by Angel Payne
“Sage.” His loud laugh mixed with Wyatt’s from the yard below. “Sugar, you in there? Go to the window. You have to see this!”
After grabbing a tissue and mopping up the new tears, she pressed her face into her hands and commanded her self-composure back to the emotional battlefront. “Fake it ‘till you make it,” she whispered, forcing a smile.
She curled a knee back onto the window seat and looked out to search for her husband. It was the world’s easiest feat. The man consumed over six feet of the frosty air, melting it into an obedient glow for his golden-haired, broad-shouldered, utterly virile presence. The effect got an extra injection of sexy thanks to the bulk of his parka, the thick stubble that now populated his jawline, and the longer line of his legs due to his boots. He was hot farm boy mashed with hot soldier, officially turning him into Hot Man, capital H, capital M. She instantly yearned to jump him.
Right before she swore to kill him.
The idiot stood there grinning down at Racer, who was on the ground in the mud and snow. Correction: rolling around in that muck, squealing with laughter, his drool dirty, his hair dripping. God only knew where his Thomas the Train snow cap had gone, though Garrett had managed to keep the little mittens on his hands. That wasn’t going to help the man’s cause very much.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Look. He wants to make snow angels already!”
She made sure he got a good look at her beyond-pissed glower before whirling to snatch her jacket and head downstairs.
* * * * *
STORY TWO:
TIE THE KNOTS
Starring Zeke Hayes and Rayna Chestain
CHAPTER ONE
It was a dark and rainy night.
Zeke Hayes jutted a mental middle finger at the cliché. “Dark and rainy” he could deal with. This deluge was like an all-access pass to Mother Nature’s water park, without the Churros and cheesy Beach Boys cover songs. It had hit the highway right at midnight, forcing him to pull off at the exit for his apartment instead of Rayna’s house.
At least the guy upstairs had waited to drown the earth until after Sage and Garrett’s wedding. Correction: makeup wedding. Sage had pulled out all the stops to compensate for their first attempt at formal vows, which had been ruined by a madman who’d nearly killed Zeke and kidnapped Rayna back to Thailand. Though Garrett insisted they make the bond legal and dragged Sage off to a civil ceremony nearly a year ago, Sage insisted on something with pomp, circumstance, flowers, food, music, and even her guy on a horse to sweep her off on a ride into the sunset. She’d gotten it all, including Garrett on a beautiful gray stallion, actually looking pretty cool in the Renaissance wedding clothes she’d made them all wear. Thankfully the skies had chosen to bawl their eyes out over the event after it was all over.
As he and Rayna got out of the car, the clouds growled and the rain fell harder. Z snarled back before tugging Rayna into the elevator. Shit. Her costume was made mostly of velvet, which meant she now wore every chilled drop that had fallen on her. Despite his best efforts to warm her, his firebird was frozen to the bone.
“Fuck,” he muttered. The oath spewed from him a couple more times when they got to the door of his place. “Sorry, bird. I’m not used to the lock.”
Every word of it was true. He could easily count the number of times he’d actually spent the night here in the last year, keeping the apartment mostly as—
What?
A place of his own to “get away alone with his thoughts?” Negative on that order, kids. His thoughts weren’t exactly what a guy invited over for a few beers and a gut spill.
A restful retreat between missions? More sarcastic laughter echoed from his brain. If he wanted quiet, he headed for the cabin in the Cascades into which he’d sunk most of his design and decorating dollars. And if he wanted real peace, he slept at Rayna’s.
A “Master Zeke bachelor party pad”? His mind didn’t give that one even a snort of recognition. When he wanted to play Dom, the walls of the Bastille Club, where he was a staff Dominant, held more than enough equipment for his needs—all exercised on the willing body and soul of the woman by his side.
They truly had come so far together in a little over a year.
The best damn year of his life.
