as he did. He and Cleo were standing right in front of one another now and the power dynamic couldn't be more obvious. Stan, eager eyes and beaming smile, was like a puppy; looking up to an owner he desperately wanted to please.
"Yeah," Cleo said, flashing him a charming smile. "You... you do want to help me, don't you?"
"Of course," he said quickly. As he did, he flipped the backpack he was wearing into his hands. "What are you after? I'm packing today. I've got over fifty grams of --"
"Actually, Stan, I was after a slightly different favor today..."
"Oh..." he paused, crestfallen, with the bag still in his hands.
Cleo had known Stan since grade school. Although they weren't friends back then, Cleo had always tried to look out for him. Stan was an awkward kid from the wrong side of the tracks. He attended Cleo’s school as part of a program hoping to give unprivileged but academically gifted kids the chance to get ahead by rubbing elbows with kids from upper middle class families. In school, Stan frequently got picked on – until high school that is, when Stan discovered the power of being the weed distributor to a high school full of teenagers rebelling against their staid, strict, and demanding parents. Who knew that Stan might come in handy one day? Eight years later, and Cleo’s acts of kindness back in grade school were the very thing she was hoping would help her out now.
Cleo had been debating for the last two days whether Stan was the person to see for what she needed, and after crossing out all her other options, she realized that she had no choice.
"You've been doing this for a while, haven't you?" Cleo asked casually, deciding to work her way into it.
"You mean dealing? Yeah, for a few years. I was going to go to Harvard, but decided this was more aligned with my career path," Stan joked.
"So, it's probably safe to guess that you've built up a little nest egg for yourself?" she continued. As she did she took a step into Stan, getting just close enough so that he would be able to smell her.
"Maybe..." he breathed in deeply, savoring her fragrance.
"I was wondering – and please, let me finish first. But I was wondering if you wouldn't mind lending me some cash --"
"You've got to be kid --"
"I said let me finish," Cleo cut back in. As she did, she reached up and pulled out the scrunchie that was holding her hair in a bun. In one slow motion, she released her hair, whipping it back and forth as she let it flow down.
The effect was instantaneous. Stan's knees just about buckled at the sight of her hair, whipping in his face, and he let out an audible gasp.
The thing was, Cleo didn't even need the money for herself. Cleo's best friend Tish w
as from Australia, but she had been living in America for the better part of five years. That was all well and good, until Tish belatedly realized that her visa was going to expire – and would NOT be renewed. Organization was definitely Tish’s weakness. She had ignored the notices again and again until the situation was now critical. Visas were always expensive, but they were even more so when one needed to go through illegal channels to secure one. Thankfully, Cleo knew some people who could wrangle a visa for her fast – only it was going to cost her.
When she had volunteered to help her friend raise the money, she had assumed that she would have the time to start saving up for her. However, time was quickly running out and Cleo was still five thousand short in her “Save Tish” fund.
"Five thousand dollars is all I need, Stan. That's a pittance compared to how much I know you have stashed away."
"Cleo, come on. You know I would but..."
"One month, Stan. That's it. I'll have the money back to you in one month. Please." Cleo begged. Even if she had to go without eating, driving, going to the spa, and foregoing her daily Starbucks stop.
"Wh... wha... what about that brother of yours? The cop? Can't you ask him?" Stan stuttered his way through the question, his lip quivering as Cleo battered her eyes at him. She could tell that it was taking every ounce of his will power to deny her.
"I could, but I'm asking you." The reason Cleo wasn't asking her brother was because she didn't want to. If her brother knew she needed the money -- regardless of the reason -- he would hold it over her head for all time, thrilled by the fact that she needed him. No, she wasn't going to be indebted to him, not for anything.
"And... and what do I get out of it?"
"Well," Cleo began. She reached out and placed her arm gently on Stan's hand. She could feel him shaking. "You mean apart from my gratitude?"
She had him. She knew she did. Even as Stan worked to come up with a reason why he couldn't lend her the money, she could see that with another push or two he would be putty in her hands.
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