The fire-colored jewel that dangled from her black leather collar twinkled at him as affirmation of that. They’d made the most of every chance they had to feed the flames of their love, making sure the kindling of their friendship supported all the bigger logs they’d placed on top. The result was a blaze that fed him, mind and soul, more completely than he dared admit.
And terrified him more deeply than he wanted to acknowledge.
At the moment, the woman scared him in other ways. Her teeth chattered like castanets. The tendrils of her fancy hairdo were soaked slashes against the high angles of her cheeks. Her lips began to match the peacock blue color of her gown. Her exposed shoulders looked ready to hop onto that color palette too.
“All those p-people they b-beheaded at the T-Tower of London?” she stammered. “Th-they must have the fashion d-designers for the c-c-court.”
He gave her a tender smile while cranking on the heater, though it was impossible to stop his gaze from wandering down to the cleavage formed by her tight-laced corset. Though Sage’s dress had been more of a demure bridal thing, the maid of honor got a chance to be more provocative with her purple and red gown, featuring a lacy neckline that pushed a sizable amount of her breasts into very grab-worthy areas. Holy fuck, it was all he could do not to imagine just pulling them free from the fabric, then pinching them until they were as red as her dress before shoving her skirts up around her waist and—
“Sorry, bird,” he muttered instead. “I’m cranking the heat now.” He also walked over and turned on the flames beneath the artificial logs in the apartment’s excuse for a fireplace. “Isn’t as nice as what we have at the cabin but it’ll have to do for now.”
An awkward silence twisted between them. Neither of them had to speak the reason why.
Isn’t as nice as what we have at the cabin…
We. The word had never flowed naturally off his lips unless he was referring to something that had to do with the guys on his Special Forces team. He sure as hell never thought he’d be including a woman in the phrase beyond an invitation to one of Bastille’s private play rooms—let alone confusing the crap out of one by looping her into a comment about the cabin he considered his personal, solitary sanctuary.
Personal. Solitary. The words were a damn good credo for him. They’d served him well since the age of ten when the streets became his home, and took on even more importance when discovering his kink gene nine years later. Hadn’t taken him long to learn that like many other things in his life, he reveled in sensual dominance the most when dealing it hard, fast, and rough. He’d learned to chill on his cravings for the sake of being a good Dom to his many submissives, but had also learned that as a building block for a lasting relationship, the affinity was as useful as a wolf hooking up with a dolphin. It was best that he play that wolf card with the “lone” part securely attached. Nobody got hurt.
Especially him.
So when the fuck had that all changed?
He grunted as he stomped down the hall to grab some dry towels for Rayna.
Who says anything’s changed?
He’d made a simple mistake, that was all. Rayna had simply been along for the ride the last few times he’d been up to the cabin—
The last five times.
—which didn’t mean shit beyond the fact that she was being his dutiful subbie, and—
Like she remembers good “subbie” behavior when she kicks your ass in burping contests during the drive up the mountain, or reads you jokes in different voices to help you laugh and relax.
—which still didn’t mean anything, beyond the fact that they’d started this thing out as friends and now—
And now what?
What did now mean to her, if he kept “
making mistakes” like that? Was she getting ideas…the wrong ideas? Was he steering her down the same road he’d taken with Marie, without even knowing it? Was the day coming, perhaps soon, when he’d tell her he’d call as soon as he could during the deployment, only to find a thousand excuses not to? Would he promise to pick her up for a night at the dungeon, only to claim car trouble or last-minute training, or some other bullshit line she’d instantly see through…as her heart was breaking?
Just imagining it, as them apart, led him to an even more terrifying question.
What if it wasn’t her heart doing that breaking thing?
The second he rounded the corner back to the living room, figuring out that answer got shoved to the bottom of the duty roster. The very bottom.
Rayna was standing in front of the fireplace, wearing nothing but the historical underthings that went along with her lady-in-waiting garb. Lacy. White. Wet. And sheer. Good Christ, he could see every puckered, hard inch of her breasts, the delectable curve of her waists…and the V between her thighs, leading to the sweet treasure he adored so much. Her face was turned into that of a fucking goddess, rimmed in intricate braids, her hair made more fiery by the glow that danced across it. She took his breath away as she stepped from the puddle of her soaked gown and spread her soft arms, making a beautiful web in the air from the long length of red rope that she held.
“I was looking for a blanket and found this instead.” Her lips quirked in that shy, tentative smile that clutched his heart and jerked at his cock. “But I’m thinking it’ll warm me up just as much as a blanket…Sir?”
* * * * *
STORY THREE:
RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS
Starring Ethan Archer and Ava Chestain
CHAPTER ONE
“Hello, rock.”
Ava Chestain made sure to issue the greeting beneath her breath even though her fiancé, Ethan Archer, was still all the way across their suite at the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay. He wouldn’t be happy to hear her talking to her engagement ring again. And he’d be outright seething, in a not-so-yummy-Dom kind of way, to know what she was calling the thing once more. But damn it, she couldn’t help it. The ring had at least twenty clear diamonds arranged in a brilliant burst around a four-carat yellow diamond that had been custom-cut just for the setting. Ethan had slipped it on her finger just three days ago, proposing to her—for a second time—on the Santa Monica pier at sunset in front of a cheering crowd.
Of course, he’d been holding the ring when he did it, rendering Ava more speechless than the first time he’d asked. It was quite a feat, considering that first time had occurred when they were inducting each other into the Mile-High Club on Air Force One. When she’d finally found her voice on the pier and gawked at the ring, Ethan only slung back a smirk and said something gorgeous about how his sunshine could now wear the sun, too.
“Caramba,” she whispered. Sergeant Archer, you’re hell-bent on spoiling me.
If only that musing didn’t tangle the pit of her stomach in abject anxiety.
“You’re talking to your ring again, aren’t you?”
She jumped. Ethan seemed to have teleported across the room and now pressed up behind her. Just her luck; she’d fallen in love with a man who was half ninja. “No,” she retorted. “It’s ignoring me today, anyhow.”
He wrapped his arms around her, then rested his head atop her chin. “Do you blame it? Engagement rings get inferiority complexes, too.”
The knot in her gut tightened. Something in his murmur told her he wasn’t referring just to the ring anymore. “Ethan, I—”
“Ssshh. It’s okay. If you don’t like it—”
“No! Ay dios mio, I love it!”
“But…?”
She swallowed hard. His Dom tone, a low cadence of command, had entered the word with undeniable force. Despite his gentle hold, he expected an answer to his hard question.
His really hard question.
It was time to address the giant elephant in the room.
Ava stepped gingerly away from him. There was a seat built into the window that allowed for maximum enjoyment of the sweeping cliff and ocean view. Right now, she was just grateful it was there to help her trembling knees.
As she lowered to the cushion, she tugged at her lip with her teeth. She doubled the pressure when Ethan settled next to her. She was seriously in trouble. The man took her breath away in normal circumstances. But here, with his eyes nearly matching the sea and his broad chest sheathed in a thick Irish sweater, he was male decadence defined.
And determined dominance in one intense package.
He reinforced the point by reaching and curling his hands around her wrists. He used the unconventional hold on purpose, sending a message in undeniable terms. She was in his care now. Everything she said from her heart was safe. But he expected everything.
After letting her wallow in silence for a minute, he quietly ordered, “Tell me.”
Ugh. This was really going to suck.
“I—” She huffed and stared out toward the sea.
“Ava.” He tightened his hold. “This is me, remember?”
“Why don’t I just refuse to talk. Then you can punish me and—”
“Ava.”
“Aggghh!” She fell into silence when he decided to secure her wrists in one of his hands so he could use the other to yank up her chin. As soon as the force of his cobalt blues hit, her resistance evaporated. Tears stung her eyes and seeped down her cheeks. “Ethan,” she whispered, “I’m not sure I belong here.”
His reaction was everything she expected. An instant scowl of hurt and confusion. “What? Why?”
She tried to clear her senses with a breath. “That’s my point.”
“I don’t under—”
“Of course you don’t. Because you’ve probably stayed in this suite fifty times before.”
“Well, it’s better than staying at my parents’ place when I go for visits.” A grimace twisted his face. “Fuck. Talk about a place where you can’t breathe.”
Her brows jumped. “Your parents’ house is swankier than this?”
Resignation took the place of his frown. She watched him start to discern the message beneath her words. “Mausoleums are swanky too, baby. Doesn’t mean I’m comfortable in one.”
His intention was to ease her nerves. She knew that—and only wished she could tell him he’d succeeded. Instead, her nerves twisted tighter and her dread ballooned. She squirmed in his hold, suddenly afraid to let him see the enormity of it. As she broke down like an idiot, he released her wrists in order to pull her fully across his lap.
“Baby,” he soothed. “Ava, come on. I know you’re nervous, okay? But—”
“Nervous?” she spat. “Why the hell would I be nervous—just because I’m meeting your polo club parents in a dress I bought at Macy’s, at their dinner table that’ll have thirty forks at each place setting, to talk about a wedding that’ll cost more than I make in a year—”
He kissed her into silence. Tugged her face up to look at him again. “All they want to do is meet you,” he murmured. “And we’ll probably talk about the weather and sports.” His forehead furrowed. “And, uhhh, Mom’s orchids.”
She sniffed. “I like orchids.”
His smile was dazzling. “There ya go.”
Ava tilted up her chin in a little plea for another kiss. After Ethan obliged, she whispered, “Okay. I’ll try not to embarrass the crap out of you.”
He dug his long fingers into her hair and pulled hard. “There’ll be no more talk like that, woman. You are my queen. You’ll wear my diamonds, you’ll walk at my side, you’ll be amazing, and you’ll never ‘embarrass the crap out of me.’”
She carried those words with her through the next few hours, enjoying a walk with him on the beach before they returned to the suite to prepare for the first dinner she would have with her future in-laws. They warmed her as she showered, pampered, and dressed, and even made her smile as she slipp
ed into her dark purple dress, cut in a classic wrap style. They girded her even as Ethan drove up the winding driveway to his parents’ home, which approached mansion status with its ornate, Tudor-style architecture and Shakespeare-inspired fountain out front. She held them in her heart as tight as she clutched Ethan’s arm when they approached the door, which was set beneath an archway of white English roses.
He knocked and they waited.
He turned and kissed her, surrounding her in his leather-pepper scent, now tinged with a little of his John Varvatos cologne. His lips moved over hers, openly adoring her. His groan vibrated through her, thick with his desire. Best of all, his love enveloped her, warm and complete.
Okay, maybe she could do this.
She got to savor the thought for another ten seconds—right before the door got opened, flooding the two of them with light—and the grins from at least fifty unfamiliar faces. In front of them was a woman who looked so much like Ethan, Ava had no doubt about her identity. She beheld the beauty of Elle Archer for the first time.
“Surprise!” the woman exclaimed before pressing her lips into Ethan’s cheek. “Happy engagement!”
* * * * *
STORY FOUR:
WINTER MOON
Starring Tait Bommer and Luna Lawrence
CHAPTER ONE
“Hello, flower.”
Tait Bommer greeted her the same way he always did, with those two words followed by pressing a single red rosebud into her hand. One day, he vowed, she’d answer him by wrapping her fingers around the flower. After that, she’d open her eyes. And from there, he’d work with the doctors to bring her back to life.
He had no illusions about what kind of a life it would be for a while. Today marked the one hundred and ninetieth day she’d been in this coma, brought on by the trauma when she’d saved the whole west coast from nuclear disaster by disposing of a self-detonating missile launcher by herself. Her body and brain had been resting for over six months. There would be therapy and setbacks, more therapy then some progress, even more therapy…then success. President Nichols had told the FBI not to spare any expense on her care.